The chair creaked as Trowa shifted his weight to his left ass cheek, relieving the slight ache in the other after sitting for too long. His husband was late, unwittingly so, but he spitefully counted it as a half-strike for the mild discomfort of making him wait.
Not that Quatre would complain about what that meant.
Trowa assumed he’d stopped to finish up the last of his Christmas shopping on his way home from work. The blond’s favorite outlet mall was halfway between the two destinations and that was the excuse he always used when he arrived home with flushed cheeks and another trinket he’d bought on impulse.
He smirked when he pictured his husband shuffling through the front door covered in snow while he tried to juggle his keys, his gingerbread latte, and a dozen brightly wrapped packages. He could almost feel the anticipated brush of single digit winds against his body as the heat from within was temporarily sucked outside. From his vantage point, he would see the faint blue glow of winter dusk and a swirl of snowflakes before he heard Quatre’s inevitable, “Brrrr!”
Depending on how carried away Quatre got while shopping, Trowa would probably also hear a few thunks when the blond’s coordination succumbed to the laws of physics. A biting curse in Arabic would follow and then the slam of the door, mercifully shutting out the brutal December cold.
After wrestling his boots off, he would step into view and Trowa sighed as he drew the scent of snow melting into the wool of Quatre’s coat from memory. Odd, but he loved that smell. His husband’s cheeks and nose would be stained red from the frigid winds, blond curls sticking out from beneath his knitted hat in wispy disarray.
But his eyes would sparkle and his face would light up with joy upon seeing Trowa who'd normally be sitting in his favorite chair near the fireplace with a book nestled in the crook of his leg. He would wait, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet for Trowa to put his book down and open his arms. His coat, scarf, and hat would drop unceremoniously to the floor where the snow that clung to them would melt into a puddle. One he would forgetfully step in later when he went to put the items away. But in that moment, it wouldn't matter. Not when he was so damp and cold and Trowa's arms were so strong, warm, and safe. For the next hour, they would cuddle together in the chair while Trowa rubbed the blond's chilled hands between his own to get the blood circulating again.
At least that was how their evening would have progressed on a typical night. Tonight however, Trowa’s plans took a drastic detour. Tonight, he had darker, more hedonistic intentions. He’d been entertaining the fantasy version ever since he'd jolted awake in the middle of the night with his dick so hard, he could have used it to dig a tunnel to China. The dream had been so vivid, so intensely erotic that he hadn't been able to look his husband in the eye without recalling how delicate his skin looked with straps of leather biting harshly into it, or how his peaches and cream ass visibly remembered the shape of Trowa's hand. The way he'd taken Trowa's cock inside him like he was born for it and how the sweet lilt of his voice turned sharp when he cried out in pleasure and pain.
Needless to say, the desire to turn the dream into reality had become nothing less than absolute necessity.
The trick was to catch his husband when he least expected it. Even on his worst day, Quatre could outsmart all four of his former co-pilots and that was no easy feat, especially when one of them happened to be Heero Yuy. But where Heero's mind was a genetically engineered supercomputer, Quatre's was the result of several generations worth of shrewd acuity, social savvy, and snap-quick decision making. Being an empath gave him even more of an edge.
During war time, those abilities had played a huge role in leading them to victory, but when it came to surprising your spouse with kinky sex, it was a bit of an obstacle. Trowa had to admit that sometimes being married to one of the most brilliant men alive was a little intimidating. Quatre's intelligence often made him feel like he couldn't find his way out of a cardboard box with a compass and a trail of breadcrumbs. But then they all had their unique strengths and the kind of ingenuity that was specific to those strengths. It was precisely why they were all so damned good at what they did.
Being married for seven years had given him ample time to adapt to Quatre's cunning ways. He knew the blond's weaknesses now. He'd learned to read the subtle signs during those moments when Quatre wasn't at the top of his game, and he'd learned how to use them to his advantage. Nothing untoward, of course. They didn't have secrets beyond the occasional surprise dinner plans, or impromptu weekend trips. It was more of a friendly competition of who could best who on any given day and their scoreboard was pretty evenly split down the middle.
Catching Quatre off guard was also a bit of a turn-on for Trowa. He'd spent the last few weeks fantasizing about fucking the snark right out of Quatre's mouth. It wouldn't hurt to knock him down a peg, or two. Pound his sweet little ass raw until that smug grin was chased away by a look of genuine incredulity before that too dissolved into the unmistakable expression of someone experiencing rapturous pleasure. His goal tonight was to completely eliminate Quatre's inhibitions and the only way to accomplish that was by denying him a chance to overthink the situation. Tonight, he wanted to see how deep he could tap into his husband's baser side, how far he could coax it out of hiding, and how much he could convince it to override his rational side. If he succeeded, he would be treated to the sluttiest, most acquiescent Quatre he'd seen yet and that was too much of a temptation to pass up.
Like putty in my hands, he thought with a surge of wicked glee, weaving his fingers together over his groin where his erection was pressing incessantly against the fly of his jeans. The question was, would Quatre obey him right away, or would it take a little persuasion? He hoped it would be the former, though the latter was more likely. They may have kissed their vanilla days goodbye two years ago, but they were still tenderfoots when it came to the rougher stuff.
Trowa had put his kinkier ideas into play gradually, testing Quatre’s boundaries during the heat of passion to see how he responded. More often than not, the feedback was encouraging. Every quiver, gasp, and moan was stored away in his memory, kept safe and sound until he had enough of them to put his plan into action. There wasn’t anything he would do tonight that hadn’t already been vetted and approved by his husband. It was the closest he could get to asking without ruining the element of surprise, or the salacious thrill of lust that could only come from having total power over another. It was addicting. Now that he knew what it felt like, he couldn’t get enough. Whether he was forcing Quatre to endure a particularly rough fucking through sheer brute strength, or tangling his fingers in thick locks of hair while he shoved his cock down the blond's throat, each new high left him aching for the next.
The best part was knowing that Quatre loved it as much as he did. Apprehensive he’d been at first, he’d made his husband agree on a safe word and listened intently during their rougher sessions, prepared to stop at the slightest hint that Quatre wasn’t into it. Except he was. Every single time. Trowa was amazed by how quickly and easily Quatre accommodated his whims, even while being introduced to something they’d never done before. He was pliant and cooperative, adapting to unfamiliar situations with barely a whimper of protest.
Though now that Trowa thought about it, it did make sense. Quatre had the most endurance out of the five of them. Exhausted, dehydrated, shot, or stabbed, he had the uncanny ability to keep pressing forward when the rest of them would have dropped like a ton of bricks. Trowa suspected his empathy was the main reason he showed little to no discomfort when their sex play became more intense. Quatre trusted him, probably more than he trusted himself. It was the highest compliment, but also Trowa’s greatest fear. That kind of trust wasn’t easy to come by, especially from someone who’d already suffered more betrayal than most people twice his age.
He drummed his fingers against his thigh. Anticipation made him antsy and slightly irritable. Even with the steady veil of snow that was blanketing the region, Quatre should have been home twenty minutes ago.
What’s taking him so long?
Visions of his husband’s Hybrid flipped over in a ditch made his belly twist with fear, but he refused to entertain the worst case scenario.
Stop being such an old lady, Barton. He’s probably just stuck in traffic, or got held up while shopping. Lots of last minute shoppers out there tonight.
Packed like sardines in a stuffy department store and having to wait in line while the screech of wailing toddlers assaulted his ears was the stuff of nightmares as far as he was concerned. He had no idea how Quatre did it without losing his mind in the process.
The deep blue of twilight was quickly being swallowed by the black of night and he took a few deep breaths through his nose to calm his nerves.
Relax. He’ll be along soon. He’s just running a little behind.
But then, why hadn’t he called? Quatre always gave him a quick ring to let him know if he was going to be late, yet the phone had been silent all afternoon.
That’s it. When he gets home, I’m going to turn him over my knee. A good spanking will teach him to remember his manners.
His heart skipped a beat as beams of light filtered through the transom window and briefly illuminated the foyer before they turned sharply and shut off. The tension in Trowa’s shoulders immediately drained as fear became relief, relief became chagrin, and chagrin became an aggressive rush of arousal that shot through his veins like a bolt of lightning.
As he waited for the click of the front door opening, he swallowed down his initial urge to berate his husband like an overprotective mother whose teenager had stayed out past his curfew. It wouldn’t do to start the night on the wrong foot. While Quatre enjoyed being dominated, he loathed being patronized and Trowa couldn’t blame him. He'd been fighting people’s perceptions of him his entire life. It got old after a while.
The reverberating sound of Quatre's boots stomping on the porch drew his attention to the door. He rested his elbow on the back of the chair and relaxed his body. The idea was to appear cool and in control. There were no bones to be made about who was in charge tonight. His cock pulsed, sending a ripple of warmth through his groin. Trapped within the snug confines of his jeans, it protested its imprisonment and he gave it a quick squeeze of reassurance; a promise that this minor inconvenience would be over soon.
He braced himself against the onslaught of frigid cold that swept across his bare chest and bit down on the impulse to holler, 'Shut the fucking door!' The fierce winds were abruptly cut off as the door slammed closed and he leaned a little to the right so that his chilled flesh could absorb more heat from the fire. After a few seconds, he heard the sound of shopping bags being dropped to the floor and then the foyer light flipped on, making him squint after sitting in the dark for so long.
“Oh my god, it’s like Snowmageddon out there,” Quatre exclaimed, sounding out of breath and the ice in Trowa's veins melted instantly as the sunny inflection of his husband’s voice, coupled with his thick Egyptian accent brought far more warmth to the house than any fire ever could. “Trowa? Are you home?”
He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, taking a few more seconds to immerse himself back into his role. When he answered, his own voice was glacial, startling even himself. There was no way in hell Quatre wouldn’t notice. "You're late."
“Trowa? Where are you? Is everything alright?”
“I’m in the study. Turn the lights off and get your ass in here.”
“Turn the lights off? What are you, a vampire now?” Quatre quipped, though he did as was told and once again, the house was engulfed in darkness. Trowa could hear the shuffle of the blond’s socked feet sliding across the wooden floorboards, getting louder with each step closer. “You’re not mad at me, are you? I’m sorry I didn’t call. I dropped my phone in a puddle of slush and now it won’t turn on.”
The corners of Trowa’s mouth turned down in consternation, though he held back on the verbal admonishment for the time being.
Quatre appeared in the doorway, looking flushed and sheepish in the firelight. He’d already discarded his coat, scarf, hat, and gloves as well as his suit jacket. His tie was still on, though it had been loosened and hung low beneath the opened collar of his shirt. His body language was hesitant, pausing at the threshold and in that moment, he looked so small and achingly young.
Trowa nearly laughed at the guilt on his face. Only Quatre could be contrite even when he’d done nothing wrong.
Their eyes met and he stared intently at the blond, brows lowering over his smoldering glare. The flickering light of the fire chased shadows across Quatre's lovely face and made the tiny diamonds in his wedding band sparkle. He stood with his eyes wide and glittering, trying to gauge the situation and what he should do. His feet shifted awkwardly, reluctant to descend the three steps that lead down into the study.
Trowa smirked as he watched his husband squirm. An indecisive Quatre was a rare treat. “Come here.”
Obediently, he made his way down the steps, but lingered at the bottom and fidgeted with his tie. Whether he was playing coy, or waiting for the next command, Trowa wasn’t sure. Probably a little of both.
"You mind telling me what this is about?"
"Now, Quatre. Don't make me tell you twice."
He lifted his chin and dropped his arms down by his sides. His expression was stoic, though Trowa knew he was feeling anything but. He stopped mere inches away and waited quietly.
“Take off your tie.”
He complied, but Trowa didn’t miss the slight tremor in his hands as they reached up to pull the knot loose.
“Give it to me.”
He paused for only a beat and then placed the discarded tie in Trowa’s hand.
“Now the shirt.”
A dutiful nod and then the white silk was slipping from Quatre’s pale shoulders, exposing the delicate wings of his collarbone and the lean muscles of his torso. Trowa’s mouth watered at the sight of creamy skin, kissed gold by the firelight. He couldn’t wait to mark that supple flesh with his hands and teeth. Velvety black lust uncurled in his belly when he counted all the ways he could defile the flawless canvas before him and he welcomed it with open arms. Swallowing around a suddenly dry throat, he squeezed the tie in his hands to get himself back under control. “Now the rest. But give me your belt as well.”
Quatre’s chest rose and fell in rapid succession, trying to keep up with his racing heart. Trembling fingers fumbled with the belt buckle, but once the clasp was undone, the strip of leather slid easily through the loops and was dropped into Trowa’s hand with a soft ‘clink’.
His long, slender cock sprung free as his trousers and underwear pooled around his feet. Engorged with blood, it was flushed a lovely shade of rose and curved gracefully upward, the tip just a few inches shy of grazing his naval. Trowa could feel the searing heat of his body in such close proximity and his self control slipped before he was even aware of it. He lunged forward and sucked the hardened column of flesh into his mouth until the spongy head pressed into the back of his throat.
Shocked, Quatre gasped at the unexpected warmth and powerful suction. His knees wobbled, on the verge of buckling, but Trowa was ready. He wrapped his arms around his husband’s waist and pulled him forward until the blond was straddling his lap. As soon as the narrow hips began to undulate, he remembered himself and backed off.
Gleaming with spit and leaking from the tip, Quatre's cock bobbed in the air between them, but he made no further move to seek the stimulation he needed so badly.
“Good boy,” Trowa praised, sliding his hands up and down his sides. “You’re going to do everything I tell you to, aren’t you?”
Quatre's eyes were glazed over and his pupils blown wide, but he nodded his consent.
“Good. Hold out your hands.”
He obeyed and Trowa looped the tie around his slender wrists, first separately, then together before securing them with a knot. Quatre remained quiet and cooperative, allowing himself to be manhandled into whatever position Trowa wanted. When the task was done, he was pulled in by the waist until he was straddling the brunette's legs.
"Sit," Trowa ordered, picking up the belt.
He glanced down and his eyes widened, but he heeded Trowa's look of warning, lowering himself until his bare ass was seated on the denim-clad thighs. Trowa felt the shiver travel through his husband’s body, knowing how much he loved the rough scratch of clothing against his naked skin.
Now it was time to see how the blond reacted to being collared and leashed. He lifted the belt, inhaling the raw, earthy scent as he tested its weight and texture. How breathtaking would his Quatre look bouncing in his lap with one end of the belt wrapped securely around his neck and the other gripped tight in Trowa's fist, pulled taut to keep him from escaping? He stared into his captive's clear blue eyes and smiled like a cat with a mouse caught between its paws.
Only one way to find out.