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"Little Red"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: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate
Universe - Little Red Riding Hood Fusion, Smut, Violence, Blood, Mild
Gore, Horror, Dark, Shapeshifting, dubcon Pairings: Trowa Barton/Quatre Raberba Winner Summary: Quatre makes the journey to his grandmother's
cabin in the woods, armed with only a red cape and a basket of food.
It doesn't take long for him to realize that something is terribly
wrong and that his gran is not exactly who she says she is.A retelling
of Little Red Riding Hood ~ In smutty GW style because why tf not? " Little Red" There was something oddly satisfying about being sprawled on a virtual stranger's sofa while in your wolf body, flipping through television channels, and picking your victim's flesh out of your teeth with a sliver of the same broom handle that was nearly shoved up your ass a couple months ago. It had taken a little trial and error to get a good enough grip on the sliver of wood. Being that his paws lacked opposable thumbs, it was quite a challenge to keep his hold on it, but he wasn't ready to change back to his normal form just yet. His tail swished and smacked idly against the foot of the couch as he surfed through the channels from one talk show to a soap opera, and then to another talk show, cursing the dead woman in the other room for not having the decency to invest in cable television like a normal person. God, I hate daytime TV. He glanced around at the interior of the living room, noting with distaste the gaudy floral wall paper and tacky velvet drapes trimmed with lace. Trowa figured the old bitty was going for Victorian decor, but she'd failed on multiple levels. There was the usual display of generic paintings mounted on the walls, but no Rembrandt's to write home about. The old cheapskate probably acquired them at some flea market, or another. In the corner of the room, there was an oblong table held up by the signature curve of Queen Anne style legs, painted white though the lacquer was peeling in places. That's why you always sand the varnish off before you paint it, you stupid bitch. On top of the table was a collection of photographs, each photo encased in gold and silver frames with a variety of different faces smiling at him from behind their glass covers. He rolled his body off the couch and walked over to the table, gazing at each of the pictures with mild interest. Some looked quite old and he figured they were likely photos of the old hag herself, a little surprised that she'd been quite the looker in her younger days. In some, a tall regal man in a traditional Muslim thwab with a red and white keffiyeh on top of his head stood sternly beside her. In a few, he was seated in an ornately scrolled wooden chair while she stood just behind and to the side with her hands resting on his shoulders. The photos seemed to be arranged in chronological order and as he looked further left, the couple was then photographed with an infant cradled in the woman's arms. A little further and that infant had become a young child, but there was another infant, and then another, and then another. Fucking hell, how many rugrats did this bitch spawn? The next series of photos that were lined up in front of those were what Trowa assumed to be her children, fully grown and with young children of their own. There was a photo of a tall man, looking rather dapper in a three piece suit and mustache, surrounded by a horde of young women, all blonde beauties with radiant smiles. He got the sense that they were his daughters due to the fact that they all had similar features. He cringed at the thought of being surrounded by so many females at once. What a hot mess of hormones that must have been. When he got to the middle of the collection, there was a new addition to the women in the photos. A young boy stood at the front in a pair of white shorts and a light colored t-shirt. He was just as blond as his sisters and had the same charming smile, but with the added cuteness of dimples in each cherubic cheek. They all look like they've been carved out of cream cheese, he thought wryly. The last set of photos lined the very front of the table, showing the young women older, some with their own children. By the time he reached the end, his heart skipped a beat as he came face to face with the young man whom he was certain was the little boy all grown up. God, but he was a beauty. The familiar throb of arousal returned as he observed the photo, taking in every little detail. The young man was perched on the edge of what looked like a sailboat. He was quite slender looking, pretty for a male. His grin was wide as he held up a hand, seemingly waving to Trowa with those dimples displayed in cheeks that still had a touch of baby fat. He stared, fascinated by the bewitching creature who smiled back at him with unabashed openness. The young man's aura seemed to glow with an innocence that Trowa had never seen before in anyone of their age. Most young people nowadays had already become quite jaded by the world and he was no exception. This boy seemed so pure, so devoid of corruption. Trowa was suddenly overcome by a tempting desire to change that. To corrupt and taint that sweet flesh and watch that beautiful face become wary by the burden of life. It was the ultimate sin and his cock extended again from within the safety of its hood, hard and desperately wanting to fuck. He shifted back into his human form and swiped the photo with hands that trembled from the lust coursing through his veins. He took the picture with him as he went back to the couch, intent on jacking off to it, wanting to see his come splattered all over that angelic face. He'd already made up his mind that the photo was going home with him. So you're a murderer and now you're a creep. Keeping it classy, Tro. Just as he was about to settle his bare ass on the sofa and take care of business, he caught whiff of a scent that he'd only got an inkling of since he'd been there. He knew it wasn't the old woman, but the scent of someone who'd been there often, stronger now than the lingering traces left behind in the house. His ears picked up the faint crunch of snow outside and his heart thumped in panic as he scrambled off the couch and over to the window. He peeked covertly through the drapes and spotted a figure, clad in a red cape approaching the front of the cabin. When the figure lifted its head, he saw that face...the exact same face in the photograph he was holding, brightened by the snow beneath him and even more beautiful in the flesh. Oh, shit! It's him. It's really him! But was he alone? Trowa peered into the surrounding forest and saw no sign of any vehicles, or other people. The boy did not appear armed either and his body sagged in relief as the possibility of trying to outrun a shotgun didn't seem likely. He watched as the young man got closer and ducked behind the curtain when sky blue eyes darted towards the window. When he glanced back, the boy was looking down as he mounted the steps. The handle of a picnic basket was wedged in the crook of his elbow and his delicately tapered fingers slid up the railing with each ascending step. A jolt of wicked arousal shot up Trowa's spine like a bolt of lightning and he backed away from the window, taking careful steps backward until he reached the doorway to the small and femininely decorated bedroom. He glanced behind him at the frilly comforter and throw pillows scattered across the bed and made a quick snap decision, hoping against hope that this would go the way the plan was being enacted in his mind. He could have this boy. Have him and then eat him afterwards to prevent him from ratting Trowa out, and then keep the photograph for a souvenir, a nostalgic reminder of his conquest. The authorities would be none the wiser when they found the mangled bodies and would just write it off as a vicious animal attack. Decision made with no time to second guess, he launched himself onto the bed and yanked down the thick covers. He stuck his legs between the sheets and pulled the comforter up to his chin, then thought better of it and wrapped it around his head. The old woman had not opened the drapes in the bedroom so it would be difficult for the young man to see his attacker's face in the murky darkness. He heard a gentle knock at the front door, followed by a soft, "Jidd?" God, his voice! He sounds like the most beautiful music. Like a harp played by an angel among the clouds. But how did he sound when he was screaming? Or weeping? Perverse as it may have been, that was what Trowa wanted to hear. He took a moment to make sure his falsetto was right and then squeaked out, "Here! I'm here -" Shit, I don't know his name "- Sonny!" He could hear the turn of a door knob, followed by a whoosh as the door opened and then the voice was louder, clearer. "Jidd? Are you alright?" Trowa squeaked again and cleared his throat. "Y - yes, deary!" He winced as his voice cracked. Fuck, he's not going to fall for this unless he's a complete idiot. "I'm - I'm afraid I've become a bit downtrodden with this - this -" God, how do old people talk? "- I'm afraid I'm a bit under the weather with this chill in the air." "Oh. I'm sorry, Gran. Summer colds are the worst." Jesus, he is an idiot. "Are you sure you're alright?" I just said I was, you little - "Y - yes! Yes, I'm alright. I'll be right as rain soon enough, I'm sure." Trowa watched the young man's approach with the narrowed eyes of a predator. The kid had taken off the red cape and was now standing in the doorway to the bedroom. He was cast in silhouette thanks to the darkness, but Trowa could easily see the shape of his body clad in a t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. The boy was rather short, compact, but with a noticeable swell of hips that flared out from a tiny waist. His shoulders were narrow and his hair appeared longer than it was in the photo. "Your voice sounds really bad, Jidd." Shut up, you little whelp. "Yes, I know, dear." "Perhaps I should call your doctor?" "No! No, no. I'll be alright. I just need to rest for a few days." "Are you sure?" Kid, if you ask me that one more time..."I'm sure, deary," Trowa croaked and then added, "You know how much I hate seeing doctors." Fuck, I hope I'm right about that. Knowing my luck, the old bitch was a hypochondriac who jumped at every opportunity to see a doctor. The boy laughed, a delightful sound, and Trowa breathed a sigh of relief. "Yes, I know. How about I fix you some tea and then I'll get the Mashi going?" Fuck the Mashi, whatever that is. I have something far tastier in mind. "Oh, deary? Could you come a little closer so I can see you better? I dare say, I think you've grown." "Maybe a little." Trowa's heart banged against his rib cage as the young man stepped into the room, his sweet scent becoming stronger. "It's so dark in here. I should open the drapes to let in some li - ight!" Trowa reached out like a shark snagging a low-flying seagull and closed his arms around the boy once he got close enough, not even giving him the opportunity to open the drapes. He threw him down onto the bed and climbed on top, catching the flailing arms and pinning them over the kid's head. "Jidd! What are you - get off me!" Trowa lowered his head and waited for the young man's eyes to adjust to the near darkness, grinning like the Cheshire cat as they widened in shock. "You're not Jidd!" "No shit." "Who are you? Where's my Jidd?" "Oh, she's around here somewhere." It was probably best not to tell him what had become of his grandmother just yet. He wanted to ravage the boy, but he preferred the boy to want to be ravaged in favor of fucking an unwilling participant. The sweetest of conquests were those who put up a fight, but eventually surrendered to their conqueror, unable to resist the carnal pleasure of being dominated. And this little morsel was the ultimate prize. "Who are you? What do you want?" He pressed the hard curve of his groin against the boy's crotch and smiled as he heard the hitch of breath. Okay, he's not as stupid as I'd originally thought. The kid renewed his struggles, spitting curses as he tried to wrench his wrists out of Trowa's grip. His feet thumped fruitlessly against the bed, but could gain no real leverage with Trowa's legs clamped around his thighs. "No! Let me go! What did you do to my Jidd?!" Alright, enough of this. He lifted up just high enough to flip the young man over onto his belly which gave Trowa the advantage of being able to hold him down without the risk of getting a fist to the face. The kid soon realized that threats would not get him anywhere and his voice shifted to a more plaintive tone. "Please, please let me go. I'll give you anything you want -" "Yes, you will," Trowa informed him, curling his fingers into the thin fabric of the boy's t-shirt. He yanked his arm back, ripping the shirt down the middle, and pulled the material out from under him, twisting it until it resembled a loose rope. He fumbled for the flailing hands and brought them together at the small of the boy's back, quickly tying his bony wrists together with the remains of the shirt. "Please," the boy begged, panting into the comforter. "Please don't do this. I don't - if it's money you want -" "Don't insult me, kid," Trowa muttered, summoning a claw to cut through the thicker fabric of the denim jeans. Careful not to cut the young man's skin, he drew a ragged line right down the middle and used both hands to rip away the rest. His mouth watered as the boy's pert ass was exposed, resisting the urge to bend down and sink his teeth into a supple cheek. "You got something against underwear?" He couldn't see it, but he was certain the kid was blushing profusely. "What do you want from me?" "I thought it was obvious," he said, and thanks to his keen senses, he could pick up traces of something underlying the powerful scent of fear. Something vinous and raw and he easily identified it as arousal. He leaned down and brushed his nose against the shell of the boy's ear, inhaling deep. The kid whimpered, but the smell was even stronger now and Trowa's lips curled back from his teeth in a shark-like grin. "I think you know exactly what I want and I think you're not as opposed to it as you pretend you are." The boy didn't answer, opting instead to bury his face in the comforter. Trowa lifted up and scooted further down, tearing the jeans off the young man's tense legs. "Relax, kid. Just go with it, yeah?" "Are you going to kill me when you're done? Did you rape my Jidd?" He recoiled in disgust. "God, no! What the fuck do you take me for?" "Do you really want me to answer that?" Trowa tipped his nose in the air and sniffed, "I'll have you know that I do have standards." The boy shifted and raised his bound hands an inch off his back. "Can you untie me? I won't fight you." Trowa stared down at his prey's prone body. His human eyes, much more capable of picking out detail, had grown accustomed to the dark and the vision before him fueled the lust that burned within his loins. The boy's skin was the color of rich cream and silky smooth. Narrow shoulders dipped into the sensuous curve of his back and waist and then flared out again with the erotic swell of hips. He had an ass that was so fuckable, it made Trowa dizzy with desire. "I don't think so." "Then just do what you're going to do and get it over with," the kid muttered, his voice soft with defeat and half muffled in the plush fabric of the bedding. Trowa moved down and wedged his knees into the space between the boy's thighs, pushing outwards to spread them even more. He could hear the beat of the young man's heart, fluttering erratically inside his chest and could smell the sweet tang of his blood as it pumped delicious adrenaline and pheromones through his veins. He rested his palms against the soft flesh of the boy's ass and dug his fingers in, his eyes closing as he savored the feel of those warm, supple cheeks in his hands. He squeezed and kneaded the luscious mounds, listening intently to the trembling mewls of his prey. The boy's hands twisted within their bonds, his fingers curling into fists. He was fighting his own impulses, his own desires, evident in the way his muscles tensed, relaxed, and then tensed again. The wall of resistance was crumbling and Trowa only needed to nudge him a little more before the floodgates of surrender were fully opened. He parted the fleshy cheeks and lowered his head until his nose was only an inch from his prize. He breathed in the boy's sweet musk, his eyes rolling back at the answering whimper. The temptation to taste overrode everything else and he pushed his face forwards, nosing between the cleft and licking a wet swath over the opening. "Oh - oh, fuck...please. Please, I can't I - let me go, please. I won't say any - say anythi - oh, Allah..." The boy's pleas broke off with breathy moan, the pleasure of being eaten out melting away the last of his struggles. His body relaxed completely as he mewled into the mattress, humping against the bed with languid rolls of his hips. Trowa pressed closer, sucking at the boy's rim and pushing his tongue past the tight resistance. "Oh, G - oh, Allah," the boy slurred through lax lips. He inched his thighs open even more in a wanton display of submission. "Oh, fuck. That feels so good." Trowa pulled his mouth away with a loud, sucking sound and bit gently into a soft cheek. "You ain't seen nothing yet, baby." He held him open with one hand and brought his other down, circling the loosened opening with the tip of his finger. He spread the saliva around and then he pressed inside. The tight heat and the sudden tenseness of the boy's body rippled around him in a mindless, velvety grip. He groaned into a quivering buttock, grinding his cock into the bedding as he listened to the young man cry out and lose himself to the pleasure. He drove his finger in deeper and curled it, rubbing the tip against the boy's prostate and relished the full-body shudder that resulted from the stimulation. He dipped his head back down and added his tongue, licking at the apex of their joining. The boy's hips pumped frantically against the bed, his breath coming harder and faster. He garbled out a, "Oh, fuck...fuck, I'm - I'm gonna c -" And the rest dissolved into a reedy cry as his hips shook and lost their rhythm. Trowa could smell his orgasm, as sweet and full of life as the blood in his prey's veins. He flipped him onto his back and devoured what still clung to the boy's belly and cock, sending him into a frenzy of overstimulation. "Oh, please," he panted. "It's too much...stop." He twisted one way and then the other, trying to dislodge Trowa's mouth from his groin, but Trowa pinned his hips to the bed and sucked the softening cock between his lips. The boy let out a sob of agony and blubbered incoherently. His body convulsed as he tossed his head back and forth, begging for reprieve. Only his pleas were in vain because Trowa had no intention of letting up. He sucked harder, forcing the cock in his mouth to harden again, pulling off once it was straining up from between the boy's legs and clear liquid drooled from the tip. "That's better," he hummed and sat up, looking around the room for something that could be used for lube and spotted a jar of Vaseline on the dresser. It wasn't the best option, but it was better than nothing. He climbed off the bed, leaving his prey panting and desperate, and swiped the jar. He popped the lid off, dug his index and middle fingers into the goop, and scooped out a generous amount before placing the jar back on the dresser. The boy's eyes glittered with desire, his knees bending towards the ceiling and thighs parting wide as Trowa approached him. "Take me," he whispered breathlessly, acquiescence visible in the arch of his back and the tremble of his lips. "Take me, please. I'm -" "Oh, I will," Trowa assured him. At this point, nothing could stop him. He rubbed the Vaseline over his cock and knelt onto the bed, crawling between the splayed legs. The boy gazed up at him, his doe eyes wide and pleading. Trowa skimmed his hands over soft calves and then dipped them down to grasp quivering thighs. He hoisted them up to his shoulders and leaned over, propping himself up on one hand and used the other to guide his cock towards his prize. Gentle was not the name of the game. The boy's introduction to sex would not be with soft, tender lovemaking. It would be rough thrusts and bruising grips, animalistic fucking on the darkest, most carnal level. He circled the tip of his cock around the opening and then shoved in all the way, his eyes fluttering closed from the tight squeeze of resistance and the exquisite scream of pain that echoed off the walls. The boy choked and gasped as he worked his cock in deep, pulling out and forcing his way back in again, dicking him into the mattress with quick brutal slaps of his hips against the soft cheeks of his ass. The boy's body flexed beneath him, overwhelmed with the fiery burn of ruthless penetration, and tried to push him out by bearing down. The only thing it accomplished was enhancing Trowa's pleasure with the rippling clutch of internal muscles. Trowa grunted with exertion, eyes rolling towards the ceiling as he plunged his cock into the hot squeeze of paradise. When the boy's resistance intensified with kicking legs and thrashing torso, Trowa grabbed him by the backs of his knees and shoved his legs down against the bed, pinning them in place and effectively holding him immobile. The boy was beyond words, weeping nonsense into the muggy air of the room, but Trowa had no difficulty growling words of degradation at his helpless prey as he bounced the kid's body back and forth across the bed. Amazingly, the abject filth spilling from his mouth coupled with the repeated press of his cock against the boy's prostate seemed to do the trick and within minutes, his prey was limp and rolling with the force of the thrusts. "That's right. Take it, you little slut. How's that dick feel inside you, hmm?" He watched with wicked satisfaction as the young man's back bowed, his tousled head tipping back to expose a delicate, swan-like neck. The porcelain column of flesh was pulsing with life and passion and it triggered Trowa's teeth to extend into their wolfish points. He shut his eyes tight, willing the beast inside away before he gave into the temptation to sink those teeth into the vulnerable throat. Once he felt he had himself under control, he opened his eyes again and gazed down at his prey, watching the muscles of the young man's toned abdomen tighten. The boy was quickly rising to another climax and it wouldn't be much longer before Trowa followed him into oblivion. He slipped his arms beneath the kid's body and tipped himself backwards, bringing the boy with him where he settled on top of Trowa's chest with his legs splayed out on either side of his hips. He gripped the boy's ass, using the fleshy cheeks as leverage, and pushed his hips up into the tight, velvety heat. His prey's head rested on his chest, drooling slightly onto the sweaty sinew of Trowa's shoulder as he was fucked senseless, rubbing his cock with abandon over the ridges of Trowa's belly. "Dirty little whore," Trowa rasped into the damp hair. "You've been waiting for this your whole life, haven't you? Just dying for a capable man to come along and put you in your place. I have a feeling you've never even come across a real man before otherwise you would have been thrown down and fucked a dozen times already." The boy bleated, the sound weak and drawn out as his body twitched and then Trowa felt the flood of wetness pool over his belly. He never once faltered in his vigorous thrusts, pushing up into the boy's convulsing heat and forcing his prey's ass down onto his cock. The kid gurgled and shook, the agonizing press on his prostate too much sensation after his second orgasm. "S - st - sto -" "I'm not done with you yet, you little slut." He lunged forward, toppling the boy onto his back and turned the limp body over until he was sprawled on his belly. Trowa grabbed a few throw pillows and shoved them beneath the boy's pelvis until his pert ass was up in the air. He pressed his face between the cheeks and licked into him, relishing in the sweet taste of his prey. He lapped and suckled at the opening, loving the plaintive sound of the boy's whimpers until his cock throbbed, reminding him of its need. He rose up, propped himself over the boy's lax body, and pressed his cock back inside, ignoring the weakened protests of his prey. He fucked into him with sharp slaps of his hips, watching the erotic slide of his dick disappear into the glistening opening. His orgasm surged up, swift and powerful and he tipped his head back, an ear-shattering howl emerging from his throat, so loud that it cracked and shattered the only window in the room. He emptied himself inside the boy, slowing his movements only when his cock stopped pulsing and then he dropped onto his prey's sweaty back, huffing into the curls that wisped around the boy's nape. Awareness returned when he realized his teeth had extended into points again and he abruptly jerked his head away once he noticed they were closed around the side of the boy's neck and ready to bite through. Kill him. You need to kill him. Do it now while he's asleep and he'll never know what happened. It's the most merciful thing you can do for him. I - I can't. You have to! He's going to tattle once he gets home and then you'll end up with the fucking calvary banging down your door. You know how the authorities feel about shapeshifters already. You just proved yourself the animal they always suspected you were. If you kill him now, he won't be able to pick you out of a lineup, that is, if they don't just shoot you on the spot. He groaned and dropped his head on top of the boy's, listening to the soft, even puffs of breath. He was dead to the world and if there was ever a chance to save his own ass, this was it. But...he couldn't do it. Fucking hell, he could not bring himself to kill him. Do it! Kill him! It's your only chance! I could keep him, he argued. Make him my pet. He enjoyed it. And what happens if you forget yourself and accidentally kill him later? That won't happen. You think he'll be willing to be your pet? Especially after what you did to his grandmother? He doesn't need to know that I killed her. Good God, are you listening to yourself? This is crazy talk! I want him. I need him. I'm taking him with me. And then what? You'll chain him to your bed? Force him into a life of sexual slavery? I can make him want it. You're nuts. You're fucking insane. Mark my words, this will lead nowhere good and will likely end up with your head taxidermied and mounted on the sheriff's wall. I'm taking him and that's final. He's mine. I'm going to make him want me. You can't make anyone want you. He shoved the voice of reason away, not wanting to hear anymore. This was the best option. Both for his own and for the boy's protection because killing him was something Trowa could no longer consider. This boy, this young man was a prize. A beautiful prize who would look positively breathtaking sprawled across his bed with black leather restraints cutting into his wrists and ankles, contrasting so exquisitely with his creamy skin. It could work. He could make it work. Train the boy to obey. Trowa would be good to him, treat him right and before too long, he'd have this lovely specimen crawling on his hands and knees to please his master. It wouldn't be the first time a shapeshifter had taken on a pet. Duo had captured Heero nearly three years ago and that was still going strong. He knew how to break a pet, train him into obedience and loyalty. He would help Trowa do the same with this boy. He shut away the part of himself that seethed and reminded him of how immoral and unethical this was, and climbed off the bed to retrieve his clothing from the living room where he'd left them. The boy's clothes were torn beyond repair so Trowa simply wrapped him in the comforter after he'd dressed himself and then scooped the young man into his arms. He grabbed the remains of the boy's clothes and stuffed them into the picnic basket. He needed to remove all the evidence that either of them had been there. With the basket snug in the crook of his elbow and the boy safely in his arms, he carried him outside. They would be safe once they reached his home, a national reservation for shapeshifters which was governed by its own laws. There, they were untouched by government interference and rule. He would be protected there and in turn, he would keep the boy safe. As he passed the chicken coop, he jotted down a mental note to come back for the hens. Alone with no one to feed and look after them, they would die and it was much more conducive to take them back to the community where they could be bred and their eggs and meat harvested. He stopped short at the entrance of the forest, remembering that he'd forgotten the picture and turned to go back and fetch it. You've got the real thing right here, you dumb ass. Oh, yeah. He grinned and looked down at the boy's sleeping face, so pretty, so peaceful. "I still don't know your name, but I will soon. There's nothing to worry about. You belong to me and I'll look after you. I promise. Let me take you home." He tucked the end of the comforter beneath the boy's chin and smiled as he carried his burden into the dense canopy of the forest with a cheerful spring in his step. He whistled a familiar tune from his childhood, the jovial, birdlike sound echoing off the surrounding trees. Who's afraid of the big, bad wolf... Fini.
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