Author: UtopiaDoesn'tExist
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: 6x4, Treize watching, not participating.
Warnings: Shota, voyeurism, yaoi, a younger and very different Zechs.
Disclaimer: I don't own it, I just pervert it.

For Dacia, because she's too nice :) Hope you like!

Insensate

Treize evaded another dignitary with a polite smile and a purposeful stride away from him. Honestly, this was such a childish thing for Zechs to do. And Treize had no idea where he was.

"Mr. Kushrenada," said a huge man, as Treize passed.

Treize smiled dismissively, meaning to detach himself quickly, but a paddle-sized hand rested on his shoulder.

"You're awfully young to be advancing so rapidly in the military," he said. His other hand was steadying a young boy in front of him.

"As is often remarked," said Treize, studying both of them. "I'm pleased you've found your way here, Mr. Winner," he said, recognising him suddenly. "I trust your business is flourishing still."

He was given a curt nod. "I wonder what times we're leading to, when young men like yourself are more concerned with guns than girls."

"Younger men have prepared for war," said Treize politely. "Now, I really must-"

"I trust your training was difficult, gruelling, that you often thought about leaving for better endeavours..."

"I really-"

"Father," the boy said. "The military isn't going to listen to lectures."

Treize chuckled at the proper-sounding voice. "And I don't believe I've met this young man," he said.

"My son," said Mr. Winner, with a reluctant smile. "Quatre."

Treize extended a hand. The boy slipped a diminutive palm into it and shook. "Pleased to meet you, sir," he said.

"As am I. I wonder," Treize bowed down to the boy's level. "Could you tell me where a friend of mine is? He's a little older than you, blonde hair and blue eyes, like yours. I think he may be hiding. He does hate crowds... And here he is, to make that absolutely redundant."

Zechs' was power-walking toward him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, something about Septum followed but his speech was never too distinct in company.

"This is Zechs Merquise," he said, seeing Mr. Winner's eyes travel across Zechs' uniform.

"A child," he said. "Also in the military."

"Age has nothing to do with skill," Treize said swiftly, as Zechs prickled. Zechs, sixteen-years-old and closer on his heels than anyone else in the organisation, had proven it more than true.

"Father," the boy, Quatre, said again. "You're harassing them."

"I'm sure they don't feel harassed, do you gentlemen?"

"Certainly not," said Treize. "Your father's position is admirable. War is a terrible business and the sooner there's no need for soldiers like us, the better."

"An interesting position," Mr. Winner said. "But I'll leave you anyway. I can hear Quatre's stomach rumbling."

Zechs' eyes followed not the man, but the boy as he was shepherded along. His motivations were hard to guess. After years of being around people so transparent it was like living in a window factory, Zechs was usually a welcome change. But at moments like this, he was a little worrisome. The unreadable concentration on his face...

"Now, where did you get to?" Treize asked.

"Septum wanted to talk to me," Zechs said, in his usual mezzo piano voice. "I didn't want to talk to him, so I made myself unavailable."

"There are things far more frightening than Septum."

"He's not so much frightening as he is unpleasant."

Treize couldn't disagree. Zechs gave Treize an assessing glance, then walked into the crowd only to get lost again. He did this every time and it was getting quite tiresome.

+

"There you are," said Treize, finding Zechs on the edge of the dance floor. Une was across from them, alone too. As attractive a young woman as she was, the severity in her gaze was enough of a repellent for the men who called her a "dyke" and a "pricktease" in the privacy of their own barracks. Zechs' gaze, as always, followed something else. Quatre Winner bobbing between the dancers, a frown on his babyish face.

Zechs stepped in front of him, heading him off as he reached the edge.

"Excuse me," he said, loudly.

"Where's your father?" Zechs asked, sidestepping the boy's sidestep.

"I don't know or care. Excuse me."

Zechs tried to take the boy's hand, but was evaded. "He'll worry."

"I highly doubt it. The only thing he'll worry about is that I can decide things on my own."

"You should be more respectful toward your parents."

The boy gave Zechs a severe look, and tried to step around him again. This time Treize joined the barricade. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you back to your father."

"No!" the boy said. "I don't want to talk to him."

"Now, now, you'll regret saying something like that later."

"No, it's okay," Zechs said. "Come with me, I'll help you hide."

The boy eyed him suspiciously, then nodded. Zechs' smile would have been quite unnerving on a stranger.

"Zechs," Treize said, sharply. "He's a child, he must be returned to his father immediately. You know very well..."

Zechs' finger brushed his lips, silencing him more effectively than a roll of masking tape. He found himself following them up a staircase, still following as Zechs let himself into one of the bedrooms upstairs.

"Zechs," Treize said, warningly this time as he proceeded to usher the boy onto the bed.

Zechs was on him in a few fast steps. His lips pressed against Treize's clumsily but hard. It could have missed completely and hit him in the eye, and Treize would have still seized Zechs' waist and forced his tongue between full lips. There was no one more unique than Zechs. Perhaps that was the attraction, more so than his half-formed beauty. Zechs broke away and turned to Quatre Winner, who was averting his eyes with a blush.

Zechs knelt in front of him, so their faces were level.

"Now, are you sure you don't want to return to your father?" Zechs asked.

The boy met his eyes stubbornly, and nodded. Zechs dipped his nose into one chubby cheek, then pressed his lips to the child's. Treize saw him almost startle back and away from it, then surge forward and return the kiss, the blush spreading further.

"Zechs," Treize said again. He felt oddly pinned against the door, needing to make sure no one discovered them and wanting to escape. "Milliardo."

"Calm down, Treize. You know I'm not going to hurt you, don't you?"

Quatre nodded vigorously, then scooted back as Zechs climbed up on the bed.

"Now..." said Zechs, working at the buttons of the boy's shirt. He stared at him the whole time and lifted his arms to allow Zechs to slip it off. Zechs rid himself of his own boots, then carefully placed Quatre's on the floor. The child looked uncertainly at the pile of clothes that was beginning to grow. Zechs stroked his hair reassuringly, then took ahold of the boys' zipper, with an enquiring look.

"Zechs," Treize said yet again, his voice sounded desperate and weak. He was also uncomfortably aware of how much strength he was applying to keep the door closed.

"Yes," the boy said, and flopped backwards, so Zechs could tug off his trousers. That left him in bright blue socks and cartoon print underpants. It was almost unbearably adorable, until Zechs cast off his own jacket and shirt and leaned over him for another kiss. Then it was unbearably something else.

Treize squeezed his eyes shut against the vision, but the sound of ragged breathing trying to be kept under control was all he could hear.

When he finally dared open them, there was nowhere he could look without seeing naked skin. Even over the red mist of fear---fear of being caught, fear of being expelled from the military, fear of being prosecuted---they made quite a sight.

They were all wispy blonde hair and pale skin, unblemished and probably impossibly soft with youth. The smaller boy was sitting in Zechs' lap facing forward, Zechs applying kisses to his cheek and shoulder. He was all round limbs and dimpling flesh, cute and cuddly in contrast with Zechs' lean adolescent body.

Zechs' hands worked furiously across the flushing skin, his left pumping at the boy's hardness. Treize clenched his teeth and forced his hand away from his own erection. The boy was so sensitive, whimpering moans at every touch. Treize couldn't tear himself away from them this time, or the thought of what they would mature into. His palm strayed, kneading his erection through his trousers, tears of frustration pricking his eyes.

The child gave a startled gasp, and Zechs picked up his own underwear to clean his hand and the boy. He turned around on Zechs' lap. Treize's hand dropped to his side, the child looked so curiously aware, yet puzzled at what exactly had just happened. Zechs cuddled him immediately, pressing kisses to the top of his head and making soothing noises. Their skin, where it touched, had to be silk soft and warm, had to yield to another's touch.

Treize was somewhat relieved to see Zechs' slick erection pressing between them. To have entered such a tiny virgin body without lubricant would have been cruel, and cruel was one thing that Zechs was not. He was considerably less relieved when small fingers wrapped around Zechs' erection, causing Zechs to yelp with pleasure. He lifted the child's head as he squirmed down his body.

"You don't need to," he said.

The child shook his head free, and lapped at the head of Zechs' erection with a little pink tongue. Treize made a noise of agony in the back of his throat as Zechs dropped back against the bed. His hand rubbed through his trousers frantically as Zechs panted, pink with pleasure. He grabbed a fistful of blonde curls as he shuddered a release into the boy's mouth. He lay there for a few moments, dazed with the orgasm, as the boy crawled up and clung to him for comfort. Zechs patted him on the head absently, then picked up the underwear with his free hand and cleaned them up again. After a while of Zechs' cradling him, the boy's chest undulated with sleep. Zechs carefully untangled himself, then lifted small, limp limbs, to dress him again.

He dressed himself rapidly, then picked the boy up. He stirred for a moment, then settled into Zechs' chest.

"What are you doing?" Treize asked. He didn't want to think about what he looked like, achingly hard and taking gasping breaths.

"Taking him to his father," Zechs replied.

"If you were anyone else," Treize grimaced. "I'd report you."

"You could have left any time," Zechs said, quite rightly, and waited until Treize let him pass.

THE END