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Perigee	By : Raletha Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1387 -:- 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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Perigee

by Raletha

Chapter 4

At some point Quatre stopped caring about Megan, about Duo, about the wretched past years of failed opportunity. Trowa had kissed him, and now, he sat on the edge of the bed with Trowa touching him.

"It's okay, I don't need my pyjamas," he told his friend who was unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt and had just inquired about the location of Quatre's night clothes.

"You always used to sleep in them," Trowa said, reaching now to unknot Quatre's tie.

"It's too hot and muggy." As much as the thought of Trowa undressing him appealed, Quatre wasn't quite so out of sorts that he needed Trowa mothering him. He tugged his shirt tails free of his pants and began unbuttoning his shirt. The slippery pearl buttons were stubborn little bastards though. He told them so.

Soon Trowa chuckled and batted Quatre's hands away. "See? You are cute when you're drunk."

"I don't want to be."

"What? Drunk?"

"No, not that, and I told you I'm not drunk. I don't want to be cute. I'd rather be..." Quatre shrugged and fell back from his friend to lie on the bed, though his legs remained draped over the side, and his feet on the floor. The air stirred by the ceiling fan felt wonderfully cool across his bared chest. He closed his eyes and whispered, "I'd rather be sexy. Especially to you."

A long pause ensued wherein Quatre hoped for some acknowledgement from Trowa. Instead he felt his feet lifted from the floor, one at a time, and his shoes and socks pulled off. "Don't say things like that if you don't mean them."

"I do mean it."

"Maybe right now. But I'm not sure it's not the champagne talking."

Quatre huffed and sat back up. Trowa didn't meet his eyes. "Fine," he said. "My pyjamas are under my pillow."

Quatre woke thirsty. A glance at the digital clock's red numbers confirmed the late—or early—hour. Just after three in the morning. His mouth tasted of stale champagne and toothpaste, and he needed a glass of water, but other than that, his head felt clear. Nothing spun in his peripheral vision when he sat and got out of bed.

Sudden light on the bright surfaces of the bathroom caused him to squint and grimace. He filled a glass quickly, drank it all, and filled it a second time before shutting the lights off again and returning to the bedroom.

Setting the glass down carefully so as to avoid disturbing Trowa, he sat back on the bed, cross-legged. The night here was utterly still and silent—even the insects had fallen quiet. It reminded him of the desert, except that the air held too much warmth and moisture at this small hour.

He glanced over at his friend, expecting Trowa to be asleep. He nearly jumped when he noticed the glitter of Trowa's open eyes in the dark. "Did I wake you?"

"No."

"Good." Quatre smiled though there wasn't enough ambient light to illuminate his expression clearly.

"Are you sober?" Trowa spoke quietly, as if he didn't want to wake the night.

Quatre matched his serious tone. "Am I cute?"

"No, not so much now."

"Then I'm sober."

"Good." Trowa's dark shape moved with a rustle of bedclothes. Closer now, Trowa sat up against his pillows. "Did you mean it?" The hope in Trowa's question was unmistakable.

"I did."

The darkness grew heavy as time stretched between them. Quatre lay back down, and waited for Trowa to say or do something.

When Trowa spoke again, it was in a scarce whisper. "I don't want to make love to you now and wake up later—in a few days, or a few months—to find you gone, or wake up to find your wedding pictures plastered all over the latest gossip rags."

Quatre shook his head against his pillow and sighed. "If that were even possible, Trowa, I wouldn't be here with you now. I wouldn't do that to you." He laughed without humour. "I wouldn't even do that to myself."

"Why didn't you tell me how you felt sooner?"

"I was too scared, of too many things. I wanted to, but it didn't seem like you were interested in pursuing anything."

"You could have just asked me."

Of course that had always been an obvious solution, but some questions were never asked because their answers were feared. "Well, I'm asking now."

"What's the question, Quatre?"

Such a simple, small question it was: more of a formality than anything else. It was silly to hesitate, but Quatre's first few attempts at speech lacked air. Trowa waited patiently, silently.

Finally, Quatre took a slow, deep breath and closed his eyes. "Do you still want me?"

Long fingers wrapped about Quatre's wrist, drawing it to Trowa's lips. He turned Quatre's hand, straightened its fingers, and pressed a kiss to its palm. "Can't you tell?"

That simple touch of lips and breath, its effect was immediate and electric. Quatre's whole body thrilled at it, but his sense of Trowa was no clearer than it had been. He panted to catch his breath, though his heart still raced in his chest. "Not any more," he admitted.

"Ah," said Trowa, and Quatre's arm was tugged. He leaned close as his friend guided his hand lower, under the sheet that covered Trowa from the waist down. Their eyes locked in the dark, and suddenly Quatre found his hand pressed against heated steel. "Can you tell now?" was Trowa's murmured query.

"Yes," Quatre breathed and moved his hand a little over the rigid shape of Trowa's desire. Although fabric barred him from a more thorough exploration, he pulled his fingertips over the heavy softness below the stiff length, and then curled his fingers around Trowa's erection relishing the solid reality of that contact. Trowa made a soft sound of approval, and squeezed Quatre's wrist in encouragement.

But it was too dark. Quatre wanted to do more than just touch and piece together shadowed movements in the gloom. "Wait," he said, pulling his hand away and out of Trowa's grip. "If we're going to do this, I want to be able to see you."

Trowa answered by leaning away and clicked on his bedside lamp. Soft yellow light washed over the bed and its occupants. Sleep rumpled and chaotic, Trowa's hair drew Quatre's attention first, but then his gaze slid to the green eyes, blinking rapidly to adjust to the light. For the first time, Quatre felt it permissible to let himself openly admire Trowa, dressed in a too-small grey t-shirt and blue striped boxer shorts. The strip of muscled abdomen and the tops of slender thighs not hidden beneath either t-shirt or sheet tempted Quatre to return his hands to Trowa's body immediately, but he knew they needed more preparation than illumination.

Besides, the sight of Trowa, disheveled and aroused deserved comment. "You're cute when you're turned on."

"You'd better be talking to the lamp," Trowa rejoined seriously, but the corners of his lips twitched, belying his amusement.

Quatre laughed and rolled to his stomach, scooting over to reach his own bedside table. One thing his rampant daydreams had done was ensure he prepared for this eventuality. He jerked out the small drawer, and there, next to the ubiquitous Gideon Bible, he snatched up the less common tube of lubricant.

And nearly dropped it when Trowa's hands closed over the waistband of his pyjama bottoms to haul them down his legs and off with none of the patience Trowa had shown the removal of his clothes earlier.

"You planned for this?" came Trowa's voice behind him, its usual smooth cadence roughened by arousal. "You have no idea how... much cuter that makes me feel." The words wafted humid across the bare flesh of Quatre's rear, followed by a gentle bite and soothing kiss.

The only reply Quatre managed was a whimpered grunt at the hand which slid beneath his body to take possession of his erection. Fresh heat throbbed to his groin in response as Trowa, without releasing his aching shaft, prompted him to bend his knees and lift his backside off the bed.

Any residual thoughts of leisurely foreplay met their destruction in the fierce blaze of desire that tore through Quatre's body. Maybe this wasn't how he'd imagined it would be, but this was infinitely better than his most torrid fantasy: this was real. He braced himself against the corner of the nightstand with one hand and buried his face in the bunched up bedding beneath his chest. In his other hand he still gripped the lubricant.

A tentative lick tickled the base of his spine and slid a short distance between his buttocks before Trowa paused and asked, "Am I going too fast?"

Quatre shook his head no and lifted it to take a breath, one which turned rapidly to a shaky, pleasured moan when Trowa's tongue returned to him slick, hot, and maddeningly agile. The warm, tight grip on his cock moved in short, sharp strokes, while the fingers of Trowa's other hand moved to spread open the cleft of his rear, better exposing him to the workings of that eager tongue.

Trowa released his shaft so both hands could hold his buttocks apart and his hips immobile. Hot fluid pleasure danced around his anus, trickled down to his testicles, and then oozed back up to submerge itself in his body—to take its time in a long, languid tasting of him.

A fierce pressure mounted in his loins, raging its demands for relief along every nerve in Quatre's quivering body. He was too hot, couldn't breathe, wanted more of the hands and mouth tormenting him, wanted them to drive him beyond sanity to a different kind of clarity.

Trowa's mouth retreated, and Quatre let out a surprised yelp when he was dragged backwards to the middle of the bed. "Turn over," Trowa said from behind and above him. "I want to see you too."

Breathless, he complied and opened his eyes to see Trowa return his shaky smile. He watched, his gaze greedy, as Trowa moved quickly to strip off his boxers and t-shirt, revealing his coveted acrobat's physique. Quatre followed suit, pulling his pyjama top over his head without bothering to unbutton it.

"Yes, very sexy," Trowa purred, and before Quatre had fully disentangled his arms from his sleeves, he was subjected to another sensory assault. Straddling Quatre's legs, Trowa lowered his head to suck Quatre's cock between his lips.

A surprising intensity of sensation seized him: liquid heat and suction—all focused at the apex of his desire. No amount of imagining had prepared him for the perfect bliss of Trowa's mouth encompassing him in this dizzying pleasure. Dimly he was aware of Trowa prying the tightly held tube from his hand. He was more aware when a hand prompted him to spread and bend his legs.

He hadn't thought anything could surpass the glorious ministry of Trowa's lips, tongue, and throat until a slippery finger dipped beneath his testicles to circle his anus. It had an amplifying effect; an uncontrolled tremor rippled through his thighs and he nearly choked on the air he breathed.

When the digit eased inside, he shouted and sobbed. Any vestiges of control he held over his body vanished in the wake of the new pressure inside him—focused and resolute, it coupled with the rhapsody of Trowa's mouth and drove him to a single, inescapable conclusion.

"Tro... OH!" he cried, the strength of his orgasm forcing him half upright to clutch at the bed linens with spasming fists.

Arms wrapped about his waist, and Trowa released his cock, pulling Quatre up to a seated position, while laying a series of breathless kisses up his torso until their lips met. Quatre's mind spun, vaguely bemused that this was only their second kiss, wondering at the heady taste of sex that clung to Trowa's lips, and realising that his friend tasted of him.

Their limbs tangled and untangled in several trials of an ideal arrangement, which ended with Trowa on his back beneath Quatre's spread legs. Already, Quatre found his body recovering; he lowered himself for another kiss, slow and exploratory, as if to memorise the textures and tastes of his new lover's kisses. From Trowa's mouth down his neck Quatre's lips traveled, and he scooted back until he felt the head of Trowa's erection bump and slide against his backside. Though he'd never done this before, all trepidation vanished as he reached behind himself to take that stiff cock in hand and guided it to his entrance. Everything felt right, and Trowa had prepared him well.

Nevertheless, he caught his breath as he pressed back experimentally, and his body began to yield to its hopeful intruder. Lifting his head from the kiss he studied Trowa's face, looking for signs he was doing it right. Trowa laid trembling hands on his thighs, his features a portrait of euphoric anticipation, with dark eyes and swollen lips. "Quatre..." he murmured.

Making sure his breathing remained slow and even, and his body relaxed, Quatre straightened to let gravity aid him in the process of taking in Trowa's length. His awareness constricted to the invading thickness, stretching him impossibly, driving inch by heated inch deep into his gut. By the time he'd settled, allowing his weight to shift a little from his knees to his rear, he was sweating, short of breath, and afraid to move immediately.

His recovering erection had flagged, but as his body began to better relax into its new task, he felt his flesh stirring again. Trowa, for his part, had remained passive, contributing only the occasional reassuring pressure of a hand, or a whispered encouragement. But now, Quatre could see in Trowa's face the change their joining had wrought. None of his usual placid expression was present. Rather, his eyelids drooped, shading the darkened green irises, while his brow creased and jaw clenched in concentration. His breath came fast through his nose, and his pale complexion flushed bright with arousal.

"Please..." Trowa gritted out, and slid his hands to Quatre's hips, tugging them forward in a suggestion for movement. So Quatre moved.

He cried out at the pressure that blossomed within him and, bracing his hands on Trowa's forearms, trusted his partner's to guide his movements—starting with a gentle rocking of his hips forward and backward.

Once they were moving together easily, Trowa mumbled, "That's... ah, that's good." His hands applied an upward suggestion, so Quatre adapted his rhythm to lift his hips a little when he swayed forward and to drop down when he pushed back.

The addition of friction to the mix made his vision blur, so he increased his pace, letting the pleasure build within him as it would. Trowa's panting breaths had changed to soft moans, and his fingers tightened their grip. Soon Quatre cared less about the actual mechanics of what he was doing and simply allowed sensation to guide him, swiveling his hips from side to side, or jerking them against Trowa a little harder. Each variation pulled different tensions from Trowa's body—and different sounds of pleasure. It was hard to know what was best, and since it all tasted like different flavours of incredible to him, Quatre kept playing.

But Trowa was less patient. He sat up suddenly and rolled them over so that Quatre was pinned beneath him. "You're okay?" Trowa panted, bringing his knees beneath him. He leaned forward, hooking his elbows under Quatre's legs to pull Quatre's hips up and curve his spine off the bed.

"Oh... yes," Quatre hissed, and then his senses shattered. It didn't seem possible that Trowa could have been any deeper inside him or stroked him more ecstatically, but as his lover began to move, pulling out and driving back in with long, powerful thrusts Quatre abandoned any attempt at comprehending the rapture ravishing his body.

Faster Trowa drove into him, each searing stroke sending shockwaves through his entire being, and Quatre spiraled further into delirium. A stray thought anchored in his mind: this was being fucked—deeply, deliciously, decadently.

Trowa's body strove against his, hot and slick with sweat. Quatre reveled in the hardness of that body, in the strength and grace it possessed that was so uniquely Trowa's. Trowa bent near, his lips dragged against Quatre's cheek, breathing harshly as his tongue flicked out touch his earlobe. "Can you come... like this?" Trowa asked. "Is it enough?" He gasped out each syllable between thrusts. "I can touch you."

The ensuing eruption of pleasure within Quatre rendered Trowa's question irrelevant. It was like the words triggered it: a perfect cascade of sensation that started as soon as Quatre opened his mouth to reply. "I d- oh ooh... Oh!"

He barely heard Trowa's own whimpered completion. "God... Cat..."

Blinking and gasping for oxygen, Quatre trembled as Trowa shifted above him, letting Quatre's legs slide back down to the bed but not withdrawing completely from his body. A hand glided across his belly, through the hot fluid of his release, spreading it over his stomach and chest in a soothing, lazy caress. Slick fingertips found a nipple and lingered to toy with the tender nub.

Quatre hummed his contentment; his eyes finally managed to focus and found his lover's face hovering above him. Though his cheeks were still flushed, Trowa's expression was serene with features relaxed and lips curved by a shallow smile of satisfaction.

"Comfortable enough?" he asked.

"For now." Quatre grinned. "But I'm going to need a shower before we do it again."

"It's a good thing the shower's big enough for two."

"I don't think I'll be able to manage on my own."

They didn't speak for a time. It was enough to simply lie together intertwined and lax, adjusting to the reality of their situation with wondering touches and slow kisses. Eventually though, Trowa's smile waned, and his expression grew more serious. "Quatre-?"

But Quatre wasn't yet ready for whatever Trowa was going to ask him. "Shh," he said and reached up to pull his old friend and new lover down for another kiss. They needed to talk about this new phase of their relationship soon, but for now, he just wanted to make up for lost time.

Somewhere, later that morning, entangled with Trowa and drifting in post-coital bliss, Quatre didn't find it; it found him. A new sense of Trowa, diffuse and warm, permeated his mind. It wasn't as strong as the old feeling, but it was a start.

Epilogue

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Perigee

Perigee

Chapter 4