Sweet Summer Sweat
by Fancyfigures

The day had stretched to two... then three.

"So hot," groaned Heero. He lay naked on the top of the bed covers. He could feel a single drop of sweat trickling down his side. The fan was whirring bravely, but the day was starting as steamy as before. "I can't even bother with breakfast this morning. Does the damned weather go on like this all the time out here?"

Trowa leant over and trailed a hand over his thigh, pleased by the answering shudder he saw across his lover's stomach. He caught up Heero's hand, and tugged it over to his groin -- he wrapped the fingers around his growing erection.

"Again?" murmured Heero. The word was plaintive, but Trowa saw the smirk on his face that contradicted it. "More sex again? Only twice last night... only an hour ago, when the sun came up...I'm pretty sore, Trowa."

Trowa snorted. "It's not only me who's insatiable, love. I've never known you so responsive -- so eager."

"So tasty --" mumbled Heero. He teased his hand up Trowa's cock, and trailed a thin strand of pre-cum from his finger as he moved it away. He rolled over on to his stomach; batted a lazy foot against the coverlet. Then he slid his sticky finger into his mouth, and pursed his lips around it. He looked up at Trowa through half-lidded eyes.

"Yeah," grinned Trowa. He felt his taste buds respond, a dampness in his mouth. "You are very tasty --"

"Surprised you can find room for me, after your disgustingly enthusiastic appetite for Wufei's cooking," protested Heero. He'd been amazed at how much Trowa was eating, especially in this hot weather. And although they'd apparently still got a coupla dollars left to pay for their board, Trowa had started to go into the kitchen at meal times, to offer to help out.

Heero wondered idly how much a room cost here. Trowa didn't tell him -- and there was no tariff displayed anywhere. He'd not actually been presented with a bill. Still, he knew that Trowa wouldn't let a debt go unpaid -- he was pretty retentive that way. It must have been settled up to date.

"It's good food," Trowa shrugged. He turned his face aside, because he was suddenly afraid that Heero would see something that he didn't recognise. The Presence stirred in the pit of his stomach, as if in anticipation. As if in appreciation... "You know I like my food. He's some kinda genius in creating such meals out of simple ingredients...don't you love the tastes yourself?"

Heero shrugged. It was food, that was all. He thought he'd go help Quatre today, in the yard. He never told Trowa, but since their fight, he had been avoiding the blond. He spent as little time as necessary in the dining room -- he took himself out to the courtyard whenever he could, and sat quietly by himself, reading or sketching idly on the back of discarded papers. Luckily, no-one else ever seemed to go there.

This wasn't just to keep Trowa happy, though... there was more to it than that. But he was getting bored of the solitude, now. There was only so much time you could spend reading old newspapers and torn paperbacks, wasn't there? Oh, and fucking on an extremely regular basis, of course.

"The bathroom has been stocked again," said Heero. He hitched himself up on to one arm, the muscles of his chest tightening across his torso. "There's a new massage oil... smells like raspberries."

Trowa felt his mouth go moist at the thought. They were his favourite fruit! The sharp tangy sweetness -- the vicious little pips, just looking to spike his tongue as he ate. The burst of luscious taste in his mouth as he bit into one --

"Gonna try it..." he whispered. His hand ran up Heero's outside leg, then rolled into the valley of his inner thighs. Heero's knees slid apart almost instinctively, and there was a jerk of the nerves in his cock, trapped under his prone body.

"Might as well..." Heero whispered back. He rolled up on to his side, and turned his head to the chestnut-haired man. Their mouths met like well practised partners now.

"All over you," groaned Trowa, swiping his tongue across Heero's lower lip. Savouring the early morning saliva there, still relatively cool against the sweat of his own flesh. "I'm gonna smooth it all over your skin --"

"And inside," hissed Heero. "Take it up inside me, Trow. The lube's all gone -- we can use whatever else we find. Take your fingers up there, and massage me from the inside out..."

He rolled back on to his back, as Trowa stumbled eagerly off the bed to fetch the oil.

Heero gazed lazily up at the fan, blinking its shadow across the ceiling, still only a pale discolouring of dark in the rapidly rising sun. Its tentacles flipped across his naked body, in a slow, hypnotic sprawl.

He wondered at the mirror tiles around it -- they were too cracked and marked for him to see much. To watch, perhaps, him and Trowa fucking. He thought - with an extra frisson of excitement - that he might like that. As it was, all he could see were his dark blue eyes, glinting back at him, and the distorted smudge of his nude skin.

He wondered when the delivery guy was gonna turn up -- the damned motel never seemed to get short of anything it needed. There was always food at meal times; clean sheets and towels. Another book, when he'd just got bored with the previous one. Plenty of toiletries -- he thought about the raspberry oil. It was a seductive thought.

Hold that thought close...came the voice. He was used to it now. He would listen to it, or ignore it, as he wished. It was especially persistent when he was in the courtyard -- but he was also most in control of it there. He didn't know if hearing it meant he were going mad, or if it were the heat. Or whatever. This damned place...

Trowa was back, spreading himself and the oil all over Heero's body; a greedy Trowa; an assertive Trowa. A masterful one.

Or so he thought, smiled Heero. He welcomed his lover into his arms, and into his body with his usual fierce thrusts. He'd think about it all later on.

Trowa walked into the kitchen, seeing the familiar equipment, smelling the familiar aromas of spices and herbs. At breakfast time, there was hot oil and bubbling mushrooms and tomatoes, and fried bread to add to the mix. He'd helped at several of the meals over the last couple of days, as well as clearing and washing up -- he'd found a surprising pleasure in cooking, then enjoying what he'd created. He still felt disturbed around Wufei -- but he rather suspected that he also found a surprising pleasure in that as well. He was dreadfully confused; he was almost scared of the strong, sensual man; but he kept returning. He didn't tell Heero anything about his feelings.

It was a strange, guilty thing that he held to himself. A consuming thing. A thing that flowed within him; both driven and dragged through by the Presence.

Wufei was there this morning -- of course. He always was, though Trowa varied his arrival time, and supposed that Wufei must have other duties elsewhere on the site. Trowa wasn't puzzled by it anymore. He'd also stopped asking when the delivery man would arrive, as he never got a satisfactory answer. Or any answer at all, really.

Wufei looked up, and his eyes fell briefly to Trowa's clothes. To his lower body. Trowa flushed. He wore a thin vest, and a pair of Heero's shorts -- he had none of his own, except for old sports shorts, and he'd been glad to leave them behind with his old, child's life. Heero was a smaller size than he was, but these had a drawstring waist, and did well enough for Trowa. It was too hot for pants, he'd argued, back in the room. Heero had shrugged, and agreed.

It was too hot for anything, really, thought Trowa. When he pulled his clothes on of a morning -- and sometimes during the day, after a session in the room with Heero -- they felt awkward. They chafed; they had an alien roughness to them. Did he want to go around naked? he joked to himself. Though the laugh was weak.

He stared back at Wufei, and was shocked to see an amused flicker in the other man's dark eyes that suggested he knew exactly what Trowa was thinking.

"Your breakfast is ready," Wufei said, in that low, smooth voice. He also had a sleeveless, white vest on this morning, and the usual light, loose pants. They clung around his hips, faintly damp from the growing steaminess in the kitchen. Trowa could see the muscle-swelled definition of his thighs. There was only one plate ready on the counter.

"Heero..." started Trowa.

"He won't be eating this morning," replied Wufei, as if Trowa wasn't grasping for the right words.

"Ah... no, he won't." How did Wufei know? He eyed the food hungrily -- God, his appetite never ceased to amaze him at the moment! "I'll eat in the dining room --"

"You'll eat here," stated Wufei. "Sit. I'll bring it to you."

Trowa was too astonished to argue. Wufei brought the breakfast each morning -- but never just to Trowa. Never in the kitchen. There were a couple of stools at the corner of the room, set against a clear area of the counter. Trowa stepped back hesitantly, and hitched himself up on to one. Wufei put the plate down in front of him. It was still hot -- delivery timed to perfection.

Wufei leant back against the counter and watched him eat. His eyes held Trowa's for a second, then dipped to his mouth. Trowa blushed a little under the scrutiny. What was he staring at? he thought. The food slipping into his mouth, forkful after forkful. The movement of his jaw; the drop of pink moisture on his lips from tomatoes. A fleck of some seasoning on his teeth...

Wufei licked his lips. Slowly. Deliberately. There was a small boxed container beside him on the worktop, and his fingers toyed with it. Trowa assumed it held some food of some kind; there were air holes in the cardboard. Wufei flipped the lid open, and dipped his hand in. His eyes were still on Trowa's mouth. He lifted his fingers out, holding something close within his palm.

"Take this. It's for you."

"No, thanks," Trowa said. His voice was hoarse. He didn't know what he was accepting. He had a feeling it would be more than just the contents of Wufei's hand.

"Take it," said Wufei. "You want to."

At the last minute, as Trowa lifted his hand to take whatever it was, Wufei batted him away. Then he leant forward, and pressed his own fingers against Trowa's lips, forcibly enough so that Trowa had to open his mouth, and accept what he held. He felt a cool, sweet freshness on his tongue. A fruity softness -- followed by the tang of a seed or two. A dribble of pale pink liquid ran down his chin.

"Raspberry -?" he whispered, astonished. The flavour was in his mouth, the aroma in his nostrils; filling his senses.

Wufei smiled. Yet again, it seemed he knew exactly what Trowa was thinking. His hand moved swiftly, and his fingertips brushed away the wetness on Trowa's skin. Trowa was vibrantly aware of the dampness of his palm.

Take it...

Trowa rolled the plump fruit to the back of his mouth and swallowed. He realised suddenly how close Wufei's face was to his. The man had leaned forward, hands bracing himself on the counter. Either side of Trowa -- effectively trapping him there.

Trowa saw, through a haze, the same dark pink stains on Wufei's lips. His thick, bold lips. They were very close to his own...he smelled the raspberry flavour, and he sighed.

It could have been taken as some kind of a surrender.

Heero brushed back the hair from his forehead, and coughed out some dust. He and Quatre had fixed up several metres of broken fencing round the back of the building, and the door of the small storage unit abutting the kitchen wall. Now he was stacking up some spare planks inside the store room, ready for any future need. He was going to be finished soon. He stretched his back up, with a small groan. It hadn't been exhausting work by any means, but the heat was mounting steadily, and he hadn't realised how tired he was.

He looked over at Quatre, rolling up a length of twine that they'd used. He marvelled at the boy -- who'd have thought he was the type to set to physical labour? But he'd worked as hard as Heero, and shown a steady-handedness and commonsense in the work.

Heero admitted that there'd been some truth in Trowa's accusations. He knew that he found Quatre hot -- he was fascinated by the blond's brashness; by his easy sensuality. He'd fought his own for so long -- it was astonishing to find someone who was so comfortable with theirs. Even here, in the middle of the yard, Quatre wore nothing but the brief shorts. His chest was pinking slightly in the sun's rays; it made the skin shine. His slim legs bent easily to his task, and there were creditable muscles showing under the pale, soft flesh. He'd flipped open the top button of the shorts, and there was a shallow pool of sweat in his exposed navel. It made Heero feel rather warm in his groin whenever he caught sight of it. The boy was attractive in the way that sin was; he asked to be caressed; he begged without words to be fucked. Heero marvelled how someone could be built that way!

And he was sure that Quatre was aware of his effect on him. Dammit, he was playing to it! He'd raised a single eyebrow when Heero came to offer help this morning. Then smiled, and shown him what was needed. With exceptional care. He pointed out the wood, with a steadying hand on Heero's elbow. He fetched tools down from the wall by stretching across Heero's chest, brushing at his body. He showed Heero the storage in the narrow unit, then turned so suddenly that they were pressed up together for a few seconds. Enough time for Heero to feel the swelling in the blond boy's shorts, uncomfortably confined between his legs.

Yeah, Heero knew that Quatre wanted him. A few months ago, he would either have denied such an awareness, or been deeply embarrassed by it. He hadn't seen himself as much of a sexual being. And now look at him! Something had been unleashed when he met Trowa -- something that burned, and something that thrilled. Something that nagged at his sleep, and encouraged him to roll into bed with Trowa at every waking opportunity. Or was that only since they arrived here?

And what about him and Trowa? He was struggling with it all. During the flight from home, and the frenzied journey -- that had been all he needed to concentrate on. To get away from the persecution -- to be alone with the man he wanted. The man that he thought he might love... But then they had stalled here -- the situation had changed. Now he was learning another relationship, and it was too new for him to know how he should be. And he didn't think that Trowa knew any more than he. The sex was hot -- yeah, it was very hot! -- but, then, what did either of them know about it, apart from each other? When that was done, he thought that they were already drifting -- they were finding some difficulty in conversation outside of bed. Trowa mystified him -- his tension. His sudden secrecy, and strange reactions. His need to be in control.

Heero knew that control meant a little more than just who was seme. Heero thought that he was learning a damned sight more since he left home than he'd ever learnt before.

Quatre was calling to him; lifting a hand to his eyes, shielding them from the sky. The shadow was dark across his face and neck -- his sweat-damp blond hair was painful on the eyes where the sun struck it.

Heero remembered the lobby, on the day they arrived; Quatre's unfocussed eyes; his panting breath, as Wufei slipped long, strong fingers up inside him. And caressed him with them...

Heero knew what that felt like. He knew how he could be stimulated from within. How he could be brought to a gasping, sobbing climax.

But he wondered now how it would feel to reciprocate.

He wondered what it was, to be seme. To take someone -- to enter their ass, and plunge in and out, your cock sheathed in a tight, warm channel, so much firmer and more responsive than a hand. He wished that Trowa would consider it.

A sigh reverberated in his head. He dismissed it, instinctively. But he didn't think it had taken any notice of him. It liked these thoughts in his head -- it liked listening to the naked needs; the dark desires; the desperate dreams. It wanted to play amongst them, he knew. But he didn't dare let it -- not yet.

He sighed. And always the desire, hot in his belly. What was with this constant horniness?


Quatre turned his blond, dusty head up, and gazed at Heero. It was a blatantly sexual, hungry look; his eyes lingered at Heero's crotch, then trailed up to his nude chest -- his vest top had also been long abandoned. With a sigh, Quatre let his arm fall back to his chest; he stroked the skin, almost aimlessly. Ran a nail down between his nipples, and watched whether Heero's eyes followed it. Then he walked over to where Heero stood. A trail of sweat trickled down Heero's face, running on down into the hollow at the base of his neck. Quatre reached out, and flicked the trail away softly with his finger. He lifted the damp digit, and holding Heero's gaze, he sucked it into his mouth, right up to the knuckle.

"Tastes good," he said, softly. "I bet all of you tastes good. Real good."

"Quatre... persisted Heero. Heero knew he was dirty and sweaty, and he also knew without a doubt that Quatre would be happy to take him that way. That wasn't what this was about. He also knew he was aroused -- he somehow took this as read, nowadays. He noted Quatre's greedy gaze, seeking out the bulge under his shorts. But he wasn't going to be doing anything about it at the moment. There were some answers that he sought.

"What about the pool, Quatre? In that charming little courtyard. Why don't we fix that up, instead of these old fences, out back? It'd be a great facility, especially in the summer. And do up some of the rooms...Why do you let this place get so seedy?"

"The pool?" Quatre's expression shifted. It was more than a little sly. "The pool is fine as it is..."

"What do the guests say about the motel?" Heero pressed on. "The other guests? Where are they, Quatre? What sorta place are you running here, anyway?"

"Questions..." sighed Quatre. He gave an exaggerated shrug. "The other guests have moved on, Heero. They always do. And Maxwell runs the place, not me. I just..." for a moment, his mouth twisted in a greedy smile. "I just take orders."

Heero despaired of him. There were too many odd things here. Too many mysteries. Too much damned heat, too much damned sex... "How did you get here, Quatre? To this motel. And why are you still here?"

The blond flushed. But he answered quite smoothly and, it seemed, sincerely. "Nowhere else to go, Heero. I had plenty of guys wanted to know me at home -- plenty of ‘em got to know me well, y'know? I was good at what I did -- and I didn't cost ‘em anything but a few drinks and sometimes a hit. Everyone enjoyed it." He looked almost proud of himself. Heero realised with a slight shock that he must have been a whore of some kind. Whether officially, or just known as such around his home town. He looked at the boyish, gamine looks, and the sexuality oozing out of his every exaggerated move, and he saw how that might be. He wondered what it would be like to buy Quatre a drink and have him bend over for him.

Christ! he thought.

Quatre was watching his expression carefully. "Then they got jealous, didn't they? The women -- the wives. Didn't want their guys sticking it up any ass but their own. When they were the ones rationing it out in the first place, driving the guys mad! Anyway, they threw me out. Dumped me with barely a bus fare and a jacket and fuck all else. Worked my ass through the state until I got here. And then Maxwell took care of me."

He smiled -- a broad, almost childlike grin. Heero wondered what age he really was. "I was damned good, Heero! I could do it all, and they all wanted me. Everyone knew me...I was like a celebrity, y'know? You don't forget that easily..."

"And Wufei?"

Quatre's face darkened suddenly, and his whole body language turned from pride to shame. Heero saw his lungs suck in a sharp breath; his arms fold protectively across his chest. "Hey, that's something else. He was messed up when he came here. He was running away from it all. He wanted to forget... but Maxwell took care of him as well."

"What did he do? What was he running from?"

Quatre hesitated. "It was a mistake, OK? He never meant to hurt the guy! There was some fight -- something about stealing some of Wufei's stuff. He just hit out -- and the other guy's skull was cracked. I mean -- he's not a dangerous guy, y'know? Just -- a mistake..."

He saw Heero's horrified expression. He shrugged. "Everyone has secrets, Heero. Everyone runs from something or other. It's just that we've found a sanctuary here. With Maxwell."

"But who the fuck is Maxwell?" growled Heero. The heat was nagging at his head again -- his neck ached; his limbs were weary. Everything confused him... and the voice chuckled at him.

And then Quatre leaned in to him, and placed his sweaty palm against his chest. He spoke into his ear -- very close, very breathlessly. "He's the voice, isn't he, Heero? He directs us -- he owns us. We want him. And so we hear him as a voice..."

Heero stared. Speechless.

They were standing quite close to the wall of the building now. And suddenly he saw Quatre's attention waver, just for a second. His head jerked slightly towards the motel. As if he heard someone calling him. But there was no other sound out here, except for the bushes crackling in the sun's heat; the occasional bird calling. He watched, fascinated, as Quatre took his hand from his chest, and stretched it out towards the wall -- touched his fingertips to it. His eyes closed for a second, and his cheeks flushed red.

Then Quatre exhaled, deeply. And turned back to Heero. The smile was back on his face, though his eyes were a little misty.

He placed a hand on Heero's arm. "We can rest now, OK? Let me relax you, Heero -- you've worked hard. Let me clean you up..." His tongue slipped out of his mouth, and ran smoothly around his full lips. Heero imagined, wildly, the effect of that tongue on his sweaty body -- like a cat, a little rough, licking at the skin; nipping at his nipple; sipping at his tired, stretched skin. Cleaning all the grime and the aches away...

But Heero had heard the voice again, and suddenly he knew that it had reached for Quatre as well. There was a light in both their eyes that knew a familiar call. They were together in this. It played with both of them.


And he had felt it, too. The sudden surge of sensuality in the air. How else could he explain this wave of lust that was threatening to consume him? He shook it off with difficulty -- shook off the desperate desire to push Quatre to the dusty ground and wrench off his ridiculous shorts, and suck on his swollen dick until he screamed for completion -

Where had that obscenity come from? And -- more critically -- where was it taking him?

In the kitchen, Trowa was bent back over the counter, hands pressing against Wufei's strong shoulders, his mouth filled with the other man's thick, probing tongue. He groaned -- he protested; but despite it all, he sucked eagerly and willingly. Again and again, the taller man thrust into his mouth, in a parody of fucking. His teeth nipped at Trowa's lip, breaking a small bead of blood from it. And Trowa gasped, and let the invasion continue. He felt his groin tighten under the inadequate shorts -- when Wufei reached for the waist, he welcomed the warm hand sliding inside. He didn't know which he wanted more -- Wufei to touch his cock, or Wufei to caress his ass.

Or both.

He wondered how the hell a single raspberry could have caused such agonising need in him!

"He's with us both, now, Trowa," hissed Wufei, in his ear. "Maxwell will have us both, to do his will..." His teeth were at Trowa's neck now, scraping shallowly, as if he played at vampires. It sent a shudder through Trowa's body that he couldn't have hidden if his life depended on it. The hand was inside his shorts, and it was down the front of his boxers, and his flesh throbbed and strained to be grasped.

"Do it --" he groaned, not even knowing what he asked for. His back pressed painfully against the edge of the worktop; his hips were crushed against the wooden door. He felt a cup slide away from under him and fall to the floor with a crash.

"No, not yet!" murmured Wufei. "You like to control it all, Trowa. But that's not going to happen, is it?"

"Wha -?" Trowa's head was spinning. He reached, wildly, his hands aching and not knowing what to hold. The counter, to steady himself -- or Wufei, to bring him closer.

"You can only tease for so long. Finally you must ask for what you want. And then you can receive it. I was reluctant once, you know. I didn't want it to reach inside me -- to saturate me like it does. You know how that feels, don't you, Trowa?"

"Yes..." he whispered, horrified in amongst his desire. Wufei meant the Presence, he knew. It was coiled inside him -- it teased at his reactions -- at his very nerves. It laughed, and it scorned, and it drew him wherever it wanted. And just now, that was into a pulsating block of craving flesh -- and up close to Wufei's magnificent body.

He broke away. He didn't want to -- and yet he did. He was panting, heavily. Wufei stared, his pupils dilated; then raising his hands in a sign of appeasement, he stepped just one pace away from him. It wasn't even a gesture -- Trowa knew how easily this man could overpower him if he wanted. Or if he wanted.

But Wufei was still. And so was his calm smile. "No, dark one... you must learn to lose yourself in it! You must learn the joy of being victim as well as victor. That's what Maxwell taught me. He made it the most glorious thing for me." He began to move steadily back towards Trowa, smiling, smiling. His eyes flared with something that Trowa feared was reflected from his own expression.

Trowa snatched up a knife, a thick-bladed kitchen one. He had no idea what he was going to do with it. He just wanted one last chance to gather his thoughts -- to state his case -- to direct this whole mad situation -

Wufei's eyes narrowed; his head shook slowly. He answered, though Trowa had no notion of having spoken aloud. "No-one directs but Maxwell, Trowa. You know that, though, don't you?" His arm moved out, as if in slow motion, and he plucked the knife from Trowa's hand as easily as a thread of cotton on his sleeve. Then he moved the strong body more gracefully than Trowa would ever have imagined; he gripped Trowa's arm, he twisted him round against his chest, and his own arm clamped tightly against the chestnut-haired man's neck.

And the knife was now in his hand.

It looked far more at home in Wufei's large, strong hand. He flexed his wrist slightly; he held it almost loosely. And it remained a few inches away from Trowa's throat, which was throbbing now with shock. But he held Trowa completely immobile; his elbow pressed painfully on the young man's shoulder; the muscles of his chest tight against his back.

Trowa was helpless. He realised he'd never known what fear really was. A trite phrase -- but now a terrifyingly reality.

Wufei's breath was hot on his ear. Trowa bent his head slightly to the side, but then the breath was on his neck, and to his horror, he felt a stimulation; a stirring in his groin. Wufei laughed softly.

"A victim, Trowa....How does it feel? Does it thrill you? Does it scare you? Look at yourself, Trowa! Your cock is harder than ever, and yet you don't know quite how I will react. You want my food, and my body, and you want -- desperately -- to surrender to the Presence inside you."

"No..." whispered Trowa.

"Yes!" hissed Wufei. "I have you, now -- you're powerless. I could take you. I could take whatever you have, and then some. You should be fearful of that. And yet your mind is open to it -- your body wonders what it would be like. Do you wonder what it's like to be taken, Trowa? Like you take him? Fast, and hard? With your heart beating so fast it may burst out of you, and your cock thick and slick with pre-cum, and your balls aching, as tight as they are with need. But then there are hands gripping your hips, so fierce that they leave bruises. Spreading your legs; prising open the cheeks of your ass. And you're filled with a thrusting cock that's even harder, and even faster, and it's tight up inside your barely stretched ass, and someone's balls are banging up close to your buttocks, as you're nailed harder than you've ever nailed anyone else before --"

"God..." whispered Trowa. His face had paled beyond white.

"Imagine it happening to you! You've never been fucked, have you? A hot cock up your ass -- another man's hands on your shoulders, holding you down to take him in. All of it! But you want it -- badly. Everything about you cries out for it."

"No -- you don't know --" gasped Trowa.

"You want me to do it," Wufei hissed. "So ask me! Whatever you want... I will do it for you. I will do it to you -! But you must ask..."

Trowa knew that people said there was always one moment of decision -- one action, when the choice arose, that would take you down a particular path. He knew he was at that moment. He felt the cold breath of the knife, and the hot pressure of Wufei's erection against his ass. He felt the Presence in his gut, and he let it curl around his thundering heart. He had one brief, flickering moment of thought about Heero, and then that had gone.

"It's not for me to control you, Trowa," murmured Wufei. The muscles of his shoulders relaxed around the other man's neck, and he lifted his arm away. Gently, he placed the knife down on the top beside them. He turned the rigid man around in his arms, and bent to lick at his lips; at his neck. He felt Trowa shiver underneath him. "Not yet. First it must be your desire -- your request. For now, I'm at your command."

"Maxwell... he's here?" gasped Trowa. The tongue was soft, it was consoling, it was thawing his fear and his shock, and lighting small flames at the base of his desire again.

"Maxwell is always here," laughed Wufei, softly.

They stared at each other.

"Suck me," sighed Trowa, in a voice that broke on each word. "That's what I want."

"Where is Maxwell?" cried Heero. He grabbed at Quatre, but the boy wasn't perturbed. "What sort of twisted fuck is he? What's he doing to you all?"

"Not just us," whispered Quatre. He gazed at Heero's mouth -- at the mobile lips, working around the angry words. "He does it to everyone... and they all enjoy it..."

"Christ!" exploded Heero. He wanted to slap this stupid bastard -- he wanted to squeeze bruises into the babyish flesh of his arms - he wanted to force his lips down on him, and thrust his tongue into his mouth --

Instead, he let go of Quatre's arms, and stepped back.

Quatre looked shocked at his reaction. As if he hadn't expected such self-control.

"You chose to come here, Heero, didn't you? Don't resist it. Don't resist me. Don't resist him..."

"No -- it wasn't choice --" stuttered Heero. "What are you talking about?"

"You ran." Quatre's voice was calm and very soft. And smug. "You ran, because you wanted something you couldn't get at home. You ran, and Duo Maxwell heard your steps. Heard your cries, and your pain, and your loneliness. And he led you here. Whatever you want, Heero, you can find it here. Duo will get you anything you want..."

Wufei dropped to his knees on the tiled floor of the kitchen, one arm around Trowa's legs, the other tugging at his shorts. Trowa let them be pulled to his ankles, and the boxers followed. He tried to wriggle them off his feet, but Wufei's hands were already at his hips, so he leaned back, his surrender all the more complete with his feet hobbled together.

The hands were warm and wide, and the pads of the palms caressed the smooth, protected flesh of his inner thighs. He let his knees sag a little, clutching the worktop with his hands, struggling to keep himself upright and awake for what was going to happen to him. The hands were sliding behind, to massage at his cheeks -- to run a teasing finger up and down his crack. They caressed his flesh, and then he felt the hot breath at his groin, and the flickering tip of a tongue on his rearing cock.

Wufei's mouth engulfed him.

He moaned. It was incredible! It was so different from Heero's attentions, but he couldn't have explained why. Perhaps just because it was different...

He ripped at his vest, pulling it up over his head, his hair getting tangled in the cloth. He flung it aside -- he had no idea where it went. His hips were inches from Wufei's face, and it was taking all his efforts not to jerk them back and slam forward, begging to fuck his mouth with his cock. He looked down on the dark head, moving firmly back and forth; he heard the lapping, liquid noises, as he was washed with hot saliva and his own leaking cum.

Then Wufei's hands slid back behind him, and gripped at his ass. The sucking paused -- the tongue stilled on his flesh-red, aching shaft.

Trowa gasped with frustrated agony. He heard his vicious panting, harsh in the silent kitchen. His hand wavered over Wufei's head -- he had to continue -!

Wufei slid his cock out, to rest on his bottom lip, and lifted his eyes up to gaze at him. He was panting, too, but Trowa knew that he was far from exhausted. His dark eyes were dilated; they were greedy for more of him. It was the most erotic thing Trowa had ever seen. "He does this to you, doesn't he, Trowa? Your lover...? Does he suck you in like this? Does he suck you in as deep as this?"

-- and he pulled Trowa's body forward.

Trowa felt his cock slide back in, deeper than he'd have thought possible -- so deep, that his balls rested against Wufei's chin. So deep that the hairs on his groin must have tickled up into Wufei's nose. So deep that when he thrust, he could feel the back of Wufei's tongue, and the tip of that tongue was licking hungrily at the base of him, hot on the wrinkled skin...

"Fuck!" he gasped. So this is what it was to be deep-throated!

"Yes," sighed Wufei. The word was muffled; it reverberated around Trowa's cock. "You can have that as well if you want. When you want. Just let me fuck you with my mouth now..."

And he did. That's what it really feels like! thought Trowa, in a daze of ecstasy, fighting the waves of climax that swamped him, then receded -- then threatened again. His hips slammed against the man's chin -- he plunged into the hot, wet mouth, again and again, and he could think of nothing he'd ever felt to compare with it. Not Heero's mouth; not Heero's ass.

"Have you ever had it so good, Trowa? Has anything ever felt so marvellous?" Trowa heard the words in Wufei's voice -- but he wasn't sure that he'd spoken them. Surely his mouth was too busy, caressing his cock -- sliding the skin up against his teeth, then down again to slither against his lips, slippery with saliva. His fingers were between Trowa's cheeks, and for a horrified, terrified, ecstatic second, Trowa thought he felt the tip of a long, strong finger dip into the tight pucker of his hole...

"No...." whimpered Trowa. Nothing ever had felt so good! He wanted to release it all now -- he wanted to come. But he was scared that the pain would be too great -- the passion would overwhelm him - "Never..."

"Thank Maxwell for that, Trowa," sighed Wufei's mouth. "Come, now." One last, deep lick across the over-sensitive slit, and Trowa almost screamed with his obedient response. He bucked against the kneeling man -- he clutched at his hair, not caring if he hurt him. The nerves fled from every limb and into the one concentrated point of his cock, as it leapt against Wufei's lips, spewing its creamy contents into him. Trowa's whole body shook - he watched through blurred eyes, fascinated at the delight with which Wufei licked it all in; drinking it; savouring it.

He slumped back against the counter, pain in his chest from the tension. His cock still throbbed.

Wufei stood slowly, stretching his bent limbs; flexing the superb muscles. "Thank Maxwell," he murmured, again. His mouth came to Trowa's limp lips -- his tongue thrust in, swiping drops of cum against Trowa's own tongue, insisting that he taste it. Then he pulled back. He looked up and down Trowa's naked body with appreciation. He stroked slowly at the front of his pants -- the bulge inside was large, and looked like it might be impatient. But with a smile on his face, he started to back out of the kitchen.

"The courtyard, tonight, Trowa. Tonight..."

Then Trowa's muscles abandoned him, and he slid slowly down to sit awkwardly on the floor.

Heero stood in the sweltering, disorientating sun of the yard, and felt his feet move under him -- they turned him away from Quatre's astonishing words. Away from the seductive speaker.

"I'd be good!" He heard Quatre's plaintive cry, behind him. "You should take me! That's what you want, Heero. Who are you saving yourself for? That companion of yours?"

Heero was walking away. He knew he had to get away. He knew what Quatre might say next.

"You're not to be his, Heero," hissed the boy. "Where do you think he is now? He's not with you -- because you can't give him everything he wants. And you -- well, you know he's not the true one, don't you? Not for you..."

Heero didn't trust himself to do or say anything else. The relative cool of the courtyard called to him, and he knew it was the one place in this lunatic motel that he felt at all at peace.

He let the voice soothe him as his unsteady steps turned into a full and frantic running -- for it drowned out Quatre's words.

On to part six. Back to part four.