Warnings: 13x6x13-ish; NC-17; Yaoi
Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine.
It's not often that a General,
particularly during wartime, has the time or opportunity to lay with his
lover, soaking in hot water and rose oil, and have himself washed . .
. all without lifting his trigger finger. But for the General Khushrenada,
such was how the evening had progressed.
"I never realized you had so many freckles across your back,"
Zechs commented as he rinsed the last of the soap from the General's speckled
shoulders, squeezing water from a fat sponge.
"I daresay it's not often that you're back there," Treize replied
with a sly smile, running his hands along the wet legs that engulfed him.
"It's a pity really . . . they're quite lovely." Zechs had put
the sponge aside and leaned forward to kiss a few of the spots in question
that peppered his neck and shoulders. After they had finally managed to
divest Treize of the last of his clothes, Zechs had run fresh water to
replace their cooling supply and now the bath was as hot as it had been
and equally as fragrant. He hugged the General's waist and relinquished
his kissing, laying a cheek to his back instead.
Zechs was silent.
"Will you let me make love to you?"
The question came amongst the tinkling sounds of the water as Treize played
in it. Yes, he, General of the Oz forces, was playing in his bath water,
listening to the crisp and musical chiming of it as it rippled through
his fingers, watching it sway the pale and barely-there hairs along Zechs's
legs. His posture was a slouch by just the faintest of degrees, something
he did with such irregularity it was beginning to make his back ache,
but Zechs's gentle ministrations had all but made him spineless.
Now . . . there was this question.
"Are my freckles truly that alluring?"
He could feel Zechs smile against his back, "Yes . . . every inch
"Flattery is unbecoming of a soldier."
"Then I resign."
"Oh Milliard," Treize winced, "don't even joke about such
The man behind him went quiet. Treize thought perhaps he'd taken him seriously,
"I was joking as well, Mill-" he stopped himself. Sometimes
even Generals slipped.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"
"No," Zechs interrupted him, "It's quite all right. I should
have ignored it."
Treize reached a dripping and mildly wrinkled hand to tangle in the blond
head resting so close to his own. "We've known each other a very
long time, haven't we?"
Zechs's response was a while in coming, and Treize knew, whatever the
answer, it would be an understatement, "Yes . . ."
The General brought a few of the shimmering strands into his field of
vision. So beautiful . . .
"May I wash your hair?"
This answer was abrupt and definite, "No."
"Well that was rather harsh don't you think? And why not, exactly?"
Zechs sat up taking his hair from the General's fingers and pulled the
length behind him protectively. Treize had to catch himself to keep from
"Because you'll have it all mussed, and I bathed before you arrived.
It's already been washed."
"You do not trust me with such things?" Treize almost sounded
hurt as he turned awkwardly to regard his lover.
"There are things you do not trust me with. As well, it is a matter
of experience. In all my years I've never known you to have long hair.
You wouldn't know how best to deal with it."
Treize sighed idly and turned from Zechs's serious face. He stood from
the hot water then, and reached to a nearby rack for a towel. He dried
his hair a little first (which Zechs had washed with no complaints on
either's part) and then stepped out of the bath and wrapped the cloth
around his waist.
Finally, his reply came, quiet and small as he left the other man to the
cooling bath water, "The same can be said for my hesitance in other
He moved about the room in silence after that, completing his nightly
rituals, brushing his teeth, combing his hair, and other such mundane
tasks. He felt somewhat irritated with himself for exiting the bath as
he had. Really, it was childish of him. But his words had been true and
he did not regret their having been said.
It was not until he had finished in the bathroom and made his way into
the bedroom--not once looking back to the man in the bath--that he heard
the drain catch released, followed by the deep and hollow sound of swirling
water. He then heard other sounds of stirring and dripping, and though
he could not see it, he imagined Zechs stepping out of the bath once again
and that familiar, cat-like hunger was pouncing upon him. He would have
to make amends.
Silk. Blue silk, he decided, was what the evening called for as he opened
his bureau and pulled out a long pair of pajama bottoms made of precisely
that. A most intense and royal blue. He let the towel fall from his waist
and pulled on the garment to rest lightly at his hips. When he turned,
Zechs was standing at the bathroom door in a white terry cloth bathrobe
that Treize recognized as his own.
"Should I go?"
"Nonsense," Treize remarked as he crossed to the bed and began
pulling down the covers, "what gave you that idea?"
"I shouldn't have snapped at you the way I did . . . you were only
asking a simple question."
"And I should have answered yours."
Treize was sitting on the bed now, almost an arm's reach from where Zechs
stood at the door, and smoothed lotion over his feet and hands, a habit
he'd taken to since childhood. It did little for the callouses that never
seemed to fade, despite the fact that he had not piloted in the last few
months. But it kept them softer by degrees, something that he was certain
Zechs, in particular, could appreciate.
"You don't have to," Zechs was saying, "answer me, I mean.
It was just a foolish whim."
Zechs looked like a penitent child, refusing to meet his gaze, choosing
the safety of watching the floor instead.
"Why do you let yourself be cowed by me?"
Zechs's perked up, a light of defiance in his eyes. Treize winced inwardly
at that. He was supposed to making amends.
"I am not being cowed. I apologize when I make a mistake. If it seems
"I'm sorry." Regret was not a sentiment a General often expressed.
For Treize, the task was no easier, but the look on Zechs's face, the
mild surprise, the appreciation, and a little of whatever he had seen
in that gaze during their bath, lessened the chore considerably.
Zechs was standing there, just feet from him, his pretty cheeks still
a little red from the heat of the water, his eyes set off by the white
fabric he wore, the golden strands on his head. He had his arms crossed
as he leaned on the doorjamb and he was watching Treize intently.
"I didn't bring anything to sleep in," Zechs began as if nothing
had happened, eying the fine blue silk that graced Treize's body, "I
didn't think it necessary."
Treize leaned forward and reached out a hand, catching Zechs by the back
of a thigh and Zechs allowed himself to be pulled closer. His hand strayed
farther up and Zechs held his shoulders, looking down into eyes nearly
as blue as the lovely fabric, "Who says it will be?"
"Well there must be some reason that you're dressed," Zechs
replied, inching closer to where Treize sat.
God, but he was beautiful. It never ceased to amaze Treize how stricken
he became at the mere sight of his Second. Zechs's beauty seemed ethereal,
otherworldly. Even the flesh beneath his fingers, the warm and mildly
damp skin of his thigh and buttocks, was so soft and yet impossibly taut
with muscle, delicate but masculine. What misinformed deity had thought
Treize so worthy as to send him such a thing?
"You don't think I'm that easy, do you?"
Zechs smiled, "Certainly not. In fact, I find you most difficult."
Treize's idle hand moved to the robe's belt at Zechs's waist and pulled
it loose with ease, causing the robe to fall open before him. He had heard
Zechs's reply but his concerns were elsewhere as he leaned forward, pulling
Zechs to him and licked at his navel. The hands at his shoulder were in
his hair now, gentle at first, holding him there. At length, as the General
lathed Zechs's abdomen with his tongue, continuing to rub his backside,
those hands became more insistent and urged him downward until finally,
when Treize ran a finger down the other man's hot cleft, they were pulling
at his hair, suddenly urgent.
"Treize . . ."
As if on command, the General lowered his aim until he nuzzled a soft,
blond thatch of curls. Zechs's need had been growing all the while and
now nudged him beneath his chin, demanding in it's own eager way.
" . . . please . . ."
And Treize obliged them both.
Not that it was a chore for him. It was something he rather delighted
in, the feel, the smell, the taste of Zechs in his mouth. He loved it.
Perhaps not to quite the degree that he enjoyed ravaging that very same
backside that he kneaded between his fingers, but the two pleasures were
He nursed Zechs's arousal for a while longer, pleased by the hungry sounds
and eager swaying the other man had begun.
"Treize, I . . . stop . . ."
Treize was loathe to let the man go but necessity (his own) dictated it.
He released Zechs carefully and in the same fluent movement, divested
him of his robe and pulled him down atop him. The two long bodies shimmied
across the blankets until Treize lay flat, hands in Zechs's hair, and
Zechs hovered above him. They kissed.
It was such a wonderful kiss, the General thought, curtained as he was
in Zechs's still-wet hair, the other man eagerly devouring his own taste
from Treize's lips. Zechs was, perhaps, being a bit more aggressive than
usual, but somehow that didn't seem to bother him. The mouth on his own
was greedy and insistent, yet at the same time, the kiss was soft and
so . . . so loving.
Treize caught Zechs's face in his hands and deepened the kiss with fervor
before pushing the other man away from him enough to see that crystalline
gaze. Zechs was flushed and panting.
"I--" Treize began, and suddenly there was that odd pain again,
the one in his chest. It was much less severe this time but it made its
presence known, and it was that ache that fueled his words, "I want
you by me, Zechs. I want you near me always. I will end this war and make
the world right, make you mine until the end of my days, however short
they be . . . and I will kill any man or woman who might try to put that
Or at least that's what he might have said. Instead held Zechs's face,
lost again in those deep oceans. Then Zechs shook himself free and kissed
him again. This was not the time for confessions.
"Taste you . . ." Zechs purred before he began making his way
down the General's body, laying swift kisses along heated skin, his destination
clear and obviously his sole objective. Seconds later and Treize felt
fingers, lips at his pants line, and then the distinct sensation of a
wet tongue through silk, mouthing him, outlining him, licking him through
the fabric. He moaned despite himself, breath quickening, and wished for
all the world he had simply remained nude.
Apparently Zechs shared his thoughts as he began pulling Treize's pants
down over his hips. Treize assisted by lifting them from the bed and moaned
again as the soft fabric slid over sensitized skin. Perhaps silk had been
a good idea after all.
When he lowered his hips again, things became altogether different for
He raised his head to look at the man between his spread legs, at his
own organ that regarded him proudly, trickling a little with his excitement,
and the cause for his alarm: the new angle of his lower body, caused by
a stealthily placed pillow. Had he been any less a General the apprehension
he felt might have shown in his gaze. Instead it was more like suspicion.
But Zechs had no reply except to kiss the juncture at his General's inner
thigh, and then he moved in farther until he nuzzled a soft, warm sac.
He licked first, gently, and more careful still, with soft lips and an
easy tongue, gathered the full and heavy flesh into his mouth, and began
a slow suckling.
Treize's protests were gone with a low moan. Zechs knew this would make
him spineless, yielding. The wet mouth massaging him . . God!, nursing
him. It made him harder still and he drew his knees up and wide, feet
flat on the bed, allowing Zechs better access and forgetting momentarily
that he was supposed to be upset with his sneaky Second. No individual
in Treize's past had ever taken the time to learn this about him, his
fondness for having his balls sucked, and yet Zechs-that glorious creature-had
found it by instinct and pushed the advantage whenever possible.
Idle hands searched for placement as the waves of delight washed over
Treize, spilling from Zechs's mouth. One was finally splayed across his
own stomach, finding it a reminder to focus on reality, to not get so
lost in sensation that he might never return. The other found it's way
to a blond head and silky hair, petting and encouraging, then fisting
when Zechs began to hum.
"Good . . ." Treize moaned and breathed more than spoke, ".
. . so good." The attention lasted a long moment more before Treize
felt betrayed when that mouth left him. Then long fingers wrapped around
his neglected length and he found that that mouth had not gone far.
"Zechs!" His entire body tensed as a wet and wandering tongue
licked gently at his divide, but the hand on his hard sex gave a gentle
tug in that instant and the urge he had felt to flee was forgotten. Lord,
it felt so wonderful!
"Nothing you don't want, Treize," Zechs promised between lingering
licks, hot breath washing over Treize's entrance, driving him mad with
the sensations he had been the maker of so often but never once received,"
. . . nothing you'll not enjoy."
He set about kissing Treize's backside then, deep kisses that Treize was
surprised to find himself pushing into. All the while, his less than idle
hand worked Treize's wet erection, his nose gently nuzzling his sensitive
sac and Treize was nearly delirious.
This was insanity, this ecstasy. Treize couldn't believe himself--moaning
and trembling, eagerly wanton, and worse yet . . . beneath. He was no
young cadet for the taking, no inexperienced recruit ready for a tumble
with one of the higher ups. He was a General. He was in control. He was
Treize was coasting the edge, walking a cliff that begged him to fly off
its rocky face. The slick hand swiftly milking his need, the hot mouth
driving him mad, they coaxed him well . . . but he was never one for jumping.
Zechs made a startled sound when the hand in his hair reached under his
chin and pulled his face away from the exquisite taste of his General.
Another hand caught his wrist where he gripped Treize and hauled him up
by it until he was suddenly lying atop the other man again, their hot
bodies so right against each other. Another breath and he was half-pinned
beneath the other man, cinnamon hairs tickling his chest where Treize
held him, moved against him, Treize's arousal hard against his hip and
so near his own. Had he lost this battle?
"Ask me again," Treize commanded and kissed Zechs's swollen
lips, his throat, running hands along his thighs and up to cup his balls,
stroke his erection. Treize was suddenly everywhere at once.
"Pardon?" Zechs asked, a little shock and much pleasure flushing
"Ask me again," Treize panted, hearing the hint of desperation
in his own voice and he teased Zechs a little more, hoping the other man
wouldn't hear the same, " . . . and I promise . . . I'll say yes."
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