
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/177608.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gundam_Wing
  Relationship:
      Treize_Khushrenada/Zechs_Merquise
  Character:
      Treize_Khushrenada, Zechs_Merquise, Milliardo_Peacecraft
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Canon, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon, Friends_to_Lovers, Erotica, First
      Time, Drama, Explicit_Sexual_Content
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-04-04 Words: 5339
****** Then Kneel Down Presently ******
by Raletha
Summary
     Zechs leaves behind his name and his family to join OZ, where he
     meets the man who will control his destiny. Circa 2004.
Notes
     For Harloprillalar's request in the 2004 Gundam Wing Back-to-School
     Smutathon
Milliardo regarded the letter on his desk. It had been handwritten on the
highest quality parchment paper: thick and off-white with a finely lined
texture. It was soft under his fingers, and he could feel where the thick
peacock blue ink had depressed the paper's texture. He had only read the letter
once; he'd only needed to read it once. It marked the end of so many things.
He turned his head to look out the window, but let his fingers remain caressing
the paper. In the gardens outside autumn had come to Austria early. Flowers had
withered and leaves turned. They were just now losing the last vestiges of
colour and becoming brown, dry, and wrinkled.
The letter had come finally. Its arrival had brought with it both relief and
further tension. The address on the envelope had already caused concern among
the household. When Peygan had delivered it, his expression had been anything
but approving.
Millardo knew the butler would be contacting the Darlian's soon to tell them of
how Millardo was going astray. How could he, a Peacecraft, turn away from his
family and apply to join OZ? And now that he had been accepted to the Academy,
to start in just a few weeks? What then? What shame would Millardo bring them?
What hypocrisy!
The photo of Relena on his desk mocked him with her little girl's smile. He was
doing it for her. Never mind the status of his own soul. He'd given up on that
when he watched his parents die, when he'd watched the palace burn, and when
he'd vowed his vengeance with his own blood.
This was no world for the only daughter of the world's greatest pacifist, but
it should be. He would make it so by being one to embrace the very tools feared
by his father. For it was only through the crucible of human suffering and war
that a new world could be born. Like the Phoenix it would be. He would see to
it. He would make it right.
He folded the letter without looking at it and slid it back within its
envelope. He smoothed the small package flat against his desk and stared at it.
It hadn't been addressed to Millardo Peacecraft, after all. This was the end of
that life.
'Zechs Merquise' read the envelope, scribed with an elegant flourish in
someone's well-schooled hand. It was the first time Milliardo had seen his new
name written by someone else. He traced the bold strokes of the 'Z' with his
index finger and murmured the name, "Zechs. Zechs Merquise."
He liked the way the German affricate sang when he pressed the tip of his
tongue behind his front teeth. He liked the sharpness and brevity of the final
consonant cluster. The name sounded like his new identity. There was no languid
"l", dull 'd', or hollow, trailing vowel. And the last name had none of the
softness in either sound or semantics of what he abandoned.
The new name was a strong, noble one: refined and powerful, as he would become.
 
He arrived at the Academy in Brussels just a week later, two weeks before
classes began. That week he stayed in a nearby hotel until the dorms were open.
He had hoped to slip in as just another hopeful first year student, but that
wish turned out to be a futile one. Due to his familial name -- not his new
name, but Peacecraft -- he found himself an object of interest to many members
of the school's administration. He was shuttled from office to home and though
treated politely always, came to dislike the thinly veiled interrogations of
him and his motivations for abandoning his family and joining OZ.
Among the aging aristocrats of OZ was an unspoken sentiment that, by Zechs'
attendance of the Academy, they had struck some sort of significant blow
against the doctrine of pacifism. Zechs learned quickly to encourage their
self-satisfaction, and gave as little away about the specifics of himself as
possible. He never once mentioned Relena nor the Darlians. Their names should
not be spoken in such company.
That first week passed for Zechs in an interminable blur of parlours and
libraries after dinner, spent with old men drinking brandy and smoking cigars.
He'd be seated in a leather chair, handed a snifter containing half a shot of
brandy (and told with a conspiratorial wink that it was all right for him to
drink in adult company, he was a man now himself wasn't he?), and then be the
old men's trophy for the evening. Eventually they would be talking about him
not to him, about his father, his family -- Sanq -- and he would be left with a
miniscule buzz staring at the wood paneling, until the wife of one of the men
would intrude into the den of antique masculinity, take pity on the poor boy
who needed his sleep and would likely rather be spending his time with young
men his own age, and she would call him a taxi.
By his first Sunday away from Austria, Zechs wasn't sure he still wanted to be
at the Academy. But on Monday, that all changed. Other students began to
arrive, he moved into his dorm room, and he was introduced to his student
mentor -- an upperclassman of the ancient Khushrenada line, Treize.
Treize, a few years his senior, embodied everything Zechs hoped he would one
day become: genteel, powerful, and charismatic. And all of it tempered by a
sensitivity both emotional and aesthetic that could seduce even the most
cynical of hearts. Thus Zechs happily attended to all of Treize's advice,
allowed the older boy to show him around the campus and the local township as
well as advise his course of study and goals within OZ. Their camaraderie
blossomed quickly. Soon they were spending idle time between classes talking
over coffee, and Zechs found himself slowly opening up to Treize -- telling him
of his real name (until now known only to the schools' staff), his family
history, and even telling him about Relena. Treize always listened, and there
was always sympathy in the young man's blue eyes.
Their friendship progressed effortlessly and joyfully (Treize never once made
Zechs feel less for his relative youth) and by three weeks into the term, they
were nigh inseparable in their free time. At Treize's urging, Zechs -- though
he had never acted before in his life -- auditioned for the drama club's
production of Christopher Marlowe's Doctor Faustus, and they celebrated
heartily when not only was Zechs cast in the leading role, but also he would be
playing opposite Treize's Mephistophilis.
It gave them even more opportunity to spend time together -- guilt free time at
that, since reading lines together was a necessary part of preparing for the
play. Zechs was eager for every moment spent with Treize as he realised his
feelings of friendship for his mentor were growing into something more intense
than platonic adoration. He spent many sleepless nights flush with the
suspicion -- the possibility -- that his crush was reciprocated.
The production, which took up most of his time and ran the two weeks prior to
their Christmas holidays, was a great success. They even had to schedule two
new matinees on the Friday and Saturday of the final weekend. It was fabulous
every performance, and Treize assured him that the last show would be the most
memorable of all.
 
The final performance was just as Treize had promised it. The audience had
applauded most vigorously then, and when he and Treize had come out to take
their last bow as Dr Faustus and Mephistophilis, they received a standing
ovation. There had been three curtain calls.
High, he was high on nothing more than adrenaline and pride and whatever other
euphoria inducing hormones came with the end of a performance. It was
especially sweet tonight. He was still too excited to be feeling the loss of
the show's coming to an end, of no more rehearsals and late night script
readings with Treize in his upper classman dorm room.
Oh, they had been brilliant! He laughed and joked and hugged and slapped the
backs of the other cast members and the grips, and was hugged and slapped and
congratulated in turn. In fact he was the star! Treize had slipped away somehow
and thus Zechs quickly became the centre of the adulation. A few girls had
managed to come backstage and flirted with him, though their faces blended
together and he didn't remember their names beyond when they introduced
themselves. They soon found other cast members to cling to and left him to his
own, more aloof, space. He was the star after all.
By the time the impromptu backstage celebration had begun to break up, with
different cliques proposing different bars for continuing the partying with the
addition of social lubrication, Zechs was actively searching for Treize. His
friend had simply melted away after they'd come back behind the curtain that
final time.
Zechs declined taking a ride with the others in some unlucky student's car,
instead saying he would catch up with them later, once he'd found Treize and
told him where they were meeting.
And thus he was alone backstage in the deserted auditorium. He indulged himself
by stepping back out on the stage for a minute -- the last time in his costume
of antique academic robes. The house lights were on, though dimmed, which
spoiled the illusion for him somewhat as he walked to stage centre and looked
out across the empty seats.
The remaining props on the stage had yet to be cleaned up, and lay discarded,
finished with their roles too. What had been powerful illusions now were just
painted cardboard and foam and plastic. But it had been amazing, hadn't it?
He'd done well, hadn't he?
The young man's heart swelled with his newfound pride -- he even indulged a
moment of arrogance. At least until he heard the footstep behind him and a
familiar cultured tenor. "There you are, Zechs. I thought you must have left
with the others," said Treize.
Hearing that voice shrank Zechs' ego back to its more customary -- but still
somewhat inflated -- size. However, to the boy it seemed a terrific blow. His
stomach seemed a cage for exotic butterflies and his palms sweated. "I was
looking for you, actually," Zechs said and turned around to face Treize.
Treize was still in his costume but he'd removed the makeup and brushed out his
hair. Its customary ginger still had a dark red tinge, but it was falling
softly again, instead of being slicked back close to his skull. Short bits of
fringe hung on his forehead, making him look again like Treize and not
Mephistophilis.
"I am found," he said with that smile Zechs' loved: the one that hinted that
Treize was in on some secret scandalous knowledge about oneself. "Come, Zechs,"
he said, "I'm pleased I found you still here. We should celebrate too." Treize
held out one open palmed hand toward Zechs.
Something in the older boy's demeanor, something in his outstretched hand,
something in his voice, sent a pleasurable shiver of anticipation up Zechs'
spine. "Yes," he said, and stepped forward to take the offered hand.
Treize took his hand only briefly before ushering him back behind the curtain,
pressing the same hand to the small of Zechs' back, an even more intimate
touch. Zechs looked back over his shoulder and smiled, hoping to encourage
Treize to let his hand remain. And Treize did. They walked side by side
backstage, Treize's hand lingering upon Zechs' back.
They entered the gloom of the prop room and when Treize stopped walking, Zechs
stopped breathing.
"Did you want to meet the others at the bar?" Treize asked, and there was an
implicit 'or' in the question mark intonation.
So what was the alternate? Perhaps...? The subtle flirting: the long glances
and smiles, the casual touches that lingered -- they couldn't just be standard
modus operandi for the upperclassman (Zechs had not seen him behave thus with
anyone else at least) -- they must all mean something. And the other night when
they'd been reading lines in Treize's room, Zechs had been certain Treize had
considered kissing him at least once.
"Not really," said Zechs with a shrug. "I'm not much in the mood for crowds."
"Nor am I."
The hand at Zechs' back moved up his spine to his neck, tangling in his hair.
He turned toward Treize and that hand came around to cup his chin.
"A more private celebration perhaps?" Treize continued, and when the thumb of
Treize's hand lightly brushed his lower lip, Zechs closed his eyes.
Zechs barely had time to nod before Treize had closed the distance between them
and pressed their mouths together. Even though Zechs had been wanting exactly
this -- expecting it, really -- for so long, the reality of it took him by
surprise. He fumbled with one hand for support, finding a stack of scenery
boards leaning against the wall. He gripped the edge of the one nearest with
one hand, and tentatively put his other hand on Treize's arm.
Treize's mouth was hot against his, and more urgent than Zechs would have
thought. The older boy's tongue probed at the seam of his lips insistently, and
Zechs knew he must -- with haste -- dispose of any lingering inhibitions he may
harbour. He opened his mouth for Treize, welcoming his first French kiss with
as much youthful ardor as he possessed, moaning into Treize's mouth and
pressing his body against Treize's. It was hard to breathe, and Zechs feared he
was dribbling from the corner of his mouth, but it was so glorious to finally
be doing this -- what he'd been hoping for, aching for, fantasizing about for
so long.
He felt suddenly emboldened by the tangling of their tongues in his mouth and
worked his hand from Treize's arm to the other man's waist. He could feel
Treize's body, warm and hard, beneath the scarlet shirt of his costume. The
fabric was such a thin barrier, it tempted Zechs to grope in earnest, to slide
his hand up and over Treize's ribs in search of a nipple. Once found he rubbed
the hardened nub until he garnered a response.
With a most gratifying shudder, Treize pulled back from the kiss, "Zechs," he
murmured. "Do you have any idea what I want to do to you tonight?" Zechs found
himself on the receiving end of a much more intimate grope. Even through the
gathered fabric of his academic robes, Treize's hand cupping his stiffened cock
left him gasping for oxygen. "Right now? “
Zechs did have some idea -- but it was an admittedly vague one. He knew the
theory of sex between men, had daydreamed about it for weeks now, and now
wanted very much for Treize to show him the reality of his theory and dreams.
"You wish to sodomise me?" he asked, and pinched Treize's nipple between his
fingers.
"In every sense of it..." Treize said and twisted Zechs around, pressing him
back against the side-stacked scenery boards.
Swiftly, Treize dropped to his knees before Zechs, and Zechs gazed down at him
-- he whom Zechs admired and adored so much, kneeling before him and smiling up
at him. And then there was no more time to think. Treize was gathering up the
heavy black robes of Zechs' costume and ducking under them. They fell, draping
over Treize's back until all Zechs could see were Treize's backside and legs,
still wrapped in the tight red-leather of his Mephistophilis costume, though he
had removed the tail.
The robes were hot; Zechs already knew this, had experienced it under the
bright heat of the stage lights, but that heat was nothing compared to this.
Treize's hands slid up his bare thighs; Treize's lips pressed a kiss to his
inner thigh, and, enfeebled by his desire, all Zechs could do was gulp for air
and grip Treize's shoulders through the folds of his costume.
Then Treize's hands were over his cock again, but now only a thin barrier of
cotton was between them. A greater heat -- heat with moisture -- closed over
Zechs' aching shaft: Treize's mouth. Zechs felt the softness of his lips, the
firm, damp probing of his tongue, the humidity of his breath as Treize mouthed
his erection through the fabric. He gasped and groaned and pulled on Treize's
shoulders, urging him to do more, to do something more than tease.
But Treize was unmoved by this encouragement. He licked at Zechs' cock through
the thin material until it was sodden. He sucked at Zechs' shaft through the
fine cotton weave. He teased and tormented until Zechs' was letting out a
faint, "Oh, please..." with every other breath.
"Please... oh, please..." he panted, pressing his hips forward, grinding
himself against Treize's face, seeking satisfaction.
Finally, Treize slipped fingers beneath the thin material and brushed Zechs'
balls, stroked the side of his cock, and then helped maneuver Zechs' cockhead
through the gap at the front of his boxers. Zechs' knees nearly gave out on him
when those maddeningly agile lips wrapped snug suction around the bare tip of
his cock while the even more agile tongue rubbed him just deliriously so.
"...yes," he gasped, letting his head fall back to stare up at the darkened
rafters. He felt so wanton at the weight of his hair sliding down his back.
Treize sucked harder and Zechs cried out, uncaring who might hear them.
Treize's tongue seemed to be everywhere -- digging gently into his slit,
sliding beneath his foreskin to curl around his sensitive glans and rub against
his frenulum. It was so very intimate, cataloguing the erotic movements of
Treize's lips and tongue while they were obscured from his view.
Zechs shivered as Treize gently tugged back the skin covering the head of his
cock and drew it deeper into his mouth. God, the heat, the suction, the rhythm
of his tongue... That was all it took for Zechs to cry out and jerk against
Treize, coming in waves of pleasurable contractions until he was doubled over,
gripping desperately to Treize’s shoulders.
But Treize wasn't finished with him. Zechs had barely straightened, expecting
Treize to come out from under the hot, heavy robes, when Treize's hands were on
his hips pressing him to move.
"Turn around," said Treize. The words were clear even through the muffling of
the robes.
Still wobbly and disoriented from his first fellatio induced orgasm, Zechs
complied in a daze. Treize lifted the robes allowing Zechs to move without
tangling him up in them, and then pushed the robes higher.
"Bend over," said Treize and licked the back of his left thigh.
And Zechs did so, leaning on the scenery boards, and feeling cool air hit his
legs as Treize piled the robes up onto Zechs' back, exposing his legs and -- as
Treize yanked down his damp boxers -- baring his ass.
"Zechs?" said Treize gently, lightly stroking a fingertip from the base of
Zechs' spine between his buttocks, barely grazing his anus.
Zechs shivered, and the full realisation of what Treize intended to do to him
helped to return the blood to his softening erection. "Yes?"
"You're sure?" Treize pressed his mouth to one buttock, kissing with an open
mouth and roving tongue. The slick muscle swirled hotly over Zechs' skin,
leaving a cooling trail, and then swept into his cleft for a fleeting ticklish
tease.
"Yeah," Zechs gasped, the heavy need for release rapidly returning to his cock,
but there was a tremor of apprehension in his chest too -- of knowing full
well, but without truly understanding what was about to happen to him, of
realising this was an irreversible decision: once done it could never be
undone.
"It won't hurt. I won't hurt you, all right?"
Zechs nodded mutely. It was another lesson for Treize to teach him, that was
all. It was inevitable wasn't it? For him to experience this with someone for
the first time. Why not with Treize, who fascinated him and enthralled him so,
whom he trusted and respected. Who better, truly, for this first time than
Treize, his mentor, his friend.
His knowledge and curiosity enhanced his desire, overwhelming his doubts. Those
two brief touches between his buttocks had incited a new ache in contrasting
complement to the more familiar throb in his cock. He wanted to feel more of
it, to feel Treize's cock forcing itself into his body, to know what that
fullness would be like... to feel Treize moving inside him, finding pleasure
within his body.
"Please, Treize..." he gasped, his anticipation fueling the fire in his
loins."Just do it."
"Whatever you wish, Milliardo," Treize said, his lips moving against bare flesh
and making Zechs' heart quiver.
It was the first time Treize had ever used his given name, and the first time
in a long time Zechs did not resent hearing it. Hearing Treize purr his
abandoned name like that (for abandoned or not, it was still the name he had
been born with) gave the moment fidelity for Zechs, and suddenly he stopped
thinking in favour of being fully in his sensations.
"Oh..." he groaned, when Treize spread his buttocks and stroked with one thumb
over his anus, forward-down to his balls, and back up to his virgin entrance.
Back and forth, over and over, it was an easy rhythm, but a frighteningly
provocative massage. Each passage of Treize's thumb came firmer than the
previous, and each left Zechs less coherent in his muffled moans and trembling
limbs.
When the warmth and wetness of Treize's tongue joined in alongside his thumb,
slicking that thumb's movements, Zechs collapsed to his elbows, the hard edge
of the scenery boards dug into his forearms but he didn't care. His universe
had contracted to just the sensations along a scant few inches of his body. It
was everything.
Treize was pressing the tip of his thumb against his anus, dipping in just a
little and pulling out before repeating the shallow intrusion. He jiggled its
tip against Zechs' hole, and Zechs gasped at the involuntary quivers it
incited, ached for Treize to hurry up and push deeper.
And again Treize's tongue joined his thumb, squirming in beside the thumb,
adding the slickness to allow Treize to press deeper. It burned a little, the
intrusion, but Zechs welcomed it: the heat, the friction, and the taboo
intensity of what Treize was doing to him. He almost wished he could see... He
could feel Trieze pushing against the tension in his anus, and guessed this was
a necessary part of the act. He already knew some lubrication was necessary,
and it felt like Treize was spreading a generous enough amount of saliva around
and into his entrance.
Zechs' knees buckled, and he banged them sharply into the board before him when
Treize shoved forward with his thumb -- pushing it in one imperfectly smooth
stroke as far as it could go, and now the rest of Treize's hand was pressed
warm against his backside. The moist heat of Treize's tongue receded though,
and Zechs sensed Treize moving behind him, fumbling with something -- his
pants? Something else? And then Treize was standing behind him without removing
his thumb, now moving his hand, rubbing and thrusting and twisting, building an
electric pleasure within Zechs that started at the base of his spine and flared
out and up -- singing through his nerves, from his fingertips to his toes. He
could practically feel it in his hair.
Instinctively it seemed, Zechs found himself rocking his hips back against
Treize's hand, seeking more depth and friction. The initial discomfort and
muscle burn had receded and now his gut felt hollow and he ached for more. He
wanted to feel until it was too much, to be opened and penetrated and bloody
well fucked.
"Ready?" Treize panted behind him, nuzzling his hair, and the raw lust in
Treize's voice made Zechs moan more loudly.
"Yeah..."
His world went white around the edges when Treize began to push his cock into
him, gradually, the thick, blunt head replaced his thumb, pushing in as the
other drew gently out. The burning ache returned at the greater intrusion and
it felt utterly impossible to Zechs just then that his body could stretch
enough to accommodate Treize. He grew abruptly fearful, and felt himself
tensing against his will, his breaths coming faster and more shallowly, his
arousal diminishing...
But it was all right; Treize told him so. And Treize was patient, reassuring.
Slowly, millimetre by millimetre, taking his time and offering tenderly spoken
words of encouragement to Zechs to breathe, to relax, to focus, Treize coaxed
Zechs' body to yield fully, to welcome the penetration without any pain.
This was it; he was... he was with Treize as he'd dreamed of, so full of
Treize. Zechs shuddered, his senses taxed by too much feeling. Treize wrapped
an arm about his waist, pulling Zechs back against him more securely. His
panting breaths were hot and humid against the sweaty hair sticking to Zechs'
neck and the sides of his face. He kissed Zechs' neck through the now tangled
mess of his hair, nuzzled behind his jaw, and when Zechs heard Treize whisper,
"Perfect." against his ear, he turned his head, twisting and stretching his
neck until their mouths could meet.
Their lips strove together through his hair until Treize broke the kiss,
fumbling with the fingers of one hand to collect the strands and clear the
tenacious barrier. "But you do need a haircut," he murmured, and then they were
kissing again before Zechs could reply. It was awkward, but it was perfect. It
helped Zechs relax more so the pleasure could come when Treize started to grind
his hips against him.
And come it did. The pressure was incredible; Treize felt so huge inside him.
Zechs gasped and shut his eyes, let himself relax more fully into Treize's
movements. His lover -- yes his lover now -- remained patient. They rocked
together gently for what seemed an eternity until Zechs was certain he could
take more vigorous movements. His cock was hard again; his body yearned for
more, and thus Zechs felt emboldened by this desire to ask for more.
And more Treize gave him, withdrawing only shallowly at first, pushing back
into Zechs with short, slow strokes, which gradually lengthened, but remained
at an excrutiatingly languid pace. He could feel each separate thrust and
withdrawal, each instance of his body opening and closing for each in-and-out
movement of his partner's cock. And as Zechs' pleas grew louder and more
plaintive, Treize's thrusts grew harder, rocking Zechs forward against the
scenery boards and shaking his entire body.
Everything was the fullness and heat and friction of Treize's drumming into his
bowels, fucking him with such clarity and care. The passion was conveyed
through the endearments whispered against his skin, the tightening of the arm
around his waist, and the lazy caresses of the other hand clutching his hip.
But the pressure, oh, it was accumulating so fast now, wadding up with pleasure
and desire and heat and sensation -- it was something so intense and terrible,
and it -- no, he -- needed relief. He needed something else, something more...
he needed... he didn't know quite what until Treize's hand at his hip moved,
coming around to take possession of Zechs' erection.
"Yes," Zechs hissed, thrusting into Treize's palm eagerly, while Treize drove
even harder into his gut. He still could hardly believe the feeling, being so
open, so full, so needy -- so ravished.
"Are you close?" Treize panted behind him.
He was -- and getting closer. "Almost..." he gasped, caught between wanting to
rub himself against Treize's hand, and throw his hips back to take the thick
cock as far into his belly as he possibly could.
Treize thrust once more deeply and changed his grip on Zechs to beat his cock
faster. He ground his hips and jerked his hand sharply, and Zechs lost all
sense of himself, whimpering and tensing, and then climaxing violently with
hoarse shouts and desperate, arrhythmic jerks of his hips, his insides clamping
like a vice around Treize’s cock. He felt his semen spurt over his thighs and
Treize's hand; most splattered against the inside of his academic robes. And
then his legs gave way.
He slid to the ground to his hands and knees, and Treize stayed right behind
him, still inside him, arm wrapped around his waist. Neither moved for a
moment, until Zechs realised his partner hadn't come yet, so he pushed back
against Treize to encourage him to continue.
Treize answered with broken breath, “Zechs, you are, everything…” He pushing
Zechs' robes up further and then grasping his buttocks firmly with both hands,
spread them wide. “…everything I knew you would be.”
With his grip tight on Zechs’ hips, Treize began moving again, but his thrusts
were less measured now and quickly accelerated to a flurry of hard, fasts
shoves, which left Zechs reeling despite having already climaxed twice. And
then Zechs was gratified by the sounds of Treize's orgasm, of hearing his
friend – always so controlled and refined -- lose it all for just that moment,
coming deep inside him and ardently moaning Zechs' name in his bliss.
Treize did not linger within him long after his orgasm. He withdrew gently,
kissed and stroked Zechs' back with soothing affection. "Thank you, Zechs," he
said, his voice low and still rough from their coupling.
Not trusting his own voice to speak coherently yet, Zechs settled for managing
to stand despite his noodley feeling legs, and tugged up his damp boxers,
wincing at the cold wetness of his congealing ejaculate inside his robes which
stuck them to his thighs.
He shoved his damp, tangled hair roughly from his face and turned to see Treize
fastening the button on his trousers. "We can clean up in my dressing room?"
Treize proposed.
Zechs smiled wearily and nodded. He took Treize's hand and squeezed, hoping
that gesture said the things he felt in his heart, but for which he had not
quite discovered the words.
 
Later, clean and dry and warm in their coats and scarves they stepped together
out into the late autumn night. The air was cold and dry and smelled of
imminent snow. Frost sparkled on the campus lawns where the grass was struck by
the streetlights. They walked side-by-side, hands in pockets but elbows
touching. Treize broke the silence between them first.
"Zechs?"
"Yes?" Zechs replied, turning to study Treize's scarf wrapped profile.
"I never asked you -- what are you doing for Christmas? Are you going back to
Austria?"
"I..." Zechs bowed his head and shook it. He was no longer welcome there. "I
was going to stay here, in my room."
"Alone?"
Zechs nodded.
"Oh, Zechs!" Treize chided, taking the younger boy's elbow. "You cannot spend
Christmas alone. Come with me to Luxembourg tomorrow. My family would love to
have you stay -- and I'll make sure none of them harass you about your family.
In fact they needn't even be told. You're my friend, and that is enough for
them."
They stopped on the footpath, in the shade between lampposts. Treize turned to
him, his expression all smiling entreaty. Zechs realised Treize wasn't asking
him out of either pity or obligation, but genuine affection. He wanted Zechs
with him for Christmas. Zechs returned his friend's smile.
"So you'll come?"
"Yes."
"Wonderful." Treize embraced him briefly, and they carried on back to their
dormitories.
As they walked the final blocks in companionable silence, Zechs understood then
that this friendship with Treize would become the foundation for his new life.
He'd been without a tether, without a family, without a home -- without
understanding or affection for so long now it seemed -- but now he had all of
that, and perhaps something more with Treize. He was no longer alone.
 
the end
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