07-Feb-2000
Disclaimer: This is a work of amateur non-profit fiction and is not intended to infringe on the rights of Sunrise, Sotsu Agency, Asahi TV, and Bandai Visuals.
Rated: [NC-17] reluctant
Characters: Tsubarov X Trowa
Series: This Day's Madness - trilogy - 1 of 3
Status: Complete
Archive: Gundam Wing Addiction only
Special thanks to DaMoyre and BQ for beta reading.
"I must abjure the Balm of Life, I must, Scared by some After -
reckoning ta'en on trust, Or lured with Hope of some Diviner Drink,
When the frail Cup is crumbled into Dust!"--Omar Khayyam, The Rubiayat
Tu fermeras l'oeil, pour ne point voir, par la glace,
Grimacer les ombres des soirs,
Ces monstruosités hargneuses, populace
De démons noirs et de loups noirs.--Arthur Rimbaud(1)
"You won't advance your career by sticking with Lady Une, you realize?" Tsubarov quirked an eyebrow and looked up as he poured the bourbon into the shot glass in front of the young officer. "Oz is taking a brave and bold step into a new age. You should ask for reassignment and join the mobile doll specialists."
Trowa Barton pushed the glass to the side without looking at it. "I'm a pilot," he paused a moment to look at the clock on Tsubarov's desk. "I'm on duty in an hour. I must decline your offer."
Tsubarov smiled and nodded in understanding. "Of course. It wouldn't do for our officers to be flying around in... *Gundams*," he emphasized, "while intoxicated. One could only imagine the catastrophic damage that would wrought." He chuckled softly and took a sip from his own shot glass. "Well then...you'll just have to join me in a drink at a later date," he set the glass down and slid a report in front of Trowa. "When we discuss your reassignment."
Trowa met Tsubarov's gaze. "While there is still a need for pilots, I will stay at my current station. Though I do appreciate you considering me for your project." He slid the report back to Tsubarov.
"You should look after your career, Mr. Barton." Tsubarov warned him. "Oz officers who cannot change with the times tend to find themselves . . .overlooked."
"My career, Commander," Trowa informed him, "is second to the greater good of Oz. Until more studies can be made on the mobile dolls, Colonel Une has made the decision to only use them as back up for the new mobile suite models which have proven to be more reliable."
The Chief Engineer frowned. "I can understand your loyalty to Lady Une and her . . . *obsession* with the Gundams. She is an excellent officer and worthy of respect, *but* her methods are . . . " he shook his head and waved his hand looking for the word. "*Archaic*. She and Treize Khushrenada would keep us in the dark ages. *I*, on the other hand," he said as he brought his hand to his chest. "would like to see an end to all this death and bloodshed. The mobile dolls would bring the peace that the people of Earth and the colonies crave."
Trowa stared for a moment at the older man. / /So this is why Lady Une suggested I agree to talk with him. There is dissension in the ranks./ / He reached for the report he had earlier dismissed. "I'll read it and then consider your offer."
Tsubarov smiled. "I thank you," he said with a bow. "That is all I ask for. You shall see when you read that report," he said as he pointed to it and shook his finger. "that the mobile dolls are the best solution to this war. And most importantly," he added, "it is important to lasting peace."
"Why do you want me?" Trowa asked. "I'm a pilot. Does that not make me obsolete under this 'new age'?"
Tsubarov laughed, tossing his head back in what Trowa believed to be an over dramatic display of good natured chiding. "Oh no! No, no, no . . . so many always fear that automation will leave them jobless. No, Officer Barton, you will not become obsolete. First we will need to study your flight habits and program the dolls with that information. And then . . . " he shrugged. "then we'll retrain you as a flight programmer. Oz can always use good officers, and from what I've seen of your record, your credentials are excellent. Oz would be proud to retain you in its ranks."
"It also would not hurt to have one of Lady Une's more trusted aides in support of the mobile dolls, hn?" Trowa offered as an alternative explanation.
"Well, no," Tsubarov chuckled a bit nervously. "it would certainly help my cause, but it *is* what's best for Oz and for peace in the colonies. As a colonist, you can understand how important it is that this war end. The resources it's taking to run this conflict with bankrupt some of the colonies within months."
"Resources that Oz took for the war effort."
"War is never fair, Mr. Barton. It was an unfortunate necessity."
"I understand." Trowa said.
"Yes," Tsubarov replied. He picked up his bourbon with both hands and suspended the glass between them as he held to the rim with his palms, his fingers touched and pointed upward in a perverse prayer. "I think you do." He paused for a moment and then took another sip of the drink. "You have an hour you say?"
Trowa nodded curtly.
Tsubarov rose from his leather chair and stood behind it. "Sit here." he said, patting the back of the chair. "I'll show you the plans for a new model I'm designing. Maybe this will help to persuade you in your decision."
Trowa stood and walked around the desk to Tsubarov's chair. He sat down and watched as Tsubarov brought up the models on his computer screen.
"Why don't you take a look around this file and see if anything strikes you." Tsubarov stepped away for the screen and pushed Trowa's chair closer to it. "And let me know if you have any questions. I would be *delighted* to answer any for you." He walked around and stood behind Trowa, pressing his hands against the leather chair. Trowa ignored the man and commenced his search through the files.
It was almost negligible at first, when Tsubarov's hands moved from their position on the back of the chair to Trowa's shoulders. He leaned in closer to explain an adjustment here or new addition there, but as his hands began to slowly caress Trowa's shoulders, there was no denying what Tsubarov wanted. Trowa sighed and closed his eyes. He dropped his hands from the keyboard, refusing to cater to the farce. He wondered briefly, as Tsubarov's lips brushed the nape of his neck, if the information he had gained on the mobile doll upgrades was worth anything, or just what Tsubarov used to deceive young officers seeking advancement.
Tsubarov became more bold, as he lowering his hands to Trowa's chest and began to unbutton the uniform jacket. "Why don't you get more comfortable?" he whispered and he gently pushed Trowa forward a little so he could slide the jacket from his arms.
Trowa said nothing. He did not protest, nor did he welcome the advances. He simply let Tsubarov do as he pleased and remained the passive participant. It would be the most he could get away with, as rejecting the commanding officer outright might invoke rage and jeopardize his mission. But he would not encourage it. At least he would not give him that.
"I've had my eye on you for some time," Tsubarov continued after he had set the jacket on the desk. "The rumor is that in addition to being the best pilot at Oz since Zechs Merquise, you're more cold blooded and merciless than Une." He kneeled in front of Trowa and moved his hands to Trowa's belt. "Is that true?" he asked as he began to unhook the buckle.
Trowa thought on this for a moment, remembering the rumors of himself he heard while working within Oz. As Gundam pilot 03, he had been given the nickname among the Oz pilots as The Silencer, because no one had ever escaped from one of his attacks. In Antarctica, he had destroyed a suit that was already crippled before the man inside could report the Gundam. And now his mission was assassination. / /Mercy./ / "I merely do my job." Trowa finally responded. "As you said earlier, war is never fair. And I do not believe that fostering mercy is an objective of Oz, especially in light of the ruthless nature of the Gundam pilots we fight against."
"Um, your youth is your folly." Tsubarov said as he struggled to lower Trowa's trousers over his hips. "The dolls are about mercy." He stopped for a moment at looked into Trowa's eyes, as if trying to will his body to move for him. "The dolls are so that no one else ever has to die in war."
Trowa stared back at him, his own eyes devoid of life. "Do you really believe that?"
"Of course I do!" Tsubarov succeeded in lowering the pants just enough to give him the access he wanted. He stopped struggling, seeming to be satisfied with that. "Why else would I even bother designing them? This will end the need of humans in war." He touched Trowa delicately as if he were a prize possession. "I want to end the senseless shedding of your valued life, Trowa Barton."
This was new. No one had ever tried to get to Trowa by pleasing him before. Though he knew in reality, this was only another form of control. He was no fool. Tsubarov cared nothing for him. It was probably not even lust. Tsubarov wanted control over something that was Lady Une's. A game. Trowa was not out to win a game, but rather a war. He would give the man what he wanted: the illusion that he had taken something away from Une. He leaned his head against the chair, looking up at the ceiling and willing away the image of the man now positioned between his legs.
"You won't end war or death with the dolls." Trowa spoke evenly, despite the smooth hand now folded around his penis, pumping slowly, diligently, in an effort to arouse him. "With every doll there are hundreds of humans to be crushed. You've only managed to give one side a greater advantage. But that is what we want, is it not?" He bit his tongue as Tsubarov moved a thumb over the head and rubbed against the slit.
Tsubarov smiled a bit and shook his head. He leaned in closer and took Trowa's semierect cock into his hand and lightly kissed the tip of it. "No," he said quietly. "That is not the purpose of the dolls. The enemy who knows he cannot win against our force will not fight us. Call it deterrence if you will." His lips circled around the head of the cock, and he gently sucked.
Trowa fought the urge to move his hips up to meet Tsubarov's mouth. He concentrated on lowering his heart rate and regulating his breathing. Tsubarov could have his body, but not his will. "You can only stop it for a time," he managed to speak without inflection in his voice. "And then they will match you in strength. War and death will continue."
Tsubarov backed away and looked up at Trowa with a frown. "We can talk about this later, Mr. Barton." His voice was laced with irritation. He renewed his ministrations to Trowa without the previous gentleness and caring of before, grabbing him almost roughly as though putting him in his place.
Trowa nodded in acquiescence and once again closed his eyes as he leaned his head back. He only wanted now to get this over with. The image of Tsubarov, however, was not helping.
His mind turned to thoughts of others that might help. He considered Catherine briefly before realizing that while he had what others might call affection for her, considering her in this manner was unacceptable to him. She was the closest thing he had in terms of a family, and you were not supposed to think of them this way.
And then there was Quatre, who was certainly beautiful, if not a bit of a pest. He thought of the music they played the night he camped with the Maguanacs, and while it was pleasing to the ear, it did not have the desired effect he needed now. Quatre himself was almost too beautiful and kind to think of kneeling before him now. People like Quatre did not do this sort of thing, and it was more troublesome to try forcing that thought than it was to just think of Tsubarov.
It would be much easier to simply be taken and he wished that Tsubarov had been more direct in his seduction. He himself had never experience the abject desires that made men lose all reason and take what they would have, but he had been the object of that desire on enough occasions to understand it. This was a sort of middle ground where he too must have some role. He wondered if Heero had ever been in this situation and if maybe he might know what to do.
"Ah, I thought you might enjoy that." Tsubarov said smugly and then continued to his task.
Trowa looked down and found himself rocking into the rhythm Tsubarov set with his mouth and hand. He did not stop, he wanted this over with so that he could leave. But he wondered what Tsubarov had done to him to get this response. He could not recall any specific act the man had used to stimulate him, and yet here he was, pushing back. It disturbed him, despite knowing that the body had limitations to what it could withstand. And fighting it would only keep him here longer. But still . . .
He thought again back to Heero and tried to think of what he would do in this situation. Perhaps thinking on the more disciplined mind of his comrade would inspire him toward more control. But would Heero even be in this situation? Probably not. Heero was far more direct and would never have bothered infiltrating Oz. That was why he was sitting in a holding cell, instead of in here with Tsubarov like Trowa was now. No, Heero would not have gotten himself into this position and Trowa had no doubt that Heero would be free and fighting Oz once again on his terms, rather than accepting the terms that Oz had offered, as Trowa did.
"Not so fast!" he heard Tsubarov chuckle. The man pulled up and looked into Trowa's eyes, his own had a light of amusement in them. "I am an old man, after all."
Trowa bit down hard on his tongue to keep from whimpering in front of Tsubarov as the man pulled away. The blood sliding down the back of his throat did little to sober him from his aroused state, and he mentally cursed himself for not maintaining more control. His heart thudded within his chest so that he was aware of every inch of his body, and he began to wonder how he could wipe out an entire base without the slightest murmur in his heart and yet be driven to distraction by the touch of a man, who in the best light could only be described as ogreish.
Tsubarov went down on him yet again and Trowa turned away, his thoughts once again with the pilot called Heero Yuy. He was mistaken when he first thought they were the same kind. He was aware now, as he thrust into the mouth of his enemy, that the greatest difference between the two, was that Heero sought to do what was right. He proved that when he traveled the world handing his fate over to the family of the man he had mistakenly killed. Trowa merely sought to do his job. Which one of these traits would accomplish the mission of winning the war, Trowa did not know, but he found Heero a much more admirable person than himself. At the same time, he knew this thought was foolish. But. . .
/ /Heero . . ./ /
He gripped the arms of the chair until his fingers nails dug into the leather. He pushed forward, stifling what would have been a loud cry into a long deep sigh as he came. His thankfulness over his small drop of decorum was abruptly cut short by the realization that Tsubarov had released him and used a cloth as he orgasmed. Sobriety came crashing back. While part of him knew that the old man may have simply found swallowing distasteful, he also knew he had set himself up for being blackmailed into the mobile doll specialists. Not that it would work, but the mere thought of having to deal with the issue at all was tiresome. / /Just part of the job./ / he thought as he fell back against the chair.
"Well, You certainly have stamina." Tsubarov said impressed. He stood and turned, walking toward his viewport overlooking the lunar base. "Perhaps I'll have to revise my opinion on your youth being your folly." He briefly looked at the watch on his wrist and then clasped his hands behind his back. He was still holding the cloth. "You should go ready yourself for duty. We'll talk later on your reassignment."
Trowa pulled his trousers back up and buckled the belt. He stood and grabbed his uniform jacket from the back of the chair and put it on, buttoning it back up without rush or ceremony. He looked to the clock on Tsubarov's desk, glad that he still had twenty minutes left until he was to report for duty. He straightened his jacket, grabbed the report and then made his way to the door.
"Oh, Mr. Barton?" Tsubarov said, stopping him before he could leave. Trowa turned to look at the man still gazing out of the viewport.
"Sir?"
"Give my regards to Lady Une."
~end~
Note:
(1) You will close your eyes, so as not to see, through the glass,
The evening shadows pulling faces.
Those snarling monsters, a population
of black devils and black wolves.
(:./stephanie/dust)
