disclaimer: not mine

windsor asked for trowa/quatre, and new glasses - this one is NC-17 (though i honestly didn't start off thinking it'd go that far!)

Drabble #15
by Merith

He’d been asleep when Quatre entered the room. It wasn’t until Quatre was in his lap, already half undressed and kissing him, he woke. Later he mumbled something about getting old, losing the edge. Quatre stifled his talk with fingers on lips and a laughing mouth.

But for the moment, it was Quatre laying over him, and Quatre’s mouth on his skin, and Quatre’s hands plucking with too impatient fingers at the buttons on his shirt. He woke with a gasping breath, reaching for the dream that was too real and solid with hips undulating against his thighs. The urge to bring him closer, his legs parted; a foot planted to the floor and the other on the back of the couch.

A half growl, a strong tug, and a ripping sound later, his chest was exposed. He chuckled lightly, stuttering, puffing breaths into his lover’s hair. A sharp flash of pain, and he was arching off the couch, mouth opened with the suddenness, the instant hardening of his cock. Quatre angled his head up to show him the nipple loop between his teeth. He was grinning as he pulled on it again, eliciting another gasping cry.

Sure hands were unfastening his jeans, pulling and pushing them down his thighs, leaving them trapped about his calves. "On your knees," Quatre commanded, hiking up only enough to give him room to maneuver. And turn over he did. Knees digging into the cushion, hands and elbows braced on the arm, and ass presented, ready for his lover.

No prep, just spit, a quick warning, and Quatre was in. Two quick thrusts, and the long slow slide. Quatre’s arms were circled up under him, his hands curled around his shoulders with fingers digging in with every thrust. He turned his head, mouthed the fingers and tongued the back of Quatre’s hand. His words nonsense, urging and demanding. Quatre had long since lost the ability to speak in more than grunts, but Quatre’s lips were on the back of his neck, on the stretch of exposed flesh on his shoulder.

It was nearly done, he was feeling it build within himself, knew it by pistoning of Quatre’s thrusts. His hand released its clutched and worked its way to his cock; the cushion nap no longer enough. It wasn’t going to take much, a touch, maybe more. His fingers circled his cock, his thumb brushed its head, and Quatre went stiff and still, his cry muffled against his neck.

He came in quiet thunder, the near perfect moment of nirvana; the smell and taste and sound and feel of Quatre encompassing him.

Quatre was rolling to the side, pushing on his shoulder until they were facing. Smiling that sated smile with half lidded eyes, Quatre brushed his hair back, knuckles caressing his cheek.

Most agreeable, he leaned into the touch, and brought his own arms up and around Quatre, not yet wanting to loss contact, despite the stickiness and the heat and the mess.

"What brought that on?"

A touch to the side of his face, a finger gliding to his ear and around. "Your new glasses," Quatre murmured, lipping on his neck. "You wear sexy intellectual very well."


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