|
"Hurricane"Written By: Miss Murdered Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters - am
just borrowing to torment for my amusement Rating: NC 17 Warnings: yaoi, m/m sexual relations of varying
degrees of smuttiness and roughness, angst, language, dark Quat and
Tro' Pairings: 3x4x3, brief mentions of 1x2 Summary: "There is a moment that I think of when we are in bed together, before the reality sets in, when we are lying side by side and he is the Trowa I could be with and I am the Quatre he could love." A/N: I admit, that I am not usually a fan of the
3x4 pairing as I don't see it working long term as the characters
are so different. As such, if you like the pairing happy and non-angsty
then this fic is not for you. If you want to read a darker version
of the Quat and Tro' pairing then welcome… The fic is inspired by the song Hurricane by 30 Seconds to Mars Beta'd by ELLE as always. "Hurricane " Chapter Three To Live a Lie "Here," I offer and she smiles as I pin the small corsage flower upon her that matches the tie I am wearing while we've stop briefly before entering the party. "Thank you," she says and then touches my face with maternal gentleness that most of my older sisters do, "little brother." I shrug off her hand and step away as I still resent being called "little brother" by so many of them when I am now twenty-six years old. Laila is only two years my senior and is my "date" for this evening being one of the sisters I can stand to be in the company of for more than an hour. I know that this will cause some gossip among them, talk of preferential treatment, yet I do not care. I am taking a date to the event as an attempt to plug the gap of the person that should be standing beside me, who should be celebrating with me, drinking champagne and discussing memories of the war. She holds onto my arm gracefully, all my sisters trained in etiquette and decorum - spread across the galaxy by my father to different schools to become credits to the Winner name. I barely know most of my sisters. I am sure there are some that I have never met but some, like Laila, were near enough in age that in my youth they returned from school and played games with me, blissful school vacation periods where I was no longer the sole focus of my father's expectations. We enter the party and photographs are taken. It is not so uncouth as to be paparazzi though I have my share of those in my day to day life, yet I smile like I should, forcing myself through this event as I know I have to. It's Christmas and Christmas only means one thing to me. One thing to the five of us. The anniversary of the end of the wars. Destroying our Gundams. Leaving behind our roles as teenage terrorists and becoming law abiding members of society. I almost want to grimace at that thought - four of us became law abiding citizens. One of us didn't and will not be here. Laila soon gets tired of my company when she realises she can meet with influential men who may make potential husband material and I don't mind when she leaves my side, asking me whether she can, concerned for her "little brother." All of my sisters do this - all of the ones I speak to anyway - they all look at me so concerned as I work myself the same way our father did - not taking vacations, attending every conference, summit, budget meeting. They want me to marry. They want me to have children in the old-fashioned L4 way out of test-tubes. I ignore them all as they berate me for having my photograph taken with different dates, tell me I need to take time out and none of them know why I work myself so hard, why I forget myself with temporary, brief encounters. None of my sisters know about Trowa. I wind my way to the open bar through a crowd of familiar faces - I speak to politicians, businessmen and Preventer agents as I try to get a drink, frustrated at the many conversations I am forced to have. It is only when I reach the bar and a glass of expensive whiskey is thrust in my face do I realise that I was being observed and I take it from Duo's fingers with a sigh of thanks before downing the entire thing in one swallow. Duo blinks and motions for another. I am not surprised that he and the bar staff are already on a first name basis - not even that, already onto silent gestures and glances. Duo hates these events as much if not more than I do. The next glass is placed in front of me and I sip it this time as I don't intend to get drunk. At least not yet. We will be forced to a stage at some point, forced to say a few words and it will always fall to me to do that on behalf of us five - no, I correct myself - us four that can actually attend. "You okay?" Duo asks, his voice low and I look at him and I know he knows that I am not okay at any event that relates to the war. He knows my burden. My grief. He was the one who told me to explore my feelings towards Trowa in the first place. "Yeah," I answer and follow his lead, propping myself against the bar just as he does. "Heero?" I don't elaborate as this would be reason he is standing by the bar alone. "Princess got her claws in." He gestures and I see him then, standing with Relena who is wearing a long blue dress and I note that Heero is wearing a flower in his buttonhole and tie in the same colour. I can now tell the entire reason for Duo's foul mood. "She knows he's yours," I offer. "Huh. Yeah. Just wish she didn't wanna play this shit in public," he says, finishing the glass of whatever alcohol he is drinking. I decide that I don't want to indulge Duo with his petty jealousy. I'm aware it isn't jealousy, that he has no real problem with Relena but then at events like this, well, he'll argue he is forced into a suit and forced into being nice to people he views with contempt and then forced into watching Heero with Relena as he attends to his security duties. He orders another drink with a raise of his eyebrows and I say nothing. If he wants to get drunk, I will join him - once the speeches and official parts of the event are concluded. "You seen him?" he asks me and I am aware the alcohol is probably making him blunter. Though Duo has never been one for avoiding the conversation or avoiding conflict. I could answer him truthfully. I have not seen him since the ESUN Fiscal Policy Summit in Hawaii, which is now over a month ago. Yet I avert my eyes and swallow my drink. "You can't keep protecting him, ya know, one day the shit is gonna hit the fan and if he says any little fuckin' thing about you... fuck Quat, you could be indicted for harbouring a terrorist or whatever the fuck he thinks he is." "He's not a terrorist." Duo rolls his eyes. "So it makes you feel better if we call him a merc or a militia or a gun for fucking hire?" None of those terms make me feel better. I shake my head and ignore him completely, my eyes seeking out Wufei in the room who is wearing the traditional ceremonial garb of his colony and clan rather than the suits the rest of us wear. He is conversing with an older politician and I train my eyes on him before flicking to Heero who is still standing with Relena. I think, at times, out of the five of us, why it was Trowa that became the one who ran from this. I knew Duo had taken his time adjusting to civilian life - the arrests for drug possession and enforced rehab - and that Heero had been given extensive therapy to try and eradicate the traces of his programming and training - after a particularly violent occurrence that may have resulted in some guy being unidentifiable but by dental records - and Wufei had silently taken his penance for his crimes in solitude and travel until he turned to the Preventers - guilt and regret fuelling him to do good. I wondered why, when all of us had the makings of a violent and bloody life it was only Trowa who had turned to it. "Me and 'Fei caught up with him in Johannesburg." Duo talks casually and I feel my body stiffen slightly. I've been to Johannesburg. Stayed in that one room place with green walls that peel and crack and we fucked in that room for a few days, a reprieve in my life of business and civility. It was hot - we ran ice over each other's skin and lapped at the melting water. I remembered him there, the bars on the windows making him look caged, and I remember the semi-automatic machine gun on the counter and the knives laid out on the table. "He bailed before we got close, ya know, sneaky motherfucker. But we almost had him." "Why are you telling me?" I ask, knowing that he should not share this with me - it is after all, confidential Preventer work. "'Cause you need to tell him to be more careful if he don't wanna spend the rest of his life on a fuckin' asteroid prison." Duo pushes himself off the bar at that point, drinks the last of the alcohol and puts it down on the surface before walking over to Heero and prising him away from Relena. I watch how they interact, how they are subtle - too smart, too clever to openly respond to one another in this situation but they naturally move in response to one another. Gravitate. Maybe they have the same pull between them that brings myself and Trowa together. Maybe it is just as dark behind the bedroom door. Maybe they have the scars they inflict on each other hidden underneath the suits but I do not know. I decide at this point I can no longer stand the building at all, that I can't stay in the shimmering ballroom, that I can't be here when he isn't and I exit through the grand lobby, walk away from the remodelled Peacecraft mansion and keep walking. I don't think about Laila - my sister will cope as men hang off her every word when the name Winner is mentioned - and I don't think about my three comrades expecting me to say something about the wars we all fought in as teens and how it shaped the future. How it meant something. And I leave it for two stoic men who only speak when necessary and a drunk Duo. I think, perhaps, the ceremonial speech may be more entertaining. I keep walking, down the long driveway, down past lines of town cars and limousines that have brought the dignitaries to this location and I don't pause. Instead, I speed up, my pace becoming a jog and then an outright run until I am off the Peacecraft estate and it is only then I stop, breathe deeply and wonder what I am doing. The forest that surrounds the estate offers seclusion and a place to return my body to a state of relative calm so I walk through it a little way, find a tree to lean against and slide down to sit at the base of it, suddenly realising I'm walking around in the middle of the night in December in Sanc and it's cold. I blame my sensitivity to temperature on my upbringing - of being raised on an L4 colony and then my time spent in the desert. The northern European climes do not suit me. It is then I realise that I am being followed. Or stalked more accurately. That twigs snap delicately around me and I expect it to be Duo - I don't expect it to him and I damn him for it. He wears a suit and I wonder if he infiltrated the Christmas party as a staff member and I want to laugh as I think of how he can do that. Make himself utterly unnoticeable. Anonymous. To fit in even at an elaborate party at the Peacecraft mansion where people know his face. Know his name. Know he is a wanted man. "You're cold," he says as he crouches down to me, his eyes barely visible in the darkness of the canopy above us. Some light filters through from a clear winter sky. At least there is no snow. "You always are." I lift my gaze to level him with a serious expression. "They nearly had you in Johannesburg." He laughs and his hand reaches to touch my face. I flinch at his fingers - I am not certain whether it is from cold or from something else. "Duo say that?" "Yeah." "Don't worry. They didn't get that close." He, at least, looks less weary than last time I saw him, clean shaven, the scar healed on his face. He doesn't smell of gun powder, he doesn't smell of blood as he lowers his legs to kneeling, straddling me. "You shouldn't have come." He only snorts under his breath. "I was there," he says blandly. "I fought in the war, too." "They could arrest you." "They could try." I want to tell him how foolish he has been, that maybe the Preventers are more aware of what he does than his confidence suggests yet all I do is lean forward and press my lips to his, sick of living the lie of civility and these parties and that I don't need him. I need him at the basest level and though I am cold, I know his heat could warm me. He tastes of mint and I taste of alcohol. It combines oddly in our mouths as I kiss him. I dig my hands into his back through the material of suit jacket, of shirt, and neither of us move to undress in our current location or in the current weather conditions. Instead, we undo belts, unfasten them with impatience and I am already hard when he touches me. He takes satisfaction in that every time we are together - I think he likes to know he has power over me despite the fact we see each other so infrequently and that I am "his" underneath the designer garments, underneath the façade of Quatre Raberba Winner, politician, businessman, philanthropist. My eyes are heavy lidded as his mouth descends on me, his fingers harshly touch my exposed thighs and I feel his rough fingers against the sensitive skin there as he works his tongue over my dick, sliding it around the head before taking me as deeply as he can, all the while digging his fingers into my flesh so that I can feel the interlinked experience of pain and pleasure. "Tro-wa," I say his name but I don't know why I do. Maybe I want to solidify that it is him doing this to me, that is it the anniversary of our war and we are acting like we did at sixteen. I hear the rustle of the trees around us but we are secluded, we are separate and in this moment, I forget the crimes he has committed and what he decided to become. Instead, I think myself naïve and sixteen and wanting him to stay with me and thinking I loved him. I feel the brush of the long hair that obscures his face against my groin, I feel the dog tags descend from his neck and impact my skin as he takes me deeper into his throat and I feel his fingers mark me. I am utterly helpless against the onslaught of pleasure even as I feel blood slide against my skin from where he has dug in too deep. He slides his head with more determination now and I surrender utterly, completely, as he lets me thrust my hips into his mouth, let's me fuck his mouth like only a small part of myself will admit I want to. When I come I feel it as an electric current surging from my dick up my spine, he swallows and releases me and does nothing more than indicate the bulge in his own pants with a wry look. Trowa does not need to express things in words with me and I am more than willing to reciprocate as I feel the foggy haze of alcohol combined with the heady feeling of coming into his mouth. He does not take long. I wonder if my own orgasm turned him on, made him ready for release as I use every trick I have ever learnt about his body on him. I use a hint of teeth as I slide him between my lips and I concentrate my entire being on him, on his size inside my mouth, of his taste on my tongue. I roll his balls roughly in my hand, I reach within the restriction of partially pulled down boxers to his entrance, pushing an unprepared, dry thumb against restricting muscle, knowing that the small amount of pain will be enough for him to reach his endurance threshold and I taste his cum against my tongue. It feels colder when the fire of the encounter has died and we are not touching. Instead, we look at each other in the darkness. He stands and adjusts his clothing, offering me a hand which I take and I rise to my feet, securing my clothing in place. Respectability back in place. I should go back inside, see if the speech is still expected of me, re-join Laila and discover if she has found a potential suitor. He touches my face again and I flinch for the second time at that touch. Trowa does not do such things. That would be romantic, that would be an indication of something more than we have. "Tell Duo and Wufei good luck," he says and he leans forward to kiss me one more time before walking away, leaving me to watch him depart. I want to ask why - I want to know what is about to happen, what he is going to do - but instead all I do is watch him leave, pull my suit jacket tighter around my body and after a few moments, compose myself enough to return to the artifice of the party.
|
