see chap. 1 for warnings, notes, disclaimer
Lost Souls + Chapter 32
It was chaos. Their first sortie against White Fang's mobile dolls was practically a rout and not just because Heero hadn't come along. It damn near ended when the Libra fired its cannon.
Trowa was almost grateful, all the same. Being back in Heavyarms grounded him, restored his sense of purpose. It helped to have his mind occupied so he didn't yet have to dwell on the unthinkable things he'd done to Quatre. Trowa knew he was everything Rashid had accused him of, that morning in Arabia when he'd run Trowa off. With his memory back, and remembering every moment he'd spent making love to Quatre, he almost writhed in his seat. If Rashid ever found out, he'd kill Trowa. Trowa would probably let him.
When they finally made it back to the suit bay on Peacemillion, he tried to skulk away quietly, but Quatre propelled himself after him and grabbed him by the arm. "I need to talk to you. Now."
With his heart in his throat, Trowa followed him to the cabin they had so shamelessly shared and locked the door. That done, there was nothing left to do but the obvious. He began gathering his few belongings, shoving them into his duffle as fast as he could.
"It's OK. I'll be out in a minute."
The sound of a choked sob stopped him in his tracks. He turned and found Quatre clinging to the edge of the bed they'd shared, a few shining tears floating around his head. Half an hour ago Quatre had been a devastating force of destruction, plowing through mobile dolls like they were made of tin foil. Five minutes with Trowa and he was in tears.
The smart thing would have been to just leave and let Quatre start to hate him, as he very well should. It would have been the honorable thing, Trowa told himself. But when had he ever been honorable, gutter trash that he was? No, he couldn't do it. Instead he floated over to the bed and sat down on the far end. He couldn't seem to force any words out. What was there to say but "I'm so sorry. Good bye."
He couldn't do that, either. Instead, his traitor mind dredged up a flurry of images and sensations: Quatre's small slim body against his, the heat of his mouth on Trowa's cock and the way he'd laughed when he discovered that it was too big to get all of it in. How Quatre laughed. How Quatre smiled. How he smelled and felt.
Trowa realized that he was gripping the edge of the bunk so hard his hands hurt, and Quatre was really crying now.
"I knew this moment would come, but--" he sobbed. "I'm so sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me, but--but--"
Stunned, Trowa found his voice then. "What are you talking about? You didn't do anything. It was all my fault. I promise I'll never tell anyone. I'll make sure Maxwell keeps his big mouth shut, too. I never meant--"
"To fall for me? To be my lover?" Quatre choked out, grief filling those blue eyes. "Now that you remember who you are, what I did to you--I tried to kill you! Losing your memory was all my fault!"
"No! It's not that. I never held that against you! You've got it all backwards." Now Trowa was blinking back tears. "I love you with all my heart. I did the first time I ever saw you. I did before I lost my memory, and after, and I do now that I have it back. But now I know why I never should have laid a finger on you. Your family. Your culture . . . I never wanted to do anything that would cause problems for you. I--Of fuck, I'm no good with words!" He covered his face with one hand. "I just--I just couldn't--That is, when I didn't know that, when my memory--you know. Oh god, Quatre! I know I'm no good for you. I'll never be good enough!"
"Stop it!" Quatre wiped his nose and pushed off from his end of the bed. He floated expertly into Trowa's lap and wrapped his arms around him. "You really think any of that matters to me? That I'd choose any of that over you? You're my lover, and my friend!"
Right and wrong went out the window, with that perfect little body in his arms. Hugging him close, Trowa whispered, "I love you Quatre. I love you so much!"
Suddenly he was being kissed feverishly, passionately. Quatre wasn't crying anymore. He was slipping his hands up under Trowa's shirt and running his blunt nails lightly over his back in that way that always made Trowa shiver with pleasure. It was no different now, and his higher brain functions began to shut down.
Kissing turned to groping and groping turned to tearing each other's clothes off and floating into a zero g sixty-nine. Before either of them came, however, Quatre pulled away and turned around so he was looking Trowa in the eye. "We'll be out there again in a few hours."
"Either of us, or both of us could be killed. There's a pretty high probability."
"I know that."
"So . . . " Quatre stroked Trowa's considerable erection. "I want to know what this feels like inside me."
It took Trowa a moment to process what Quatre had said. "You want me to . . ."
"I want you to make love to me that way. I want to know."
"And if we don't die?"
Quatre grinned. "Then we can do it again."
"I've never done it before." That was sort of a lie. It had been done to him once, and it had hurt like hell.
Quatre grinned. "Me neither. I'm glad. This will be just for us."
"It will hurt you."
"Only at first. That's what I've read, anyway."
Trowa's resolve was rapidly slipping away. Maybe if that other man had taken better care of him, prepared him better . . . And Quatre was right; they might well be dead tomorrow. For just an instant he thought of that night when Zechs Merquise had talked him into sex at that lonely arctic base with the same arguement. So they hadn't died. He still had no regrets.
He couldn't believe he was actually contemplating this until he heard himself saying, "We need some lubricant."
Quatre propelled himself over to his duffle and rummaged there for a moment, coming up at last with a tube of sex lube.
"I'm the tactician, remember?" Quatre pressed it into Trowa's hand with a sexy smile and spread his legs, pulling his knees up to his chest. "You have to put some inside me, too."'
And there went the last of Trowa's objections. He squeezed out a dollop, wrapped an arm around Quatre's waist and started the delicate process of preparing a virgin--his virgin love--for penetration. "I love you, Quatre. I respect you. I always will, no matter what."
"I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't believe that."
Trowa massaged Quatre's pink, puckered little opening, then slipped a fingertip inside. "Is that OK?"
"Yes. We've done this already. More."
Trowa withdrew, lubed up two fingers, and pressed back inside. It was a tight fit. He worked his fingers around, trying to stretch and prepare him. Quatre arched and moaned his name. Trowa's cock throbbed in anticipation.
"Now!" Quatre breathed, eyes fluttering shut.
Thrusting in zero g was going to be a problem. Trowa slicked his cock, then pulled Quatre down with his legs around Trowa's waist. With one hand in the small of Quatre's back, he guided his cock with the other to his love's opening and pressed.
Nothing happened. The little pucker didn't yield at all and Quatre winced.
"You need to relax, meli."
Quatre blushed. "Sorry."
"Try breathing through your mouth."
After a moment Trowa felt the ring of muscle flex and pressed again. This time the tip of the swollen, dripping head slipped in past the first tight ring of muscle.
"Ow! Wait!" Suddenly Quatre was panting, face screwed up with pain.
Trowa started to pull back but Quatre locked his legs tighter around his waist. "No, keep going, please!"
"I'm getting mixed signals, meli."
"I want you, Trowa," Quatre growled. "Just take it slow."
Unable to deny Quatre anything, he pressed deeper and deeper, opening up the tight little channel. "Oh god! Oh Quatre, meli, mon peu a plong?! My angel baby." Only when he was halfway in did he realize two things: that he'd closed his eyes, and that he couldn't penetrate any further. He opened his eyes to find Quatre pale and sweating, obviously in pain.
When he tried to pull out, though, Quatre grabbed his arms and dug his nails in. "No, keep it in, Trowa. I'm--- I'm getting used to it. Just give me a minute." He shifted against Trowa a little and Trowa felt him loosen inside. "Let's try that again."
Trowa rocked his hips a little and Quatre made a sound low in his throat, a pleasure sound. "That's better. Do that."
"Ah!" Trowa obeyed and felt pleasure spike through him straight to his balls. This was like nothing he'd ever felt before. "Can I--do more?"
Trowa rocked his hips harder and Quatre wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him and Trowa's cock slid in another inch or so.
"I'm so glad we're doing this!" Quatre gasped against his neck.
Trowa's control was slipping. The heat, the tightness, the way Quatre's fingers were digging into his back now-- it was too much. Clamping his fingers on Quatre's hips, he pulled him in as he thrust, going deeper still. "God Quatre, you're so hot inside. Like silk!"
"You're so big! I can't even describe it!" His eyes were closed. He was panting and sweating.
Trowa couldn't last any longer. Throwing his head back he gave a few last thrusts and felt an orgasm like nothing he'd ever felt erupt through him. "Oh god! Oh my god!"
It seemed to go on and on, and when it was over, he was wiped out. If they'd been in regular gravity he'd have collapsed on the bed. As it was, he gathered Quatre in his arms and waited for the shockwaves to subside. It took a moment to realize that Quatre was shaking. And that he hadn't come.
Trowa pulled back to see his face. Quatre's eyes were squeezed shut and he was white as a sheet. His cock was limp, too.
"Could you--take it out now?" he panted.
That stripped away the fog; Trowa carefully withdrew his softening cock and saw with horror that there were streaks of bright blood mixed with the cum that floated out in little pearls. "Oh no! Quatre, mon petit! Why didn't you tell me? What have I done to you?"
Quatre pulled him close again and spoke into his ear. "I'm all right, Trowa. I wanted that and I'm glad we did it."
"You're bleeding! And you didn't come!"
"No, not yet. Don't worry, Trowa. I think it will just take some time to get me--stretched?"
Trowa buried his fingers in Quatre's soft hair, fighting back tears. "I don't think I can do that to you again." Assuming they ever had the chance.
"Don't say that!" Quatre's arms tightened around him. "Please don't say that. If we survive all this, we'll figure out what to do. Maybe if we do some research. We can't be the only ones to have this--"
Quatre laughed against his shoulder. "I was going to say 'challenge'."
Trowa cradled him in his arms. "Why do you want this so badly, meli?"
"I don't know. I just do. It makes me feel so connected to you." He touched the center of his chest, over his heart. "I feel you here. And it didn't hurt all the time. Some of it felt good. That must be why people do it. But even when it did hurt, it was still thrilling to feel your cock inside me." He took Trowa's face between his hands and kissed him again. "I will want it again, too. I love you."
"I love you, meli. Now, let me make you feel good."
"You don't need to."
"Yes, I do, meli. Now more than ever."Trowa's heart, once so small and black, was so full it felt like it would burst--with love, joy, terror, fulfillment, residual but fast fading guilt.
Holding Quatre gently in the crook of one long arm, he wiped away the cum and blood with the corner of the sheet, then took Quatre's limp cock in his mouth. Quatre had been excited at some point; he tasted of dried precum. Trowa lapped gently at the head, savoring the flavor, and the way Quatre's cock began to stiffen and grow between his lips.
Quatre moaned and buried his fingers in Trowa's hair. "Oh, yes! That feels so good, Trowa!"
Trowa rocked Quatre's hips gently, sliding his lips up and down Quatre's shaft loosely at first, then closing them more firmly and sucking. Quatre's grip on his hair tightened and Trowa secretly welcomed the pain, considering it at least a little payback for the pain he'd inflicted on Quatre.
"Oh, Trowa, Trowa!"Quatre's voice was hardly more than a breathy gasp. "Trowa, Trowa, Trowa!"
Trowa took Quatre as far down his throat as he could and hummed deeply. The vibration drove Quatre over the edge and he curled up around Trowa's head as he came in long, shuddering spasms. His cum was sweet as honey to Trowa, and he gulped down every drop and licked him clean before he lowered Quatre to his chest and held him close. "I love you, Quatre. Do you love me?"
"You know I do,"Quatre whispered. "Always. Forever."
Trowa pulled back enough to look into those beautiful blue eyes. "Always, and forever."
It was chaos outside Sandrock, but having sex, real sex, with Trowa had left Quatre calmer, more grounded. He loved the tall quiet boy with ever fiber of his being, and he knew with his heart and empathic intelligence that that love was returned in equal measure. If he was killed, his last thought would be of Trowa. His bottom hurt, it was true, but it was an almost comforting reminder of how joined they'd been.
But they still had a war to fight. At Heero's insistence, he agreed to use the Zero system in Sandrock. They got off to a rough start; Heero immediately took off on his own, and the other three were a hard sell on teamwork. But the mobile dolls were being controlled by some outside intelligence, and one with great tactical skills. It helped when Rashid and his Maguanacs showed up, but it was still a bitter battle.
At last he had no choice but to search out the person controlling the dolls and get them to stop, one way or another. He'd expected Zechs Merquise but instead found Dorothy Catalonia. He tried his best to convince her to stop and instead they ended up in a sword duel. Still he tried to reason with her, but it distracted him too much and in the end she ran him through.
I'm so sorry, Trowa, he thought as he crumpled over, blood pooling hotly under his flight suit.
But then Trowa was there. How had he known? He calmly disarmed the mobile doll control system and carried Quatre out. After patching him up, they both went back to the battle without so much as a parting kiss. It wasn't the time for that.
It was chaos, and the God of Death loved it. Teetering on the knife edge of life and death made him feel more alive than any experience he'd ever known in his short life. In the heat of battle he was pure, remorseless, and his mind was laser beam sharp. Nobody could out fly the pilot of Deathscythe.
He was carving his way through another phalanx of mobile dolls when he got the distress signal. When he heard the voice, he couldn't believe his ears.
"Hilde? What the hell are you doing out here?"
"Duo!" Her voice was faint, faltering. She was hurt bad. "Duo, I have a disk of information on the Libra system. I have to--have to--"
Duo could see her transport now. Slashing his way through the mobile dolls attacking her, he got a hold of her transport and carried it back to the Peacemillion.
As soon as they were safely in a bay he jumped out and climbed in with her. She was bleeding badly, probably from internal damages.
"Duo!" she whispered, pressing a bloodstained disk case into his hand. "Here. Use this to bring Libra down!" Her eyes were glazing over and her face was dead white.
"Hang on, Hilde!" Duo begged. He had too few friends in this life to let any one of them go. The God of Death could fight for life, too. "Please, Hildi, hang on! Who am I gonna sponge off of if you punch out, right? You're gonna give me a job in that scrap yard of yours, right?"
She didn't open her eyes, but he saw her smile. "Yeah. Together. We can make a go of it . . . together."
The medics pushed him aside and got her into a magna gurney. Heero and the others were in the corridor inside, and looked on in surprise as Duo continued to hover over her. Just as they reached the med bay door, she suddenly came around again and grabbed his hand. "Relena . . . She's there, with Zechs. I couldn't . . . She wouldn't come with me . . ."
"Relena?" Heero didn't pause to ask for more information, just walked away.
Even in the midst of his concern for Hilde, Duo felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name, except that it hurt.
It wasn't until hours later, at the end of the great battle, when Duo watched Libra go down with Heero and Zechs Merquise both trapped inside, that he realized the real depth of what he felt for Heero Yuy. And when Hero burst triumphant from the wreckage, Duo knew it was time for Shinigami to quit pissing and moaning and feeling sorry for himself and finally have a serious, honest talk with 01.
Heero's mind was chaos. I'm alive. Why were those the first words that came to him as he broke free of Libra's plummeting wreckage? Obviously he was. With Kushreneda and Zechs Merquise dead--and they were--the war was over.
Wufei's heart was in chaos. In the safe, silent solitude of his Gundam's cockpit, Chang Wufei, last of his clan, wept like a woman. The war was over. Yui had ended it for all of them. As Wufei watched Wing blaze up from the burning wreckage of Libra like a rising star, he knew he should feel joy, relief, something positive.
But now all he felt was chaos. No home. No family. No people. No purpose.
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