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"Thirty One Days "Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: drabbles, Thirty One Days of Drabbles,
Three Paragraph Fics, drabble challenge Pairings: Trowa Barton, Duo Maxwell, Heero Yuy, Quatre Raberba Winner, Chang Wufei Summary: A challenge of three paragraph drabbles for thirty one days. Tags will be added when new drabbles are posted and rating may be subject to change. Notes: Wufei/Treize. Master/Slave, in whichever context suits your fancy. Maybe they’re roleplaying. Maybe the Gundam pilots became evil, tyrannical dictators after they won the war and enslaved their enemies. Whatever floats your boat. ^_^ I’m so going to Hell. Written for @outofworkshinigami Warning for possible dubious consent.
"Thirty One Days " The tinkle of chains echoed off the walls of the suite as the slave shifted on the silk cushion in the corner of the room. The dim lighting from the flickering candles and the crackling fire cast moving shadows across the chintz wallpaper and half-encased the man sitting nearby, creating an almost demonic effect as they played across the side of his face. The slave watched elegantly tapered fingers drum a silent staccato on a leather-clad knee and shivered, curling in on himself as the man’s eyes observed him with unwavering intent. The Master was angry, the evidence of his wrath decorated the side of the slave’s face. The inflamed hand print was still warm, still prickly with the sting of the slap. He’d been caught masturbating on the Master’s bed and the punishment had been severe. His backside still ached from the violent fucking, laid out across the same bed he’d been struck on and chained to. The same bed where he’d committed his faux pas. His Master’s pleasure still clung to his skin, seeping out onto the silk fabric beneath him and he pulled his legs in tighter, hoping he would not be punished for staining the same cushion he’d been banished to. “Treize…” He glanced up, daring to meet the dark gaze of his Master, his breath hitching at the man’s exotic beauty. His black hair was down and loose around his shoulders, wavy after being held tight behind his head. His voice was cold, icy like Arctic glaciers. “Do you think you’ve been punished enough?” He didn’t know what the right answer was, but he chanced a nod in the affirmative and waited to see if he would be disciplined for daring to assume he’d paid the penalty for his transgression. To his relief, his Master sighed, a murmured, “Very well,” and tapped the side of his chair. Treize gratefully crawled across the floor, dragging his chain behind him, and knelt at the man’s feet, head bowed in supplication. He keened as a calloused hand stroked his sweaty hair away from his forehead. He was forgiven. In this life, in this moment, it was all that mattered.
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