* * *
One unicorn trick kite down.
Two hungry children fed.
One hungry best friend fed.
Two sleepy children tucked in.
Two friends out the door.
One very tall, thin, quiet, sexy, lover pressed against the wall of their bedroom.
Oh yeah, and one bedroom door securely locked-passcode changed.
Life was good.
The voices had been silent since they'd left Jeovony's shop. The toy store had thankfully been uneventful, and both children, along with Duo, had gotten something they wanted.
He closed his eyes, as Trowa nipped at the tender skin of his neck. He felt his mouth open in a gasp for breath, and Trowa's tongue seek entrance.
Two and a half minutes, the time it took for Quatre to lead Trowa from the children's room, see their friends out, move past the living room, into the bedroom, change the pass code, and then claim his lover's mouth in a hungry and possessive kiss.
Quatre ran his fingers up and into Trowa's hair, pulling his lover's mouth more firmly against his. Trowa responded in kind, deepening the kiss and igniting their desires.
He'd made it through dinner just fine, ordering what he knew Trowa would like, and making the simple request of soup and bread for the children. He'd smiled warmly when the conversation had turned to the two children sitting beside himself and Trowa. They'd been so good, not assuming they'd get anything in the store while Duo had run around begging Heero to buy him everything.
Trowa turned them, swung around and pushed Quatre's back into the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Quickly, Quatre recovered and went straight for the remaining buttons on the white gothic poet shirt.
Dinner had been wonderful, but the best part had been the crowds of people that had stared at his Trowa as the tall man allowed Quatre to possessively move him across the dinning area to a back table, away from prying eyes. The whole while Quatre smiled knowingly at the other patrons, his look told them he knew Trowa was beautiful tonight and didn't they wish they were so lucky.
Agile fingers worked at the buttons of his own shirt, as Quatre pushed the white gauzy fabric away from Trowa's shoulders. He leaned in with hungry lips to taste the flesh he'd uncovered. Tongue tasted salt, as he ran the warm, wet muscle across Trowa's collarbone, and smiled in triumph at the catch in his lover's breathing.
Shingam and Killashandra had talked and eaten well. Actually, Shingam had talked for the both of them, but managed to hold a very in-depth conversation with Heero who later confided he was stunned by Shingam's vocabulary. Quatre had only smiled knowingly; his children were very smart.
He felt his shirt yanked off his shoulders, the fabric tossed across the room to land somewhere other than around their feet. Quatre had the conscious thought that he hoped it didn't land in anything messy, he rather liked that shirt. Then Trowa's mouth silenced that thought as well.
After explaining why Shingam and Killashandra could not fly their new kite at nine o'clock at night, the four of them had finally managed to put the two to bed. Their story had been read by Heero, with Duo making strange sound effects that didn't help the children to fall asleep at all.
Forcefully, he scrapped his teeth along Trowa's collarbone. He knew the reaction he would get, knew it like he knew everything his lover liked, and didn't. Trowa tried to pull back, but Quatre's deceptively strong arms held him tightly. He soothed the angry wound with his tongue, and slowly, Trowa fell back under his spell.
The voices had returned close to the end of the story Heero had been telling. He and Trowa had been against the wall, Trowa's arms wrapped tightly about his body, the two of them staying warm by touch alone.
He swung them again, this time Trowa's naked back colliding with the wall with a resounding smack. While his lover was stunned, Quatre wasted no time working at the silver buttons he'd undone only hours before.
They'd been quiet at first, softly whispering to him. Words like "possession" and "mine" floated through his brain, and he tightened his grip on the arms that surrounded him. He thought about telling Trowa, but the words the voices had thrown at him then had been too painful to even consider. Trowa wouldn't understand them anymore than he did; he wouldn't upset his lover like that.
Button's released, Quatre sank once again to his knees. His hands hooked into the leather made clingy by Trowa's perspiring body. He pulled hard, without mercy.
The voices had only gotten more insistent as they'd said goodbye to Heero and Duo. They called to him, mocking him for his lack of care towards his lover. Trowa belonged to him, they said, why was he making Trowa suffer by not claiming what was his? He didn't have an answer.
He tripped Trowa, sending the taller man crashing to the floor, stunned. In seconds, Quatre was attacking the shoes that prevented the pants from being removed. He would see his entire lover, all of him, now!
He hadn't known exactly what he was going to do. He knew the voices spoke some measure of truth, but also that they were all started by Killashandra's connection to him. Quatre had the foresight to remember that these children had been raised to watch the ZERO files, and that they could have been created to kill them all. But as Trowa had smiled down at him, a soft look of quiet revere, Quatre no longer cared.
Shoes tossed over his shoulder, he ripped the pants the rest of the way off and caught Trowa's hand before yanking him into a sitting position on the floor. Quatre wound his hands into Trowa's hair and pulled him forward, crushing their bruised lips together, and catching the moan before it escaped Trowa's mouth.
Some part of him had warned that this could be taken too far, that Trowa could be hurt if he did what the voices instructed. But as Quatre had changed the passcode on their door, he couldn't seem to remember why it would hurt Trowa. No, this was to help Trowa, so that he could protect him now that he wasn't pretending to be strong like he had before. Trowa would know he could trust him, Trowa would be made to understand that Quatre was as good as God to him.
Trowa gasped, and Quatre nipped hard at Trowa's lip, just barely escaping the draw of blood. His right hand moved from behind Trowa's neck, and scrapped down the front of his chest, causing the man beneath him to pull back in pain. Quatre watched in sick fascination as welts appeared on Trowa's skin. Then just as before, he attacked the painful wounds with his mouth.
This was about something basic, more basic than love or tenderness, this was about possession and desire, about control and hunger. He'd selfishly let Trowa believe that the taller boy was free and unprotected. He'd protected Trowa's delicate mentality by sacrificing those basic needs. Trowa needed something, Quatre was going to give it too him.
The tables were turned suddenly, as Trowa used his strength to push Quatre to the ground, his body on hands and knees over Quatre's slighter frame. There was confusion in his eyes, and Quatre watched as Trowa looked down at his chest to examine the angry scratches there. He wasted no time using the distraction to his advantage.
The voices called to him, and Quatre obliged. Trowa needed something he wasn't telling him, Trowa needed, and that was really all Quatre had to know. His mind screamed, lashed out at the voices, but they carried an air of such truth that Quatre couldn't deny them. Something was coming, and he intended to be there when it arrived.
Again flipping Trowa over, Quatre allowed his jean clad groin to rub against Trowa's straining erection. He smiled brightly down at Trowa, who's eyes remained confused and questioning. His voice was commanding when he spoke; demanding all attention and immediate compliance.
"Kiss me, my Trowa."
His mind warned that the panicked expression on Trowa's face could not be good, but he fought it. There were times when someone was so close to the marker they could not see it. Trowa was like that, he was too far, and yet to close to see that Quatre stood right before him, the embodiment of his deepest desires, and his strongest fears. His rational mind screamed in protest.
Under him, Trowa groaned, his erection jumping and tapping at Quatre's backside, begging for attention. Compliance, that was the number one requirement. Trowa must be made to understand, Trowa must do everything Quatre told him to do.
"Trowa, what did I say?"
This was killing Trowa, Quatre's weakness was killing him. He needed to be strong, he needed to be willing to give as much as Trowa had to keep them together. He had to be willing to lose everything to make his lover safe. How could he have been so selfish?
Silently, Trowa sat up, his action pushing Quatre to sit in his lap and Trowa cried out at the added pressure. Then forcefully, Trowa sought him out. Lips once again met and clashed, and Trowa sought entrance with a probing tongue. After nearly a minute of mindless torture, Quatre relented; opening his mouth.
Trowa might not understand right away, he might be frightened, and perhaps even terrified. But Quatre had to risk it, had to risk it all to drive the point home that Trowa lived and breathed because Quatre allowed it, because Quatre desired him, because Quatre loved him. Nothing else mattered. If all went well it would take only once; one time to solidify his claim, because Trowa already wanted-Trowa already desired to be owned.
He caressed the roof of Trowa's mouth, knowing it was one of the small pleasures Trowa enjoyed in his company. His fingers played with Trowa's chest, kneading and touching in patterns designed to distract his lover from all other things but himself. He shifted, mocking with his hips the act they were about to partake in. Trowa's moans and soft whimpers fueled him on, called to him to continue. He ground against his lover faster.
Quatre was no fool, he'd learned over the years the small things that made his lover tick. He knew how to touch Trowa in just the right way, how to kiss him in such a fashion, how to love him and make him feel special. He'd learned through trial and error, learned like all lovers must how best to please their partners. He knew the precise moment Trowa's body began to like the rough play; knew by the sound of Trowa's breathing, and the way his hips lifted off the floor to meet with his own.
He pushed Trowa back to the floor, leaving his lovely mouth to move farther down his body. He paused at Trowa's neck, licking and suckling. Trowa's hands locked into his hair and pulled him closer. His mouth moved lower, again soothing the angry four lines that ran diagonally across Trowa's chest. Mentally, he reminded himself he'd have to ask for forgiveness later for those.
He'd always been so gentle with Trowa, making sure to follow all the rules his taller lover barely knew existed. Quatre had spent countless hours mentally soothing the pain some of their couplings had brought to Trowa's weakened defenses. There had been times Trowa had fled from their bed, backed himself into a corner and looked at Quatre with such wide eyed fear as to make the blonde cry out in his own pain. So he'd erected blocks, found ways to be with Trowa that didn't cause his lover undo agony or fear. He'd learned all the rules and played by them, denying his own likes for slightly rougher play to appease Trowa's insecurities.
Things change.
"QUATRE!"
It wasn't often he could make Trowa cry out, it took so very much some days to get a reaction out of his partner. Poor beautiful Trowa learned early on to remain silent no matter what the abuse. Quatre was going to have to break that nasty habit.
"Did you need something, my Trowa?" He chuckled, fingernails now drawing welts along Trowa's sides.
He hadn't thought of it as patience, only realizing his lover's limitations and accommodating them. Quatre had dedicated his life to giving Trowa what he needed. Trowa was everything, his life and love, his hope and promise. Trowa was the reason for his existence, the reason he woke up in the morning, and the reason he didn't slide that shinning metal across his wrists in one final act of release.
"Quatre.why?"
Trowa would be made to understand this. Quatre would teach him, show him that he'd been patient, waited quietly for years; and was not prepared to wait more.
"My Trowa, did I hurt you? All you have to do is tell me I have, and I'll stop. Tell me to stop, my Trowa, that's all it will take. I'd never hurt you, never." He moved his mouth higher, tasting Trowa's lips once again. He watched Trowa's eyes drift shut in pleasure. "That's right my love, relax, you know I'd never really hurt you."
Trowa was so delicate, like the fine china Quatre himself drank from. He knew he had to make a point, had to stop Trowa's suffering before it became too much and he'd have to sacrifice more than he could give away. He felt it in the back of his mind, the link singing with it. Trowa felt pleasure, such immense pleasure from this act. It was what he wanted, to be owned, taken care of, in the most basic of fashions known to man; and therefore it was what Quatre planned to give him.
He stood suddenly, rising and leaning down to help Trowa to his feet. The naked man stood on shaky legs, his obvious need making it hard for him to do so. Quatre gazed at Trowa's arousal, watched it pulse ever so slightly in time with his lover's heartbeat. He looked up, knowingly. Trowa swallowed, his throat constricting, the apple of his throat alerting Quatre once again to Trowa's pleasure at being looked at.
Quatre's mind called for something, his body craved something he'd never allowed it to desire. He'd wanted Trowa, so many, many times. His body, his mind, his spirit. Quatre had been attracted to the entire being that was Nanashi, and who he knew as Trowa Barton. And Quatre loved him, names be damned; nothing else mattered but loving Trowa, loving and claiming him as his own.
With Trowa watching his every move, Quatre moved his hand between them, resting his fingers centimeters above the tip of Trowa's erection. He listened to Trowa breathe harder, watched as his lover unconsciously straightened his body to come in contact with Quatre's waiting fingers.
Trowa would come to him, that was part of the dance. Trowa had to admit he needed Quatre to take care of him, in all senses of the word. Quatre was pleasure and pain, hope and rejection, love and abandonment; Trowa was simply everything.
Just as his fingers touched blood engorged flesh, Quatre moved his hand, trailing his fingers up Trowa's stomach and chest. His touch was gentle, a touch Quatre knew Trowa now craved, desired, he felt Trowa's pleasure as his own; the link flashed in brilliant colors that surrounded them, wrapping them in love and passion.
Everything depended on this moment. His life with Trowa would be forever changed by this act, by this night. He had to be careful, and yet abandon care at the same time. Trowa would be afraid, but all beaten dogs were at first afraid of their rescuers. Quatre was patient, he'd train Trowa. Train his lover to come when called, to sit when told, and to beg, with everything he was. Quatre would mark him, claim him, make Trowa realize that the pain of his past, the agony of his childhood was a memory, and Quatre was his reality. Trowa had escaped the men that raped him and controlled him for power, now Quatre would control him for protection, and make love to him until he cried out in defeat.
Whisper soft, Quatre trailed his hand up Trowa's face, passing features he loved and adored more than any others. He brushed long bangs from Trowa's face, pushing the damp hairs away, clearing Trowa's face so he could truly see him, all of him, his Trowa.
Claim him, the voices screamed, Make him yours. He belongs to you, make him understand that, make him realize that you own him, mind, body, and soul. Only then can he be truly safe, from everything; the outside world, you, and himself.
His fingertips brushed softly over Trowa's forehead, his lover closed his eyes at the contact.
"Mine."
Claim him!
He ran his fingers over Trowa's elegant eyebrows, auburn like his hair.
"Mine."
Make him yours!
Fingers danced over closed eyelids, and he watched as Trowa opened his eyes; felt butterfly kisses against his sensitive fingers.
"Mine."
He belongs to you!
Once again over cheekbones that angled his features; he felt Trowa's muscle twitch.
"Mine."
Make him understand!
Back up his hand went, digits caressing a nose Quatre had always thought looked so perfect on a face so openly graceful, and quietly beautiful.
"Mine."
Make him realize you own him!
Smooth mouth, lines cut into pure marble; they opened slightly at his touch.
"Mine."
Mind. Body. Soul.
Trowa's tongue darted out to taste his fingers; he smiled in response.
Only then can he be truly safe!
He extracted his wet fingers, touching a chin he'd leaned up to kiss on more than a thousand nights spent together, locked tightly away from the world.
"Mine."
From Everying! The outside world! You! Himself!
Blue met Green.
Arabian to Latino.
Lover to Lover.
Owner to Possession.
"Mine."
No hesitation.
"Yours."
Yes! Cried the voice in his head.
Yes! Cried that part of him that had waited so very long to hear that one word.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
This was as it should be!
He pulled Trowa's head down, claiming lips and tongue with his own. Trowa's arms circled his waist, wrapping around his body, and pulling them tightly together. They groaned as one, bodies meeting in dramatic tension. That one word, "Yours," Quatre felt it, sent Trowa's heart and emotions soaring. Everything in Trowa desired this, everything! Words meant little, actions meant everything. Trowa didn't want to be in charge, he wanted to be taken care of, like he hadn't been as a child or teenager. That hidden part of Trowa's mind that had healed from his childhood at Quatre's patient hands, cried out in joy. It wasn't as it had been with Quatre only a month before; Trowa desired to be protected, not be the protector, and now that Quatre was stronger than he'd ever been before, it was time for things to be how they'd been, only different, and infinitely better.
Quatre pulled away, the voices quietly whispering in the back of his mind.
"You are mine, beloved."
"Yes."
"I will love you, keep you safe from everything the world has ever known, that Allah has ever created."
"Yes, Quatre."
"But you are mine."
Trowa's eyes dropped, looking away from his intense gaze.
"I want to be yours."
"You always have been, beloved. My Trowa, I've been so selfish, but no more. Your body tells me what it wants, what it has always wanted. I've ignored it for so long, tried so hard to protect your delicate mind. But it's time Trowa, time for you to understand on a conscious level what your body already knows."
"Quatre?"
Green eyes, sought out aqua blue.
"You've always belonged to me."
Trowa cried out suddenly, his body voicing the tidal wave of horrors and fears that crashed instantly against his exposed defenses. Where moments before his healed mind had cried out in joy and completion, now the still damaged portion fought and won. Not all of Trowa's mind was healed, and the agony of the parts that weren't overrode the parts that had finally found peace.
His arms left their place around Quatre's waist, and instead gripped his hips and tried to push him away. Fear danced across the link, total and utter fear.
Quatre glanced up at Trowa's face, his eyes searching for some part of Trowa's soul that had not suddenly and violently retracted in terror.
"Nooooooo, no."
"Trowa-"
"No, no, please no."
There was none, Trowa wasn't with him anymore, he was lost, lost in memories where men much larger than Quatre had forced themselves past his defenses. Where burly men that had no business even breathing took out their frustrations out on a little boy that could not say no. Quatre watched as Trowa's face shifted his eyes clouding over, misting, and releasing his suffering in a way he could not so many years ago.
Mentally, Quatre cursed violently. This wouldn't work. Trowa wouldn't learn anything like this. He hadn't taken into account that he'd scared Trowa only hours before; hadn't taken into account that Trowa's mind had already been racing with long ago horrors.
This won't do! The voices cried. He's too afraid, he doesn't see who you are now. Go back, return later. Show him he's still in control for now, show him he's not lost anything in this exchange. Salvage what you can, he knows you know he belongs to you, leave it at that. You've claimed a part of his soul tonight, claim mind and body another. You must reform him, not break him, never break him, he belongs to you, but you must never abuse that belonging. Cherish him, love him, you'll possess him later.
Gently, Quatre lifted his hands to take Trowa's away from his covered face. Panicked eyes found and burrowed deeply into him. Quatre felt the link flood with Trowa, felt his lover searching desperately for him, through the pain of the past.
"Hush my Trowa, you're safe now. Shhh, you're safe; I am here. My Trowa."
He wrapped his arms about Trowa's neck, pulled his beloved down and into his protective body. Trowa shivered against him, his arms wrapped about his own waist, even as Quatre held him close.
"Q-Quatre?"
"That's right, beloved, I'm here. Shhhh. You're safe, the past can't hurt you, nothing will ever hurt you. Hush now, don't be afraid. I'm here, I've got you, my Trowa. Shhhhh."
"Q-Quatre, what's-what's happening?"
"I frightened you, my love. Shhhhh, don't worry, you're safe. You haven't lost anything, my Trowa. You're alright."
The link flashed once again, flashed and uncoiled tendrils that caressed his mind and sought out the truth of his words. He felt Trowa's body release it's tension as he found the love Quatre had for him, the blinding need to protect him and shelter him from everything.
Then just as suddenly, Trowa crumpled before him, and it took all of Quatre's remaining strength to hold him up. Loud whaling sobs escaped Trowa, and Quatre wept with him, knowing his lover hurt because of him, because he'd been so selfish in the past.
"Oh, Trowa, my Trowa, please forgive me. I've done this, I hurt you again, even though I promised I wouldn't. I try to be strong enough to give you what you need and I can't, I just can't hurt you. I'm so, sorry, Trowa, so sorry." He continued, running his hands through Trowa's hair over and over, but to no avail, Trowa could not be comforted by so simple an act.
For what seemed like forever, they rested on their knees, Trowa's cheek pressed against Quatre's chest, while he tried desperately to ease Trowa's suffering. Finally, Quatre could take no more.
With his mind, his God gifted abilities, he brushed against Trowa's thoughts and felt the raw pain and fear he'd caused. With deliberate and practiced care, Quatre sifted carefully through Trowa's emotions, sorting them into categories, and brushing the horrible self defeating and incriminating ones to fall dormant again, back to lie in wait for another night like this one.
Slowly, Trowa began to calm down. Harsh sobs turned into soft whimpers, and violent shakes became slight tremors. Quatre rocked him, whispering softly, offering words of love and forever, lulling Trowa with word and mental powers into a light trance.
Minutes turned into an hour as Quatre continued the dusting he worked so deliberately on his partner. He collected the aches and pains, the remembered tortures of nearly a decade, and stored them away, clearing Trowa's mind of everything but Quatre's love for him.
Now Trowa lay quietly in his embrace, his eyes blinked but saw nothing. Trowa simply stared into nothing, and Quatre let him, let him search the void and rest there. They weren't done yet.
Finally, he released his lover, the mental terror he'd been in now little more than remembered fear.
Trowa blinked and shifted, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"Quatre?"
He smiled lovingly, "I scared you, Trowa. I'm sorry. You'll be ok. I've shifted a few of your more frightening emotions away from the surface, if you stay calm you'll be just fine."
Trowa looked confused for a few moments, before turning pleading eyes on him once again.
"Why Quatre? Why were you acting like that? Did-did I do something wrong?"
Quatre whimpered and pulled Trowa gently to him.
"No beloved, you didn't do anything. I've done this all. I need to make you understand something very soon, or it may be too late. I know you're confused, I am too, but this has to be done. I have to make you understand, and I will, I won't leave you like this, not knowing what's real and what isn't. Be calm, my Trowa. I love you, remember that; and remember that I'll set things right, no matter what the cost. I'll keep you safe."
"Quatre."
Trowa folded into him, drawing his legs up until he was awkwardly situated in Quatre's lap. Softly he rocked them, his hands rubbing soothing circles in Trowa's back. Whispering promises he reinforced with the aid of the link.
They stayed that way for some time, Quatre soothing Trowa's battered soul with touch and sound that Trowa knew belonged to Quatre. And when he finally deemed Trowa ready, Quatre urged him to stand, and cautiously he moved them towards the bed.
He tugged lightly when Trowa hesitate, and sat patiently while Trowa decided to stay or bolt away from him. Finally, his lover perched next to him, and Quatre took his hand and offered a quick squeeze before standing and divesting himself of the remainder of his clothing.
He watched as Trowa's eyes widened in almost fear, before Trowa shook his head to banish the panic that once again stole through him. Quatre kneeled by his feet, catching Trowa's eyes, and forcing his beloved to look at him.
"I've hurt you Trowa, and I've made you afraid of me-"
"NO! Quatre that isn't-"
"Yes, my Trowa, it's necessary, but true. You crave it, but you're not ready to accept what I have to give you yet. It's alright my love, you'll have what you need, no matter what it costs me to give it to you. This is the right way, the way that will in the end cause us the least amount of pain, but if you can't, if it's too much to ask from you, then I won't. Whatever you need, my Trowa; no matter what it is, I'll give it to you. You'll have it.
"Now I've frightened you, and for just a moment you felt out of control. You've never been out of control with me, my Trowa. I've always made sure that you had all the control you needed to do whatever you wanted, but I tried to take just a little of that control away tonight, and I frightened you. It's alright, don't be sad, none of this is your fault, my love; none of it. But you think it is, and that isn't acceptable.
"I've always know that control for you is very dependent on the act of sex; always known that that would be the place to begin and end things with you. You're afraid right now, afraid you've lost the control you crave, so I'll give it back to you. I'll prove to you, that you lost nothing tonight. It'll hurt more next time, my Trowa, but now isn't the time to think of such things."
He turned away then, reaching into the nightstand drawer and extracting a jar of lightly scented oil. He opened the jar quietly, and looked up for permission to touch Trowa's body.
The fear wasn't completely gone. Trowa looked confused, as if Quatre's entire speech had fallen on ears not able to comprehend it.
Slowly, so as not to startle him, Quatre leaned up and kissed him. He nuzzled his throat, and whispered softly into his ear.
"My Trowa, you'll take back your control tonight. I'll give it back to you because you seem to want to hold onto it so badly. You'll take my body tonight, show your seeming control over me, and I'll let you, I'll yield to you. It's not what you really want, my love, but for now, it's all you can stand."
He kissed Trowa again, allowing his lips to part his lover's before carefully coaxing their tongues to play together. It was a long kiss, and Quatre pressed his thoughts of passion onto Trowa's mind, pulling his lover into an honest promise of release.
Seconds became minutes, as Quatre used hands, body, and mind to bring Trowa to that place where fear was cast aside, and passions could be ignited.
Finally, Trowa responded.
Callused hands kneaded heated flesh, and Quatre moaned to encourage Trowa to continue. Slowly they worked together to make the slightest touch electric, the most whispered of breaths shivering.
Quatre's mind rebelled, swore again and again this wasn't right, but he pushed his thoughts aside. Now Trowa needed him to be what Trowa thought him to be. He would be weak for Trowa, so his most beloved possession did not fear him; because Quatre was weak, but only when it came to Trowa.
When Quatre felt the last of the fear escape from Trowa's thoughts, he dipped his fingers into the crystal jar, and anointed his lover, preparing him for what was to come. His hand glided over ridged flesh, and he tried his best to surrender to the sounds of passion Trowa made above him. Light kisses, and soft caresses fueled Trowa on, and Quatre watched with a measure of some happiness that Trowa found pleasure in this false act of lovemaking.
When Trowa was ready, Quatre stood, and moved behind his partner on the bed, lying out length wise and waiting for Trowa to come to him. He didn't wait long.
It was like their usual lovemaking. It was gentle and kind, soft and loving. Trowa entered him slowly, careful to cause as little pain as he could to an unprepared body. Quatre grimaced in pain, not the physical, but the blinding agony of knowing he'd failed his beloved yet again.
Trowa kissed him as the rhythm began, and Quatre kissed him back, careful to make sure Trowa didn't see the tears in his eyes. Eventually a strong hand found it's way to his only partial arousal, and Quatre had to look away from Trowa's questioning and hurt eyes. He smiled back when he could, willing his body to abandon itself to the pleasure Trowa was trying to give him; his body barely inclined itself.
With mental strength he didn't think he possessed-or had the ability to use in his exhausted state-Quatre forced his body to feel the strokes Trowa moved him with; forced his body to respond, even if his mind remained silent.
He felt Trowa's pleasure through the link, and created answering emotions of his own, forcing himself to make the lie seem as true as possible.
And then, finally, Trowa's release flooded him, and burned him with shame that he could not enjoy the moment the way Trowa wanted him too. In a last attempt to protect Trowa's feelings, he locked his mind around the blinding mental release Trowa had felt, and once again forced his body to comply in kind. There was no satisfaction, only release, and he felt horribly empty when the act was complete.
Exhausted from the ordeal, he closed the link to prevent Trowa from realizing the lie, before he pulled Trowa against him and ran his fingers through sweaty hair.
"Thank you, Trowa."
His lover tried to sit up, but Quatre held him firm, not daring to let his beloved see the tears racing down his face. Trowa wouldn't understand, couldn't understand how hopelessly empty this mating had left him. He imagined Trowa would say he did, but Quatre couldn't make the comparison; Trowa had felt empty by strangers, he felt empty and abandoned by his lover.
He recognized that Trowa was trying to speak to him, but Quatre simply couldn't take it right now. With the last of his available strength, he pushed open the link, and planted a firm suggestion for Trowa to sleep. Moments later, he heard the deep and easy breathing of his beloved, felt the warm wet heat drift across his skin.
And in that moment, while Trowa slept peacefully in his embrace, Quatre wept. Sobs shook his body completely and gasping breaths brushed the auburn hair of Trowa's bangs. He sobbed for his weakness and his selfishness, he sobbed for his broken lover, and he sobbed for himself, cried himself to sleep wondering if in the end, Trowa really would be the death of him.
One unicorn trick kite down.
Two hungry children fed.
One hungry best friend fed.
Two sleepy children tucked in.
Two friends out the door.
One very tall, thin, quiet, sexy, lover pressed against the wall of their bedroom.
Oh yeah, and one bedroom door securely locked-passcode changed.
Life was good.
The voices had been silent since they'd left Jeovony's shop. The toy store had thankfully been uneventful, and both children, along with Duo, had gotten something they wanted.
He closed his eyes, as Trowa nipped at the tender skin of his neck. He felt his mouth open in a gasp for breath, and Trowa's tongue seek entrance.
Two and a half minutes, the time it took for Quatre to lead Trowa from the children's room, see their friends out, move past the living room, into the bedroom, change the pass code, and then claim his lover's mouth in a hungry and possessive kiss.
Quatre ran his fingers up and into Trowa's hair, pulling his lover's mouth more firmly against his. Trowa responded in kind, deepening the kiss and igniting their desires.
He'd made it through dinner just fine, ordering what he knew Trowa would like, and making the simple request of soup and bread for the children. He'd smiled warmly when the conversation had turned to the two children sitting beside himself and Trowa. They'd been so good, not assuming they'd get anything in the store while Duo had run around begging Heero to buy him everything.
Trowa turned them, swung around and pushed Quatre's back into the wall, knocking the breath out of him. Quickly, Quatre recovered and went straight for the remaining buttons on the white gothic poet shirt.
Dinner had been wonderful, but the best part had been the crowds of people that had stared at his Trowa as the tall man allowed Quatre to possessively move him across the dinning area to a back table, away from prying eyes. The whole while Quatre smiled knowingly at the other patrons, his look told them he knew Trowa was beautiful tonight and didn't they wish they were so lucky.
Agile fingers worked at the buttons of his own shirt, as Quatre pushed the white gauzy fabric away from Trowa's shoulders. He leaned in with hungry lips to taste the flesh he'd uncovered. Tongue tasted salt, as he ran the warm, wet muscle across Trowa's collarbone, and smiled in triumph at the catch in his lover's breathing.
Shingam and Killashandra had talked and eaten well. Actually, Shingam had talked for the both of them, but managed to hold a very in-depth conversation with Heero who later confided he was stunned by Shingam's vocabulary. Quatre had only smiled knowingly; his children were very smart.
He felt his shirt yanked off his shoulders, the fabric tossed across the room to land somewhere other than around their feet. Quatre had the conscious thought that he hoped it didn't land in anything messy, he rather liked that shirt. Then Trowa's mouth silenced that thought as well.
After explaining why Shingam and Killashandra could not fly their new kite at nine o'clock at night, the four of them had finally managed to put the two to bed. Their story had been read by Heero, with Duo making strange sound effects that didn't help the children to fall asleep at all.
Forcefully, he scrapped his teeth along Trowa's collarbone. He knew the reaction he would get, knew it like he knew everything his lover liked, and didn't. Trowa tried to pull back, but Quatre's deceptively strong arms held him tightly. He soothed the angry wound with his tongue, and slowly, Trowa fell back under his spell.
The voices had returned close to the end of the story Heero had been telling. He and Trowa had been against the wall, Trowa's arms wrapped tightly about his body, the two of them staying warm by touch alone.
He swung them again, this time Trowa's naked back colliding with the wall with a resounding smack. While his lover was stunned, Quatre wasted no time working at the silver buttons he'd undone only hours before.
They'd been quiet at first, softly whispering to him. Words like "possession" and "mine" floated through his brain, and he tightened his grip on the arms that surrounded him. He thought about telling Trowa, but the words the voices had thrown at him then had been too painful to even consider. Trowa wouldn't understand them anymore than he did; he wouldn't upset his lover like that.
Button's released, Quatre sank once again to his knees. His hands hooked into the leather made clingy by Trowa's perspiring body. He pulled hard, without mercy.
The voices had only gotten more insistent as they'd said goodbye to Heero and Duo. They called to him, mocking him for his lack of care towards his lover. Trowa belonged to him, they said, why was he making Trowa suffer by not claiming what was his? He didn't have an answer.
He tripped Trowa, sending the taller man crashing to the floor, stunned. In seconds, Quatre was attacking the shoes that prevented the pants from being removed. He would see his entire lover, all of him, now!
He hadn't known exactly what he was going to do. He knew the voices spoke some measure of truth, but also that they were all started by Killashandra's connection to him. Quatre had the foresight to remember that these children had been raised to watch the ZERO files, and that they could have been created to kill them all. But as Trowa had smiled down at him, a soft look of quiet revere, Quatre no longer cared.
Shoes tossed over his shoulder, he ripped the pants the rest of the way off and caught Trowa's hand before yanking him into a sitting position on the floor. Quatre wound his hands into Trowa's hair and pulled him forward, crushing their bruised lips together, and catching the moan before it escaped Trowa's mouth.
Some part of him had warned that this could be taken too far, that Trowa could be hurt if he did what the voices instructed. But as Quatre had changed the passcode on their door, he couldn't seem to remember why it would hurt Trowa. No, this was to help Trowa, so that he could protect him now that he wasn't pretending to be strong like he had before. Trowa would know he could trust him, Trowa would be made to understand that Quatre was as good as God to him.
Trowa gasped, and Quatre nipped hard at Trowa's lip, just barely escaping the draw of blood. His right hand moved from behind Trowa's neck, and scrapped down the front of his chest, causing the man beneath him to pull back in pain. Quatre watched in sick fascination as welts appeared on Trowa's skin. Then just as before, he attacked the painful wounds with his mouth.
This was about something basic, more basic than love or tenderness, this was about possession and desire, about control and hunger. He'd selfishly let Trowa believe that the taller boy was free and unprotected. He'd protected Trowa's delicate mentality by sacrificing those basic needs. Trowa needed something, Quatre was going to give it too him.
The tables were turned suddenly, as Trowa used his strength to push Quatre to the ground, his body on hands and knees over Quatre's slighter frame. There was confusion in his eyes, and Quatre watched as Trowa looked down at his chest to examine the angry scratches there. He wasted no time using the distraction to his advantage.
The voices called to him, and Quatre obliged. Trowa needed something he wasn't telling him, Trowa needed, and that was really all Quatre had to know. His mind screamed, lashed out at the voices, but they carried an air of such truth that Quatre couldn't deny them. Something was coming, and he intended to be there when it arrived.
Again flipping Trowa over, Quatre allowed his jean clad groin to rub against Trowa's straining erection. He smiled brightly down at Trowa, who's eyes remained confused and questioning. His voice was commanding when he spoke; demanding all attention and immediate compliance.
"Kiss me, my Trowa."
His mind warned that the panicked expression on Trowa's face could not be good, but he fought it. There were times when someone was so close to the marker they could not see it. Trowa was like that, he was too far, and yet to close to see that Quatre stood right before him, the embodiment of his deepest desires, and his strongest fears. His rational mind screamed in protest.
Under him, Trowa groaned, his erection jumping and tapping at Quatre's backside, begging for attention. Compliance, that was the number one requirement. Trowa must be made to understand, Trowa must do everything Quatre told him to do.
"Trowa, what did I say?"
This was killing Trowa, Quatre's weakness was killing him. He needed to be strong, he needed to be willing to give as much as Trowa had to keep them together. He had to be willing to lose everything to make his lover safe. How could he have been so selfish?
Silently, Trowa sat up, his action pushing Quatre to sit in his lap and Trowa cried out at the added pressure. Then forcefully, Trowa sought him out. Lips once again met and clashed, and Trowa sought entrance with a probing tongue. After nearly a minute of mindless torture, Quatre relented; opening his mouth.
Trowa might not understand right away, he might be frightened, and perhaps even terrified. But Quatre had to risk it, had to risk it all to drive the point home that Trowa lived and breathed because Quatre allowed it, because Quatre desired him, because Quatre loved him. Nothing else mattered. If all went well it would take only once; one time to solidify his claim, because Trowa already wanted-Trowa already desired to be owned.
He caressed the roof of Trowa's mouth, knowing it was one of the small pleasures Trowa enjoyed in his company. His fingers played with Trowa's chest, kneading and touching in patterns designed to distract his lover from all other things but himself. He shifted, mocking with his hips the act they were about to partake in. Trowa's moans and soft whimpers fueled him on, called to him to continue. He ground against his lover faster.
Quatre was no fool, he'd learned over the years the small things that made his lover tick. He knew how to touch Trowa in just the right way, how to kiss him in such a fashion, how to love him and make him feel special. He'd learned through trial and error, learned like all lovers must how best to please their partners. He knew the precise moment Trowa's body began to like the rough play; knew by the sound of Trowa's breathing, and the way his hips lifted off the floor to meet with his own.
He pushed Trowa back to the floor, leaving his lovely mouth to move farther down his body. He paused at Trowa's neck, licking and suckling. Trowa's hands locked into his hair and pulled him closer. His mouth moved lower, again soothing the angry four lines that ran diagonally across Trowa's chest. Mentally, he reminded himself he'd have to ask for forgiveness later for those.
He'd always been so gentle with Trowa, making sure to follow all the rules his taller lover barely knew existed. Quatre had spent countless hours mentally soothing the pain some of their couplings had brought to Trowa's weakened defenses. There had been times Trowa had fled from their bed, backed himself into a corner and looked at Quatre with such wide eyed fear as to make the blonde cry out in his own pain. So he'd erected blocks, found ways to be with Trowa that didn't cause his lover undo agony or fear. He'd learned all the rules and played by them, denying his own likes for slightly rougher play to appease Trowa's insecurities.
Things change.
"QUATRE!"
It wasn't often he could make Trowa cry out, it took so very much some days to get a reaction out of his partner. Poor beautiful Trowa learned early on to remain silent no matter what the abuse. Quatre was going to have to break that nasty habit.
"Did you need something, my Trowa?" He chuckled, fingernails now drawing welts along Trowa's sides.
He hadn't thought of it as patience, only realizing his lover's limitations and accommodating them. Quatre had dedicated his life to giving Trowa what he needed. Trowa was everything, his life and love, his hope and promise. Trowa was the reason for his existence, the reason he woke up in the morning, and the reason he didn't slide that shinning metal across his wrists in one final act of release.
"Quatre.why?"
Trowa would be made to understand this. Quatre would teach him, show him that he'd been patient, waited quietly for years; and was not prepared to wait more.
"My Trowa, did I hurt you? All you have to do is tell me I have, and I'll stop. Tell me to stop, my Trowa, that's all it will take. I'd never hurt you, never." He moved his mouth higher, tasting Trowa's lips once again. He watched Trowa's eyes drift shut in pleasure. "That's right my love, relax, you know I'd never really hurt you."
Trowa was so delicate, like the fine china Quatre himself drank from. He knew he had to make a point, had to stop Trowa's suffering before it became too much and he'd have to sacrifice more than he could give away. He felt it in the back of his mind, the link singing with it. Trowa felt pleasure, such immense pleasure from this act. It was what he wanted, to be owned, taken care of, in the most basic of fashions known to man; and therefore it was what Quatre planned to give him.
He stood suddenly, rising and leaning down to help Trowa to his feet. The naked man stood on shaky legs, his obvious need making it hard for him to do so. Quatre gazed at Trowa's arousal, watched it pulse ever so slightly in time with his lover's heartbeat. He looked up, knowingly. Trowa swallowed, his throat constricting, the apple of his throat alerting Quatre once again to Trowa's pleasure at being looked at.
Quatre's mind called for something, his body craved something he'd never allowed it to desire. He'd wanted Trowa, so many, many times. His body, his mind, his spirit. Quatre had been attracted to the entire being that was Nanashi, and who he knew as Trowa Barton. And Quatre loved him, names be damned; nothing else mattered but loving Trowa, loving and claiming him as his own.
With Trowa watching his every move, Quatre moved his hand between them, resting his fingers centimeters above the tip of Trowa's erection. He listened to Trowa breathe harder, watched as his lover unconsciously straightened his body to come in contact with Quatre's waiting fingers.
Trowa would come to him, that was part of the dance. Trowa had to admit he needed Quatre to take care of him, in all senses of the word. Quatre was pleasure and pain, hope and rejection, love and abandonment; Trowa was simply everything.
Just as his fingers touched blood engorged flesh, Quatre moved his hand, trailing his fingers up Trowa's stomach and chest. His touch was gentle, a touch Quatre knew Trowa now craved, desired, he felt Trowa's pleasure as his own; the link flashed in brilliant colors that surrounded them, wrapping them in love and passion.
Everything depended on this moment. His life with Trowa would be forever changed by this act, by this night. He had to be careful, and yet abandon care at the same time. Trowa would be afraid, but all beaten dogs were at first afraid of their rescuers. Quatre was patient, he'd train Trowa. Train his lover to come when called, to sit when told, and to beg, with everything he was. Quatre would mark him, claim him, make Trowa realize that the pain of his past, the agony of his childhood was a memory, and Quatre was his reality. Trowa had escaped the men that raped him and controlled him for power, now Quatre would control him for protection, and make love to him until he cried out in defeat.
Whisper soft, Quatre trailed his hand up Trowa's face, passing features he loved and adored more than any others. He brushed long bangs from Trowa's face, pushing the damp hairs away, clearing Trowa's face so he could truly see him, all of him, his Trowa.
Claim him, the voices screamed, Make him yours. He belongs to you, make him understand that, make him realize that you own him, mind, body, and soul. Only then can he be truly safe, from everything; the outside world, you, and himself.
His fingertips brushed softly over Trowa's forehead, his lover closed his eyes at the contact.
"Mine."
Claim him!
He ran his fingers over Trowa's elegant eyebrows, auburn like his hair.
"Mine."
Make him yours!
Fingers danced over closed eyelids, and he watched as Trowa opened his eyes; felt butterfly kisses against his sensitive fingers.
"Mine."
He belongs to you!
Once again over cheekbones that angled his features; he felt Trowa's muscle twitch.
"Mine."
Make him understand!
Back up his hand went, digits caressing a nose Quatre had always thought looked so perfect on a face so openly graceful, and quietly beautiful.
"Mine."
Make him realize you own him!
Smooth mouth, lines cut into pure marble; they opened slightly at his touch.
"Mine."
Mind. Body. Soul.
Trowa's tongue darted out to taste his fingers; he smiled in response.
Only then can he be truly safe!
He extracted his wet fingers, touching a chin he'd leaned up to kiss on more than a thousand nights spent together, locked tightly away from the world.
"Mine."
From Everying! The outside world! You! Himself!
Blue met Green.
Arabian to Latino.
Lover to Lover.
Owner to Possession.
"Mine."
No hesitation.
"Yours."
Yes! Cried the voice in his head.
Yes! Cried that part of him that had waited so very long to hear that one word.
Yes! Yes! Yes!
This was as it should be!
He pulled Trowa's head down, claiming lips and tongue with his own. Trowa's arms circled his waist, wrapping around his body, and pulling them tightly together. They groaned as one, bodies meeting in dramatic tension. That one word, "Yours," Quatre felt it, sent Trowa's heart and emotions soaring. Everything in Trowa desired this, everything! Words meant little, actions meant everything. Trowa didn't want to be in charge, he wanted to be taken care of, like he hadn't been as a child or teenager. That hidden part of Trowa's mind that had healed from his childhood at Quatre's patient hands, cried out in joy. It wasn't as it had been with Quatre only a month before; Trowa desired to be protected, not be the protector, and now that Quatre was stronger than he'd ever been before, it was time for things to be how they'd been, only different, and infinitely better.
Quatre pulled away, the voices quietly whispering in the back of his mind.
"You are mine, beloved."
"Yes."
"I will love you, keep you safe from everything the world has ever known, that Allah has ever created."
"Yes, Quatre."
"But you are mine."
Trowa's eyes dropped, looking away from his intense gaze.
"I want to be yours."
"You always have been, beloved. My Trowa, I've been so selfish, but no more. Your body tells me what it wants, what it has always wanted. I've ignored it for so long, tried so hard to protect your delicate mind. But it's time Trowa, time for you to understand on a conscious level what your body already knows."
"Quatre?"
Green eyes, sought out aqua blue.
"You've always belonged to me."
Trowa cried out suddenly, his body voicing the tidal wave of horrors and fears that crashed instantly against his exposed defenses. Where moments before his healed mind had cried out in joy and completion, now the still damaged portion fought and won. Not all of Trowa's mind was healed, and the agony of the parts that weren't overrode the parts that had finally found peace.
His arms left their place around Quatre's waist, and instead gripped his hips and tried to push him away. Fear danced across the link, total and utter fear.
Quatre glanced up at Trowa's face, his eyes searching for some part of Trowa's soul that had not suddenly and violently retracted in terror.
"Nooooooo, no."
"Trowa-"
"No, no, please no."
There was none, Trowa wasn't with him anymore, he was lost, lost in memories where men much larger than Quatre had forced themselves past his defenses. Where burly men that had no business even breathing took out their frustrations out on a little boy that could not say no. Quatre watched as Trowa's face shifted his eyes clouding over, misting, and releasing his suffering in a way he could not so many years ago.
Mentally, Quatre cursed violently. This wouldn't work. Trowa wouldn't learn anything like this. He hadn't taken into account that he'd scared Trowa only hours before; hadn't taken into account that Trowa's mind had already been racing with long ago horrors.
This won't do! The voices cried. He's too afraid, he doesn't see who you are now. Go back, return later. Show him he's still in control for now, show him he's not lost anything in this exchange. Salvage what you can, he knows you know he belongs to you, leave it at that. You've claimed a part of his soul tonight, claim mind and body another. You must reform him, not break him, never break him, he belongs to you, but you must never abuse that belonging. Cherish him, love him, you'll possess him later.
Gently, Quatre lifted his hands to take Trowa's away from his covered face. Panicked eyes found and burrowed deeply into him. Quatre felt the link flood with Trowa, felt his lover searching desperately for him, through the pain of the past.
"Hush my Trowa, you're safe now. Shhh, you're safe; I am here. My Trowa."
He wrapped his arms about Trowa's neck, pulled his beloved down and into his protective body. Trowa shivered against him, his arms wrapped about his own waist, even as Quatre held him close.
"Q-Quatre?"
"That's right, beloved, I'm here. Shhhh. You're safe, the past can't hurt you, nothing will ever hurt you. Hush now, don't be afraid. I'm here, I've got you, my Trowa. Shhhhh."
"Q-Quatre, what's-what's happening?"
"I frightened you, my love. Shhhhh, don't worry, you're safe. You haven't lost anything, my Trowa. You're alright."
The link flashed once again, flashed and uncoiled tendrils that caressed his mind and sought out the truth of his words. He felt Trowa's body release it's tension as he found the love Quatre had for him, the blinding need to protect him and shelter him from everything.
Then just as suddenly, Trowa crumpled before him, and it took all of Quatre's remaining strength to hold him up. Loud whaling sobs escaped Trowa, and Quatre wept with him, knowing his lover hurt because of him, because he'd been so selfish in the past.
"Oh, Trowa, my Trowa, please forgive me. I've done this, I hurt you again, even though I promised I wouldn't. I try to be strong enough to give you what you need and I can't, I just can't hurt you. I'm so, sorry, Trowa, so sorry." He continued, running his hands through Trowa's hair over and over, but to no avail, Trowa could not be comforted by so simple an act.
For what seemed like forever, they rested on their knees, Trowa's cheek pressed against Quatre's chest, while he tried desperately to ease Trowa's suffering. Finally, Quatre could take no more.
With his mind, his God gifted abilities, he brushed against Trowa's thoughts and felt the raw pain and fear he'd caused. With deliberate and practiced care, Quatre sifted carefully through Trowa's emotions, sorting them into categories, and brushing the horrible self defeating and incriminating ones to fall dormant again, back to lie in wait for another night like this one.
Slowly, Trowa began to calm down. Harsh sobs turned into soft whimpers, and violent shakes became slight tremors. Quatre rocked him, whispering softly, offering words of love and forever, lulling Trowa with word and mental powers into a light trance.
Minutes turned into an hour as Quatre continued the dusting he worked so deliberately on his partner. He collected the aches and pains, the remembered tortures of nearly a decade, and stored them away, clearing Trowa's mind of everything but Quatre's love for him.
Now Trowa lay quietly in his embrace, his eyes blinked but saw nothing. Trowa simply stared into nothing, and Quatre let him, let him search the void and rest there. They weren't done yet.
Finally, he released his lover, the mental terror he'd been in now little more than remembered fear.
Trowa blinked and shifted, looking up at him with wide eyes.
"Quatre?"
He smiled lovingly, "I scared you, Trowa. I'm sorry. You'll be ok. I've shifted a few of your more frightening emotions away from the surface, if you stay calm you'll be just fine."
Trowa looked confused for a few moments, before turning pleading eyes on him once again.
"Why Quatre? Why were you acting like that? Did-did I do something wrong?"
Quatre whimpered and pulled Trowa gently to him.
"No beloved, you didn't do anything. I've done this all. I need to make you understand something very soon, or it may be too late. I know you're confused, I am too, but this has to be done. I have to make you understand, and I will, I won't leave you like this, not knowing what's real and what isn't. Be calm, my Trowa. I love you, remember that; and remember that I'll set things right, no matter what the cost. I'll keep you safe."
"Quatre."
Trowa folded into him, drawing his legs up until he was awkwardly situated in Quatre's lap. Softly he rocked them, his hands rubbing soothing circles in Trowa's back. Whispering promises he reinforced with the aid of the link.
They stayed that way for some time, Quatre soothing Trowa's battered soul with touch and sound that Trowa knew belonged to Quatre. And when he finally deemed Trowa ready, Quatre urged him to stand, and cautiously he moved them towards the bed.
He tugged lightly when Trowa hesitate, and sat patiently while Trowa decided to stay or bolt away from him. Finally, his lover perched next to him, and Quatre took his hand and offered a quick squeeze before standing and divesting himself of the remainder of his clothing.
He watched as Trowa's eyes widened in almost fear, before Trowa shook his head to banish the panic that once again stole through him. Quatre kneeled by his feet, catching Trowa's eyes, and forcing his beloved to look at him.
"I've hurt you Trowa, and I've made you afraid of me-"
"NO! Quatre that isn't-"
"Yes, my Trowa, it's necessary, but true. You crave it, but you're not ready to accept what I have to give you yet. It's alright my love, you'll have what you need, no matter what it costs me to give it to you. This is the right way, the way that will in the end cause us the least amount of pain, but if you can't, if it's too much to ask from you, then I won't. Whatever you need, my Trowa; no matter what it is, I'll give it to you. You'll have it.
"Now I've frightened you, and for just a moment you felt out of control. You've never been out of control with me, my Trowa. I've always made sure that you had all the control you needed to do whatever you wanted, but I tried to take just a little of that control away tonight, and I frightened you. It's alright, don't be sad, none of this is your fault, my love; none of it. But you think it is, and that isn't acceptable.
"I've always know that control for you is very dependent on the act of sex; always known that that would be the place to begin and end things with you. You're afraid right now, afraid you've lost the control you crave, so I'll give it back to you. I'll prove to you, that you lost nothing tonight. It'll hurt more next time, my Trowa, but now isn't the time to think of such things."
He turned away then, reaching into the nightstand drawer and extracting a jar of lightly scented oil. He opened the jar quietly, and looked up for permission to touch Trowa's body.
The fear wasn't completely gone. Trowa looked confused, as if Quatre's entire speech had fallen on ears not able to comprehend it.
Slowly, so as not to startle him, Quatre leaned up and kissed him. He nuzzled his throat, and whispered softly into his ear.
"My Trowa, you'll take back your control tonight. I'll give it back to you because you seem to want to hold onto it so badly. You'll take my body tonight, show your seeming control over me, and I'll let you, I'll yield to you. It's not what you really want, my love, but for now, it's all you can stand."
He kissed Trowa again, allowing his lips to part his lover's before carefully coaxing their tongues to play together. It was a long kiss, and Quatre pressed his thoughts of passion onto Trowa's mind, pulling his lover into an honest promise of release.
Seconds became minutes, as Quatre used hands, body, and mind to bring Trowa to that place where fear was cast aside, and passions could be ignited.
Finally, Trowa responded.
Callused hands kneaded heated flesh, and Quatre moaned to encourage Trowa to continue. Slowly they worked together to make the slightest touch electric, the most whispered of breaths shivering.
Quatre's mind rebelled, swore again and again this wasn't right, but he pushed his thoughts aside. Now Trowa needed him to be what Trowa thought him to be. He would be weak for Trowa, so his most beloved possession did not fear him; because Quatre was weak, but only when it came to Trowa.
When Quatre felt the last of the fear escape from Trowa's thoughts, he dipped his fingers into the crystal jar, and anointed his lover, preparing him for what was to come. His hand glided over ridged flesh, and he tried his best to surrender to the sounds of passion Trowa made above him. Light kisses, and soft caresses fueled Trowa on, and Quatre watched with a measure of some happiness that Trowa found pleasure in this false act of lovemaking.
When Trowa was ready, Quatre stood, and moved behind his partner on the bed, lying out length wise and waiting for Trowa to come to him. He didn't wait long.
It was like their usual lovemaking. It was gentle and kind, soft and loving. Trowa entered him slowly, careful to cause as little pain as he could to an unprepared body. Quatre grimaced in pain, not the physical, but the blinding agony of knowing he'd failed his beloved yet again.
Trowa kissed him as the rhythm began, and Quatre kissed him back, careful to make sure Trowa didn't see the tears in his eyes. Eventually a strong hand found it's way to his only partial arousal, and Quatre had to look away from Trowa's questioning and hurt eyes. He smiled back when he could, willing his body to abandon itself to the pleasure Trowa was trying to give him; his body barely inclined itself.
With mental strength he didn't think he possessed-or had the ability to use in his exhausted state-Quatre forced his body to feel the strokes Trowa moved him with; forced his body to respond, even if his mind remained silent.
He felt Trowa's pleasure through the link, and created answering emotions of his own, forcing himself to make the lie seem as true as possible.
And then, finally, Trowa's release flooded him, and burned him with shame that he could not enjoy the moment the way Trowa wanted him too. In a last attempt to protect Trowa's feelings, he locked his mind around the blinding mental release Trowa had felt, and once again forced his body to comply in kind. There was no satisfaction, only release, and he felt horribly empty when the act was complete.
Exhausted from the ordeal, he closed the link to prevent Trowa from realizing the lie, before he pulled Trowa against him and ran his fingers through sweaty hair.
"Thank you, Trowa."
His lover tried to sit up, but Quatre held him firm, not daring to let his beloved see the tears racing down his face. Trowa wouldn't understand, couldn't understand how hopelessly empty this mating had left him. He imagined Trowa would say he did, but Quatre couldn't make the comparison; Trowa had felt empty by strangers, he felt empty and abandoned by his lover.
He recognized that Trowa was trying to speak to him, but Quatre simply couldn't take it right now. With the last of his available strength, he pushed open the link, and planted a firm suggestion for Trowa to sleep. Moments later, he heard the deep and easy breathing of his beloved, felt the warm wet heat drift across his skin.
And in that moment, while Trowa slept peacefully in his embrace, Quatre wept. Sobs shook his body completely and gasping breaths brushed the auburn hair of Trowa's bangs. He sobbed for his weakness and his selfishness, he sobbed for his broken lover, and he sobbed for himself, cried himself to sleep wondering if in the end, Trowa really would be the death of him.