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"The Case Brief "Written By: Asymphototropic
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam wing. Author: Asymphototropic (attracted toward the
light, but never quite arrives there) Email: asymphototropic@aol.com Rating: NC 17 Warnings: language, yaoi, Summary: in honor of upcoming April 1st, a small fic featuring a prank gone slightly awry. Pairings: 4x2
"The Case Brief "
Part 2. Quatre Winner felt his lingering adrenaline-high still coursing through his circulation. He had been eloquent today. He had furthered his goals. His mission, albeit difficult, was looking achievable. He was good at what he did, and he knew it. And he could feel acknowledgment of it from the others. Today he had drawn all sorts of flattering attention. From the crowd outside the Assembly Hall, shrieking his name with vocal longing. To the reporters and photographers, documenting his arrival with intense concentration. From security inside the building, so solicitous for his safety. But most flattering and desirable of all. He had received the serious attention of the other representatives to the conference. He was a force to deal with; they had confirmed this with their addresses and their looks. He was the powerful son of an influential family. His heritage was unavoidable. He was genetically programmed to be a leader, and trained to it too. He craved the power. It thrilled him. But the emotions, the feelings of supreme dominance were too seductive. He had to avoid seeking the superior position at the cost of his worthy objectives. Over and again, he assured himself that he was doing something good for others. Something noble. But his conscience gnawed at him with a discomfortable burning sensation. "You are enjoying this entirely too much, Winner," he chided himself. So acrid was this feeling, in combination with the energy of his unspent adrenaline, that he paced the room frenetically. Meanwhile Maxwell sat before the computer. He had called up a Preventers' ID page and was scrolling through image after image, face after face. Who the hell was the guy sitting next to him in the conference? Duo had started with the assumption that it was a reporter or photographer. But none of the people with press passes to this meeting appeared to be the mystery man. He was aware of Quatre's pacing. His buddy was hell bent in mission mode. The room sizzled with his presence. Duo had already decided not to discuss with his friend his problems in the peanut gallery. Winner had his hands full with the conference honchos. He didn't need any distractions. Besides, Maxwell felt confident he could handle this difficulty alone. He just wasn't certain how, yet. "Damn Garixsenn." The slimy L1 representative and Winner's chief opponent in the trade negotiations. "If he calls me 'the honorable representative from L4' one more time, I may spit in his eye like a camel. What do you suppose? Is he that proud to have read Shakespeare in grammar school? So are we all, all honorable men? Shit." Quatre paced determinedly. A damn, a shit, and a threat of discourtesy, all in one paragraph? Quatre was definitely riled, Duo told himself. "What are you staring at?" Winner demanded, eying the comp screen. "All manner of persons with press passes. So I don't make an unwitting statement to some undercover word jockey with a hidden mike in the men's pissoir." "Oh." Suddenly, Winner needed reassurance. Confirmation that he wasn't slimy and power mad. Affirmation that he was certainly still one of the good guys, on the justice side of the conflict. And only one person could comfort him the way he needed. "Are you through yet?" He reached his burning hand toward the braid. Touched it with one finger. It swayed seductively, as if possessing a separate vital force. "Nurp. Not yet." "Couldn't you come back to it. In a while?" "Huh? Why?" "Figure it out." Winner's hand followed his fingers, sliding under the braid to the warm skin on Duo's neck. Without turning from the images, Maxwell grinned. "Thought you were that strong proponent of sublimation. Using the energy of my libido to further our goals. No hanky panky until the pact is written, signed, sealed and delivered in triplicate. And the conference is over. Wasn't that what you said?" "Changed my mind," Quatre murmured into the smooth flesh underlying the braid. "You want it, don't you?" he coaxed. Maxwell drew his nether lip between his teeth in a grimace. "I really need to get this done." Winner licked all around Duo's bitten lip. "It will keep." He tongued the smooth chin, cheek, ear lobe, helix. The Kid groaned. Quatre tumbled him to the floor. It was silently matted in wall to wall silk, with handloomed Persian carpets scattered lavishly over the surface. "You want it?" he repeated, gleaming glance down at the face and body under him. He raised the T shirt to armpit level. Then caressed Maxwell's torso. The two bodies were of the same height. Winner carried slightly more weight. Lighter or not, Maxwell could beat him in a fight. But only if he went with street rules dirty. Which he wouldn't, under the circumstances. No. Not dirty, this. Their fight was together, righteous allies. Comrades. Friends. Quatre tweaked twin nipples in circular teases. There came some small gasps to interrupt the silent panting under him. "Undress for me," Winner urged. Maxwell eyed the petitioner assessingly. Then obeyed, drawing off his T shirt, mussing his bangs, and exposing lean lengths of muscles, running smoothly under pale flesh. Winner allowed the Kid to rise onto his knees, long enough to unfasten and lower his jeans. Then he toppled him again, drawing off the remaining articles of attire while examining the increasingly exposed flesh with hungry attention. "I want to eat every inch of you." Maxwell chuckled silently at Quatre's desire. "Unbutton my shirt," Winner directed. He waited for compliance, then dove down to bite the Kid's shoulder. "Unfasten my trousers. Now use your mouth on me. More. All the way down. Stop now. Back off. Sit up. Let me look at you. That's right. You are so well worth viewing." Quatre groped into the downward fold of his trousers, fingering Duo's succulent slobber, smearing it over his rock solid erection. At a distance, the Kid knelt, licking his own damp lips and squirming impatiently at the sudden and thorough halt to their contact. "Fold your hands behind your head for me. Yes, like that. You know, you do that pretty often, without thinking about it? And when you do, I like to imagine the pose without your shirt blocking the view. Stay like that. Hold still now." He approached. Spreading his fingers wide, he pressed his hands into the solid scapulares musculature, appreciating the marble statuary feel. Then he nuzzled into the fine axillary hair, snuffling the rich musk of one lean armpit. The Kid snorted. "You smell so good to me," Winner muttered into the skin. Causing Duo to collapse in a ticklish heap. Winner rose languidly, holding up his disordered trousers so they didn't trip him. He fetched a small container of hand cream from his briefcase, and an elaborate tapestried cushion from the armchair. He placed the cushion on a small throw rug, patterned intricately in brilliant crimson and golden buff. Changed the angle of the desk lamp until it threw a narrow hot spotlight onto the cushion. He grabbed the Kid's elbow and tugged him over. "Lie down. Face down. Just here. Like that. Yes. Get comfortable. Stretch out." He organized face, arms, and braid until the sum appearance suited his artistic pleasure. Adjusted cushion under hips until the contour of raised buttocks was hotly highlighted to his supreme satisfaction. He drew the ass cheek outlines with his tongue, causing his subject to writhe. Then he slicked cream between his palms. It smelled mildly of rosewater and glycerin, a pleasant aroma of gardens and moon glow. He lavished the emollient on tender flesh. Then alternately penetrated with tongue and fingers. "Come onto my lap to play now." He drew the Kid up, his back muscles pressed firmly to Winner's chest where his shirt parted to maximize their contact. Quatre spread Duo's knees wide with his own and lowered him down, speared gradually and thoroughly. When Maxwell could settle no further upon his erection, Winner began alternately rocking and rotating his hips. While his fingers strayed and played with the Kid's nipples, cock and balls. He nibbled at an ear lobe and murmured. "Don't you want to come now?" Duo came hard into Quatre's hands, and Quatre came hard into Duo.
He hadn't perceived how plain damn tired he was until he awoke from a drowse to find himself stickily post coital, naked on an antique Persian carpet, having been fucked royally by Quatre Winner. Who was caressing him still, as if he were some sort of tame house cat. Silently, Maxwell gathered his wits, then moved around to gather his clothes. He pulled back into his shirt, boxers and jeans. Then padded barefoot over to the computer. "Duo?" Quatre asked doubtfully. Maxwell glanced over at him. Smirked a half grin and winked to show it was okay. Winner relaxed visibly at the gesture. "Oh," he groaned. "I have a whole new stack of briefs to read for tomorrow's meeting. Best get started on that." "I'll help you summarize them, just as soon as I polish off reviewing these ugly mugs," the Kid told him. And they were back to the grind. Following their interlude of bumps and grinds.
Still, a state approaching sleep-deprived delirium may be blamed for what occurred next. Maxwell devised a little prank to play on Winner. Just to get his opinion of himself back up to rapscallion level. Feeling refreshed after his shower, he returned to the office, where his buddy was still hard at work. The L2 Kid grinned demonically as he sneaked a legal-looking file folder into the middle of the stack Quatre was gradually perusing. |
