title: Blood Pledge
fandom: Gundam Wing
characters/pairings: Quatre/Trowa, Rashid, Quatre's sisters
rating: G/Teen
warnings: bloodplay
summary: Quatre lets off some heat. (Bloody Kisses Ficlet)
notes: this is Alley's Bloody Kisses Ficlet. she made me write quatre/trowa, but i still like her. ^_~

The sun had sunk below the horizon. The blackness of the sky above was perforated by the glitter of the stars, the moon a cold, pale compliment to the blazing sun. It had only been a few hours, but already the land had bled away its heat, leaving a chill over everything.

Quatre hated the desert. There had been a time when he had loved to ride around on the dunes, or lay under the shade of a linen canopy and watch the movements of the shadows, but he felt like he was too old for this. His joints ached, and he still felt too hot under his collar.

It wasn't all the fault of the landscape. One of his sisters... Nia? Puntara? He wasn't even sure. She was getting married to an old family, a sultan, as if there was still any meaning to such terms. There was supposed to be great significance to the match, as it was supposed to bind by blood two powerful branches of Muhammad's family tree. Quatre did not value his brother-in-law highly enough to consider that true, but given the weight of the match in the eyes of his family, he was hoping that a suitable heir would be produced. There was much expected of the head of the house, and Quatre had to balance his social and his business obligations, and still not let his political obligations slip.

There was just too much to do.

He closed the doors to his rooms, sliding the lock shut quietly. Rashid had a key, should there be an emergency, but he needed his time to himself. He shucked off the traditional robes, the miles of silk and cotton that wasn't nearly as cooling as it was supposed to be. He slipped on taupe silk pajama bottoms, and a smooth natural linen shirt, and took his wine out to the balcony.

His rooms looked down on the whole village, and beyond the walls of the small village, the whole of the desert. The ruins of rusted oil drills stood like decrepit old men, backs hunched and heads bent down, no longer useful, a testament to the shortsightedness of humanity.

Quatre sat down on the chaise lounge, sighing. Iria had taken it upon herself once again to lecture him on marriage. He had a responsibility. He had a family name to think of. What would their father say were he still alive?

Their father had never approved of him while he had breathed, so Quatre saw little reason for him to approve now that he was gone, a martyr to a wasted cause, eternally more right than everyone else that ever was.

Quatre sipped his drink, swallowing his bitterness with the pungent, spicy wine. He didn't want a wife, no matter how accomplished, brilliant, or studied she was. He didn't want children. He didn't want responsibilities, or obligations, or family names, or weddings, or sycophants, or relatives who only saw him as a stand in before a 'real' Winner was in charge again...

He ran his fingertips over the skin around his bellybutton, staring up at the stars. Duo used to like to watch the stars. And the moon. Quatre had found him on the roof more than a few times when they had been in the desert together. It had been a long time since he'd talked to Duo. Or Wu Fei. Of course, he hadn't seen Heero since the war... He wondered sometimes if he'd ever see Heero again.

But he didn't miss any of them. The one he missed, he saw from time to time, but he was never in control of it. It left him feeling helpless and small.

His fingers trailed up higher on his chest, doing lazy circles around his nipples. He took a long draught of wine, and put his glass down, letting his eyes shut languidly. It was getting chilly out, but he still felt hot.

He just ran his fingers over his nipples at first, just touching them, not even really feeling it all that much. He licked his lips, sucking down the last of the taste of the wine, and he pinched his nipples hard. He lifted his hips and slid his pajama bottoms down, spreading his legs out a little for play room. He was breathing just a little hard, his stomach moving up and down. He kept his eyes shut as he toyed with gripping his cock.

"Need a little help with that?"

The way his thoughts had been turning, the way his body had clung to the heat of the day, he had been expecting this voice, this presence, these hands, those eyes. Maybe it was just a dream, wishful thinking as his thoughts turned hazy and fluid. Maybe it was real.

It didn't matter.

Trowa was like ice, so cool and imperturbable. He glided from the banister to lounge over Quatre, running his fingers up Quatre's thighs, up his chest, up his neck, over his lips...

Quatre couldn't have said what Trowa was wearing, if he was wearing anything at all. The sea-deep green of Trowa's eyes was captivating, so he just stretched out, putting his hands over his head, turning his head to the side to reveal his neck, his lips quirked into a sexy grin. "I've been waiting for you."

Trowa grinned a little, just on one side of his mouth. He flicked his tongue over Quatre's nipple, slowly, slowly, slowly biting down on the nub of flesh. "I'm not ever very far from you... You could come down from your tower and be with me if you liked."

"I just want you to take me away from all of this," Quatre sighed indistinctly, leaving it to Trowa to decide what 'this' was.

Trowa took Quatre's cock in his hand, stroking hard. "I could, if you liked. I could take you away from it all forever, and no one would ever be able to come between us again."

Quatre groaned, and he sighed, and he laughed. "Yes, yes, I... yes, that's good... but not yet... not yet..."

Trowa nipped at Quatre's neck. "How long will you make me wait, you little devil?" he murmured into Quatre's ear.

Quatre lazily threw his arm over Trowa's neck. "How long will you wait, my love?"

Trowa slipped his hand down deeper, abandoning the shaft to seek out the hole. Quatre squirmed beneath him, and Trowa chuckled, a deep, and slightly sinister sound. "I will wait for you as long as your blood boils for me."

"That could be forever..." Quatre sighed, bliss shaking his body.

Trowa smiled against his skin, and pierced his neck with his long, sharp fangs.

Quatre screamed his pleasure to the stars.

He woke up to the sounds of Iria shouting at Rashid. Quatre sighed, blearily trying to remember what he was supposed to be doing. everything seemed so foggy and indistinct. He picked his pants up off the ground, and rolled his shirt back up onto his shoulders. He was about to open the door when he thought to put his hand to his neck.

It was no dream.

Trowa had left his usual mark, which would please Iria not at all. Quatre sighed, his smile still lingering over his lips, and he called out to Rashid that he would be down in just a moment. That only created another flurry of shouts, but he ignored them, padding over to the bathroom to wash up .

Iria might hate them, and curse the one who gave them to him, but Quatre loved his scars. They were proof of the promise he shared with the one he loved most dearly.