06-Dec-2004
Title: Surrogate
Author: Mookie
Pairing: Trowa/Zechs, implied 3+1
Rating: R/NC17
Warnings: yaoi lime/lemon, spoilers, in-canon timeline piece, a bit vague, light angst
Word count: 1,035
Notes: Written for this request by Mephisto Waltz on LJ community fic_on_demand.
Random trivia: This fic puts me at the Big 5-0 for the GW fandom.
Trowa stood there, arms folded, leaning against the wall, watching Heero as the other pilot walked toward the hangar containing the newly restored Wing Gundam. Heero had all but insisted that they could trust Zechs Merquise.
The woman, Noin, she was just as willing to believe in that man. Trowa hadn't found a single thing yet suggesting there was anything about the masked man that had earned that level of confidence. Maybe if he'd fought Merquise the way Heero had, he'd feel differently.
"You don't like me very much."
Trowa didn't bother to agree or deny the statement. He'd heard the OZ officer approaching, but hadn't felt the need to acknowledge his arrival either.
Zechs didn't attempt to change the boy's mind. He'd been only mildly surprised to see Heero in the company of yet another young man. How much this one had in common with Heero had yet to be determined. Was this one, too, a worthy adversary? He couldn't help but wonder, even though it was his unfinished battle with Heero that had become a bit of an obsession. One of them and only one would eventually walk away.
"When I kill Heero, it will be in an honest battle. You'll be free to go afterwards."
Trowa peered up at him through the long fall of hair across his brow. "Funny. Heero seems to think he'll be the one taking your life."
"What about you?" Zechs couldn't contain his curiosity.
"My opinion is irrelevant regarding the outcome." Trowa pushed away from the wall and took a few steps in the direction Heero had gone in earlier. Once he'd put some distance between them, he deliberately turned his back on Zechs and leaned one shoulder against the wall.
Zechs recognized it as the dismissal it was. It was clear Trowa felt unthreatened by him, and his attitude during their introductions hadn't improved at all. Despite the animosity between them, purely on Trowa's part, it seemed they shared one thing. Interest in the pilot known as Heero Yuy.
He closed the distance between himself and Trowa, stopping when he was but an arm's length away.
"You feel it, too," he finally said. "You're drawn to him, in ways you'd never imagined before in your life."
Trowa ignored him, even if the words rang all too true.
"Were you the one who tended to him after the explosion?" Zechs continued. "I recognize your suit. You picked him up afterwards. There was no reason to assume anyone would survive such a cataclysmic act. Did you think he had? Was it seeing him fight his way back from the brink of death that made you realize it, too, that there is something special about Heero Yuy?"
Trowa could feel Zechs' breath against the back of his neck as the blond man spoke. "You're right," he said quietly. "I don't like you."
He was angrier with Zechs than he could remember being angry with anyone in his life, and he couldn't figure out what it was that had triggered such an intense hatred of any other person. Zechs had hit the nail on the head, as far as Heero was concerned. Trowa had been the one watching Heero recover, a painfully slow process, and here was a man determined to undo all of that, merely because it was Heero.
Trowa supposed he didn't doubt Zechs' words. He was in no danger personally. The rivalry was between Heero and Zechs, and when it was over, Trowa would move on again, with or without a companion.
Just like before.
"You feel it," Zechs said. "Your anger is confusing you. Your anger, your passion. I'm offering you the chance to do something about it, because tomorrow you will be leaving here alone."
Trowa could feel movement behind him, and he spun away from Zechs before the gloved hand came to a rest on his hip. His body remained in motion, and a one-handed cartwheel left him standing several yards away.
"No," he said. "I will not."
This time when Zechs approached, Trowa stood his ground, and he let the man's hand slip down to cup Trowa's arousal. To Zechs' credit, he didn't point out that he'd been right and that Trowa had been affected by his words.
Trowa's zipper was worked down with ease, and satin covered fingers wrapped around his length, stroking him slowly. Trowa stood there, enjoying the sensation of smooth fabric sliding over his erection, all too aware that he was allowing Zechs far too much control over the situation, but not caring enough to change it.
When Zechs dropped to one knee in front of him and took the quivering column of flesh in his mouth, Trowa lifted a hand to rest on Zechs' head, but the sight of the gleaming helmet had him dropping it back to his side.
He closed his eyes and let Zechs' tongue wiggle back and forth against the underside of his cock. His fingers curled into a fist at his side and he imagined a head full of dark hair at his groin instead, bobbing up and down, his moans sending thrums of pleasure through Trowa's body.
The sharp nose of the mask poked at his pelvis and he opened his eyes. It wasn't working. He knew very well who was sucking his cock, and still he was enjoying it. His eyes slipped closed one last time and he tilted his head back, feeling a shudder run through his body as he came.
It surprised him that Zechs took it all in his mouth. As soon as the last tremors of climax subsided, Trowa stepped back, stuffed himself back in his jeans, and pulled up the zipper.
He turned his back on Zechs and stopped halfway to the hangar. "Heero will show you his gratitude tomorrow. You have none of mine."
Zechs Merquise stood up and wiped his mouth. As soon as the doors slid shut behind the young man, he removed his mask and rubbed the condensation away from the eyes.
It was a shame that he was going to have to prove Trowa wrong. He took a deep breath and pulled the helmet back over his head.
A real shame.
The End
(:./mookie/surrogate)
