by Anne
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the characters in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any physical injury or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.
Thanks to: the beta team – haraamis, Misanagi and Shadow. Also to all those who gave encouragement along the way.
"Are you sure you still want to do this?" Trowa placed his cup on the table; he was nervous, and Quatre didn't blame him. Ever since they had talked that morning, their discussion had been on Quatre's mind. It had been difficult to focus on work, and that had become worse since arriving home. Trowa had also been slightly later than usual, although he'd phoned to let Quatre know that there had been a crisis at the animal shelter where he helped out.
"Do you?" Quatre rose from the table and collected the dishes from their evening meal almost absently. The hour he'd been alone before Trowa had arrived home had only accentuated his nervousness. It was ridiculous. Trowa was his husband; they'd been together for six years and made love countless times.
A hand on his arm stopped him from going further, and he looked up in surprise. "It's okay, Cat," Trowa said, gently. "I know you're nervous. I am, too." Quatre lost his grip on one of the plates, but Trowa caught it with his free hand before it hit the floor.
"I know." Quatre followed Trowa over to the bench and put down the rest of the dishes before he dropped any more. "Maybe if you told me exactly what you had in mind for tonight it would help."
Trowa chuckled. "I thought you wanted me to show rather than tell."
"I've changed my mind," Quatre put his arm around Trowa's waist and pulled him close. "Though I suppose that might depend on what you intend to show me." His lips brushed Trowa's, and his hand dropped lower to trace the outline of the top of his lover's waistband. The feel of skin against his fingers combined with the taste on his lips and the smell of Trowa's cinnamon aftershave filled Quatre's senses, and he sighed. Familiarity had always helped to buffer him against the fear of the unknown.
For some reason Trowa tensed. Instead of returning the kiss, he pulled away.
"What?" Quatre frowned. "Did I do something wrong?" His voice grew sharp. "You're having second thoughts about this, aren't you?" Why else would Trowa react like this? Closing his eyes, Quatre reached out and tried to get a better sense as to how Trowa was feeling.
"No!"
"I'm sorry?" Quatre's eyes snapped open at the interruption. "Wasn't the whole point of this evening that we improve our empathic connection? I was only…"
"Not yet." Trowa sounded apologetic, but Quatre could feel his escalating nervousness. "I'm not even sure if what I have in mind will work, but I suppose..." He gave Quatre a shy smile; Trowa could be quite coy when he wanted to be. Taking a sharp breath, Quatre wondered if he knew just how damn sexy he was.
Trowa's hair was still damp from the shower, tiny droplets of water still clinging stubbornly to the top of his head, giving him the illusion of a misty halo in the fading sunlight coming through the kitchen window. A warmth rushed through Quatre, and he returned the smile. Whatever they were about to do, it would be different from anything that they'd done before, and for a moment Quatre's wariness was replaced with a degree of excitement.
"The dishes can wait," Quatre decided. "I can't." He walked towards the door and, pausing at the threshold, turned towards Trowa, a mischievous glint in his eye. "I want to see what you have planned."
To his surprise, Trowa chuckled. "Interesting choice of words. And yes, I suppose it's better to start this, if we're going to do it." He stood still for a moment, and Quatre shivered in anticipation, knowing that Trowa was watching intently, undressing him with his eyes, remembering every detail of his body. "You're gorgeous, you know, Cat." Trowa's voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the yearning in it.
"So are you," Quatre replied. "If you want to undress me that badly, why don't we shift this to the bedroom?"
"Hmm, what?"
"To the bedroom?" Quatre held out his hand. "You remember that place?"
"Vaguely," Trowa still seemed lost in thought, his eyes not shifting, as he examined Quatre carefully.
"Is my fly undone?" Quatre asked finally.
"What?"
"You're staring, love."
"Am I?" Trowa shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. It never behaved while it was damp, for some reason only reverting to the style he preferred when it was dry. Quatre had told Duo once that Trowa's hair was sexy. It was. It definitely was.
"Bedroom," he told Trowa. "Now."
"Are you ordering me, Master Quatre?" It was difficult to work out whether Trowa's tone was serious or not. Quatre hadn't meant his words to sound like a command; the whole point of this evening was for him to give up some of the control that he couldn't relinquish and to surrender himself to Trowa.
"I'm sorry," he said, sheepishly. "Old habits..."
"Die hard," Trowa finished. "It wasn't meant seriously." He caught up to Quatre and kissed him lightly on the top of his head. "You're really nervous about this, aren't you?"
"Well, you do have me at an advantage," Quatre pointed out. "You know what you have planned, I don't. I've spent the day mulling it over in my mind, and some of the scenarios were pretty out there."
"Oh?" Trowa placed his arm around Quatre's waist and led him towards the stairs. "How out there...exactly? Do you want to share?"
"I was trying to work out how I could give up control while we focused on our empathic connection, and my mind kept going back to one thing."
"Which is?"
"Handcuffs," Quatre mumbled.
"Handcuffs?" Trowa raised one eyebrow and turned to face Quatre as they paused at the top of the stairs. "Now there's a possibility." The tips of his ears were beginning to turn a very cute shade of red. "I've thought of that before, too."
"Really?" Quatre wasn't sure how he felt about that for tonight, though. Not for this. But it definitely had possibilities, for another scenario.
"Really. But not tonight." Trowa opened the door of their bedroom and went to get something from his bedside cabinet while Quatre flopped onto the bed. "If you're uncomfortable with anything I'm going to suggest, you need to let me know, okay?"
"Okay," Quatre replied, after some hesitation. He trusted Trowa, yet he couldn't keep the mixture of excitement and trepidation from his voice.
"I mean it, Quatre." Trowa sounded very serious. "And we need to work out a signal to stop this if it becomes necessary. I want this…I want it to work, but as it's something we've never done before, I don't know what could happen, how either one of us could react."
"Okay," Quatre repeated again. He rolled over onto his stomach and gripped the side of the blankets in an attempt to stay calm. "What about a word?"
Trowa turned, a piece of cotton fabric in his hand. Instinctively Quatre backed away, towards the head of the bed. Surely he couldn't be serious? "It's all right, I'm not…" Trowa tried to reassure him, but Quatre shook his head.
"No," he mumbled. "No gag. Please. I can't." He shuddered, trying to block the memory of McKenzie torturing Trowa. Their captor had gagged Quatre and had told him that he could stop Trowa's pain at any time. All he had to do was call out… [1]
"It's all right, Cat." Trowa sat down on the bed beside him and held him tightly. "I'd never do that to you. Not after what that bastard did." He stroked the side of Quatre's cheek and gently kissed him. "It's not a gag, it's a blindfold. And I'm going to wear one too."
"A blindfold?" Quatre still wasn't sure.
"If we aren't relying on the senses we're used to, we have more chance of tapping into the one we want to." Trowa paused. "I think it might be a good idea if we agree not to speak too."
"Agree?"
Trowa nodded. "Only if you agree. No gags, Cat. I promise. Just an agreement, nothing more."
"What else?" Quatre tried to squash his fear. He wasn't keen on the idea of blindfolds either, but it was more of an option than the gag had been.
"That's it." Trowa paused. "If we focus on each other and cut out sight and speech, we might have a chance of this working. I know it means giving up control, but we'll both be in this together…and trusting each other."
"It has possibilities," Quatre agreed. "I'll be honest though, the idea of not being able to see scares me." He gave Trowa a sheepish smile. "It's not just lack of control, it's…I couldn't do this with anyone else but you."
Trowa nodded. "Thank you," he said. "If at any point, either of us wants to stop, we do, okay? And to be honest, the idea of not being able to see scares me too, but I couldn't think of any other way of doing this that I thought we could both handle." Now it was his turn for the smile. "Although we did mention handcuffs, I'm not sure…I'd like to try it some other time, but…"
"You're not sure how you'd react, after everything we've been through over the past few years?" Quatre gave Trowa a hug. "I feel the same way. I'd like to try, but while the thought excites me sexually, it also scares the hell out of me. The scars on my back aren't the only legacy from that fire." He shivered as Trowa gently traced the outline of those scars through his shirt. "If I hadn't managed to get those cuffs off you… if we'd been a moment later… Trowa, I can still smell the smoke when I close my eyes at night."
"I know, Cat, I know." Trowa's voice was sombre. "So can I." [2]
"I'm distracting us from what we need to do." Quatre deliberately changed the subject. He didn't need to go into this situation with thoughts of that. Neither of them did. "So, what now? Do we get undressed first or?"
"Afterwards." Trowa placed the strip of fabric on the bed, and Quatre noticed that there were two pieces intertwined. "I thought we could blindfold ourselves, help each other undress and then go from there."
"And no speaking once the blindfolds are on?" Quatre leaned over and picked up one of the blindfolds. "Trowa?"
"Hmm?" Trowa seemed distracted.
Quatre held out the blindfold. "Could you put it on for me, please?"
"You want me to put it on for you?" Trowa's attention was suddenly completely focused on Quatre.
"Yes, I do," Quatre replied, quietly. "I want this to work, Trowa. I don't want to shut you out. This relationship is important to me. Letting you initiate this…I don't know how to explain. Losing my sight scares me, but I'm trying to focus on the insight we might gain in exchange. If you blindfold me, rather than me doing it myself, it's like…" He shrugged. "I'm know I'm clinging to control that I don't want to give up. In doing this I'm giving it over to you. I'm trusting you."
Trowa was silent for a moment. "I love you. You know that, right?" He kissed Quatre firmly on the mouth, before shifting to sit behind him.
"I do, and I love you too." Quatre felt Trowa's lips against the nape of his neck. He leaned back against his husband, closing his eyes and feeling safe in the embrace. "Do it, before I change my mind."
Softness brushed against Quatre's face, and there was slight pulling at his hair. Opening his eyes again, he was met by darkness. His blindfold was on, and by agreement he wouldn't speak again until it was removed, either by himself or by Trowa.
Hot breath tickled the side of his face for a moment; he could hear his own breathing, loud in the sudden silence. The bed moved beneath him, and footsteps sounded.
Quatre fought his feelings of panic. Trowa wasn't leaving; he would be merely organising himself before applying his own blindfold. Forcing himself to focus, rather than calling out, Quatre focused on the senses still available to him. He wasn't blind; it was merely a blindfold. This was temporary; he would be able to see again once this was over.
He'd never told Trowa that one of his greatest fears was losing his sight. And he certainly wasn't about to tell him now, not when this was so important to both of them. Quatre loved the beauty of the world; he'd spend hours watching nature and observing others interacting. The red of a sunset, the blues and greens of the ocean; reaching Earth for the first time had been like a dream come true. Nothing in the colonies compared to this; nothing he'd read had prepared him for the reality.
Without sight he'd be condemned to a darkness he wasn't sure he could cope with.
Without sight, he'd never see Trowa again. Frantically, Quatre built himself a mental picture of his husband. Auburn hair hanging over one eye, stunning green eyes that Quatre never failed to lose himself in. Those eyes could be soft and misty with half formed tears, or they could harden in an instant to narrow in suspicion or anger.
Drawing on his memory further, Quatre allowed his 'eyes' to move lower. Broad shoulders, a well-defined muscular chest; the scar tissue stretched from Trowa's right thigh to his knee. The plastic surgeons had worked miracles, but like Quatre, Trowa would carry a physical reminder of that day for the rest of his life.
Slight pressure on his shoulder made him jump. Concern, pain, fear flooded over him.
Trowa?
Guilt followed quickly, but Quatre wasn't sure whether it was his own, or Trowa's. He opened his mouth to say: "I'm okay," then closed it again, remembering in time about their agreement to stay silent.
Slowly he moved his hand up his own arm, using it to map a trail to his shoulder. Squeezing Trowa's hand in reassurance, Quatre sent love and concern through their shared empathic link.
There was no mistaking the kiss on his fingers. Even without his sight, Quatre knew that touch. Turning his head, he couldn't help but chuckle as he hit something hard.
A muffled curse followed, and Quatre guessed that the object in question had been Trowa's head. This was going to take a bit of getting used to.
Reaching out empathically, Quatre discovered to his surprise, that his sense of Trowa was stronger depending on which direction he focused. It was something that they'd never tried before; he wondered if it was limited by distance. However, any further thoughts were banished by the strong feeling of desire accompanying the tugging of his shirt.
Trowa was obviously a quick study.
Rough skin brushed against his own, Trowa's fingers moving down the blond's chest as he struggled to remove Quatre's shirt buttons. The material tickled as it slid off Quatre's shoulders, and he shivered at the sudden exposure to the cool of the room.
How much could Trowa feel through their link?
Focusing on Trowa's physical presence and using it as a target, Quatre imagined them lying together on the bed, his hands exploring Trowa's naked body, fingers dancing across the other man's pelvis before lowering his lips to suckle on the tip of his lover's cock, and projected his reaction.
There was a gasp for breath by Quatre's ear and a low moan.
Quatre grinned, but the grin soon changed to a groan as an overwhelming desire to pull Trowa into his arms and fuck his husband senseless swept over him. Already projecting his own desires, the merging of Trowa's into the waterfall left Quatre shaking. He was drowning, going under in a tide of emotion in which he couldn't stay afloat.
"Too much, too fast," he gasped aloud. "Sorry."
"It's okay." Trowa was breathing heavily, and took several gulps of air. There was a few moments silence, as they both struggled to bring their responses back under control.
"My fault," Quatre admitted. "Try again?"
Instead of answering in words, Trowa moved closer again, his fingers continuing their exploration of Quatre's exposed skin. Not having the privilege of sight to rely on, each touch felt stronger, more alive. Light feathers dusting his body, setting it on fire wherever they connected, however soft the caresses. Quatre shivered in pleasure as wetness circled first one nipple, pulling, teasing, and suckling, before repeating it with the other.
Desire and love mixed with curiosity.
Trowa pulled at Quatre's belt buckle, fumbling with the metal clasp He tried to undo it and failed.
Frustration
Placing his own hands over Trowa's, Quatre spelt out the word 'wait'. While they had agreed not to speak, neither had mentioned the possibilities of other forms of communication.
Taking a deep breath, Quatre let it out slowly, and then took another. Beside him, he could hear Trowa following his lead.
His own heart thumping, he kept his breathing even. In his mind a clear mental picture formed of two strands meeting, merging, wrapping around, and through each other to become one.
Reaching out tentatively, Quatre found the bottom of Trowa's t-shirt and pulled it up. Fingers brushed against his, helping him to remove the barrier. Using the position of his fingers as a guide, Quatre leaned forward and carefully explored the smooth skin of Trowa's chest with his tongue.
Trowa groaned, and so did Quatre as feelings of desire again washed over him. But it was more than that. Focusing on his lover and repeating his actions, Quatre realised that it wasn't just an echo of Trowa's response to his touch that he was feeling, but the response itself. Not the touch, but the emotional reaction to that touch. They'd always felt an echo of the other during sex, but this was different, stronger. Rather than two melodies playing in counterpoint, each complimenting the other, their harmonies were merging to become one single line. One song sung in unison.
The desire between them grew, blossoming into a multi-petaled single flower, its stalk swaying gently in an invisible wind, buffeted by a single connecting thread, strong and pure.
Fingers frantically searched for belt clasps, each helping the other to get rid of firstly Quatre's trousers and then Trowa's. A momentary frustration at not being able to see his lover soon dissolved in the wake of calloused hands stroking, exploring, touching not only Quatre's erection, but his testicles and the inside of his thighs. Parting his legs to allow Trowa better access, Quatre cried out in pleasure, as Trowa shifted position and began to explore again, this time with his mouth.
Wetness licked and nibbled the sensitive skin around his erection. A low humming accompanied a vibrating sensation as his testicles were drawn into Trowa's mouth, and Quatre searched for something, anything, to grab to stop himself from falling.
Thick softness under his fingertips was accompanied by the smell of apples. Quatre breathed deeply, recognising the scent of the shampoo that they both used, on Trowa. Burying his face in Trowa's hair, he moaned as the heat in his groin grew in intensity.
I want…I want…
Hands grasped his buttocks, followed by a light touch between his cheeks, and Quatre cried out again. Desire flooded over him, spiraling, increasing. Trowa shifted position again; Quatre's cushion of hair was snatched away, and he felt himself falling backwards, until his flight was stopped by something soft under his back.
A part of his mind registered that they were lying on the bed, but he was too caught up in sweat soaked skin moving against his own. Stroking, rubbing. Faster, flesh against flesh, wherever they could find somewhere, anywhere to touch.
Hot breath against his face. Lips against his own, Trowa's tongue inside his mouth.
Their erections rubbing against each other, faster, still faster. Heat turning to fire. A white fire, hot, yet pure.
Love.
"I love you, I love you." Trowa's voice seemed far away, their merged emotions saying far more than words ever could.
Quatre's world exploded into wetness, and they both cried out in unison.
He panted, Trowa's breath mingling with his own. His heart was racing, his thoughts incoherent.
Slowly he began to calm, to find his way down from the high. "Trowa, are you okay?" Quatre lifted the blindfold from his eyes, blinking against the light of the room as he stroked the side of his husband's cheek, before removing Trowa's blindfold.
Trowa's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow. "I'm okay," he said, finally, his voice hitching, gasping. "That was..." Trowa opened his eyes; they were moist as if he'd been crying.
Using one finger, Quatre gently wiped the barely formed tears and smiled. "That was fantastic. Totally mind blowing." He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing his empathic sense on the man beside him, the person who meant everything to him. "I can still feel you. Really feel you."
"So can I." Trowa sounded almost in awe. "It's still there, Cat. It's like we're a part of each other, in a way we weren't before. Linked, somehow." He paused. "It might fade in time, but it's stronger than it's ever been before."
"Stronger," Quatre agreed. He felt lighter, freer than he could ever remember. Whatever they'd done, whatever control he'd given up, it had also taken with it the fears that had been plaguing him.
"If you love something, set it free," Trowa murmured under his breath. He gave Quatre a kiss and pulled him into a hug.
"You have, muHibb," Quatre whispered back, snuggling in closer.
"And so have you, Cat." Trowa smiled back, running his fingers through Quatre's hair. "So have you."
Quatre lay there silently, content just to be, to love and to be loved. His eyes began to close, exhaustion of the past few days catching up, but for once he didn't fight it, instead slipping into a restful sleep, with the knowledge that their connection, strengthened with an act of love, could never be broken.
[1] Refers to events in A Dish Served Cold
[2] Refers to events taking place during a Preventer mission during AC 199. The fic will get written, eventually.
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