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The Smallest Details	By : Maureen Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 876 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Smallest Details
- 1
The Smallest Details

Pairings: 3x4

Rating:
NC-17

Warnings:

If you are at all squicked by the thought of FootFetish! Trowa, or
offended by the use of the dread "C" word (although it only appears
once,) turn back now...

Disclaimers:
They ain't mine, and I promise to put 'em back after I make 'em take a bath...

Blurb:
This is Anais Nin inspired (but I am in no way comparing myself, because
I'm just not that delusional...) So it's sort of introspective smut... hopefully
you'll find that the two blend well together. Alrighty then, enough stalling -
on with the warning type things...

But
first, special thanks to Kay's
Premium Beta Service (although if there are still boo-boos, it's All My Fault!!)
and to Dana for inspiring the
title. Hi Kay!! Hi Dana!!

Trowa
awoke earlier than usual that morning - Quatre's space beside him on the bed was
still warm and fragrant. He rolled into the shallow indentation, inhaling deeply
of his lover's scent. The smell of Quatre, mixed with lingering traces of the
musk of last night's love, conspired with the early morning sun trickling into
the room to erase all further thoughts of sleep. He was suddenly taken with an
almost painful need to see Quatre, to touch him, to hear him, to simply be next
to him. Sometimes he felt he would drown in his desperation to be close to the
blonde - to reassure himself of Quatre's existence - to make sure the last four
years of their life together had not been some sort of fantastic and perfect
dream. Indeed, the only true fear he had ever had was that of losing Quatre. Not
to another person, but rather to the vagaries of the mundane. Trowa was
painfully aware that only pure chance had brought them together - and he was
equally horrified at the notion that it could just as easily pull them apart.

Quatre
would find Trowa like this occasionally, and would hold him, or whisper softly
to him, or love him until the fear left and the gentle calm of their life
together returned. Wanting this sort of comfort now, he rose from the bed and
put on the loose cotton pants he had discarded the night before. With no
hesitation in his step Trowa quickly went to the room where he knew he'd find
Quatre. They were staying at one of their favorite retreats from the pressures,
peoples, and politics of everyday life - a small compound built on the edge of
an oasis. Every morning that they spent here, Quatre would rise early and take
his tea in the glass solarium, surrounded on one side by an endless sea of
rolling sand, and on the other by lush greenery. Quatre often told Trowa that
there was an indefinably mysterious attraction in the dichotomy - two extremes
of nature side-by-side. Secretly, Trowa believed that his lover subconsciously
identified with the landscape - for within him there were similar polarities.
Businessman and musician, politician and lover, competent adult and playful
child. And like the surrounding landscape, every bit of Quatre was beautiful -
not in spite of these differences, but because of them.

The
first sight of Quatre, sipping his tea quietly while enjoying the awakening
world around him, quelled much of Trowa's disquiet. He silently entered the
room, wanting nothing to disturb the peace and tranquility of the scene before
him - not even his own presence. Quatre was nestled in his favorite seat - an
ancient but well-padded wicker chair; a lazily steaming teapot was perched on
the small matching table to his left. As usual when they stayed here, Quatre has
eschewed his business attire and was instead dressed in flowing white cotton -
the simple pants and shirt topped by a voluminous deep blue vest. Even his
posture was relaxed - he sat with his legs crossed in the shape of a loose 4
instead of the knee-over-knee style preferred by polite society. He looked up as
Trowa approached, his expression drowsy and satisfied like a contented cat
bathing in the sun.

He
stood silently before Quatre for a moment, memorizing every detail of the scene
before him, secreting the memory away to draw on whenever he might feel the
need. The ease diffusing through Trowa's muscles fled, however, when his eyes
fell upon Quatre's shoes. This was not the first time this had happened to
Trowa. It was a frequent occurrence, in fact. Some small detail of Quatre would
leap out at him - a hand resting lightly on the knee, the tip of a clavicle
newly freed from the confines of tie and collar, a curl of hair nestled behind
the slope of an ear - and incite a sudden passion in Trowa. Never before had the
catalyst been the smaller man's feet, but these new shoes made Trowa fall to his
knees in expectant adoration. Even the sudden chill of the polished marble floor
through his thin pants was no distraction.

They
were sandals - almost feminine in their scantiness. A thin braid of leather
crossed Quatre's long toes, leaving not only the tips exposed, but also the
junctions between the slender digits and the foot. A similar braid stretched
from the midpoint of the arch, around the heel, and anchored on the opposite
side to hold the sole to Quatre's foot. But it was the tiny "Y's"
joining the toes that drew Trowa's attention, and with reverent care, he drew
close enough to dust a featherweight kiss over the top of Quatre's foot before
plunging his tongue into them.

"Trowa!"
Quatre started to speak, but was shushed by a sibilant 'shhh' against his skin.
The teacup and saucer he held chattered against each other as Trowa continued
the worship of toes with tongue.

Trowa
lingered over those alluring crevasses, darting his tongue deep within each
before turning to its neighbor - cycling back and forth from the smallest toe to
the largest. The smell of Quatre's favorite soap, both floral and smoky, coated
the blonde's skin. But the taste of the flesh under Trowa's mouth was uniquely
Quatre's own - cloves layered with stingingly sweet pineapple and a succulent
saltiness. He cupped the foot gently and brought it from Quatre's knee, angling
it so he could draw the exposed tips of the toes into his mouth one by one;
fingers teasing along arch and heel as he did so. Trowa flickered his tongue
rapidly over the rounded ends of Quatre's toes, and smiled smugly around them
when Quatre's inhalations became rapid and stuttery. Soon this ceased to please
Trowa, however, for he wanted more of Quatre in his mouth. He eased the sandal
away and greedily sucked Quatre's big toe into his mouth, fellating it with as
much skill and concentration as he had ever shown the blonde's beautiful cock.
His left hand continued to dust the curve of Quatre's instep, while his right
slipped into the loose pant cuff to cup the tensed calf that flexed convulsively
under his touch.

Quatre
moaned low and there was a clatter as the teacup was dropped to the table. Out
of the corner of his eye, Trowa could see his lover's slender musician's hands
clutch the arms of the chair. He was tempted, so tempted, to look up at Quatre's
face - to see the redness of arousal surely blooming on his fair cheeks, to
witness the storm of passion undoubtedly clouding his sea-green eyes. But Trowa
knew himself too well to allow that - to see Quatre in that way would burn away
any restraint Trowa possessed - and he would pull the smaller man to the floor
and take him with an almost violent abandon. For now he wanted to lavish his
attentions on Quatre. It was not important to receive any touch in return -
Trowa's pleasure came from the harsh intake of Quatre's breath, the trembling of
his flesh under hand, the growing tension in the line of his leg.

It
was often like this, for Trowa truly found Quatre's ecstasy more fulfilling than
his own. Quatre had given him so much, had made him feel alive in way he had
never dreamed possible, and asked for nothing in return. And truthfully, what
could Trowa hope to offer the richest man in the universe? Quatre wanted for
nothing that money could buy. But he desperately craved true love and real
affection - not the sycophantic toadying of people so blinded by his money that
they refused to see him as a man. Rather, these people treated him as some sort
of untouchable demi-god, and sent their worship and petitions from far away. And
Trowa knew Quatre's secret weakness - the blonde lived to be touched, stroked,
petted, and loved. Quatre's responsiveness was addictive as well - under Trowa's
hands and mouth he was transformed from an elegant and cultured young executive
into a wild creature of sensation. Trowa never tired of driving Quatre mindless
with pleasure, for at times, the lush spectacle of Quatre's desire was in itself
enough to bring Trowa over the edge of passion as well.

When
at last he felt he had teased every nerve in the delicate foot beyond Quatre's
capacity for patience, Trowa slid his hands slowly up the insides of the willowy
legs and slid himself smoothly into the space between them. Still not daring to
look at Quatre's face, he lowered his head instead to the straining ridge of
arousal threatening to burst through the thin cotton pants, and exhaled hotly
along the length. Quatre's voice took on a whining keen as Trowa continued this
exquisite torture, ghosting his lips over and over the same long area, pausing
now again to suck the salty-sweet evidence of his growing ardor away from the
dampening cotton. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Trowa paused for a moment to
collect himself and buried his nose deep within the hollow of Quatre's inner
thigh. He tried to steady his breathing there, but quivering flesh against his
cheek and soft cries filling the room only further incited him. A bit roughly,
frantically, he forced Quatre's hips up from the chair so he could free the
blonde of his pants, not caring as he heard the fabric tear.

The
newly freed shaft quivered and leaked profusely under his hungry eyes, but Trowa
wanted more. He slid a hand under each knee and brought them up to drape over
the padded arms of the chair. He took Quatre's hands and placed them where his
own had been, so Quatre was spread before him - a decadent offering to a
licentious god. Trowa felt his self-control slipping away and heard his own
rapid breathing underscore Quatre's small whimpers. Slowly, gripping the legs of
the chair tightly for restraint, Trowa leaned forward to bathe the spilled
excitement away from the velvety steel of Quatre's skin. As always, he found
himself drawn to the different textures of Quatre's flesh, loving how the skin
softened and became more delicate the nearer he came to the tip. His tongue
sampled the terrain with relish, and Trowa moved closer to suckle the ridged
scar left by circumcision that started in the cleft of the head and trailed
down. He flicked his tongue rapidly over this bit, as he knew Quatre liked, and
the attention was answered with a series of fluttery half-sobs.

Trowa
growled in return and dipped his head lower, wrapping one arm around Quatre's
back to bring him to the edge of the chair, and using the other hand to lightly
hold Quatre's scrotum out of his way. He took care not to use too firm a grip
there, for Quatre was so sensitive to these touches that just a few caresses
would bring him to completion. Thus Quatre was fully exposed to him, the small
pucker of flesh trembling expectantly under his gaze. He surged forward to cover
this with his mouth, the abruptness of his delving within tempered only by the
soft pliancy of his tongue. He kissed Quatre passionately, almost violently,
alternating the deep thrusts with careful circlings of the ring of flesh under
his mouth. Quatre's sobs became fuller and elongated as the ravishing continued,
punctuated occasionally by unintelligible pleadings and strangled repetitions of
Trowa's name. He did not cease as the crying strengthened, however. Trowa knew
well enough by now that the intensity of excitement often drove Quatre to
uncontrollable tears. His own soft murmurs of appreciation served to
counterpoint the delirious weeping when Quatre opened up beneath him, drawing
Trowa further in as he spread his legs even wider.

One
of Quatre's hands dropped from his knee and clutched at the back of Trowa's neck
in an attempt to draw him upward. His eyes tightly shut against the splendor of
Quatre's ardor, Trowa moved up and against him, pressing them together chest to
chest as he topped Quatre's mouth with his own and repeated the motions he had
performed below. Quatre had once confessed that he loved the taste of himself on
his lover's lips, and Trowa was only too happy to share the salt and sweat he
had gathered. The blonde's insistent arousal jumped against Trowa's abdomen,
punctuating the thrusting rhythm of their tongues. Trowa fisted his hand in the
sweat-dampened curls at the base of Quatre's skull to hold him steady as he
ravished his mouth, leaving no part of it unexplored in his attempt to devour
the persistent cries ringing out from their joined lips. As he continued to
gorge himself on Quatre's passion, Trowa found his hunger not abating but
growing, ravenous for the breathy urgings pouring in a quickening stream from
the mouth beneath his own.

With
a wretched groan, Trowa pulled away, no longer able to deny himself the sight of
Quatre. And as he knew it would, the highly erotic display of Quatre's flushed,
tear- and sweat-dampened face - his mouth hanging open and gasping desperately
for breath, his eyes darkened by lust and need - overpowered Trowa. The
kiss-bruised lips struggled to beg, to plead, to demand, but could only work
soundlessly as lust locked Quatre's throat and dammed the words striving to
escape. It was too much, all too much, and Trowa knew if there was to be a
joining, it would have to be now - Quatre was too far gone. His eyes had rolled
up to expose their whites, and he was shivering uncontrollably in Trowa's arms.
This was both a gift and a curse of his empathy - for Quatre was not only being
swept away by the flood of his own desire, but Trowa's as well. The effect was
exponential, and at times Quatre became lost in the sensations raging between
them. Past all niceties, Trowa ripped the thin shirt open and shoved it away
from Quatre's flushed chest. Lowering his head, Trowa brushed his lips down
Quatre's neck and across the top of his shoulder. He retraced his path with a
series of sharp, quick nips, and by the time he had returned to the hollow of
Quatre's jaw, the bottleneck of pleas had been freed and they rushed forth,
stumbling over one another in their haste to be heard. "Tro� please�
oh, please� Tro� wa. Now! Now� please now� I� You need.
Please�"

The
first time that Trowa had bitten Quatre hard enough during the act of love to
leave a mark, he was horrified for days after. He had begun to hate himself for
being able to cause Quatre any pain. He had not touched Quatre until the damning
bruise faded, and even after that had been restrained in their lovemaking, not
wanting to become overtaken enough to harm the blonde again. After a week of
being handled like the paper-thin shell of a robin's egg, Quatre confronted him.
With patient questioning and steady reassurances, Trowa had thickly confessed
his self-loathing at having hurt his smaller lover. Quatre then admitted to
enjoying tiny flashes of pain in the midst of his pleasure, told Trowa that he
wanted the nips and pinches, needed them as an anchor to reality - for without
them the combined force of both their passion was too intense, threatening to
overwhelm Quatre to his very core. He told Trowa that at times he was afraid of
it all going too far, being too much -that he feared one day not being able to
come back down from the heights their love transported them to - and pain served
as a lifeline back to the reality beyond their fervor.

With
no further preamble, Trowa took the lube he habitually carried from his pocket
before disposing of his pants. He coated himself with an overflowing handful and
smeared the remainder over Quatre. The blonde had remained relaxed from Trowa's
previous caresses, so with little resistance he was able to push deep within on
his first thrust. Quatre's head fell back to expose an enticing curve of neck
which Trowa immediately attacked. Holding the back of the chair to keep it
steady, Trowa remained buried deep within, grinding his hips circularly, slowly.
Quatre flexed rhythmically around him, the luscious moist heat grasping and
releasing Trowa in a steady cadence.

A
bit savagely, Trowa pulled almost completely out before lunging back deep within
Quatre, again and again and again. Their movements pulled Quatre from the chair
and down to Trowa's lap. Turning slightly, Trowa lowered Quatre to the smooth
floor and continued driving into him, the strength of his strokes increased by
the legs crossed over his buttocks and pressing him closer. Quatre's inner
contractions lost their tempo. Instead he constricted with increasing tightness
around Trowa. The building pressure ripped feral noises from Trowa's throat -
snarls echoed by Quatre's increasingly wild cries of pleasure. Dipping his head
close to Quatre's, Trowa rested his lips on the blonde's and spoke for the first
time that morning. "Quatre�" he sighed raggedly, and the walls that
he thought could not possibly become any tighter clamped down around him. His
climax raged through him with a paralyzing intensity, and he dimly felt Quatre
answering in kind as he slumped forward onto the smaller man's chest.

When
the shuddering and shivering in their passion-shocked muscles had eased, Quatre
smiled at him with a small laugh, "Good morning to you, too, love."
And Trowa gave silent thanks to whichever deity might be listening that he had
found this wonderful man to call home.
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The Smallest Details