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North Pole Bureaucracy	By : Raletha Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1400 -:- 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.

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North Pole Bureaucracy

Part 2

By Raletha

It took a few tries, and no small amount of murmured apologies and averted eyes, before Trowa had managed to settle himself not quite in Quatre's lap, but close enough Quatre assured, for whatever talent it was the Claus males possessed to operate.

Quatre wrapped one arm loosely about Trowa's waist. The other rested idly on his thigh. "Ready?" he asked.

"Yes," confirmed Trowa, though he didn't fully know for what precisely he was meant to be ready.

Quatre squirmed behind him a bit. "Comfortable enough?"

"I suppose." He didn't need that much blood in his brain, after all.

"Okay then. So what would you like to ask Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

"I'm not asking you?"

"No, I'm just serving as a proxy. Go ahead, ask Santa."

"I feel a little silly."

"You think I don't? Just ask. Remember we're pushing a deadline."

"All right. Fine." Trowa took breath, summoning up the contents of his list despite the persistent distraction of Quatre's warmth against his back. "I'd like to ask Santa for a new woolen cloak for my sister, Catherine."

"All right, go on."

"And a wooden sled with steel runners for my friend, Duo. He's always wanted one."

"Yes."

"The reindeer have been working hard lately, I'd like a large bag of fresh apples to give them. They're starting to turn their noses up at the old ones."

"Mmhm."

"The mayor of my hometown lost his velvet top hat last spring. He probably still needs a new one, so a velvet top hat in navy blue, size seven for the mayor."

"The mayor, you say?"

"Some catnip mice for my two cats back home, Max and Harry."

"Yes?"

"And...that's it." It wasn't that much, but they were things that had been most important when he'd been thinking about Christmas gifts: the things he couldn't afford or find himself. Trowa waited for some response or acknowledgement from Qua Th The fire snapped, and he heard Quatre take a deep breath and hold it for a few moments.

"Is that all?" he asked as he exhaled. His breath ruffled past the hair falling near Trowa's temple. Trowa caught a whiff of candy-cane peppermint.

"Yes."

"You're sure?" Quatre sounded disappointed.

"Yes," Trowa repeated.

"Hmm." Quatre shifted a little behind Trowa, pressing closer against his back. "I'm not so sure." The words caressed the side of Trowa's neck in an incorporeal kiss.

"Pardon me?" Trowa stared at Quatre's arm around his waist, watching as it slipped lower and caught the hem of his sweater, tugging the material up his torso so that Quatre's fingertips rested against bare skin. It was not an accidental maneuver.

"Trowa..." Quatre's voice dropped a register, sending a small thrill of amorphous hope to join the blood coalescing anew in Trowa's groin. "None of those things is for you...what do you want?"

A greater stimulation immediately overtook the thrill of Quatre's words alone--the firing of every nerve along his thigh as the slender fingers of Quatre's right hand traced a zigzag pattern up the inseam of his pants. There was no mistaking their destination, and Trowa fought to remain collected even as the maddening fingers skipped and danced over the heavy stitching, nearer, and nearer yet.

"All those things on your list were for others, Trowa."

Something in the way Quatre kept saying his name, it was like Quatre's lips caressed and tasted each syllable, sampling them, teasing them--deriving pleasure just from their vibration rolling from his tongue. It was playful; it was decadent. It was the most erotic thing Trowa had ever heard. He shivered and let his head list to the side, and it slipped beyond Trowa's mind to bend its will toward addressing the question: what did he want?

"Don't you want anything just for you?" Quatre pressed with words...and fingers.

All traces of Quatre's eccentric formality had vanished, replaced so suddenly by confidence and seduction. Trowa wondered which constituted more of an act, the uncomfortable bureaucrat, or the forward would-be lover.

"I-I can't think of anything I need," he stammered, and hoped Quatre intended to do more than tease him.

Quatre fingers tugged the leather free of his belt buckle and moved onto his trousers' button. "Not need," Quatre's lips moved against the side of his neck. "Want."

"What...I...want?" His zipper surrendered to Quatre's seeking fingers.

It was impossibly hot in Quatre's office. The fire roared, throwing out buffeting waves of heat. Another heat rose within Trowa, an urgent one. He swallowed hard, and managed to not betray himself further by rocking into Quatre's teasing caress--though there was little enough left to betray. He wouldn't, at the least, beg.

"I can feel it, Trowa." Quatre said, letting his hand rest motionless over Trowa's open fly. The slight weight of that contact summoned another wave of heat, aggravating the heaviness gathering between Trowa's legs.

Please, Trowa's mind whispered, but he stayed with his resolve, and kept the plea to himself. However, it didn't halt the tremor of pleasurable apprehension ascending his spine.

"It's my...gift...my family's gift," Quatre continued. "Sensing true desire--even seeing it sometimes in the minds of others. I know what you want."

Taking in a shuddering lungful of air, Trowa doubted it was an extrasensory perception that had allowed Quatre this particular insight.

And Trowa was helpless to divert Quatre's attention, for the elfin bureaucrat truly had discovered a deep weakness Trowa had harboured since coming to the North Pole to work. He'd been lonely.

He'd been missing his sister and the people in their village. He missed performing acrobatics and playing his flute for an audience. And even more, (and with more relevance to his current situation) he missed spending time with his sympathetic best friend, Duo.

Duo--the thought of whom brought with it memories of curious fumbling discovery and, later, more practiced pleasures. Desires, yes, he had plenty that had gone unfulfilled here. Quatre ruthlessly exploited the most significant. Or rather he had been exploiting it.

"Quatre...?" Why had he stopped?

"Ask me, Trowa."

"Please...?" Pleading wasn't really the same as begging, was it?

"Ask me now. What do you want from me?"

"Quatre, please," he swallowed hard. For pity's sake. "Touch me, please."

"You're sure?"

"Yes..." Screw decorum. "Damn it..." Trowa released the death grip he'd been maintaining on the chair's arms and shoved at the waistband of his pants, trying to push them down his hips. "I'm quite sure."

He quickly gave up on that awkward maneuver to instead strip off his sweater and turtleneck together in one pull over his head. He threw them on the floor (away from the vicinity of the fire), and leaned back against Quatre, panting. He put his hand over the one at his fly and pressed it down even as he pressed up with his hips, rubbing his cloth covered erection against Quatre's palm. It was good, but not nearly enough. "Please?"

The plush velvet and soft faux fur of Quatre's jacket felt sinful against his bare back and Quatre's hands sprang into motion again. One trailed up his chest, the other wriggled free from his grip, pushed down the elastic of his boxers, and dove into his crotch, skimming down his erection to cup his balls.

"Better?" Quatre murmured against his neck, gently fondling with both hands.

"Yeah."

"Good," said Quatre, and he hooked one stocking and boot clad leg over Trowa's thigh to tug his legs further apart. At the same time, one hand found a nipple and twisted; the other took his cock in a firm grip.

Trowa swore and squirmed against his tormenter.

"I don't know why," Quatre's words were a sultry draft across his shoulder, "but I thought you'd be more patient."

"Do you want me to be patient?" Trowa panted.

"You really want to know what I want?" Quatre squeezed and moved his hand in a short, slow, and entirely unsatisfying stroke. But despite the teasing, he sounded genuinely interested in hearing an answer.

"I admit, I'm curious."

"Really?"

"Yes," Trowa hissed. And though he ached with the need for more stimulation, he encouraged. "Tell me, Quatre."

"Hmm," Quatre pressed his nose and mouth into the junction of Trowa's shoulder and neck and mumbled something unintelligible.

"What?"

The soft-spoken words followed quickly, in a deluge of mild obscenity. "I want to make you come--hard, I want to hear all the noises you make, and feel your cock pulsing in my hand. And then--"

And then Quatre stopped talking.

Trowa groaned; what Quatre described was arguably imminent, but the anticipation, the way Quatre drew him out--he'd never imagined the pleasure of it. He wanted to hear the rest. "Then?" he prompted.

Against his back he felt Quatre's heart racing even through the cloth separating their bare skin.

"Then," Quatre purred and punctuated the succeeding words with sharp pulls of his hand. "Then, I want to turn you around in this chair and fuck you 'til you come again."

"Then do it," Trowa grunted, wrapping his fingers around Quatre's wrist in encouragement. "But for some reason..." He braced his feet flat against the floor, and took hold of a chair arm again with his free hand. "I thought you'd be more polite."

"Polite?" Quatre's hand on his cock slowed to a lazy rhythm--it was random, but enough that Trowa could feel a familiar tension building in his belly.

But then there was a sharp pain where Quatre's lips had been, and Trowa exclaimed in surprise. The arm across his chest tightened its hold, but the flash of distress faded quickly as Quatre replaced his teeth with a soothing caress of lips and tongue.

"My mistake..." mumbled Trowa.

"Trowa..." Quatre whispered, his lips sliding up Trowa's neck, ticklish and warm. Quatre's teeth found his ear, nipping his earlobe and nibbling the shell of his ear. Cold and hot goose bumps flared over every inch of his skin in response. Reflexively he jerked his head away, but Quatre pursued. The tip of his tongue replaced his teeth, even more infuriatingly titillating in its explorations. "I really do want you," he whispered. "Is that okay?"

"Yes..." Trowa slid his hand from Quatre's wrist to his hand, coaxing him to move a little faster, a little more evenly. "Do it."

"Let me." Quatre dislodged Trowa's hand from his own and flexed his fingers, reversing his hold on Trowa's cock. He tightened his grip, and pulled his hand up Trowa's length, drawing the foreskin up over the head, and then back down--up-down-up-down-up-down--with a quickly accelerating and sure hand.

Trowa's senses contracted to the sudden jolts of pleasure heaping up his groin--each successive one adding to and eclipsing its predecessor. "Fuck..." Trowa declared and tossed his head back against Quatre's shoulder, fumbling to maintain his stabilising hold on cha chair.

"Soon," panted Quatre, "but first..." He enhanced the work of his hand, swiveling his wrist and using his entire arm to jerk Trowa's cock faster. "This."

And This became all heat and sensation gathering into an impossible density of euphoria. Every muscle and nerve in his body screamed for completion and Quatre brought it--hard--just as he'd promised.

Trowa arched against Quatre and shouted as he came. Hot semen splattered his torso all the way up to his neck.

tbc.
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North Pole Bureaucracy

North Pole Bureaucracy

Part 2