Apricots

Apricots

by Raletha

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Disclaimer: Gundam Wing is copyrighted to Sunrise, Bandai, and the Sotsu Agency. I am not making any money from this.

Notes: Largely pointless - a side fic to the Solace Arc set between Meeting Engagement and Destiny and written as a challenge to (1) convey the sense of taste and (2) portray Quatre masturbating. I limited myself to ~1500 words.

Thanks: to Anne and Lorena for their wonderful beta comments and encouragement! *hugs*

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Earth - Anatolian Plateau - Spring AC 195


Quatre hadn\'t expected this much time between missions. He /had/ expected a frenetic pace of strategic planning, logistical conundrums, and covert operations, but in the week since the Corsica mission, no orders had come. This lack of activity had left him restless and agitated. He simply felt too guilty to indulge free time. How justified could he be, experiencing such liberty while he was fighting a war?

Thus Quatre had, until this very day, managed to busy himself with all sorts of tasks, many of which he knew were not immediately necessary and done simply for the purpose of assuaging his conscience of responsibility. Today he had run out of anything even vaguely constructive to do.

And now it was mid-afternoon and his eyelids were growing progressively heavier, the words on the pages of the book in his lap increasingly blurred, and the hot air limping though his windows evermore oppressive. Perhaps a snack and a nap would ease the passage of the afternoon, and he could make better use of the evening by going over the latest intelligence regarding OZ munitions distribution. Again.

A trip to the kitchen and back, a change of clothes, and fifteen minutes later found Quatre lazing on his wide bed accompanied by a bowl of quartered apricots and dressed in loose cotton pyjama pants. He was determined to make one last valiant attempt at concentrating on Gibbon\'s /The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire/.

But it didn\'t take long for the text to lose coherency and significance, and soon, Quatre\'s eyes only mechanically scanned the page. His active concentration turned to more pleasant things. The most pleasant of which (and the one that had been occupying the majority of his imaginings this week) was his new acquaintance, the young soldier who also piloted a Gundam, Trowa Barton.

Since Quatre had nothing pressing to do, surely there was no harm in letting his thoughts wander for a little while? There was no one here to judge his behaviour lackadaisical or wasteful, and moreover, there was no one to know, no danger of intrusion or of being summoned away. At least not today.

So Quatre relaxed. One hand let the book tilt to an unreadable angle, while the other groped for a piece of fruit, and Quatre closed his eyes.

Dry heat spread over him like a blanket, and the meeting of succulent flesh with his lips coaxed a contented hum from the reclined boy. He sank deeper into his pillows, stretched his legs, and the book slipped from his fingers.

He nibbled lazily at the apricot, letting the juice moisten his lips and fingertips as he savoured the mellow sweetness of it. He thought of Trowa on the day they\'d met and shared lunch, and recalled Trowa\'s quiet pleasure at the meal. Truly, if Quatre weren\'t empathic, it would have been difficult to have judged the other boy\'s enjoyment of his food. But Quatre remembered.

He remembered Trowa\'s feelings of surprised discovery and enjoyment, just as vividly as he remembered the curious green eyes obscured behind dark auburn hair. He remembered the shyness underlying Trowa\'s softly spoken questions during the meal, just as clearly as he remembered the pilot\'s deft handling of his utensils, portraying a sophistication at odds with his stated ignorance of the food he ate.

Quatre reached for another piece of fruit, this time sucking the end between his lips without biting it. Fine fuzzy skin rubbed against his top lip while the dripping meat of the fruit slid against his bottom lip. He let the juice trickle down his idle tongue, viscous and fragrant. The flavour of the apricots grown in the compound possessed a quality like the perfume of a flower - a thick sweetness like gardenia or jasmine, like the fruit had trapped some essential flavour of sunlight.

His head tilted back against the mound of pillows and he slurped up the rest of the fruit segment, chewing with relish and reaching for another before he\'d swallowed. He kept his eyes closed, preferring to entertain himself with a modified memory - a daydream. A sluggish breeze shuffled across his bare chest; Quatre felt his nipples tingle, and the skin over his pectorals tightened in response.

After lunch with Trowa, after they\'d played together, and after Quatre had bandaged Trowa\'s wrist, was when Quatre let his imagination settle. He froze the image in his mind for a moment to make sure he filled in the details correctly: the warmth of Trowa\'s leg near his, the other boy\'s breath just tickling his hair, the attraction tangled with apprehension that Quatre had sensed from Trowa then.

Heat flooded to his groin, and Quatre gasped at the pleasurable rush. The pointed edge of the apricot he brought to his lips, dragging it from side to side, tracing a ticklish line across the center of his bottom lip. In his daydream, Abdul never knocked on the door and interrupted them. In his daydream, Quatre lifted a hand, brushed Trowa\'s hair from his face, and kissed him. And in his daydream, the other boy returned the kiss - hesitantly at first, but quickly growing in surety.

The wet flesh of the apricot pressed more insistently against Quatre\'s lips, and he extended the tip of his tongue to lap at the luscious pulp. He moved his mouth against the fruit gently for a time. But then, as his hunger increased, he suckled and nibbled at the delectable item with more ardor. Soon he was reaching for another piece with one hand. With the other, he shoved at the waistband of his pants.

The heat billowed around him like a live thing, but inside he burned hotter than even the desert air. Sweat had stuck the flimsy material of his pyjama bottoms to the backs of his legs, and he had to squirm and kick to free himself of its hold.

Panting, he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut: deafened by the rapid thudding of blood in his ears, feeling the demanding ache between his legs, and gulping at the dense air that did nothing to quench the fire under his skin or sate the rapacity of this new hunger.

The next several bits of fruit he consumed quickly, finding some small relief in their cooling nectar. But in his mind, he was pressed back into the cushions of the study couch, his shirt having been unbuttoned by agile fingers, and Trowa\'s mouth scalded a path down his breastbone.

That imagined path Quatre traced with a syrupy bit of apricot; his fingers gripped it tightly, forcing more liquid to ooze forth, painting his heated skin with sweet liquor. He flattened his palm over the segment, squashing it against his stomach and pushing it over his naval toward the center of his desire. But it had already lost most if its juice, so he abandoned the ruined piece, flicking it away to be retrieved later, and reached for another quarter with his left hand.

With his right hand he circled the base of his erection, and his fingers began to wander up and down the stiff column. He took his time. He was decadent - rebellious even - lying naked in a sticky sweet mess with the windows wide open to the afternoon, touching himself. He\'d never before been able to luxuriate in the pleasure of his own body like this - without fear driving his hand faster or restricting his activity to the cloistered privacy of a bathroom.

Sprawled across his bed, Quatre sucked idly at his current morsel, warming it in his mouth. He spread his legs and bent his knees to bring his feet flat on the mattress. In sympathy with his fantasy, he wondered: what would it feel like if he just...?

He plucked the apricot from his mouth and opened his eyes. Scooting up against his pillows a little, he brought the slippery thing to his groin and banished a flutter of embarrassment. Curious, he dragged the fleshy side around the flared crown of his penis. He imagined the slippery warmth was something very different from the abused piece of fruit he held, and yet his attention riveted on the delicate orange flesh gliding over the blushing head of his cock. The pale droplets of his arousal mingled with the juices of the fruit, and combined, they drizzled onto the fingers of his other hand, slicking its motion along his length.

His eyes slipped closed once more, his head fell back, and Quatre sighed. If he\'d felt decadent before, then this was pure hedonism.

He gorged himself on the euphoria overtaking his consciousness and redoubled his efforts. Both hands worked diligently - a little faster, a little firmer now - but the juices from the apricot were beginning to dry and become sticky. Impatient, he raised his hand and pushed the beleaguered fruit between his lips. The taint of pungent salt was washed away in a deluge of ambrosia, and he fumbled for a fresh piece from the bowl.

Without hesitation or thought he returned to the increasingly urgent pulling along his cock while he smeared and rubbed the apricot quarter around its sensitive head. He focused his attentions on those places which brought him the most intensity of feeling, and soon Quatre had no recourse but to abandon himself to the throbbing heat and gathering tension.

And in that shuddering moment of irresistible pleasure, all he saw were green eyes.


the end