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"Consponsata"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, Alternate Universe - Dark, Love
Triangles, betrothals, Arranged Marriage, Marriage of Convenience,
Romance, Angst Pairings: 4x1, 13x4, 3x4, 5x2, 6x9, 3x4x1 Summary: Prince Quatre convinces Heero, a peasant
from the neighboring kingdom to elope with him so that he can escape
his betrothal to General Treize. In return, Heero is assured that
his land and his people will be protected from the tyrannical rule
of Ghali. "Consponsata " Chapter 3 - Gala The gala that night was just one of the many that Quatre was forced to attend, though he much preferred to sit in front of a roaring fire and read to Trowa. It was simply a pompous way for Ghali to show off its fortunes and its prowess in the region. To celebrate and talk about how wonderful they all were. It made him sick. But, being the Price of Ghali required him to be there. And as such, that meant spending the remainder of the day primping and primming for the gathering. He soaked in a warm tub with scented oils as his skin was exfoliated with rough stones. Trowa always treated these pre-gala rituals with reverence, handling Quatre as though he were made of glass. Quatre smiled warmly at him as the servant lifted a perfumed hand and gently rubbed the skin until the dead cells were removed and the fresh glowing layers beneath were revealed. His eyes were wide, devout, as he cleaned the Prince and Quatre shook his head fondly. "What would I do without you?" Trowa chuckled. "You would do just fine." "No." He lifted his hand and lightly grasped a lock of hair and tucked it behind his servant's ear. "I would surely wither and die." "You are strong, my Prince. Much stronger than you give yourself credit for." "I don't feel strong." Quatre shook his head as he rose from the tub with Trowa's help and allowed himself to be draped with the drying cloth. "Sometimes I just wish I could give all this up. Live a simple life in a cottage somewhere, surrounded by animals. No stuffy parties, no betrothals, maybe own a farm." Trowa laughed. "You? A farmer?" Quatre swatted him playfully. "It could happen! Okay, maybe I wasn't built for farming, but it would sure be better than this." He stood still as Trowa patted him dry and removed the cloth. He could smell the sweet scent of roses wafting off his skin from the perfumed oils and his nose wrinkled. Treize loved the scent and 'ordered' him to use it for the gala. Quatre used to love it, too, until he began associating it with the General. He stepped over to the small platform that stood in front of a full-length mirror and looked his body over with a critical eye. He was slender, almost curvy, which he supposed was what men were so often drawn to. He glanced behind him, his eyes taking in Trowa's form. His servant's body was much more 'manly'. Tall, with broad shoulders and thick biceps. His chest and abdomen were deliciously rippled with muscle, brimming with strength which tapered down into a narrow waist. He had the body of a warrior which made sense since that was what his people were. Trowa was taken along a with a group of other young boys and girls when their village was raided by Ghalian forces. They were brought back to the kingdom and raised to become Ghalian warriors due to their naturally powerful physiques and ingrained fighting skills. But the army soon figured out there was a problem with Trowa. A birth defect. The King's physicians diagnosed him with a weak heart. It was far too risky, not to mention unbecoming to the army, to have someone with such a health problem. They decided he was obsolete. Of no use to the Ghalians if he couldn't fight. Quatre had seen him while the boy was being examined, peeking through the crack in the door, shocked as he heard the prognosis and furious with what they were going to do to him. His heart had broken from the lassitude he'd seen in the boy's face. He seemed to accept his fate. His eyes so sad. Quatre had run into the room and launched himself on top of the boy, screaming that they couldn't kill him. That he would take care of him. He begged his father, tears in his eyes, to allow the boy to live. His father thankfully relented. "He's your responsibility, Quatre. If he steps out of line, that's it." Quatre was eternally grateful as he led the boy away. He looped their arms together as Quatre showed him the castle. He'd confiscated the empty suite of rooms next to his own and proudly announced them to be Trowa's new chambers. It took a long time to bring the boy out of his shell, but Quatre never gave up on him. Eventually, Trowa came around and the two began a tentative friendship. With time and patience, they grew closer and closer until they were nearly inseparable. Trowa idolized the Prince, loved him like he'd never loved anyone, and devoted every aspect of his life to him. He was the Prince's constant companion and best friend. Trowa knew things about Quatre that no one else would ever be privvy to. He'd seen him in his most vulnerable moments, moments that Quatre never allowed anyone else to see. Their love for each other was unconditional. Quatre extended his arms out to his side as the pale green and ivory silk and muslin fabrics were draped elegantly over his body. The formal dress extended down the back and trailed a few feet behind him. Quatre hated it because he was always tripping over the damned thing. Trowa stood behind him and adjusted the tunica until it laid perfectly over his body. Quatre admired him through the mirror, took in the intense concentration in the beautiful green eyes and chuckled. "I think you enjoy these events far more than I do." Trowa's mouth curled up as he fastened delicate chains of gold and turquoise around the Prince's neck. "I just enjoy the preparation." Quatre smiled. He did, too. These moments were always filled with such intimacy, such closeness. Quatre turned to him, looking up into the handsome face as Trowa fluffed his hair and arranged his curls around his forehead and ears, then reached down for the gold circlet, embedded with emeralds and amethysts and placed it on top of his head. As a final touch, he dipped his fingers into the pot of scented oil, warmed by a candle, and dabbed the fragrance onto Quatre's wrists and over the pulse points of his neck. Then he stepped back to admire his work. Quatre flushed prettily as he was examined with a critical eye. "Am I sufficient?" Trowa's eyes softened and Quatre didn't miss the hunger in those green depths. "You are the most beautiful creature I've ever seen," he whispered, awe in his breath. Quatre shot him a derisive look. "Flatterer." He turned back around to look at himself. He knew what people said of him. Of his appearance, his desirability, especially to the male population of Ghali. Men from all over the kingdom tripped over themselves just to be near him. When the announcement was made that Quatre must become engaged, the kingdom erupted in a flurry of chaos, many of the men desperate to be the one who was chosen as the Prince's betrothed. They competed for his hand, oftentimes becoming violent as they vied for possession of not only him, but for the chance to rule Ghali. His father eventually chose General Treize since he was the strongest of Quatre's competitors, the most powerful man in the kingdom. An alpha through and through. He was the one with the best chance of leading Ghali to victory time and time again and he was the one who fought the hardest, the bloodiest, for Quatre's hand. It hadn't been beneath him to thrust one of his blades deep within the chest of his most viable rivals. He'd done it a few times when they got far too close to winning the prize. Quatre could barely stomach it. Being fought over like a piece of rare meat between rabid dogs and he'd made his distaste evident. At any rate, Treize would be happy with his appearance, not that Quatre cared. He turned from the mirror and adjusted Trowa's tunic around the muscled shoulders, his hands lingering over the smooth skin. He smiled up at him. "You're not so bad yourself." He winked a turquoise eye and laughed under his breath when Trowa blushed. He caressed his servant's face, stroking over the fine structure and Trowa gazed down at him, his eyes so warm with affection and gleaming with desire. Quatre's breath hitched at the heady look, his groin twitching at the hunger in those eyes. They'd been making love for nearly six months. The first time had been right after Quatre's engagement to Treize had been announced. He was so distraught and it had just happened. He wept beneath his servant's powerful body as he was taken to heights of sensation he'd never felt before. He wondered if he'd be able to continue the relationship once he was married. It wouldn't be easy, but he was determined to have at least some semblance of control over his body, even once he began submitting to his betrothed. He wasn't looking forward to that, to say the least, but in a sense, his father was right. He only grudgingly admitted that. As the Prince of Ghali, he had obligations to his people and this was one of them. To enter into an agreement, a union that would strengthen the monarchy, which in turn, would strengthen the kingdom. Treize was the most qualified to keep their people safe. He was the best of the best. It was only natural that he would rule right alongside him. Being difficult for his own selfish reasons would only serve to hurt his people in the long run. He had duties and he would uphold them, even if it wasn't something he wanted. The only thing he asked was to be left alone until the wedding night. To allow him these final weeks of 'freedom' before he gave himself to his new husband. But it seemed Treize was not willing to wait. He glanced up at Trowa as those strong arms encircled his waist and pulled him into that beautifully powerful chest and his body flushed with arousal. He leaned up on his toes and brushed their lips together, his tongue swiping lightly against those lovely lips, whispering heatedly into his mouth. "We've got time." Trowa groaned and reached down to grasp the back of Quatre's thighs and Quatre wrapped his legs around his servant's waist as he was lifted up and carried to the dressing table. Trowa sat him down on the edge and pressed into the welcoming space between his Prince's legs. Quatre surged up and kissed him deeply as Trowa parted the folds of his tunica. Quatre's hands shook as he unbuckled the belts of Trowa's trousers, shivering in delight as his servant's erection was bared, pressing incessantly against his most intimate place. They used some of the scented oil to lubricate the way and Quatre threw his head back and wrapped himself around his lover as Trowa plunged deliciously into his depths. *** As required, Quatre had to spend the evening attached to the General's side, forcing smiles and cheerful conversation while on the inside, he was cringing with antipathy. Treize never allowed him to stray very far and he had to endure the possessive hands as he kept his arm tightly wound around the Prince's waist. He was mandated to offer his lips for kisses, tying not to wince as their guests doted over them. Treize brought him a cup of wine and slid his hand onto the small of Quatre's back, husking against his neck. "Mmm...you look and smell good enough to eat." He punctuated the 'compliment' with a nip to his skin and Quatre involuntarily pulled away, then caught himself and covered it up with well-practiced smile. "Thank you, Darling." "Your betrothed is right, Your Highness. You look positively radiant tonight, as always," simpered one of his father's military advisers. He was a tall, scrawny man with a balding head and had a penchant for dousing himself with too much sandalwood oil. Quatre played the part of the modest, charming Prince and blushed as he smiled at the man while his belly curdled with revulsion. "Why, thank you, Admiral Barton. I do hope your wife is doing well." Quatre noticed she hadn't attended and was a little concerned for her welfare. "She is quite fine, Your Highness. Just a little under the weather at the moment." "Well, I do hope she recovers quickly. She is quite a woman." Quatre actually liked her. How she could stand being married to that man was beyond him. The wine was making him a little loopy and the superficial small talk was making him irritable, a strange combination that make him want to slap at Treize's invasive hands, but was too dizzy to actually do so. When the music began, Treize took his arm and led him out to the center of the ballroom, expertly sweeping him across the dance floor. He was a good dancer, Quatre had to give him that. He allowed his body to relax, to be led around as he felt the eyes of their guests, staring in awe and fascination as their beautiful, beloved Prince danced with his betrothed. He caught his father's eyes before he was spun away again and didn't miss the nod. The intent in his eyes was clear. You are doing well so far. Do not embarrass me. Treize was humming to the music, the vibration tickling Quatre's ear. "We'll be wed in a few weeks," he murmured. Don't remind me. "Yes, we will." "I can make you happy. If you'll let me." "I highly doubt that." Treize chuckled and it rankled Quatre's nerves. "Must you doubt me? I only want what's best for you." "No, you want what's best for yourself. You don't care about me. You care about the throne. You will not fool me with pretty words." "Don't you realize how long I've wanted you?" "Lust and love are two different things. You may want me, but you do not love me. If you did, you would respect my wishes to wait until the wedding night to consummate this arrangement." "What difference does it make if it's now, or a few weeks from now?" "It makes all the difference to me." Treize swung him again, then leaned forward, lowering Quatre into a dip and their audience cooed. Quatre's stomach flipped queasily and his head spun as he was righted again, nearly stumbling on feet unsteady with wine. Treize smoothly covered it up with another spin and Quatre was reluctantly grateful. "By the way. I know what is going on between you and your servant. Once we are wed, you will no longer be providing him with your...affections." Quatre's heart skipped and he frowned at the General. "You have no say in that." The arm around his waist tightened possessively. "I am granting you this right now, but when I am your husband, I will not allow it. I will kill any man who lays a finger on you." Quatre closed his eyes, dread encasing him in a cold chill. "Please don't hurt him. He's all I have and I -" "You love him." Quatre didn't answer. Of course he loved him. Trowa was the one who'd been there for him when no one else was. "Please. Please don't hurt him. I beg of you." "Then do not let him make love to you after the wedding. You will give yourself to me and me only." He said nothing. He had no intention of cutting off his relationship with Trowa. They would just have to be extremely careful from now on. But he was not going to give that up. Trowa was the only one who made him feel good, feel beautiful. Trowa loved him, not what he could get from him. "Do not test my hand, or my patience, Quatre. For you will find yourself suffering greatly for it." "You're a bastard." He sucked in a breath as Treize painfully pinched his side. "Behave yourself and watch that mouth of yours." Quatre clamped his lips shut with some effort and closed his eyes, listening to the acoustic swells of the music and imagined he was dancing with Trowa. It was something he and his servant greatly enjoyed doing together and the fantasy allowed him to relax some more. He rested his head on the broad shoulder as he was led this way and that, allowing his body to be maneuvered and molded in the arms of his lover. He could feel himself getting into it, felt the music in his blood, his heart beating in time with it. "There you go. That's more like it," Treize's voice lilted in his ear, destroying any semblance of the illusion. He huffed, but kept his body pliable, languid, and endured the rest of the night in relative silence. The evening mercifully came to a close and Quatre was eternally grateful as he stood next to his father and wished the last of their guests well. As the last of them left, he turned away to head back to his chambers, exhausted and a touch drunk. "Quatre." He turned to look at his father, gazing into the brown eyes expectantly, not knowing what he was going to hear. He hoped it wasn't another lecture, or criticism. He was pretty sure he did a good job tonight. "You did well. Perhaps you are finally learning." Quatre's lip curled and he pivoted on his heel without a word and left the ballroom. Learning indeed. He didn't need the praise. It was what he'd been trained for since birth and he knew he was good at it. Didn't enjoy it, but he knew how to play the game. Treize was waiting for him out in the hallway and fell into step beside him. Quatre groaned internally, not needing this right now. Wanting to be left alone to go to his chambers to sleep off the wine. Treize was at least decent enough to wait until they reached his room before he started pawing him. Quatre studiously ignored him as he turned down his bed, but eventually he couldn't stand the oppressive silence, the eyes he could feel burning into his back. He turned and glared over his shoulder. "Can I help you with something?" Treize pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards him. He pressed the heavy weight of his body against the boy, forcing him down onto the bed and lowering himself on top. Quatre's breath hitched as the man's hips wormed their way between his thighs. He placed his hands on Treize's chest and did his best to play the blushing, coy fiancé. He didn't have the strength, or energy to fight and he resigned himself to the very strong possibility that he was going to be taken. "Please, love. Let me rest tonight. I had too much wine and I - I'm not feeling well." He gave Treize his best sad look and tried not to shiver at the dark gaze, the spark of lust in those blue depths unsettling. Treize dropped his head onto Quatre's shoulder and moaned brokenly. "You don't have to do anything," he said, a pleading edge to his voice. "Just let me -" he pushed his hips into the space between Quatre's legs. "Let me have you." Quatre tried one last tactic. "I fear I might be sick. Now, that wouldn't be very romantic for our first time together would it?" That did the trick. Treize's head lifted, his face shadowed in disgust. Quatre almost laughed at how easy that had been. He'd have to remember that in the future. Treize lifted himself off of him and turned towards the door. He murmured a, "Goodnight," and left the room and Quatre breathed a sigh of relief. The time of his ability to postpone the inevitable was coming to a close, but he relished in his escape for another night. He got up and padded to the adjoining door that led to Trowa's chambers. His beloved servant was sleeping soundly in his bed, his bare chest gleamed gold in the light of the dying fire and Quatre climbed under the covers and snuggled up to him, needing the safety and security of Trowa's arms. Even in sleep, Trowa was deeply attuned to him and his arms automatically closed around him. Quatre rested his head on the strong chest and savored the heavy thump of his heartbeat, hearing the occasional skip as it was wont to do at times. He would have to get up soon. He needed to check on the prisoners, make sure they were alright. But, for now, he was content to rest in Trowa's arms. His fingers caressed the servant's smooth skin as his eyes drifted closed and quickly fell into a deep sleep. Fleeting images that he wouldn't remember in the morning flashed behind his eyelids. Visions of dark brown hair and virulent blue eyes.
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