Remote | By : Maureen Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 681 -:- 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. |
Remote
Pairing: Do you really have to ask? Okay, 3x4x3. (And, horror of all horrors,
mention of 3x god knows who...)
Rating:
R - NC17 (explicit but not graphic almost sex)
Warning:
AGGGGGNNNNNNSSST! Now in "Bitter Lemon" flavor!
Disclaimer:
I was angstipated. The characters within are just not mine…
Challenge:
If you can find one piece of fluff in this fic, I'll send you a jar (Marshmellow,
that is.) And Pocky to dip in it.
{fast
forward}
Quatre
trailed a length of wet kisses across Trowa’s chest, teasing one nipple and
then the other, just the way Trowa liked it best. First there was the gentle
enveloping suction, then the lightest scraping with his teeth as he removed his
mouth, capped off with a pinching bite, right on the very tip. Again and again
he repeated this process until Trowa was almost panting with hunger.
“Enough!”
He rasped as he pulled the blonde up and into his mouth’s reach, returning the
treatment in kind. Quatre preferred a steady suckling pressure and harsh
pinching fingers on the other nipple. Trowa was all too happy to comply,
savoring the rich and salty taste of Quatre’s sweat and desire. The soft moans
that always drove him to the brink of disaster, the threshold of himself, the
edge of everything, filled Trowa’s ears as he continued his assault. Groaning
in return, he flipped them over on the narrow bed, pinning Quatre and continuing
his exploration of the openly offered flesh. To feel Quatre underneath him like
this - hard, needy, and insistent – this was the thing that plagued Trowa’s
dreams every night and seeped into the waking hours. Sometimes it seemed that
all he could think of was Quatre - the satiny slickness of his flesh, the taste
of that particular spot on his neck, the way he fit just so into Trowa’s hand.
But
their times together like this were too rare … Only when Quatre could slip
away from his business to spend a day or three at the circus, or some remote
hideaway where they would drown in each other’s bodies for a few brief and
shining hours before Quatre’s responsibilities came crashing back down between
them and separated them once more.
They
rolled again, Quatre ending up astride with his open shirt slipping down his
shoulders to his elbows. Thus constricted, he could only move his arms enough to
balance himself on Trowa’s chest, leaning in for another fervent kiss. Trowa
reached between them and with a practiced flip of the wrist, Quatre’s belt was
on the floor.
So
if this was all of Quatre he could have - a stolen handful of days every two or
four or six months - Trowa would have to content himself. And their time
together burned much brighter, he supposed, because of it.
But
it was getting harder… to love so intensely and then let it slip away. Love
with Quatre was a strangely addictive emotional roller coaster of elation,
ecstasy, and estrangement. And as he pulled the blonde’s pants away, he
suddenly found himself wanting more.
He
buried his face in Quatre’s abdomen and savaged the dip of his belly button,
and dreamt of lazy weekend mornings spent in bed.
He
suckled the ridge of Quatre’s hipbone, and fantasized about quiet evenings
spent simply reading in each other’s silent company.
He
licked away the salty evidence of Quatre’s excitement, and envisioned toasting
some far-off anniversary, when they were old and gray. &
And
then, when it came to the moment that Trowa prized most – that first thrust,
lube but no prep, just the way Quatre liked it, pleasure razor-edged in pain…
When it came time to find himself at home in the exquisitely tight haven of
Quatre’s body, he stopped.
“I
can’t, Quatre.”
Light
blue eyes regarded him, shadowed in passion, “Can’t? That’s alright, Trowa
– do you need me to help you, or would you like to wait a bit and try
later?”
“Not
“can’t” like that, Quatre. I can’t keep doing this,” he gestured
vaguely to the bed, the trailer, the world. “I can’t keep being with you
like this and then letting you go…” Trowa pulled away to sit hunched around
his still insistent need. “Sometimes you’re all I can think about, when
you’re not here. I chase after blondes because I think it might be you… or
I’ll smell something that reminds me of you and then I can’t concentrate for
the rest of the day. And no one else, none of the others have ever come close to
making me feel the way you do.”
“Others?”
The word fell from his lover’s lips in a deceptively gentle tone.
{pause}
“Others?”
Quatre repeated, the word rising a little steeper than necessary. “What
‘others,’ Trowa?”
With
the smallest spark of anger, he answered, “Am I just supposed to sit here idly
waiting for you to clear time for a quickie in your schedule? Yes, I’ve slept
with other people when you’re not here. But it didn’t mean anything… it
was never any good. Not like with you.” The anger had dropped away with these
last words. Because it was true – no matter how talented his bed partner,
there was always something missing from the encounters. All he ever got from his
brief trysts was a flashing bit of release and a bitter aftertaste in his soul.
But
there was a compulsion – to prove that he could feel alive, without Quatre by
his side. A need that went unsatisfied…
Quatre
sat up against the wall, his bent face shadowed by the sweaty tangle of his
hair. “Men or women?” His body tensed as if expecting a blow.
“Both.”
Quatre flinched. “What does it matter? None of them were ever able to make me
feel…”
“Do
you let the men,” Quatre’s voice hitched and quavered. Trowa was sure he was
crying until the amazingly dry and hard eyes pinned him. “Do you let them… fuck
you?”
“No,
you’re still the only one I’ve ever let do that …”
“And,”
Trowa had only heard this steely quality in Quatre’s voice on a few occasions,
none of which he cared to remember. “Do the women give you something I
can’t? Would you like me better if I had breasts?”
“I
really don’t like having sex with women, but sometimes it’s all that’s
available.”
“’All
that’s available’… I see.” Quatre stood jerkily and pulled on his
discarded shirt.
“Where
are you going?” Trowa knew that something crucial had occurred in the room,
but the change of direction had been too sudden for him to keep up.
“I
turned down an invitation to a very important conference to make time for this
‘quickie,’ Trowa. If I leave now, I can still make it.” Quatre retrieved
his far-flung pants and pulled out his cell phone.
{stop}
Trowa
sat numbly, listening to Quatre arranging to be picked up early by Abdul. He
watched in unbelieving silence as Quatre finished dressing. Finally, “So
that’s it – you’re going to leave? Just because I slept with a few other
people?”
“Trowa,
obviously you and I have been having two entirely different relationships. I
thought we were in love, and you thought it was just sex. Since we were both
horribly wrong, let’s just part now and forget the whole embarrassing mess.”
“I
do love you, Quatre. But you never said you wanted anything more than
this!” Trowa beat the bed, and felt no better for it.
Quatre
slumped against the door but did not open it. “If I had asked you to leave
with me, to come live with me – would you have?”
“Yes!
And if I had asked you to give it all up and stay here with me…”
“Yes,
I would have Trowa. Gladly, in an instant. You’ve always been more important
to me than anything else...” His hand caressed the doorknob as it had so
recently stroked Trowa.
“But
I thought…”
Quatre
cut him off, “And that’s the whole problem, isn’t it? You thought, I
thought… and neither of us bothered to talk.” He turned around with a bitter
laugh that dug at Trowa’s heart to hear. His eyes were gleaming with unshed
tears, now. “This entire time, I’ve been having a fantastic relationship
with an imaginary you.” Quatre sank to the floor, and hid his head in his
hands.
For
a few moments, the only sound in the tiny room was his strange sobbing laughter.
“I was always imagining what it would be like to have you with me… what
you’d say when different things happened. If I went to a restaurant, I would
pretend you were there with me, suggesting your favorite foods, feeding me bits
of your dinner. And now that I think of it, I don’t even know what your
favorite food is…” Quatre’s lips disappeared in a thin line. “And I
would dream out our life together… did you know I planned to retire within the
next five years? I thought we could travel, and then pick a place and buy a
little house… just you and me. I thought that’s what you’d want, too.”
The
tears running freely down Quatre’s face ripped gaping fistfuls of Trowa’s
soul. “All this time…” whispered Quatre, “All this time and I don’t
even really know you… How could I have ever thought I was in love with you?”
The
words hurt worse than any gunshot. “You don’t love me?” Everything
crumbled – with that one short phrase his entire foundation slipped away.
Quatre
laughed, a harsh bark out of place on his lips, “Love you? Trowa the only
thing I know about you is how to turn you on in bed. And apparently I wasn’t
quite good enough at that…”
Desperate
to save the life that was quickly slipping away between them, Trowa went to
Quatre and crouched down next to him, “It was never like that, I told you. I
always assumed that you saw other people, too. Hell, I’ve been waiting to
receive an invitation to your wedding for the last two years…”
Quatre’s
face twisted even tighter, and Trowa tried to repair the damage, “I never knew
you wanted more. And I thought I could be happy with what we had. But it
wasn’t enough...”
“It’s
not all your fault, Trowa. Most of it is mine. If I had just told you…” he
was interrupted by a light knock on the trailer door. He stood to go, and in
that instant, Trowa knew more fear than he had ever experienced during any war.
“Don’t
leave me, Quatre!” he pleaded, arms wrapped tight around Quatre’s
midsection, face buried deep in his belly. Hating the wretched whining quality
in his voice. “Don’t leave me, please. I’ll do anything… please don’t
go!” His own tears finally started at this point, quickly soaking through the
fine cotton of Quatre’s shirt. “Please? I need you,” he begged one last
time, imagining he had felt a softening of posture.
Quatre
pushed out of his grasp. “I’m sorry, Trowa. I can’t think about what you
need right now. I have to start thinking about what I need, and what I want,
before I can even begin to think about you. I’ll call you in a few days.”
And he slipped away.
{rewind}
On
the first day, he was full of hope. Every corner he turned, he expected to find
Quatre waiting there for him. During performances, he scanned the audience with
zealous intensity, searching for a blonde head surrounded by towering
bodyguards. Hope kept his feet from dragging.
But
the phone never rang.
On
the second day, doubt crept in on skittery rat’s feet, poking tiny holes in
the hope. And he began to recall Quatre’s words… what did they know
about each other? What did they have in common besides war stories and an
occasionally shared bed? Doubt made his steps leaden.
And
still the phone did not ring.
On
the third day, despair pushed everything else away. Memories replayed under the
stark light of reality. He’d never again touch Quatre there, or there. Never
again hear Quatre’s soft exhalations of passion whispered in his ear. Never
again see the smile reserved just for him. Despair stopped him from rising out
of bed.
And
the phone remained a silent witness.
On
the fourth day, he was hollow. He went through the routine of his life. He fed
the animals. He stood still as Catherine flung her knives. He walked the high
wire, deaf to the ‘ooohs’ and ‘ahhs’ of the crowd. And when it was over,
he slouched back to his trailer to wait for the next day, to repeat the whole
process again.
But
a small shadow rose from his step as he approached. And when Quatre stepped into
the light, the heart he thought was already broken cracked again.
“Trowa
Barton?” Trowa accepted the proffered hand in numb confusion. “I wanted to
let you know that I really liked your performance tonight.” Quatre smiled
shyly at him. “And I was wondering… I was wondering if I could take you to
dinner sometime.” Trowa remained silently perplexed. “I’d like to get to
know you better.”
“I’d
like that, too.”
{start}
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