Drowned in Nothing
folder
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,104
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,104
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
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.
Drowned in Nothing
Drowned In Nothing
Characters/Pairing: Quatre/Heero/Trowa
Rating: M/R
Warnings: erotic asphyxiation, sex
Notes: Written for The Gundam Wing Anonymous Kink Meme
Prompt: "breathplay, Trowa/Quatre or Trowa/Quatre/Heero - Trowa the one being asphyxiated, please".
He's embedded in black again, the black which crushes his chest and winds about his throat. Hypoxic dreams; hallucination, he reminds himself. He's not floating anymore: there's too much warmth now, and rhythm and presence. Then it was so cold; he was so still, and he was so alone.
"I want to trust you again," he'd said to Quatre, yesterday, last month, a year ago. It doesn't matter.
He didn't ask for this, but he did assent, and the hunger for oxygen burns worse than the memory. He twists, tries to free himself to breathe, but hands hold him fast. Heero's grip on his arms is like steel; Quatre's hands around his throat a steadily tightening collar. He tries to focus on Heero's face above him, but his vision is too shaded and narrow. Heero's face is a dim blur limned in space black. It's Quatre's weight on his chest, Quatre's cock providing the rhythm inside him.
They could kill him now, either by design or by accident. He gives up to the black and closes his eyes. The ache for oxygen twists, deepens and lightens. He remembers that. He'll pass out soon. But before he loses consciousness there's bliss. He'd heard how drowning is meant to be pleasurable; he doesn't remember enough of before to know if he felt the bliss then, but he feels it now. It's coiling inside him, dragging the threads of agony in his chest to his belly, spinning them into something else. Something bright in the black. He arches uselessly, and his lungs try to cry out. His words are smothered into silence: hot and tight and trapped. Maybe he's dying more than the little death. The black is sucking him down, the tug so irresistible. Maybe it's not so bad to die like this.
But then. "Trowa?"
The weight recedes, the hands loosen and pet his skin. His lungs expand, pulling in air, so clear and full and wondrous. Soft touch where the bruises will be tomorrow. His body is his own again. A kiss on his forehead, and then he's drawn up to sit, cradled from behind and before by two pairs of arms. He doesn't open his eyes yet; he's not ready for the light, but he thinks it might not be so bad to live like this either.
the end
Characters/Pairing: Quatre/Heero/Trowa
Rating: M/R
Warnings: erotic asphyxiation, sex
Notes: Written for The Gundam Wing Anonymous Kink Meme
Prompt: "breathplay, Trowa/Quatre or Trowa/Quatre/Heero - Trowa the one being asphyxiated, please".
He's embedded in black again, the black which crushes his chest and winds about his throat. Hypoxic dreams; hallucination, he reminds himself. He's not floating anymore: there's too much warmth now, and rhythm and presence. Then it was so cold; he was so still, and he was so alone.
"I want to trust you again," he'd said to Quatre, yesterday, last month, a year ago. It doesn't matter.
He didn't ask for this, but he did assent, and the hunger for oxygen burns worse than the memory. He twists, tries to free himself to breathe, but hands hold him fast. Heero's grip on his arms is like steel; Quatre's hands around his throat a steadily tightening collar. He tries to focus on Heero's face above him, but his vision is too shaded and narrow. Heero's face is a dim blur limned in space black. It's Quatre's weight on his chest, Quatre's cock providing the rhythm inside him.
They could kill him now, either by design or by accident. He gives up to the black and closes his eyes. The ache for oxygen twists, deepens and lightens. He remembers that. He'll pass out soon. But before he loses consciousness there's bliss. He'd heard how drowning is meant to be pleasurable; he doesn't remember enough of before to know if he felt the bliss then, but he feels it now. It's coiling inside him, dragging the threads of agony in his chest to his belly, spinning them into something else. Something bright in the black. He arches uselessly, and his lungs try to cry out. His words are smothered into silence: hot and tight and trapped. Maybe he's dying more than the little death. The black is sucking him down, the tug so irresistible. Maybe it's not so bad to die like this.
But then. "Trowa?"
The weight recedes, the hands loosen and pet his skin. His lungs expand, pulling in air, so clear and full and wondrous. Soft touch where the bruises will be tomorrow. His body is his own again. A kiss on his forehead, and then he's drawn up to sit, cradled from behind and before by two pairs of arms. He doesn't open his eyes yet; he's not ready for the light, but he thinks it might not be so bad to live like this either.
the end