Never Again 3

Treize wasn't sure when or how Zechs had convinced him that stretching out on the couch would be more comfortable than the chair at his desk, but Treize was rather glad that Zechs had bothered to convince him.

/Though it didn't take him much convincing…/ Treize admitted to himself, sighing softly as he savoured the absolute relaxation his body was experiencing. He was lying face-down on the comfortably soft sofa in his private office, eyes closed, resting his head on his folded arms, right temple laying on right wrist. The sofa was the only piece of furniture aside from his desk and two chairs -- so the sofa _was_ larger than most, and there was room for Zechs to comfortably sit beside him on it, but it was a sofa nonetheless. Treize had sworn to Zechs that the only reason he had it in there was for the comfort of visiting delegates, but Zechs seriously suspected he napped on it when pulling a long night; how else could Treize continue his normal hours?

After Treize had stretched out, Zechs had just stood beside him for a long --no, endless-- moment, staring at him. Then he had turned away, disappearing; when he returned, he had the water and gauze. Treize realised to his chagrin that his dear Mirialdo might begin to figure out how he had gotten hurt after seeing the marks of his back, because Treize was fairly sure they looked like claw-marks -- they certainly _felt_ like claw marks. But thankfully, Zechs hadn't commented on them, simply wrapped the set of marks in silence.

There was always much silence, Treize mused. With most people, the long silences had often had with Zechs would have been a bad sign. But with Zechs… There was no need for one of them to be constantly talking, as it always seemed with Lady Une. The quiet between them was the easy tranquillity between two old friends. They often spoke without words, most things being a matter of a simple understanding that had formed over the years.

/My friend, my comrade, my confidant, my everything... He knows me far better than I should allow anyone to,/ Treize admitted reluctantly. /He's familiar with my routines, always watching out for me, even when I am not… This organisation would go to hell if I didn't have him by my side, supporting me./ Treize's normally unreadable face broke into a slight, sardonic smirk. /So I do have a weakness… Is that why I risk his life so often in missions? To see if he can live up to my expectations…? As unrealistic as they are… Is that the part of me that *they* bred into my soul kicking in, to protect me from weakness?/ His thoughts became more and more disconnected, leaping from one agonising conclusion to another. /Well, at the very least, I do have emotions left in me… Useless as they are; for what good are such feelings if they have no outlet?/ His mind sighed. /Now I think that I begin to understand Une./ With that, he allowed his mind's murmurings to drift off, ignoring them completely and returning his full concentration to Zechs' touch.

A small moan of pleasure escaped him as Zechs' strong fingers worked at the tight knots in his shoulder-blades. Treize was so relaxed that he could easily fall asleep right there; in fact, it was a very tempting prospect, since he hadn't slept in… no, he couldn't even manage to force his mind to calculate that out. Maybe three days, maybe more. The only reason he wasn't asleep yet was the fact that the sensation of Zechs' gentle hands on his back felt _far_ too good to sleep through. He hadn't been touched in such a manner in so long; a small part of his mind caused him fear it would be a long time until the next time, too.

/Good doesn't begin to encompass it,/ Treize mused, a low sound of contentment building in his chest as Zechs' kneaded the sinewy muscles stretching across the tops of his shoulders and joining with his neck. /Superb… ambrosial… But would it be worth having him switched from the Specials' payroll to mine, and hiring him as my personal masseuse?/ Treize paused his thoughts. What an absolutely stupid and idiotic question.

/Oh, yes indeed, it would be well worth it... Even if I had to take on all his tasks within the Specials, it would be worth it just to have this to look forward to at the end of a gruelling day…/ Treize didn't bother to rein in his mind -- he found that simply allowing himself to babble pointlessly in his own mind was rather relaxing, as long as he kept it pointless.

Zechs smiled sharply beneath his mask. /Is he purring?/ he asked himself as he heard the low sound coming from Treize's chest. It was soft, but thoroughly resembled the purr of a fatigued, but contented, cat. Zechs ran through his mind the pros and cons of placing a hand against Treize's face to see if he would nuzzle it like a contented cat would. But in the end, the cons won. That would be far beyond the normal boundaries of a comradely relationship; as it was, Zechs was prodding those limits, testing them. And Treize very likely wouldn't take well to it, for as tolerant as he currently seemed, it was likely a façade, or at the most, caused by his weariness.

Treize acted as if the little support Zechs offered him was burdensome to his friend, but Zechs found it as relaxing as Treize did, far from the supposed burden. It was a _legitimate_ excuse for him to have Treize's rangy body beneath his hands, tractable and unresisting to his touch. And the small, half-restrained sounds that escaped him every so often, like the near-purring noise, were so enticing…

/I wonder what he's wearing _under_ his pants…/ Zechs thought, casting a glance to the floor beside the couch as he deftly moved his hands lower, Treize not voicing a protest -- only another involuntary (but conscious, for it was half stifled) sound of pleasure. Beside the couch lay Zechs' cloak, Treize's boots, linen shirt and heavy jacket, and, finally, his gloves. He'd nearly forgotten to take them off, and wondered why he had even put them on. 'Force of habit' he had murmured darkly, tossing them aside gladly.

Zechs found relatively few knots along Treize's spine, and moved his hands to the small of his back, kneading and pounding the tight muscles. /Gods... This has to be hurting him…/

Treize's mind still drifted, but now the direction was steadfast -- downhill, and it was _far_ too late to stop the train of thought. The spiral started when the young founder of the specials began to wonder how Zechs' hands would feel if they were touching him in a manner that was less than -- or perhaps _more_ than -- an acceptable comradely manner. As it was, Zechs hands were beginning to linger more than necessary. Of course, that was only because his hands were tiring -- had to be tiring, for he felt as if they had been working at his knotted muscles for eternity--. /Not,/ Treize told himself, /not because--/

/Such wishful thinking, Khushrenada, but no. He is not like that. He is utterly naive to what his presence is making my mind do…/ A small sigh escaped him, as Zechs continued to do things that were _not_ helping to stop his prevailing thought pattern. He allowed his mind's intents to roam freely again. The young officer smiled furtively as he wished the he could feel more than Zechs' comforting hands on him… perhaps Zechs' muscular body pressed close to his own…

That line of thought was cut short. /No need to depress myself… Next week I'll just… just go out to town… try to not look like myself… There are a few brothels I have heard mentioned…/ Treize grimaced inwardly. He had _not_ just thought that, had he? To be so desperate for companionship as to turn to… /It would satisfy my physical needs, but no others… the need to wake up in the arms of someone you trust…/ There _was_ always Lady Une. But that thought was stomach churning for him at that moment, and he refused to think of it; he wasn't sure he could stand being in the same room as her anymore, let alone…

After kneading firmly for some time, Zechs at last felt the top layer of muscle give way and relax fully, granting him access to the painful knots below it. He quickly soothed the knots above the line of Treize's uniform pants, then tentatively moved lower. The sinewy muscles and so-soft cloth beneath his hands felt good, but how good it must feel to touch the skin below that, Zechs thought in the back of his mind.

/You're just driving yourself insane by doing this, Zechs… He'd never… He's got Lady Une. Wouldn't even consider me… If he was like that at all, he'd probably have pounced on me for doing this…/ Zechs decided that all was set, that his relationship with Treize would never advance any farther than it had gone. Close -- as close as Treize had ever allowed -- friends. Zechs knew Treize best out of everyone he knew, and Treize could damn near read his mind. /You can only drop so many hints…/ A small noise, exquisite to Zechs' ears, rose from Treize's throat. /Gods… why does he have to make those sounds? _I'm_ close to pouncing him …/ he scowled to himself, and then decided to finish this properly, at least. He had promised to himself that he was going to relax Treize, and he'd do it fully.

Still using soft but insistent touch on Treize's body, and mindful that there still might be cuts he had yet to attend to, he moved his hands from Treize's back. Treize drew a soft breath, as Zechs cracked his knuckles. Une had done that a few times during the night before, and Treize just wanted to cover his ears to block out both the sound and the memory.

"That is a bad habit, Mirialdo," came Treize's cultured voice softly. Then, a bit discontentedly: "Have… have you finished?"

"Not quiet yet, sir. There are still a few muscles I haven't yet gotten to," Zechs chuckled softly, and reached a hand up to remove his mask. No point on wearing it at the moment, really. With a well-trained flick of his wrist, he took it off, and dropped it to the floor. Treize heard the sound, and turned a little to see what it was. He nodded slightly, looking at Zechs through half-closed, heavy lidded eyes.

"I was wondering when you were going to take that off, my friend," Treize murmured appreciatively, and wearily, the urge to want to go to sleep once more having to be pushed into the background, as he rested his head on his arms once more. Why Zechs wore the mask was still partly question to him; his already resplendent appearance improved by leaps with the disappearance of the cold looking mask.

Intoxicatingly sharp purple-blue eyes, which darkened and lightened to reflect emotions, were exposed from their place of hiding, emerging from behind layers of deep red crystal. His golden face was finely angled, delicate enough to be mistaken for a female's face, but with a ultimately masculine edge to it -- all that beauty framed by a silken sheet of thick platinum hair, shining brighter than the sun. Yes, Treize was definitely feeling slightly poetic, but it was so hard for him to capture his thoughts on Zechs, his closest friend--

/No, that's a lie,/ Treize amended, moving a bit to resettle himself on the sofa like a half-awakened cat. /He is my _only_ friend. Others claim that they are my friends, yet I have seen no proof, and will never receive any. People interested only in my power, wanting to be allied with the 'Great Treize Khushrenada'. I wonder how they would feel to find that he doesn't exist; that I'm a simple man at heart, hopeful for the world, simply trying to work out the best plan to strive for peace. None -- absolutely none of those 'friends', my fellow Rommafeller members, show such care for my welfare as he does./ For some strange reason, he felt as if something was slipping past his normally keen awareness, like grains of sand that managed to slip through his agile fingers.

He knew _part_ of the reason why his only -- yes, when faced with the facts, Treize did admit such things -- friend covered his handsome face with a steel mask. How detrimental to a military career would it be to be recognised-- the thought died, as Treize realised it really didn't make sense. If he wore the mask to hide his appearance, in the hopes of never being recognised, then why did he ever take it off? /perhaps it is simply for the functions it proves: giving him an air of being unconquerable, to give him a stony façade, so no one can ever see a momentarily weak cast to his handsome fac-/ Treize's mind stopped working abruptly.

Zechs lightly rested now un-cramped fingers on Treize's lithely muscled hips, leaving them there for a moment; then he slid them beneath Treize's hips, determinedly pulling the older man up just far enough to unbutton his white uniform pants. And he did that with deft fingers, then splayed his hands over Treize's tightly muscled stomach, pushing the unbuttoned pants down a bit.

Treize drew a choked breath, freezing utterly, muscles locking. Zechs looked up, still holding Treize a bit off the couch. "Are you alright Treize?" he asked, concerned by the noise, which hadn't sounded exactly pleased -- but not angry, either.

"I… I am fine, Mirialdo," Treize managed in a controlled tone, flawed only by the ragged edge behind it. "But… would you mind telling me what you are doing?" /But don't feel obligated to stop… please don't… gott…/ As hard pressed as the emotionally cool officer had to be to admit it, he wanted to have Zechs in--

/Such an utterly base thought, Treize…/ he reprimanded himself and quickly killed the half-finished thought. /Wonderful, but disreputable nonetheless…/

Rather suddenly, Zechs realised how this might -- no, _must_ -- seem to his superior officer. "I… was just trying to make it easier to get to the last few of your tight muscles, sir," Zechs said, gently releasing his hold on Treize. He placed his hands on the perhaps -- and at most -- three inches of newly revealed muscled flesh. And those muscles were badly knotted, Zechs noted somewhat cheerfully. Not that he wished suffering on Treize, but he didn't want to have to stop touching Treize, which was what he would have to do once the muscles were un-knotted. He wanted to strip off his own clothes, and lay down beside his superior officer on the sofa, pulling the rangy body tight into his arms, kissing those sweetly sardonic lips and…

Zechs scowled at himself. Treize was as straight as a $%^%&*@ steel plank, and in a serious relationship with haughty, two-sided lady Une -- not the best candidate for fantasying hopefully about. Returning to his work (pleasureful as it was) he also noted rather brightly that Treize was not a nobleman to wear underwear, as he gently ran his hands over the smooth skin. /Just a few inches more… and he would very likely kill me. I probably just gave him the scare of his life./ "How does this feel?"

Treize was forcibly pulling air into his lungs, but doing it discreetly, so that Zechs would not notice. "Wonderful…" he nearly purred, and his tongue darted out to lick dry lips. "Gott you're good at this, Zechs… better than good…" /Nnn… such horrid luck I have… such _horrid_ luck… maybe if I hadn't frozen up he wouldn't have stopped…/ He sighed softly to himself, barely audible, as he struggled to stay fully aware of his surroundings. He had been struggling to stay awake, but now… Zechs had stirred a low fire in him, and the fire was very comforting, as was the constant, rhythmic movement of Zechs' hands, which Treize was tracking. He stifled a yawn, and allowed himself to fully sink into the sofa.

Zechs smiled softly, as Treize simply gave up -- he'd been waiting for Treize to just stop striving to stay awake for some time now. His eyes darted to the clock, then back, bright purple-blue eyes caressing the lean lines. /It's nearly noon now… I'll just wait until he's asleep, then go down to the mess hall and eat… come back up at one or so, and wake him up for the inspection…/

He felt the last of Treize's natural resistance and control slip from his body, and knew the young officer had to be asleep. Gently, he removed his hands, and stepped back. Casting his eyes about for a moment, he found Treize's uniform cloak hanging on a peg on a nearby wall. He retrieved the heavy black cloak, made of surprisingly soft material, and draped it over Treize's barely dressed, lissom form.

He knelt beside the sofa, studying Treize's beautiful face, so relaxed in repose. He still rested his head on his folded, outstretched arms, face turned outward. Not quite sure of what he was doing, Zechs tentatively reached his hands out, and placed one underneath Treize's head, the other on the shoulder farthest from him. Then he drew Treize close to him, freezing as Treize stirred a little, muttering something. Something about 'worth cost of rejection'. It made no sense to Zechs, as Zechs tried to calm himself, drawing Treize's cool form into his arms. Carefully, he bent his head, and captured Treize's lips in his own.

Imagine his surprise when the lips beneath his responded, parting slightly. Cupping the back of Treize's head with one hand, he deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into the welcoming warmth. A small moan rose from the young officer's throat; his strong arms draped loosely around Zechs' back, pulling Zechs with a gentle insistence to lie beside him on the sofa. When Zechs was finally settled beside Treize, the older man broke the kiss, and brushed his lips along Zechs' jaw, then rested his head on Zechs' chest, an arm draped over his waist, his unclothed chest pressed to Zechs' uniform jacket.

Zechs sighed, and stroked Treize's short tawny-coloured hair tenderly.

He had known from the start that the kiss had simply become integrated into whatever Dream Treize had been having. Treize was probably dreaming about Une; and his dream self was very likely wondering why Lady Une needed to do a better job of shaving. Or why she was shaving her face in the first place.

God, was that ever a depressing thought. It seemed the only way he would get anywhere with Treize was to try him when he was asleep. He brushed his lips over Treize's forehead, fully knowing that he had best make himself scarce in case Treize awoke. But he couldn't help himself such a small gesture.

"I do this Treize, because I don't want to lose your friendship," he murmured, carefully disengaging himself from Treize. A sound of frustration rose from Treize as Zechs moved fully away and rose to his feet. "You can't know how much I want to tell you that I love you…and how much I fear that you won't return the gesture." His voice became softer, and an incomprehensible murmuring escaped Treize.

Zechs chuckled softly, and brushed a short lock of golden brown hair out of Treize's face. "Of course sir," he said, then regretfully turned away. /My cloak,/ he remembered, stopping, turning and picking it up. His gaze lingered on Treize's sleeping body. A smile curving the corners of his lips, he draped the material over Treize and his cloak. /Well, at least he won't freeze now,/ Zechs mused. /I'll go to the mess hall and eat, then come back up here and wake him./ He picked up and slipped on his steel mask, world quickly going from vibrant colours to shades of red and orange.

/On with the show./