All the Things You Never Knew:
Part Six
By: Kitty E.
There is nothing so pathetic as an old king. Seated upon a gilded throne, dressed in the finest clothes, their physical defects become unsightly. Liver spots and gray hair, thin skin and frail bones became the marks of death and aging, not of wisdom and experience. Old kings can no longer embody the grandeur of a country, instead they show it's age, of just how far they had come from the romantic tales of the past. An old king was revered only because of his past glory, and his sons. Once leaders, they now became fathers, their children's sins and accomplishments would be blamed upon him. If he raised them well and if his firstborn son took his father's name upon their death, they ended their reigns as good kings.
Treize knew this and, though it was a futile effort, still fought to hide his age. He sat uncomfortably in the hard chair that dominated the room but did not dare shift to betray his aching back, and troubled knee. His gray hair was worn longer than in his youth, pulled into a ponytail and thrown over one shoulder to highlight the still ginger colored hair at the base of his neck. He indulged in few excesses, and tried to remain trim, remembering the disappointment he'd felt one at his own father's growing potbelly. Try as he might, he knew that his health was failing and that the time to secure his legacy was running out.
He sat alone completely in the cavernous space of his throne room save for the attendants at the door. The smaller throne beside him was empty, left there in memoriam for his Queen that had died many years before. He had never truly cared for Anne{1}, but love had nothing to do with royal marriages. She had been a good wife, loyal and devoted, though painfully inconsistent with her moods. Seventeen years of his life had been spent with her and yet even while she was on her deathbed, he'd experienced no heart-felt emotion when he looked into her eyes. He remembered her fondly though, and found himself missing the way she had always steered him in the right direction, even after her real purpose to him was served.
In all, she had borne him five children, four sons, and one daughter. Treize had remained somewhat jaded after losing Lucrezia, his only daughter. She had been born ill, and died before even learning to walk. Their third son, Trowa, had died of pneumonia at four, and their last child had been given his name in honor of Anne's sorrow. He had never been close to his sons, and he that was partly by their choice and his own. Anne had always served as their liaison, but now that she was gone they'd been left without any way to truly communicate, and the distance between them had grown too far to bridge. He tensed a little as the main door was opened, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, and watched his three sons, now all assembled, being led into the throne room.
Heero entered first, for it was his announcement that had brought them all together. In his eldest his son he saw far more of himself than he cared to admit. Heero was too sure of himself, like Treize had once been before time had humbled him. It was not an arrogance based upon nothing, Heero had many successes under his belt, too many now to conceive of ever failing. As was fashionable, they had both devoted a fair amount of their youth to warfare, but while Treize had only sought to quiet border disputes, Heero had subdued their hostile neighbors to the East {2}, and soon after plundered the peaceful, isolationist Midians to the South. It was not bloodlust that motivated his oldest child, but something as simple as boredom. Heero found no pleasure in palace life, and was disdainful even in its guilty pleasures. Save one... Treize thought unhappily.
He had never really learned the name of the cocky, blonde whore who had only been a source of trouble since arriving. Relena had been worried to the point of hysteria when she'd discovered Heero devoted most of his nights to the sin of sodomy. In his own country it wasn't considered odd, but apparently her religion was strict on such things. The engagement had been mere moments away from being called off, if Treize hadn't stepped in and insisted Heero give the slave up. Ever the dutiful son, Heero had obeyed his father's wishes, but stood in the way of any attempt to sell him, and the blonde had found his way into Duo's bed.
His second born followed Heero closely, and with an uncharacteristically anxious look on his face. Briefly, Treize wondered why Duo would be so apprehensive, but decided it was nothing, Duo was simply too energetic, too intelligent for his own good. He had grown up knowing he could change things, and because of that Treize feared his son. There was, after all, a lot that Duo wanted to change, he had all but been born with the belief that he'd been cheated somehow. He resented Heero's status, that his mother had chosen Trowa as her favorite, that he could never win his father's approval. He saw ambition in his son's eyes and knew it did not bode well for the family, but he waved the thought away. There's nothing I can do now... I'm too old, he sighed softly. My time has passed... Heero will be the legal ruler soon, all that's left to do is watch.
His spied his youngest, and was almost surprised to see him. Some great distraction had taken his attention recently, but Treize did not seek to know what it was. Trowa was much like his mother, keeping everything hidden, even his true personality, unless he chose to reveal it. The boy had been deeply affected by his mother's passing, for months afterwards he could see him sorting through the pain, but offered no comforting words. Trowa did not want them, did not want him. He had always been happier to be a stranger even within his family, and Treize did not deny him that.
They stood side by side now, Heero in the center and a step ahead, to show his rank, and that he was about to speak. Treize nodded shallowly at his eldest, and finally allowed himself to relax his back into a pose of listening.
"I've come to a decision," Heero started. "Before I marry Relena, and before I ascend the throne, I wish to launch one more campaign."
Treize frowned tightly, "We've discussed this, Midi was the last until you married."
Even the first-born could not look the king in the eyes, and so Heero glared at the floor. "I know this," he said through clenched teeth.
"Then why would you even bother to ask?" Treize demanded.
Heero curled one hand into a fist, "Because it is what I want."
"Spoiled," Treize spat distastefully. Sometimes he sought to understand his sons, and sometimes he did not. "I will not allow it."
"It will not be your choice soon," Heero threatened. He'd only need to wait two weeks to come of age, and Treize's position as head of the family would be purely symbolic. "I'd prefer to go with your blessing and while the spring is still young, but I have no trouble waiting."
No one spoke for a long moment, they could disobey their father readily, they could dislike, and even hate their father, but none of them had ever dared to challenge him. Even as he was, weakening with age, his power about to be passed to another they could not have imagined ever going so openly against him. Treize swallowed, anger welled within him, but not because he had been wronged, but because Heero was right. "Brat," he hissed. "Upstart, and unworthy son. Go on and fight, ruin the engagement, never come back for all I care." He stood up swiftly and nearly buckled onto one knee, but steadied himself. Embarrassed, he lashed out one last time before leaving, "Find your death upon this campaign it's of no concern to me."
Heero stood utterly still until his father left, then turned on his heel. Briefly, he looked at each of his brothers and then stormed out. Duo uttered a loud sigh, and wrapped his arms around himself as he made his way to the door. Trowa watched him absently, still trying to make sense of what had just happened, and saw the oriental slave that met Duo at the door. As the two exchanged words, he craned his neck a bit to get a better look at the exotic stranger, by accident black eyes met green and radiated such disapproval that Trowa forwent pecking order protocol and broke the stare first.
His thoughts turned back to Quatre, wondering if he could get back before Quatre was shooed away by a maid he started to leave.
"Little brother," Duo called. "Heero needs you to juggle a few things in the budget to pay for all this."
Trowa opened his mouth to protest, but uttered only a defeated sigh. "Of course, I'll be in the library."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trowa alternated between writing and reading, between being slumped over his work and being slumped against his chair. After a few paragraphs, his hand would cramp and he'd go back to his books and itinerary, deciding what had to be handled before Heero left and what could be pushed back until his return. The strain of reading small text would take its toll in the form of a headache and force him to return to his letter drafts and figures. Royal words alone decreed the law, clerks and secretaries could only carry out what was ordered of them, leaving Trowa work things through on his own.
A knock sounded on the door, and he glanced up from the book before him. "Come."
Quatre pushed open and closed the door with hip, arms weighed down by a tray of food. "At last I've found you... you said you'd come back." He pushed away the papers and leather bound copies of old reports to make room for the meal.
"Quatre," Trowa sighed. "I have to work on this."
"You have. You have worked on it all day, and neglected me." Before Trowa could voice another protest and force him to stop, Quatre settled across his lap. He broke off a bit of bread, and sopped it with sauce. "Eat."
The second Trowa opened his mouth, the morsel was pushed past his lips. Given no other choice, he sat back and chewed. Try as he might he couldn't convince himself to order Quatre off, so he simply swallowed, and said, "You're a very bad influence, Quatre."
He was rewarded with golden laughter, and another bit of food. "Of course," Quatre said as he shifted a little on Trowa's lap. "After all, you're only as good as the company you keep. Eat," he commanded again. "Eat and then pay some attention to me for a bit. You can finish this tomorrow, can't you?"
"I don't seem to have much of a choice," Trowa replied, sighing he began to sample from his plate.
"It's not a horrible bother, is it?" Quatre asked, afraid that any backlash for unfinished work would make Trowa demand more discipline. "It's just more important to be together now."
"Why?" he asked, looking down at the blonde in his lap.
"I wasn't convinced..." Quatre said, breaking eye contact.
"Convinced of what?" Trowa asked. Trowa continued to eat it the silence that came after that question, it seemed Quatre either had no answer or refused to give it. "I see it in your eyes sometimes, you're looking for something. What is it?"
Quatre was quiet, searching for the least troubling way to explain his mistrust. "I- I don't have much, Trowa, no home, no family, technically, I don't even own this body anymore." He relaxed a little more against Trowa, resting his head on his shoulder in just such a way that his hair tickled Trowa's ear. "All that's left are the intangible parts, my soul I suppose, and before I give that to someone else, I have to know. I have to know that it's worth it."
Trowa sighed softly, understanding what Quatre needed but lost on how to give it. He settle his cheek into Quatre's hair, hope to the still the loose strands tickling his skin. "I don't know how to prove it to you."
"I don't really know either, but we'll figure it out." Quatre shifted again, this time to sit up straighter.
"Are you going to spend the entire duration of this meal here?" Trowa asked, taking the chance to move his left leg before it fell asleep.
Quatre pretended to pout, then grinned mischievously, "I suppose I could go and prepare your bed."
"You have plans for tonight?" Trowa asked, deliberately noncommittal.
Quatre laughed, and removed himself from Trowa's lap carefully, "Believe me, I didn't even show you half of what I know last night. Come to bed when you're done."
Trowa pecked at his food for a few minutes before realizing what he was doing, and going after Quatre. He caught up swiftly, arms entwining in an easy embrace, lips meeting for an eager kiss. Quatre still felt odd to be coaxing one of his masters into bed, and sometimes still waited a moment for orders before remembering. It was easier this time to forget past experience and focus only on Trowa. He led his prince to the bed, pressing him down onto the sheets, straddling his hips, and practically starting where they had left off that morning.
Trowa lifted his hand as Quatre began patiently undoing buttons of his shirt one by one. Softly, he trailed his fingers down one cheek, then the side of his neck taking in the textures of Quatre's skin. The blonde shifted suddenly, catching Trowa's right hand gently and pulling it away to slip one of his fingers past his lips.
"You don't let me touch you," Trowa noted absently, eyes more intent on what Quatre was doing with his mouth than his expression.
Still sucking delicately, Quatre removed the finger with a soft 'pop.' "I'm not used to it," he explained, not meeting Trowa's eyes.
"Used to it?" Trowa asked, now focused again. Quatre tried to resumed undoing Trowa's shirt, but he stilled Quatre's hands and silently urged him to continue.
"They just never touched me," Quatre said vaguely, his face beginning to show strain. "Not really, nothing more than rough grabs, but nothing for me... nothing to make me feel good... even Heero." He forced a smile and shrugged lightly, "It just feels odd, even when you do it."
"Quatre," Trowa sat up, letting go of Quatre's hands to support himself. "Let me."
Quatre was silent, he knew he couldn't refuse, to do so would betray mistrust, break the foundation he'd formed, but he was afraid. It wasn't that he thought Trowa would hurt him, but to give up his control would mean he could no longer be sure. He nodded slowly, thinking only of freedom, Trowa would soon say the words "I love you," and mean them enough to set him free. Soft lips touched his neck, and Quatre closed his eyes tightly, wrapping his arms around Trowa's neck to keep his hands from moving. He wanted to shut out the sensation, but to become unresponsive would only scare Trowa, and so he remained acutely aware of everything that was done to him.
Slowly, Trowa tilted the both of them to one side, rolling until Quatre was beneath him. He followed a long trail downwards, only stopped by the Quatre's collar. Sitting up, he started to peel away the layers of uniform, the blue jacket first, and then the vest, Quatre's shirt followed, fluttering to the floor beside the bed. Trowa ran his hands lightly over the length of Quatre's torso, from shoulders to waist, feeling Quatre shiver. He moved to his fingers to the trousers next, pulling open the three buttons that ran along Quatre's hip. Finally moving, Quatre helped Trowa slide them down his thighs, then laid down again while Trowa removed them completely. He sat back a little and looked at what he'd uncovered more carefully than the night before.
Quatre's hands and face were darker than the rest of him, but still pale enough to blend with his almost white skin. A pale pink scar crossed his stomach in a straight line, but was too thick to be from a blade. "What is this?" Trowa asked, running his finger over it.
"It's from a rope," Quatre replied without opening his eyes. "The soldiers took my clothes, there was no barrier against the rope when they brought me back here."
Trowa ran his hand over it again, as if to smooth, or brush it away. "You've endured great cruelty," he said thoughtfully. "I wish I could take that away," he leaned down and pressed a kiss along the scar, just above the naval. "I wish I could cancel out each and every wrong with a touch, or kiss, or kind word."
Quatre's eyes fluttered open, it was such a sweet thing to be able to say such words, but even sweeter to hear them. Two instincts arose, and fought for precedence, one seeking to protect what Quatre valued most, his very heart, and the other wanting desperately to bear it. "Perhaps," his voice came out as a shaky whisper. He started again, "Perhaps you can."
Trowa smiled, bending down to press a soft kiss on Quatre's lips, he started to pull away, but dipped again for one more searching. "So many wrongs to right, think we can get to them all tonight?"
Quatre's only answer came in a soft sigh as Trowa kissed the spot over his heart, he rested one hand on the back on the back of Trowa's head, and dared to keep his eyes open. Trowa's thumb brushed over one pink nipple, a careless movement made important by the sharp gasp Quatre sucked in. He tried it again, making a slow, ever diminishing circle over it. Erect now, they begged for more attention, taking the tip of one bit between his teeth, Trowa bit down gently. Quatre made a surprised noise, but lifted his body into the touch. Moving to the other, Trowa pursed his lips a little, and suckled, tongue making occasional swipes across the pebbled flesh. The hand in his hair fisted tightly, but Quatre did not make a noise. Deciding the novelty of his actions had worn off, he moved on.
"This," he stated as he shifted on the bed. His lips now moved over Quatre's scar as he spoke, "Is a great wrong. There's no greater sin than destroying beauty, even if it's purely earthly."
Trowa felt almost as if he were removing it as he kissed, stroked, and licked across the scar's horizontal path. It didn't belong there, looked as though it couldn't possibly be a part of Quatre. He heard the blonde's breathing quicken, sharp with desire. Smiling, he sat up a little, "And this, Quatre?" He curled one hand around the base of Quatre's erection, "Has this been wronged?"
"Oh god, yes," he panted. His eyes closed again, not to hide, but simply to focus on sensation.
Trowa took the lessons taught to him the previous night to heart. Running his tongue from base to tip just to be sure of his own resolve then slipped the head past tightly formed lips. He bobbed his head a few times, sucking hard as if he could pull some essence from Quatre and keep it inside forever. He laughed in spite of himself, voice thrumming against Quatre and making the other boy jerk upwards, when he realized that in some ways, he could. He pulled up slowly, lips pressing tightly but teeth sheathed, then opened his throat as much as possible to take in more as he plunged back down.
"Yes," Quatre breathed, forgetting himself long enough to thrust up into the hot cavern surrounding him. His eyes flew open, "Wait, no. I mean, stop." He put both hands on Trowa's shoulders, and pushed him up, but not away.
"Why?" Trowa asked, startled by Quatre's sudden change. "What's wrong?"
"Royalty doesn't do such things,"{3} he chided softly.
"Really?" Trowa asked as he leaned forward, nuzzling Quatre's ear he continued. "What else don't we do?"
Quatre blinked several times, not even moving until he was absolutely sure of what Trowa had meant. He pulled back far enough to let Trowa see his smile, "Let me show you."
Trowa nodded, and relinquished his control, pleased that Quatre had even allowed him that much. Quatre was pulling off his shirt, but the touch of his hands was no longer sterile. There was less purpose and motivation behind each movement, as if Quatre were no longer satisfying a duty but fulfilling a need. His eyes fell shut, lulled into a trance as Quatre mapped his body out and removed the last of his clothes. He did not notice as he legs were parted gently, but blinked open his eyes as Quatre's suddenly slick fingers slipped between his thighs, traveling back to brush over an intimate, hidden place.
Quatre circled Trowa's entry with one fingertip until the prince was accustomed to being aware of that part of himself, the pressed inward carefully. Trowa tensed almost immediately, earning a soft admonishment from Quatre, "No, Trowa... relax or you'll make it worse." He did nothing for a moment, waiting for Trowa to adjust. He thrust in a few times, the removed the finger, oiled it again and entered Trowa in one smooth movement. To his delight, Trowa remained supple, only arched his back a little and gasped. He added a second digit, searching for and finding the spot to make his lover forgive any discomfort.
Teeth that had been clenched in concentration fell open for an enthusiastic moan as Trowa rocked against Quatre's fingers trying to take them in even deeper. Quatre's own breathing changed as he watched the boy writhe under his touch, and he found himself impatient. Trowa would adjust quickly, he decided, or at least gain a deeper understanding of what Quatre had endured. Still kneeling, he hooked his elbows about Trowa's knees, and drove forward, burying himself into Trowa almost to the hilt.
There was a soft cry, and Quatre held still for a long moment, blocking out the sensation of being wrapped in heat, the instinct to thrust forward again. When he had control of himself, he opened his to look at Trowa, "Breathe," he commanded gently.
Trowa nodded absently, and tried to remind himself that what he felt now promised pleasure, just as before. He released Trowa's legs, letting the other boy arrange them as he wished, planted both hands on the bed, leaning in close enough for a soft kiss. Quatre thrust in again, but without pulling out to see if Trowa would wince, thankfully, he did not. He moved slowly, counting the beat in his head, but always losing track around four and starting anew at a faster pace. For a time, they existed only in as much as they could feel and be felt.
Eventually, Trowa's hips rose to meet him, each time tightening the sheath around Quatre a little. His own soft cries were joined by Quatre's scattered words, and panting moans. The frenzy of movement, sound, and sensation was building to an inevitable peak, and though some part of Quatre wanted the nirvan like state of forgetfullnes they had achieved to last forever, he was equally eager to follow it through. Steadying himself, he freed one hand from the tangled sheets to stroke over Trowa's erection to the same rhythm as his thrusts. Trowa arched his back one last time, and put the full force of his lungs into a final cry as he found completion. Quatre shuddered as Trowa's body became tighter still around him then threw his head back and gave up his own voice, reaching a climax like none he'd ever experienced before.
Slowly, Quatre's body relaxed, but he did not leave Trowa just yet. "You want only me," he all but commanded. "There's no one else?" He had meant to be firm, but somehow the words came out a question, and so he waited for Trowa's response.
Surprised, green eyes stared back at him, then fell half shaded, "I've never allowed myself to need anyone but you."
"You won't ever leave me, give me away to someone else?" Quatre demanded.
Trowa sighed quietly, he knew he was being tested and hoped that what came of this would give Quatre the answers he needed. "No, Quatre, never."
Quatre bit his lip, and looked away as he asked, "You love me?"
"I do," he said, earnestly, propping himself up on his elbows and trying to look Quatre in the eyes again.
"Say it," Quatre pleaded. "Say it and mean it, please."
Gently, Trowa turned Quatre's face back towards him, "I love you. You'll be my ruin, if you haven't already been, but I don't care, and that could be because I love you."
For a long time, Quatre could only breathe. "You mean it," he said, no longer questioning. Why does that feel so wrong, tricking his heart? Why should I care if I lie? He was angry with himself for caring, for continually regretting every lie he spoke to Trowa, but in spite of this, smiled sweetly as he settled next to Trowa, and curled around the warmth of another body. Silently, he berated himself into saying the last unforgivable untruth. "I love you, too. From the moment I saw you I knew I had to love you."
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{1} Queen Anne is Lady Une. ^_^ It's not that I wanted her to be dead or anything but I had no place for her.
{2} Wufei's homeland. It'll be further explained later, I promise. ^^
{3} In a lot of djs, and anime based fan fics, giving a blow job is considered a "seme thing" to do but in this culture, it's an "uke thing" and traditionaly Royalty is never uke. ^_~
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Part Seven