by Raletha
Notes:For those of you who are following "Twilight Dawning", an arc of mine arc which is an alternate timeline of this arc & the Solace arc (confused yet?), Verge is set at the same time as Stumbling On, a few days before Quatre's 16th birthday.
Thanks: to Lorena for inspiring this and to Anne for the beta reading!
"Just how long is this elevator ride?" Trowa asked his companion as they continued to rise. Without the benefit of his eyesight, he couldn't read the floor numbers, but he guessed they had reached at least sixty by now. Buildings this tall were not so common on L4 that he shouldn't be able to determine from memory where they were.
"Shh, we're almost there... " Quatre spoke, squeezing Trowa's gloved fingers with his own. The elevator stopped with a gentle lurch; the doors opened with a muted bing. "In fact, we are here. Don't peek."
Trowa could hear Quatre's smile in his tone. "I wasn't planning to." He turned his head in the direction of his lover's voice to return the smile. "But I am very curious."
"Okay, um, come this way and I'll try not to let you trip on anything." He felt Quatre take each of his wool-clad hands and begin tugging him away from the elevator. Immediately a cold blast of wind hit him, and Trowa was pleased Quatre had insisted he wear his long overcoat.
"It's cold and windy. You want to live on a rooftop?" he teased.
"Oh, shush. It's perfect, and it won't be cold and windy when they're finished."
Plastic covered the floor Trowa determined, listening to the sounds of their footsteps rustling across the surface. He caught his foot in a fold and nearly stumbled but for his partner's support.
"We're almost there," Quatre reassured. After a few more feet Trowa sensed the area around him brighten and the wind gain in strength. He could hear it blowing against the plastic and whistling past the walls.
"Okay, stop here," came Quatre's voice, but a tad too late. Trowa bumped into his lover before being caught in his embrace.
"Oops," he said with a grin, wrapping his arms around Quatre and bending his head forward in hopes of a kiss.
Quatre dodged with a laugh, planting a swift peck on Trowa's cheek.
"Not fair," was Trowa's amused complaint. He ran his hands up Quatre's back to his neck and then to either side of his head. Thus trapping his lover he seized Quatre's smiling mouth with his own. Cold and smooth like marble, Quatre's lips moved against his, but as Trowa coaxed them apart he found wet heat and passion. Quatre hummed his approval, relaxing into their embrace and deepening the kiss.
Even now, after having kissed Quatre more times than he could count, Trowa still had this sense of wanting to stop time and exist in these perfect moments between them. Quatre's kisses never failed to enthrall him; simultaneously sultry and sweet they filled him with a feeling of such completion and yet left him hungering for so much more. Since they had recently become lovers, he knew exactly what that more was. His body had already responded, but this was neither the time nor the place.
They were both breathless when they finally broke apart. Quatre's voice had become low and smooth in the manner Trowa had learned to identify with his lover's arousal. "Don't you want to see?" Quatre asked.
Trowa suppressed a shiver at his lover's honeyed tone and answered with a nod. Clad in supple leather, Quatre's fingers brushed across his cheeks before moving to untie the blindfold he was wearing.
When Quatre had come home from the office today, he'd immediately insisted upon blindfolding Trowa and having them driven to wherever they were now. The enthusiasm expressed by his lover had been contagious, especially when Quatre claimed with certainty to have found his new home. Trowa had been more than happy to play along since they'd been spending less time together in recent weeks. Now that Quatre's doctor had pronounced him 'as good as new', he'd taken to spending his mornings at the Winner Enterprises offices preparing for his full time position of CEO. A position he would assume when he turned sixteen. His birthday was this weekend.
As Quatre removed the band of dark silk from his eyes, Trowa blinked at the sudden brightness. Quatre stood in front of him, wearing a large grin. Excitement sparkled in his eyes, and the wind tousled the flaxen waves of his hair. Immediately beyond Quatre lay an expansive view of the city. Her multitude of colourful domes and rooftops shone in the colony's simulation of an early winter afternoon. Gardens, some still green, others more barren, looked as though they had been sprinkled with random generosity among the cathedrals and mosques, the modern corporate buildings and condominium towers. Pale ribbons of streets wound graciously through the city while scattered vehicles and pedestrians crawled along them.
"Wow," Trowa whispered as Quatre stepped from in front of him so that the vista spread before his eyes, unimpaired.
"Isn't it great?" Quatre took Trowa's hand in his. "It's better than the top floor of the WE offices even."
Tearing his gaze from the view, Trowa began to look around, taking in the rest of his surroundings. The opening through which they gazed appeared to be the casing for a huge window, which spanned one entire wall, wrapping around the corner to span a good half of the adjacent wall. This was the source of the wind since it was missing its glass. Transparent plastic covered both walls and floors. Beneath the plastic on the floor appeared to be genuine hardwood, on the walls smoothly finished plaster. An imitation fireplace, mantle, and hearth took up the remainder of the exterior wall; its lines made up of sleek, polished wood, decorated with simple geometric tiles in a palate of deep red, delicate cream, glossy ebony, and celadon green.
Slowly, Trowa turned counterclockwise to observe the airy, high-ceilinged design of the space. He surmised that where they stood was the living room, open to the dining room; a graceful, wide arch framed the delineation of the two rooms. Beyond lay the expansive kitchen; its clean lines protected by layers of thick plastic as well. The main interior wall was broken by more wide arches, which appeared to lead to a wide corridor. Light flooded the interior. All of the exterior walls Trowa could see were comprised of massive sheets of plate glass, their expanse interrupted only by reinforcing beams.
A tug at his hand drew Trowa's attention back to his companion. "Come on," Quatre said, giving Trowa's arm a strong pull, "I want to show you the rest."
Obediently, Trowa trailed behind his enthusiastic partner as he guided him to the large master suite and nearby study across the hall. The space still required considerable work, but Quatre deemed this an advantage; there were still many opportunities for him to meet with the architect and interior designers to customise the penthouse.
"This is so great, Trowa," Quatre spoke, urging Trowa to the wide French doors leading from the master bedroom to a surprisingly large roof garden. It had yet to be populated by any plants, but the structure was already in place for it to be an interesting and relaxing area. Raised beds of a variety of heights curved and wandered, forming a maze of secluded spots. Trowa could easily imagine it in the spring with creeping jasmine and other fragrant flowering vines and shrubs overflowing the beds, filling the air with their perfume, and sheltering the space from the dim traffic noise far below. But he was unable to linger. Quatre, impatient with excitement, dragged him back inside and to the wide sweeping staircase leading from the foyer to a second floor.
With a smile Trowa followed, bemused at the contradictions of Quatre today. On one hand, he appeared the quintessential professional businessman, with his impeccably tailored camel coat over the equally well-tailored grey suit he wore. As he gestured at this and that, between the edges of his gloves and the edge of his coat sleeves, Trowa caught peeks of his burnished silver cufflinks. They shone, elegant and understated, against the rich wine colour of his shirt. Quatre's hair, although still endearingly disheveled, had been tidied up so that it no longer hid his eyes. The cut accentuated his high cheekbones and the set of his jaw, adding -- or perhaps revealing -- an image of greater maturity than had been present before.
On the other hand, he was still a teenage boy, with his childlike enthusiasm and joie de vivre. It was at complete odds with the professionalism conveyed by his attire. Trowa fancied he could see Quatre flitting from one persona to the other, neither completely subsuming the other, and neither any less -- or any more -- truly Quatre than the other. It was like (or perhaps it was in fact) seeing simultaneously the boy Quatre had been and the man he would become, although, at this moment in time, he was wholly neither.
They moved through two bedrooms and their associated ensuites -- with Quatre proclaiming that he was pleased he'd have room for guests -- before ending up in a room directly above the lounge, and with an identical expanse of glassless windows and another fireplace, which Quatre pronounced to be the music room. Eyes bright, Quatre turned back when they reached the centre of the room.
"So, do you like it?" he asked, stepping close to rest his hands on Trowa's forearms, and tilting his head to the side. His expression was eager, yet shadowed by something -- anxiety?
In hopes of understanding that anxiety, Trowa studied his partner's face. "Why are you asking me?"
"Well..." Quatre ducked his head toward his shoulder.
"It's your place, Quatre," said Trowa, angling his head in an attempt to catch Quatre's eyes - and failing. "Do you like it?"
"I adore it, but I wanted to make sure you did too," Quatre spoke without looking up.
Trowa raised an eyebrow, using his index finger under Quatre's chin to turn his head so their eyes could meet.
"Because, well, I thought maybe you'd like to live here with me."
"Cat, I..." Trowa started before he realised he wasn't sure what he'd intended to say. Fortunately Quatre cut him off.
"Wait," Quatre silenced Trowa with gloved fingers pressed against his lips. "Let me finish before you say anything else."
"Okay," said Trowa when Quatre removed his hand.
"I haven't told you this, because," Quatre shrugged, watching one of his hands brushing stray bits of lint from Trowa's sleeve. "Well partly because I guess I was scared to. Scared of what it means." He sighed. "But also because I wasn't sure. And because it took me a long time to realise that what I felt was what I think I feel."
Quatre glanced up, his lips pressed into a nervous smile. Trowa remained silent, waiting for Quatre to continue.
"What I wanted to tell you is that," Quatre cast his eyes down, and bowed his head as he paused for a moment. "Trowa," he said, looking up again. "I think, no, I've realised. I've realised I love you."
Though Trowa had never heard those words spoken to him, somehow they didn't surprise him as much he had expected upon hearing them for the first time. In retrospect, he could recognise that it had been intensifying between them since they had traveled together on the Destiny - it might have even started before that. This emotion, he knew. He had been feeling its echo from Quatre sprout, grow and bloom since their very first meeting. "I know," he replied softly with a smile. "I've known it for a long time."
"How? I mean, I only just figured it out."
"I feel it, and I see it," Trowa shrugged, lifting a hand to brush golden strands from Quatre's temple, and marveling again at his lover's beauty.
"Oh," Quatre turned his face into Trowa's palm in an attempt to hide the sheepish grin on his face. "I feel kind of silly."
"Why?"
"Because all this time you've been telling me you love me. And I never knew what to say in response, but the whole time I actually loved you too, and you knew but I didn't, and it's just weird. It's like the universe was keeping a big secret from me and having a good laugh at my expense."
"I'm not laughing."
"You are smiling though."
"So?" Trowa leaned down to nuzzle at Quatre's neck, pressing a soft kiss just below the angle of his jaw. The skin there was warm and fragrant, protected by the collar of Quatre's overcoat. Buttery soft against Trowa's cheek was the pile of the fine cashmere. Quatre had had the fabric imported from a boutique in Milan, the coat designed by an obscure Parisian designer, and finally tailored here on L4.
Quatre's chuckle rippled under Trowa's lips, which had meandered to his throat. "You're smiling at my expense."
"Oh, I don't think it's at your expense," murmured Trowa between kisses. The feel of Quatre's skin beneath his lips rapidly diverted his attention to more visceral interests.
"So?" Quatre teased, growing breathless and tilting his head back to provide Trowa better access to his throat. "What's in it for me then?"
"To celebrate your realisation," Trowa began, pulling back from Quatre and taking his hands in his own. Giving them a tug, he continued, " When we get back to your place I intend to make love to you for the rest of the day."
"Why wait? This could be my place," Quatre pointed out with a quirk of an eyebrow.
"You want to...?" Trowa asked. "Here?"
"Why not?" Quatre asked, a wicked grin crossing his face as he freed his hands and reached for the buttons of Trowa's coat.
"I..." Despite his desire, Trowa could think of several reasons why this was a less than ideal situation and location -- it was cold, not that private; there was a distinct lack of furniture, and he didn't have any lubricant with him. But the glint in Quatre's eyes banished any hesitancy. The gloved hands undoing his coat and sliding within to fondle him through the fabric of his pants overwhelmed the potential for negation.
"I want you," Quatre whispered, leaning in to kiss Trowa. Again, his lips were cold but his mouth warm as, with surprising dexterity, Quatre managed to undo Trowa's fly though his hands were still covered. "Take me now," Quatre's breath wafted hot across Trowa's lips before Quatre stepped back to remove his coat. Tossing it to the ground, he knelt facing away from Trowa, and removed his handkerchief. Before him he spread the cotton square and unfastened his pants. He turned his head to glance at Trowa, high colour visible across his cheeks. "Well?" he prompted, "I'm going to get cold, if you don't hurry up and do something to keep me warm."
And with those words, Quatre pushed his trousers down to his knees and fell forward to all fours, arching his back to present a most promising view of his posterior and thighs, provocatively obscured in part by the dark charcoal fall of his suit jacket.
No further persuasion was required. Trowa dropped to his knees behind his lover, placing a hand on each of Quatre's buttocks. It was strange to touch Quatre and have the sensation so muted by the fine wool of the gloves he wore. But something about having his touch muffled in this way, the stark contrast of his black clad fingers on the smooth, pale skin before him -- it only heightened his desire. He slid his hands over the curve of Quatre's rear to push his jacket and shirt up his back, revealing more of his lover's waiting body and brushing his fingertips in reverent acknowledgement over the still angry red scar to the right of Quatre's spine.
Hissing in pleasure and anticipation, Quatre struggled to spread his legs as far as the clothing bunched at his knees would allow. Without the increasingly habitual tube of lubricant, Trowa decided he needed to improvise, and quickly, his own desire now manifesting as an insistent throbbing at his groin. Each small noise or movement of Quatre's only served to enhance that demanding pressure.
His hands glided back to his lover's buttocks, spreading them apart so that he could admire the tight opening revealed and anticipate the pleasure to be found there. Recalling things he'd read recently at Quatre's behest -- things concerning loveplay between men -- he bent his head near and extended his tongue to run it experimentally along the exposed crevice, starting just behind the plump pouch of Quatre testicles and moving up to linger at his anus.
"Oooh!" was Quatre's surprised exhalation, which turned to a low shuddering moan as Trowa pressed his face closer, the flesh of Quatre's buttocks cool against his cheeks, but very warm where he moved his tongue and lips. Trowa closed his eyes, concentrating on the ever more familiar scent and taste of Quatre. He tasted sweet and spicy like cardamom or cinnamon combined with the scent of vanilla from his soap. Lightly at first, he lapped and suckled the opening beneath his lips, but soon gained the confidence to probe and delve into his lover's body with more assurance, spurred on by Quatre's ragged gasps and urgent movements.
Careful to allow his saliva to accumulate during his preparations, Trowa reached to fumble with one hand, clumsily shoving his pants and underwear down far enough to free his cock. He shivered at the vague prickling sensation of wool against sensitive skin, but did not relinquish the attention he was paying Quatre.
Quatre, who now sobbed breathless pleas, swayed on his hands and knees and finally managed to let out a single coherent word, "Now."
Wiping his mouth across the back of one hand, Trowa straightened, eager to comply with his lover's request. After a brief struggle with the encumberance of his trousers, Trowa managed to position himself kneeling between Quatre's calves and realised his coat was going to be a problem. With trembling hands, he managed to arrange the heavy garment so that it fell, tent-like, about himself and Quatre as he bent over his lover's back.
In a series of short, gentle movements he rocked his hips, easing into Quatre incrementally while his partner gasped his encouragement. Each forward motion took him deeper until he was fully sheathed within his lover's body, panting and - despite the cold - beginning to sweat. Swallowed by that welcoming heat, Trowa tightened his hold on Quatre, wrapping both arms about his lover's chest and burying his face in the soft flaxen waves at the nape of his neck. It was a strange dichotomy of sensation, the exquisite sensitivity and warmth of their joining set against the dampened contact of the rest of their bodies and the chill wind still whipping at their hair.
"Mmmm.... so... good," Quatre mumbled as Trowa gradually withdrew and then sank back in. Trowa clenched his jaw against the urge to surrender -- to not just the physical stimulation, but also to the tendrils of Quatre's pleasure that teased and tickled at the edges of his consciousness, beckoning him.
He kept his strokes long and slow at first to savour Quatre, to draw every ounce of pleasure from his partner. But his resolve was soon tested by the way Quatre's body squeezed him just so -- gloriously tight, before melting into the delicious, more yielding flesh deep within. As each tempered thrust dragged and slid along his length, the discomfort and cold disappeared, the friction between them stoked his arousal, and the heat between them grew.
He would draw back slowly -- as slowly as he could bear -- before plunging back in fast, with a sharp, forceful jerk of his hips. Quatre's punctuating cries grew louder in response so Trowa set a demanding pace, a pattern of gradual withdrawals paired with abrupt inbound thrusts. With each hard shove, Quatre would nearly collapse as his entire body quaked and his elbows buckled. With each lazy retreat, he'd rally enough to brace himself for the next thrust.
But when Quatre started pushing back against him with breathless whines and soft grunts, what was left of Trowa's taxed restraint crumbled. Any thought of technique fled his mind, replaced by the heat swelling in his groin. Soon he was simply pounding into Quatre -- faster and faster yet, each thrust blending into the next in a blurred buzz of building rapture.
Beneath him the tension in Quatre's body kept mounting, tightening around him, while his lover's moans increased in pitch, heralding his imminent climax. Quatre pushed back hard one last time before his rhythm broke and he finally collapsed onto his forearms, his utterance a laboured stream of exultation, wordlessly begging for his release.
Trowa stopped, gasping for air, to straighten and move his hands to Quatre's hips. He flexed his fingers to secure his grip and began moving again, driving into his lover's body with renewed vigor, unrelenting in his goal. Finally, Quatre shouted and whimpered. The muscles surrounding Trowa contracted, vice-like, as Quatre shuddered beneath him.
Unable and unwilling to resist the searing heat of his own gathering orgasm, Trowa closed his eyes, oblivious to his own ragged exhalations, his entire focus bent on his sprint to completion. The deafening roar of ecstasy swept through him like a sudden summer storm, nearly banishing consciousness as, with a final shove forward, he buried himself within his partner and came.
Head bowed, Trowa didn't move for a moment except for his hands, which softly, soothingly caressed the bare skin beneath them. Quatre breathed heavily as he stirred and raised himself back to his hands, groaning at the effort. With shaky movements Trowa withdrew, and shuffled backwards, still on his knees. Far too hot, he shrugged off his long coat and collapsed to lie on it, panting and heedless of his disheveled state.
From under heavy eyelids Trowa watched Quatre carefully cleaning up with his handkerchief before turning to face him. His pants still undone and clothes rumpled, Quatre crawled over to Trowa and lay down beside him. Quatre leaned close to press a lazy kiss on Trowa's cheek while he tugged the blindfold from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and used it to clean his partner. Closing his eyes under the influence of that gentle touch, Trowa breathed deeply and wished they were already back in Quatre's bedroom, tangled in crisp sheets and warm blankets, upon the sinfully soft mattress of his lover's bed. They didn't speak for a time.
"Well?" Quatre asked eventually, rousing Trowa to open his eyes.
"Hmm?" Trowa pulled Quatre closer against his side to minimise the flow of cold air between them.
"What do you think?" Quatre clarified, rolling to throw an arm and leg across Trowa, and rest his head in the hollow of Trowa's shoulder.
Even though he knew Quatre's question concerned the purchasing of the unfinished condominium, he couldn't help but tease his partner. "I can't think of a single reason why not." He craned his neck to meet Quatre's eyes. "That was a very persuasive demonstration."
Quatre looked at him in mild confusion before laughing and raising himself so they could see each other's faces more comfortably. "The condo, I mean."
"I think you'll have to buy it now after what we've just done. It'd be wrong otherwise." He grinned up at Quatre who was leaning above him, propped up on one elbow with his head cradled in the hand of that arm. "I can see you living here, Cat," Trowa continued more seriously. "It's very you."
Quatre nodded absently as his smile turned to a pensive and anticipant expression. "What about you? Can you see yourself living here with me?"
It was pointless to keep the resulting frown from his face. Trowa knew Quatre could sense his discomfort at the question. What Trowa didn't understand was the source of his discomfort. He'd not intended to stay as long as he had already, but every time he'd thought about leaving, something had stopped him. He'd found any number of reasons to stay just another week or two, and at the end of that time, there would be another reason. Still, he'd never told Quatre he was staying.
"Do you want to leave?" Quatre eventually asked, his voice sounding younger, more uncertain, than before.
"I don't know," was Trowa's honest reply. It felt cruel to be unable to simply say no in the wake of their lovemaking. Trowa closed his eyes against the intent turquoise gaze of his lover, of his best friend.
"Do you want to stay?" came Quatre's next, more hesitantly spoken, question.
"I don't know," Trowa sighed, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub his eyes - a gesture of frustration. Surely he wanted to want to stay, but that wasn't quite the same thing. As much as he enjoyed being with Quatre, as much as he cared for the other boy, life here with Quatre had a surreal quality of impermanence. He couldn't recognise himself here, in Quatre's life.
"You don't have to," Quatre's statement, though meant to be supportive, held a defensive note.
"I know," Trowa acknowledged, opening his eyes. One thing Quatre would never do was force him to stay through any sort of coercion.
"I'd like to know if you will though," Quatre pressed, resorting to the directness and honesty Trowa had grown to value so much in their interactions.
He understood what Quatre meant. Whether he knew if he wanted to stay was irrelevant to the question of whether he would. "Part of me wants to," he began, hoping to reassure Quatre that what existed between them was important to him. "I like the idea of being here with you."
"But," Quatre continued for him when Trowa fell silent. "You told Catherine you'd go back."
"I did, but it's not just that. I do feel bad that I haven't even contacted her yet, since she's the closest I have to family. But I - I don't know what to say to her. And, I don't know..." he trailed off with a sigh.
"What?"
"You're about to start your life as CEO. Your life is here, and you know what it's all about. Me? I haven't got a clue what to do next."
"I'd like you to be part of my life here, for what that's worth." Quatre moved his hand across the coarse knit texture of Trowa's sweater to rest over his heart.
"I don't know how to be."
"You've been doing well so far."
"I guess so."
"Trowa, listen to me for a minute. I understand that you're uncertain about a lot of things now. The war is over, I've recovered, and Catherine would probably like to hear from you."
Trowa nodded.
"So, whatever you decide to do, you're going to be in unfamiliar territory. If you stay here with me, at least we'll be together, and I can give you the time and space to figure out what you do want to do. I'll just hope that it involves me."
"The one thing that doesn't confuse me is how I feel about you," Trowa said, shifting to lie on his side facing Quatre. "But we're so young..." Trowa glanced down as he trailed off, frustrated that the words to express his feelings were eluding him.
"Tell me something then. Have you ever felt as young as you are?"
"No. You're right," Trowa conceded. "I don't think I've ever felt like a child." It was a valid point, after all. They'd already taken up responsibilities and commitments, lived through situations to challenge the wisest and most skilled adults. Why shouldn't he seize the small piece of present contentment he was being offered?
"I think we're both smart enough and mature enough to make these decisions. It's not like we've rushed into this either. Let me do this for you, give you this time."
"Then I think..." Trowa found himself rapidly coming to a decision. Suddenly it seemed bizarre to him that mere moments before he'd felt any doubt whatsoever. Maybe the difference between wanting and wanting to want was but a technicality. His initial reluctance to commit to staying evaporated as he realised that the reasons fueling that reluctance were purely artificial and of his own construction. Besides, Quatre wanted him here. "I do want to stay then. I will stay."
A long pause followed wherein Quatre merely stared at him. Despite the fact that his lover was likely feeling his certainty, eventually the other boy asked slowly, "You're sure?"
"I am," Trowa affirmed without hesitation before explaining further. "I'd been over-analyzing the question. There's no good reason for me not to stay, and plenty of reasons to stay."
Quatre broke out into a wide grin, and joy shone in his eyes. The expression offered Trowa an unimpaired glimpse of Quatre, not the man, but the boy. "Oh, it'll be so much fun to have you here!"
"Yeah, it will be fun."
"And it means a lot to me, to have you here," Quatre said, his demeanor again turning more serious, more somber -- more adult. He rolled to his back, stared up at the open rafters of the ceiling, and continued in a soft voice, "I'm feeling scared about next week."
"You'll be fine," Trowa reassured. "You'll be more than fine. You'll be incredible and leave all the crusty old vice presidents' heads spinning."
"You think so?"
"I know so. You make my head spin."
Quatre laughed, "I have special techniques for you that I'm certainly not going to be using on the crusty old V.P.'s."
"I hope not! But that's not what I meant. You've never seen you, the way you shine. You're a natural, Quatre. Your charisma, your intellect, you carry it all effortlessly. It's just part of you, like your arms or legs."
Quatre gave him a skeptical look but grinned before replying with an arched eyebrow and a lowered tone, "Hmm, maybe I should hire you to be my official ego stroker and pep talker?"
"So long as," began Trowa, pitching his voice equally low, "I'm allowed to stroke other things too." He met Quatre's eyes and slid the hand that had been resting on Quatre's stomach into his lover's open fly. Unsurprised, he found Quatre already hard. The shaft of the boy's arousal jumped under his palm, stiffening further when he squeezed it.
"Aaah, yes... of course... you may," Quatre gasped, pressing up into Trowa's hand.
As always, Quatre's susceptibility to his touch fascinated Trowa. His lover's eagerness to lose himself in sensation, and unselfconscious responsiveness inflamed Trowa's yearning for a greater reaction. Pressing a slow, hungry kiss to Quatre's parted lips, Trowa slid the fingers of both hands under the waistband of his lover's boxers. He moved to straddle Quatre's legs and tugged down the fabric barrier, exposing the full length of his partner's swollen cock.
Without hesitation or preamble, Trowa lowered his head to take that proud organ between his lips. Hot thickness filled his mouth; the sweetness of Quatre's skin, and the spicy musk of Quatre's scent suffused his senses. The resulting panging cries of pleasure and tensing muscles spurred him to suckle his partner in earnest, stroking the velvet skin with his tongue while sliding his lips along the stiff column. He'd take as much of Quatre's length into his mouth as he could manage comfortably, before pulling back up to the head and attending more carefully to that region. He found a pattern of stimulation that drew such exquisite pleasure sounds from his lover, sounds of entreaty wept from Quatre's lips, beautiful and crystalline like the morning dew.
Beneath him Quatre's body, strung taut with passion, arched and quivered. His lover moved his hips in a shallow rhythm to match Trowa's - encouraging but not demanding, a display of appreciation not of command. Up and under Quatre's shirt Trowa slid his hands, finding the erect buds of his lover's nipples and grazing them with his fingertips. The texture of the fine wool over tender flesh caused Quatre's cries to descend to tortured groans. As Quatre's writhing grew more insistent, Trowa increased the pace of his movements. He drew his hands back down his lover's body to ease them under Quatre's buttocks, lifting the boy's hips while taking Quatre's erection even more deeply into his throat.
He nearly gagged, but with concentration and slow breaths relaxed to overcome that reflex. Leather clad fingers repeatedly grasped at his hair, slid over his temples, and caressed his ears in a trembling dance of need. A need Trowa intended to answer. Tightening his grip on Quatre, Trowa used his hands to move his partner's hips in time with the stimulation of his mouth. Thus rocking and suckling his lover, Trowa reveled in the urgent straining of Quatre's body and his ragged utterances as he sped him toward his climax.
A sharp cry tore from Quatre's lips, every muscle snapped rigid, and Trowa's mouth was filled with the thick proof of his lover's passion as Quatre collapsed into a series of spasms. With a final whimper, the boy went limp.
Gently, Trowa lowered Quatre to the floor and removed his hands and mouth from his lover's breathless form. He pressed a soft kiss to the line of Quatre's hipbone before pulling up his lover's boxers and pants. His own gloves he removed in order to do up Quatre's fly and belt.
"You're hired," Quatre panted eventually, his voice hoarse. "In fact, your demonstration has convinced me to make it a full time position."
Trowa put on his most serious tone to answer, "Thank you, sir." Laying his head on his partner's hip, he nuzzled Quatre's crotch to emphasize his next words, "I'm looking forward to working on your staff."
Quatre gasped at the contact, before chuckling, "I'm glad to have found someone so eager to take on the hard tasks."
"You'll find I am prepared to go to great lengths to ensure your satisfaction," answered Trowa, raising himself to stand on his knees. One hand briefly indicated his own erection as he tucked in his shirt and refastened his trousers.
Quatre's eyes lingered at his groin appreciatively. "I could see your dedication in your recent performance." After a brief struggle to sit up, Quatre ran his fingertips along the ridge of Trowa's arousal; he tilted his head to press his chin against Trowa's breast bone and looked up to meet Trowa's eyes, "However, I don't expect to always come first. Part of my responsibility is to see to it that your needs are fulfilled as well."
"So when shall we start?" Trowa inquired with a smile. He cupped Quatre's face with one hand, drawing the pad of his thumb across Quatre's bottom lip.
Actions answered that question. Capturing his thumb between his teeth, Quatre drew the digit into his mouth while maintaining eye contact with Trowa. The taller boy shivered at the promising fluid warmth of Quatre's mouth and the sensuous stroking of his lover's tongue. Quatre's fingers pressed against his aching cock more firmly, rubbing the hard flesh. The rough friction of cotton under leather only aggravated his desire. He pushed his hips forward, seeking more of that touch and closed his eyes with a sigh.
But his rational mind intruded - or rather the chill wind did. Reluctantly he pulled away from Quatre. "Let's wait until we're somewhere warmer and more comfortable," he suggested. The wind had permeated both his sweater and turtleneck, and he knew Quatre would be feeling the cold even more than he, since the boy wasn't wearing a sweater. "Because I really would like to spend the rest of day in bed with you."
With a rueful smile Quatre nodded his agreement, "Better than catching cold up here." They helped each other to stand and straighten each other's clothes so that, by the time they'd returned to Quatre's waiting car, there was little indication of how they'd recently spent their time.
Quatre's chauffeur ushered them politely into the limousine, and the boys sank gratefully into its soft seats, happy to bask the comfortable warmth of the car's interior. During the trip home, they engaged in fairly bland conversation, with Quatre still uncomfortable with any displays of affection, no matter how discreet, between them around anyone -- even (or particularly) his servants. He had mentioned in private how, although he knew it was silly, he still felt the weight of his father's judgement through the eyes of the men and women his father had originally employed. But Quatre hadn't the heart to send any of them away. Part of his solution was to maintain the family manor and its full domestic staff, but move himself to a place of his own - this new condominium.
After requesting that afternoon tea be brought to his personal suite, and following that, privacy for the remainder of the day, Quatre suggested a bath, ostensibly to finish banishing the chill of the early afternoon's activities.
He scented the water with a foaming mixture of ylang ylang and roses, its sensual, heavy scent both soothing and erotic as Trowa sank into the water, leaning back into Quatre's arms. He closed his eyes with a sigh to better luxuriate in the heat of the water as it seeped into his muscles. With an answering sigh, Quatre squirmed behind him to find a more comfortable arrangement of his limbs before falling still. The slide of Quatre's body against his, slippery and hot beneath the water promised the good things to come later, but for now, Trowa was content to relax and let his consciousness drift -- content, warm, and, for once, unconcerned about the immediate future. Quatre's fingers stroked lazy patterns over his chest and arms, and Trowa heard his lover's breathing grow deep and even in relaxation. The only other sounds were the occasional drip of condensation from the tap or a gentle slosh accompanying the shifting of an arm or leg, until Quatre spoke softly.
"Hmmm, this's nice," he murmured, his words pronounced with comfortable lethargy.
"Yeah," Trowa answered, lifting one hand to rest it on the leg wrapped about his waist.
"Mm glad you're here."
"So'm I."