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"Turning the Tables"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: Yaoi, introspective, D/s elements, I
Got Deep, Sorry Not Sorry Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Quatre knows what’s expected of him. He knows how to play the game. But with Trowa, there’s a different game. Deeper, darker. One where they let go of what makes them human and learn to embrace the absolute. AN: So here's Part 2 of Turning the Tables. Like it says in the tags, there are elements of D/s, control, restraining, rough sex, etc. If you read the first part, you already know this, but this part delves a little (okay, a lot) more into it. To some readers, it may come off as abuse, but it's important to stress that it is NOT abuse. It is 100% consensual between two parties who love and trust each other. Part 2 In the "Turning the Tables" Arc. "Imperium"
There was a delicious agony one experienced when being held down and ruthlessly fucked. For Quatre, it was a divine occurrence. Celestial in ways he couldn't even begin to describe. The sensation of helplessness as he was pinned against the carpet, his arms wrenched behind his back, was sublime. The rough slap of Trowa's hips against his ass, almost bruising in its fierceness, reducing him to mere whimpers and breathless pants. The tears he cried were not tears of fear, or sadness, or despondence. His subjugation at his lover's hands was not degrading, or humiliating. It was liberating. It made him feel on top of the world. Comfortable and content to let go completely, trusting Trowa with everything he was, knowing he would show him paradise. Of course, the game never started out that way. Quatre was always expected to take the upper hand in life, even when he was never actually given it until the war. And he did well at it. Was a natural leader. Heero had seen that in him even before Quatre himself had. He'd been hesitant to believe it until he'd actually taken command. Trowa, Duo, and even Wufei followed his orders without question. Quatre never voiced it, but that simple obedience had been the very thing that had boosted his confidence enough to help lead them to victory. It helped pave the way for his future at the helm of his father's company. Not that people took him seriously at first. He was nothing like his father. His own brand of leadership completely different than Zayeed's gruff and blunt authority. Even though it was how Quatre was trained, his own natural way was more subtle. Quatre didn't bark orders, he wasn't brusque in his approach. He didn't need to be. He possessed a charm and charisma that his father lacked and by the many testaments of his sisters, he'd learned that his gift had been passed down by their mother, Quatrine. No one was really fond of taking orders from a kid. Especially a kid who looked the way Quatre did. Small, delicate, pretty, feminine in his mannerisms and choice of dress. He was often met with derision when he had to make important decisions. He realized early on that respect would have to be earned, but in every single situation, he did just that. It didn't take long for people to see his prowess both in the boardroom and outside of it. He'd felt that in Trowa as well as the other pilots in the beginning. A strong sense of, What is this kid doing here? He doesn't belong in a war. And while they all had to deal with that to some degree, it was Quatre who had to fight twice as hard to earn his place as a soldier. It was something he was used to, being underestimated, but with Trowa, it stung more than usual. He'd been determined to show him just how capable he was. That approval from Trowa meant more to him than anyone else's and when he finally got it, he experienced an overwhelming sense of pride. Over time, that respect grew into other feelings as well. Quatre was elated to feel the burgeoning affection and eventual love coming from the quiet boy and he returned it with a fervor that frightened him at first. Fear because he didn't know if either of them would survive to see their relationship become something more substantial. But despite the odds, they did survive. Their love affair was gradual, starting off slowly, carefully. Trowa, Quatre discovered, still carried trauma from events in his past that he still had not yet overcome. It took a sometimes painful amount of patience and understanding to get Trowa to the point where he was willing reciprocate the physical love they both wanted. But it was worth the wait. Trowa was worth the wait. It was an amazing and enriching experience to watch Trowa come out of his shell and blossom into a confident, secure young man. It was a beautiful transformation to see his usual sullen expression eventually take on more diversity. His emotions sprung forth in a breathtaking spectrum of colors like a rainbow after a summer storm. They took their time, learning everything they could about each other and that knowledge paved the way for a sexual relationship that was open and free, formed on mutual love and trust. It started off relatively vanilla. Quatre lost his virginity on his seventeenth birthday, almost one full year after the Eve Wars. He'd met up with Trowa in a Belgium café after having not seen each other since the end of the war. He remembered how his breath had stuck in his throat when he came face to face with the boy he loved who'd grown up so much since the last time he'd seen him. Trowa had shot up almost six inches in height. The musculature he'd had just a year ago was even more pronounced. He filled out his burgundy sweater in a way that forced Quatre to hide his growing erection with a strategically-placed napkin, though he could do nothing about his furiously flushing cheeks. When Trowa got up to refill their coffees, Quatre made sure to check out his once nonexistent ass, licking his lips at the firm, rounded cheeks covered by snug-fitting jeans. Trowa's hair was still long in the front, but it no longer covered one eye. Quatre was pleased to be able to look into both of those soulful green eyes. Eyes that he was in constant danger of getting lost in. Trowa's silky brown hair was swept off his forehead, most of it tucked behind his left ear, though a few strands broke free and gave him a delightfully disheveled look. In short, Quatre was awestruck, so deeply and helplessly in love, he was tempted to shove their brunch off the table and beg Trowa to take him then and there. And Trowa sensed it. Like the scent of coffee and croissants and scones, Quatre's desire wafted beneath his nose like potent pheromones. Trowa's eyes were dark and glittery, the effects like an aphrodisiac. Their feelings had been bouncing between them like a ping pong ball almost as long as they'd known each other. There was a distinct notion that the time had come for those feelings to come to fruition. They wound up driving out to the countryside, taking in the beautiful sights around them. Trowa talked about life at the circus, how he was adjusting to being a civilian, which was remarkably well. Quatre told him about life as the CEO of his father's company, ranting about the politics and dirty cronyism that he was working so hard to get rid of. The conversation flowed smoothly between them, so at ease and comfortable with each other. They parked in a secluded area, surrounded by snow-covered fields that bloomed with a vast array of wildflowers in the summer. The surrounding edge of a forest provided much needed privacy from the road. They made out with the heater blasting recycled air over their faces and soft music drifting across their ears from the radio that was set on some easy listening station. It was Quatre's first real kiss and he quickly found himself beginning to sweat beneath his coat, both from the heat and his arousal. Trowa turned the thermostat down and they climbed into the backseat, laughing as they stripped clumsily in the tiny confines of the car, bumping knees and elbows. They tossed their clothing into the front and came together, skin to skin for the first time. His hands immediately sought out soft skin, stretched across powerful muscles and he whimpered when those strong arms closed around him and pulled him into a sturdy chest. He felt so small, so safe, and so ready to surrender everything. His fingers wrapped around thick biceps, lips roaming over prominent pectorals. He grinned when Trowa's body gave a shiver of delight and sucked a pointed nipple into his mouth. He couldn't even begin to describe the exhilaration he felt when he was lowered to the seat, his body completely covered by his lover's. He instinctively opened his legs and sighed in pleasure when their groins met and rubbed together. His mind was so far gone, so ready to take their relationship to the next level, he almost missed Trowa's offhand comment. He blinked up at the smiling boy, noting the wry gleam in his eyes. "What?" "I said isn't there some horrible cliché about losing your virginity in the backseat of a car?" Quatre scoffed. "Trowa, you could make love to me in a garbage dump for all I care." Trowa chuckled and lowered his head, taking Quatre's lips in a mind-bending kiss. He trailed his mouth over the blond's jaw and whispered against the soft skin of his neck. "I wanted something better than this for your first time." "Oh, Trowa! Don't be daft. This is perfect." He nodded at Trowa's uncertain look. "It is. I think this is as romantic as it gets." "You have some low standards, you know that?" "I'm easy to please." Trowa smirked and Quatre jumped when a calloused hand cupped his groin. "I can see that." Quatre snorted. "You're an ass." Trowa laughed and squeezed between the front seats to reach the glove box. Quatre couldn't help but palm those beautiful bare buttocks. "Speaking of ass." He raised an eyebrow when Trowa returned with a small tube in his hand. "Is this normal for you?" Trowa shrugged as he uncapped the tube and squeezed clear gel onto his fingers. "I didn't want to seem presumptuous, but..." "But you were hoping this little reunion would result in a lay?" "A guy can hope, can't he?" Quatre's laugh died on his lips as gel-chilled fingers touched the rim of his opening. "Careful." "I'll be careful. Just relax." He nodded and forced himself to go limp against the seat, closing his eyes when the tip of a finger breached him. He clenched his teeth, the discomfort growing as the finger pushed farther in. "Is this supposed to feel good?" He was disappointed to discover it didn't and wondered if there was something wrong with him. "It will. I promise. Just stay relaxed. Don't fight it." He tried not to squirm as the digit wiggled around inside him. The discomfort passed after a few minutes and he was able to tolerate it, though it still didn't feel good. It wasn't until Trowa added a second finger, pushing them in until his knuckles pressed against the skin of his ass, and curled them slightly, that a jolt of pleasure shot up his spine. A groan made its way past his throat and his back arched when Trowa touched that spot again and again. His legs involuntarily spread wider and he draped one over the back of the seat, grinding his hips down to get more of that incredible sensation. His head tossed back and forth against the seat, his breath coming harder, faster. "Oh, Trowa. That feels...amazing." The pleasure was even better than he could have imagined. It provoked an itch deep inside him, the desire to have more and more of that feeling and he shamelessly begged Trowa to satisfy it. He found himself beyond all coherent thought when Trowa laid over him, the thick tip of his cock pressing through the resisting ring of his opening. Trowa was soft, kind, gentle, kissing the tears that gathered in the corners of his eyes and whispering reassurances into his ears. The windows were fogged up, the air inside the car stifling and stagnant from their heavy breathing and the sweat that coated their heated skin. Quatre keened when Trowa's fingers wrapped around the backs of his knees and held them up and out, driving his hips forward, slowly at first and then picking up speed. Quatre was beside himself with pleasure as his body was rocked across the polyester seats. His hands fluttered, scrabbling for purchase wherever he could find it. Trowa's biceps, his own legs, the armrest on the door. There was a distinct increase of aching arousal when he held onto the armrest, his arms up over his head. It made him feel helpless, vulnerable, and instead of making him uncomfortable, it made his body soar with a giddy sense of submission, skyrocketing the ecstasy to unbearable levels. He held his legs open as far as they would go within the cramped space of the backseat and folded his hands behind his head, somewhat surprised when his orgasm rushed up swiftly and violently. He shook and whimpered as he came all over himself, his body bouncing from the force of Trowa's thrusts, more vigorous from the erotic display of docility. Though they didn't voice it, they both realized that Quatre had gotten off from the feelings of passivity, while Trowa's own climax was triggered by the sudden rush of dominance he experienced when Quatre expressed complete acquiescence. It wasn't something they talked about that day, or in the many days that followed. It lingered between them, unacknowledged, for several years. Their connection was unprecedented. While Quatre was able to sense the emotions of those around him, there'd never been anyone who'd had an insight into him that went so deep, it left him feeling flayed to the bone. Quatre used his gift of empathy to mold and manipulate people, most of the time without even realizing it. He hadn't been aware that he was doing the same thing to Trowa until his lover confronted him about it four years later. "Why do you do that?" Quatre looked up from his paper and met Trowa's eyes across the breakfast table, his mug halfway to his lips. "Do what? Read the paper?" Trowa gave him an admonishing look. "I know you know what I'm talking about. Your manipulation. I know why you do it to most people, but why me?" Quatre was honestly surprised, not realizing he'd been doing just that. "What do you mean? I don't do it to you." "Yes, you do." "No, I don't." "Quatre. Yes, you do." He set his mug down and cocked his head, stumped. "How?" "You use those charms of yours to try to get me to do what you want." Trowa speared some eggs onto his fork and took a bite, chewing slowly as he eyed his lover. "You don't have to do that. If you want something, just tell me." Quatre folded his paper and set it aside. "I do that?" "Yes. You think I don't realize it?" He washed his eggs down with a sip of coffee and picked up a slice of turkey bacon. "Or...maybe it's you who doesn't realize it." "Trowa...I honestly didn't think I - I'm sorry. I really do that?" "What are you afraid of?" Quatre paused, the denial was on the tip of his tongue before he swallowed it down. Was he afraid? "I...don't know." Trowa's face softened. "You don't have to be afraid with me. You know that right? You don't need those walls around me." "I -" Quatre had no idea he'd been doing any of that, but the more he thought about it, he realized he had been. He was hiding his fears and insecurities behind a carefully constructed fortress and guarding it with evasive tactics and manipulative measures. Once upon a time, that had served him well, but the war was over. His face flushed with shame. Of course Trowa saw right through it. How could he not? "I'm so sorry, Trowa. I didn't realize..." "Quat, I just want you to be open with me. You don't need to pretend to be something you're not. Not with me. I already know who you are." Quatre knew where this was going and he blushed even harder. "I don't - don't know how to..." He didn't know how to finish that thought and he glanced away, looking out the window because he was too nervous to meet his lover's intense gaze. The knowing eyes that saw right through him. "We'll figure it out, love. Just show me how you really feel. You don't have to be afraid to let go with me." It took time, for both of them. They needed that time to discover what they really enjoyed and what their boundaries were. Trowa learned that Quatre enjoyed what he called 'Turning the Tables'. He would initially take charge when things began to lead to sex. Swing a leg over Trowa's lap and settle his bottom on top of his lover's groin. He would grasp the hair at the back of Trowa's head and tip him back, whispering commands against his lips. Trowa eventually learned the signals that indicated when Quatre was ready for him to 'turn the tables'. The authoritative expression would shift and become coy. The lowering of his eyes to the floor, his demanding touches giving way to soft caresses that seemed shy, like he was asking for permission. Trowa would respond in the ways he'd come to learn were the most beneficial for Quatre and for himself. Lifting the smaller body off his own and rolling it beneath him. His hands pulled and tore at the blond's clothing and Quatre would lose himself in the dizzying sensations of being ravished. Those strong hands would curl around his wrists and hold his slender arms over his head. He bleated and whimpered and moaned brokenly when he was pinched and bitten and restrained. He loved when he was pushed to his knees, his head held in a vice-like grip while he choked on his lover's cock. He learned how Trowa liked it most, keeping his jaw lax and swirling his tongue around the turgid length as Trowa fucked his throat. He learned to relax his gag reflex and take him in so deeply, his nose would press against his lover's crisp pubic hair. He loved it when he was lifted against a wall, or bent over a piece of furniture, or wrestled to the floor. Loved it when his thighs were forced open and he was plundered so violently, he nearly skirted the edge of consciousness. Anyone who wasn't familiar with them, with their history, would surely have the perception that Trowa was hurting Quatre. He often wondered if he should be disturbed by that. If there wasn't something horribly wrong with their relationship because they both deeply enjoyed what an outsider might consider abuse. Trowa assured him that if it didn't feel like abuse, then it wasn't. "It's what you want, isn't it?" "Of course! I love it." "Then it's not abuse and there's nothing wrong with it. What we do in the privacy of our own home is no one else's business." Quatre sighed and propped his feet in Trowa's lap. He picked up a piece of popcorn out of the bowl on his own lap and pressed it against his lover's lips, smiling when Trowa's tongue pulled the morsel into his mouth. "I suppose you're right." "Of course I am. Now shut up and let's finish this movie." He grinned and settled against the arm of the couch, using the toes of his foot to tickle Trowa's belly. "You're so wise." Trowa chuckled and crunched on another piece of popcorn. Quatre divided his attention between the film and his lover, his eyes consistently drawn to the handsome face. Trowa was right, as always and he always had a way of making Quatre feel better about his hangups. They did what worked best for them. Who was anyone else to judge? ~ * ~ |
