
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/236078.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gundam_Wing
  Relationship:
      Trowa_Barton/Quatre_Raberba_Winner
  Character:
      Quatre_Raberba_Winner, Trowa_Barton
  Additional Tags:
      Porn_Battle_XII, Worship
  Collections:
      Porn_Battle_XII_(The_Dirty_Dozen)
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-03 Words: 899
****** was soaked in the body ******
by torch
Summary
     Worship. Also, a shower.
Notes
     Prompt: worship
The water was tepid, sun-warmed turning sunset cool and somehow all the more
comfortable for that; the night outside lay like wet black velvet over the
desert. Quatre ran a washcloth down the firm curve of Trowa's spine, then shook
his head and put it aside, using his hands to spread the lather instead. The
washcloth was much too distancing. He touched steadily and thoroughly, soaping
up, sluicing down. When he was done with Trowa's back, he washed shoulders and
arms, one after another, and hands, paying attention to each finger. Under the
arms, careful not to tickle, and then the sides and the chest, slowly,
reverently. Quatre knew this body already, the lean strength, the
flexibilility, but he was touching now as though his fingers were learning the
shape of Trowa for the first time.
He'd been too impatient then, shaky and weak with a desire he was too shy to
fully express. Now he had the freedom of familiarity, a new ease that let him
kneel down and wash Trowa's legs, long and slim and strong, and his feet with
their high arches and surprising barefoot-walking roughness. The ankles, like
the wrists, looked fragile. Quatre caught at Trowa's nearest hand and kissed
the inside of the wrist through a trickle of water, tasting nothing, only
feeling that fleeting warmth against his lips. He went on with his methodical
washing, hips, ass, cock and balls, and he didn't let his touch linger, not
now, though he could feel Trowa stirring and thickening against his fingers.
When Quatre stood up again, all that remained for him was to wash himself,
quickly and efficiently. His own body was uninteresting in this, and he could
be brisk with it.
Quatre turned off the water and invited Trowa with a gesture to step out onto a
coarse bathroom mat. He followed close behind, picked up a thin, well-washed
towel, and began to pat Trowa dry with the same care he'd used in washing him.
Silky skin, miraculously almost unmarked by battle, though Trowa had a burn
scar on his back that Quatre could never bring himself to ask about. Quatre
dried it with the same care he gave to every part of Trowa's body, and then
wiped himself down much more quickly, just enough not to drip on the floor as
he led Trowa by the hand into the next room and gestured for him to sit on the
pile of rugs and pillows.
Then he knelt down and leaned forward, keeping his own body balanced as he
began to lick the last drops of water from Trowa's cock.
Trowa drew a sharper breath, and Quatre looked up through his lashes. "Just let
me do this," he said. "Please."
He went back to licking, feeling Trowa's cock move against the push of his
tongue. The bland taste of water and the lingering sharpness of soap wore off,
and there was the taste of Trowa, of skin; Quatre indulged himself in it for a
long time, before he finally swiped his tongue over the head and caught the
first bitter drops of Trowa's rising desire. He spread his knees a little
wider, settled back on his heels and bent forward, neatly folded in three, and
sucked at Trowa's cockhead, letting it rub against his tongue and push at the
sensitive roof of his mouth. Quatre moaned softly with pleasure and took in
more, sliding his lips down the shaft as far as he could, sucking, swallowing.
He couldn't keep his balance like this any more; Quatre's hips rose in the air,
and he braced himself with one hand against the rugs, the nap against his palm
just one more sensation. What he felt most, though, was the slick, heavy weight
of Trowa's cock against his tongue, A drop of saliva escaped from the corner of
his mouth, and he moaned a little louder before he could stop himself, pushing
down to take Trowa deeper. His tongue moved a little faster, too, pressing
against the heavy shaft in caresses that half begged, half coaxed.
The wet sound of his own sucking made the tips of his ears flush hot. He
wanted, oh, he wanted this, wanted to make it good and slow and at the same
time he wanted nothing more than to feel Trowa come in his mouth now now now.
Quatre shivered. He was rushing it now, he knew that, but at the same time,
Trowa tasted so good, he just couldn't slow down. He barely moved his head, and
instead let the rhythm grow from the way he swallowed around Trowa's cock,
creating waves of suction and feeling Trowa throb in return, hearing Trowa's
quiet, even breathing speed up. That was what he wanted. That was just
precisely what he wanted, to hear that bitten-off gasp, that low groan. To feel
the cock in his mouth jerk and pulse and flood his tongue with rich, thick
cream that tasted terrible and delicious at the same time.
Quatre swallowed with another soft moan, and licked Trowa's cock clean with a
light, undemanding touch. He sat back a little, and then Trowa's hand caught
his face, curved gently against his jaw and tilted his head up.
"You can do anything you want to me," Trowa said, and the look in his eyes went
through Quatre like one of Sandrock's shotels. "Anything at all."
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