GW Lightning Arc Sidestories – ONCE
Fandom: Gundam Wing AC
Characters: Zechs and Treize
Warnings: Male/male affection.
Summary: Zechs gets to win and thinks he's lost after all. Manipulation or a ruse of war - will he ever know what's going on in Treize's head?
For KhalaniK (in my Favourite Authors section).
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"Once," Zechs growled softly, "I'm not asking much, am I?"
"Just once?" Treize turned his head enough to be able to glance at him with one eye. Red hair dishevelled, his cheeks slightly flushed, freckles dancing on his sunburnt nose. He was on his stomach, his arms wrapped around the bunched down pillow, white linen barely paler than his skin. His neck and wrists had also coloured, a deep, flecky pink that would peel off in layers until the sunburn had healed.
Propped on one elbow, Zechs loomed over him, anger and something sharper welling up and dissipating in a heartbeat. He leaned down, bending his arms so he could still clutch the sheets as he touched Treize's neck with his lips, trailing down between his shoulderblades to the bottom of his spine, his hair sliding in tangled swathes over Treize's body. A soft shudder, a shower of goosebumps... He shifted and laid his cheek against the small of Treize's back. "Yes."
The next question, logical and compelling, delivered in a voice so quiet, he would have missed it if he'd not seen it coming. "Do you need this so badly?"
Zechs closed his eyes in resignation. Of course he had lost, again, but still... "What?"
"To get the better of me?"
Zechs bit his lip. He could feel Treize shift, then Treize's hand in his hair, stroking slowly. Not combing, grooming, untangling. Just touching.
A mother's hand, or that of an elder brother. It made him still and mute. Treize always had the knack of leaving him be, just so, at the right moment, the right level. The sensation of defeat seeped through him, driving away the fire of need and the hungry longing that always possessed him when Treize was around. He cleared his throat, scrambling back to the present. The effort made him sweat. "It's not that."
Treize turned quickly, catching Zechs before he could decide whether to run for distance or sit it out. For a moment, they stared at each other, then Treize smiled. "Well, then... I'll try my best." He rolled over, shoved the pillow under his stomach, and gripped the edge of the mattress.
Zechs laid his hand on Treize's shoulder. Treize tensed, muscles bunching under scarred skin. The marks of their profession had not spared him, and Zechs knew every one of those blemishes by heart. He felt his pulse speed as he bent to kiss the back of Treize's neck.
He had won. Treize had let him win, and he kept his promise and made an effort. But all along, Zechs – watching his back, his sweat-matted hair, the iron clasp of his fingers on the mattress – knew it was just that. An effort, a courtesy, something suffered for his sake. In the end, Zechs gave up, unspent, wilted and frustrated by his victory, and unsure whether Treize actually had meant to teach him a lesson.
It surprised him when, some time later, Treize offered to try again, an shade of guilt in his smile. Zechs felt the bitterness fade that he had kept and tended like something precious, and this time, things were better if not filled with the usual fire. If there was insecurity beneath Treize's discomfort, he didn't show it, but he could not hide his lack of enthusiasm or enjoyment. Zechs wasn't sure anymore what the attraction had been beyond proving a point. He felt burdened, longing to see Treize melt into the pleasure he wanted him to feel.
Old habits seemed like a good idea. And, somewhat predictably yet still overwhelming by its sheer forcefulness, Treize made sure he was not disappointed, drowning him in a flood of sensations beyond reason, keeping him breathless, mindless, utterly out of control and completely, deliriously, ecstatically happy.
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The End