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Sky to Gold	By : BlackberryPatch Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male > Treize/Zechs Views: 3800 -:- 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-One
- 2-Two
- 3-Three
- 4-Four
- 5-Five
- 6-Six
- 1
- 2
18/05/31. Punctuation reformatted.

Disclaimer/Note: This is what I like to call metafanfiction. It's fanfiction about fanfiction. It bears little or no actual resemblance to a show called Gundam Wing (which, by the way, I don't own)- it just steals the names of people in it.

WARNINGS: yaoi/lemon, slavery, references to past torture, squicky villains, obligatory dubcon because of slave status, and identity porn because that's just how I roll apparently.

"Sky to Gold"
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1

Looking back on that day, Treize wasn't sure why he did it. Maybe it was because Bucephalus was feeling his oats, and the feeling transferred to his rider, making him want to make a nuisance of himself. Or maybe it was those eyes, like ice, that never asked for help but couldn't help begging for it. One thing for sure, Treize had never been one to stand idly by and watch a work of art be vandalized.

He'd first seen those eyes earlier in the afternoon. Been looked over by them, sized up, judged, and passed over. That had been at the market; Treize was putting in the order Catherine had requested with the butcher, and glanced up to meet those icy depths. Hidden by a hooded cloak, eyes and a slender aristocratic face were almost all he could see of the stranger, and he was intrigued. But there was still work to do, no matter how rich you were, and as he returned to it, things happened... The owner of those eyes slipped away.
But Treize saw him again, on the street in front of the stable. Just returning to an impatient Bucephalus, Treize had glanced under the stallion's arched neck to catch a glimpse of familiar eyes as the man turned away from him and continued walking down the street. But Treize had seen something else in that quick look- the man wore a metal band around his throat. He was a slave. Loosing a good portion of his interest, Treize turned his attention back to Bucephalus. Which was exactly what the stallion wanted.
"You great bloody show off," Treize murmured as he pulled himself up into the saddle of the prancing horse. Bucephalus snorted. Shaking his head, the stallion turned it resolutely for home and started off at a good clip. Or tried to. Treize pulled him back so suddenly the horse reared. "No you don't." He forced the horse's head down. "No one says where we're going and how fast except for me," he said savagely, knowing that while the words meant nothing to the horse the tone carried weight. Bucephalus flicked his ears back, properly chastised; for now at any rate.
As they started at a more sedate pace, something caught Treize's attention. A commotion, in front of Sally's shop, that seemed to center around two official looking types and a mysterious cloaked stranger. A familiar mysterious cloaked stranger... And suddenly he was shoved against the wall and the cloak fell away and hair like spun gold tumbled over the slave's shoulders.
Now, Treize would be the first to admit that if something wanted to capture his attention it had a much better chance if it looked like it would make money- and gold was the heart's blood of money. So was it any wonder it was his favorite color? He halted Bucephalus at the back edge of the crowd that had gathered.
"You thieving little sneak! You're a runaway too aren't you?" One of the official types was yelling at the slave, never having heard of the notion of keeping a low profile. "Who's your master?" he demanded, in such a tone that anyone in the town could have heard him.
The slave's expression was hard. Icy. Like his eyes... He made no answer to the question. He would answer none of their questions, Treize knew, speak not a word to them. Because whatever they did to him, going back would be worse- he could read it in the ice.
A loud crack echoed through a sudden lull of silence. The official's hand drew back again, and the slave's head turned back to regard the man. "Answer me," the official demanded, and this time instead of slapping the slave he administered a kick to the stomach. The slave doubled over, falling to the ground. The second official joined the first one; they took turns kicking and demanding information.
Bucephalus gave a muted scream of protest, and it was only then that Treize realized that he held the reins in tightly and also had his heels pressed into the stallion's sides. He relaxed immediately, looking away from the tableau, but he could still hear. Bucephalus snorted in relief when his master stopped giving him conflicting messages, and that was the last straw for Treize. Turning the horse, he sent him into the crowd straight toward the officials and their prey. People scrambled out of the stallion's way but the horse never stepped on anyone, taking great care where he placed his feet.
"There you are!" Treize's voice rang out over the murmuring of the crowd but the official types barely turned to acknowledge him, taking too much enjoyment from their current activities. He nudged Bucephalus forward; the stallion shouldered one of the officials to the side and shoved the other with his nose. The slave lay on the ground, the horse between him and his two tormentors. Cautiously, he looked up, blood running down his face and into his golden hair. "There you are," Treize repeated, speaking to the slave, not even glancing at the two official types. "I've been looking everywhere. Come along, we're going to be late." The slave stared at him dazedly for a moment, unsure who he was or what he wanted, but soon comprehension dawned. He scrambled to his feet and came forward to touch Bucephalus' saddle.
"Yes master," he said softly, his head bowed.
"Hey now," one of the officials protested.
Treize fixed him with an icy glare of his own. "Yes?"
Not one to heed warnings, in voice or manner, the official plunged on. "He's not yours," he protested.
"Oh?" Treize's tone was mocking, but Trieze felt the slave standing beside Bucephalus wrap his hands around Treize's ankle, gripping at the stirrup. Please, those hands asked. "He's not is he? Then whose is he?" When the official made no immediate reply, Treize continued. "I though so. Come along," he said to the slave beside him as he turned Bucephalus toward the path leading out of town and urged the horse into a fast walk that soon broke into a trot. The slave struggled to keep up, but Treize daren't stop for him yet. He couldn't show any concern for the man in view of those cretins, and he wanted to get out of their view as soon as possible. Before they thought to stop him and question him further. Treize didn't have a story worked out; lying wasn't one of his fortes. Usually his cool glare served him well enough that lying didn't become a necessity.
Once they rounded a curve in the trail, Treize halted Bucephalus and pulled the stallion over to the side of the trail, off among the trees. Halting the horse abruptly, he slid down from his back. The slave collapsed panting at Treize's feet.
"Who is your master?" Treize asked, his voice firm.
The slave looked up at him. "You are, master," he replied without a pause.
"Very funny. We both know that's not true. If I'm going to be stealing, I like to know who from."
Treize could feel the slave's eyes scanning over his face, looking for something. "Dermail," he said finally, then bowed his head to Treize. "My lord."
Treize frowned. Duke Dermail was not a man one would wish to anger. He let his eyes travel over the man kneeling before him. "Alright," he said finally, not quite sure what he had just decided. He turned back to Bucephalus and swung into the saddle. "Come on," he said to the slave, offering his hand to pull the man up behind him. The slave regarded him with surprise for a moment, but hastened to obey his new master. He placed his hand in Treize's and Treize pulled the other man up behind him. Bucephalus snorted at the extra weight, but Treize knew he was up to it. He patted the stallion's neck and pointed him toward home.

--

Once he arrived home, things only got more complicated. The slave refused to leave his side. Treize knew he could order the man to do so, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not until he learned more about this man who was, he was sure, going to disappear as soon as he got the chance. Eventually he handed Bucephalus over to a groom to be taken care of, though he usually saw to the horse himself, waved off all of Otto's questions to be answered later and locked himself and the slave in his rooms.

Under the cloak, the slave wore only a ragged pair of pants and the silver colored band around his throat that marked his status. His sides and chest were purple with bruises, and Treize could only imagine his legs were as bad. The slave was sitting precariously on the edge of a couch in Treize's study as if he was afraid he would break it if he sat on it any more forcefully; or as if he felt he would be ordered to seat his filthy self on the floor. Treize watched him out of the corner of his eye as he prepared a tray with a basin of water, a cloth, and a few other necessities. Those cuts needed to be cleaned. He stood in front of the seated man and placed the tray on a small table next to him. The slave's face was cast down, looking at the floor, but Treize could feel those eyes watching him carefully. He knelt in front of the slave and took his chin gently in his hands. "You should see a doctor," he mumbled as he concentrated on washing a cut on the man's cheek.
He didn't miss the flicker of fear in the slave's eyes. "No," he said firmly. And as an afterthought, "Please no, Master. I am alright."
Treize snorted his disagreement with that statement, but privately he agreed that there was no way he could call a doctor. Not without having a lot of explaining to do. And any doctor would probably recognize the slave, know his true owner, know his name...
"What's your name?" The slave's eyes darted to meet Treize's, then sank to the floor again in sudden remembrance of his position. "You must have one."
The slave's mouth opened, as if he wanted to say something, but what he said was, "Zechs." Treize couldn't tell if that was what the man had been planning on saying or not.
"Zechs? How interesting." He dabbed alcohol on the cleaned cuts decorating the man's face to disinfect them. "Mine is Treize." Zechs hissed softly in pain as the alcohol worked on the cuts. Treize poured some into a glass and pressed it into the slave's hands; glancing quickly at his master, the slave drank it in one go. "Now," Treize said conversationally, "this is likely to be unpleasant, especially since you won't have a doctor, but it is necessary to determine whether you have broken anything. Lie back," he said, indicating the rest of the couch. Zechs eyed him again, but obeyed without a word.
Treize had decided, at one point in his younger years, that he wanted to be a doctor. While the career had never panned out, thank god, he vaguely remembered some of what he had learned. Zechs obviously thought something else was going to happen, at the way he stiffened when Treize's fingers touched his collarbone. Treize tried to ignore him, which proved harder than he would have liked, and methodically probed the man's chest for broken bones. Thankfully, there didn't appear to be any.
"You have a couple fractured ribs," he informed his patient, "which is pretty good considering. It'll hurt for awhile, but if you rest they'll heal quickly." He frowned in concentration and probed the other man's wrist again. "And I'm worried about this. It's not quite a fracture, but I think I'll wrap it just to be safe." He laughed to himself. "Fifteen years... Who'd have though I remembered this much?" He was talking to himself, but he could feel Zechs' eyes on him and his ears drinking in every word. Truthfully, Treize was deliberately playing up his absentminded act, trying to put the other man at ease; reassuring him that this was a doctor's examination and nothing else. Not that Treize would mind something else... But he didn't rape injured young men. Even if they were beautiful. "Does it hurt anywhere else? Like your ankle maybe?" He hadn't paid much attention to Zechs' legs; obviously the man had been able to run after the horse and walk through the house, things he couldn't have done with a broken leg, no matter how much he wanted to. But if he'd fractured something in his ankle, he could have shunted that pain aside and kept using the appendage. But now Treize slid his hands down a felt the ankles in question, probing them for fractures. He didn't feel any and Zechs showed no pain at his actions; his skin was cool and soft to the touch. Treize liked the way it felt. But he pushed those thoughts aside. "Alright, now sit up and let's bind those ribs." Zechs obeyed, but sitting up brought his face close to Treize's; irresistibly close. Treize, however, had gotten good as resisting the irresistible. He wrapped a length of cloth around the man's ribs, then turned his attention to the wrist, wrapping it tightly as well.
"There." He sat back and observed his patient- his possession. Zechs' eyes were half closed, as if in weariness- after the day he'd had, he had every right to be weary. Treize made to slip away and leave him to his rest, but something brushed against his hand. He looked down, then up at the owner of the hand that held his.
"Don't..." Zechs licked his lips and turned his head away. "Don't leave me," he whispered, "please? I... Master..." He withdrew his hand, and Treize felt compelled to reached out his own and brush it along the man's face. Zechs responded beautifully, arching into the touch and gasping in sudden pleasure. His eyes met Treize's, and he turned and kissed the hand that rested on his cheek, then reached out his tongue and traced the contour of Treize's palm.
Treize smirked detachedly, trying to cover how much that simple touch attracted him. "Well, if you don't want to sleep on the couch," he suggested lightly, "maybe you'll find my bed more comfortable?" He rose from his seat on the edge of the couch and turned, opening a door and going into the next room. His suite consisted of several rooms, but the study was right next to the bedroom. He turned around to shut the door behind him, not really expecting Zechs to have followed him.
But he had.
He stood in the doorway, the late afternoon light from the windows that ran the length of one wall of the study fell over him from behind and cast his face in shadow. He stepped forward and reached out an arm hesitantly to Treize. His fingers touched the older man's shoulder and trailed their way lightly down across his chest to his abdomen. His touch was tentative, as if he expected Treize to stop him. But Treize stood, unmoving. A second hand joined the first one and Zechs took a step closer as his fingers nimbly unbuttoned the shirt and pushed it back to reveal the man's chest. He slipped his fingers under the cloth, stroking Treize's bare skin. He turned his head slightly, as if asking Treize if he wanted to kiss him. Treize narrowed his eyes slightly; he wasn't sure what game the slave was playing, but until he did he wasn't going to do anything. Rebuffed by Treize's apparent refusal, Zechs turned his attention elsewhere. He knelt, nuzzling against the bare stomach before him, and worked his hands lower, unfastening the man's pants and sliding them down over his hips.
Treize had the game figured now. He reached his hands forward and took Zechs' face between them and forced the man to stand up. Zechs regarded him wildly for a moment, as if wondering what he had done wrong, but Treize ignored his expression and kissed him.
Zechs' mouth opened willingly to him, submissively, as if the slave was saying, Well if this is what you wanted, why didn't you say so? Treize frowned mentally. There was something going on here, something under the surface, but he was fast approaching the point where he didn't care. Zechs was responding to the kiss as much as he had to the simple touch Treize had given his earlier. He pressed against his master, shivering and moaning when Treize touched him. Treize used his state of distraction to turn them around and then move forward a few paces. Suddenly he broke off the kiss and pushed Zechs down on the bed. The slave didn't look too surprised at his new position; either he had been a lot more aware of his surroundings and Treize's maneuvering than he had let on, or he was far more experienced in this area than Treize had thought. Treize shed his clothing, watching from the corner of his eye as Zechs paused a moment then followed suit. When he turned back to face the bed Zechs lay there in the most alluring position possible. One leg lay stretched out, the other held up bent at the knee so that his partially hardened length fell over one leg in a beautiful display. His abdomen would have been showing off well defined muscle if it hadn't been wrapped in white cloth, but Treize remembered what was there from when he had seen it before. The look on his face would have called even the most chaste to ravish him in moments; his face was tilted down so that he looked up at Treize through his long eyelashes and his cheeks were flushed and his lips slightly parted. And his hair... That glorious hair tumbled over his shoulders in a brilliant mess, some falling down across his chest, some around his arms where he propped himself up on his elbows, and the rest hidden tantalizingly down his back. Taking it all in, Treize thought that at some point he should really analyze why Zechs seemed so determined to seduce him tonight. But at the moment, he really couldn't care less.
Treize crawled up onto the bed and lay down beside Zechs, just looking at him for a long moment. Zechs fidgeted under his gaze, and he moved to crouch over Treize, bending his head as if he thought what Treize wanted from him was a blow job. Treize reached out a hand and touched the slave's cheek, shaking his head gently. With just one finger on Zechs chin he guided the man's face up to his own and kissed him again. Afterward Zechs looked slightly confused, but Treize smiled. He turned them, so that Zechs lay under him, his golden hair spread over the pillows, and let his fingers trace the lines of Zechs' face. Zechs responded to the touch, but he seemed impatient. As if he couldn't wait to get down to business. Treize smirked. A little foreplay will do you good, you eager beautiful thing you... And you will learn just who is the master here. His fingers eventually moved downward and ghosted over Zechs' chest as they were replaced with Treize's mouth which seemed intent on tasting every part of the man. The fingers worked lower, and Zechs' weren't idle either; they moved over Treize's chest and abdomen, leaving fire in their wake as they traced over the man's skin.
Treize took a deep breath. Zechs' fingers were getting bold, drifting down to the area his mouth had already been warned off of twice. Treize turned his attention from the slave's mouth to his neck as his own fingers found their goal. He wrapped them around Zechs' length, already fairly hard, and began to stroke his thumb methodically over the sensitive tip.
Zechs' body arched beneath him as he gasped, his hands immediately flying to grip Treize's shoulders tightly. His head arched back with the sudden sensation of pleasure, baring his neck to Treize's tender ministrations. Treize grinned against the soft flesh as his thumb continued in its systematic movements. Zechs writhed under him, unable to escape the sensation, and not entirely sure he wanted to. He moaned heartily, shifting his grip from Treize's shoulders to the sheets beneath him, squeezing then into shreds as he twisted in ecstasy.
Grinning wildly, Treize moved his other hand, reaching out to dip his fingers in the bowl of oil that sat on the table beside the bed. Coating them liberally, he slipped them under his other hand, still busy, and pressed them against Zechs, pressed them into him. Familiar with the action, Zechs raised his hips slightly and spread his legs apart further almost unconsciously. Treize watched his face carefully as his fingers explored Zechs from the inside, until suddenly Zechs' eyes flew open and his whole body stiffened. Treize smirked; there it was. He thrust his fingers against the point again, timing it with a stroke from his thumb. Zechs' whole body went into a rigid arch and his face contorted, almost in pain with the strength of his pleasure. He screamed, a ragged sound, but in that wordless appeal Treize heard his name spoken. Almost before the sound had died away, he was inside of Zechs, feeling him pulsing with pleasure all around him.
It was enough to make Treize want to scream too. He had to release his hold on Zechs' length and used both his hands to brace himself. No longer under a double assault, Zechs seemed to regain some of his thought processing abilities. His hands came up and buried in Treize's hair; he pulled the other man's face down and kissed him forcefully. They rolled; Zechs on top thrust down against Treize, forcing him against that point inside him. His breath was ragged and he was shaking with pleasure. Treize took the opportunity to explore Zechs' chest with his fingers. Encountering the bandages, he frowned. He'd forgotten. He rolled them again; Zechs supporting his weight against his hands was not good for his wrist. Actually, as much fun as this was he should end it quick. That was a sad thought... but they could try it again later. That cheered him up, and he thrust into Zechs again as Zechs reached up his legs and wrapped them around Treize's waist, pulling the other man against him. They began to pick up a rhythm; unconsciously, because Treize was far too busy thinking about kissing the gorgeous man beneath him to think about anything else.
As they approached their climax, Zechs' expressions of passion grew more and more open. It was as if he wore a mask the rest of the time, and only now could he be truly who he was. It had to be the most arousing thing Treize had ever seen, and his hand drifted down to Zechs' length to coax another outburst from him.
This was the last. Throwing his head back with a sound that was half scream half moan, Zechs stiffened a moment then came, spilling into Treize's fingers. Zechs' body convulsing tightly around him, Treize reached his climax as well and came with a final thrust.
They lay gasping in the afterglow for long minutes, Zechs' fingers tracing through Treize's hair, their faces so close they were almost touching. Treize pulled himself free of Zechs' body, and this seemed to be a signal of some kind because the beautiful slave's face closed again, the ecstasy of passion he had expressed only moments ago barely a memory on the bland, pleasant face. Treize frowned slightly, but he lay himself down beside Zechs and pulled the other man, unresisting, into his embrace.
As his mind cleared from the fog of passion, he began to contemplate the mystery that was Zechs. The slave was running from his old master and would seek any haven offered to him. Apparently he thought Treize's would do just fine. Treize suspected that Zechs had attempted to seduce him tonight expecting Dermail to show up in the morning and not wanting Treize to even momentarily entertain the thought of returning the slave to his previous master. That was why he had kept trying to give Treize a blow job; it was a fast and easy way to give a man a great deal of pleasure, as well as a feeling of absolute control, and Treize did not doubt Zechs was very good at it. If Zechs gave him pleasure, Treize would be less willing to give him up. Or, Treize assumed, that was the slave's thought process. Well, it had worked, though not in the way that Zechs had probably been planning.
Treize was intrigued; deeply intrigued. When in the throws of his passion, Zechs seemed to forget who he was and think he was someone else. Someone used to having a great deal of power. The way that Zechs had kept trying to gain control in their encounter made him think that the slave used to be in a position where he had been the one issuing the orders. And then there was the way Zechs had attempted to manipulate the entire encounter right from the beginning. Yes, Treize frowned thoughtfully, his fingers stroking through that golden hair, there was far more to this young man than there first seemed.
But it would have to wait for tomorrow. Sleep was creeping up on him, and was, this night, not to be denied.

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Sky to Gold