Fool Me Once

by Keelywolfe

 

The first thing he noticed, as he slowly returned to awareness, was that he was warm. He shifted slightly, trying to snuggle deeper into that comforting source of heat only to be caught back as his arms refused to move. Panic flared and he struggled briefly, stiffened muscles responding sluggishly as he instinctively tried to free himself. His frenzied efforts slowed as memory returned and he finally stilled, breathing deeply as he tried for calm. Struggling would do no good, he knew, he couldn't get free. Better to just wait and reserve his strength.

Carefully, Trowa opened his eyes, flinching a little at the brightness of sunlight. Late morning, he guessed. It had been quite late the night before when he finally managed to fall asleep. Shifting uncomfortably in the chair, he stretched his bound arms as well as he could, wincing as tingling needles throbbed in them. Sensation was slow in returning and Trowa couldn't help but sigh in relief as the discomfort finally eased. He'd only been tied like this for perhaps six hours at most and past experience had taught him that it would only get worse.

Six hours of being held, of someone trying to bend him to their will. Someone... Glancing around the room, Trowa's eyes halted on the slight figure of his captor.

He was standing over by the window, staring outside pensively at something outside Trowa's range of vision. Or perhaps at nothing at all, his expression was as calm and blank as it had been through this entire ordeal. Never a frown to crease the smooth brow, nothing to mar that beautiful face; there was only the faintest sadness in pale eyes that looked too deeply and saw far too much. Looking at the young man now, Trowa saw exhaustion mingling with the sadness. Obviously he hadn't taken advantage of his prisoner's slumber to get any rest of his own and Trowa couldn't help but wonder how long it had been since he had slept properly.

"You're awake." A quiet statement, his eyes never leaving the window as he continued to gaze at perhaps nothing at all. Trowa remained silent; words were no more necessary now than they had ever been. A soft sigh escaped the young man, and his eyes flicked away from the window, closing as he smiled ever so slightly.

"You're still hoping I'll give up, aren't you? I won't," his captor added softly. So quiet, he never raised his voice, never shouted. It was...unnerving...to be held at the whims of someone so calm. Anger was something Trowa could handle; it was a tool, a weapon to use against your enemy. Such serenity in this situation was almost obscene to him, it was -wrong- and it itched at him like nothing else.

"I won't," he continued in that same even voice. "I'm going to win and if I have to cheat to do it, I will."

"This won't work," Trowa said, finally breaking his silence, his voice faintly hoarse from sleep. His captor glanced at him, eyebrow raised.

"Oh? You think not?" He turned away from the window and walked over to a small side table that held a pitcher and several glasses. Filling one glass with water, he walked over to Trowa and held it lightly against the pilot's lips. Trowa drank it gratefully, beyond caring whether or not it was drugged.

"You don't think I can win?" he asked again, one hand lightly petting Trowa's hair while the pilot drank and Trowa had to force himself not to flinch away before he had finished the water.

"No," Trowa replied finally, and his captor set the glass aside. He cupped a hand under his chin and regarded Trowa thoughtfully, until the pilot was nearly squirming under that calm gaze.

He watched warily as the other man walked behind him and lifted his hands to rest on Trowa's shoulders. They stared kneading the aching muscles there firmly and Trowa had to bite back a soft moan, tension draining away, only to flood immediately back as he felt warm breath against his ear.

"You're wrong," whispered softly and Trowa inhaled sharply at the touch of a tongue against the sensitive skin of his ear, lightly tracing the outline before his captor spoke again, again that deep sadness in him "I'm sorry it had to be this way."

"Quatre, please..."

"No!" Urgent fingers pressed against Trowa's lips. "No, don't beg me. Don't. It's too late now, there is no going back from this." The fingers lingered briefly on his lips, barely touching before sliding over to cup his cheek as Quatre pressed his face against the back of his prisoner's neck. "I'm so sorry but you didn't leave me another choice." Delicate fingers drifted downward, lightly stroking through the thin fabric of Trowa's shirt. "I need you. I need you so much. I told you I'd cheat if I had to. And I will."

Quatre stepped back a little, leaning against the desk and allowing Trowa a moment to breathe.

"You can't make me love you," he whispered, finally.

He tilted his head slightly to the side, studying the pilot. "You're right. I can't. But then again, I don't have to, do I? You already do. You may not want to, but you do. This," he gestured around them, "is to make you realize that. You can hate me for that, if you like. It won't change anything."

Shifting back even further, Quatre sat on the edge of the desk and studied his prisoner silently. Trowa held his gaze for a moment then glanced away, looking instead at the ornate rug on the floor. He couldn't look at Quatre, not like this. Once, when he had first met the other boy, Trowa had believed that Quatre was different. Different from the other pilots, different from everyone else...special, perhaps, in a way. The desperate way he tried to keep from killing, his sincerity, his gentleness. Everything about the little blond contradicted what Trowa thought he knew about people.

It...hurt...to see that Quatre was far more like the rest of the world than he had thought. It served him right, perhaps, for forgetting a most important lesson.

Appearances can be deceiving.

Soft hands cupping his cheeks jerked Trowa from his thoughts and he flinched back before catching himself, holding perfectly still instead. It didn't matter anymore what happened or what Quatre did. It would be over soon, hopefully Quatre would simply take whatever it was he wanted and this would simply be another memory to turn over and over in his head, late at night when sleep wouldn't come and the shadows danced around him like demonic marionettes.

"No."

One word, whispered so softly against Trowa's ear and he tried to ignore it and the shiver it sent down his spine.

"No." Breathed again and the very tip of Quatre's tongue traced its way around the shell of Trowa's ear. "It's not like that. Don't lie to yourself and try to say otherwise." He pulled away, looking far older than his years and Trowa was struck again at the exhaustion on the other boy's face. Quatre had always had a fair complexion, an obvious and yet still enchanting combination of light hair and light skin, but at that moment his skin was so pale as to be translucent. Trowa could trace the fine blue veins at Quatre's temples and there were circles the color of bruises beneath his eyes.

"This is as much your fault as mine," Quatre said, moving away, the bite in his voice diminished as he staggered slightly and was forced to lean against the wall until he recovered. "You do have a way of conveniently forgetting things that you don't want to think about, Trowa."

His words at last pulled a reaction from Trowa, a flinch, and the lightest touch of cool satisfaction showed in those pale blue eyes before Quatre steadied himself and walked out the door, leaving Trowa alone with his thoughts and his guilt, eyes closed tightly against Quatre's words.

Out of everything Quatre had said, the last was the truest, no matter how much he could try to deny it. If Quatre had become like the rest of the world, then Trowa had driven him to it. Unbidden, the memory came to him, of seeing those blue eyes wide with shock. Lost in pleasure while Quatre had felt nothing but pain. He had hurt Quatre first, and he had known it, even then.

Perhaps he deserved this more than he had thought.

Quatre barely managed to close the door behind him before he collapsed. Curling up against a wave of nausea, he pressed his cheek to the cool tile of the floor, breathing deeply until it passed. Leaning up on one elbow, he raised a shaking hand to his face and wiped cold sweat from his forehead.

There wasn't time for this and he pushed himself unsteadily to his feet, one hand ghosting along the wall for support as he walked carefully down the hall. Trowa hadn't eaten since the day before and Quatre was determined that at least his incarceration wouldn't be uncomfortable.

He almost laughed aloud at the thought, feeling oddly giddy, unable to recall the last time -he- had eaten, or even slept. He hadn't been able to sleep the night before, not with Trowa bound in front of him. He'd watched Trowa the entire night, for once not having to hide his glances discreetly and the knowledge echoing in his head that Trowa was his. Unwilling, cold and unemotional, true, but still his.

This wasn't how it was supposed to have happened. He recalled idly how he had expected it to be. Quatre had always been fascinated with Trowa, from the first moment they had met; Trowa leaving the safe confines of his Gundam's cockpit, arms raised in surrender. Something about him, something in his eyes, perhaps, had drawn Quatre like a moth to a flame.

He laughed silently again, leaning against the wall until the wave of lightheadedness passed. He really needed to get something to eat. He clung carefully to the banister as he made his way down the stairs, it wouldn't do to accidentally kill himself before he finished what he intended to do.

A moth to a flame, Quatre mused, finally reaching the kitchen and beginning a search for whatever food that was easily prepared. So, he was a moth then Trowa was a flame. It was a shame how true that was. Certainly Trowa had burned him.

"Hey, Quatre, how's it going?"

Quatre jerked in surprise, the carton of juice falling from his unsteady hands and spilling across the floor. Duo's expression was instantly contrite and he snatched the carton up before it had all spilled out, setting it on the counter as he grabbed a towel and began to clean up the sticky mess, flipping his braid back out of the way before it could fall into the puddle.

"I'm sorry, Q, I didn't mean to startle you. High strung, much?" The last was shot upward with a grin as Duo finished swiping at the floor and he tossed the soaked towel into the sink. Intent on cleaning up the mess he had unintentionally caused, he didn't even notice Quatre's expression until he stood up, the smile freezing on his face at the pallor of the blonde's cheeks.

"Whoa, Q-man, you don't look so hot." He grabbed a chair and dragged it across the floor, pushing Quatre into it before he could protest. Stepping back, he fidgeted nervously, watching Quatre suspiciously as if afraid he would die right on the spot.

"I'm fine," Quatre finally murmured, "I just need to get something to eat." Duo brightened visibly at that and Quatre almost laughed at the incongruity of this situation. The very last person on this planet that he wanted to see in this moment was cheerfully helping him.

"Hey, low blood sugar! I knew someone like that." Duo began rummaging through the cupboards, finally locating the glasses and he held one up triumphantly before he poured the remainder of the juice into it. "Always drank orange juice when his blood sugar got too low. This is," Duo squinted at the label on the carton. "Banana-Orange Tropical Swirl?" He shrugged. "This should fix you right up!"

He handed the glass to Quatre and watched expectantly. Reluctantly, Quatre raised the glass and drank, his roiling stomach protesting the first sip but it seemed to settle a bit by the second. Duo beamed at him as his shaking did seem to ease a little.

"See, told you it would help." He chattered on, actually lifting the chair Quatre was in and moving it out of the way so that he could reach the refrigerator. Scooping out a couple of eggs, he liberated a frying pan and a spatula from the cupboards. "You gotta take better care of yourself, Q," Duo said, shaking the spatula at him. "It's bad enough that Trowa is sick without you coming down with it too."

At the mention of Trowa's name, Quatre's stomach tightened and he almost vomited the juice back into his lap. Duo was cracking the eggs flamboyantly into the pan and didn't notice Quatre clutching his middle convulsively.

"How's Trowa doing anyway? He feeling any better?" Such a casual question, and Quatre closed his eyes, biting back the urge to tell Duo to go to hell, the Trowa was none of his concern and never had been, shouldn't have been.

"No," Quatre said shortly, and he started to get to his feet, anything to get away. Duo had already turned back to him though, neatly putting equal portions of scrambled eggs onto two plates before flashing Quatre a guilty look.

"Sorry that you're getting stuck with the caretaker duties." Duo made a face as he carried the plates over to the table. "I just have a thing about sick people."

Quatre had a brief flash of something akin to memory, people moaning in the streets, the stench of burning flesh and one person shouting that God had forgotten them, they were all to die. A dirty young boy scurrying along the street, terrified as the almost skeletal hands of the dying clutched at him, begging him for help as he broke away and ran but not fast enough, never fast enough for who could outrun the plague...

He shook it away, clutching his chest briefly. Duo having a 'thing' about sick people was something of an understatement. He pushed away his natural inclination for sympathy at what Duo had suffered through. It was too much to ask of him to feel any pain for Duo, not after what Duo had done.

The coolness of a hand settled on Quatre's forehead and he almost jerked away in surprise, opening his eyes to see Duo crouched in front of him, concern replacing the usual cheer in the deep blue of his eyes.

"Quatre, are you sure you're all right? You look like shit and if you and Trowa are both sick..."

"No!" he nearly shouted, and then more calmly at Duo's startled look. "No, really, I'm fine. I just didn't get much sleep last night." For once, Duo said nothing but his raised eyebrows spoke volumes and Quatre ground his teeth in frustration. Of all the times for Duo to want to play nursemaid!

"Really, I'm fine, Duo. I was up with Trowa all night." That at least was true. "I'll just take a nap later on." Duo still looked a little doubtful but Quatre's insistence seemed to satisfy him. Again, he picked up Quatre's chair, with Quatre still in it, and settled it in front of the table. He flopped down in his own chair, eating the cooling eggs as if food were going out of style and, after a moment, Quatre lifted his own fork, eating his first meal in days and he wondered if this was God's idea of irony, that the person who was taking care of him was the same person that Quatre had nearly killed two days before, lost in the closest thing he'd ever felt to hatred in his entire life.

It seemed like Quatre had been gone for hours, and Trowa squirmed uncomfortably in his chair, his limbs in danger of falling asleep. Along with the rest of him, a chair wasn't exactly the most comfortable of places to spend the night. He glanced longingly at the bed that was in one corner of the room and had a fleeting wish that Quatre had tied him to that instead, at the very least he would have slept better. The images of being tied to a bed, completely at Quatre mercy were enough for him to recant that wish. The chair was bad enough.

He let his head fall against the back of the chair, studying the ceiling. Even it was ornate, complex scrolls and borders decorating it but not garishly so. The Winner family walked the fine borders between sophistication and excess with class, aside from the fact that their estates made rather extravagant safe houses. Still, they were certainly safe, hiding behind Quatre's family name because who would suspect that the peacekeeping patriarch of the Winner clan would allow his only son to be a Gundam Pilot.

Trowa was learning very quickly to expect anything from Quatre Winner.

But no, better not to think of that. Better to study the ceiling, to stretch his arms in a vain attempt to ease the aching muscles, to do anything but think about Quatre and this betrayal.

The sound of the door opening startled him from his thoughts as the object of them walked into the room. Quatre was carrying a tray of food and Trowa's mouth watered at the sight. Last night's dinner was little more than a memory and he wasn't about to starve himself out of spite.

Quatre set the tray on the desk. "I'm sorry that I took so long. Duo cornered me in the kitchen." A sidelong look at Trowa's face revealed nothing about the mention of Duo's name and he continued. "In case you're curious, I told Duo that you have the flu. He's not very fond of sick people, so we won't be seeing him around here."

No response. Quatre went silent as well, picking up the plate from the tray, sliced fruit and cubes of cheese. With a sinking feeling, Trowa realized that Quatre was going to have to feed him. He didn't react as Quatre picked up the first slice of a peach and placed it in his mouth.

Trowa ate each offered piece mechanically, absently noting the different flavors of the fruit and cheese. Quatre did everything with neat efficiency and that was worse somehow. If he'd tried to be provocative, teasing and flirting in a way that would be so easy while feeding someone, Trowa could have ignored him. This weary determination was almost painful to watch and Trowa was concerned in spite of himself.

"You should eat something," Trowa said softly, and regretted it instantly. He couldn't afford to feel pity for his enemy, and certainly Quatre was an enemy now, a jailor.

Quatre hesitated, and then fed Trowa another cube of cheese. "I already ate," he replied. "Duo took it upon himself to feed me." Trowa stopped chewing for a moment and simply looked at Quatre before he resumed slowly. "Tell me something," Quatre said, his head tilted slightly in curiosity. "Was that what you really wanted, that night?"

Trowa said nothing. There was no real answer to this question, and he had already tried answered it once, the day before. No need to repeat himself and certainly not in these circumstances.

"Was it?" Quatre persisted. "If that's what you really want, I can give it to you."

"I thought you'd already decided you were the love of my life?" Trowa said coldly, unable to stop the words despite his determination to remain silent.

Quatre froze, the grape he had been about to feed to Trowa slipping from his fingers and falling to the floor and there was sudden shock of pain in those eyes that had been so blank. Quatre was shaking, the fingers of his raised hand trembling and Trowa watched in fascinated horror, guilt and concern churning unvoiced within him. Nothing more than Quatre deserved, he told himself. Nothing more.

The little blond finally seemed to recover, lowering his hand to grip the edge of the desk until his fingers were white and bloodless. "I could be wrong," he said softly, in that eerily distant voice. "It's happened before. But I've never pretended to be any more important than I am. Not to you."

He smiled then and the hairs on the back of Trowa's neck prickled to see it, a ghastly parody of Quatre's usual sweetness. "I nearly killed him, did I tell you that? The day after, I followed him down to the hangar. He was working on Shinigami. He had his shirt off, all sweaty and greasy, and that long hair of his...you know, I really can't fault you for your taste, Duo is attractive."

He poked another grape into Trowa's opened mouth and Trowa chewed automatically, his wide eyes still locked on this person who he had thought he knew. "I pointed a gun at his head. It would have been so easy; he didn't even know I was there," Quatre mused softly, almost to himself. "I could have just squeezed the trigger and splattered his pretty little brains all over the place." He raised a hand and mimicking firing a gun. "Boom," Quatre whispered, still smiling.

Trowa could hardly breath, barely noticing that he was straining back against the chair in an instinctive retreat from the boy sitting in front of him. "Quatre, have you lost your mind?" he whispered hoarsely, his mind blanked with shock at Quatre's confession.

The other boy blinked slightly, as if coming back to himself and then he squeezed his eyes shut tightly before covering his face with his hands. "I don't know," he said, little more than a muffled sob. He wiped briskly at his eyes with his sleeve and added, "But you'll notice I didn't kill him. It's too easy to blame Duo, when it wasn't really his fault." Coolness was seeping back into his voice, freezing Trowa's blood to hear it and for the first time since this began, he was truly afraid of what Quatre might do.

"It was your fault, Trowa," he continued, a smile curving his soft lips. "And mine, for not taking what belonged to me a long time ago."

"I don't..." Trowa started to protest and Quatre's hand covered his mouth painfully hard, cutting off his words.

"Yes, you do," Quatre said calmly. "You have only yourself to blame, you know. You want to blame me, or maybe Duo but it's only you. You made me fall in love with you and then you ran away. What else could I do but chase you?" His voice was rising, almost shouting now and Trowa's eyes, usually so empty of emotion, were staring at him with fear in their depths over his silencing hand. "So don't be angry with me now that I have finally caught you when you're the one who started the chase!"

He jerked away, breathing heavily and the anger on his face melted away as he finally recognized the almost palatable fear radiating from Trowa. A hand rose up, hovering just in front of Trowa's face and the boy flinched away from the touch automatically. Eyes wide, Quatre shook his head, one hand still reaching out to Trowa as the other slid up to clutch at the front of his shirt over his chest as if he were in pain.

Trowa watched as his mouth worked soundless for a moment before he collapsed to his knees, curling up at Trowa's feet and all he could do was watch helplessly, straining at his bonds while Quatre rocked back and forth, harsh sobs coming from him.

He'd been right after all, Trowa realized distantly. Quatre was different from the rest of the world. Not in that he couldn't do this but in the fact that doing it was killing him.

Broken words were escaping Quatre, as he rocked, "No...no...I wouldn't...couldn't...never hurt you, Trowa, never. Never...never..." It became a soft chant, punctuating every shift back and forth until Quatre stopped abruptly, raising his tear streaked face from his knees to look at Trowa wonderingly.

"I'll prove it to you," Quatre said, smiling again and once again, that sweet winsome smile left Trowa cold.

Quatre lifted his hands to Trowa's knees, their warmth bleeding through the thin fabric of Trowa's pants and dawning awareness of what he intended had Trowa cringing back desperately into the chair. He gasped when those small hands slid upward, palms moving over his thighs and up to push aside the soft knit of his shirt. Quatre was watching his own hands as if fascinated, slim fingers tracing patterns over Trowa's skin.

Trowa closed his eyes helplessly, not wanting to watch while Quatre did this. It was too wrong, too painful. "Quatre, please, you can't..."

The hands paused and Trowa looked down to see questioning blue eyes watching him. "Why not?" Quatre asked, genuine curiosity in his soft voice. "You can't say you don't like boys, I have proof otherwise." His eyes drifted closed and he lowered his face to Trowa's lap, rubbing his cheek against his captive's leg. "I admit, I'm not very experienced in this and I'm not Duo." There was a faint bitterness in his voice at saying the other boy's name but Trowa barely heard it as Quatre shifted forward to nuzzle against the soft skin of his belly.

The wet flick of a tongue against his skin made every muscle in his body tighten as Quatre's soft lips made their way down to the waistband of Trowa's pants, pausing there to press light kisses and gentle licks. Hands tightening to fists, Trowa tilted his head back, biting his lip as his body betrayed him to Quatre's persistent touches.

Nimble fingers unfastened his pants and delved inside, teasing hardening flesh before tugging the offending fabric out of the way and freeing Trowa's erection to curious eyes. A gentle hand curved around the shaft as Quatre touched lightly, oblivious to Trowa's growing distress.

For a moment, Trowa could hardly breath, vulnerable and exposed to Quatre, to his enemy and his instincts were screaming, shrieking that he should be struggling, protesting, anything but simply sitting here and letting Quatre do as he pleased. Should resist, should fight, should, should, a thousand things he should do. And he didn't move, couldn't move, he didn't even really try. Because in spite of everything, the boy on his knees before him, touching him so gently and sweetly was Quatre, beautiful, innocent Quatre who he had been watching from a distance since the moment they had first met. Looking but never able to touch, not wanting to mar anything about this boy who seemed so different from everything that Trowa knew and in spite of what was happening, in spite of everything, Trowa did want him.

He held his breath, knowing what was coming as anticipation drew out blade sharp before Quatre lowered his head, the heat of his breath caressing Trowa's shaft as he spoke. "Tell me, how did Duo do it? I was a little too...distracted...at the time to notice. Did he tease you at first?" The first wet stroke of a tongue against his skin and Trowa's hips jerked upward convulsively, settling back down in the chair as the touch came again, teasing maddeningly in light flicks against the tip before Quatre pulled back again, eyes rising to catch Trowa's.

"Is that what he did?" Quatre whispered, his lips brushing against the crown of the shaft and pulling a silent shudder from Trowa. "Was it soft? Was he gentle?" Velvet soft heat surrounded Trowa as Quatre took his erection into his mouth, only the barest hint of suction as he ran his tongue down the length before he again pulled away.

"Or was it hard?" A smile in Quatre's voice at his unintentional pun and he blew on the wet skin teasingly, laughing softly as Trowa squirmed. "Was it hard, Trowa?"

Trowa cried out as the wet heat of a mouth slid over him again, sucking strongly this time, pressure easing and then surging again as Quatre refused to find a rhythm, teasing even in this as he allowed Trowa to thrust upward as best as he could, still helplessly bound to the chair. Trowa sobbed aloud when Quatre pulled away again, darkened eyes glittering up at his captive.

"You're not helping me, Trowa," Quatre scolded softly, ignoring the other boy's shuddering breaths as he pressed a kiss against the tip of Trowa's shaft, his tongue brushing lightly before he leaned away. "You need to tell me, am I doing this right? Is this how your lover did it?"

"Duo is not my lover," Trowa gritted out, beads of perspiration sliding down his cheeks as he waited for Quatre to finish whatever game it was he was playing. Coolness settled over the little blonde's features and Trowa hastily amended his words. "I don't love Duo."

Triumph flickered through crystal blue eyes and vanished just as quickly before Quatre murmured, "I know." He lowered his head again, once last glance upward as his hands slide below Trowa's hips to lift him up before Quatre finally took his erection deeply, sucking painfully hard.

"Oh, God!"

Tight, wet heat surrounded Trowa, engulfed him and he cried out again, beyond caring about anything but the sweet pressure of Quatre's mouth and he strained upwards, bright pain in his arms as the ropes cut into his flesh and he didn't care. He arched into that perfection and he wanted it to never end, wanted nothing less than an eternity with this pleasure that Quatre was forcing on him.

Trowa managed to open his eyes, looking at the blond head in his lap as Quatre did this unspeakably wonderful thing to him. For him. It was too much, the knowledge that this was Quatre, who he had wanted for so long and with a last despairing cry Trowa came, hot pulses of ecstasy flooding through him. He could feel Quatre swallowing around him, dragging unwilling flashes of pleasure before he was finally released, trembling and weak as he sagged against the chair that was his prison.

Gentle hands tucked him back into his clothing and fastened his pants and Trowa squirmed a little. Now that it was over he could feel his clothing clinging uncomfortably to his sweat-damped skin, though there was little he could do about it.

He heard Quatre moving and strangely hot lips pressed a light kiss against his temple before Quatre whispered to him. "You see? I can give you this, if this is what you want." He didn't have time to answer, still trying to catch his breath when Quatre moved away and Trowa heard the door open and close as Quatre left him alone with nothing more than shattered perceptions and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Almost slamming the door behind him in his haste to leave, Quatre stumbled down the hallway and into the bathroom. Leaning on the sink, he fumbled the faucet on and splashed cool water on his face, rubbing his wet hands over hot cheeks. Raising his head, he caught his reflection in the mirror and was greeted by someone he hardly recognized. Weary blue eyes were looking back at him, water dripping down his flushed cheeks in a mockery of tears.

"What are you doing?" Quatre whispered, but the person looking out from the mirror gave him no answers, only his own wan face, lips stung crimson from what he had just done.

Closing his eyes against the memory, Quatre was nearly ill even to think of it, not because of what he had done, but how he had done it. It hadn't been an act of pleasure, nothing in this was, it was nothing more than him bending Trowa and forcing him to be what Quatre wanted.

He leaned forward, resting his cheek against the cool glass so that he wouldn't have to look at the accusing eyes in the mirror, condemnation in their depths as they asked him when he had become this, a rapist, something he had once considered to be the lowest act a human could commit. No, he wanted to cry out to the silent boy in the mirror, this wasn't his fault, it wasn't. It had never been meant to be this way but now it was too late to go back. They could never regain what they had lost. He had to finish this, no matter what the cost.

The bitter salt taste of Trowa's orgasm was still in his mouth and he had a sudden horror of it, filling the small glass on the sink with water, his hands shaking so badly that most of it spilled as he drank. He filled it again, trying to wash the evidence of what he had done away but no matter how much he could drink, he still knew, the memory of Trowa's cries still fresh in his ears, echoing through his head until Quatre nearly screamed, begging them to leave him be. "Quatre."

A bright flash of panic and Quatre whirled around, instinctively stepping back and catching the backs of his knees against the toilet. He sat down hard, narrowly avoiding biting off his tongue as his teeth clicked painfully. Heart pounding, he stared with wide, terrified eyes at the person who had spoken to him.

Heero was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and looking down at the floor. Words failed him and Quatre just stared mutely at the other pilot. Heero stayed on the estate sometimes, Quatre knew, although he rarely saw him. It could quite literally days in between seeing the Wing pilot; Heero Yuy only appeared when he wanted to and seemed to have no intrinsic desire to spend time with anyone, preferring the company of his computer to that of humans.

That he was here now struck a giddy chord of terror within Quatre. Heero never did anything without a purpose and if he felt the need to speak to Quatre then he had reason to do so. Yet beneath the fear was an underlying sense of deep relief, that someone might stop what he was doing, as he couldn't stop it himself.

A moment of silence passed before Heero spoke quietly. "Trowa is ill." It wasn't really a question, but Quatre found himself nodding helplessly, lies dying on his lips. Truth didn't matter anymore, Heero Yuy could see far too much.

Heero nodded slightly and for a moment Quatre was struck by his calm surety, a quiet stillness around him as he stood in the doorway but that was Heero Yuy, never a wasted movement or word and in other situations Quatre had admired that cool confidence but for once, Quatre would have preferred Duo's manic presence to this unnerving stillness. If Yuy wanted a contest of wills, it would be a very short one, Quatre's control was as brittle as glass and a wrong word would shatter him into pieces.

Lifting his eyes from his study of the floor, Heero focused the intensity of his gaze at Quatre and again, the blond felt a little thrill of fear. This was it, Heero would ask now what he thought he was doing and all his lies would tumble down like a card house. Perhaps Heero would simply shoot him, Quatre thought giddily, swaying a little. Deliberate as he was about his actions, Heero did lack a certain amount of patience.

"When do you think Trowa will be better?"

The question caught Quatre so off guard for a moment he said nothing, simply blinked at Heero in the dim light. Heero waited tolerantly as he finally stammered out. "Tomorrow, I think...he's just...it's just...tomorrow." He stopped before he made it worse, dimly aware of a trickle of sweat sliding down the back of his neck. There was an odd look in Heero's usually expressionless eyes, one that Quatre couldn't place.

Heero nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Quatre's as he said, "Good. As long as he is up by tomorrow, everything should be fine." As quietly as he had arrived, Heero turned and walked away.

Quatre watched him go, too stunned to even speak. Heero knew. He didn't know how Heero knew but he did and he was giving Quatre until tomorrow to finish it.

Had the whole world gone insane or was it just him?

Shaking off his confusion, Quatre took advantage of his low seat to rummage through the drawers underneath the sink for the things he needed to finish this. He'd been given a short reprieve and he wasn't about to waste it.

Alone in the silent room, Trowa was struggling to remember how to breathe, feeling more exposed in this moment than if Quatre had stripped him naked.

There was nothing but unsettling thoughts to keep him company in this aftermath and he had a sense of déjà vu, though now there was a different person to blame. That time it had been Duo and...

No. Quatre had been correct in that, if in little else. It would be simple to blame this on Duo. Simple but deceptive and that would be a lie, a cheat. He could admit that to himself now, a day tied to a chair tended to change ones perceptions and in this way, Quatre had been right. Duo was a temptation but he was the one who had finally given in to seduction. Because Duo wasn't Quatre, as Quatre had been before this, as beautiful as a fantasy and just as untouchable.

Only two days before and it seemed as unreal to Trowa now as a dream barely remembered in the early light of day.

A war does not lend itself to moments of quiet, not for the participants or the civilians, which made that evening all the more rare, that Trowa had nothing more to do than sit in front of a warm fire and enjoy the silence. In a house as large as this, there were always hardly used rooms and this one had been one of Trowa's favorites, a sitting room of sorts with rich curtains covering the windows and a large stone fireplace in a position of dominance against a wall.

He'd been nearly asleep, the warmth of the fire and the comfort of a large chair conspiring to lull him down when the sound of a door opening had jerked him awake. He had felt a brief flash of unvoiced irritation at whoever had broken his solitude and had been unsurprised that it was Duo, who certainly had a knack for such things.

For once, Duo had been silent, obviously fresh from the shower with the length of his hair bound up in a towel and wearing only shorts, as he often did. Duo seemed to have no sense of personal modesty and one had to wonder where he had picked up that particular trait.

Oddly quiet, he had flashed Trowa a smile before settling on the rug in front of the fireplace and Trowa watched in silence as he rubbed the towel briskly over his head before pulling it free and letting the damp tendrils of his hair cascade down around him. It had been soothing in a way, watching Duo struggle to pull a wide toothed comb through the heavy mass and it had lightened as it dried to a more familiar chestnut.

To his credit, it had only taken him a moment to see what Duo was doing, the languid movements, the soft glances through the curtain of concealing hair as Duo watched him watching, but to call him seductive was simply to call Duo by his name. It simply was, Duo seduced by breathing, with a soft touch, a look and he was so utterly accessible in a way that Quatre had never been, couldn't be. Duo could not be tainted with a touch, a look, his purity had been sacrificed long ago in the sheer power of his allure. Eyes that never lied, but there were secrets in those violet depths, unspoken truths and silent questions. Only a fool or a virgin wouldn't have understood what Duo's body was asking for him, and Trowa was neither.

And suddenly the thought of spending the night alone when there was someone warm and willing right in front of his eyes had simply been too much to bear, and when Duo had crawled across the floor to him and rested tentative hands on Trowa's knees, looking up with those dark, questioning eyes, Trowa had let him. He allowed the seductive tapestry that Duo was weaving around him to descend, just for one night escaping the dance of suffering that was his life.

Soft lips had captured his own, the wet pressure of a tongue seeking entrance and Duo tasted as warm and sweet as Trowa had known he must. Hands that had forgotten their earlier wariness were stealthily slipping beneath his shirt, pulling it up and over his head so that slim fingers could trail over bare skin, searching for sensitive places that pulled gasps from a would-be lover.

The memory pulled at unreality, a predecessor to Quatre's touch only minutes before but these hands had been knowing where Quatre's had been uncertain, nimbly unfastening his pants and releasing his aching erection to the heat of Duo's mouth and Trowa had been free then, to tangle his hands in that glorious hair and to thrust upward into the sweet pressure that had surrounded him.

The faint sound had intruded on his subconscious and Trowa had forced his reluctant eyes to open, focusing hazily at the door closest to him and had met shocked blue eyes, the face unnaturally pale in the dim light and they should have known better, there were no less than a handful of doors leading into this room and not one of them had been locked.

He hadn't been able look away, Duo had still been moving under his hands, oblivious to their unintended audience and as Trowa watched something had splintered and fallen into a thousand pieces in the crystal depths of Quatre's eyes. His own eyes had closed against his will as he arched up with a gasp, coming in a shockwave of ecstasy into the torturous skill of Duo's mouth and when he had finally been able to open his eyes again the door had been closed.

Duo had questioning him frantically, having heard the door shut but Trowa was unable to form a reply to his urgent questions as he had demanded to know who it had been. No words had come to him, even with the growing panic in Duo's voice and in the end Duo had gone silent as well, staring at him in mute exasperation.

Trowa had simply been wrapped in shock, and in an inexplicable feeling of guilt over betraying a relationship that didn't exist. His guilt increased as he realized he had taken his own pleasure and that Duo was still waiting, his erection visible through the thin silk of his shorts but when he had reached for him, his sense of fairness demanding that he reciprocate, the other boy had skittered away from him.

The layer of cynicism that was always beneath Duo's cheer was far more pronounced as he said it was better to give a pity fuck than to get one, and that he'd spend the rest of his night with Rosy Palmer and her five friends later on. It hadn't been unkindly said, only in that cheekiness that was so much part of Duo. He gathered up his discarded towel and comb, pausing in front of Trowa's chair long enough to tap Trowa's nose with the tip of his finger, and then left Trowa as alone as he had been earlier, and far less content. He hadn't sought Quatre out, and could admit his cowardice in that, and his uncertainty of what to say, whether to apologize or to demand an apology for the intrusion, even if it was Quatre's house. Duo seemed to have moved beyond the whole incident and was as warm and friendly as he ever was, without even secret humor lingering in his eyes.

In the end, it had been Quatre who had cornered him as he was leaving his room, demanding answers that Trowa didn't have, with agony in his soft voice. It hadn't meant anything, not really, just two people with the weight of billions of lives on their shoulders seeking a little comfort. Nothing more and that was what he had tried to explain to Quatre, even as he had wondered why he was bothering to defend his actions to someone whom he owed no explanations. Until Quatre had told him that he loved him.

And he had said nothing.

He had turned away, thinking only of escaping those accusing eyes and there had been a bright flash of pain at the base of his skull and then darkness.

And he had awoken here.

Trowa sighed, studying the long memorized ceiling. In only two nights his world had descended into insanity and he wondered, with a sense of detachment, just how much further it could go.

The door opened and Quatre strode in, not even looking at Trowa as he went to the desk. He shoved the plate he had been using earlier aside, not even sparing it a glance as it fell off the edge and shattered, sending gleaming shards of porcelain scattering across the floor.

He dropped a few things on the desk, his body obscuring Trowa's view, before finally speaking. "We don't have much time left, I'm afraid." There was a soft rasp of metal, and as Quatre turned around, Trowa's blood turned to ice at the sight of the knife clenched tightly in his hand. He smiled, that warm, sweet smile that was so horrifying to see in this moment.

"It's time to end this."

Quatre paused at the expression on Trowa's face, a wounded look in his eyes. "I already told you I wouldn't hurt you. Don't you believe me?"

"This whole incident hasn't given me any great confidence of that," Trowa said, his eyes warily on the knife. To his surprise, Quatre laughed, cupping his chin with his free hand as he regarded his prisoner.

"Please, you're a Gundam pilot, spending a few hours tied up isn't going to hurt you. You're more durable than that or you'd be dead already." Left unspoken the fact that he had done far more than tying Trowa to a chair and Trowa said nothing of it. Quatre had been hiding behind denial for two days now and no petty words would change that. He remained silent, forcing himself not to flinch away as he felt a rush of cool air against his belly when Quatre slipped the tip of his finger beneath the hem of his shirt and lifted it, saying quietly, "Don't move."

There was the tearing sound of fabric as the material parted easily under the blade, the cool metal not even brushing his skin as Quatre eased it upward, gently lifting Trowa's chin with the back of his hand. The ruined shirt fell open and he shivered, though not from the cold as he could feel the weight of Quatre's eyes on him, as heavy as the touch of a hand.

"There," Quatre sighed. He tapped the knife lightly against his cheek, considering and Trowa felt an odd brush of fear, that the sharpness of the blade might piece that delicate skin and send trails of crimson seeping downward. A wave of horror at his own concern and desperately Trowa ignored it, sending it deep within to hide his weakness. "I suppose I could try to cut your jeans off," Quatre continued, "But it would be much easier if you just helped me. Your choice."

Trowa hesitated, weighing his options. Help Quatre and give up what little power he had or...the knife in Quatre's hand and the knowledge of where that knife would be going made the decision much easier. He nodded slightly, trying not to consider what it was he was doing as he trained his eyes on the ground. He heard Quatre set the knife aside and slim hands came into his line of vision, neatly unfastened his pants and between the two of them they managed to work them down his legs and off.

He could feel heat rising in his cheeks as Quatre studied him, clothed in nothing more than the rags of his shirt and his even more tattered composure. To his horror, he could feel his body betraying him yet again, hardening under the touch of Quatre's gaze and Trowa closed his own eyes, unable to bear his humiliation. He hardly knew who he was anymore, everything that had once been his own, his body, his emotions, were surrendering themselves without his permission and for a panicked moment, he strained hard against his bonds, feeling the ropes burn against his wrists as he struggled uselessly.

Relaxing, he sagged back into the chair, knowing that he was trapped and by more than just fiber and cloth, and knowing there was little he could do but wait.

The quiet rustle of fabric made him look up and he saw Quatre was stripping away his own clothes, tossing them aside haphazardly and there was something almost charming about his gracelessness in this, no attempt at seduction or eroticism and when Quatre was finally naked, his cheeks were faintly pink and his eyes were lowered demurely.

Yet there was no attempt to hide himself from Trowa's reluctant curiosity and Quatre stood very still as the other boy looked at him, slim and sleekly muscled as a Gundam pilot needed to be, the beginnings of his own erection rising up from a nest of soft curls and a faintly hysterical thought came to Trowa that the smaller boy was definitely a natural blonde.

Stepping forward, Quatre lifted one hand to rest lightly on Trowa's chest, just over his heart. "I've never done this before, did you know that?" Trowa closed his eyes against those words. No. He didn't want to know that, didn't want to react to the thought of being Quatre's first, however unwilling he might be. "I love you," Quatre said softly and it felt as if someone's hand was beneath Quatre's squeezing Trowa's heart in the tightness of a fist. "And if you can't love me, then at least I want this."

This was too much to accept, too, too much, that someone who had professed to love him could do this. And that Trowa could want it so very much.

A sharp click and Trowa gasped as the chair abruptly reclined, the pressure of the ropes on his arms shifting as he leaned backwards. The glide of skin over his own as Quatre slid into his lap, pressing tightly against him and when Trowa opened his eyes their faces were inches apart, closer than they had ever been before, close enough to see the deeper flecks of blue in Quatre's eyes as he regarded his captive solemnly.

"May I kiss you? Just once? I don't want to lose my virginity without even one kiss from my lover." Nothing but silence met the soft question and after a moment Quatre's eyes fluttered shut and he brushed his lips tentatively over Trowa's.

The softness of his tongue lightly stroked the seam of Trowa's lips and reluctantly Trowa parted them, a pained sound escaping him as he allowed it, letting his own tongue join into the dance that Quatre had begun.

One kiss. He could allow that much.

It wasn't his fault he decided suddenly, there was nothing he to do if he couldn't escape, if Quatre wound him up in the gossamer fine threads of his emotions. All he could do was submit and wait for a chance at freedom.

Pulling away, Quatre slid backwards and off the chair and Trowa leaned forward, instinctively protesting the loss of warmth, but the little blonde only fumbled with something on the desk. He returned quickly, his slight weight resting on Trowa's thighs as his hand moved between them. Warm, slick fingers circled Trowa's erection, stroking far too lightly as they trailed up the length of the shaft. They paused at the crown, a teasing touch at the ridge under the head and then back down, carefully oiling the hard flesh until Trowa's hips were moving upward into the delicate touch, face tight as he gave into temptation.

The hands pulled away and he felt Quatre shift forward, positioning himself and unspoken words of protest flew to his lips. He couldn't find the will to tell Quatre not to do this, that he was unprepared and it was going to hurt. A hand touched his cock again, stealing his breath as Quatre carefully guided it to the entrance of his body. His hands moved to rest on Trowa's shoulders as he carefully pushed downward.

Pressure, and he could feel Quatre's body resisting the invasion, unbearably tight and Trowa could do nothing but wait, straining upward futilely, unbelievable pleasure enshrouding him, sliding down to pool at the base of his belly as the snug passage admitted him in careful degrees.

There was a soft drop of wetness on his chest and he opened his eyes slightly, dazed with pleasure that was briefly blanked by shock as he looked at his unintended lover to see him crying, glistening tears sliding down his cheeks. His own chest tightened painfully, his eyes stinging as he watched.

It was too much to ask of him, to watch Quatre weep in the face of his own pleasure. "Quatre, don't...please..."

"No," he panted. "No, it's not so bad." The tears sliding down reddened cheeks belied his words as he pressed backwards again. His brow furrowed in concentration as he rocked forward slightly and then back, his expression clearing as he did it again, a little deeper this time until Trowa was finally seated deep inside, Quatre's bottom resting lightly against his thighs

"Oh!" Quatre gasped out, moving a little faster now, oddly beautiful with locks of his golden hair sweat darkened and clinging to his forehead and cheeks. Sweat glistened on his chest, gem-bright as his shifting weight moving rhythmically against Trowa's body.

Trowa closed his eyes against the sight, concentrating instead on the slick passage that clasped him so tightly and not allowing himself to listen to the tiny sounds Quatre made with each motion, the hands tightening and releasing on his shoulders with each downward thrust. He felt Quatre bury his face against the curve of his shoulder, hot, moist breath caressing his skin as one hand released its grip and slipped between their bodies to Quatre's neglected erection, stroking in time to the movements of their bodies.

Ecstasy was building between them, beckoning them closer and Trowa was lost to it, dragged along its path unwillingly but wanting it nonetheless as he moved as best he could with Quatre, their skin slipping together and Quatre's breath shifting from warm blurts against his neck to his ear.

"You do love me, don't you?" A quiet, pleading whisper, almost overshadowed by harsh pants and he shook his head desperately, not wanted to hear this, not now when his body was wrapped in pleasure and his emotions were laid bare.

"Don't you?" Pained entreaty in that sweet voice, silent weeping with each word a tear and Trowa gave in without a sound to mark it, finally followed his body and his emotions down the darker path and surrendered, knowing that his submission was a lie. He had already surrendered to Quatre, long ago, the moment they had first met.

Quatre stiffened against him, a harsh indrawn breath as he found his pleasure and his body clenched tightly, dragging a startled cry from Trowa as he fell over the edge and came, ecstasy falling between them in an unexpected rush and Trowa arched up hard, trying to get deeper, to stay within that delightful tightness for just a moment longer as the aftershocks of pleasure shook him to his core, leaving him defenseless against the boy panting in his arms.

He felt Quatre pull away, murmured a wordless protest as he expected the little blond to flee yet again, as he had before. The abrupt easing of the pressure on his arms as Quatre cut the ropes was so unexpected that Trowa nearly fell from the chair. His arms cramped as the blood flow increased and he hugged them against his body desperately, this time sliding deliberately to the floor as he curled into himself, his teeth gritted against pain that had followed so quickly behind pleasure.

He heard movement in front of him and managed to open his eyes to see Quatre kneeling next to him, still nude and the knife held loosely in his fingers. He smiled gently. "You can hate me for this if you want, Trowa, but never forget that I did this out of love."

Carefully, he reached out and freed one of Trowa's numb hands from its clenched hold. He held it gently in his own, rubbing it with the tips of his fingers before pressing the knife into it, oblivious to Trowa's shocked expression as he said quietly. "You can kill me now if you want to."

Lifting Trowa's nerveless hand, Quatre leaned against it, letting the cold metal blade rest over his heart as his hand had rested over Trowa's minutes and a lifetime ago. "Just do it. I'm ready, Trowa. Please. Just do it quickly."

Trowa stared at the blade in his hand unseeingly, feeling only the pulse of Quatre's heart beneath his fingers. Raising his head, he met Quatre's gaze with his own, and within his eyes was nothing but clear blue innocence. And love, that Trowa could deny, could ignore, could flee, but he could never destroy.

The knife fell from his fingers and clattered against the floor, loud in the silence of the room and Trowa could not look away from the sweet, lying innocent who was kneeling before him and he knew. The lack of ropes did not make him free.

"Bastard," he whispered softly, barely aware of having spoken.

The faintest knowing look seeped into those eyes. "Yes," Quatre agreed softly, serenely. "I'm sorry, but yes."

Lunging forward, Trowa kissed him fiercely, closing his eyes so he won't have to see the triumph in Quatre's as he pushed the smaller, unresisting body back against the floor. Quatre pulled free, tilting his head back as Trowa nibbled his way ungently down the line of his throat and he laughed softly.

"I told you I'd win."

The urgent pressure of Trowa's lips silenced his words and he gave himself over to it, tying the taller boy to him ever tighter with the unbreakable bonds of his love.

-In another room-

Two figures were entwined on the bed, one boy trapping the other's wrists against the mattress as he moved with careful, measured thrusts inside his lover, the boy beneath him writhing and pleading, begging him to stop teasing, to just do it, to please, please, fuck him harder.

Suddenly stopping, he pinning his lover beneath him and ignoring the angry protests until the other boy fell into sullen silence, secretly enjoying the torment as he waited for whatever it was his lover had in mind.

"I know what you did."

Calmly said, and he blinked, startled and confused, and then dawning awareness seeped into his eyes. He nodded, not bothering to feign innocence as he asked easily, "Oh? And how do you know?"

"I saw you."

"Oh, so that -was- you at the door, I thought it might be." He grinned. "Couldn't have been Quatre, he would have passed out in the hall." He tilted his head curiously, "So, now you're spying on me, are you?" A soft laugh. "Did it turn you on?"

His lover ignored that, instead ordering in a low voice, "Stay away from him."

"All right," he said agreeably, "Trowa wasn't as interesting as I thought he would be. I'm more interested in Quatre now anyway. Or maybe Chang, I always wondered what he..."

A hand tightened around his throat, choking off his words but the amusement glittering in his eyes never faded.

"I said, stay away from them."

The pressure on his throat eased and eyes gleaming, he rasped out, "No, you didn't. And why should I, anyway? I don't belong to you."

"Yes, you do."

"Hmph. I do not and if you want me to stay with you, perhaps you'll recall that the next time you feel the urge to spend the entire night using the computer."

"If I ever catch you with someone else again, I'll kill you." A dark whisper but the violet eyes beneath him were unimpressed. "You belong to me, Duo Maxwell."

"Do I?" he asked silkily, his voice lowering to a husky sigh as he arched his hips upward, his lover responding with a slow, deep thrust as he whispered, "Prove it."

Then the room was filled with sounds that weren't words, soft cries and the harsh squeaks of the mattress as he did just that.

 
-finis
 

 

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