Wild Roses – First Blood
Chapter Fourteen
Mid July AC 191 Zodiac Wing
Forward Operating Base
"Oh, God, that feels good."
Zechs let his back arch as shivers of pleasure tickled his skin and made his voice a lazy sigh, stretching against the pull of his own muscles and thoroughly enjoying the momentary feeling of the strain. From somewhere above him, Otto chuckled affectionately at him, his hands buried in the silky mass of Zechs's decidedly tumbled hair.
"You relaxed yet?" the smaller boy asked brightly, and Zechs gave him a somewhat lopsided smile for an answer.
"Getting there," he said honestly, shifting long limbs again just for the sake of it.
The blond was sprawled full length on his bed, wrapped rather haphazardly in sheets that were crumpled and warm and a little damp from the varying amounts of effort the two pilots had put in over the past few hours. Otto, in contrast, was sitting curled up on Zechs's pillows, legs crossed as though he were meditating and his friend's head resting in his lap as he played with the cool swathes of silvery mane spilled across his hands.
"Ah, good," Otto replied, and chuckled again when Zechs stuck his tongue out in a gesture he should long have outgrown.
A moment later, the blond rolled where he was lying, resettling himself on his belly, with his head chin down on his hands against Otto's knee. It was an inviting position, and not the first time Zechs had been in it that night, but it made Otto stop his petting of his friend long enough to poke a fingertip into the back of Zechs's shoulder.
"No, don't fall asleep on me, beautiful," he ordered quietly. "I want you relaxed, not soporific."
Zechs made some sort of incomprehensible sound that might have been laughter from under his hair and shifted enough to kiss the patch of skin nearest to him lightly. "I'm not falling asleep, I promise."
He wriggled enough to free his right hand from under his head and held it out imperiously. "Drink, please," he instructed, and Otto complied immediately, scooping a heavy bottomed tumbler out from the assorted detritus on Zechs's nightstand to pass it to the other man.
In the process, the side of his hand clipped part of the morass and threatened to send it scattering across the carpet. Otto saved the situation, showing the hand-eye co-ordination of a pilot as he caught the box of condoms, the open bottle of lube and the little glass vial of Liquid Gold that was, fortunately, still sealed tight.
"Oops," he commented with a giggle. "That was close. You'd have had fun explaining that to Treize if we'd spilled the poppers."
Zechs sipped the potent contents of the glass and grimaced ruefully. "I'd have had fun coming up with reasons why he couldn't come in here for a week and why my window absolutely had to be open, you mean," he replied. "You've had one too many sips of this Absinthe if you think for one moment I'd have told him the truth. He'd scream at me for a month for even owning the stuff – and I'm not about to explain to him why I do."
"Probably not wise," Otto agreed. "Talk of muscle relaxants and gay sex might be more than he wants to hear," he said, and promptly let the topic drop altogether.
Being careful to put it a little further back from the edge than it had been originally, Otto slid the glass vial back onto the nightstand. He jumped a little when Zechs dropped another, still fleeting kiss against the bare skin of his thigh, noticeably higher up.
"What are you up to?" Otto asked curiously.
"Nothing," Zechs replied, and he was being honest. He sat up a little to finish the milky green liquid in the tumbler and then shifted enough that Otto could slide down next to him in the nest they'd made of the blankets.
The dark-haired boy complied, bringing the condoms and the lube with him in one hand, taking the empty glass and setting it down by the bed.
"Here," Otto said, offering out the brightly coloured box. "It's about time you played with these," he commented.
Zechs, who had rolled onto his side when Otto stretched out next to him and propped himself up on one elbow, held out his free hand and took the box with a little smile. "When have I had the chance?" he asked lightly. He shifted one foot forward, wriggling until his toes could stroke the inside of Otto's ankle. "I do appreciate it, though."
Otto laughed warmly. "No need to get mushy, love," he chuckled. "It's hardly the greatest present in the world."
It wasn't, but it had still been a sign of how well Otto knew him. The dark haired boy had presented him with the small, ornately wrapped gift a few weeks earlier, laughingly calling it a house warming present for his new room. Zechs, curiosity peaked, had opened the shiny paper and ribbons, and promptly dissolved into fits of giggles that had seen tears coming to his eyes before he was done.
Otto, in his wisdom, had gone shopping in the three weeks he'd spent with his family in Germany and bought his erstwhile lover a box of very exclusive, very expensive condoms. They were the closest thing on the market to not using them at all, and Otto had made it clear what they were intended for by selecting a set in a range of flavours.
One fingertip stealing out to trace faintly golden skin, the dark haired pilot shifted a little closer to his friend but left space for the box between them. "It's only to my benefit to indulge your oral fixation," he said softly, his eyes dancing merrily in the dim lighting.
Zechs nodded an agreement but protested verbally. "That logic's flawed," he pointed out. "I don't need them with you," he reminded.
Otto rolled his eyes. "No, but forgive me for encouraging you to practice on others, hon," he teased. "Practice makes perfect, after all!"
"Hey!" The blond boy pulled back a little, his face a perfect mask of outrage. "What are you trying to say?" he demanded, scandalised.
Otto's expression was sweetly, falsely, beatific. "Not a thing, gorgeous," he said innocently and then he yelped as Zechs reached across the gap and swatted him hard on one hip, making the skin redden and sting.
"Ouch!" Otto grumbled, rubbing the spot, before blinking inquisitively. "Since when have you had a kinky side?"
Zechs raised a knowing eyebrow as his only response, before letting himself collapse onto his back and stretching against the mattress again. There was still a pleasant ache in his muscles that spoke of the exertions he'd put in earlier, and a peculiar, still languor in his mind that he'd learned only came with really good sex.
He reached his hands over his head, wrists crossing as he wrapped his fingers around one another and brushed the cold plaster of the wall with the back of one hand. As he began to settle back into himself, warm fingers caught at his wrists and held him in place as Otto leaned over him, smirking.
"Got you," he murmured softly and Zechs let his eyes flutter shut as sharp, smooth teeth nibbled at his jaw line lightly. Silky soft curls tickled at the delicate skin of his throat, and the sudden weight of Otto against him, the heat of a hand against his waist and the intrusion of a knee between his own, made Zechs shudder with renewed wanting.
"So you have," Zechs replied, his voice a little breathless. "And I'd ask what you were going to do with me but I rather think I know."
Otto huffed a laugh. "You think so?" he taunted mildly.
"Hmm." Zechs wriggled, shifting his body against the other boy's. "I suspect. You've not been getting me to relax for the last hour for no reason." He tugged at the grip on his wrists carefully. "If that's what you wanted, you might just have told me," he said, and there was something slightly chiding to his tone.
Otto shrugged, letting his hold go as Zechs was hinting and not minding in the least as it freed his hand for other uses. "You take coaxing, sweetie," he answered honestly.
"Yes," Zechs admitted. "But not for you."
Chocolate curls lifted as Otto tipped his head to meet Zechs's eyes with his own. "Oh?"
Zechs merely shrugged in reply, the gesture both effortless and meaningful, and Otto took it as the consent it was as he pulled away from his friend to give them the room they needed to arrange themselves without risking clumsiness-caused bruising.
As Zechs shifted pillows and resettled long limbs, Otto sat back on his heels and picked up the abandoned box of condoms, dropping it into the middle of his friend's chest with a wicked little grin. "Here," he said, much as he had the first time he'd handed it over. "Your present, you choose."
Zechs smiled back but he didn't immediately move. Otto was offering to continue a habit the blond had been hoping to abandon long before now.
Various experiments over the time they'd been lovers had taught the two pilots that Zechs couldn't easily yield to his body being breached. Even when he was completely willing for it, it took noticeably more effort to get him to loosen up sufficiently than it did with Otto – a tendency that had caused Otto no end of worry when Zechs first asked his friend to top him.
The dark-haired boy had been so anxious, in fact, that it had taken Zechs almost two months of them truly sleeping together to convince Otto to make love to him. No matter how much the blond tried to persuade him, Otto had been too scared of hurting his friend to give in until, from somewhere, he'd picked up several pointers on how to make things easier for a virgin partner.
Beyond judicious use of the Liquid Gold, one of the most useful of those pointers had been to use a sheath for the sake of comfort rather than safety, letting the smooth synthetic material the condom was made from work with the lube being applied to cut friction dramatically.
Otto had experimented alone, learned that it worked and brought the idea into play with Zechs, grinning with relief and delight the entire time.
Initially, Zechs had more than appreciated it, but not anymore. For the same reasons he didn't use condoms when he took Otto in his mouth, the blond disliked their continued use in their lovemaking. He resented anything that deprived him of any aspect of his partner – be it their taste, their smell or the true feel of them inside him – and whilst a sense of self-preservation could override that resentment during his dalliances in the clubs, Zechs trusted Otto enough that safety wasn't a factor and valued their encounters precisely because they could be completely uninhibited.
As Otto reached out his hand again, fingers snaring the little bottle neatly, Zechs shook his head. "What if I don't want to choose?" he asked quietly.
The dark-haired pilot stilled in place, looking at his friend with worried eyes. "What?" he asked blankly before he understood and his expression shifted. "Beautiful, we've gone over this. I don't think…" he began and Zechs stopped him with a touch.
"Please?" Zechs begged softly. "I know you're worried," he said, voice heavy with something Otto couldn't, quite, put a name to, "but there's no need to be. You aren't going to hurt me," he promised.
Otto hesitated, then shook his head slowly. "That's easy said, angel," he replied, "but you don't know…."
"Because you won't let me," Zechs jumped in. He sat up, his touch firming into a proper hold on his friend's arm. "Please, Otto," he said again, pleading. "Do you not get that I want you?"
The open admission made Otto shiver, and his fingers tightened on the bottle he was holding as he repressed the reaction. "Zechs, sweetie," he warned and didn't get to finish.
Zechs leaned forward to put his lips to his friend's ear, suddenly shifting his body as he moved to close the space between the two of them. He ended up with one knee on either side of Otto's hips, hands buried in his dark curls and his breath hot against the sensitive skin of Otto's throat as he talked. "I want you," he murmured again. "I want to feel you – just you – inside me properly."
Otto shivered again, fingers finding a grip on Zechs's narrow waist and holding him closer instinctively. "I know," he admitted breathlessly, "but…."
"But, what?" Zechs asked. "I want you inside me," he pressed. "Just you, not some of you, or you-but-not-really, you, so I can feel you moving, skin on skin. I want to feel it when you come, all warm and wet." He laughed softly. "I've fantasised about it," he admitted huskily, "when I've been on my own, thought about having you spill yourself inside me, and it gets me hard every single ti…."
Otto shifted restlessly and Zechs was suddenly forced to break off his confession as Otto's hand across his mouth physically shut him up for a moment. He gave a muffled squeak of protest but lapsed into silence, smiling with the certain knowledge that he was getting to his friend. He could feel the way the smaller boy was tensing under him, feel the weight of the erection against his hip that hadn't been there a moment before.
"Bloody hell, gorgeous," Otto managed nervously, dropping his hand "When did you learn to go on like that?" he asked. He forced a shaky little laugh before Zechs could answer him. "You sound like you're reciting kinky poetry," he tried, trying to defuse the tension Zechs had built with humour.
It would have worked, except that Otto seemed to have forgotten what Zechs had studied in his spare time at the Academy. The blond tilted his head with a wicked glint in his blue eyes and bit his lip to hide a triumphant smirk. "Kinky poetry, hmm?" he asked lightly. "Okay."
He slid one hand from Otto's hair and trailed it slowly down his spine, tracing lithe muscle and smooth skin as he began to talk, rocking his body in little shifts against his friend's. "E.E. Cummings for you," he began, voice gone smoky. "Pre-colony Poet. 'I like my body when it is with your body. It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. I like your body,'" he recited intently. "'I like what it does, I like its how's. I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smoothness, which I will again and again and again kiss.'"
It wasn't a perfect recitation – Zechs had tweaked the exact wording on the fly to make it better fit its purpose – but it seemed to have done the trick because as the blond paused to draw breath, Otto shook his head, wide eyed.
"'I like kissing this and that of you….'" Zechs carried on, matching deed to word as he dropped light pecks across Otto's shoulders. "'I like slowly stroking the shocking fuzz of your electric fur, and the what-is-it that comes over parting flesh. And possibly I like the thrill of, under me, you, quite so new.'"
Otto moaned softly. "Stop talking," he demanded roughly, his breath coming in pants as though he'd been running. "Jesus Christ," he groaned. "Only you, angel, would use bloody poetry as foreplay!"
Zechs shrugged unrepentantly. "Did it work?" he wondered honestly.
Otto stared blankly. "Did it…?" he half repeated. "You tell me," he ordered. "Come here!"
Zechs squeaked again as Otto used the grip he'd kept on the blonde's waist to tip him over backwards into the pillows and began to laugh until his friend shut him up again, this time with a kiss.
"So, poetry gets you hot," Otto commented lazily, sometime later. He was collapsed on his back amongst sheets that were now even more crushed and stained than they had been before, letting his skin cool off and his body settle.
One of his arms was tucked behind his head, being used as an impromptu substitute for the pillows they'd either scattered across the room or rendered fit only for the wash basket. The other was wrapped loosely around Zechs's shoulders, soothing the blond through the come down from their lovemaking, agile fingers tracing meaningless patterns on smooth golden skin that occasionally made Zechs sigh and shift in lethargic enjoyment.
Zechs hadn't really moved at all from where he'd been when they'd finished, save to tilt his upper body enough to let Otto have his lazy embrace, but he lifted his head as the smaller pilot spoke and looked at him through half open eyes.
"Poetry gets me hot?" he asked doubtingly, dropping back down bonelessly. "I wasn't the one in danger of waking the dead a few minutes ago," he pointed out mildly.
Otto snorted. "Don't kid yourself, beautiful. You weren't exactly quiet there." He shrugged, then stretched contentedly. "Something must have set you off."
"And it doesn't occur to you that maybe that had more to do with you fucking me through the mattress than the dubious writing ability of a dead poet?" Zechs asked archly. He shook his head. "Right."
Otto chuckled affectionately. "Point taken," he admitted. "Still, I didn't know you could recite poetry like that off the top of your head – especially not that sort of poetry."
"A literature degree has its uses," the blond said sleepily. He rolled onto his side, seeking the other man's body heat. "And I like poetry. I always have."
Otto shifted his arm so Zechs could curl into him, smiling indulgently at him even though the blond couldn't see it. They'd been playing for several hours – as the sheets could attest by their condition – but Otto rather thought they were done for the night. Zechs relaxed could usually be interested in another go-round but Zechs this far gone was generally a lost cause.
It was no bad thing anyway. It was unlikely they'd be able to match the intensity of the last little while and it had to be the early hours of the morning by now. Some sleep wouldn't really hurt either of them.
With Zechs becoming a heavy, softly breathing weight on his shoulder, Otto took a moment to sweep the worst of the detritus off the night stand into the top drawer, and then used a foot to tug at one of the abandoned blankets and bring it to him, covering the two of them over lightly.
That done, Otto closed his own eyes and drifted off.
The screaming alarms flung him awake again less than an hour later.