Lightning Arc 4 - Clarity And Sanity
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Rating: M for references to an intimate Zechs/Treize relationship.
Pairing: Treize and Zechs (with his ravishing self)
Warnings: references to m/m love and some references to m/m sex, some swearing - a very definite M rating
Spoilers: everywhere, in all my stories
Summary: Zechs getting hot and undressed. Don't read if you don't like yaoi.
xxx
Zero worked.
Finally.
Zechs had not uttered a single complaint, but Treize had seen him stagger, half-blinded by the crushing headache that would always wrack him after a test flight. He had not said anything either, knowing his lieutenant better than to raise the subject – Zechs hated flaws, in himself as much as in others, and he despised weakness.
Too much pride, Treize thought fondly, hardens the soul. Hard and brittle it was indeed, this soul he admired and studied with never-ending curiosity, intrigued by its complicated workings. Zechs did not do simple. Where Treize felt clear and calm, comfortable about himself, Zechs would agonise, tear and mend, until spinning into an exhausted void. Where he would lurch for some time, wallowing in debauchery, before scraping himself together and starting all over again.
It kept him busy. And in some strange way, he seemed to thrive on those tidal waves of blazing energy and utter collapse. Treize loved him for this cold-hot passion that burned him up, yet was never enough to muddle his razor sharp mind.
Now the younger man was asleep, his muscular form draped over the couch. Treize tugged the blanket over him and allowed himself a moment of rapt contemplation. Hair like moonlight, a face like an angel, a body like the string of a bow, taut and strong, governed by steely determination and deadly reflexes. Zechs was perfection, indeed.
With a sigh,Treize wandered into the kitchen to get some wine. Perfection needed to be balanced, or it would turn ugly and devour itself. White and black, light and shadow, life and death, the peace he strived for and the war he waged, each needed the other one in order to be.
It was not always this simple though. He needed Zechs, and Zechs needed control, a challenge, a curb… such as another perfect pilot. Treize poured a large glass to the brim and leaned back against the counter to drink in long droughts. He refilled and walked back into the lounge, to find Zechs sitting up, the blanket bunched around his waist, shoulders bare, eyes bleary with sleep. He had to drug up these days to keep his dreams at bay, those that tormented him after Zero had left his brain.
"Getting pissed, Tre?" Zechs murmured. His eyes slid half-shut with pain, and he swayed a little as he pressed his hands hard against his temples.
"Just relaxing."
Zechs cradled his head and drew up his knees to rest his brow against them. "Do we have a problem?" he rasped.
"No."
A low groan escaped the younger man. "You got some more of those painkillers?"
"You've taken your fill."
Zechs was far from unaware what was happening to him. Every day Treize had been waiting for him to drop it all and declare that he had enough, that he wanted to leave the experiment, that those nightmares were killing him. But Zechs had surprised him, and then he had not because he did what was typical for him: he carried on, tenacious, ruthless with everyone including himself, pouring his very soul into perfecting Zero.
No, Treize corrected in his mind, he hadSOLD himself to Zero. He wanted to BECOME Zero. In a way, this was the ideal fusion of the pilot with his weapon, and it made Treizeproud, and wary, and oddly possessive of the younger man.
"I'm gonna go out tonight," Zechs ground out, letting go of his throbbing head as he unfolded his tall frame.
No point arguing, Treize thought as he watched him adjust his clothes – he had obviously readied himself earlier. He wore skin-tight washed out blue denims thatcomplemented his eye colour, and retrieved a plain dark blue cotton shirt from beneath the crumpled-up blanket. Not exactly the glam attire most would prefer at the haunts he visited, but Zechs was not most, and he seemed to know that his style stood out by its very simplicity. Zechs only glammed up when donning his dress uniform, and he knew how to do this as well.
Treize gulped down most of the wine and went to fetch a re-fill, returning with the bottle anyway. Zechs came back from the bathroom, the only concession to going out discreet on his face: a fine trace of black eyeliner below his eyes that made their pale colour even more striking and lent his sharp features a strange ambiguity.
Treize suppressed a moan – did he know? Did he really know the effect this had? He positively smouldered, his silver mane a ghostly contrast to his dark outfit, his eyes splinters of ice sailing through Night herself. He was utterly, hauntingly beautiful. And yes,Treize conceded, Zechs did know, judging by the glance he was lancing at him.
Therein lies the danger, Treize mused as Zechs closed the distance between them and covered the hand holding the glass with his long, hard fingers. He lifted the glass to his pale lips, closed his eyes in a mock-coy gesture and drank, his tongue darting out to swirl the ruby wine before he finished the drink and met Treize's gaze. "I wish you would-"
Kiss him. Hold him. Stoke the heat in those frosty eyes,in this flawless body, fill this fervent mind with a love other than the worship of war, and thaw this chilling soul...
Carefully, Treize let go of the breath he had been holding. "No." He shook off Zechs' hand and refilled the glass, this time for himself. "Go, enjoy yourself if you can with this headache. I have to work."
Zechs threw back his head and laughed, but he went anyway, slamming the door behind him.
Treize sat down on the couch and bunched the blanket up against his face. He deeply breathed in the scent that still clung to the woolly folds, Zech's faint perfume that was so fascinatingly difficult to pinpoint – a bit of smoke, a bit of wind, the salty freshness of sea air… the scent of bold, stubborn independence? Still pressing the blanket against his cheek, Treize leaned back with a groan and began to drink the rest of the bottle. He would need another one to get him to sleep without dreams, and by that time it would be early morning and perhaps Zechs would stay out long enough so that he did not have to hear him returning.
xxx
He had not drunk enough to slip into oblivion. Soldier instincts kicking in even now, he was jarred from his leaden sleep by the echo of a sound that crept into his uneasy dreams. He lay motionless on his bed, listening into the darkness. The reek of stale wine – the third bottle almost empty on his nightstand – and of tobacco smoke laced the air. He rarely smoked, and had not done so last night.
He sat up and carefully lowered his feet to the floor. He had not bothered to undress, merely tugged off his boots when he had dropped into bed. Now he felt faintly dizzy and tasted alcohol and weariness on his tongue, but despite the amount of drink in his system he rose smoothly and slipped to the door that stood open by a small gap. Another moan drifted from the lounge.
He leaned against the wall and sucked in his breath as he peered through into the room. From between the carelessly drawn curtains, a beam of light fingered vaguely into the darkness. There was always light on the base, cold, white floods that turned night into day so that the relentless business of war could continue. The shaft of light caught in a mass of silver hair splayed over the shiny wooden floor, slipped over long, bare limbs and a muscular body.
Treize felt his breath hitch and his heart skip a beat before it began to race. Zechs' clothes lay scattered in dark little heaps, a short, messy trail from the door to where he lay sprawled on his back, offering himself to this ray of light and to Treize's gaze. He had his head thrown back and sideways, facing the bedroom, but his hair fell over his features and shadows covered his expression as his hands ran over his own body, stroking slowly and none too gently his chest and flanks, then scooted down to his crotch without hesitation.
He tossed his head, silver mane flying like a spray of mist, and sobbed furiously as he pressed his flat hand over his arousal as though he meant to squash the piece of hard flesh that stood out from the pale body, as perfect and demanding as the rest of him. For some agonising moments, he seemed to fight the urge. Then he broke.
Treize let out a soft gasp as Zechs took himself in hand, bracing the other hand on the floor for a moment, perhaps ina last attempt to stop. He went rigid, tremors running through long, hard limbs, before he sagged a little in bitter surrender. Rolling half onto his side, he pulled up one thigh, arched off the ground and reached between his buttocks from behind, then bit out a harsh grunt as his fingers pushed in. Hard. He was bruising himself; his body flinching even as he pulled and thrust, his motions betraying anger, revulsion and a desperation that made Treize cringe.
Wrong, he thought, his own desire doused by the agony he witnessed, this is all so wrong... He stepped out into the room and knelt by Zechs before the latter could react. As Treize wiped a sheen of sweat off his brow, Zechs dragged his eyes half-open and seared the older man with a glare of reckless hunger. "You… going… to… sleep with me?" he ground out between clenched jaws, without interrupting what he was doing.
Treize shook his head. "No, Milliardo." He reached for the hand that was still buried within Zechs and stilled it, then he pulled him up to bed the silver head on his lap.
"You're not… even… hard?" Zechs gasped as Treize seized both his wrists and lifted them to touch his lips todefiantly clenched fingers.
"It doesn't get me off to see you suffer," he replied. Closing his eyes, Zechs tried to tug his hands free, but Treize's grip tightenedin an iron clasp. "Lay still now. Haven't you damaged yourself enough?"
Zechs hissed out a curse. "Need…" He writhed, the light painting his body a misty white.
Treize brushed his long hair from his face and leaned down to see his eyes. "Look at me," he said softly, "open your eyes, Milliardo."
"Don't!" Zechs yapped,obeying by instinct.
"Does it hurt?"
"Zechs. I'm Zechs now!"
"You will always be Milliardo for me."
A long silence fell, but Zechs kept moving restlessly, his hips grinding against the cold floor, his knees parting and closing again. Treize sought his gaze that was shuttered and empty until it focused fiercely on him. "Let go of me."
"Lube?"
"No! Let go!"
"Shhh." Treize kept hold of him with one hand and found what he was after in his own jacket pocket. He squeezed some of the cool, slippery stuff onto Zechs' fingers and then released them, guiding them back to where they had been. "Like this," he said quietly, watching Zechs twist in fury first, then draw in his lips and bite them hard. Treize let his hand idly slide up the muscular arm that now moved in a steady rhythm. "Do you have to hurt?"
"I do not hurt!" Zechs snapped, his breathing picking up, shortening to little gasps as a faint hue of colour fanned over his chest. Treize combed his fingers through the silver flood, then slicked some lube on the other captured hand before letting it go, watching as it latched straight onto Zech's aching manhood.
Treize settled him comfortably, caressing his hair, his face, his shoulders in long, gentle strokes while Zechs began to tense and shudder, his hands moving faster on himself, into himself, with ruthless efficiency, his breath wrenching from his throat ragged, faint and laced with curses. He cried out when he came, he swore at Treize, he yelled for air, and he squeezed his eyes shut, unable to stop the single tear that stole from beneath white lashes.
It slipped over his temple and soaked into Treize's uniform trousers before he could catch it. The last tremors of his release hardly over, Zechs pushed him back and jumped to his feet, but his knees buckled and he would have fallen had Treizenot matched his speed and caught him, one arm winding round his chest, the other one clamped over his damp stomach. For a heartbeat Zechs sunk into this hard embrace, before tearing away and stumbling towards the bathroom.
A moment later, the rushing of the shower and the sounds of retching came from there.Treize did not go after him. After checking the time, he went for another bottle instead – with a mere couple of hours to go before they had to begin another working day, he would be fairly drunk but not many would realise; in fact, only Une's eyes were sharp enough to detect when something was wrong with him. Or Zechs.
Not that there was anything, really.
They were perfectly fine.
Professionals. Soldiers. Masters of the Zero system.
Clearheaded and sane.
xxx
THE END of LA4