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"International Relations"Written By: Switchblade003
Disclaimer: New Mobile War Chronicle Gundam Wing and all affiliated characters are property of Shin Kidousenki and Bandai, Setsu Agency.. Don’t sue me, because I’m the proud owner of over two-thousand dollar’s worth of Gundam merchandise. Pairing(s): I’ll never tell… anyone. Warning(s): If you don’t like YAOI or shonen-ai, this ain’t the place for you. Rating: A solid, unwavering NC-17 (violence, drugs, statutory rape, naked marshmallows, the usual…) Archive: www.wuffie.net Notes: The name of the horse that Robert E. Lee rode during the Confederate War for Independence was Traveller. He was white. Review Raves: I can’t believe what high ratings this story got!! Rubicon: You’re my first reviewer on my new host site, and thank you for such thorough feedback! It’s much appreciated, and I hope my work suffices. To the fabulous Fabi-chan: You’re my first follower from FF.Net, and I do appreciate the added effort of hunting this story down o/l! Thanks! And since you went to the extra trouble, I’ll tell you what; once I post the other chapters (through 8) that I’ve actually gotten done, already, you can make a request and I’ll write it! ((And as a sidenote… You wouldn’t happen to be the famous Fablespinner, would you? Because I would die if Fablespinner actually thought my work worthy of reading!!!!!! O.O;;;;)) +++ International Relations Chapter: IV—Yellow Tavern
"C’mon, Quat. Wake up." A soft, pathetic moan was his only response as the brunette stood over his ward the next morning, half-nursed mug of coffee in hand. The blonde was wrapped in a cocoon of blankets and sheets; he’d swathed himself in the bedclothes once Trowa had gotten up to take a shower and get dressed. "Quatre?" Trowa set the glass on his bedside table and took a seat on the edge of the mattress, beside his counterpart. Grasping one slender shoulder, he gently rolled the boy onto his back, then slipped an arm under him and lifted him into a sitting position, leaning back against the solid support of his chest. The Arabian youth groaned as the sunlight from outside hit his eyes, and he turned his head, burying his face against Trowa’s shirt collar and tie. "If you care about me at all you’ll tie me up out back and shoot me," he croaked, and the teacher laughed. "You act like this is your first hangover, and we both know that it isn’t. C’mon; you’re going to school whether you like it or not." The blonde whined, curling up against his friend and wrapping lithe arms around Trowa, encompassing him in the warm blankets as well. "I don’t have any important classes, today…" he wheedled, and Trowa closed his eyes as the boy’s soft lips brushed across the skin of his clean-shaven cheek. He chewed his lower lip for a moment, and Quatre murmured to himself. "You smell good…" "Quat, college-level Physics and Naval Science aren’t important classes?" he asked, trying to distract himself. The teenager shook his head, and Trowa sighed. "You’re going to school, and that’s final. Get up." Quatre sighed dejectedly, pouting visibly. The professor rolled his eyes, watching his charge with gentle eyes as the boy leaned back on his lap, the blanket falling off his shoulders to pool around his waist, and small hands were playing with his tie. The blonde frowned thoughtfully, one slender finger tracing the odd pattern on the familiar tie in his hand. For some reason he didn’t want to vacate his comfortable spot on his coach’s lap, knees on either side of the man’s narrow waist, Trowa’s hands resting lightly on his hips. He didn’t want to leave the quiet sanctuary of his teacher’s apartment and go back to the prison that was his high school. At least here he could pretend that his life was a happy one, and that he and Mr. Barton were friends, equals, peers… Quatre didn’t want to face the harsh reality that he was Mr. Barton’s student, a child nine years his junior, and that the man—while very kind and understanding—probably had a girlfriend and a life elsewhere, and only considered him some dysfunctional charity case. The blonde felt tears welling up in his eyes at the direction his thoughts had taken, and suddenly a gentle had was cupping his chin, lifting his eyes. "Quatre?" the older of the two males asked softly, and the Arabian forced a smile, shaking his head and turning away from his friend. "I’m fine. It’s just the alcohol, I guess," he lied, swiping the back of one hand across his eyes hastily before getting up and walking to the bathroom, leaving Trowa sitting on his bed, suddenly feeling very bereft and cold. Green eyes looked towards the bathroom, and heard the boy fumbling around in the medicine cabinet. The brunette got to his feet and paced over to the door, which stood ajar. "Anything I can help you with?" Quatre arched an eyebrow. You could help me out of these clothes… Horrified at the vulgarity of his own thoughts, the boy shook his head quickly and swallowed hard. "I was looking for Alka-Seltzer tablets or aspirin." The professor nodded, reaching over the boy’s shoulder to open the cabinet back up, ad he rifled through the various bottles—most of which were prescriptions, Quatre noted. Chewing the inside of his cheek nervously, he hesitated, then moved backwards only a fraction of an inch, pressing back against Trowa’s chest, and both males froze at the contact, not too deliberate, of the blonde’s hips to the older man’s. Sapphire eyes met emerald in the bathroom mirror directly before them, and Quatre realized that his teacher’s reaction at this moment would determine the course that their friendship would take. Quatre held his gaze, almost defiantly, until finally, Trowa moved. One strong arm slipped around the boy’s slim waist and pulled him firmly back against the brunette’s body, and the blonde was surprised to see a faintly possessive look in the man’s eyes. Trowa pulled a box and bottle from the cabinet and set them on the counter for Quatre. The boy offered him a grateful smile, then grabbed the glass beside the taps and filled it with hot water. He popped three tablets into the water, followed by four or five aspirin. He chuckled at Trowa’s disbelieving expression and held the glass up. "Breakfast of champions," he quipped, and downed the fizzing mixture in one gulp. Trowa shook his head in amazement. "Let’s go, ‘champ.’ We need to pick up your ROTC uniform." Quatre nodded, turning in the man’s grasp to look up at him. Trowa stood a good five inches taller than him, and for some reason the blonde liked that. He felt his heart pick up in pace as the brunette slid his other arm firmly about his waist, and he placed his palms to his coach’s chest, gazing into his eyes. Trowa looked down at the boy in his arms and realized that it was going to be damned-near impossible to hide the feelings he harbored for this amazing teenager. And when Quatre leaned up and tentatively pressed his soft lips to Trowa’s in a chaste, inexperienced kiss, he sighed in relief, even as the nagging thought that this could cost him his job floated through his mind. Gently, he held the boy to him, returning the valiant attempt with as much restraint as he could will forth, terrified of scaring Quatre away from him. The Arabian made a small sound of supplication and wrapped his arms around Trowa’s neck. The teacher kissed his ward thoroughly, astounded at the hungry way Quatre was returning his gestures. The blonde was flexing his fingers against the man’s pectorals, pressing to him almost urgently, and as the boy’s flat, firm stomach ground into his groin, Trowa lost his precarious control of the situation, groaning softly into the sweet mouth and grabbing the backs of Quatre’s bare thighs, lifting the slight youth onto the bathroom’s counter and kissing him roughly, the boy’s back hitting the mirror with some force, and Quatre pushed aside any fear the professor might have had of hurting his pupil by grabbing his tie and pulling him closer, leaning over the lithe blonde. Trowa held his hips in a strong grip, pulling him more closely against his body. The dysthymic Arabian moaned softly against his lips and the brunette felt himself approaching the point of no return. He couldn’t do this; if Quatre was really willing to relinquish his virginity, it wouldn’t happen like this—roughly, desperately. "Quatre," he breathed harshly, pulling away, "We can’t do this!" The wounded look in the boy’s blue eyes hit him like a ton of bricks. "But, but… Why?" came the soft alto, gasping for breath. Trowa brushed jagged blonde locks from the teenager’s face, shaking his head. "Not like this. If you’re sure that this is what you want, then I’ll give it to you," he panted. "But I can’t promise you that if this continues right now… I can’t promise you that I won’t hurt you." Quatre’s slender hands came up to cup his clean-shaven cheeks, thumbs running over his high, chiseled cheekbones. "I don’t want to hurt you, Quat," he whispered. "It’s just been a very long time since I’ve done this, and I’m not thinking too clearly, right now." Quatre nodded, and the brunette stood up, pulling his blonde counterpart up with him, and he leaned down to press a sweet, heartfelt kiss to the boy’s lips. "Let’s go." +++ TBC. During the Confederate War for Independence (1861-1865), Robert E. Lee rose to an almost god-like status with the people of the Confederacy. Renaming the Confederate army the "Army of Northern Virginia," he brought the war to the Union in 1963 with the three-day battle at Gettysburg, which was the high tide of the South, though the victory inevitably fell to Lincoln. Lee’s right-hand-man, Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson, had been killed at the battle of Chancellorville in May of that year, and now he turned to Jeb Stuart, a renegade Calvary leader. It is alleged that Stuart was the reason that the South lost at Gettysburg; the Calvary (or horseback soldiers) was charged with the duty of riding out ahead of the infantry (soldiers on foot) and scouting for enemies. In the critical days before the battle in Pennsylvania, however, Stuart was AWOL, allegedly out causing havoc on some miscellaneous faction of the Union army, and subsequently, Lee had no one to provide lifesaving recon on the position of the main infantry divisions of the Union army, directly ahead of them. Stuart would survive the clash at Gettysburg once he arrived (and was thoroughly chastised by Lee). He led a distinguished service to his country and died at the battle of Yellow Tavern in 1864. Anyone know the words to "Dixie"? -Jack Switchblade Recommended Readings and Flicks: The Killer Angels: this book is by the same author, and it chronicles Gettysburg. The Last Full Measure: the last book in the O’Shaara trilogy. "Gods and Generals": (mentioned above) "Gettysburg": this movie is long, but possibly one of the best depictions of the war that I’ve seen. Cast include Martin Sheen (he plays Lee, also the president on the NBC drama "West Wing"), Jeff Daniels, and other notables. The soundtrack is unique and adds to the film. "Glory": a truly disturbing and dramatic look at the lives of the 54th Massachusetts Black Infantry, the first African-Americans in the Union army, and their commander, Colonel William Shaw. Cast includes Morgan Freeman, Mathew Broderick (he plays Shaw, and was in many of my personal favorites—"The Cable Guy," and that lovable classic, "Ferris Beuller’s Day Off"!), and I think Cuba Gooding, Jr. and Cary Elwes ("Robin Hood, Men in Tights"). |
