by Starherd
*cough cough* Beware. It's NC17. I... Um... Just Beware anyway...
In the soft darkness of an unspecified colony's night, low mist curls through the city streets, creating calm fuzzy halos around each streetlight. Artificially induced snow spirals down through the muted city, thickly blanketing the ground. In this sweet silence, we see a row of small shops, with a toy shop in the center. Below the enthusiastic red-lined-in-gold letters emblazoned upon the store's front window, low interior lights illuminate a glorious array of toys. Marionettes dance to automated puppeteers, an array of stuffed animals and dolls watch a mechanical pink rabbit endlessly beat its bass drum, and a brightly colored model train circles the scene on its track. It is the epitome of innocence.
Then a large mecha foot stomps down, smashing through the shop window and crushing every single toy. The sparks from the model train's electric track set the stuffed animals on fire, and as the Gundam's foot lifts again, it sends a spray of snow and a flaming pink rabbit (and its drum) sailing off into the night.
I've thrown away my toys,
Even my drum and train.
Heavy Arms turns to fire upon the enemy mobile suits attacking it, and promptly runs out of ammo. The suit bends, rips up a street light, and uses the pole to bat away an enemy fighter plane like a baseball. The sound of crunching metal and explosions is deafening.
I wanna make some noise
With real live aeroplanes.
Suddenly, another Gundam appears. Leaping into the air, Sandrock springs across several buildings and brings both swords down on an opposing Taurus. After it bursts into a satisfying blaze, Sandrock moves on; soon, between the two Gundams, the enemies are cleared away.
Some day I'm going to fly,
I'll be a pilot too.
Heavy Arms and Sandrock come to rest in the middle of the snowy street, each kneeling on one knee. The hatches of both Gundams open. Trowa moves out first, standing on the edge of the hatch, his face characteristically expressionless and half-hidden by his hair. In Sandrock's hatch, Quatre suddenly appears, beaming with joy. Seeing his exuberance, Trowa breaks into a soft smile.
And when I do, how would you
Like to be my crew...
"My tenshi, I knew you would come," Trowa calls.
"I haven't yet!" Quatre yells back, grinning.
The two young men deftly leap to the ground. Trowa, being an acrobat, leaps somewhat more deftly than Quatre, but Quatre, because he's smaller, has a lower center of gravity and leaps with a reasonable level of deftness himself.
Once they have deftly leapt to the ground, Quatre opens his arms wide and runs toward Trowa, who approaches more slowly and with a slight limp, having just twisted his ankle from landing in the slippery street slush hiding under the layer of new-fallen snow. Nevertheless, when the blond boy throws himself into his arms, Trowa spins him around in a happy and most romantic fashion.
When Trowa stops spinning (staggering a bit from dizziness), he bends a little to kiss his love, but instead ends up with a mouthful of sand-golden hair. Quatre is already bending, falling to his knees, ripping open Trowa's light-colored pants. Rather than opening, the fly tears from its seams. Quatre yanks the now useless pants down to his love's knees and tears away his neon pink briefs. (Luckily, Trowa always wears tear-away briefs for just such an eventuality.)
Of course, Trowa is instantly fully erect, and he throws his head back and moans as Quatre quickly begins to deep-throat his two-and-a-half-inch-diameter, foot-long cock.
On the Good Ship Lollipop
It's a sweet trip to a candy shop
Raging hard himself, Quatre slides his hands up under Trowa's dark blue turtleneck, fondling his pert, candy-like nipples. Groaning in pleasure, Trowa hauls off and tosses aside the shirt, then laces his fingers in Quatre's hair, pumping the younger boy's head back and forth at the pace he chooses. Quatre's hands slide around Trowa, down his back, and firmly grip his ass, occasionally slapping.
Where bon-bons play
On the sunny beach of Peppermint Bay.
Trowa gasps in delight as he comes, his hot sweet cum spurting into Quatre's hungry mouth. (Both boys, you see, drink large amounts of pineapple juice, so as to ensure their physical sweetness to each other.) Without waiting another moment, Quatre pulls away, hastily tugging down his own strained pants. Without his lover's support, Trowa tumbles down onto his back, his shaft still standing straight as a flagpole - for of course, both boys are also multi-orgasmic.
Seeing the object of his affection lying there in the snow, Quatre pounces, turning 'round to begin a 69. He begins to suck on Trowa's immense cock again, while his own 2-inch-diameter erection prods at Trowa's lips. Their sucking and slapping of flesh sets up an echoing, staccato rhythm in the deserted street - their own music.
Lemonade stands everywhere,
Crackerjack bands fill the air...
Trowa decides not to ask what happened to Quatre's shirt, as he is now wearing none, guessing that he simply missed that part. He also decides not to mention the suspiciously yellow snow that he just noticed Quatre's knee resting in, instead focusing on pleasuring his lover as much as he's being pleasured. He pauses in his sucking to wet his fingers with saliva, using his own drool to lubricate Quatre's anxious anus. Soon he's fingering his lover, tenderly moving his digits in time to the boy's excited (if muffled) cries. First one finger... then another... and another... and another, and another, and another. Quatre gasps, then purrs, then shrieks as pleasure overtakes him. His hot fluids pour over Trowa's face and neck.
Trembling in readiness, the blond boy barely pauses for breath before twisting away, turning back to kiss his lover long and deep. He quickly positions himself, then shoves back, impaling himself on his lover's delicious arousal. Both boys moan and squirm together in the snow and slush, the heat of their passion driving the cold from their flesh. Under Trowa's shoulder, a discarded piece of chocolate begins to melt, smearing across his back and neck as he moves.
And there you are
Happy landing on a chocolate bar.
Trowa shouts his love's name, grabbing his hips and thrusting upward with all his might. Astride this bucking bronco in the rodeo of the flesh, Quatre throws himself forward, gripping Trowa's shoulders. His hand slips in the melted chocolate, mixing it with his own spilt essence on Trowa's skin, slathering a streak of it over his arm and chest. The golden boy brings his lips to Trowa's neck, lapping up his own cooling love honey.
Trowa tosses his head, casting his unibang from his face, and bites Quatre's shoulder in an extraordinarily sexy manner. Without pulling out of his lover's body, he shifts his weight, throwing Quatre onto his back. With surprising agility, the blond tucks his ankles behind his ears, allowing Trowa deeper penetration. Since he doesn't need to support himself anymore, Quatre's hands fly to his crotch, where he begins to stroke himself. He doesn't get to finish stroking himself, though, because after approximately three and a half strokes he shoots his load. His burning love juice covers his chest.
See the sugar bowl do the tootsie roll
With the big bad devils food cake.
Now nearly ignoring the lyrics, Trowa leans forward to lick the jizz from Quatre's pert pink nipples. The motion causes him to blow his wad, and with a twitch and a groan his gargantuan rod fills his adorable uke's tight love channel with his sweet manly syrup. Panting, he withdraws, and withdraws, and - oh, there. His engorged manflesh now freed from his lover's grip, Trowa bends to run his tongue down Quatre's passion spear. He then lick at his juices that drip from the boy's rosebud.
Quatre shudders in ecstasy, his appreciable shaft firming up again in expectation. He doesn't have to wait long - his lover's articulate tongue begins to probe his hot passage.
If you eat too much ooh ooh
You'll awake with a tummy ache.
Luckily for the two passionate Gundam pilots, the above statement is an urban legend.
Hours later, the pair lies spent in a puddle of snow turned to slush with manifested passion. As hypothermia set in, Quatre raised a shaking hand. "Maybe we should continue this at home," he said in a small, weak voice.
"..." responded Trowa. Snow was starting to settle on the frozen sperm and chocolate smeared all over his chest.
The two climbed back into their Gundams and headed home.
On the Good Ship Lollipop
It's a night trip into bed you hop
"I'm ready to hop into bed," Quatre said, licking his lips as he watched his lover - clad only in the drying fluids and chocolate - climbing down from Heavyarms when they reached home. "Let's go, my chocolate-dipped confection..."
As they walked upstairs to the bedroom, Trowa wrinkled his nose, eyeing his shoulder. "Um, little one," he hesitantly addressed the love of his life.
"Yes?"
And dream away
On the Good Ship Lollipop.
"...I don't think this is chocolate."
Author's note: I'm really, really, really, really, really sorry. This has got to be the worst thing I've ever written, ever. I blame Kintave Haro.
Also, I cannot take credit for "bucking bronco in the rodeo of the flesh". That came from a book called "Bodysmasher" or "Bodyslammer", not sure which, that I've only heard about second hand thanks to the Bulwer-Lytton Contest web site. Go read what they're all about. You know you want to. http://www.bulwer-lytton.com/
p.s. After I started this, I did a search and found that someone else had already discovered the true horror of "Good Ship Lollipop"'s lyrics with respect to Gundam Wing. Ah well. I'm not one to let a thing like that stop me (even when maybe I should)...