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"In Paradise "Written By: Jo Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing and I
have nothing valuable. I make no money from this, I write only for
the fun of it. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: No spoiler, loosely post EW, and virtually
plot-less. Lemon scented but just a tad short of a full-blown lemon. Pairings: 3x3, 4x3 Summary: Trowa on vacation. Written for GW500 Challenge #35, Expectations.
" In Paradise "
The rattan creaked in squeaky protest when he sank into the chair. All six-two and one hundred and sixty one pounds of him. Throwing back his head, Trowa let his arms fall, hanging limp and loose on the outside of both armrests as he let out the grudging sigh he’d been holding all morning. The fingers on his left hand curled subconsciously into a tight fist. In his right hand, a chilled bottle of half-drunk Corona sweated profusely in the sweltering heat. His thumb rubbed absentmindedly at the cold bottle sending rivulets of cool condensates dripping to the floor. His long legs, caked with wet sand from the beach, stretched out toward where the shade ended and the noontime sun began. Three days in paradise even his toes were beginning to look brown. Browner. He thought and smirked, shifting in his chair. His gaudy tropical print shirt, unbuttoned all the way, fell open exposing a smooth chest and taut muscles. Running a hand through his wet hair, Trowa squinted at the emerald sea, clear as glass and calm as a sated lover, some distance away from the lanai. He’d seen nothing else but the blue-green sea since he arrived. He’d swam, he’d fished, and he’d even juggled shells for the native children who had followed him around on the beach like little tanned soldiers, but whatever expectations Trowa had of his vacation, of paradise, those weren’t quite it. “Damn mission,” he muttered dejectedly like a child denied and took a long swig of his Corona. A few drops of clear, cool water slid off the glass and splashed soundlessly onto his stomach, rolling quickly into the dip of his navel. With a quick flick of his tongue, he licked the rim of the bottle, savoring the last taste of his beer. He’d expected waking up with Quatre’s mouth on him and him already rock hard. He’d expected falling asleep together, sticky and sweaty, too spent to move a muscle, too exhausted from sex to hear anything but a shrill, blissful ringing in his ear. And they would do it again the next day. He licked the bottle again, this time deliberately slower, acutely aware of the hard but smooth surface under his tongue. His eyes narrowed into slits of ravenous green, and he felt the restlessness in him ruffled, awakened and brought to the surface, making his skin crawled with raw, prickly energy. He lowered the bottle to the floor and let it slipped from his hand. The empty bottle landed on its side with a loud chink but didn’t break. It rolled noisily forward until it stopped, resting in a groove between floorboards, half basked in glaring sunlight, half covered by shadows. Trowa’s hands had already delved under the baggy shorts he wore, fondling and pumping his erection lazily. Stroke Squeeze Stroke Squeeze He pushed his shorts off of his hips and worked himself from a lazy heat to a frenzied fire. With his head tilted back and his eyes shut tightly, he slid down on the chair, his feet kicked out, one of them sent the motionless bottle plunging into the sun. Dry sand shook loose from his legs as he thrashed and pumped into his own tight fist. The chair creaked maniacally with every one of his deep-throated groans. He was getting close. His hand stopped cold when he felt an iron grip wrapped around his wrist. His eyes snapped open only to look into Quatre’s infinite blue. Trowa could’ve sworn he saw the cloudless sky in Quatre’s eyes, he could’ve sworn he saw stars. And he was certain he saw blue fire burning. Trowa’s hands fell away as he stared, eyes glazed and glassy, into Quatre’s feverish gaze. He waited as Quatre slowly raised his right knee, resting it on the left armrest while planting his left hand against the back of the chair. The last thing Trowa saw was a flash of devilish white between Quatre’s curled lips. His eyes lost focus, plunging him into darkness when Quatre gave his cock a firm squeeze followed by furious strokes. His breathing was loud and ragged between them until Quatre’s mouth descended on his, biting down on his tongue, and then swallowing his moan and scream. Quatre was still looming over him when he opened his eyes. Trowa’s chest heaved and fell until his breathing evened out. It took him a while to register that Quatre was drawing ticklish circles on his slick stomach, spiraling slowly downward to the tight brown curls between his legs. He watched in dazed fascination as Quatre wrapped strands of wet curls around his index finger, pulling them straight and then letting them spring loose. Trowa thought he should say something, he coughed softly to clear his throat but Quatre had already straightened up and turned away from him. He followed Quatre’s every move in a fog until he realized his lover was slowly stripping out of his wrinkled uniform. Grinning, Trowa sprang from his chair with renewed energy, following the trail of discarded but inviting clothing into the bedroom. His vacation might turn out just as he’d expected, if not better, after all.
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