He Waits

Rating: R
Pairing: 3x4x3
Summary: Trowa watches and Quatre waits.
Warnings: bondage, lime. Trowa's POV
Word Count: 762

Notes: Written for gw500 for challenge #88: double-edged.

Dedication: For Anne, because she doesn't only like handcuffs.

____

Silence. The room is dark, illuminated only by two candles and the moon shining through the window. He's watching the moon quietly, kneeling, his eyes fixed on the view before him. I'm watching him. I stand behind him, noticing the way his straight back moves slowly every time he takes a breath, how his skin is trembling slightly and the soft glow of the handcuffs when the moonlight hits them.

He's beautiful. He kneels there, naked, knowing that I'm watching and waits. He knows I like to take my time. We have played this game before. I like to look at him, contemplate him until I have studied every curve again, every freckle, every scar, and only then I dare to move my hands to him and touch him.

He knows how to wait. One night I watched him kneel until sunrise, taking him only when he was bathed in sunlight. He never urges me. He just waits, trusting me to take care of him.

I won't wait tonight. I've watched him enough and now I want to posses him, to make him mine. I kneel behind him and wrap my arms around him. He leans back slowly, resting his head on my chest. I whisper his name. His only answer is silence. I kiss his neck, licking him behind his ear and biting his earlobe softly while I whisper to him. "You are mine," I repeat over and over again, "You are mine."

He doesn't answer. He lets me tell him how I will posses him, how I will mark him as mine. He lets me talk and waits.

I run my hands down his arms, letting my fingers dance slowly over his skin, until I reach the cuffs that hold his hands together. My fingers touch his palms and he closes his hands around mine, holding onto me. Leaning down, I kiss him on the back of his neck before I untangle my fingers from his and step away. Once again, he waits.

I tell him that I love him. I don't whisper it, I speak it loudly. I stand up and run my hands through his hair, telling him what he means to me, what he has done for me, how I would be lost without him. He listens, his eyes still watching the moon, his hands cuffed. And he waits for me to touch him, to reach out to him. I move around him, stepping between him and the moon, and let him see me.

His eyes devour my naked body the way I do his. He can't smile, but if he could I know he would be doing it. Then I kneel in front of him and let the moon shine over us both. I move my hands from his neck to his navel and tell him how beautiful he is. I tell him what my fingertips feel with every inch of skin they caress, how warm he is, and how he seems to get warmer with every touch. And he looks at me and listens.

Finally I lean down to kiss his lips but I stop just centimeters away. Silence is a double edged sword. It gives me the moment I need to talk, to tell him what I need, but it deprives me of his voice. Moving my hands behind his head I unbuckle the ball gag and take it off. I place it on the floor beside us, run my hands over his lips and then whisper, "Tell me."

And he does. He whispers how he's mine and speaks how I'm his. He tells me that he loves me. He says that I'm beautiful and recalls the moment he first saw me, and how he hasn't been able to stop watching me since. He admits that he doesn't like to wait but that he does it gladly for me, because of what I mean to him, because I'm everything to him.

I put a finger over his lips and cut his words short. Our lips meet. The kiss is soft first and then intense, as if we hadn't kissed in a lifetime. I put my arms around him and hold him close. He tells me to make love to him, and I do. He takes control without needing me to take his handcuffs off; he doesn't even have to say the words. He owns me with one look, and he knows it. That's why he lets me cuff him and gag him, and kneels waiting, waiting for me to let him own me again.

- The End -