by Alleyprowler
Disclaimer: The Mobile Suit: Gundam Wing characters used within this story are © Bandai, Sotsu Agency, Sunrise, etc. This work of fiction is intended for free entertainment purposes only. It is not suitable for readers under the age of 17.
The front door scraped open. Quatre, who had been lounging on the sofa idly flicking between three news programs on the television, reacted in an almost Pavlovian manner, sitting up straight and smoothing out his hair with one hand while muting the volume with the other. "Trowa?"
"You were expecting someone else?" Trowa called from the foyer. He sounded amused. "If you have any secret lover to hide, you have about three seconds to do it."
"The orgy was over hours ago," Quatre called back. "I'm sorry you missed it, but we took pictures."
Trowa stepped into the media room, smiling with much more wattage than would be merited by a simple shopping trip. His hair was slightly damp from the afternoon drizzle, and he had a paper shopping bag with the label of a very fancy women's boutique on it swinging from one hand. Apparently Mission: Buy Catherine a Birthday Gift had been successful. Before Quatre had time to ask about it, though, Trowa straddled his lap and looked at him with that glazed-over expression that meant he'd either suffered a serious blow to the head or was feeling very, very amorous. He licked his lips in a way that made Quatre decide the look was definitely 'amorous'. "Want to fool around?"
Quatre blinked. "Whatever happened to, 'Hello, Quatre, how was your afternoon?'"
"Hello, Quatre, how was your afternoon? Want to fool around?" He began to undo the buttons on Quatre's shirt without waiting for an answer.
"Wait a minute!" Quatre said, slapping hands away from his shirtfront. "What's gotten into you? And what makes you think I'll say yes?"
Trowa lowered his head till his mouth was very near Quatre's ear as if to whisper some lovely command, but instead of whispering, he took Quatre's earlobe between his teeth and began to nibble on it; softly at first, but then more insistently. Spluttered protests rapidly gave way to sighs of pleasure, and within half a minute, Quatre had begun to list to port. "No fair..." he rasped out just before he toppled over.
"I've been fantasizing about this for three hours now and my balls feel like they've been used as punching bags for dwarves. Forgive me if I'm not really into the concept of 'fair' right now." Trowa's voice was a low growl in his ear.
Quatre sniffed him suspiciously. "Have you been drinking?"
"Just orange juice." Those hands were back on the buttons again, nimbly exposing more and more of Quatre's skin, which he then stroked, licked, nibbled, and generally worshipped. Quatre felt his temperature shoot up into the triple digits while his IQ sank inversely.
"Must have...been...some shopping...trip," he stammered out. "OH! Do that again!"
"No," Trowa said, pulling back abruptly. Aside from his coat, he was still fully dressed. "We need to go to the bedroom. Now."
Quatre, half-naked but completely rumpled, struggled up from the sofa cushions. "What? I thought you wanted me to...you know." He waved a hand vaguely toward the obvious bulge in Trowa's trousers.
"Oh yes, I do want that...very much," he added, gently cupping the front of Quatre's loose jeans. Strong fingers began a talented massage along the zipperline. "But later...much later."
Quatre groaned and tilted his head back, exposing his neck to more kisses. They were given freely and deliciously, but his hand was batted away when he tried to reach for Trowa's fly. The kisses redoubled, attacking his neck and throat and making him forget all about his hand. "Ohh! P-promise?"
"Oh yes, that's a definite promise. But not here and not now. Let's go upstairs." Trowa pulled away abruptly, looking a little flushed, but none the worse for wear. Quatre, however...well, he was a different story.
"Pull the curtains and lock the door," he said, and he sounded impatient even to his own ears. "No one will see us."
"No, we need the bed."
"What for?" Quatre demanded, arching his body into Trowa's touch.
"The bedframe."
Well, that was a new one. Since when had Trowa developed a fetish for bedframes? Especially horrible rough-hewn pine ones with atrocious stain jobs that he would have burned to ashes if it hadn't been made by one of his nephews? "That ugly thing turns you on?" he asked incredulously.
Trowa stood up. "Are you coming?"
"That's a loaded question," Quatre said, struggling to sit upright.
Trowa snatched up the little boutique bag. "Well, hurry up." He turned briskly and strode away, taking the stairs two at a time.
Quatre took a moment to completely remove his shirt, then took another to wonder what the hell Trowa's sister's birthday present had to do with anything before he cast aside all thought and dashed up the stairs.
Trowa had taken off his shirt, shoes, and socks, but he was still wearing his trousers when Quatre finally caught up to him. From the waist up, he was gloriously naked save for a faint blush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, which made Quatre feel a little nervous. "Trowa, are you sure you're all right?"
Trowa's smile broadened. "I'm fine. Mmm, I'm glad you got rid of that shirt, too." He hooked a finger into the waistband of Quatre's jeans, pulling him closer. "You'd look better without these, though." And, kneeling down, he proceeded to unfasten the button. With his teeth.
"Trowa! What are you doing?"
Trowa slid the zipper down and shoved the dark denim around Quatre's ankles, freeing Quatre's half-hard penis in the process. Smiling, he kissed the dusky head. "Oh, so you're not quite as bored as you looked when I came in? That's a nice surprise."
"I wasn't bored," Quatre said, making an effort not to have his train of thought derailed, "I was just...uh..."
"Bored."
Quatre hissed in a breath from between clenched teeth and cradled the back of Trowa's neck with both hands. "I'm not now, obviously."
"Obviously."
Much as Quatre wanted to snipe at his lover for being a smartass, he couldn't summon up the wit to do so since said smartass was doing such delicious things with his tongue. All he could do was squirm and moan--and cry out in frustration when Trowa abruptly pulled away. "Trowa!"
"Get the bag, would you?" Trowa requested, pointing to the shopping bag he'd left by the door. He pulled off his trousers and socks, throwing them in a careless heap on the floor.
Annoyed by the withdrawal of attention yet driven for the unspoken promise of more, Quatre did as he was asked. "What's Catherine's gift got to do with anything?"
"I didn't actually get around to buying anything for Cathy. I was...distracted."
Quatre had to raise an eyebrow at that. Trowa ranked shopping right up there with getting a root canal in terms of necessary evils, and he usually did it as quickly and efficiently as possible. It wasn't like him to get distracted while doing it. "What caught your attention?"
Trowa arranged himself in the center of the bed, gloriously naked and obviously interested. "Look in the bag."
The bag? Quatre looked inside, frowned, and pulled out several filmy silk scarves in rich jewel tones. "I thought you said you didn't get anything for Catherine?"
"Those aren't for Cathy. Look again."
Quatre tipped the bag upside down and blinked at what fell out. A pair of opera-length gloves in bottle-green velvet slithered onto the bed, and he picked them up and admired them, smoothing the rich fabric. "She'll like these."
Trowa chuckled. "For the third time, Quatre, I didn't buy anything for my sister. Why won't you listen to me?"
"I'll listen to you when you start making sense. Why did you go out shopping for Catherine's birthday and buy gloves and a bunch of scarves in her favorite colors if you didn't plan on giving them to her?"
"Because when we're finished with them, I don't think Cathy will want them," Trowa said with a grin.
That statement did very little to set Quatre at ease, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his naked lover. "What are you up to?"
Instead of answering verbally, Trowa spread his limbs till his hands and feet were near the sturdy pine posts at the corners of the bed. "I think you know what to do."
Quatre wrinkled his nose. He'd never seen the point of bondage. He didn't even like to make love in enclosed spaces because he needed to have a lot of room to move around--besides, having one's limbs restrained like that surely couldn't be comfortable. "You want me to tie you down? What for?"
"Will you?"
"Yes, but...I don't get it. I don't see the fun in just lying there and having things done to you when you can't participate." But, having said that, he began to tie Trowa's left ankle to the bedpost with a deep blue scarf, admiring the rich color against the pale olive skin.
"I don't want anything done to me, Quatre--make that a little tighter, please--and this isn't about that, anyway. It's about anticipation. You know I love to touch you, don't you?"
Quatre smiled as he tied a royal purple scarf around Trowa's right ankle. "Yes, but it's nice to hear you say it."
"I love to touch you," Trowa repeated. "I love the way your skin feels against mine, and I love the sounds you make when I touch you. You are a very sensuous person, and that's what makes it so hot for me...that I have the power to reduce you, who has the greatest self-control of anyone I've ever met, into a squirming, moaning mass of pure passion. That power is awesome, Quatre. It's like a drug to me, but tonight, I want to give that up and see what happens."
Quatre said nothing as he tied Trowa's left hand with a ruby-red scarf. In one sense, it make a little thrill of lust race through his loins to hear Trowa say those things about him, but in another sense, it sounded a little...creepy.
"I want to see if I can do with my words what I usually do with my body," Trowa continued on. "I usually don't talk a lot during sex, do I?"
"Not unless you count 'more' and 'harder' as conversation, no," Quatre said, picking up the last scarf.
Trowa laughed quietly. "No, I don't suppose that counts. I don't say much out loud because for the most part I'm too busy feeling my own sensations to form proper words, but another part of it is I'm too busy with my own internal monologue."
Quatre gave him a sideways look. "You talk to yourself during sex?"
"Quatre, we all talk to ourselves, all the time. It's mostly just background noise that you never notice till you start paying attention to it, but sometimes..." his lips curled up into a smile that seemed almost wistful. "It doesn't matter. If you're willing to experiment a little, I can show you what I mean."
Quatre didn't take long to make his decision. He was, after all, naked in a private room with the love of his life tied down spread-eagle on top of the bed. It wouldn't be like him not to take advantage of the situation. "All right. What do you want me to do?"
"First, could you put another pillow under my head? I want to be able to see you."
Quatre did so, fluffing up the two big pillows and arranging them so Trowa had plenty of support for his head and neck. "Is that okay?"
"That's fine. Now get on the bed by my side...sit back on your heels...open up your legs a little more...oh, yes, that's perfect."
Quatre felt more than a little self-conscious displaying himself like that, but Trowa seemed pleased by the view. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his body--for the most part, he was fairly happy with it. He was short, but well-proportioned; thin, but in a way that suggested speed and agility rather than frailty; fair, but not colorless. It could have been worse. Still, he couldn't help being just a little envious of Trowa, who was broader in the chest and shoulders, narrower in the waist, and longer in the legs. Oh, and his skin...
"Wait, don't touch me yet," Trowa said as Quatre's fingers hovered over his abdomen. "There's one more thing."
"What?"
"Put on those gloves."
Quatre stared, first at his lover, then at the pair of gloves that lay discarded at the foot of the bed. He stared at Trowa again. "Trowa, those are women's gloves."
"They're size large and the material is stretchy. I'm sure they'll fit. Your hands aren't that big."
The point seemed to have sailed right over Trowa's head, so Quatre said very firmly and distinctly, "I'm not putting on women's gloves."
Trowa smiled. "Are they such a threat to your masculinity? They're just gloves, Quatre. Pick one of them up."
Quatre did so, but with trepidation. He knew what was coming. Trowa was just about to talk him into something he didn't want to do but would end up doing anyway because otherwise he would feel selfish, petty, stingy, stupid, hidebound, or all of the above. "It's a glove. What about it?" he asked, somewhat sulkily.
"I almost walked right by those gloves, you know. I was in one of those upscale antique shops in the tourist district, hoping I could find something unique for Cathy. Maybe some piece of jewelry, or something nice for her home. Anyway, I had to go through the women's accessories to get to the jewelry area, and someone rushed by me and nearly knocked me over. I put out my hand to keep myself from falling, and it landed on the warmest, softest, most luxurious thing I'd ever felt...those gloves."
Quatre smoothed the glove out on the comforter. It was very soft and fine. The only thing he could compare it to was the Angora rabbit he'd had when he was a child, but the feel of the green velvet was even richer than that.
"They were lying in a patch of sun from one of the open windows, that's why they were so warm," Trowa continued. "It was like some beautiful woman had just taken them off and they still held her warmth. I picked one glove up and held it to my cheek."
"Like this?" Quatre asked, placing his fingers against his own cheek and drawing them down slowly. It felt lush and decadent on his skin.
"Like that. Just like that." Trowa's voice went a bit husky and he licked his lips. "So I picked it up and rummaged through the bin for the other one--they were all jumbled up, all these gloves--and I finally found it. It was even softer then the one I'd held before."
Quatre picked up the other glove. He rubbed his thumb over it. "They're both nice," he murmured.
"Soft," Trowa whispered, and his voice was nearly as low and soothing as the fine nap of the fabric.
"Yes, it is." Quatre paused, and swallowed. If that lush fabric felt as nice on other parts of his body as it did on his face... "I guess it wouldn't hurt to try them on."
Trowa moaned, deep in his throat. "I thought of you when I bought them," he said in a near-whisper. "I know I was supposed to be buying something for Cathy, but I thought of you...and your skin...and how warm and smooth it is..."
Quatre paused while pulling the left glove on. "My skin?"
"Your skin, so warm...so alive..." Trowa half-closed his eyes and looked at Quatre from beneath his eyelashes. "Put the other glove on, please?"
Feeling more than a little lightheaded with a combination of lust and embarrassment, Quatre did so. The gloves fit like...well, like gloves; tight but not constricting on his fingers. He didn't bother to pull them very far up on his arms, but let the silver-studded cuffs hang loose just below his elbows. "They're on, Trowa," he said quietly. "What would you like me to do?"
"Touch yourself. Touch yourself like I touch you."
Quatre had always thought of green as a 'cool' color, but the way Trowa was looking at him now could only be described as smoldering. There was a hint of extra color is his cheeks, his lips were moist and slightly parted, and his gaze seemed ever-so-slightly out of focus. He was shifting around restlessly, almost fidgeting, which was odd since Trowa Barton did not fidget. Quatre wondered if he was cramping up already. "Are you okay? Are the knots too tight?"
"No, they're fine. Just...touch."
Reluctantly, Quatre did so. He brought his left hand up to his neck and ran his fingers down the side of it. The velvet was warm from his hands. If he closed his eyes, he could almost make himself imagine that his fingers were Trowa's lips, and he moaned very softly.
"How does that feel?" Trowa whispered.
"Almost like you."
"Oh, God, do you know how much I want to kiss you?"
The feeling was mutual, but when Quatre tried to lean in for a kiss, Trowa turned away. "No, don't. Not yet."
"Why not?"
"Later," Trowa said, his eyes full of sultry promise. "Go on, touch your neck. I know you like it."
Quatre rubbed the back of his fingers against the side of his neck, smiling. "I'd rather you did it, but this does feel nice."
"You can use both hands, you know."
Quatre drew the fingers of his right hand over his collarbones, touching so lightly that it was almost ticklish. The warm velvet was smooth as water on his skin.
"Pinch your nipples."
"Huh?"
"I thought you liked it when I did that."
"I do like it when you do it," Quatre said, feeling warmth growing in his cheeks, "but I can't do it to myself."
Trowa raised an eyebrow. "You can't? I know for sure your arms aren't broken."
"I'm physically able to, but I don't think I can--I-I mean..."
"Don't tell me you never masturbate."
Quatre wanted to kiss away the infuriating smirk on Trowa's lips, but that was probably against the rules of the game. "I do, I just don't do it with foreplay."
Perhaps it was just his imagination, but it seemed like Trowa's eyes flashed with devilish mischief. "Well, it's about time to change that, don't you think? Go on, pinch your nipples. You can pretend it's me doing it if you like."
He was feeling quite self-conscious, but Quatre didn't want to disappoint his lover -- besides, he was curious about what came next. He closed his eyes and pinched his left nipple, which sent a startling shock of sensation through his body. Somehow, he hadn't expected it to feel the same way.
He must have reacted somehow, because Trowa made a low sound of appreciation. "Yes, that's it. Nice and hard, just the way you like it."
Quatre smiled at the innuendo and drew circles around his aureoles with a velvet fingertip. "I still like it better when you do it."
"That's very flattering, but I'm afraid you're going to have to do all the work yourself this evening. I want to watch you make love to yourself."
So that's what he had meant when he said he didn't want to be touched. Quatre's hand moved from his chest to his belly, and he stroked the faint line of fine blond hair that ran down from his navel. It was a little ticklish. "You want me to do to myself what you usually do to me, is that right?" he asked, tracing the line over and over. Trowa's eyes seemed to be riveted to the motion.
"That's exactly right," Trowa said. He sounded distracted, but Quatre supposed that wasn't a bad thing.
"If you were touching me right now," Quatre said, "where would it be?"
The tip of Trowa's tongue slipped out of his mouth and he moistened his lips, which was something he only did if he was very, very nervous or very, very aroused. Judging by the clear, slick fluid beginning to seep from his erection, it was the latter. The desire to touch was an almost physical ache.
"I want you," Trowa said in a near-whisper, "to bring yourself off. But I want you to do it like I do, not like you do."
"But...you..."
"Oh, I'll be fine. I just want to watch."
That wasn't what Quatre had meant. He wasn't quite limber enough to suck his own cock, and even if he had been, he doubted he could have done it with Trowa looking on. The rules of engagement suggested that humping was not allowed, no matter how tempting Trowa's thighs looked spread out on the comforter. "Do you mean...my hands?" Quatre asked, not quite daring to bring his gloved palms lower than his navel.
Trowa's own hands kept clenching into fists, relaxing, then clenching again. The seams of the red scarf around his left wrist had begun to fray, and although he could have easily freed himself from his bonds with a few sharp tugs, he remained gloriously exposed. His cock, heavy and seeping, nearly throbbed against his tight abdomen in relentless want. "Your hand, just your hand," Trowa said, speaking a little faster than usual. "Use your left hand if you have to."
Quatre, being right-handed, normally masturbated with his dominant hand. He hadn't even thought about using his left before. He did so slowly, spreading his knees apart slightly so that Trowa could get a good view, and was gratified by the hazy look of lust Trowa was giving him.
"How does it feel?"
Quatre closed his eyes and ran his velvet-covered hand slowly up and down his shaft. A delicious shiver ran down his spine. "Different...good."
"Good? What does 'good' feel like?"
"Warm...smoother than your hand. It's not like...being inside you, but..." Quatre was having a very difficult time with his vocabulary this afternoon.
He opened his eyes when he felt Trowa move on the bed, but frankly, he was more interested in the new sensations he was feeling than in what his partner was up to. "Do it a little faster, Quatre."
"If I go faster, I won't last long."
"I know. You have that look on your face. I wish you could see it. You've got some color in your cheeks, your mouth is open just a little, and I can tell you're having a hard time keeping your eyes open. You can close them if you like."
Quatre did. He was breathing hard now. His scrotum felt tight, and flashes of sensation were streaking across the skin of his thighs and buttocks like tactile fireworks. The slow friction of velvet against his cock was just about more than he could bear. "Trowa..."
"Let go, Quatre. Come for me."
Something deep inside his body swelled and grew and then burst; Quatre cried out, tipping his head back, his left hand finally stalling on the oversensitive skin of his cock; his jaw clenched; his muscles twitched, spasmed, then slowly relaxed. Bliss spread through him like a balm. He sighed.
Sitting up was suddenly too much effort. He got his legs out from underneath him and stretched out on his side next to Trowa, surprised when he felt a pair of arms wrap around him. "You got loose?" he murmured against Trowa's shoulder.
Trowa nuzzled blond bangs aside and brushed his lips across Quatre's forehead. "I couldn't wait."
"Do you need me to...?" Quatre's hand moved towards Trowa's erection, only to encounter limp flesh and a wet splotch of semen drying on his belly. "Oh." He quickly pulled his hand away to avoid soiling the gloves. He carefully plucked at the gloves' tight fingertips before pulling them off and setting them down on the nightstand with reverence. He had grown rather fond of them.
"I told you you looked hot," Trowa said with a chuckle. He wiped his belly with the shredded remains of one of the scarves, but since silk is not a particularly absorbent material, he only succeeded in smearing it around. "Hm. I guess a shower would be in order."
"After a nap," Quatre said with a yawn. "That was wonderful, but I'm tired now."
"Sure," Trowa said, pulling him tighter in a brief hug. "The shower can wait."
"Velvet gloves," Quatre murmured sleepily, nuzzling closer to his lover. "You really are a genius, Trowa."
"It's all that circus training. I'm good at improvising with props. Go to sleep now," he said, "and maybe tomorrow..."
Quatre raised his head from its resting place on Trowa's shoulder. "And maybe tomorrow, what?"
Trowa grinned. "And maybe tomorrow, we can figure out a way to use that feather boa I picked up."
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