by Ruth
"Ha!" whooped Quatre, pointing at the television. "Ha! I told you!"
Trowa folded his arms and growled. "All right, you win."
"That's right," Quatre turned with an evil look on his face. "And that means I get whatever I want."
His partner eyed him suspiciously. "Within reason."
"Uhn-Uhn-Uhn, you didn't say that when we made the bet." Quatre looked around the apartment, whistling to himself. "What do I want to do?" he asked facetiously.
"Oh, I already know it's got something to do with sex," Trowa retorted, not moving from the padded leather couch where he sprawled bonelessly with one arm along the back. He tilted his head back and tried to look bored.
Quatre circled the long modular sofa that cut off the dining area from the living area. "Ah!" he said with some satisfaction and came back with one of the high backed fake mahogany dining chairs. "This is part one," he put it in front of the wall screen so that there was a good view of the couch.
"Haven't we already done this?" Trowa asked.
"Oh, no, this is something different," Quatre wagged a finger at him. "This is all my idea, so why don't you go into the bathroom, get undressed and get yourself ready."
Trowa sighed. "I knew it," he folded his long legs and rose. "Which lube do you want?"
"What makes you think we're going to be using that?" Quatre asked over his shoulder as he opened the hall closet.
"I amnottaking you to the doctor again if we don't!" Trowa shot back.
"Oh, all right," Quatre was rummaging around. "Vanilla will do. Now don't come out until I tell you to!"
"All right, I guess fair is fair and it's my turn to get tied up," Trowa remarked, his bare skin making a sucking sound on the vinyl cushion. Quatre wound the length of silk tie around his left calf, securing it to the wooden leg as he had the right.
"Don't sound so blasé," Quatre scolded. "You find it interesting, I know you do." He walked his fingers up Trowa's thigh.
"Mph," Trowa grunted as his erection started to swell. Quatre chuckled nastily and wound another tie around Trowa's left knee and the corner of the chair seat.
"You don't have a-a-any say in this," Quatre whispered to Trowa's penis. "It's all me tonight."
"Ahh - Cat. . ."
"Uhn-Uhn-Uhn," Quatre pulled Trowa's arms behind the chair back. "You can't talk." He kissed the back of Trowa's right ear. "Not a word." It took four ties before he was satisfied with his captive. He nibbled along the back of Trowa's neck as he knotted two handkerchiefs together. When Trowa opened his mouth to moan, the knotted cloth slid loosely between his teeth. Quatre left it there, knowing Trowa could spit it out if he wanted to.
"Oh, yes," he purred stepping back to the couch. "What a picture! Can you see me, Trowa? Oh good. . ."
With the back of his legs against the leather couch, Quatre began to unbutton his shirt. He did it slowly, carefully, starting with each cuff, then one by one by one by one from the collar down. As soon as the last button was opened, he stretched slowly. Only then did he take off his shirt, exposing his bare chest. Trowa's frustrated sound made Quatre's nipples rise just to hear. He carefully folded his shirt and put it on the floor.
With the same luxurious care, he unbuckled his belt and eased it from the loops, wound it neatly and put it on his shirt. He unsnapped the top of his pants, coaxing the zipper down inch by inch. Quatre stretched again, knowing very well his own erection was poking out, turning the front of his white briefs into a little tent. He pulled the waistband open and bent his knees, stepping out of one leg, then the other.
Trowa was sweating as he folded the pants.
Quatre sat back on the couch, reveling in the smooth, soft feel of the leather on his back and legs. He slid one hand down his leg and coaxed a sock off with his fingers. He stretched again, before letting his fingers creep down the other leg to twitch off the other sock. He leaned back, spreading arms and legs as if he were about to make snow angels on the couch.
Trowa was shaking and growling, his erection was at full staff and twitched in time to his panting.
Quatre was all too aware of the pressure and warmth in his own erection. Spreading his legs again, he slowly brought his hands down his chest, across his belly, to slide into the waist band of his briefs. Planting his feet, he hiked his buttocks up far enough to get them down. He bent up his knees and spun the garment saucily on one finger before firing it by the elastic at his outraged hostage.
Oh, he was going to pay dearly for that by the look on Trowa's face.
He leaned back again with a sigh, reveling in the scent and feel of the leather couch, loving the way the cushions conformed to him. He rubbed his hands against his thighs a moment. He shivered as he touched himself, feeling the texture of his skin, the hardness of the muscles, slight bulge of the engorged veins. He nuzzled the couch and groaned softly.
The pressure and heat were building, concentrating in his groin. It was unbearable . . . it was . . . it was . . . ahhhhhh.
His semen splattered on his thighs, his belly, almost to his collarbone.
Something splintered.
Startled, he opened his eyes. Trowa had spat out the handkerchiefs. His teeth were clenched and there was a distinctly crazed look in his eyes. There was another crack and a crunch and Trowa stood up. He'd broken the back off the chair.
I never liked those chairs anyway, Quatre thought as he scrambled to get his wobbly legs under him.
As soon as Trowa got loose, all bets were off.