Table of contents for When It Rains

1. When It Rains, Chapter One
2. When It Rains, Chapter Two
3. Arabian Nights

I don’t own Gundam Wing or its bishounen, nor am I making any monetary profit from this fic whatsoever.

Arabian Nights
by Michalyn
Rating: MA

Quatre awoke surrounded by a delicious warmth. He sighed contentedly, burrowing deeper into the cocoon of warmth. He lay in a tangle of limbs, head resting comfortably on his lover’s broad chest and one of his thighs wrapped securely around Trowa’s own long lean limb. The steady rise and fall of the auburn-haired youth’s chest and the soft tickle of his breath against the downy golden curls on Quatre’s forehead indicated that his partner was deeply asleep. Slowly, carefully, so as to not awaken him, he disentangled himself from his lover’s embrace.

Lover.

The thought alone was enough to send a quiet thrill through Quatre. The memories of the day were burned into his memory and he could scarcely wait to map the sweet territory of his love’s body. Even now, he could feel the dull throb of desire burning low in his belly.

Darkness had completely fallen and but for the faint whisper of the wind and the soft murmur of Trowa’s breathing, the room was utterly still. The soft muted light of the moon spilled into the room and onto the bed, bathing the sleeping pilot in its pale, iridescent glow. Quatre had watched Trowa sleep many a night, and as such, was utterly familiar with the soft, relaxed expression (so different from the calm stoicism of wakefulness) and the sensuous lips, slightly parted, lending an air of vulnerability to the austere features. But after the beautiful events of the afternoon, he thrilled to the knowledge of a different kind of vulnerability: points, which had the emerald-eyed pilot gasping and arching beneath his touch. A kind of excitement twisted through him, and moaning softly, Quatre contemplated the possibilities of finding other such spots that would spiral his lover’s pleasure.

Quatre’s fingers ghosted over the delicate skin of Trowa’s eyelids to the thick, auburn lashes that were longer than even his own. When the slender youth twitched but did not awaken, he continued his gentle exploration, memorizing the aristocratic slant of Trowa’s nose, the soft downturn of his mouth and the stubble-roughened texture of his jaw. He traced the lithe graceful line of Trowa’s upraised arm, down to the muscular pads of his chest, clearly delineated by the upturn of his arm and framed by the gleaming folds of the gaping, white, cotton shirt. The blonde’s lips whispered over the bulge of a bicep, fascinated by the contrast of the velvety skin and the taut power lying quiescent beneath it. The silky tuft of hair nestled in Trowa’s armpit was baby-soft and slightly darker than the hair on his head, much the same color as the dark auburn curls at his lover’s groin, peeking through the grinning metal snaps of his jeans.

The small, rose-brown nubs of Trowa’s nipples were puckered slightly from the cool night air and Quatre remembered Trowa’s hands on his flesh and the emerald-eyed man’s own soft moans of pleasure when he had teased him with his hands and mouth. Watching the taller man for signs of wakefulness, he circled one dusky nubbin with the tip of his finger, delighting when it puckered even further, rosy flesh firmly erect and pouting, beckoning another such caress. Wholly absorbed in, and fascinated by the delights of his lover’s body, the gentle Arabian fingered the pointed center of the aroused nubbin, pressing the velvet flesh lightly. This time, he was rewarded with the restless shifting of Trowa’s body and a stream of incoherent murmurs bubbling from the brunette’s lips.

Further encouraged, Quatre’s mouth descended on the tender bud, surrounding it with a moist heat and creating a gentle suction. Trowa moaned softly, his fingers blindly tangling in the soft platinum strands of Quatre’s hair as pleasure burst and shimmered, luring him out of the darkness of sleep. Delighted by throaty sounds of his lover’s passion, Quatre lifted his head, blowing a stream of air over the glistening nub as the pads of slender fingers simultaneously caressed and teased the sensitive aureole of its partner.

Trowa’s eyes fluttered open, dark centers dilated as he blearily focused on the slender figure before him. His body, however, registered very clearly the rings of pleasure expanding from Quatre’s touch as the blonde continued his gentle assault on his flesh.

“Quatre,” Trowa groaned, voice husky from sleep and arousal.”What are you…ah!…doing?”

The diminutive blonde’s only answer was a soft sound of desire as his hands moved to peel the jeans off his lover’s long legs. Tugging gently, he pulled the offending garment down and off.

Trowa’s breath hissed though his teeth as the hardened proof of his arousal sprung free, demanding attention.

Soft palms pressed into the corded strength of Trowa’s thighs as Quatre sensuously massaged and kneaded the taut flesh. His mouth dropped down to Trowa’s flushed skin, the soft words of desire murmured against his love’s skin, as much a caress as the gentle kisses showered on the sensitive flesh of Trowa’s inner thighs. Caught in the haze of passion, Trowa almost missed the whisper-soft words that gusted past the blonde’s lips.

“Love you so much. I want…” Quatre’s fingers traced the taut spheres of Trowa’s testicles, then trailed upwards to dip into the tiny well of his navel. “Let me…”

“Yes, yes,” Trowa whispered, not caring that he didn’t know what the blonde was asking.

He would never…could never, deny Quatre anything, and observing the blonde’s slack features and heightened breathing, his vow was reaffirmed many times over. The Arabian’s eyes were closed, soft moans escaping his lips as he memorized the grooves and curves of the long muscles of Trowa’s thighs.

Emerald pools darkened, verdant irises almost completely eclipsed by the dilated centers as Trowa watched, amazed, that the simple consummation of skin against skin could reduce the blonde to such a state of rapture. A helpless shudder raced along his spine as a thousand more ways by which he could have the blonde moaning and shuddering, danced around in his brain. The thought alone was enough to draw an involuntary groan from his lips. Quatre was a devastating combination of shy innocence and an unconscious, burning sensuality that crumbled his defenses. The awakening of the blonde’s sexuality was the most erotic thing he had ever experienced. He wanted nothing more than to take his gentle lover into his arms and ravish all of that porcelain-fine, sweetly responsive flesh. He understood, however, that this was Quatre’s time to indulge and explore and to test the depths of his own burning, burgeoning sexuality.

Quatre’s golden head dipped until it was level with Trowa’s groin. He could feel the smooth, hard column of Trowa’s erection prodding his throat, and he moved lower, the pink rasp of his tongue tracing his lover’s engorged length. His fingers bit into the suddenly tense muscles of Trowa’s thighs as he felt the sudden arching of the slender man’s body as well as heard the strangled moan that rattled through his teeth. The soft sounds of the brunette’s passion intensified his own arousal; heat pooling and gathering until his flesh was painfully erect. The heady musk of Trowa’s arousal filled his senses, sharp and elemental, and he was overcome by the urge to be joined with his lover in every way possible.

Trowa watched as Quatre moved to straddle his hips, breath unraveling and the pale columns of slender thighs trembling as arousal met arousal. The blonde seemed to be of two minds: seemingly unable to decide whether he wanted to take or be taken. The feel of Quatre’s erection trapped against his own sent Trowa’s senses spinning. It took every ounce of the brunette’s control not to rock upwards. His jaw clenched as he attempted to still the clamoring of his body. This was Quatre’s show; he would endure it even if it killed him.

Quatre’s hands clenched in the sheets and his head lolled on his neck, a guttural moan escaping his lips as his hips set a helpless rhythm, sure of what he wanted, but uncertain as to how to achieve the goal. Pleasure rocked and radiated from their heated point of contact, leaving both men gasping. For a moment, the world narrowed to the heat of their bodies, the silky slide of skin against skin and the erotic movements of the blonde’s body.

When Quatre’s movements became more frantic, and the blonde was shuddering helplessly above him, Trowa held the blonde’s hips in a sensuous vise, stilling his movements and taking control of the pace. His control threatened to completely unravel,however, when the Arabian twisted in his grasp, a frustrated cry bursting from his lips as he struggled to maintain the delicious friction. Trowa’s superior strength won out however, and his grip on the blonde remained firm. Deftly he switched their positions so that Quatre lay panting prettily beneath him. He laced his fingers in the blondes and placed a gentle kiss on his lips.

“Look at me, Little One.”

The normally placid aquamarine eyes fluttered open, unfocused and deeply sapphire from arousal. He rained kisses on Quatre’s face and jaw; the smooth column of his neck; soft, butterfly kisses intended to calm the blonde down and slow the pace of their lovemaking. When it seemed that Quatre had calmed down somewhat, he captured the Arabian’s wrists, raising them over the blonde’s head and holding them lightly in place with one hand. His lips captured a pouting nipple, suckling and then nibbling lightly until whimpers fell from Quatre’s lips, and his golden head thrashed back and forth on the pillow. Trowa moved to the other nipple bestowing it with the same treatment and the blonde arched off the bed moaning, the torture only serving to intensify the ache of his violently aroused flesh.

“Trowa… please. Please… I need…”

At the softly spoken plea Trowa released the blonde’s wrists, gazing into the limpid pools of his eyes. “Tell me what you need Love.”

A wave of heat coursed through Quatre’s body, delicious and shocking in its intensity. He wanted more than anything to be joined with Trowa in the most elemental way possible: to hold his lover deep within his body, to give and receive pleasure in the most intimate union of all.

His mouth opened to tell his lover of his desire, but Trowa’s intense emerald gaze unnerved him, and all he could manage was an abortive whisper.

“I…”

Embarrassed, he turned his face into the pillow, a faint blush blooming beneath the porcelain skin. Allah, it had been so much easier to say in his mind.

Gently, Trowa turned Quatre back to face him. When he spoke his voice was soft but insistent. “What do you need, baby?”

The low timbre of Trowa’s voice, and the mesmerizing green of his gaze pinned Quatre in place. The emotion he could see swirling in that emerald gaze took his breath away. He wanted this man more than anything in his life—needed him more than breath itself and the emotion smoldering in the darkened depths of his lover’s eyes—desire, love and the promise of pleasure—was enough to make him forget his virginal shyness for the moment. He raised a trembling hand to trace Trowa’s lips. Aquamarine irises locked with emerald.

“I want to feel you inside of me. Make love to me please Trowa.”

Trowa had wanted this for so long, had yearned to share this with Quatre—the intimate giving and taking of their bodies, the slide of heated flesh into tight warmth—that the soft plea was enough to send a shudder racing along Trowa’s spine. To have Quatre so hotly and sweetly surrendering to him was almost too much to bear. The deep yearning he felt in his chest in that single moment had nothing to do with lust and everything to with love—the desire to cherish—to protect the pale, moon-luminous figure beneath him.

The kiss with which Trowa claimed the blonde’s softly parted lips was fiercely possessive and would have been bruising in its intensity if had Quatre not been responding with the same fervor. Trowa stole into the soft recess of the Arabian’s mouth, tongue dipping into the slick well of his lower lip, tracing the smooth surface and tiny serrations of small, perfect teeth. The honeyed heat of Quatre’s mouth, the slick glide of his tongue battling his own—there was nothing he didn’t notice about the blonde in that moment: his soft scent, roses and sandalwood and the intoxicating musk of arousal, the salt of his skin, the way he gave a little cry when Trowa’s hands slid beneath his back, holding him arched beneath him as his tongue circled a pebbly nipple, the contours of his chest, the tiny well of a navel.

The warm bar of Trowa’s muscular forearm supported Quatre, while the long, lean fingers of his other hand sought the juncture of pale, muscular thighs. His fingers curled around the blonde’s hardened length, savoring slick heat of silk over steel.

Quatre’s lifeblood throbbed visibly beneath the surface and he traced the vein from base to swollen tip, fingers finding the perfect, plum-shaped head, dragging across the sensitive slit, spreading the slick moisture collecting there. Quatre’s hoarse cry he captured with his mouth, nibbling at the wine-dark, wine-sweet lips, even as he began to smoothly stroke the blonde.

The first time was always difficult and instinctively he knew the blonde would be deliciously small and tight He hoped that bringing Quatre to ecstasy first would relax him, helping to counter the discomfort he would inevitably feel at their joining. He wanted to make this experience pleasurable for them both - even more so for his love. He would never forgive himself if the blonde were hurt—by any means—through fault on his part.

Trowa continued the firm, relentless stroking, eyes fixed on the Quatre’s slack features. He could tell that the Arabian was close from the lolling of his head against the bar of his arm, the frantic movements of his slender hips and the hitched suffix of a moan he gave with each exhalation.

Quatre arched helplessly in his lover’s arms, hips slamming upwards to meet the brunette’s strokes. He knew nothing but the haze of passion and the caress of Trowa’s hands and mouth on his body leaving a fiery trail of desire in their wake. The blonde’s posture exposed the smooth, pale column of his throat and bending Trowa sipped at the pulse beating there, nibbled the soft flesh at the hollow of his winged collar-bones, then soothed the gentle love-bites with his tongue as he migrated ever downwards. Teeth raked a rigid nipple and Quatre abruptly climaxed, crying out sharply as he spilled silky strands of semen between them.

Trowa cradled Quatre’s soft weight in his arms, as the blonde was held in the grip of ecstasy, waiting for the tempest to subside, before lowering the blonde to the bed and reluctantly pulling away. He needed to find something that could be used as lubricant. He had wanted this for so long and yet here he was unprepared. He made a mental note to remedy that situation as soon as possible. For now, however, they would have to improvise.

Quatre made a questioning sound of protest, hand snaking out to capture Trowa’s wrist, preventing retreat. Trowa released himself from the blonde’s gentle grip, placing a soft kiss on the inside of the Arabian’s wrist.

“I want you more than anything Angel, but I don’t want to hurt you. I need to find something that will make my entry easier for you.”

Quatre didn’t think he could get the next words out without his cheeks spontaneously combusting. “Trowa … um the nightstand…left drawer.

Quizzically, the brunette pulled out the drawer in question and reached inside, fingers searching until they landed upon … a tube of lubricant? An elegant auburn eyebrow arched smoothly upward. Trowa looked at Quatre questioningly, amusement dancing in his emerald eyes as he read the label aloud.

“‘Arabian Nights, now in new kiwi flavor’?”

Quatre blushed and stammered. “I ah … that is … I thought that we might … you know … that I…” Groaning, he rolled over, burying his flaming face in the pillow. Allah, how was it that he managed to get himself into these situations?

Chuckling softly, Trowa bent to nuzzle the soft hairs at the nape of Quatre’s neck. “I’m sorry,love,” he whispered, lips caressing the tender skin as he spoke. “I wasn’t aware that you were fond of kiwi.”

“Mmph mmph mmph.”

Quatre gave a muffled sound of humiliation and if possible, burrowed even further into the bedclothes, refusing to turn over.

Though the blonde’s position hid what Trowa most wished to see, he didn’t mind. The lean, tapering lines of Quatre’s torso and the firm globes of his buttocks were equally sweet territory. He mouthed the velvety flesh over a delicate vertebra, following the graceful line of Quatre’s neck and the groove of his spine. The blonde’s muffled sounds of pleasure could be heard, and smiling against the porcelain skin, Trowa rounded he curve of each smooth buttock in turn, nipping the firm flesh lightly, causing Quatre to jump.

“Oh!”

The wet rasp of Trowa’s tongue traced the shadowed cleft between the twin globes and Quatre let out a startled gasp and tried to squirm away from the lazy caress.

Surely Trowa wasn’t going to… What he was thinking was… no … he wouldn’t.

Trowa kneaded the pliable flesh gently. Cupping the soft cheeks he parted them so that the tiny rosy sphincter nestled between the pale globes was bared to his gaze. He paused to admire the erotic sight before bending to wetly circle the rosy pucker. The tiny ring of muscle clenched and relaxed and Quatre whimpered even as his hips thrust unconsciously backwards to meet the touch. The turgid tip of Trowa’s tongue slid just past the ring of muscle, stretching it ever so slightly.

Quatre’s eyes flew wide with shock. “Allah!” His strangled voice rose an octave.”Trowa—don’t. Stop!”

Heedless, the slick squirm of the brunette’s tongue returned, this time pushing even further past the puckered ring into the tight channel. The pleasure of it rocked the blonde even as the slight pressure hinted at discomfort.

“Nnnnn…Trow-ah!”

The taller pilot’s arm slid beneath Quatre’s hips, lifting him so that he knelt on all fours on the bed. Spreading the trembling thighs even further, Trowa’s head dropped back to between the parted globes, tongue busily at work. By the time he was done, Quatre was drawing deep shuddering breaths and the only thing holding him upright was the warm bar of Trowa’s forearm. The brunette’s own aroused flesh throbbed painfully, but he was determined to sufficiently prepare Quatre for what was to come.

Turning the blonde over onto his back once more, Trowa raised a slender leg over his shoulder; the other he wrapped around his waist. A long, well-lubricated finger slid slowly and deeply into the tight passage.

Even after Trowa’s previous attentions, Quatre couldn’t help the startled cry that escaped his lips and the sudden clamping of his muscles around Trowa’s probing finger. Tremors assailed the blonde as he tried to assimilate the sudden intrusion. It wasn’t yet painful, but the persistent pressure bordered on discomfort. All was forgotten however with the slow thrust of that finger, creating a nameless yearning that made him want something more. Soon the thrust of that digit was followed by a second and a third. Tears smarted behind Quatre’s closed eyelids. Allah it burned!

Quatre hadn’t realized that he was making soft sounds and whimpers until he heard Trowa murmuring soothingly.

“Shhh, it’s okay, love. I’ll take care of it.”

The inexorable thrust of those three fingers returned, probing for the tender gland of the blonde’s prostate. Slender fingers curled inward and a wild cry burst from Quatre’s lips.

Ah right there. Trowa moaned at the blonde’s impassioned outburst, feeling the last of his control beginning to fray. He could wait no longer.

Trowa paused in his careful preparation of his lover to apply lubricant to his own hardened shaft. The urge to relieve the pronounced ache in his nether regions was almost too great to overcome, and involuntarily, his fingers lingered at the task, the light, moist, pressure of his hands on his arousal as he spread the unction from base to swollen tip almost completely unraveling all of his hard-won control.

Almost.

Intently regarding the prone figure before him, he positioned himself at the entrance to his lover’s body. His sole focus was Quatre’s aquamarine gaze as he slowly pushed in.

Quatre felt the nudge of Trowa’s erection at his entrance, the incredible moment of pressure as the bulbous head of his lover’s shaft slid just past the tight ring of muscle which was trying so valiantly to keep him out—the slow, inexorable probe as inch, by silky inch, his lover sheathed himself in his body until he was deeply seated, auburn nether curls commingling with gold and Quatre’s own erection was trapped between their two bodies.

Trowa’s hardened length within him set off a riot of nerve endings. He felt incredibly stretched, hopelessly invaded and on the verge of something so incredible his body shook with want of it, the threads of pain and pleasure so tightly wound together that he couldn’t hope to unravel the two. The sensuous roll of Trowa’s hips set a leisurely pace and the incredible weave of pain and pleasure intensified: in and out thread over thread, a crazy rhythm battering his senses with every slow thrust

Allah he wanted this so badly, but it hurt and it felt so unbelievably good, that he couldn’t … couldn’t begin to grasp the paradox of it all. Surely it was impossible to survive anything so intense. Quatre’s lips trembled and he couldn’t help the spill of tears from behind his closed lids. Tears from pain or pleasure, even he could not say in that moment. His lover’s name was a murmured incantation, a prayer for surcease and release even as he moved experimentally against his soul mate.

And then Trowa was leaning forward, murmuring soothing love words between soft kisses, sipping the crystalline droplets that clung to tawny lashes.

“Sweet … sweet …love. Shhh baby, it’s all right. I’ll make it better I promise.”

Quatre’s muscles contracted sweetly around Trowa, caressing his entire length as he was held lovingly in tight warmth. Trowa moaned, grasping Quatre’s length trapped between their bodies, stroking firmly as he thrust deeply into the blonde, aiming unerringly for the sensitive cluster of nerves he knew was there. Relentlessly he stroked the tender spot, relishing the symphony of Quatre’s moans and whimpers as pleasure arced through him: sharp, sweet lightning that drew the Arabian’s slender body taut as a bowstring. His bent knee over Trowa’s shoulder tightened its grip, bringing his lover closer as he began to thrust in counterpoint.

The tight welcome of Quatre’s body as Trowa thrust, the silken caress of the blonde’s tight channel sweetly grabbing his flesh as he withdrew was perfect. He was perfect. His flushed face, the heated movements of his small body and the erotic sounds he made in his passion—all pure perfection.

Never had Trowa felt anything like this intense, insane ecstasy. His own guttural moans joined Quatre’s as they set a frenzied rhythm, thrust and counterpoint perfectly matched. It was as though the blonde were made just for him and he just for Quatre. In, out, silk over steel, a shimmering all encompassing pleasure and colors swirling and bursting behind his eyelids, cumulating in a tightening of nerves, a gathering of every sensation to a single intense bull’s-eye of orgasm that triggered Quatre’s own climax, the Arabian crying out sharply, inner muscles milking his love to completion as he spurted onto his lover’s awaiting body.

Trowa lowered Quatre’s leg from his shoulder and lay back on the bed, pulling Quatre into his arms. Quatre’s soft weight on top of him felt so right. He tightened his arms, drawing the blonde even closer as he nuzzled his damp forehead. They basked in the satiated afterglow of lovemaking, each trying to assimilate the amazing intensity of the union.

Quatre had a soft faraway look in his eyes as his hands idly stroked Trowa’s skin. The emerald-eyed pilot captured the straying palm and raised it to his lips to place a burning kiss in the center. His tongue traced the faint slash of the Arabian’s heart-line, down to the blue vein pulsing in his wrist before gently releasing it.

“What are you thinking Love?”

Quatre raised his head, looking deeply into Trowa’s emerald eyes.”Just thinking that that was the most wonderful thing I have ever experienced in my life and how lucky I am to have you.” His lips moved up to capture Trowa’s with his own as if to confirm the sentiment.

“I love you so much that sometimes I think that my heart is going to burst out of my ribcage with the joy of it. And after what you’ve given me tonight, I could only love you more.”

Trowa didn’t bother to conceal the wetness that sprang to his eyes at his love’s words. The melting, yearning feeling in his chest spread to his throat, choking him with emotion and preventing him from expressing all that he felt in that moment. He buried his face in the soft, fragrant skin of Quatre’s neck, just holding him close as the tears fell softly, their flow for once unimpeded.

Quatre felt the hot glide of tears against his neck and he placed soft kisses against Trowa’s neck, holding him lovingly in his embrace, saying without words that he was here, that he understood.
His hands tenderly began to roam his lover’s body and soon, Trowa allowed himself to be lowered onto the mattress beneath the blonde.

Quatre loomed over his lover, hands sensuously caressing Trowa’s body, leaving fire in their wake.
His tongue slid between the soft pout of Trowa’s lips as he savored his lover’s taste in a searing kiss before slowly pulling back.

“Now it’s my turn,” he whispered.

Trowa’s passionate cries could be heard well into the early morning.

End

Table of contents for When It Rains

1. When It Rains, Chapter One
2. When It Rains, Chapter Two
3. Arabian Nights

When It Rains
by Michalyn
Rating: MA

Quatre sat comfortably swathed in the soft folds of the blanket … and in the savory aroma of spices. The small blond chatted animatedly while he ate, one hand holding the edges of the blanket together; in the other he deftly wielded the silver fork, savoring the rich flavor of the meal.

“Mmm, Tro, this is absolutely delicious.” He sipped the darkly gleaming wine in his glass, admiring the vivid color. “Et le vin…” Quatre’s eyes closed, “Wonderful…”

“Hmm? Ah thank you, Little One.”

Trowa could have been eating sawdust for all he cared. He was much more distracted by Quatre’s bare shoulder, exposed through the parted folds of the blanket. When Trowa taken the sodden bundle of clothes from the gentle blond, he had been unable to ignore the pair of silky blue boxers topping the pile. The knowledge that Quatre was gloriously naked beneath the flimsy barrier of cloth was a teasing, tantalizing torture. Trowa had done nothing throughout the meal but imagine in agonizing detail just what treasures lay beneath that blanket.

Trowa watched as Quatre brought another forkful to his lips, his gaze fixed on the sensuous bow of the Arabian’s mouth and the crushed berries of his lips. Quatre seemed even more beautiful in the soft light of the dining room. His cheeks were flushed, and his damp hair, curling slightly at the ends, was a shining cap in the amber glow of the lamplight. Trowa wanted to taste every shade of creamy vanilla, soft rose and gold that was Quatre—and then come back for more.

Mentally, Trowa groaned. His thoughts were having a rather pronounced effect on the fit of his jeans, and discreetly he rearranged himself. Trowa thought of the long night ahead of him and sighed. This really would not do. He had to stop this ridiculous self-torture or he’d be up all night—literally as well as figuratively.

Quatre glanced over at Trowa, who had been withdrawn and somewhat distracted throughout the meal. Was something wrong? No … it didn’t seem so. Usually he could sense if Trowa was troubled, and he sensed nothing of the sort. Perhaps Trowa just had a lot on his mind. Quatre had been distracted himself throughout the meal. Trowa’s green eyes sparkled in the light, and the rich autumn tones of his silky auburn hair seemed to beckon his caress.

As always, Quatre was mesmerized by the perfection of sinew and limb. Every action Trowa executed was with the precise graceful movements of a cat, at times deceptively lazy, but always sensual. Tonight, Trowa seemed to be radiating a strange energy that he could only describe as … heat. It was like being caressed by a single delicious flame—pleasurable, in and of itself, but only hinting at the true intensity of the fire.

Quatre thought perhaps he had had too much wine to drink. He didn’t drink often, and he did feel a tad lightheaded. It was no doubt the cause of these unusual feelings. All things considered, he was quite grateful for the voluminous folds of the blanket, which successfully hid his arousal. Quatre could only imagine the embarrassment of rising from the table with a raging hardon. It was definitely not something he wanted to experience first hand.

The meal being finished, Trowa contemplated his options. He could leave the table now and reveal to Quatre just how much he’d been enjoying his company, or he could wait for the blond to leave and hopefully he’d regain some measure of control over his body before he joined Quatre in the bedroom. But how to explain to his love that he wanted to remain seated at the table when it was obvious there was no reason for doing so? No, that wouldn’t work. He’d have to think of something else. Hmm, that empty salad bowl was quite large. Placed strategically…

“Trowa, why don’t we spend the rest of the evening reading together … or we could just relax and listen to music?”

“That sounds lovely, Little One. Why don’t you go on ahead? I’ll be right behind you.”

Quatre beamed. He moved to rise from the table, carefully clutching the blanket. He was already pushing in his chair when he stopped.

“Oh, but the dishes,” he said his tone full of chagrin, “I should help. You prepared such a wonderful meal and I here I’ve done nothing but lounge around for the whole day. You go on, I’ll stay behind to do the washing up.”

“Ah, that’s really not necessary, love. I’ll do the dishes. Besides how would you manage, with one hand holding up the blanket?”

Quatre looked down at the soft material clutched in his palm.

“Oh yes,” he said, a faint blush mounting his cheeks. “I had forgotten. Well, I’ll go shower while you’re cleaning up in here.”

Trowa rose from the table as Quatre left the room. He moved around the table, stacking the dirty dishes. Placing them in the sink, he turned on the hot water and began washing. He hoped the mundane activity would help keep his mind off Quatre. He could hear the hum of the water as the blond showered, and Trowa tried his damnedest not to imagine a naked Quatre, skin slick from the water. Instead, he focused on the swirls of soap disappearing down the drain. His frustration, he unleashed on the hapless kitchenware. Reaching for a thoroughly caked pan, he set to scrubbing vigorously.

————————————

Quatre stepped out of the shower and reached for one of the towels hanging on the nearby rack. Drying off, he wrapped the towel around his waist and padded into the bedroom. The air felt delightfully cool against his bare flesh as he rummaged through his clothes in search of a pair of pajamas. Finding the silky garment, he unwrapped the towel and discarded it on the bed. He shrugged into the pajama top, glancing down at his unruly flesh with a grimace. Not even the cold shower had been enough to completely ease his erection. He eyed the pajama bottoms. Perhaps he should reconsider silk, in favor of something less …revealing. Quatre walked over to the dresser. He was sure he had a pair of sweatpants in there somewhere.…

Trowa untied the apron at his waist and dropped it into the laundry hamper on his way out of the kitchen. His arousal remained a dull ache in his loins, and while not completely abated, he felt he could now face Quatre without causing undue embarrassment to them both. To his surprise, though, Quatre was not reading on the couch as expected. Trowa had heard the water shut off some minutes ago and had assumed that the blond was already dressed and comfortably curled up with a book. Admittedly, Trowa had taken longer than he expected in the kitchen. Perhaps Quatre had decided to wait for him in the bedroom. After all, Quatre had merely suggested an evening together; it was Trowa who’d assumed that they’d remain in the den.

Trowa walked to the bedroom, pushing open the door, which was already slightly ajar. He entered, an apology for keeping his love waiting, ready on his lips.

“Little One I…” Trowa’s words faded to nothingness as he was confronted by the sight of Quatre, clad only in the indigo pajama top, rummaging through the dresser drawers. The blond looked up, horrified at the sound of the taller man’s voice.

“Tr…Trowa!” he squeaked, blushing and stammering as he frantically grabbed the first item of clothing his hand landed upon, thinking to use it to shield himself. Dismally he discovered it was a sock which dangled from his fingers. Quatre could feel his cheeks flame even brighter crimson as he used his hands to cover his nudity as best he could.

This definitely was not his day.

Closing the door softly behind him, Trowa walked up to Quatre, who seemed rooted to the spot, cheeks scarlet as he tried to shield himself. Looking into the blond’s wide eyes, Trowa gently pulled Quatre’s hands away, holding them lightly at his sides.

“Don’t hide,” he said softly, voice husky with desire. “I’ve been dying to see you like this all evening.” Slowly, Trowa released Quatre’s wrists.

Quatre was torn between embarrassment at being exposed to Trowa’s gaze and the desire that surged through him at the sound of his love’s desire-darkened voice, and the hungry caress of his eyes. Quatre’s hands remained at his sides, trembling slightly as he fought the conflicting emotions.

Trowa’s eyes feasted on the sight before him. The smaller pilot was slender and sleekly muscled, and his fair skin gleamed like a pearl under the soft lights. His gaze fell to the golden curls at Quatre’s groin, where he discovered that he had not been alone in his desire. Quatre’s hardened length, jutted proudly before him, moisture beading at its tip. Slowly, irresistibly, Trowa dragged his thumb over the sensitive head, causing Quatre to jerk forward, crying out in shock as pleasure arced through him.

“Beautiful,” Trowa murmured, capturing Quatre’s soft lips in a gentle kiss. Lightly, he nipped at the blond’s sensuous lower lip, running his tongue over the seam of Quatre’s closed lips, coaxing him to invite him into the honeyed softness of his mouth. Quatre eagerly parted his lips, his tongue tentatively mating with Trowa’s as his hands moved to clasp Trowa’s neck, drugged, by the unique taste of his lover. Quatre had never imagined that a kiss could be like this—sweet and burning and everything in between.

The tentative movements of Quatre’s mouth and body heated Trowa’s blood like nothing he had felt before. He savored the slide of silk over skin as he caressed Quatre’s back, and his hands gripped the blond’s hips, pulling him forward, until the hard proof of Quatre’s naked desire was pressed against Trowa’s belly. They both gasped at the contact, electricity seeming to spiral out from that point where their bodies met.

Reverently, Trowa lifted Quatre in his arms and placed him on the bed, his heart aching with the beauty of the boy beneath him—this beautiful angel who had saved his soul. Trowa stared into Quatre’s eyes, memorizing every detail of the blond’s face—the smooth forehead, the tawny wings of his eyebrows, the dusky crescents of his lashes as they fanned against his cheeks. He placed soft, butterfly kisses on each part his gaze fell over, savoring the feather-light caress of Quatre’s lashes against his lips. Trowa followed the line of the slender, slightly upturned nose down to the softly parted lips, tongue stealing inside once more to taste of Quatre’s sweetness.

Quatre clasped the back of Trowa’s neck, fingers caressing the hair at the sensitive nape. The tender kisses Trowa was showering upon him spoke of love and trust and a deep passion. Quatre’s heart ached with the beauty of the experience. This was all he had ever wanted, right here in his arms. His arms tightened around Trowa as he deepened the kiss, the movements of his body mirroring the message of his heart.

Trowa savored the answering thud of Quatre’s heartbeat against his own as the blond held him in his arms. He broke the kiss to mouth the tender flesh beneath Quatre’s ear, his lips moving upwards, sucking the tender lobe of Quatre’s ear into his mouth. Quatre, gasped at he sensation, fingers clenching in Trowa’s hair as Trowa continued his gentle seduction, trailing kisses along Quatre’s jaw, the pale column of his throat, and suckling gently at the hollow of his winged collarbones.

He teased the rosy nub of a nipple through the silky material of Quatre’s shirt, feeling the tiny bud stiffen beneath his touch. Taking the silky cloth between his fingers, Trowa stroked the cool material lightly and repeatedly over the tender flesh. Slowly, deliberately, he outlined each erect nub through the cloth with his tongue, delighting in the heat that bloomed beneath Quatre’s flesh, and the languid arching of the smaller man’s body as he was held on the prongs of desire by the whisper-light caresses.

Trowa removed the shirt from his love’s body, deliberately, brushing the sensitive nubbins as he did so and Quatre whimpered, shocked by the live wire of sensation that connected his nipples to his hardened length. The hot wet suction of Trowa’s mouth covered one turgid peak, tongue stabbing, and teeth raking the tiny nipple, while his hands tormented its partner, shaping the nubbin to rigidity.

By the time Trowa’s mouth strayed across to his other nipple, Quatre was shuddering, incoherent sounds of passion falling from his lips as he begged Trowa to end the torture, but there was sweeter territory yet to be discovered.

Trowa’s fingers tangled in Quatre’s soft golden nether curls, idly drawing circles through the gleaming thatch. The muscles of Quatre’s stomach tightened as Trowa placed soft kisses on the smooth flesh, burying his face in the nest of Quatre’s pubic hair and inhaling deeply of the boy’s musk. Embarrassed, Quatre tried to pull away, but Trowa’s hands held his hips firmly in place as his tongue traced the deep lines where muscular torso and thigh met.

His head dipped lower to Quatre’s distended length and the blond jerked, emitting a startled cry at the feel of Trowa’s tongue tracing the length of his violently sensitive flesh. Encouraged, Trowa placed an open-mouthed kiss at the plum-shaped tip of Quatre’s erection. At the burning center of the kiss, his tongue dipped into the sensitive slit. The tang of Quatre’s passion burst across Trowa’s lips as he delicately lapped at the tip, catching the single pearl that had escaped Quatre’s control. Making a guttural sound of pleasure, Trowa took the blond’s length in his mouth, slowly tracing the ridge of the vein on the underside of his hardness.

The first time Trowa had done this, he had thrown up afterwards, his bruised body curled into a fetal ball. He had never been able to perform the intimate oral act again.

Until now.

Trowa craved the Quatre’s taste, savored the feel of the silky smooth skin of his hips beneath his palms, the sounds he made in his passion… The tip of Quatre’s length butted gently against Trowa’s throat, and for a moment, the shadows threatened to overwhelm him, but he fought it, focusing on the taste and texture of his love’s desire. His mouth moved in a deliberately random rhythm over the turgid flesh, keeping the blond off balance and Quatre’s head moved back and forth on the pillow, body covered in sweat, breath coming in harsh, panting gasps. This… this was too much; too intense… he couldn’t… his fingers clenched in the sheets.

“Tr..Trowa … mon dieu!”

Trowa could feel the shudders wracking the Quatre’s body—knew that he was close. His hands cupped the soft spheres of Quatre’s testicles, lightly pressing and Quatre gave a throaty cry and spilled his seed into his lover’s awaiting mouth. Trowa suckled, savoring the taste of Quatre’s release and the knowledge that he had been able to bring him pleasure. His love lay flushed and panting beneath him and Trowa kissed him, following the salt of the tears drying on his cheeks to his swollen lips. Trowa had been wrong. This was no angel, but a beautiful, sensual man—deliciously exquisite and all his. The love Trowa felt at that moment was inexpressible. He lay down next to Quatre, pulling his slight form into his arms. His own neglected arousal throbbed painfully beneath the constriction of his jeans, but he was content to simply hold Quatre. There would be other times when his needs would be attended to.

Quatre reached up to place a soft kiss on Trowa’s lips, his mind still trying to assimilate the intense experience his body had just gone through. Feeling utterly sated and content, he snuggled into his lover’s arms … and felt the hard ridge of Trowa’s erection against his hip.

He wanted to give his love the same mind-bending pleasure that had just been given to him, needed to show Trowa how much he loved him after the older man’s seduction of his senses. Quatre’s hands deftly unbuttoned Trowa’s shirt, slipping inside to find his lover’s erect, rose-brown nipples. Tentatively, he mimicked the movements of Trowa’s hands on his body, teasing and pinching the sensitive flesh, then soothing the tortured nubbins with the soft movements of his mouth. Trowa’s hips thrust involuntarily off the bed, and he moaned at the unexpected caress.

Amazed that he could draw such sweet sounds of abandon from his normally stoic partner, Quatre repeated the heated movements of his hands and mouth. The fact that Trowa was vulnerable to his touch as well filled him with a heady sense of power. Quatre lowered his mouth to Trowa’s flesh, memorizing every contour and plane of the muscular torso. When he unbuttoned Trowa’s jeans and released his erection, pumping in a slow, hard rhythm, Trowa arched completely off the bed, his mouth open in a silent scream. The contrast of Quatre’s soft palm against his painfully sensitized flesh was almost too much for Trowa to bear. He was too violently aroused. It would take only a few more of those firm strokes to send him over the edge.

Quatre watched in fascination as Trowa struggled for control. His head was thrown back and his eyes were tightly shut as his hips snapped upwards to meet Quatre’s strokes. The heated column of flesh in Quatre’s hand pulsed and throbbed, the plum shaped head of Trowa’s erection deeply flushed, and bobbing in time to the movements of his palm. Avidly, Quatre watched the milky drops beading at the tip of his lover’s thick length. Experimentally, he gave a sharp rotation to his wrist, and Trowa suddenly and violently came, spilling his seed all over his stomach and Quatre’s hands. Quatre lifted his fingers, watching the pearlescent liquid. Trowa had tasted him.… He licked his fingers, marveling at the unique taste of Trowa’s passion.

Trowa, still shaken by orgasmic tremors, opened his eyes to the erotic sight of Quatre delicately lapping up his seed. He groaned, unable to tear his eyes away from the blond. At this rate, he would be aroused again in no time. Quatre was utterly absorbed in the sensual exploration and completely oblivious to his lover’s scrutiny. Trowa continued to watch as Quatre paused for a moment, as if undecided, then bending his head, the pink flame of his tongue stole out to trail through the splatterings on Trowa’s stomach.

“Quatre…” Trowa rasped, “stop.”

Quatre looked up, expression slightly dreamy.”Hmm?”

Trowa didn’t know whether to groan or to smile. He pulled the small blond into his arms, placing a kiss on the soft platinum strands on the Arabian’s forehead. Quatre came willingly into the embrace, returning Trowa’s kiss and sharing the taste of his passion with him. Trowa could feel Quatre’s semi-erect length against his own burgeoning arousal as they lay in the intimate embrace, but even as the blond’s slender thigh insinuated itself between his own, Quatre’s head buried deeper into Trowa’s shoulder and his eyelids drooped sleepily. His last words before he drifted off to sleep were barely audible, but Trowa heard them, and his heart blossomed as it always did at the sound of the three beautiful words that had changed his life:

“I love you.”

Outside, he could hear the rain falling softly again. The mournful sound of the wind as it rushed through the trees was nothing more than a love song to Trowa and he let the sound of the rushing water and the whispering wind lull him to sleep. He tightened his arms around Quatre, pulling the blanket over them both. He smiled to himself. When it rained it certainly poured.

End

Table of contents for When It Rains

1. When It Rains, Chapter One
2. When It Rains, Chapter Two
3. Arabian Nights

I don’t own Gundam Wing or its bishounen, nor am I making any monetary profit from this fic whatsoever.

When it Rains
by Michalyn
Rating: MA

The air was crisp and sharp with the metallic scent of imminent rain. Blades of grass undulated, glinting silver-green under the mottled gray of the heavens, and the fey murmuring of the wind as it frolicked through the trees was punctuated by the ominous rumbling of the pregnant skies.

Inside, the kettle whistled as Trowa set about preparing the evening meal with quick efficient motions. Through the window, he watched the bobbing heads of the flowers Quatre had planted in the small garden on the side of the house. In the month since the war had ended, he and the gentle blond had moved in together. The modest house they’d bought on the outskirts of the city was away from the hustle and bustle of the commercial center, but close enough to allow Quatre to commute to his job on the construction site without difficulty. For his part, Trowa worked part-time for the Preventers as a reserve agent, calling in only when extra help was needed, or in times of emergency. He’d considered continuing his job as a full-time agent, but had decided against it. He found the calm predictability of domesticity reassuring, and after the cold artifice of L3, the quaint rusticity of the area was a balm to his troubled soul.

They’d created a home here, he and his love.

Home…

Even now, Trowa couldn’t quite believe it. He, who had no home, no name, for so long, now had a soft place to fall and a beautiful loving partner to come home to. These few weeks of quiet companionship, his love’s gentle spirit and sharp mind, and most of all, the love he saw in that limpid cerulean gaze were more than he could have ever hoped for. Trowa felt more whole than he had in a long time … could feel the shadows losing their grip with each passing day.

And yet, something was missing. Sex had been a very tentative area for them. His experiences in the past had been …less than pleasant, and he’d shied away from any displays of affection that went beyond hugs and kisses. Quatre had been so patient with him, unstinting in his affections and yet never asking more of him than he was able to give, even though Trowa knew the blond must yearn for more.

For so long the pain of his past had imprisoned him, but he was stronger now, and Trowa thought he was finally ready to share more with his love. His feelings towards the former pilot of the Sandrock were decidedly not platonic, and he was tired of chaste kisses and embraces through the innocuous barrier of clothing—the nights of sharing a bed, but not their bodies. Covertly, Trowa studied the gentle Arabian who lay on his stomach on the sofa, chin propped on his palms as he quietly read. Knees bent, the blond’s legs waved lazily in the air. Quatre’s lips were pursed and his brow furrowed in concentration. Occasionally a slender palm absently stroked the yellowing pages of the tome, caressing them lovingly before moving onto the next page.

Yes, Trowa was ready to share more with his angel. He knew Quatre was innocent, but it would be Trowa’s first time as well in so many ways. He could only hope that he’d be able to give Quatre at least a small measure of the joy Quatre had given him when the time came.

Trowa added a dash of paprika to the gently simmering stew, stirring for a moment before checking on the rolls baking in the oven. Satisfied that everything seemed to be going according to schedule, he poured some of Quatre’s favorite rosehip tea into a delicate china teacup, and moved to join him in the den.

“Little One, would you like some tea?”

Quatre looked up from his book at the softly spoken request. Trowa was standing before him, clasping a teacup of what smelled deliciously like his favorite tea. He gratefully accepted the proffered cup, his heart warmed by the simple gesture.

“Thanks Tro.”

Allah only knew what he’d done to deserve Trowa. Not that he was complaining—far from it. Quatre counted each day as a blessing. He’d known they shared a special connection from the first day they had met. When Quatre had surrendered that day on the battlefield, he had surrendered his heart as well. After the fiasco with Zero, which he still harbored so much guilt over, Quatre had feared that he’d lost his love forever. And yet, here they were, carving out a normal existence (well as normal an existence as ex-gundam pilots could), and most importantly, they were doing it together. He knew that Trowa sometimes worried that Quatre wasn’t satisfied with their relationship, despite his repeated reassurances of otherwise, but Quatre of all people understood demons, and the hold they could have, and he was content to take things slowly. Sex, was admittedly a very vague area for him, and for a long time he had worried that his inexperience would be a turn off for Trowa, and so, his love’s reticence had been somewhat of a relief to him.

Quatre studied the lithe, auburn-haired man over the rim of his teacup, marveling at how beautiful he was. How did Trowa manage to look so sexy in the simple butcher’s apron he’d folded in half and tied about his slender waist? Quatre’s gaze fell to the muscular forearms exposed beneath the sleeves rolled-up at Trowa’s elbows, and to those jeans, which were so tight as to defy logic. An involuntary sigh escaped his lips. Perhaps he was more ready for sex with Trowa than he thought.

When Quatre looked up again, he was horrified to find Trowa staring directly at him. He could feel the blush creeping up his neck and to his face as he tried to focus on anything other than that intense green gaze. His hands were shaking so badly as he brought the teacup to his lips that some of the tea sloshed onto his fingers. Thank Allah it hadn’t been too hot, or he’d have been howling in pain as well. Quatre chanced a peek at Trowa, just in time to see him rising from his seat and heading towards the kitchen.

“I think the stew’s just about done.” Trowa announced, chuckling to himself. His love was so cute.

Quatre watched Trowa’s broad back and lean hips as he retreated. Was that an amused twinkle he’d seen in Trowa’s eye?

“Hmm.” Another sigh escaped Quatre. But his love truly was a work of art…art!

“Oh no!”

He’d just remembered the pad and paints he’d left outside. It had been such a beautiful day earlier that Quatre had gone out with his watercolors to indulge in some much-neglected painting. The pale blue sky with its soft cotton-candy clouds had just been begging to be immortalized. Leaving the painting outside to dry, Quatre had become so absorbed in his book of philosophy that his mind had barely registered the change in the weather. Glancing warily at the storm-darkened clouds, he pelted out the door.

Bare feet slapping against the pebbled walkway, Quatre’s only warning was a final ominous rumble of the skies before the clouds released their burden and he was pelted with a thousand ice-cold needles. By the time he reached the abandoned materials he was already soaked to the skin, and the painting had been converted into a more … abstract piece. Deciding that the paints, which were now swimming in little multicolored pools, were a lost cause, Quatre grabbed the painting—or rather what remained of it—and dashed back to the house.

Trowa, who had seen the small blond suddenly tear outside, turned around just in time to see Quatre rush back into the house, slamming the door behind him, breathing heavily as he clutched the soggy book to his chest, and looking for all the world like a drowned kitten. Their eyes met, and a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle escaped Trowa’s lips. He cleared his throat and struggled to maintain a neutral expression, but it was impossible. The absurdity of the situation overcame them both and they dissolved into fits of laughter.

The laughter died on Trowa’s lips, however, when Quatre shrugged out of his vest, abandoning it on the floor with the ruined sketch pad. The cotton shirt was plastered to his body, its rosy hue rendering the garment virtually transparent. Quatre’s delicate nipples were clearly visible, puckered into tight little pebbles by the cold. Trowa mentally groaned. Those nights of sleeping next to the blond were nothing compared to this.

What he wouldn’t give to peel back that shirt and taste that sweet flesh. The rosy nubs would be delightfully cool at first, but they would rapidly warm beneath his lips. He would shape their heat upright until they were painfully erect, and his love was quivering and whimpering beneath the gentle ministrations. His gaze drifted downwards. Quatre’s normally conservative khaki slacks had undergone quite a transformation as well. The material was molded faithfully to every curve of slender hip, thigh and leg. Trowa groaned anew. He had no doubt that it was going to be a very long night.

“Wait here while I get some towels and a blanket.” Trowa’s voice was husky to his own ears and he prayed Quatre wouldn’t notice.

Quatre looked up, puzzled by the change in Trowa’s mood and the suddenly husky timbre of his voice, but Trowa had already disappeared in the direction of the bedroom. Quatre shrugged and attempted to palm his hair dry, giving up when he’d only succeeded in getting trails of frigid water beneath his collar and down his back.

Trowa returned scant minutes later with a blanket and a bundle of towels.

“Here,” he said, handing Quatre one of the fluffy white towels, “take off those wet clothes and dry off with these.” The rest of the towels and the blanket he placed on the nearby table. He brushed a tender kiss against Quatre’s wet forehead before returning to the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready before you know it.”

Humming softly to himself, Quatre did as he was told, stripping off the sodden garments. One towel he used in his dripping hair, the other he rubbed over his body, its rough texture pleasantly abrasive on his sensitive skin. The spot where Trowa’s lips had pressed against his forehead still tingled from the contact and he sighed dreamily, a feeling of contentment sweeping through him. Surely life couldn’t get any better than this.