The Beast and the Butterfly

Genre: Gundam Wing

Warning: Yaoi, if you don’t know what the word means, then you need to leave…

Pairing: Trowa x Quatre

Rating: M- For lots of man on man sex!

Feedback: Yes please!

Archives: If you’d like, just give me credit where it’s due.

This is in the same little happy universe as the Evil Jeans. You don’t need to read one for the other to make sense, however. This one is done in Trowa’s point of view. I took a few liberties with the man, because he doesn’t talk enough to help us know what he thinks. To my credit, he only says twenty-eight lines in twelve pages. Enjoy.

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I light up a cigarette and put out the match between my fingers. It’s the fifth cigarette from the pack I opened at seven-forty five this afternoon. Five cigarettes in less than an hour is a record for me, but I’m a bit nervous. I don’t get nervous like most people; my stomach doesn’t churn, I don’t bite my nails, and I don’t show it on the outside. When I’m nervous, I smoke too much and I feel the horrible need to have a gun with me. But, since I’m at a conventional gathering of Pacifists, I’m really going to have to go without the weapon.

My suit is itchy, but I don’t scratch, or rub at it. Quatre said it might be, since we didn’t get it laundered before we left. I still can’t believe that he made me have a suit tailored for this. But there’s no point in voicing that more than once, so I don’t complain. I really don’t say much of anything. I’ve spent the entire convention in the same spot, smoking and watching a social butterfly with blonde hair flit from one group to another.

Quatre Rebarba Winner has to be a socialite at these events, well, at any event really. He’s always so courteous and proper to everyone. It makes me want to push him up against the wall, tear him out of his high-dollar suit and ravish him until he begs for more… but the blonde butterfly doesn’t belong to me, he never has and he never will. I’ll always get to watch him from the sidelines, smoking a cigarette and keeping an eye out for potential threats.

I’ve been Quatre’s bodyguard for a little over two years and I can never help but be nervous at these damn things. There’s always some crazy rogue or political extremist that doesn’t agree with the way things are going, and they’re always willing to do something about it. I nearly lost him once to those people. The assassin clipped his shoulder and put him in the hospital for weeks. They never found the sniper… because I found him first.

I take a long drag on my cigarette and ignore the middle-aged woman in a fluffy blue dress who’s glaring at me. I’m sure she’s just pissed because I’m smoking just inside the door, instead of out on the balcony where I’m supposed to be. She makes a huffing sound and disappears into the crowd, probably to tell Quatre that he needs to teach his staff manners before he brings them out in public.

He’s talking to some American senator now. I can’t remember the man’s name, but I know that he’s been a big promoter of the de-arming laws. Quatre’s a fan of the Democratic senator. No, I guess supporter is the right word; fan seems too trivial.

For a brief second, he looks over and gives me a tiny smile and, damn me for it, I get hot all over from his show of affection. I hate that I feel this way. No matter how much I want him, how much I long for him, Quatre will always be a world away from me. High class is Quatre’s society. He belongs here, at the fancy parties, in an expensive suit, drinking over-priced Champaign and chortling politely at some politician’s joke.

I have nothing to offer him. I’m a nameless soldier with no past, no future, and so much blood on his hands that he can’t remember the color of his skin. Hell, I’m not even a girl, so what do I have that could ever be attractive to him? It’s kind of like a peasant falling in love with a prince, all he has to give is his heart and there’s no way it could be enough.

Disgusted, I toss the remainder of the cigarette in an ashtray.

Sure, I could remove myself from temptation, but it wouldn’t keep me from thinking about him, or wanting him, or dreaming that… Dreams are not meant for weapons and neither is love. I am the soldier standing sentinel at the politician’s party.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye, but it’s not the regular milling that every other guest is doing. The dark shape moving off to my right is sliding in and out of the crowd like a shadow moves through the night. Whoever he is, he’s heading my direction. I get the feeling that he’s trying to sneak up on me. I turn my back to him and let him sneak, watching his movement through a mirror on the far wall.

When he’s at my back, I turn on my heel and grab his silk tie, starling him. He yelps and I allow myself a grin for catching him so easily. More often than not, I never notice Duo coming.

“How’d you know?” He whines playfully.

“Because Trowa is more observant than you,” Heero answers as he joins us.

Duo scowls at him and his partner returns the gesture with a cool expression. I envy them. Heero and Duo have been together for years and (according to Duo) are really happy with each other. None of us ever see them fight, except the stupid little squabbles that Duo usually starts and Heero usually finishes.

I want that kind of life with Quatre. I want it so bad I can almost taste it, and it tastes like sweet tea on a butterfly’s lips. I glance across the room again, forgetting to release Duo’s tie. A hand touches my shoulder and I jerk slightly. Touch always startles me; I don’t think I’ll ever get used to human contact.

Duo’s voice breaks into my thoughts, “You two still living your celibate lie?”

I roll my eyes towards him and do my best to quark my eyebrow the way he’s shown me, saying my first words of the night, “It’s not a lie. He’s not interested.”

“How do you know if you’ve never asked him?”

I don’t bother to answer. I know he’s right, but I also know that wouldn’t dare risk Quatre’s friendship over my lust. I can live without love.

Duo, being the pushy, loudmouthed creature that he is, doesn’t let it go. I never expected him to, however. I adore Duo and I know him well enough to recognize that he only pushes when it concerns a friend’s happiness… or when he wants something from Heero. But be aware, that I would never say the words ‘adore’ and ‘Duo’ in the same sentence aloud. He thinks he’s cute enough as is and I really don’t need to feed his ego.

“You’ve never even brought up his sexual preference in conversation, what the hell do you know about his interests?” Duo presses.

I try to think of a topic to distract him, but I know the answers to any potential questions. ‘Why are you two here?’ Quatre invited them. ‘How did you get Heero out of his spandex and into a suit?’ Duo has amazingly irritating skills to get people to do what he wants. ‘When’s the last time you two screwed?’ They probably had at each other in the car on the way over. Alright, so I wouldn’t bring up that last one anyway, but I do know the answer.

Since I can’t think up a decent distraction, I light up my sixth cigarette of the evening and don’t say a word.

Fortunately, Heero keeps his lover from digging into my hide about this never-ending argument. In an amazing display of his nonverbal skills, the ex-pilot of Wing Zero reaches around and brushes his hand against the smaller man’s waist. This induces a pause in Duo’s speech about ‘coming out to those you love’, but Heero undoes the bottom button on Duo’s dress-wear and slips a hand in to palm his stomach. It brings the amethyst-eyed man to a screeching halt.

While a bit unorthodox, Heero’s methods get Duo to forget all about his lecture on love and hurry towards the nearest out-of-sight space that he could find, his boyfriend in tow. I give Heero silent thanks and make a mental note to buy him beer later.

When they leave, it brings down the body count in the room to one-hundred and fifty six. Yes, I’ve counted. I like to keep track of each and every person near Quatre on these occasions, just in case something was to happen again. And if something ever does, God protect the poor son of a bitch that’s responsible, because he’ll get no mercy from me.

I grab a glass of pink Champaign off a passing tray and down it. The stuff tastes like shit, but the touch of alcohol would do well at quelling some of my nervousness.

Duo’s words stick with me, running through my head like a bad record. As much as I hate it, I know he’s right. Quatre and I talk about everything but our love lives. On occasion, he’ll ask if I have a girlfriend, or if I’ve seen some new girl worth chasing, but that’s always the extent of it.

After about a half an hour, I spot the well-sexed pair wander back into the party. Duo’s hair is a complete mess, but Heero looks as impeccable as always. Heero’s hair is kind of like mine, you can never tell whether or not it’s messy because it’s always in a state of insanity.

From time to time, I consider buzzing mine off, but I’m kind of fond of it now. I’m not as attached as Duo is to his mane, but I’d rather just keep things the way they are. Duo says I’m trying to recreate the age of the Emo, but I have no idea what he’s talking about. I looked it up once and all I got was horribly sad poetry and pictures of teenagers with depressing looks on their faces.

Rather than continue to mingle at the edges of the crowd, Duo looks over at me and the most devious grin I have ever seen crosses his face. That smile puts a knot in my stomach like I’ve never felt before. Whenever Duo get’s that expression, the world shifts on its axes and things are never the same.

Feeling more anxious than I’ve been all night, I start to move through the crowd towards him. While I move towards him, he makes a bee-line for the other side of the room, leaving Heero behind. The perfect soldier doesn’t seem overly stressed about it, so I can tell they’ve discussed whatever brought the devil’s smile to Duo’s slim features.

I try to intercept the stealthy bastard, but he’s much smaller than me and it’s easier for him to weave through the masses. When I lose track of him, I change course and break out of the crowd near Heero. If I can’t catch Duo, I’m sure as hell going to find out what he’s up to.

I voice the first thing that comes to mind, “Please tell me that he’s not going to put drugs in the Champaign.”

Heero plucks a bizarre looking hors d'oeuvre from one of the tables and practically swallows it whole before he answers me, “No, he’d only do that at one of our parties.”

“Then what’s he up to?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ll kill him the first chance you get.”

“What?!”

“He’s doing you a favor.”

I hold back the palatable rage that floods my senses in favor of spinning around to scan the crowd for the mischievous idiot. If Heero thinks I’d wring his neck for whatever he’s doing, then I definitely want to find him before he causes someone permanent harm. When I spot him, my heart falls somewhere into my lower intestines. He’s talking to Quatre.

Heero’s mentioning of Duo ‘doing me a favor’ hit’s home hard. I can see Quatre’s expression go from charming and happy to completely blank from across the room. Perhaps Heero was a little understated, I’m not just going to kill Duo, I’m going to string him up by his toes and tear him into pieces if he’s telling Quatre what I think he is.

Bewilderment crosses my butterfly’s features and I know exactly what Duo is doing.

Some favor.

Rather than wait to see how much damage Duo has done to my relationship with my best friend, I put out my cigarette on the nearest table and leave the ball room. I expected a lot from Duo, but never did I imagine that he would betray my confidences in him and let spill my darkest secrets.

In my rage, I don’t pay attention where I’m going and I focus late enough to figure out that I’ve gotten lost. The fucking hotel is worse than a maze. I had a hard enough time finding my way from the garage the first time, but now I have no idea where I am. This is what I get for not checking the layouts of buildings before I enter them anymore. Getting lost is going to slow my escape.

In the war, I never would have moved so blindly, but I guess I’ve fallen a long way since then. I swear loudly, scaring a poor cleaning woman as she passes me. I consider asking her how to get out of the hotel, but she doesn’t seem inclined to stay anywhere near me. My demeanor frightens a lot of people, so it really doesn’t surprise me.

I spot a small reading area with a few armchairs, so I go drop into one. Covering my face with my hands seems like the best option for blocking out the sudden twist my life has taken and I spend the next few minutes sitting just like that. One thing repeats over and over through my mind, ‘Duo TOLD him!’ I cut off the aggravating mantra but Quatre’s bewildered face takes its place. If the Arabian noble refuses to speak to me after this, I really will throttle Duo.

I have this faint hope that it would be what Quatre wanted too, but the look he’d gotten when he heard about my desire for him…

My stomach turns over and I feel the beginnings of nausea threatening to make my day worse. I wouldn’t say I’ve ever reacted this badly to anything, but I’ve been hiding from Quatre’s rejection since the day I first realized that I wanted him.

I hear someone hurrying by in dress shoes. They have a distinctive click on the marble tile, but the wearer doesn’t keep going like I thought he would. The steady click stops and there’s a pause before he moves towards me. He’s probably going to try and console me and I really don’t want to hear it. I don’t have the heart to prepare a glare to ward him off, so I think of a few phrases to dissuade him from attempting to counsel me.

He doesn’t say anything at first, so I slide my hands up enough to look at his shoes. They are really nice, Armani I think, but they didn’t give me much insight as to his identity. When he spoke, however, the previously mentioned nausea gave another threatening surge.

“You’re a hard man to catch up with,” Quatre ventured cautiously.

He didn’t sound at all as disgusted as I was imagining, but Quatre was too polite to express something like that. He would smile at me sooner than he’d tell me that I was a pervert. No, I’m sure Quatre would let me down real gentle, as was his nature.

I dare to lift my head, not feeling right being rejected when I wasn’t looking him in the face. I met his beautiful, sky-blue eyes and he gave me a smile that could light the world if the sun ever decided to go on vacation.

Maybe I was wrong, maybe Duo didn’t spill what I’d pleaded with him to keep a secret. He’d done pretty well, so I guess I could give him some credit. The only person he’d told since I confessed was Heero, but Duo could never keep secrets from him long. Heero had invented the worst torture in the world, designed to wring the most highly guarded information from the bubbly man… denying Duo sex. It had worked on every occasion I’ve ever about. The longest Duo lasted was a pitiful record of eight days, before breaking under his desires.

He wouldn’t just tell Quatre so casually… would he?

Not wanting to blow everything myself, I test the waters carefully, “What did he tell you?”

Quatre eludes my first attempt with the most general answer in the world, “Everything.”

“Okay…” I trail off, not knowing how to continue. I have to say something, but the only thing I can come up with is, “What do you think about it?”

“I think you should have told me sooner.”

Is he being allusive on purpose?

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t sure…” I falter. I don’t know what to say. He’s just standing there with the grin that melts the coldest hearts and I have no idea why. I want to wrap my hand in his tie and pull his face to mine; to tell him everything and kiss him senseless… but that smile could very well be caused by Duo informing him about the Christmas present I got for him.

His radiant smile gets wider and he leans down, his tie dangling dangerously close to my hands. “What’s amusing about all of this is that I told Duo the exact same thing about you,” he confessed cheerfully.

I’m at a loss, so I do the one thing I’ve wanted to do for three years. I claim his lips as mine.

Quatre lets out a muffled squeak of surprise, but I don’t release him. If this is going to be the only chance I ever have to taste his lips, I’m going to enjoy every second of it. His lips are as soft and as satisfying as I ever imagined they would be. He slips his arms around my shoulders and I lose track of where and when we are. The world narrows to the sweet taste of a butterfly’s lips and the feeling of his fingertips sliding across the lapels of my jacket.

I let the garnet silk tie slide lazily through my hand before I allow the rest of the universe swim back into focus. I break away from him and my lips feel cold in his absence. Quatre hadn’t pushed away from me, or forced the kiss to an early end, so perhaps there was something to be had after all.

He speaks my name softly and I open my eyes.

The sight that greets me is not at all what I was expecting. Quatre’s face is still hovering close to mine and a healthy flush has spread over his features. His lips are parted, a light sweat has broken out across his brow, and his eyes are dark with emotion; all very good signs that he enjoyed the joining of our lips as much as I did.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” He asks in a breathy voice that sends shivers down my spine.

“Why didn’t you?” I return.

“I thought you were straight.”

“I thought you weren’t interested.”

Quatre shakes his head firmly and frames my face with his small, delicate hands. “I was just afraid of driving you away,” he admits, continuing, “You know, they do have a room prepared for me. I don’t normally stay after these things, but they always want me to feel welcome.”

A crease forms in my brow, and I argue, “But aren’t you supposed to stay at the party?”

“Trowa, I see these people once a month. I think they can fair without me,” comes his unyielding reply.

I really don’t want him to go back to the diplomats and pacifists; I want to take him upstairs and tear him out of his expensive suit… I think we’ve heard this before.

We pick up his room key from the front desk and quickly dissuade the bellboy from showing us where to go. The elevator ride is spent extending the fabulous kiss we started downstairs.

On the top floor (floor forty-five), I slip out onto the landing with Quatre in tow. Our fingers lace together as we walk. He laughs as I pass our room and have to backtrack, but just grins at me when I send a low-level glare in his direction. I can’t help but be distracted with thoughts of having the social butterfly all to myself.

“Maybe you should give the key to me. In your state, we’ll never get in the door,” he teases as I fish the card key out of my suit pocket.

Keeping my voice perfectly calm and level, I say something that shuts him up, “If we can’t get in then I’m just going to have to have you out here in the hall.”

A dark blush spreads across his cheeks and ears and I can’t help but crack a tiny smile. I flip the card over and shove it down into the lock, but it gives me a red light and refuses to open. I try it a different direction and get the same ‘no go’ response. If the damn thing doesn’t let me in, I might have to make my statement true.

I catch Quatre roll his eyes out of the corner of my vision and he reaches over to take the key from me. I cross my arms over my chest. Let him try, the lock is obviously busted. If I had a computer, I could get it open in a few seconds but I don’t carry any of that stuff anymore.

He turns the card back the way I first had it and gently slips it down into the lock, pulling it out quickly. The machine gives a friendly beep, the green light flashing to let us know that we have access to the room.

“It’s just a matter of touch Trowa,” Quatre says.

I shake my head and chuckle, opening the door for him. I’m not sure whether I’m nervous, or excited. Either way, my hands are still steady and my heart still races. Halfway into the room, Quatre turns to look at me. The light coming through the window catches on his soft blonde hair, giving him the beginnings of a halo. It makes me realize what I’m about to do.

He is a sweet, fragile life that I have no business tainting. I’m the wild beast that wants nothing more than to touch such a beautiful thing, but such things never end well. No matter how gentle the beast wants to be he always ends up tearing the butterfly apart.

I shut the door and look down at the high-weave carpet.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I mutter.

I don’t move my gaze from the floor, but I can tell that he’s giving me a confused expression, his head tilted just slightly to one side and the longer strands of hair sliding across his eyes. Something inside me rages against my new decision. I’ve wanted for nothing else but him, why would I give that up now?

“Trowa?”

I raise my eyes and spit out my fear in a sharp series of words, “I’ll hurt you.”

He crosses to me, putting his musician’s hands on my warrior’s shoulders. “You’re not going to hurt me. And even if you do, I’ll forgive you,” he murmurs softly at me.

“But I’d never be able to forgive myself.”

Quatre’s big, blue eyes soften immensely and he has to stand on his toes to kiss me. It’s a gentle touch of lips, meant to be more reassuring than arousing.

I hear a thump at the door, and then muffled words spoken in a low voice. We break apart, sharing a curious look. I hold my finger to my lips and Quatre and I get quiet. There’s another soft thump and Duo’s voice comes through the door, “For God’s sake! Fuck each other already! You’ll be a lot happier if you do!”

Quatre breaks into a fit of giggles and I yank open the door to find Duo crouched on the other side, Heero leaning against the opposite wall.

“Do you mind?” I ask with a sarcastic, yet irritated tone.

The mischievous nymph sitting on the floor flashes me the devil’s grin and tosses back, “Nah, not at all. I was going to listen anyway.”

I glance at Heero, who gives me a nonchalant shrug. “I tried to stop him,” the soldier supplies.

“Not very hard.”

Quatre continues to giggle behind me, well past just a good laugh and verging on gut busting hysterics. I try my hardest to keep the smile at bay that’s threatening to lay siege on my face. Instead of allowing it the access it so desperately wants, I give both of the perpetrators a hard glare.

“Get him out of here Heero, before I kill him,” I say in my deadliest voice, but the moment is ruined when the damn grin breaks lose.

Heero chuckles and pulls Duo to his feet. “Come on; let’s find something else to do.”

“Aw! But I want to play voyeur Heero!” Duo whines as his lover practically drags him down the hall.

I shut the door for the second time that night and lean against it. Still snickering faintly, Quatre wipes tears from his eyes. The serious mood is so thoroughly broken that you wouldn’t be able to see the pieces with a magnifying glass.

“I guess we owe Duo…” I say quietly.

Quatre finally gains control of himself and strips off his tuxedo jacket, tossing it in a chair. “Yeah, I guess we do,” he sighs with a smirk.

For a brief moment, we do nothing but look at each other. It’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. I can only credit that to my new knowledge that my love is no longer unrequited.

I wrestle my jacket off and throw it on top of his before going to him. Quatre winds his arms around my waist.

“Don’t deny me this, Trowa. Don’t deny me or you,” he whispers scant inches from my mouth.

We kiss again, but it’s not like before. This kiss is a battle of tongues and passion, practically pitching us over the edge of sanity. Heat rushes my senses and I can’t seem to reel myself back in. Without my order, my hands pull harshly at Quatre’s shirt. The buttons fly off in all directions.

I feel cold air on my back and realize that the charming butterfly is already way ahead of me. He’s worked my shirt open and pushed it off my shoulders, leaving it to hang limply from my belt. Knowing that we don’t want to spend the night on the floor, I start backing my blonde prize towards the bed.

The back of Quatre’s knees collide with the oak bed frame and he crumples onto the bright comforter. I don’t follow him just yet. He looks frail on the king-sized bed, almost child-like, but I should know better than to think of him as breakable. While Quatre has the small, thin frame of a noble, he has the scars of a warrior. He fought and survived the war that threatened to take us all as its casualties. He’s a genius tactician and a brilliant businessman. The only way I could hurt Quatre Rebarba Winner would be to break his heart.

I pull the starched shirt out of my belt and drop it on the floor. Quatre’s eyes roam freely over my upper body while I busy myself with his shoes. While I may not be conceited about my looks, I take a certain pride in keeping my body in perfect shape. It’s never really been for catching anyone’s eye, but more for keeping my strength at a place where I can defend those I care about. Having that blue gaze drink in every ripple of muscle actually gives my hours at the gym a different purpose than before.

After dispatching Quatre’s shoes, I move to work on my own, but the blonde interrupts me. He pulls me down to him to continue our duel. I give up trying to get us out of our clothes and spend an indeterminate amount of time mapping the insides of Quatre’s mouth.

His hands fumble with my zipper, but he can’t seem to get my trousers undone. I maneuver my hand between us and steady his fingers. Together, we tame the rebelling fastening and push it down tooth by tooth.

Quatre’s body trembles beneath mine. Worried, I break away from him and ask, “What’s wrong?”

Flushed and panting, he obviously doesn’t grasp what I’m saying for a moment. I consider repeating myself, but he speaks before I do. “Nothing.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m excited Trowa. Don’t be a dolt,” he teases softly and lifts his hips so I can pull off his slacks.

I toss the expensive suit pants to the floor, not caring where or how they land. “I wasn’t being a dolt, I wanted to make sure that you were still okay with this,” I grump at him, as I kick off my shoes and slip out of my pants. I’m grateful to be rid of the slacks, because they were getting a little… tight.

“We could both be doing this under the eyes of every paparazzi in the world and I’d still want it,” Quatre gasps out as I begin tormenting his navel. Quatre is always extremely particular about how he’s seen by the press, so I suppose it would be saying something if he doesn’t even care about them now.

I hum a soft acknowledgement to his statement and continue to dip my tongue into his belly button. I take note of Quatre’s very distinct taste: a hint of imported soap, the bitter-sweet of lotion, and the salty sharpness of his sweat. If I ever live to be old and grey, I will still remember the flavor of Quatre.

He wriggles beneath the hands I’ve planted on his hips and whimpers my name. I cease my ministrations to glance up at him.

“Will you leave my belly button alone? There are more interesting things to be had,” he complains lightly.

I give his abdomen a parting kiss and glide back up his lithe body, leaving a trail of saliva in my wake. Licking my way up, I pause to tease one of his soft, pink nipples to attention. While he doesn’t seem particularly thrilled about my extended foreplay, I want to savor every inch of flesh.

I bite down on the rosy bud in my mouth and Quatre bucks under me, wailing for the first (and hopefully not last) time. I release it and give it an apologetic lick before moving across to its neglected partner. When I’m done, they’re both tight and hard and a much darker shade of pink.

The soft moan that slips from Quatre’s kiss bruised mouth makes my blood boil. I get a carnal urge to mark him as mine, to let the world know exactly who this body belongs to, to let Quatre know that he is my mate. There’s a soft place just under his chin that looks like prime territory, so I latch on and bring a heavy hickey to the surface. A few seconds pass and then Quatre realizes what I’m doing.

“Trowa, you had better not leave anything permanent!”

Too late now.

I leave his throat in favor of kissing him passionately, making him forget about the dark mark I’ve made on his pale skin. I’m ready for more, but I’m not so sure that he is. My body aches to be inside his.

I remove the remainder of our clothing and run my hands up his narrow frame, savoring the groan I wring from him. Quatre sits up off the bed and grabs onto me. “Love me, Trowa,” he whispers.

Who am I to tell him no?

Not sure of the best… position… for this, I spread his legs and sit between them. Alright, I’ll admit, I’ve never done this before. At the age of twenty, I’ve still never had sex. Most would call that sad, but I’ve know who I want to be with for a long time and I wasn’t willing to run around with the first twinkie who looked my way. My body was waiting for this.

I’ve heard plenty of sex stories from Duo: what worked, what didn’t, what felt amazing, and what left you wondering what just happened. I’ve practically been a third party to the Heero/Duo relationship, but only because the long-haired man felt the need to share. While he claims that the first few times are hard, I’m beginning to wonder how we’re going to do this at all.

It doesn’t seem physically possible. Looking at the girth of my cock and precisely what it’s supposed to slide into, I’m fairly certain that I’m not going to fit. I’m not saying that to boast about my size or anything, but I really don’t think that Quatre can take it.

The blonde youth props himself up on his elbows, asking with a smirk, “What’s the hold-up?”

I hesitate, not wanting to upset him, before responding, “I don’t think I’m going to fit.”

Quatre raises one eyebrow, but doesn’t say a word, the smirk still curling his mouth up at the edges. He seems amused with me.

Alright, so maybe I don’t have enough faith in this whole process, but Duo told me that he’d bled the first time… because they hadn’t used lube. Right, first things first. I hop off the bed (much to the confusion of my new lover) and start scouring the room.

“What are you doing?”

“We need lube.”

Quatre laughs and falls back onto the bed, saying, “I like how you decide this when we’re,” he holds up two fingers pinched together for emphasis, “THIS close to doing this.”

I’m almost too aroused to search, but I know we need something. I really just want to go jump Quatre’s bones and have my way with him into the dusky morning, but this has to be spectacular for both of us. He laces both of his hands into his platinum blonde hair and moans softly. The gesture very nearly makes me give up my quest for something slick, but only nearly. I curse the fact that blood can only service one head at a time and try to focus on my task.

My brain finally does something right, softly mentioning that there’s shower gel, and possibly even lotion, waiting in the bathroom. I run into the marble-lined room and snatch a tiny bottle off the counter. When I turn, Quatre’s standing in the doorway. He scares the living hell out of me, but I don’t react on the outside.

I open my mouth, holding up the bottle of conditioner as defense, but anything I have to say dies on my lips as Quatre folds himself onto his knees. He slides his perfect pink tongue up my arousal and my entire being becomes perfectly still. My body catches on fire, incinerating me from the inside out. Not trusting my knees, which have become strangely weak, I lean on the counter to support myself.

The butterfly (who is not as innocent as I thought he was) tastes the milky precum off the tip and my head falls back against the mirror. If he doesn’t stop, this night is going to end up being very short, so I drop down to his level and kiss him hard. Quatre reciprocates immediately and presses his slender body against mine.

Another rush of blood abandons my brain for my nether regions, but I do have enough sense left to carry him back to bed. We get repositioned and I empty part of the conditioner onto my fingers. I’m still not convinced that lube will make this too much easier, but there’s no way either of us are backing out now.

I slip the first finger into his tight, puckered entrance. Quatre squeezes his eyes shut with a slight grimace, but makes no sign for me to stop. His internal muscles slowly start to relax and so does his expression. I press the next finger inside a little more carefully than the first. Moving slowly, we get to the point that I’m sliding three of them in and out without any trouble.

My lover is wound as tight as a drum beneath me, panting and arching off the bed. I love knowing that I’m doing this to him, that I’m the one bringing him to the edge of pleasure and back. I curl my fingers to expand him further and brush a soft nub. The effect is immediate. Quatre screams and tenses, most of his body lifting off the bed. Not entirely sure what I’ve done, I stop finger-fucking him for the moment.

When he comes down off the high, he whimpers, “Do that again.”

So I do… and again, and again.

When Quatre is positively purring with contentment, I remove my hand and use the remainder of the conditioner bottle to slick myself. Taking a deep breath to steady myself, I pull his legs up over my shoulders and brace my hands on the bed for leverage. He opens his beautiful blue eyes and I smile at him. Unable to keep the husky edge out of my voice, I question, “Are you ready?”

Quatre nods breathlessly, so I press forward.

Condoms briefly occur to me when we start out, but I dismiss it so quickly that the thought barely takes shape. I would be better for us to have them, but I’ve never been with anyone and I highly doubt that Quatre’s been screwing every man he sees. I would have known about that.

I move slowly, letting my smaller lover get used to me. He squeezes my arm when it hurts and we have to wait several minutes for the pain to pass. For now, I cage the raging beast inside me. I know that there will be a time for rough, untamed sex, but now is not it. What seems like an eternity later, I’m completely buried in Quatre’s beautiful body, reveling in the slick heat surrounding me.

My face is so close to his that we’re breathing the same air. His exhale is my inhale, both of us panting uncontrollably. I’m waiting for his okay to continue. One of his legs slips off its sweat slicked perch and starts a slow decent down my bicep. I hike it back up, rubbing the tense muscles in his thigh as I do so.

Finally, Quatre nods to tell me that he’s ready.

We start a pace that’s achingly slow. The first few thrusts are just me, and then he pushes his hips to meet me. The friction is unbelievable, his body gripping me as if to hold me inside. I now know what the rest of the human race means by ‘bliss’. This is bliss.

Our love-making is lazy and relaxed; a leisurely movement punctuated only by soft sighs and low groans. I try and adjust my position so I’ll hit Quatre’s prostate, but there are several unsuccessful strokes before my lover howls my name. I grin and push in a little harder, eliciting a muttered curse word from Quatre’s normally clean mouth.

“Such language,” I grunt out.

My butterfly scrapes his nails down my back, giving the beast reason to throw itself at my mental blockade. I push it back. The beast would tear the butterfly apart. But Quatre does the one thing that gives the monster the key.

“More,” he screams.

I can’t stop it from taking control. I’m afraid of hurting him, but he bites down on the crook of my neck and the creature born in the fires of war retaliates. I slam into the tiny body beneath me, giving him exactly what he wants. The relaxed dance from before is abandoned in favor of the primal need that drives us all.

To my surprise, Quatre rises to the new ante, locking his legs behind my neck and putting his hands on the headboard for leverage. He continues to meet my every thrust with one of his own. We cease to be men and become animals. I growl and he whimpers. He claws and I bite.

Release swims within reach, but I ignore it for now. I guess you could say it was one thing I learned from all of Duo’s stories: The longer you hold it off, the better it’ll be. Of course, I would have an easier time with it if my self control would return sometime soon.

Quatre tangles one hand in the sheets and holds on. Taking that as a sign, I brace myself for the end. Without either of us laying a hand on him, Quatre orgasms. His internal muscles tense with his climax and provide the extra stimulation that I really didn’t need. The fire that’s been building all night tears loose and I join him in screaming at the ceiling.

Our neighbors must love us.

I collapse on top of my younger lover. I can’t do much but breath and trace circles on his wonderfully soft skin with my fingertips. I’ve never had anything like him, and I suspect I never will again.

“That was incredible,” Quatre pants happily. “We should do it again soon.”

I chuckle and gather enough energy to roll off to the side. It would probably be best if I didn’t squish him after making love to him.

“If you’ll have me again. I don’t know how a long-term partner is going to fit into your schedule,” I admit softly without meeting his eyes. I don’t want that to be true, but I know it is.

Quatre’s quiet for a moment and then I feel his hands in my hair. “I would make room for a life partner, especially considering you already live at my house.”

I look up at him slowly.

He continues, “It’s not a matter of a busy schedule, Trowa. Meetings can be rearranged and business trips can be cancelled. A human being cannot be replaced.”

A stupid smile spreads over my face before I can stop it. These emotions are getting out of control. One slip up and every grin that comes along thinks it can dominate my features. That never happened during the war… but then again, I didn’t have much of a reason to smile back then.

“So I guess I’ll be moving into your room?”

Quatre nods and rolls over onto me, joking, “Yep, and you can start doing my laundry too. While I’m away, you know there’s plenty to be done like cooking and cleaning. I am bringing in the money after all.”

“Excuse me? Who just rode who here?” I respond, administering a light pinch to his ribs.

Quatre giggles and snuggles against my chest, dropping the whole, silly affair. I wrap my arms around my prize, feeling quite content.

While I may have caught the butterfly, the butterfly has tamed the beast and that’s something that no delicate creature could have done.

------------

Owari

This one isn’t as funny as the Evil Jeans, but I had a hard time incorporating funny into Trowa’s story. However, there was sex. I don’t know how hot it was, but it was there. By nature, Trowa is more descriptive than Duo, so there are more pages. All in all, I enjoyed writing it. Tell me what you think!