Chapter Three

Zechs drew a sharp, shocked breath as Treize caught him around the waist and pulled them together, fighting to keep his balance, and losing, as the other man yanked off his mask, pushed him towards the sofa Treize always seemed to have in his offices, and down to sit onto the soft cushions.

He couldn't quite believe what the general was doing – though Treize had locked the door, it didn't guarantee their privacy. Une, at least, had the code to override the lock.

Rational thought was driven from him a moment later when the older man kissed him, stroking with his tongue and biting down on the pilot's lower lip gently.

As there had been in every encounter they had shared over the past three weeks or so, there was a sense of restrained desperation about his friend this evening, an air of self-control ruthlessly imposed over something he couldn't name. As Treize went to his knees in front of him, reaching up to kiss him again, Zechs found that, though he had begun to feel more than a little apprehensive as time passed, he was glad there were only a few more days before his birthday, for his friend's sake.

The older man broke his train of thought by ending their kiss, and settling back on his heels between, and with his hands resting on, the pilot's knees. "Have you had a good day?" he asked.

The tone of Treize's smooth voice and the innocent nature of the question were so at odds with the fire of his initial welcome and with the heat still smouldering in his indigo eyes that Zechs could do no more than blink at him for a moment or two, trying to gather his thoughts well enough to reply. It took him almost a full minute to actually remember what he had done that day.

"Relatively, yes," he replied eventually, striving to match Treize's casual tone. "Officer Jankowiak left the medical bay this morning, and will be back to full duty in a week or so."

Treize's eyes lost focus for a second or two as he recalled the name of the last pilot from the rebel cell takedown still in the sickbay. "That's good. Your duty there is done then."

Zechs shook his head. "Not quite yet. I'll see the boy to his next posting first."

The general smiled at him and shook his head in return. "It's done. You mustn't become too attached, Zechs. He might not be so lucky next time."

"I'm aware of that." He paused and then asked, "How was your day?"

"No better than I predicted it would be. I would not object to spending so much of my time in meetings if the people I were meeting with weren't so stubborn. More than four hours of my time and still it will take another two or three encounters such as the last to convince Alliance Command that the rebel forces are on their way to becoming a genuine threat. Mr. Darlian is truly becoming a thorn in my side."

"Darlian?" Zechs asked, feeling a twinge at the name of his sister's foster father.

"The Vice-Foreign minister." Treize shrugged. "The man is determined to believe that the colonies are utterly innocent of any rebellion and seems set upon gutting the military forces, especially the Specials, in his quest to promote pacifism."

"What will you do?"

Treize lifted an eyebrow. "It's not like you to be so curious – I thought you loathed politics?"

"I do, but if it concerns the Specials…"

"Ahh, I see. Enlightened self-interest, hmm?" Treize smiled and then sobered. "For the moment, my friend, I am going to do nothing. Unfortunately, I haven't yet the power I'd need to challenge him and come away unscathed. Noventa listens rather closely to him."

Zechs felt something inside him relax but he frowned as expected. "Perhaps the problem will take care of itself, then. Surely, if the rebel forces continue to grow in strength and Darlian continues to insist they are no threat, it won't be long before he begins to look a fool?"

"One can hope for such an outcome. I think it more likely that I will be forced to deal with him personally at some point in the future. Already, I have ordered that he be investigated. If I can discredit him, so much the better." He glanced away for a moment and then looked back at Zechs with a smile. "But, enough of work. I have other things I would rather be doing."

"You do?"

"Yes. Assuming your co-operation, of course."

"Of course. What were you thinking of?" From somewhere, Zechs managed to summon a tone that was almost coy in nature.

Treize's smile took on a mischievous twist. "Whatever comes to mind, my friend. The door is locked and Lady Une is trapped in a conference for the next hour. We will not be disturbed."

Zechs bit his lip, fighting down vivid images from some of his more outrageous fantasies as he glanced around the elegant office. "Must we stay here?" he asked.

Treize shrugged. "Not particularly, no. I merely thought it would be… easier."

"Easier?"

The general was suddenly on his feet and pacing across the room. Zechs watched him go, concerned by the nervous edge to the usually fluid movements.

"Yes," Treize agreed. "Forgive me, but I cannot afford to be out of contact tonight the way I would be in your rooms, and since I must leave for Lvov in the morning and won't be back for a week, I thought you might like to spend the evening together."

The pilot sat up straight, frowning. "I would like to but must it be here? Couldn't we go to your rooms?"

The older man stared out of the window for a moment and then shook his head. "I would… rather not, Zechs." Slowly, he turned back to face the younger man and picked up something from his desk. The dying evening light lit him from behind, casting his face and his hands into shadow, and haloing the outline of his form in fire. "This is a less encouraging environment." He paused and drew an audible breath. "I do not entirely trust myself with you at the moment."

It was a surprising admission from a man who near-to personified flawless control for the pilot. He closed his eyes as twin sparks of fear and arousal flashed through him – Treize would not have confessed to such a thing if it weren't true, and the knowledge that he could have so profound an effect was thrilling, even as the thought of the older man losing his hold on himself was unnerving.

He looked back to the figure still standing behind the desk and shook his head. "I will not let anything happen that should not and I can't believe you would press me if I told you to stop."

"Can't you?"

Zechs narrowed his eyes. Treize's honeyed tenor had taken on the darker note he had heard several times before. The younger man was sure it was an indicator of something but he had no experience to draw on for an explanation, and every time he began to ask his companion for one, he was skilfully distracted.

The older officer stepped from in front of the window and the pilot could see that the object he was holding in his hands was the antique duelling stiletto he used to open envelopes, and that he was playing it between his fingers, causing the light to flash from its razor edge as it moved.

"You should perhaps start to believe it, then. 'Stop' does not always mean what it says."

The soldier in Zechs could not take his eyes from the blade in the other man's hands, the childhood friend would not accept that Treize would hurt him. "If I say it, I will mean it," he confirmed.

"Yes."

Cool blue eyes hardened. "And what does that mean?"

"Whatever you choose for it to mean. True passion is as the breath of God in your soul, mein liebe, but like so many divine gifts, it pays little heed to the restrictions of the mortal world." Treize had moved as he spoke, closing the distance between them so that Zechs had to tilt his head back to look into his eyes. For a moment, the force of the general's gaze pinned Zechs to his place on the sofa, trapping him as surely as steel cuffs, and he began to learn what a dangerous game he was playing.

Then the moment was gone.

Zechs jumped to his feet, body brushing the other man's in the small space Treize had left. The pilot closed his hand around Treize's wrist, digging his fingers into the nerve points there, and the knife fell from the abruptly nerveless grip and clattered to the floor.

Treize stared down at their twined hands for the space of a heartbeat, his breathing swift and shallow and drowningly loud in the silent room, and then he twisted free, locked his arms around the younger man and kissed him, his mouth insistent.

Zechs gave in without thinking, then cried out, startled, as one booted foot took his legs from under him and he landed on the yielding surface of the settee, his commander's lithe weight pressing him down.

Strong fingers tore at the fastenings of his clothes, making short work of ridding him of his belt, jacket, boots and shirt even as he fought for enough co-ordination to return the favour. Treize had shifted his mouth to Zechs's throat, nibbling and soothing as he went, and now he moved to his shoulder. He bit down on the edge of the pilot's collarbone and the pain made Zechs squirm and wind his hands into the general's copper-tinged hair to try to pull Treize's head up.

Their eyes met, gazes locking, for an instant, before Treize closed his and rested his forehead on the other man's shoulder. "Mein Gott, Mein Gott... ich kann nicht… es ist zu viel!" he gasped.

Zechs fought back his need to move – either to escape the restraint, or to seek relief – and forced his body to stillness, combing his fingers through the cinnamon strands they held, in what he hoped was soothing fashion. "What can't you?" he asked, dredging what little of Treize's native tongue he had learned over the years from his memory to translate his commander's plea. "What's too much?"

Powerful hands began moving over the blonde's bare skin and Zechs caught his breath. "Treize?" he prompted, hating the nervous edge to his voice.

"This. You," the general finally murmured and lifted his head.

Zechs swallowed. There was nothing of the man he knew in those eyes. Nothing, save perhaps fear, that he recognised at all.

Treize held his gaze a moment more, then looked away. "Keep your promise, Milliardo," he begged.

"My promise?" Zechs asked.

"Stop me before I go too far…" Treize whispered, and then he kissed him again.

For the first time in years, Treize abandoned all of his discipline, yielding to the need that had been building in him in the months since he had first kissed his childhood friend, and that had become unbearable in the last few weeks.

He hadn't intended for this to happen tonight – hadn't, in truth, ever intended to allow Zechs to see this side of him – but he supposed, in what little part of his mind that was still his to suppose with, that he should have known better than to assume he could deny something he had acknowledged was a part of him since just after his fifteenth birthday.

Trusting the younger man to keep his promise, in a way he had never before trusted anyone, Treize poured everything he was feeling into his kiss, felt the pilot answer it in kind, and shut his mind down completely, allowing instinct to rule him.

Zechs reacted to this kiss as he had to their first, surprise freezing him for the first few seconds as sensation swept through him. He had thought he had seen Treize lose his ever-present reserve on more than one occasion over the past month, but, if what he was seeing tonight was Treize letting go, then he hadn't even come close, despite the number of times they had lingered in bed past lunch in the week between Christmas and the New Year.

He had learned quickly during those mornings, discovering that he liked touching his friend as he had been taught to, that he enjoyed pleasing him and watching him peak. Knowing that he could bring the older man to climax was a fulfilment of a different, but no less satisfying, type.

Still, he had known that his commander had always held some part of himself in check and had been aware that the effort was becoming trying for him. He hadn't expected to see that restraint fail so suddenly and he certainly hadn't ever imagined this would be the result. The man in his arms was ruthless, insistent in a way Treize had never been with him, demanding Zechs's reactions from him, and simply taking what he wanted in return. Treize's hands were playing over his body, edging lower with every touch, sometimes gripping hard enough that Zechs was sure he would be bruised in the morning, and he was biting him, little stinging nips of his teeth that marked a line down the pilot's chest until his mouth met his hands just above the fastening of the younger man's pants.

The younger officer caught his breath, all his muscles tensing. "What are you doing?" he asked.

Treize didn't look up. "Nothing I haven't done before," he purred, his fingers finding the concealed clasp and yanking it loose.

Zechs shivered as warm breath and teasing fingers brushed over him, drawing eager reaction from his body. In this case, the flesh was definitely willing, it was the rest of him that didn't think this was a good idea. "Treize – I'm not sure…"

"I am."

The older man tugged at his trousers, pulling them down and off, leaving the blond without a stitch of clothing. Looking up, he smiled at Zechs in what could only be described as feral fashion and went to his knees on the carpeted floor at the side of the sofa with lithe grace.

"Sit up," he directed softly.

Zechs hesitated, caught between his mounting physical need and his fear of the consequences should they be found. Treize lost his smile, his rich blue eyes clouding with shadows as he knelt up slowly and removed his jacket and cravat.

"Do as I say," he commanded, naked steel beneath his velvet voice, and Zechs obeyed with the reflexive snap of a soldier trained to jump at his superior's instructions.

The predatory expression returned. "Much better."

Treize came closer, leaning forward until he was near enough to kiss the pilot, holding his gaze. One agile hand stroked through the loose platinum strands of hair until the wary tension faded from the boy's form and his eyes drifted closed. Though the other couldn't see it, Treize smiled again and wrapped the strands of hair tightly around his fingers.

"Milliardo…" he breathed, blowing the warmth of his breath across the blonde's lips.

Zechs opened his eyes.

Treize jerked hard on his handful of hair, pleased when the junior officer gave a pained yelp.

"What the hell…?"

"Shh, my love. I won't hurt you if you do what I ask."

Anger began to war with the arousal and the fear and Zechs tried to sit up, moving to push the general away from him, stopping abruptly when he felt another sharp pull on his scalp.

"Be still, Milliardo. Don't move, don't speak – all I need you to do is feel."

The hand in his hair let go but before Zechs could take advantage of his freedom, he found his wrists pinned to the sofa at his sides.

"I can hold you here, if I have to – you know that. Be still."

Zechs fought against the grip as he had once before, on Christmas Eve. Now, as then, no matter how hard he strained, though he could lift his wrists a little way, he simply couldn't break the hold the elder officer had on him.

Treize watched his attempts with hooded eyes, bearing down with his weight, only the slightest tint of colour to his face betraying how he was affected. The boy was so delightfully pretty in his struggling, throwing all of his not-inconsiderable strength into the effort and still finding himself mastered. A glimmer of true panic flared in the husky-pale gaze and Treize shivered as he responded, catching a soft moan in the back of his throat, closing his eyes for a moment.

The pilot went suddenly still and the general looked up to see that he was being stared at.

Zechs's sensitive ears had caught the bitten off sound and surprise chased through him. He'd been privileged enough to hear that sound from his friend before – in bed, as a sign that whatever was happening was good enough to make desire override Treize's inherent dignity.

He stopped fighting, sweeping his eyes over his commander, and was taken aback by what he saw. Treize opened his eyes and the expression in them was drugged.

They looked at each other for a moment or two, then Zechs shifted his weight a little, frowning as he thought back over the past few months and began to understand little things that had bothered him about his lover. He drew a breath to speak and cried out in shock instead as Treize bent his head and took him in his mouth.

The heated suction of the general's lips and the wet pressure of his tongue as he stroked with it shot lightning through the pilot's nerves, stoking the fires of arousal that had begun to fade away. Zechs's body hardened again under the touch and his ability to think deserted him as he threw his head back against the sofa and scrabbled for an anchor with his fingers.

Treize lifted the pilot's wrists, put them together resting on his stomach and pinned them there with his left hand. His right closed around Zechs, just below his mouth, and began stroking in time.

"Oh, God!"

Treize picked up the pace without faltering in his rhythm, showing none of the consideration he had displayed the first time he had done this to his friend. Then, he had taken it almost too slowly, encouraging Zechs through the unfamiliar sensations, backing off when they threatened to become too much, and constantly reassuring the younger man that he genuinely did enjoy what he was doing. Now, he offered no support, showed no sign of taking things slowly and made it obvious that he liked what he was doing by the low noises he was making in the back of his throat.

"Oh, God! Treize!"

The general lifted his eyes to look at the blond and then pulled his mouth away.

"Forgive me for this, my love…" he murmured.

"What…?"

Treize let go of Zechs's wrists, traded his right hand for his left and lowered his head again, unexpectedly giving a low moan.

It took the pilot a moment or two to realise that the general had freed himself from his clothing and was touching himself in time with the movements of his mouth.

"Oh, my God…" The younger man swallowed hard, caught between closing his eyes to concentrate on what he was feeling, and leaving them open to watch as his commander worked his own body. "Treize, you don't have to… I can…"

The older man shook his head.

Zechs fell back into the cushions, stunned that Treize would allow him to see something so very personal and private, watching until his body began to scream at him and he was forced to shut his eyes. In minutes, he was panting his friend's name and catching at his hair in warning, dimly aware that his moans of pleasure were being matched by Treize's own soft, muffled cries. His body tightened and his climax took him, spilling his fluid into his lover's mouth.

Zechs came back to himself slowly, forcing his eyes open to watch as the other man let him go and put his freed hand on the edge of the sofa for balance. With effort, the pilot heaved his body upright, and then slid to the floor to kneel beside his friend and wrap an arm around his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him hard for a second. Treize rested his head on Zechs's shoulder and let him take his weight, crying out once and going completely still as he came.

They clung to each other for a space of time and then, as Treize began to shake, Zechs groped around behind him and located his discarded cravat, using it to wipe his stomach and the other man's hand clean.

"Mein Gott!"

Zechs got to his feet, chuckling at his friend's breathless exclamation as he picked up his clothes and slid back into them. Once halfway decent, he crossed to the liquor cabinet and poured a generous amount of Cognac into one of the glasses.

By the time he turned around again, Treize had moved from the floor and was sitting on the edge of the sofa, his eyes covered by the back of one arm.

The pilot sat down next to him and nudged him to get his attention. He passed the glass into Treize's trembling hands and gave the older man another minute to pull himself together before asking, "Can you explain what just happened, please?"