On occasion over the last few days, Quatre had gotten the feeling that Trowa was as taken by the novelty of having someone paying him this sort of attention as by Quatre himself — that Trowa was charmed perhaps more by the concept of someone being interested in him for the first time in god knew how long than by Quatre specifically. Quatre couldn’t possibly be pleased by this, but he had to admit that it made a certain sense: Trowa had been waiting so long for someone to love, since the disaster of his last attempt, that anyone willing to make the effort might have sufficed, at least at first — and he couldn’t be blamed for that.
But now, Quatre felt, Trowa’s focus was entirely and intensely on him, on Quatre Winner, not simply on the person that had forced his way into Trowa’s life. He wasn’t sure how he knew this was the case, but it was an understanding he would not deny. Bright eyes met his with purpose, and there was a different sense, somehow, to the usual desperation of Trowa’s movements. Trowa wanted him here now, and nobody else would do. It was an intoxicating feeling.
Quatre kissed him harder and deeper, pushing forward in the chair to bring them into closer contact. Trowa felt so good beneath him, wiry and warm; and his desperate lips and tongue were so precisely what Quatre liked… He had said that he wanted to make Trowa happy, and he’d meant it… at the moment, he wanted to make him very happy in a very specific way. Trowa had said that Quatre had brought him to life… well, how about a little more of that?
His hands were already unbuttoning Trowa’s shirt before he even finished this train of thought, and he’d begun actively grinding against him where his legs were splayed out around him. He could feel the cushion shifting beneath them as he moved, and he could feel Trowa going stiff. He wondered if Trowa was aware that his roving hands had come to rest cupping Quatre’s buttocks.
“Quatre…!” Trowa gasped as Quatre broke away from his mouth, and there was a look of blended desire and near-panic in his uncanny eyes.
“Do you want me to stop?” Quatre whispered.
“No!” said Trowa immediately. As once before at this word (if not precisely this tone), Quatre wasn’t entirely sure he believed him. He wondered how long it had been since Trowa had done anything like this. To be honest, he wouldn’t be surprised if he never had.
At Quatre’s hesitance, Trowa lowered his brows slightly and very deliberately kissed him again. The message was clear, and it sent something white-hot running through Quatre’s chest and down through his stomach and abdomen into his groin. All reluctance burned away, Quatre felt his hands slip into the open shirt and caress his lover’s chest even as he again pulled away from Trowa’s lips and let his own crawl along Trowa’s jaw to his ear and down his neck.
They were positioned awkwardly, but Quatre had no desire whatsoever to let go of the heat that was building up in an attempt to find a better place to do this. Trowa was breathing somewhat heavily in his ear as Quatre bared one of his shoulders and a pallid path for a trailing tongue to follow. Meanwhile his other hand teased briefly at a hard nipple before creeping downward. Trowa’s hands were still clamped on Quatre’s buttocks; Quatre would have preferred them moving like his own, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t fairly happy with them where they were.
Because Trowa had legs that went on forever, which Quatre had already had occasion to admire, Quatre was quite familiar with the slacks Trowa usually wore. It was no difficult or lengthy task to get the button unfastened and attack the zipper, and then his left hand was buried in the heat of underwear and curling hair, seeking out the semi-erect penis he was dying to get at. Trowa let out a little groaning cry as Quatre found it, clutching at him even more tightly. In complacence Quatre sighed against Trowa’s shoulder as his fingers closed around the silky, hot, sensitive flesh and began to explore.
It wasn’t long before Trowa was fully erect in Quatre’s hand, leaking in his readiness, and moaning with every other breath. The rest of his body was likewise stiff and still, allowing Quatre to do whatever he wanted, and Quatre got the feeling that, as with kissing, Trowa hadn’t the faintest idea what he should be doing. So, with his free hand, Quatre worked at his own belt and then the fastening of his pants, and eventually freed his own hard length to increase the heat between them.
He had rather hoped Trowa would take some initiative at this point, but evidently the magician was paralyzed either by the weight of his own inexperience or the pleasure Quatre was giving him (or perhaps both). So instead, Quatre angled his hips better so that their erections were more easily parallel — as much as they could be with the straightness of Trowa’s next to the upward curve of Quatre’s — and widened his grip to encompass both of them together. His own breaths had been fairly quick for some time, but now as he touched himself alongside Trowa they started to come in gasps. He let his head fall back, closing his eyes, and felt Trowa’s face come to rest against his exposed neck.
Trowa was getting closer and closer; Quatre could feel it. He would like to come with him, unlikely as he thought that was, and so, to bring himself faster, concentrated on the feeling of Trowa’s mouth working slowly against his neck, giving out incoherent sounds of pleasure in warm wet breaths on Quatre’s skin; the clutching of Trowa’s long hands at his buttocks, tense and hard, trying to pull him closer, his need of Quatre very evident; the smell of sweat and dust and sex between them.
Then, with a long, ecstatic breath that ended in a faint, helpless moan, Trowa found his release, coming onto his own stomach and Quatre’s hand. The latter thus slickened made even quicker progress toward bringing Quatre to orgasm, and Trowa groaned with each stroke that teased his softening member before Quatre also came with a little cry of pleasure.
Relaxing in the chair, his head falling into the corner between the back and one of its wings, Trowa breathed out Quatre’s name for no apparent purpose. Quatre, still holding their spent penises in one hand, ran the other down Trowa’s upturned jaw and then followed it slowly with his mouth. Then he let his own head rest against Trowa’s shoulder again, and neither of them said anything for some time; their gasping breaths calmed and their heart-rates slowed and their bodies cooled, and Quatre thought they were both quite content.
Finally he sat up straight again, slowly, and looked around. Behind him on the table, just within reach if he stretched, was the box of Kleenex he’d brought over here back when (it seemed forever ago, now) Trowa had shed tears over the realization of how to break the curse. He snagged a tissue with his free hand and set about cleaning them up.
The cushion had come about a third of the way out from where Quatre’s knees had been forcing it away from the back of the chair, and as a consequence Trowa had slumped down somewhat in his seat. Reluctant as he was to move, Quatre eventually had to stand and pull Trowa up after him in order to fix this. He refastened both their pants while he was at it, then pushed Trowa back into the chair and settled again on his lap — in his original position now, sitting almost beside rather than on top of him with his legs draped over Trowa’s. He wrapped his arms around Trowa — a gesture that was immediately reciprocated — laid his head once more on Trowa’s shoulder, and let out another pleased breath.
After a long, comfortable silence, Trowa murmured, “It’s been… a long time… since…”
Quatre raised his face and kissed the first piece of flesh available, which turned out to be the corner of Trowa’s jaw. “I hope you enjoyed it,” he said.
“Yes,” said Trowa. “I didn’t think I would, but I did.”
Stifling a sigh, Quatre wondered, “Dare I ask why you didn’t think you’d enjoy it?”
“You probably won’t want to hear it,” admitted Trowa.
“Well, tell me anyway, and then maybe once you’ve said it you can put it behind you.”
“I stopped… touching myself… not long after the curse. I didn’t feel like I deserved to feel pleasure. And especially once I realized how I felt about Duo… that particular kind of pleasure seemed especially inappropriate, when it was… something I might have shared with him if I hadn’t done what I’d done… and when what I’d done had taken away his ability to feel anything like that, as far as I knew, forever.”
Yes, Quatre still had his doubts about Trowa’s assertion that he was no longer in love with Duo… but, as Trowa was cuddling Quatre in an armchair at the moment, had told Quatre that he was willing to try to overcome his old guilt and build a happy relationship, Quatre didn’t feel it wise or kind to express his jealousy. So he nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”
“So I thought that… you doing something like that to me…” Trowa went on, still in that broken, hesitant way that indicated he was having a hard time finding words for what he wanted to say, “I thought it would feel… wrong. But it didn’t.”
“Good,” said Quatre, and nuzzled his face into Trowa’s collarbone, and then repeated more quietly, almost in a whisper, “Good.”