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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.

“Closer.”

"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.

Chapter Text

Adrenaline coursed through Quatre’s veins, making his heart pound against his chest and his breathing quick and shallow. The blood rushed through his ears, loud and pulsing. With each beat of his heart, it seemed to travel down into his groin and stay there, resulting in a build-up of pressure that made his legs feel weak and wobbly.

The belt was snug around his throat, not enough to cut off his airway completely, but still constricting his oxygen and blood flow which caused him to feel lightheaded. 

And ridiculously horny.

The threat of suffocation heightened his senses. His nerve endings sparked with life, his hearing was amplified, and his olfactory system was oversensitive to the point that he thought he could taste the air. He’d become a finely tuned instrument, tweaked into peak performance by the very man who was now wrapping the long end of the belt around his right hand. Trowa gave a slight tug and his head jerked back a little as his neck was pulled forward. Along with his bound wrists, there wasn’t much he could do and under any other circumstance, that would have been extremely unsettling. With Trowa, it was anything but.

“You want to tell me why you were late?”

He startled at the softly spoken inquiry and blinked down at his husband. “What?”

“Why were you late, sweetheart?”

“Oh. I - my meeting ran late and a colleague talked my ear off when I asked her how her aunt was doing.”

“Mmm-hmm…and how is her auntie doing?”

“She’s - she’s okay. Home from the hospital after two weeks of pneumonia. It was touch and go for a while.”

“I see.”

“When I was leaving the outlet mall, I figured I should call you because I knew I was running late, especially with the snow coming down like it was.”

“But you dropped your phone in a puddle.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

Trowa’s lips compressed into a disappointed line and he ducked his head as heat stained his cheeks. He knew his husband wasn’t actually upset with him. This was all part of whatever elaborate scheme Trowa had concocted inside that gloriously perverted mind of his. He still had no idea what cards he was hiding up his sleeve, but it was the not knowing that made this all the more thrilling. 

“But you did make me worry.”

Cowed, he nodded and kept his head down. “I know. I am sorry.”

“You know you have to be punished now, don’t you?”

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end when he felt Trowa’s fingertips lightly trace over his right ass cheek, spreading goosebumps in their wake. First along the very bottom where it was joined with his thigh, then up and over the swell, and finally circling around the shallow dimple just below the small of his back.

“Answer me, sweetheart.”

“Ye - yes. I know.”

“Stand up.”

Dizzy from the heat of the fire, combined with the inferno that seemed to be raging inside his husband, he shakily got to his feet and silently pleaded for his legs to hold him up. Trowa’s keen eyes traveled over the soft curves and smooth planes of his body with such intense hunger, he blushed from head to toe and resisted the urge to cover himself.

“My god, you’re so fucking sexy.” Trowa grabbed the loose end of the belt and pulled gently. “C’mon,” he cajoled. “Over my knee.”

Heart racing, he obeyed and gingerly lowered his body until the front of his torso was laying across Trowa’s thighs. His arms hung down to one side, knuckles brushing against the floor as he was maneuvered into position. He was painfully self-conscious of how high in the air his ass was. He could feel both the warmth of the fire and Trowa’s hungry eyes on it, becoming the focal point of his attention and he couldn't stop the blood from rushing into his face.

Seven years and he can still make me blush like a virgin.

“Good boy,” Trowa cooed, squeezing a soft butt cheek. “Oh, you like this, don’t you?”

He instinctively lifted his hips, not sure what he was asking for. Excitement, tinged with a little anxiety, tugged on his lower belly and Trowa wasn't helping with this prolonged teasing. He forced his muscles to relax, fighting the natural impulse to brace for the unexpected. Whatever Trowa was going to do, it would hurt less if he wasn't tensed up.

Smack!

“Ah, sh -” He bit down into the firm flesh of his husband's thigh and squeezed his eyes shut as another slap, then another, and another bounced off the cheeks of his ass. The sharp crack and subsequent sting every time he was struck was strangely erotic, but the humiliation, his vulnerability and the knowledge that he was being disciplined brought him to heights of arousal he'd never before thought were possible. His senses were overloaded and his nerve endings electrified, circulating throughout his body as a white-hot current that ultimately made its way to his cock. He rolled his hips, grinding against Trowa’s leg to relieve the pressure. Drooling into the denim fabric, he let out a gutteral moan and took his punishment with eager abandon. 

Trowa’s voice was gravelly when he finally spoke, a clear indicator that his self-control was weakening. “My goodness, look at you. Such a slut for this, aren't you?" He rubbed his calloused palm over a fiery red cheek and savored the pained whimper. "Judging by the way you're humping my leg, I'd say you've been gagging for this a while, huh?" Smack! "Little cockslut." Smack! "Does it make you want to get fucked?"

Ass on fire, Quatre could only respond with a jerky nod.

"Does it?"

Smack!

Another nod.

"Does it make you want to get fucked hard?"

Smack!

Nod.

"You wanna be my little whore?"

Smack!

Nod.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good, baby. I'm gonna pound those pretty brains right out of your pretty blond head."

Pushed to unbearable heights of arousal, Quatre fucked his cock into the narrow slot between Trowa's thighs. The friction caused by the rough denim rubbing up and down his length was exquisite and with each thrust, his balls drew up tighter against his body as the pleasure began to condense.

Without warning, a spit-slicked finger quested between the cheeks of his ass, circled his hole, and pushed inside him. Buried to the last knuckle, it wiggled and made contact with his prostate, sending him right off the edge and into oblivion. He moaned and rocked helplessly, cock spurting ropes of cum down Trowa's leg. His ringing ears dimly registered an emphatic hiss and it took his foggy brain a few minutes to notice the way his body was rippling and squeezing around his husband's finger.

He hung limp and spent, momentarily forgetting where he was until the world tilted and tipped over. Hands, rough and demanding, hoisted him up and then dropped him unceremoniously into the opposite chair before he could even get his wits about him. Disoriented, he watched through half-closed eyes as Trowa stood tall and proud before him. His body was a work of art, strong and lithe, evident of his skill as an athlete and acrobat. His skin was smooth, stretched tight over his muscles and just a few shades paler than it was in the summer.

He tore the fly of his cum-stained jeans open and hurriedly shoved them down his legs. His green eyes were locked on Quatre’s own, dark and glittering like emeralds as he pulled a small tube from one of the pockets and straightened up. Jutting out beneath a neatly groomed patch of auburn hair, his cock was stiff and flushed an angry red. “I need to fuck you, now,” he growled, kicking the jeans off his feet. He dropped back into his chair and unscrewed the cap from the small tube, keeping his eyes trained on Quatre who was still slumped in the other one. “You’re going to ride my cock like a good little slut and if you please me, maybe I’ll let you come again.”

Warmth flooded Quatre’s groin and once again began to coax his softened cock back to life. His breath puffed hot and shallow through his parted lips, keeping time with his furiously beating heart. Yes, this…this was a good idea. A genius idea.

Oh, I'll ride your cock, stud. I'll ride it so hard, it'll take a week for your eyes to uncross. I'll ride it so good, you'll think my ass is your lord and savior. I'll ride it so -

"Quatre!"

Startled out of his internal monologue, he glanced up to see Trowa staring at him like he was the last meal on earth. His hand was gripping the base of his cock, pushing a little with his thumb until the engorged head was pointed in Quatre’s direction. “If your ass isn't on this within the next five seconds, you can forget about coming again."

He flailed his legs, scrambling to get himself upright. His feet found purchase on the floor and in two steps, he was poised on the brunette's lap with his knees tucked in against his sides. Trowa grabbed the end of the belt in one hand and used the other to hold his cock steady as Quatre lifted his hips high enough to take the tip. The slicked head pushed beneath his balls and slid teasingly along his perineum before it dipped into the valley between his cheeks. It probed gently, seeking the point of entry and swirled around it to lubricate the puckered muscle.

Trowa let out a deep groan and kept the length of the belt taut to prevent his captive from pulling away. “Take it in, sweetheart. Just sink down slowly, a little at a time…there you go. Good boy. Just like that, fuck..." His head thumped back against the chair, mouth open in bliss as every inch of his throbbing cock was swallowed by the searing hot clutch of Quatre's body. "God, you feel so fuckin' good. That's it, baby. You're doing great."

Quatre’s mouth was open in a soundless cry. He was overwhelmed by the stretch, though it did little to slow his descent. The muscles inside him were accustomed to the burn of penetration and parted willingly to accommodate the familiar shape and size of his husband's cock. Once he was fully seated, he paused to catch his breath and gather his bearings, thankful for Trowa's endless patience. Calloused palms stroked his back and the soothing caresses helped to dissolve his tension. When he felt centered enough to continue, he hooked his bound hands behind Trowa’s head and used his shoulders as leverage to push himself up. After a quick pause, he sank back down, eyes fluttering closed in concentration.

He turned his awareness inward and focused on feeling every delicious inch pervade his body’s protective barriers and carve a niche for themselves inside him. He slid down again, this time with less resistance, and let out a throaty groan as a wave of carnal pleasure washed over him, propelling his hips to move faster.

Beads of sweat formed along his brow and hairline. Exertion and the furnace-like heat coming from both himself and Trowa, along with the increasing temperature and humidity of the room made his skin burn like liquid fire. It left him feeling woozy and breathless, but he couldn’t stop the vigorous motion of his hips. Not when the cock buried inside him was rubbing him in all the right place.

Trowa’s green eyes were cloudy with ecstasy and need as he stared up at Quatre. Seeing him like this was such a heady rush. Despite the end of the belt clenched in Trowa's fist to keep him from escaping - as if he'd even try to - and his restrained hands, this was true power. That Trowa, despite his larger size, his dominance, his demands, could so easily be unraveled by the loving embrace of Quatre’s body gave him a different, but no less potent sense of control.

“Allah, I love watching your face when I ride your cock.”

Trowa blinked for the first time in several minutes and cursed when Quatre moved his hips in a slow, sensual roll. The quirk of his mouth was a clear sign that he knew exactly what he was doing and Trowa yanked on the belt to remind him of his place. “I love watching you fuck yourself on my cock. The way you grind it inside you, trying to pull me in deeper. That desperate look in your eyes, like you want to come so bad, but you don’t want it to end either.”

Quatre’s bottom lip trembled as his husband’s rich baritone filled every nook and cranny of his body like warm molasses. He had only enough time to catch the gleam in Trowa’s eyes, sparkling like an emerald in the sunlight. Then his upper lip curled back from his teeth and he lunged forward, catapulting both of them from the chair. He dropped Quatre onto his knees in the opposite chair and pressed against his back until he was bent over. “I’m gonna make you scream and come all over yourself, but don’t think I’m anywhere near being close to done with you. The night is still young, my pet.”

Quatre’s bound hands grappled for purchase on the back of the chair but could find nothing to grab onto that would support his upper body. He let his arms dangle limply, eyes rolling behind his lashes as Trowa pushed his knees apart and swiftly took him from behind. He keened, hopelessly addicted to the raw power and tortuous ache of being held down and forced to accept the lust of a man twice his size. He’d made his peace with that, though it wasn’t easy at first. It was an especially daunting thing to consider since he knew he was suffering from a moderate case of ‘Unresolved Daddy Issues’.

Freud would have had a field day with him.

His mouth opened in a silent scream when the belt around his neck was pulled taut, cutting off most of his air. Dizzy from oxygen deprivation, he propped himself up with his elbows on the chair’s headrest and arched his back to relieve the tension. The position inevitably tilted his ass higher which allowed Trowa to fuck into the deepest recesses of his body. 

“You like that, baby?” Trowa’s voice was a deep growl when he spoke against Quatre’s ear, though he could also hear the telltale tremor that he’d come to recognize as his husband’s control beginning to slip. “Mmm, you’re so hot and tight around my cock. Can you feel me? Can you feel how deep inside you I am? This is what you do to me. You make me so fucking hard when you shake that ass in front of me until all I can think about is bending you over the nearest surface and fucking you senseless."

A tear escaped from the corner of Quatre’s eye and rolled unbidden down his temple. Fucked senseless…was that what was happening here? Because his senses had been kicked so far into overdrive that he wasn’t even sure what planet he was on. His mouth worked, trying to form words that died on his tongue before they were spoken. The only thing that came to mind anyway was an endless diatribe of ‘Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me…’ and he lacked the breath to verbalize it.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Trowa waited for his barely imperceptible nod. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. You want me to touch you, make you come all over yourself?”

A faint keening sound escaped from his throat. It was all he could muster, but it was enough. His awareness was fading and the tingling in his extremities was increasing. He hoped he wouldn’t pass out before the finale. Trowa’s hand skirted around his hip and his body released a shudder when it reached between his legs and fondled his balls. His pelvis compulsively twitched and then rolled forward into the touch. He worked up a clumsy, but effective pace between the hand in front and the penetration from behind, the dual stimulation causing fireworks to explode behind his eyes. 

Trowa fisted him, pulling gently on his cock before dipping his hand lower once again. He slid his index finger underneath the delicate balls, further back across the perineum until the tip made contact with the ring of muscle stretched tight around his own length. Quatre made a strange noise, somewhere between a gasp and a shout. His body locked up for a split second and then he pushed his face into the cushion, unleashing a litany of broken cries as his seed spilled over the microfiber cushion just as the edges of his consciousness began to blur.

Hissing through his teeth at the intense contractions around his own length, Trowa bent low over Quatre’s back and bit down into the tender junction between his husband's neck and shoulder. He held onto the headrest for leverage and fucked in deep, ignoring the blond’s pained whimpers in favor of chasing his orgasm.

The chair squeaked under the force of his movements and just as his balls drew up tight, there was a loud cracking sound. Squished beneath him, Quatre shrieked as the chair's wooden frame collapsed and sent them both tumbling onto the floor. Trowa’s lust-clouded brain could only conjure up enough fucks to adjust to the abrupt change in angle. He broke rhythm for only a second, but quickly gained his momentum again, pushing his hips between the splayed thighs and reclaiming his captive.

Quatre was half-sprawled over the remains of the chair and the floor with his cheek pressed into the polished wooden planks. It wasn’t the most comfortable position, but he was stuck there until Trowa was satisfied. Sweat dripped onto his back and the cheeks of his ass were slick with it which thankfully eased the friction caused by their skin rubbing together. The aggressive grinding against his prostate made the muscles in his legs and hips twitch and he nearly laughed when his spent cock stirred with interest.

I don’t believe you. We came twice already! What more do you want from me?

“I’m so close, baby…so close.”

Hopelessly turned on, he bit down into the plump flesh of his bottom lip and lifted his ass higher, knowing that simple, wanton gesture would be enough to tip his husband over the edge.

Trowa groaned through clenched teeth as he pulled out and shot the first few streaks of cum over the pert cheeks of his ass before sliding back inside him. He rolled his hips a few more times, groaning brokenly from the tight grip of the blond’s body, wringing the last of his orgasm out of him. Tired and satiated, he draped himself over the smaller man with his hips snugly nestled between his thighs and nipped a bony shoulder blade.

“Feel better?” Quatre asked him, voice a little hoarse after being choked.

He nodded, a sated smile curling up the corners of his mouth. “You were incredible, as always. I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“No. Though the chair might disagree.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. Got a little carried away.”

Quatre snorted as he lifted his head to remove the belt from his neck. “Do you know what ‘understatement’ means?” He held his bound hands up in front of Trowa's face. "Untie me."

“Don’t be a brat,” he scolded, though he obeyed the request.

“Or what? You’ll spank me again? Doesn’t sound like much of a deterrent.”

“Good point,” he mused. “I won’t spank you then.”

“Okay, I’ll behave.”

“Well, that was easy. You like being my naughty boy, don’t you?”

Quatre rolled onto his side and stared at his husband through half-lidded eyes. “Am I that transparent?"

"Maybe a little," he replied with a laugh.

"I like being whatever you want me to be. Your master, or your slave. Your boss, or your ditzy blond secretary. Your forbidden lover with a dark past, or a friend with benefits. Shit, if you wanted, I can be your warden, or your prisoner, or maybe even your parole officer. Whatever tickles your fancy. You know you could do anything you wanted to me and I wouldn’t even try to stop you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Why?”

“Because I trust you, dummy."

“I know, but why?”

“Well, why do you trust me?”

“Because…”

Quatre cracked one eyelid open and peered up at him through the tousled fringe of his hair. “Because…?”

“Because! Why wouldn’t I? You’re the kindest and most loving soul I’ve ever met.”

“There’s your answer.”

“That was my answer,” he said petulantly, pursing his lips when he heard Quatre's muttered expletive.

The blond rolled onto his back and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. “Trowa, look…we both love and trust each other for the same reasons. Even if we paraphrase them differently, the meaning doesn’t change.”

He slid his hand over the smooth curves of Quatre’s chest and down the flat stomach until the tips of his fingers grazed the wiry coils of his pubic hair. He savored the slight hitch in Quatre’s breath, the instinctive jutting up of his hips in search of stimulation despite having just climaxed minutes before. He smiled and stilled his movement, leaving him in a heightened state of uncertainty. “I suppose you’re right, but I still wouldn’t mind hearing your paraphrased version again.”

Quatre shook his head in gentle admonishment and reached down to cover Trowa’s teasing hand with his own. He didn’t attempt to remove it, or push it down towards his cock. They simply rested together on the sensitive patch of flesh between his lower belly and groin. “I trusted you the first day I met you.”

“Really?”

“What do you mean ‘really’? Does me running out of my Gundam - unarmed, no less - not count for trust?"

“I was out of ammo though, remember?”

Quatre gave him a look that clearly said he was questioning Trowa’s intelligence. “You could have flicked my scrawny ass clear across the desert with Heavyarms' thumb and index finger, no ammo necessary.”

“But I didn’t.”

He ruffled the hair at the back of his head. “No. You came out, too. With your arms up after I’d already surrendered. I can only imagine how stupid we both looked.”

“Oh please, Quat. It’s not like it was just the two of us. If I'd bent one hair on your precious little head, your horde of adoring Maguanacs would have vaporized me. Just…kablam. Nuked to a pile of ash. Buried in a shoe box somewhere in the Sahara. Pissed on by the occasional passing camel.”

Quatre guffawed and slapped his hand over his mouth, though he was still laughing hard enough to make his shoulders shake. “Oh my god,” he wheezed from behind his palm. “Okay. Okay, you have a point, but I’ll have you know that I did not want to get squished into qatayef so I’m still going to count it because my neck was on the line. Besides, I could have killed you. I still had ammunition and my heat shotels were fully functional.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Quatre smiled, though it wasn’t without a trace of bitterness. “You know, Rashid still asks me that?”

“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s not exactly president of the Trowa Barton Fan Club.”

“No, that honor goes to me.”

He made a show of rolling his eyes. “Dork." He waited for Quatre's answer and pressed further when none was forthcoming. "So?"

“What?”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Same reason I invited you back to the compound with us and offered to repair Heavyarms.”

“Naivety?”

Quatre glared at him. “No. Intuition. I knew you wouldn’t harm me. I could feel your goodness,” he pressed a finger against his own chest, right above his heart. “In here.”

Touched, Trowa took his hand and brought it to his lips. “Was that all you felt?”

“No. I mean, I felt traces of other emotions. Pain, regret, anger. Fear. But you - the thing that makes you who you are is goodness. I didn’t kill you because all that negativity you were carrying around, I knew that wasn’t you." He smiled and brushed his thumb over Trowa’s bottom lip. “I trust you with everything I have in me. With everything I am. If you told me to jump, I'd ask how high. Because I know, without a doubt in my mind, that you’ll always be there to catch me.”

Lump in his throat and chest swelling with emotion, he claimed his love's rosy lips with a biting kiss. "I fucking love you, Quat."

“Besides, what more proof do you need after what just happened? I acted like a total slut...oh, who am I kidding? I am a total slut.”

He chuckled and spooned up behind the blond, nipping a delicate earlobe before whispering, “Not a slut, my slut.”

“Of course. You don’t think I spread my legs like a bitch in heat for anyone else, do you?”

“You’d better not,” he growled, clutching his husband in a melodramatic show of possessiveness. “Otherwise that policy on your ass won’t be worth much.”

Quatre balked and twisted his body around just enough to punch his arm. “You insured my ass and didn’t even tell me? Trowa, you bastard!”

“Hey, a man’s gotta protect his…assets.”

“Oh my god, honey. We really need to work on your puns.”

“I’ll get to that after I’m done fixing the chair.”

Quatre snickered. “Don’t bother. This thing is nothing but kindle now.” He surveyed the damage and shook his head wryly. “You never cease to amaze me, you know that?”

“I can still fix it!”

“It’s a pile of toothpicks, my love. Let it go. I saw a really nice set of chairs at the store earlier anyway so now you’ve just given me an excuse to splurge.”

He nuzzled the blond’s neck as his shoulders shook with laughter. “I thought Christmas was the season for giving.”

“It is! You gave me your dick, I gave you my ass, you broketh our chair, I buy us new ones.”

“Your mind is a strange and fascinating place.”

“So you don’t just love me for my body then?”

“Your body is the perfect icing on top of an already perfect cake.”

“Now you're making me hungry."

“Dinner’s in the warmer. I made your favorite.”

“You did? Allah, you're the best Christmas gift of all," Quatre told him, kissing him hard on the lips before squirming out of his embrace. He climbed to his feet and flashed Trowa a wink over his shoulder. "Last one to the kitchen bottoms next." 

He jumped to his feet and tore off after the blond who was cackling like a madman as he leaped up the three steps and disappeared into the darkness of the foyer. "You know, you talk a lot of shit for someone who likes wearing a leash."

 

End.