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Impossible to Refuse	By : Raletha Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male Views: 805 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- 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-Impossible to Refuse
- 1
Impossible to Refuse
by Raletha

NC-17 :: AU (contemporary), graphic sex, language, kink, PWP :: 4x3x4
The whore—he'd said his name was Trowa—wore black satin boots that laced up the backs of his slim, hairless thighs. He balanced easily on the three inch stiletto heels. The only other thing he wore was a sheer black chemise, the edge of which just skimmed the bottom curve of his ass. It was good, yeah, even hotter than it had been in Quatre's imagination. A pretty boy in boots and lingerie would be easier.
With suddenly clumsy fingers, Quatre loosened his tie, slipped off his suit jacket, and watched Trowa arrange himself; the boy bent over, back arched, rump facing Quatre, with his hands braced on the back of the armchair. The chemise rode up, baring his smooth buttocks and gathering in the dip of his back. Over his shoulder he returned Quatre's gaze with green eyes as cool (and as hot) as summer shade.
He looked the same age as Quatre, and Quatre wondered what it would be like to be a two-thousand dollar an hour whore. That thought, unfortunately, reminded Quatre he had not yet thought of a reason—aside from the truth—for his spending of this same sum. His father would ask, and Quatre would have to answer, and he couldn't answer with the truth.
It was just... he was eighteen now, and he wanted this, even if just this once. He wanted this.
Then. "Your first time?" the boy asked.
"Yeah," Quatre said. "Is it that obvious?"
"You look nervous."
"Sorry." Quatre glanced down and clasped his hands in front of himself.
"Sorry?" asked Trowa as he let go of the chair back and straightened. "You're the one paying."
"Don't remind me," groaned Quatre, lifting a hand to shield his face. He heard a soft sigh from the wh— From Trowa.
"Come here," Trowa said.
Quatre parted his fingers to peer through them. He could read neither the boy's expression nor tone of voice, but the words, in their usual context, often portended trouble for Quatre. This was not, however, the usual context. "All right," Quatre said, and he took the last few steps toward Trowa.
"Okay," said Trowa. "It's okay." He took Quatre's hand and pressed his lips to Quatre's cheek near his ear. "Tell me what you wanted when you arranged to see me today. What made you pick up the phone?"
"I—I just..." Quatre started, swallowed, and started again. "I wanted to have sex with a man. To see what it's like before, well. I don't know, but I wanted to because—"
Trowa put his mouth over Quatre's, silencing him. Then he pulled back and said, "The reason doesn't matter. This is fundamental. You don't need a reason to want this."
"Okay," Quatre assented, though he remained skeptical. His therapist had disagreed, had tried to ascribe some deep rooted psychological flaw, instilled during Quatre's youth—too many sisters, a dead mother, an absent father, an artistic temperament, whatever—to account for Quatre's 'homo-curious phase'.
"When you think about having sex with a man, how do you imagine it?"
"Frightening," said Quatre before he could censor himself.
Trowa didn't respond immediately, so Quatre tried to clarify. "I mean, not frightening like I want you to be scary. But it is a little scary to me, just because of the whole I-might-be-gay thing. That and the anal sex—that kinda scares me too, because, you know, what if—."
"Quatre."
"What?"
"Shut up."
Quatre stared, took a step back.
Trowa sighed, and pushed his long bangs behind one ear. "Look, I don't know you very well, but it seems like you're trying to make this more complicated than it is. You called my agency because you wanted a fuck. Here I am."
Quatre half-turned away. He didn't want to look at Trowa—the whore—now. "For me," he said, "it is complicated."
"Maybe the rest of the time, that's true. Right now? It's as easy as taking your pants off."
"Do you actually want to have sex with me?"
Without hesitation, Trowa answered, "Yes."
"Not just because I'm paying you?"
"No," Trowa said, and sidled closer to Quatre. "You're kinda messed up in the head, but you are pretty hot." He slipped a hand down, over Quatre's crotch. Quatre, only semi-hard now from anxiety, throbbed harder again beneath Trowa's confident touch.
Quatre chuckled, and then he gasped when Trowa's fingers started tugging at his belt.
"Now," said Trowa, "we're going to play a game. I ask you questions, and you answer yes or no, okay?"
"Okay."
"Okay." Trowa smiled and pulled Quatre's belt free. "You want to fuck me?"
"Yes."
"Dressed like this?"
"Yes."
"Want me to blow you first?" Trowa unbuttoned Quatre's pants.
Heat flushed Quatre's face. "No. I mean, not—"
"Yes or no, remember?" Trowa teased mildly, and he unzipped Quatre's fly.
"Yeah, okay. Sorry."
Trowa shook his head and grinned. "You want to take me from behind, or do you want me to ride you?" Trowa slid his hand into Quatre's open trousers, touched his cock through his underwear.
"Yes?" Quatre grinned back, a little breathless now.
Trowa curled his fingers and stared at Quatre's face. "Behind?"
"Yeah." Quatre nodded.
Trowa removed his hand. "On the bed?"
"No."
"Standing up?"
"Yes."
"Okay," said Trowa and stepped back to the chair. "That wasn't so hard." He turned around and posed as before: straight spread black clad legs, hard round buttocks, and looking back over his shoulder with his hot-and-cold green eyes.
"How's this?"
"Good," Quatre sighed. "You look sexy."
"It's easy in these boots," Trowa said and lifted his ass a little higher.
"I like them," Quatre said. "You have nice legs."
"You have a nice cock. Bring it over."
"Yeah," said Quatre and pushed his trousers down. He stepped out of them and bent to pull off his shoes and socks. Then he stood, nothing but air (and the edge of his shirttail) on his cock, nothing but air between him and Trowa.
"You can touch me," said Trowa.
Quatre hesitated. "I've really only been with girls."
Trowa reached back with one hand and palmed his balls, lifting and tugging them forward before releasing them again. "It's sex, not surgery. We're human beings, we like to be touched. It doesn't matter if I'm a girl or a boy; do what feels good to you."
"Yeah," said Quatre, and put his hand on the side of Trowa's rear. His gaze traveled up Trowa's back, over his curved spine and rumpled chemise, over Trowa's shaggy auburn hair, to the table where a roll of condoms and a new bottle of lubricant rested. Then his gaze traveled back down. He put his other hand on Trowa's skin, on his ass, spread his ass cheeks further so he could see. "What feels good to you? What do you like?"
"I like a little prep before I'm fucked—if you don't mind."
And Quatre realised he didn't know nearly enough about what he was about to do. "Prep?"
"Help me relax back there, use your hands—or your mouth."
"My mouth?"
"I showered just before I came here. If you're worried about anything, uh, scary."
"Okay," Quatre said. He brushed the pad of his thumb over Trowa's asshole. "Do you want me to use my mouth?"
"If you're comfortable with it."
"I mean, do you like it? Do you want me to."
"I like it, and since you're asking. Yes."
With a silent nod, Quatre knelt behind Trowa; his hands slid down Trowa's legs, fingers curved round his thighs, thumbs skipping down the criss-cross of the laces. Quatre pushed his face forward against the cool flesh of Trowa's ass and blindly touched his tongue tip to Trowa's hole.
"Yeah, like that," Trowa whispered—sighed.
Then there was more space. Quatre drew away and opened his eyes to see Trowa had reached back and was holding himself open, still bent over and balanced perfectly in the tall boots.
Quatre tightened his grip on Trowa's legs and flicked his tongue out again, licking this time, lightly. Trowa didn't taste like anything more than skin—a little more bitter maybe, a little salty, but just skin, that was all. He licked again, longer. Trowa's sigh turned ragged. Encouraged, Quatre tried pressing his lips closer and kissing. Kissing and lightly sucking, sucking and then, more boldly, suckling.
With the last, Trowa groaned and pressed back against his face. "Yeah... that's good," Trowa said.
Quatre probed the centre of Trowa's softened opening with his pointed tongue.
"Yeah... that's good, Quatre," Trowa moaned. "That's so fucking good."
Something about Trowa's words—their rhythm was too set—made Quatre stop. He pulled back and stared at the floor. "Do you say that to all your clients?"
A long pause followed, filled with slowing breaths, and then came a frank, "Yes, I do."
"Then how do I know if you mean it?"
"I always mean it," said Trowa over his shoulder.
"Always?"
Trowa gave Quatre a lopsided smile. "I don't believe in having bad sex."
Quatre laughed and stood. "Lucky you."
"Yeah," said Trowa and turned his attention to the table. He tore off a condom and passed both it and the lube back to Quatre.
"What if I wanted to do something... more for you, than the others do?" Quatre pinched the condom from its foil and unrolled it onto his cock. This at least was a familiar procedure. He squeezed a blob of cool gel onto his fingertips and smoothed it over the condom.
"You want to feel special, huh?"
It was true enough. Quatre had never liked average or ordinary, especially in himself. "I do."
"Fuck me and we'll see."
With his hand around the base of his cock, Quatre lined his cockhead up with Trowa's hole. He pushed, and Trowa opened for him. Easy. Just like that, Trowa opened and Quatre's cock slipped inside, not all the way, just the tip, but nonetheless inside. His dick was inside another man. He stared at the visual reality, his flesh embedded in Trowa. It was tight and hot and slick and not at all scary. It felt pretty damned good.
"More," said Trowa. "Push it all the way in."
Quatre did, and, "Oh!" he said, the constricting heat was so close, so complete.
"Fuck, yes." said Trowa. "That's better than good."
"Wow," said Quatre, and he rocked his hips once, slowly. "Holy..." His knees threatened to buckle, so Quatre tightened his leg muscles. The hand at the base of his cock was still slippery and sticky with lube. He wiped it off best he could on his shirt, and then fastened the hold of both hands upon Trowa's pelvis.
The rest was simple. It was, like Trowa said, fundamental. Fucking was a primal urge, an instruction set that evolution had locked in the base of the male spine. Give him an appealing orifice and the male of the species knew what to do with it.
Quatre grabbed a handful of the hem of Trowa's chemise and yanked it down, to cover the top part of his ass. The lace trim looked pretty on Trowa's skin. Yeah, like this Quatre could pretend he was fucking a girl up the ass. It was deviant, sure, but not an unheard of heterosexual activity.
But then Trowa said, "Touch my cock."
"What?" The illusion dissolved.
"Touch my cock. Make me come."
"I've never—"
"Do it."
Quatre obeyed. He stilled his hips and reached around. His heart thudded dully in his ears, and then Trowa's cock was in his palm, hard—so hard—and thick and warm and male and...right. The rightness of it sparked a thrill up Quatre's spine. "Oh, god," said Quatre.
"Yeah, good," said Trowa.
"It is," said Quatre and closed his eyes, better to feel. Not just good, fantastic. Better than that, so much better. Perfect, maybe. But he wasn't quite. It was harder than he expected to sync up his hand and his hips. Trowa didn't seem to mind the irregularity of rhythm, for he shoved back against each of Quatre's thrusts with emphatic encouragement, praised Quatre's hand on his cock, and, when he got close to orgasm, hung his head between his arms and shuddered while he pleaded for "More—harder... Yeah, like that, Quatre. Just like that..."
After Trowa came, after his semen spilled hot into Quatre's hand, and after Quatre had felt the deep spasms of Trowa's pleasure, Quatre didn't last much longer. At least it didn't feel like much longer, though it seemed time had somehow ceased for this perfect moment of nothing but carnal sensation and the rhythm of fucking. But time hadn't stopped, and it couldn't last forever. After Quatre came, Trowa reached back, held the condom on Quatre's cock as he pulled himself off.
As he turned to face Quatre, Trowa hauled the chemise over his head. Quatre groped for support, found the wall, and slumped back against it.
"Still scared?" Trowa asked, smiling his satiation.
Quatre grinned and indulged the desire to let his gaze roam lazily over Trowa's naked torso, "More than ever."
"That's not fear," Trowa said. "It's exhilaration."
"You're that good?"
"Yeah, I am."
Quatre chuckled.
"I'm going to clean up, okay?"
"Sure."
Trowa scooped up the bag he'd brought with him and headed to the bathroom.
While Trowa was in the bathroom, Quatre gave himself a cursory tidy up with tissues from the box by the television. He exchanged his soiled shirt for a t-shirt from his overnight bag, and pulled his underwear and trousers back on. Then he went to the bed and lay down, his legs dangling over the end. He'd done it, fucked a guy, and it had been wonderful, and yeah, exhilarating. Maybe next time they could suck each other off—sixty-nine or something. Going down on Trowa's ass had been good, and touching his cock amazing. He could manage a blowjob. It'd be fun.
"Shit," said Quatre. He shouldn't be thinking about a next time.
The bathroom door opened and Trowa came out. He'd changed, completely. The original boots were gone, swapped for chunky soled combat boots, olive green cargo pants, and a black thick-knit turtleneck. Strangest of all were the black plastic framed glasses. The rebel intellectual look was even hotter on Trowa. His eyes looked greener, his lips fuller, and his hair more coppery. Quatre bit his lip and stood to pull his wallet from his front pocket. It was fat with hundred dollar bills. He counted out twenty and handed them to Trowa, who took them without comment, folded them, and slid them into his pocket.
"So, I guess this is it?" Quatre said. Sudden regret blotted out the exhilaration. He wanted to ask Trowa to stay, wanted to talk to him, find out more about him.
"Yeah," said Trowa. He dug into his back pocket and produced a business card. "Here," he handed it to Quatre: plain ecru card stock with just his first name and a phone number in a sans-serif font. "If you're interested, I'd like having you as a regular."
"Thanks," said Quatre.
"Take care of yourself," said Trowa and turned for the door. Quatre watched him silently until Trowa had opened the door and was stepping through.
"Wait," Quatre said. "What if...um?"
"What?" Trowa turned back.
"Could I take you out sometime?" Quatre blurted.
"Yeah, sure. I do escorts."
"No, I mean, take you out like on a date. Not as a business thing, but a social thing."
Trowa shook his head. "I don't date clients."
"What if I weren't a client?"
"You already are." Trowa's smile held genuine regret.
"Oh."
"Yeah. I'm sorry."
"No, it's okay. It makes sense, I just— You seem interesting."
"Thanks," Trowa said. "I've got to go."
"Yeah, okay. Thanks, Trowa. I had a good time."
"Me too," Trowa said. "Remember to call me, if you want to do this again, okay?"
"I will."
"Good," said Trowa, and then he left.

the end

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Impossible to Refuse

Impossible to Refuse