It Was All Pretence


When the information finally reached him, the name and identity of the elusive pilot of the Fourth Gundam, Treize had initially been ashamed. At himself, for not seeing what that blond had been thinking and planning while he conspired and prepared to destruct all that Treize had carefully positioned.

There had been surprise, of course, knowing that the Winner Heir, a supposed pacifist was killing his soldiers, but. But, this was the boyman who had been presented to him, victorious in chains.

Treize had parted Quatre's legs, the blue green eyes mere slits, heavy with desire, and need, and want, and power. A hand had caressed his arm, calloused fingers sliding down slick skin, nails dragging on Treize's muscles. A rattle of the chain. Treize had grabbed the chain, held Quatre's arms above his head.

Quatre's neck was bare, Adam's budding apple bobbing with renewed vigor. Power and vicious joy had struck Treize hard, shooting down his body to his groin.

Inhaling Quatre, nose buried in Quatre's neck, Treize had bitten down with almost perverse pleasure. Watching, waiting for the blond's reaction.

A short gasp, turning into a heavier groan. Quatre swallowed, eyes wider now, he looked young. Treize had felt some guilt then. The lithe young body, still growing... an erection digging into Treize's side.

He realised now, that he had underestimated Quatre. The brilliant mind, the powerful and determined body. Treize could never trust Quatre.

Eyes narrowed, he stared at the letter. The familiar script, a cursive that flowed smoothly over yellowed linen paper. Dark ink, spread with careful decadence, seduced and beguiled him. Words had ensnared him once.

He wouldn't be fooled again.