Unfinished Tarzan Trowa | By : Maureen Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 1150 -:- 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. |
Tarzan Smut
“Father! Why did you insist on bringing Quatre? He’s been
absolutely useless this entire trip and now he can’t even carry his own
bag!” Fatima Winner demanded, angered by yet another delay caused by her
younger brother. “He’s so clumsy, I’m surprised he can even walk a
straight line without hurting himself! Oh, that’s right he can’t –
which is why were all sitting here waiting for the swelling to go down, again!”
“Fatima, it is not your brother’s fault that he caught
his foot in a meercat’s burrow. As soon as Duo is finished wrapping it, I’m
sure Quatre will be able to not only walk, but also haul his own pack.” Hiram
Winner chastised his daughter. The Winners were a world-renowned family of
naturalists; the wildlife documentaries they produced were widely regarded as
the truest representation of an animal lives ever made. Quatre was the youngest
child at 16, the only son, and also the only Winner who had yet to decide what
sort of animal he’d spend the rest of his life studying. His 29 sisters had
all specialized in one type of animal or environment – they were marine
biologist and ornithologist, entomologists and botanist. They studied bears and
snakes, bison and wildebeests, komodo dragons and rodents, whooping cranes and
Coho salmon. This expedition, to the savannah, was lead by Iria, who had devoted
her life to the examination and preservation of the mighty African lion. Fatima
was along to write her dissertation on zebras, and their father was to act as
the cameraman and narrator, as he did for all the Winner productions.
“Yes, Father? Why did you make me come again?” Quatre
gasped as their guide twisted his ankle to tighten the binding. At the moment,
he could think of several other places he’d like to be, such as his own
bedroom, with a nice cup of chamomile and his cherished violin. Due to the
extreme heat, he had not been allowed to bring his instrument along, and he felt
as if he’d been forced to leave his right arm at home. Duo tied the bandage
off and helped Quatre to his unsteady feet.
“Hey, Fats, how’s the kid ever supposed to figure out
what he wants to do if he doesn’t get to come along?” Duo winked at Quatre
as he spoke. Quatre grinned back and experimentally put his weight on the
injured foot, determined to go on even if it still hurt. However, Duo’s
skilled ministrations had mostly succeeded and Quatre mouthed silent thanks at
the braided man who had been faithfully accompanying his family on these trips
for over 10 years. No one could ever pin down where Duo and his silent lover,
Heero, had come from, but the pair had proven invaluable on every expedition. No
matter where the Winner family went to film, either Duo or Heero had some sort
of connection that smoothed the way with the natives and opened up opportunities
that otherwise would have been missed. And on more than one occasion, their
expert weapons proficiencies had saved several a Winner life.
“Don’t thank me now, kiddo, you’ll be feelin’ it
tonight when we stop.” Duo told him as he grabbed Quatre’s pack and
shouldered it in addition to his own. “Come on, now,” he address the group
in general, “We’ve got about six more hours of sunlight and another four to
hike.”
Quatre struggled to keep up
with the rest of the group, determined to salvage what was left of his battered
pride. At one point, Heero dropped back to the back of the line to quietly offer
his assistance, but Quatre set his chin stubbornly and refused. He already
received enough razzing for being the youngest and generally weakest sibling, he
was not about to compound the humiliation by being carried into camp by the
darkly handsome guide he’d had a crush on since he turned 12. So, as the
afternoon progressed, he fell further and further behind, until at last he was
alone in a sea of tall grass, with only the faintest crease marking the passage
of his companions. Angry with himself and distracted, he did not notice the
pride of lions basking in sun until he had nearly tripped over a cub.
Frantically, Quatre tried to remember everything Iria had
drilled into his head about lion behavior. “Don’t run and don’t make any
sudden moves…” he breathed to himself. “And maybe they won’t notice.”
Of course, one of the lazing lionesses heard his mutter and perked her ears in
his direction. Quatre back away slowly towards a copse of trees that he had just
passed, hysterically wondering if it were lions or bears that you couldn’t
climb trees to escape from. He had apparently piqued the lioness’s curiosity;
she rose and shook herself before slowly padding after him.
Quatre backed into one of the trees and scrambled up the
trunk as fast as he could. She followed and stood on her hind legs, stretched
out against the length of the tree. She half-heartedly reached a paw up for one
of his dangling feet and he scooted higher up and out onto a thinner limb.
“Nice kitty-kitty,” He called down to her. “Nothing up here but a scrawny
white boy. No need to tell the others.”
The tawny cat flipped an ear towards him and dropped back to
the ground. After circling the tree trunk once, she sat at its base and threw
her head back to emit a warbling cry. ‘Trowa, come, another furless one
walks the plains.’
Quatre expected many things; for the whole pride to surround
the tree and wait for him to drop like an over-ripened fruit or perhaps they
would simply batter the trunk until it cracked and fell. What he did not expect
was the tanned and barely clad man who parted the sea of grass and loped easily
in their direction. In his shock, Quatre could not find the words to warn the
man away – but it proved unnecessary. The lioness purred at the newcomer in
greeting, and rubbed against the toned and finely muscled chest of the bronzed
god.
‘son, I have found a mate for you. another of your kind.’
Trowa rumbled back at her from deep in his chest, ‘thank
you, mother. he appears frightened, perhaps you should return to your sun bath
while I remove him from the tree.’ The mighty lioness roawed her agreement
and disappeared quickly in the direction from which she had come.
“Oh thank you…” Quatre began, but got no further before
the tree limb he was perched on split and dumped him down to the ground in an
ungraceful heap.
Trowa silently observed the downed and wheezing form for a
moment. With cautious fingers he reached for the fine golden hair, amazed at the
soft texture, like that of a new cub’s downy fur. The stranger had eyes the
color of the morning sky and his pale skin was even more delicate than his hair.
When Quatre regained his breath, he found all he could do was
whimper at the wild man’s gentle touch. Carefully, so as no to appear
threatening, he eased himself up to a sitting position to return the scrutiny.
The man had sun-kissed brown hair that fell far down his back and covered half
his face. He wore only a small strip of fur around his waist, and the rest of
his body was hard and well muscled. Not the puffy, bloated muscles of a body
builder, but the lean muscles that came from hard work and the struggle for
survival. His eyes were greener than any jungle foliage. Slowly, he stretched
his own hand forward to stroke the man’s firm chest.
Trowa leaned into the touch, pleased that this new creature
was showing him the proper deference. The small, pale hand was joined by the
second as the boy continued his greeting. Trowa rubbed his head and jaw along
the other’s, marking this one as his and his alone. This caused the strange
noises to increase, and he pulled away to peer at his new mate quizzically.
“What am I doing?” Quatre asked him, “You’re very
sexy and all, but I really should be getting back to my family, and…” He
tried to stand, but was quickly pinned down by his shoulders to the ground.
“Oh, um… if you’re going to ravage me, could I at least know your name
first? I’m Quatre.” The man cocked his head and peered down from underneath
his obscuring mane. “Quatre.” He repeated, placing his hands upon his chest
emphatically. “Quatre!”
“Cat-ra?” The other asked, obviously unused to spoken
language. “Cat-ra…” He leaned forward and nuzzled Quatre’s neck,
growling in feral delight when it was automatically bared to him in the
universal language of submission. He bit down at the juncture between neck and
jaw, savoring the low cry this produced. Trowa began a careful bath of the
proffered skin, thoroughly cleansing it with long firm caresses of his rough
tongue. “Trowa.” He said when he had finished. He sat up, releasing the
blonde’s shoulders, but remaining astride his waist. “Trowa,” he placed
his hand on his chest, and then moved it down to the heaving one below his.
“Quatre. Trowa-Quatre.” He finished as he lowered himself down to bite at
the still offered neck once more. “Trowa-Quatre,” he growled and rubbed his
lower body firmly against one pinned below him, announcing his intentions in an
unmistakable manner. The unfamiliar coverings chaffed at his bare skin, and he
impatiently pawed at them.
In a daze, Quatre began to unbutton his shirt, but apparently
too slowly for Trowa, who ripped it open with one jerk.
He ran his hands over the fine white skin, returning to the
pink nipples when the contact caused the boy to gasp. Purring, he ran his tongue
over the delicately fluttering chest and the boy arched up into his touch,
moaning loudly. His mate’s lower body was still shrouded, however, and he
scratched clumsily at the cloth, trying to locate the opening.
Quatre hesitated, torn between overwhelming passion and
propriety. Was he really going to give his virginity to some untamed jungle man?
The searing heat of Trowa’s gaze and the coarse touch of his tongue on his
chest proved the undoing of Quatre’s pants. Quickly, Trowa yanked them down to
his ankles and off, shredding the thin cotton boxers Quatre wore underneath.
“Trowa-Quatre,” he growled again as he surveyed the totally exposed form,
and it was then that Quatre realized this was meant in the most possessive of
ways.
“Yes, I’m your Quatre,” he hissed as Trowa’s mouth
found its way to the place that desired it most. Although not performed in the
most conventional of manners, the steady, scraping strokes of Trowa’s tongue
against his sensitive flesh quickly brought Quatre over the edge of passion. He
had barely regained his breath and his eyes were hardly unglazed when Trowa
stripped his own covering away and flipped Quatre over to his hands and knees.
Trowa pressed up against him, rubbing slowly and snarling. His strong hands
forced Quatre’s shoulders down to the ground, angling his hips higher in the
air. Trowa bent over him and bit down on the back of his neck, to hold Quatre
steady. He attempted to enter his mate several times, but stopped when he
realized the cries emanating from below were pained. Trowa sank back to his
haunches, panting and whining in confusion. Quatre had appeared receptive, had
shown all the proper signs of being in heat; why now was he being denied the
final joining?
Quatre eased up from the ground, grateful that Trowa had
stopped before tearing into him, but similarly frustrated. He of course knew
what the problem was, but he was unsure how to remedy it. Trowa pressed close
against him, growling in dissatisfaction and when he ran a hand across
Quatre’s chest to pull him flush against his hard need, and the blonde laughed
in sudden joy. After using Trowa’s hand to scrap his own cooling release away,
he wrapped the sinewy fingers around the other’s length, moving his own over
the top to help coat it in the natural lubricant. Trowa seemed to understand at
once, and after slicking himself up, pounced on Quatre again. Once they had
resumed their previous position, he pushed his way carefully into Quatre’s
tender opening, listening for any sign of discomfort in the wild keening echoing
from his mate’s lips.
Quatre could not remember what he had thought sex would be
like, but knew he had imagined nothing like this. The raw energy in each of
Trowa’s thrusts drove him to heights he never could have dreamed of, pushed
him farther and farther into passion that seemed mythical in proportion. Quatre
bowed his back in a deeper arch to meet Trowa’s frantic plunges, reveling in
the feeling of surrender it gave him to be pinned down and taken in such a
primal manner. Roars muffled in the flesh of his neck echoed his own ringing
cries and each time it seemed as if he could take no more before exploding,
dying, simply burning up, a plateau would be reached and the pleasure would
ratchet higher and higher. Quatre was positively howling, screaming in sheer
primitive joy when with one final jerk of his hips, Trowa sent them both past
the far reaches of ecstasy.
Trowa rested against his back for a moment, panting from the
exertions before tipping over to lie on his side, bringing Quatre with him. They
snuggled together on the flattened grass, Trowa softly licking the back of his
neck in feline possessiveness. The sun had barely moved in the sky when Trowa
pushing him up on all fours again roused Quatre from his light doze. As Trowa
began to clean away the remnants of their previous encounter with his tongue,
Quatre suddenly recalled Iria’s soliloquy about the marathon mating habits of
lions … they go at it for up
to four days at a time, coitus occurring on average 2.5 times an hour….
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