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"Carnivàle"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC17 Warnings: Romance, Smut, Alternate Universe -
Vampire, Blood Drinking (Obvi), Telepathy, dubcon, Non-consensual
Turning, mind/body control, Mild Horror Pairings: 3x4 Summary: After finally getting a chance to watch
Trowa perform at the circus, Quatre discovers that the price of the
invitation is something far more than he'd signed up for. "Carnivàle " There's a reason we're called 'freaks', but only at the Carnivàle is it safe for the freaks to come out and play.
***
Trowa truly was magnificent. His prowess on trapeze and tightrope were a sight to behold, leaving the audience awestruck by the beauty of his strength and grace. Quatre watched with rapt attention as he performed death-defying stunts that no human should be capable of. And Quatre was just one of many starry-eyed spectators in a tent filled with gobsmacked families who came from around the world to watch this particular troupe’s unmatched savoir faire. They were the best of the best. World renowned, a global sensation and Quatre couldn’t have been prouder. Not surprisingly, the tickets were sold out and had been sold out on every show for the last three years. It was only Quatre's close friendship with one of the performers that he was able to snag a seat. He was so glad to have found the time to carve into his busy schedule to finally go and watch them perform and he was not disappointed. They were unbelievably talented, almost superhuman in their strength, speed, and finesse. They received a standing ovation as they concluded their encore and Quatre nearly tripped over his own feet jumping up and down in the stands, whooping, whistling, and clapping his hands so hard, they felt numb for several minutes afterward. He worked his way down the rows of bleachers, occasionally bumping elbows with the other spectators and mumbling ‘pardons’ and ‘excuse me’s’. Once his feet touched the hay-strewn ground, he pushed through the exiting crowd towards the back of the tent where he knew his friend and...self-admittedly...crush was waiting. He was certain Trowa knew about it, but it wasn’t something they’d ever discussed. Considering Trowa had never asked about it, or made any move to take their friendship to the next level, Quatre was forced to accept the fact that his feelings were not reciprocated. And he wasn’t about to compromise their friendship with his silly notions of a whirlwind romance. Sometimes those things just weren't meant to be. He pushed through the heavy flaps in the tent and breathed in deep as the refreshing autumn breeze ruffled through his sweater and cooled his overheated skin. It had gotten quite hot and stuffy inside that tent after the first half hour and was downright sweltering at the end. “Quatre, over here.” He turned and spotted Trowa several feet away, wiping his face down with a white towel. The bright spotlights overhead illuminated his golden skin in ethereal shades of blue and highlighted the sweat that had accumulated from his exertion. Quatre swallowed down the discomfort of seeing the man he was hopelessly attracted to in such a tempting state of undress, not wanting to make Trowa uncomfortable by acting like a moony-eyed school girl. He plastered a smile onto his face and firmly ordered his traitorous dick to stand down. “Hey, Trowa. That was a great show. You were amazing!” “You liked it then, eh?” “Oh, yeah! I loved it. They weren’t kidding when they said you guys are the best. That was the most incredible show I’ve ever seen.” “Who’s “they”?” “Oh, you know. The media, your fans...the editor of Circus Times Magazine.” Trowa raised a brow. “What’s that?” He chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. “I made that up, sorry. But, I mean, everyone says you’re the best and you are. You should be proud.” Trowa took a long drink of his water bottle and wiped his mouth with the towel. He shrugged a broad shoulder, apparently not as impressed as Quatre was. “It’s just a job.” “Don’t sell yourself short, Trowa. You’ve got top-notch talent. All of you do. I don’t know how any of you can do what you do. I would have broken my neck a long time ago.” “Can’t have that,” Trowa said with hint of amusement in his voice. He laughed, encouraged by the slight uptick within the broody atmosphere. “Well, it’s not something I’m planning on anytime soon. I’ll leave that Evel Knievel stuff to you guys. I must say, I’m surprised you’ve never broken any bones.” “Who says I haven’t?” He stopped short, surprised. “Oh, have you then? Sorry, you just never mentioned ever getting hurt, so I just assumed…” Trowa shrugged again and wiped down his torso. “I heal quickly.” “I see.” That was...odd. “Well, at any rate, you were fantastic. You look good. I know it’s been awhile.” “So do you.” He blushed with flattery, a rather embarrassing giggle escaping from his mouth before he could stop it and Allah, how he wished he could slap himself across the face. Not what he means, Quat. Get your mind out of the gutter and stop acting like a blushing virgin on her wedding night. “That’s nice of you to say, but I’m afraid I'm still the same scrawny, mousy thing I’ve always been.” “You’re not mousy.” Quatre noticed he didn’t deny the “scrawny” part and his mouth turned down in a slight pout. Oh, who are you kidding? You're a twenty year old man who's lucky to weigh eight stones soaking wet. Still, he wasn’t one to thumb his nose at a compliment. “Thanks. So, is there usually an after party, or...any...thing...?” He glanced around, noticing that the other circus performers were now nowhere to be seen. "Not quite." “Where’d everyone go?” Instead of answering, Trowa gave him an odd look that he had trouble deciphering. “Want to get out of here?” He jumped as something hit the wall of the tent behind him which was followed by a strangely disturbing garbling sound. “What was that?” Trowa grabbed his arm hurriedly, stopping him from sticking his head between the flaps to investigate. “It’s nothing. People probably getting excited in there.” Quatre’s brows drew low in alarm when there was an ear-piercing scream from inside. It was not the sound of excitement, or jubilation. It was horror. Sheer terror. The kind of scream that only occurs when someone realizes they're about to die. “That doesn’t sound like excitement.” “I’m sure it’s nothing the master can’t handle,” Trowa said with a sort of calm detachment that made Quatre feel a little edgy. Still, he trusted the other man so when Trowa pulled on his arm, he fell into step beside him. “Where are we going? The carnival looks closed.” Deserted was more like it which was strange considering it should have been chock-full of screaming people flying down the roller coaster. The Ferris wheel stood tall and still, desolate as if waiting for people that would never come. And where were the children that should have been milling about, devouring cotton candy? Where were the teenagers making out in the darkness behind the concession stands? Quatre half expected to see a tumbleweed roll across the grounds and was absurdly disappointed when it didn't happen. Trowa remained quiet as they headed towards the empty carnival, though he tightened his grip on Quatre’s arm and began to pull harder as the blond's steps faltered. “Trowa...something’s wrong.” “Everything is fine, Quat. I promise you. Come on. I have something to show you.” Quatre's empathy usually allowed him insight into people’s hearts and minds and it was always disconcerting that he was never able to read Trowa like could everyone else, though Trowa seemed to have insight of his own when it came to Quatre. Now, it was even more difficult as an impenetrable wall seemed to have been erected between them. “What’s going on, Trowa? I don’t like this.” “Just a little further.” There was something off about Trowa’s voice, something he couldn’t be sure he’d ever heard before. Not just a commanding tone, though that itself was unusual, but something that seemed to have a physical effect on Quatre. He felt sluggish, almost as if he’d been drugged. His feet dragged along the dirt and grass, suddenly feeling oddly heavy and weak. As ridiculous as it was, he found himself wanting to lie down and take a catnap. “Trowa,” he slurred. “I’m...I’m tired. Can we stop to rest?” “Almost there.” He glanced up, blinking at the bright lights of the carnival’s attractions, so quiet and eerily still. By the time they walked past what looked to Quatre’s bleary eyes as the Tilt A Whirl, his legs could no longer hold him up. He dropped to his knees, teeth clenching as his shoulder was wrenched by the bruising grip on his arm. “Tro - Trowa. I can’t go on. Wha’s happen - happening to me?” His head lolled on his neck as arms, inhumanly strong, hooked beneath his legs and back, lifting him as if he were a swooning bride. He stared up at the blurry stars twinkling at him from above and endured Trowa’s jarring steps, wracking his hazy mind to find the words he needed to communicate and dizzily wondering why he couldn’t get his mouth to work anymore. He’d lost nearly all motor control. “Just hang on, Quat. This will all be over soon.” What? What will be over soon? Trowa, what’s happening? Where are we going? Are you doing this to me? Oh, Allah! He’s going to kill me! He jolted slightly as a deep chuckle resounded in his ears, so sinister sounding and so unlike Trowa’s typically sweet and innocent laughter. “Not quite, love.” Love? Why did he just call me love? Because that’s what you are. And it’s what you will be from now on… “Wha’s it?” Who are you? I think the better question is, “What am I.” I don’t understand. You will. Soon. I’m scared. There is no need to be, love. I will take care of you. He was laid out on a soft bed of moss beneath the intricate structure of the Ferris wheel. His fight, or flight instinct was frantically waving red flags behind his eyes, sounding the warning bells in the static of his mind, but he was too weak to do either. He’d been drugged somehow, or...as absurd as it sounded, he wondered if perhaps he was under a spell. He shivered as his clothing was removed and adrenaline spiked through his veins, fruitless as it was. Oh, fuck. He’s going to rape me. Not rape, love. Never that. I know you’ve wanted me since the first day we met. Not like this, Trowa. Oh Allah, not like this. There is no other way. This is how it’s been done for millennia. How what’s been done? You’ll see. He whimpered in helpless submission as Trowa dropped down on top of him. His arms lacked the strength to even try to push him away, twitching uselessly at his sides. His mouth trembled, still unable to form words, but he could feel everything that was being done to him. The lips that kissed along his clavicle and up his neck. The hard press of Trowa’s erection questing between his thighs. Why are you doing this to me? I chose you as my mate a long time ago. I was simply waiting for the opportune time to consummate it. Maybe I don’t want this. You do. I can feel it inside you. You’re afraid, but you do want it. You cannot lie to me, love. I know everything about you, even those things you keep locked away from the world. Wh - how? It’s the nature of our kind. Quatre sucked in a sharp breath as the stretch and burn of penetration streaked up the column of his spine. Stop! It hurts. Please, don't do this. Just wait. Give it a moment. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing in smooth and even. The pain, what felt like sharp knives lancing up his backside began to shift into something that was merely uncomfortable and then even that melted away into something else. Something exquisite that made his eyes roll beneath fluttering eyelashes. He’d only been fucked twice before in his life and as enjoyable as that had been, nothing could have prepared him for the pleasure that sparked his nerves into billions of brilliant stars, throbbing with life and passion. He felt as though he was flying through the galaxy without a suit, breathless and icy hot. His body was a supernovae of sensations, rapturous on a godly level and for a brief moment in time, he felt one with the Universe. For a brief moment in time, he was the Universe. He could hear nothing but Trowa’s voice in his head, murmuring encouragement and praise as he pushed inside his body with the skill of someone with several lifetimes of experience, perhaps more. He was lost to the feelings of uncontrolled ardor, the raw carnality of being fucked beneath an open sky, and of being possessed by something he realized he never had a hope of escaping. It fueled the pleasure that swirled inside him. That center within that was touched by Trowa's erection like the eye of a hurricane and was surrounded on all sides by gale-force winds. Chaotic, destroying him from the inside out. What are you? He was answered not in words, but by the sharp pierce of something in his neck, followed by a disconcerting feeling of his life force being sucked from his body. He blinked dizzily, on the verge of losing consciousness which only served to heighten the coiling tightness in his groin. His mind was wiped clean, reborn as he came all over himself in a raging inferno of ecstasy and then finally, he succumbed to the darkness that embraced him like the barbed tendrils of some otherworldly demon. When he came to, he was wrapped in arms that were as strong as iron, yet soft like satin. The chill of the night air was warded off by the warmth of Trowa’s body behind him. Now he could at least move. He was shaky and weak, but whatever had rendered him immobile earlier was wearing off. He rolled over, still rather clumsy, but relieved that he seemed to have control of his own body again. Trowa allowed him to turn and watched him silently with eyes dark and glittery despite the bright, flashing lights of the empty carnival. Quatre stared back, a million and one questions on his lips. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you?” “Yes.” He pressed his lips together and braced himself for the answer of the next question that he somehow already knew. “What happened to those people in that tent?” “Dead.” He nodded and looked away. “So...all of you are…” “Yes. Why do you think I've felt so at home here?” "Is this how you feed? On the people that come to your shows?" "Sometimes." “Have you always been a vampire?” Trowa rolled onto his back with a heavy sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. I was turned at the age of two. That attack on my family...it was vampires that attacked us. They killed my parents, drained them until they were dead. And...then they turned Cathy and me.” “But you were separated?” “I was separated from Cathy, not from them. They found me, nearly dead, in the brush after they turned her. Luckily for us, they didn’t kill children.” Quatre’s sorrow for what Trowa experienced was quickly overpowered as a terrifying realization surged through his body like a tidal wave. “You turned me, didn’t you?” Trowa rolled over to face him and cupped his cheek with a warm palm. “You’re my mate. This is the only way we can be together.” Rage closed around him like a heavy cloak, clearing his mind from the lingering haze. He bolted upright, the strength returning to his body, fueled by indignant fury and betrayal. “You bastard!” “Quat -” “Don’t you “Quat” me! What gave you the right to do that to me?” Trowa sat up and reached for him. “You wanted to be with me.” Quatre slapped his hand away. “Being with you and being turned into a bloodsucker are two very different things, Trowa! You never once said you were interested in me. You never gave me any indication that you wanted me like that. Instead, you hide it from me and do this?” “It was the only way it could be done, Quatre.” “Fuck you!” Trowa’s eyes darkened with a hint of the dominance he'd displayed just a short time ago. “You are mine. Just like you wanted to be.” “I didn’t ask for this!” “It was the only way,” Trowa roared, stunning him with the force of his voice and the eerie undertone that accompanied it. He scrambled to his feet and struggled into his clothing, ignoring the ache of the bite marks on his neck which stung and throbbed. “You’re not going anywhere.” “The hell I’m not. You just turned me into a freak! A killer.” He slipped his sweater on and ran shaky fingers through his hair. “Oh, Allah! Now I’m going to have to feed! I’m - you turned me into a monster!” “We are not monsters, Quatre.” “Then what do you call it?” “We are living creatures just like humans and animals. We are simply a step up on the food chain. Quat, listen. There's so much you still don't understand, but please understand this. We are not monsters. We are alive and we do what we have to for the survival of our species. We are no different than you humans.” Quatre blinked at him, surprised. He’d never thought of vampires like that before. Then again, he’d never thought vampires were real until just a couple of hours ago. He stumbled over to a bench and slipped his feet into his shoes. “What’s next? You going to tell me there’s werewolves, too?” He watched, stunned, as Trowa merely shifted and reached for his ridiculous clown pants. “Oh, fucking hell! Are you serious? What else is out there that I don’t know about?” “You must understand, Quatre, that the world of folklore exists because there is an inkling of truth to it.” He pressed his fingers against the wounds in his neck and hissed, “This doesn’t feel like an “inkling".” Trowa slipped his suspenders over his shoulders and stepped closer. “Quat -” “Don’t,” he held his hand up and shook his head. “Just - just give me a few minutes, will you? You can’t expect me to process all of this at once.” “I know.” He huffed and dragged his fingers through his hair. How does one come to terms with something such as this? “So what happens now?” “I understand this will take time for you to adjust. I strongly suggest you do not stomp off in a tizzy.” Quatre glared at the use of “tizzy,” but said nothing. “You need to stay with me so that I can guide you when the thirst hits.” “I’m not doing it, Trowa. I’m not going to suck blood from people’s necks.” Trowa smiled, though it was not his usual sweet and tender smile. It was a smile that left Quatre fidgety with unease, like a mouse stuffed full of cheese that had just been cornered by a cat. “Oh, you will. There’s no stopping the thirst once it hits.” He leaned over and buried his face in his hands. “Goddamnit. I hate this. I hate you.” “No, you don’t.” “I want to.” “You will be fine.” “It’s not me I’m worried about.” “You’ll get used to it.” “Do you think that’s comforting to me?” “It’s not about making you comfortable. It’s about reality. And you are living it. You will get used to it.” He looked up at the man he loved, had loved for five years, and wondered how he never even knew that he wasn’t actually a man. Now that this “relationship” had been consummated, all the things that he’d been able to feel with everyone else, he could now feel in him. “I can feel you now. Why is that? How do I - how do we do this?” Trowa stepped closer and held out a hand. It was just that simple gesture that brought everything back. Trowa was not different. No different than he’d been when Quatre first met him. It was Quatre who had changed. And he was scared, so fucking scared, he felt like he was going to puke. “Take my hand, love, and I’ll show you. I’ll show you everything. No more secrets. I promise.” He closed his eyes and opened his empathy, sucking in a sharp breath when he felt that carefully erected wall crumble into dust. Now there was nothing between them. He could see everything...feel everything Trowa felt for him, had ever felt for him, laid bare. All that was required of Quatre was to take that hand and accept this union. But would it be worth it? He stared up into Trowa’s eyes and saw everything he’d ever wanted being offered, freely and unconditionally. You ask if it would be worth it. You tell me, love. Am I worth it? He chewed his lip as he weighed his options. He was turned. Nothing could be done about that. Here, love was being offered by someone who possessed it for him in spades. He hesitated for only a moment and then he lifted his own hand and placed it into Trowa’s. Trowa pulled him to his feet and into his arms. Quatre rested his head on his broad shoulder and pressed a kiss to the bare skin, so warm and full of life. Not a trace of the cold, dead flesh of the vampires portrayed in endless books and films. Allah, he had so much to learn, but... “You are worth it. Whatever it takes. The price...I don’t care. I’ll pay it. You’re worth it. You will always be worth it.”
End?
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