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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 3

By Raletha

After Quatre released him, Trowa slid from the edge of the chair to the floor and half-sprawled on the fireside rug panting. He leaned against the seat and pulled a handkerchief from his trouser pocket to wipe his chest and stomach before the fire dried both sweat and semen on his skin

He tilted his head back as Quatre scooted forward in the chair. The blond elf leaned over to merge their lips in a candy-cane flavoured upside-down kiss. Quatre hummed encouragement, to which Trowa replied by tangling both hands in Quatre's hair, pulling him down and deepening the kiss.

While Trowa was content with languid exploration, Quatre was more insistent, his kisses hungry for his unfed passions. His lips soon marched from Trowa's mouth to his chin, falling to his collarbone and slowing to proceed with ticklish licks and kisses down Trowa's breastbone.

Trowa ended up with a face full of holly-scented green velvet and white fluff until Quatre shifted his weight, placing his hands on the floor and straightening his legs. The new arrangement offered considerable opportunity Trowa discovered, with Quatre's crotch hovering but several inches above his upturned face.

Quatre's mouth reached his solar plexus and Trowa gave into temptation, scooting up a bit against the chair and reaching to tug Quatre's hips down. He nuzzled between his thighs, at the straining satin covering Quatre's aroused private parts.

Heavy and intoxicating was the scent of Quatre's lust, prompting Trowa to slide his hands back down, over the curve of Quatre's rear to his thighs, slipping beneath the taut garter straps and venturing back up, under the satin to his buttocks. He squeezed the smooth hemispheres and mouthed the plump sac of Quatre's testicles through the fabric.

Above him Quatre swayed, and his knees nearly buckled, but he managed to maintain his position straddling Trowa. The wet heat of Quatre's mouth finally reached Trowa's softening cock, and devoted itself to coaxing the blood back into the spent organ.

Almost immediately, Trowa felt his flesh stirring with fresh life. Quatre's mouth was even more seductive than his hands, lavishing such slick, mad pleasure between his legs. He moaned and redoubled his own efforts. His fingertips pried into the cleft of Quatre's ass, and he ran his tongue-tip between Quatre's skin and the leg-hole of his shorts, pressing as far as he could into the salty warmth to flick his tongue over whatever skin he could reach.

Trowa flinched when Quatre began sucking hard--nearly painfully so--but then suddenly ceased and pulled his head up. "Enough," he gasped. That was all the warning Trowa received before Quatre fell forward, away from him, to his knees.

With hasty fingers, Quatre began untying his work boots, jerking off them and his socks. For his part, Trowa took better advantage of Quatre's backside's convenient position over his waist. He found the hooks on the garter straps and one-by-one unfastened them from the stockings.

He lifted his hips from the floor when prompted by the hard tugging of his pant legs, and soon Quatre had stripped him of both trousers and underpants. Then Quatre scrambled to his feet, facing away while he yanked off his boots one at a time. He unceremoniously rolled his stockings down his legs and threw them in the vague direction of his desk.

Trowa relaxed against the chair and enjoyed the brief display, and when Quatre straightened and turned around, anticipation renewed the throbbing in his groin.

In the fading light of the winter afternoon, Quatre's eyes were doubly dilated--wide and dark--as he met Trowa's gaze. Breathing heavily and flushed with arousal, he ran a shaky hand through his hair, leaving his sweat damp locks tousled. "I can't believe we're doing this," he said, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

Trowa sat up and leaned forward to reach the bottom buttons of Quatre's jacket. He undid them slowly and asked, "Having second thoughts?"

Quatre shoos hes head and fished for something in his jacket's inner pocket. "Not at all." He removed a small plastic bottle and tossed it to the seat of their chair. "But I am feeling especially rebellious."

"So I'm not getting the usual treatment?" Trowa inquired seriously, shifting his fingers to the buttons of Quatre's shirt.

His deadpan delivery caused Quatre to pause for a moment, and then laugh brightly. "Well, I don't take my boots off for just anyone."

"And the rest?" Trowa asked. Quatre's shirt and jacket hung open so he moved his hands to the last significant barrier between them: those maddeningly tight little shorts. He didn't hurry, preferring to repay a little of Quatre's earlier teasing.

With his fingertips Trowa explored the shape of Quatre's cock beneath the stretchy green satin.

Quatre's breathing hastened, and he paused in shrugging off his jacket. "The...rest?"

A flush of heat rushed Trowa's skin at what his hands mapped: gloriously thick and a perfect length. Quatre could take him deeply, thoroughly, with complete abandon. He felt dizzy at the thought.

"Do you take these off?" he whispered in a voice gone hoarse, continuing to fondle Quatre through the fabric of the hot-pants. He slipped the pad of his thumb up the length of Quatre' erection and rubbed small, frictionless circles under the crown.

"Ah... Trowa..." Quatre's eyes slid shut, and he buried his hands in Trowa's hair.

"Yes? No?" Without waiting for an answer, Trowa pressed his open mouth over the rigid shape and exhaled. Quatre shivered and sighed. When Trowa began gently worrying the hard flesh with his lips, he was rewarded with a throaty moan.

"Yes... Wait--NO... What was the question?"

"Do you take these off for just any-?"

"Just take them off."

Even before he'd fully registered the command, Trowa hauled the flimsy shorts down Quatre's legs and came face to proverbial face with the instrument of his imminent pleasurable demise.

Truly perfect it was, in not just length and girth--dusky and delicately veined with a shallow curve toward Quatre's belly. Instinct took hold it seemed. Without missing a beat, Trowa gripped Quatre's hips and drew his beautiful cock between his lips.

He sucked hard, licked furiously, and hummed his pleasure to enhance Quatre's--until Quatre's cries turned to breathless whines, and, Quatre, fisting his hands in Trowa's hair, yanked his head back.

"Get up," Quatre panted. And then, almost as an afterthought, added with a pleasure-weakened smile, "Please."

Eager to oblige, Trowa did so and turned back to the chair. He kept one foot on the floor, and brought his other knee to the seat, bracing it against the arm. Immediately Quatre was close behind him, kissing the nape of his neck, reaching around to rub his nipples, and grinding his erection against his ass. "Hand me the lotion."

Trowa retrieved the bottle from the seat of the chair: 'Spring Holly Hand & Body Lotion' pronounced the label. He smiled and passed it back to Quatre. That innocent springtime scent would now hold entirely different connotations for him.

Quatre pulled away and Trowa heard the snap of the plastic cap. "Are you...?" Quatre began.

He left Trowa guessing as to the remainder of his query. "It's been a while," Trowa said, "but I'll be fine."

"All right." Cool and slippery, Quatre's fingers probed his entrance, sliding over and around, pressing firmly against his anus before intruding. Trowa deepened his breathing in defiance of the spike of sensation accompanying Quatre's fingers pushing into him and willed the discomfort to fade.

It seemed Quatre understood, for he was patient, gradually cajoling the tense muscles into cooperation and creating a heady, addictive pleasure. Sooner than he expected, Trowa was rocking against Quatre's hand and craving more. "I'm ready," he gasped.

Blunt and insistent, Quatre's cock replaced his fingers, seeking entrance. Trowa's body ached in one final moment of rebellion, and then abruptly yielded. With a hiss, Quatre caught his breath, tightened the grip of his hand on Trowa's hip, and pressed deeper, but with deliberate restraint.

Trowa choked on a moan and shuddered at the mind shattering friction of Quatre moving into him so slowly--stretching him wide and forcing his body into accommodation. He surrendered to the feeling, tightened his grip on the back of the chair, and closed his eyes.

It seemed an eternity of gasping and sweating--with his universe narrowed to that singular sensation of being penetrated--before Quatre's hips met his backside. Little tremours of rapture flooded Trowa's consciousness at the pressure of the heavy cock embedded in his gut.

Behind him, Quatre's breaths were erratic and laboured. "God...Trowa...you feel..." he mumbled and slowly withdrew. Trowa groaned at the lazy retreat.

Quatre's first few thrusts were tempered, almost too gentle. While Trowa appreciated a considerate lover, he didn't want to be coddled.

"Don't be-" he gritted out.

"What?" Quatre's lips caressed the top of his spine.

"-so polite."

Quatre chuckled breathlessly. "Patience," he countered, and paused in his movements. "I told you I wanted to fuck you," he murmured. "And I will."

With that, Quatre pulled out and drove back in harder.

The chair rocked back on its legs, and Trowa hastily threw up a hand to brace against the wall. But it wasn't hard enough. "Again," he grunted, arching his spine and pushing his hips back to meet the next impalement. Rough plaster dug into his palm.

Despite the encouragement, Quatre didn't speed or intensify his tempo. Each thrust he delivered discretely, to be savoured. The control Quatre exhibited couldn't hold out much longer, Trowa was certain. He needed a little more encouragement perhaps.

"Fuck me hard, Quatre," he pleaded. It had worked before. "I can take it."

"Trowa..." Quatre's voice was strained; his hands slipped from Trowa's hips to his ass.

"I want to take it," he whispered.

"You really want it?" Quatre's thumbs edged between his buttocks and spread them apart.

Trowa's breath halted at the naked desire in Quatre's voice; he nodded when his own voice failed him.

"You do, don't you." Quatre affirmed softly and strengthened his grip. After a final, pensive pause, he relented. He slammed his hips forward with an exhalation of profound relief. He didn't pause again.

And it was what Trowa had hoped. Each stroke of Quatre's perfect cock tore through him, from his toes to his scalp--fierce and electric. He whimpered in his growing delirium, begged and praised his lover, and moved his other hand to the wall.

It became a frenzied coupling--desperate and crazy. The sounds of their sweat-slick bodies striving and colliding, their incoherent language of pleasure filled the room. A brutal euphoria swept over Trowa and, merciless, Quatre drove into him over and over--ever harder, ever faster, ever deeper. Feeling blurred.

It became gluttonous: immoderate, indulgent, and decadent. Quatre mumbled curses and blessings, chanted Trowa's name, and cried out with abandon when he came.

And it was a moment of absolute blind rhapsody for Trowa. Quatre kept shoving into him until he'd shuddered and sobbed through his own peak.

"Holy fuck..." Quatre panted against his back. "Merry Christmas, Trowa." With a reluctant groan, he gingerly withdrew.

"Yeah," agreed Trowa, wincing as he unstuck his leg from the leather upholstery and peeled his hands from the wall.

tbc.
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North Pole Bureaucracy

North Pole Bureaucracy

Part 3