FIC: Kinky Jukebox (6x3, implied 3x4, NC-17)
Kinky Jukebox
by DdraigCoch
Fandom: Gundam Wing
Pairing(s): 6x3 (3x4 mentioned)
Meme: Ten Songs
Disclaimer: I do not own either the songs or the source anime of this work of fan fiction. The songs belong to their respective artists and ‘Gundam Wing’ remains the property of Sunrise Inc. I make no money from this, and I mean no harm.
A/N: Second in the ‘Jukebox’ Series. Many thanks to my wonderful beta RoseWalker.
For my Kit,
who challenged me.
1) Holding out for a Hero, Shrek
He’s got to be strong,
And he’s got to be fast,
And he’s got to be fresh from the fight
Over a rise made out of still smouldering ruins, he sees the blonde for the first time in more than a year, smudged and sweaty and exausted, but still defiant. Still magnificent. He doesn’t remember a reason why the curtain of pale hair makes his heart race or his hands clench. For a moment he stands atop a pile of rubble and Trowa wants to put him on a poster. Noin is nearby, perfect for the part of this lion’s wife, except she doesn’t know... what? He curses his memory and wonders at the starving look Zechs casts his way.
2) Hallelujah, Rufus Wainwright
Your faith was strong but you needed proof...
Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew you.
He doesn’t make a sound as ropes pull bruise-tight around his wrists. Doesn’t even turn his head to watch the sleek form of his lover walk to the counter and reluctantly retreive the scissors. A moment later, his heavy mane is pulled back into a ponytail and held up so he can see its golden length in the mirror opposite. Trowa’s face is unreadable and beautiful in the moonlight as he brings the scissors to bear. Pure stillness as their eyes connect in the mirror.
The soft sound of a ponytail hitting ground was drowned out by twin shuddering breaths.
3) Santa Fe, RENT
I’m shouting in my sleep, I need a muzzle
And all this misery pays no salary, so (...)
We’ll open up a restaurant in Sante Fe
And leave this to the roaches and the mice
Sweet smoke drifts up through sunlight to make patterns on the wallpaper. By the french windows two men lay twisted together, naked and glistening as they smoke.
“We should run away .“
He cranes his neck to watch Blondie paint masterpeices with the fluids on his abdomen, the smoking tip bobbing gently between strong lips. He steals it.
“I’ve never run away. Not really. Sometimes I think it would be... nice.”
He takes a hit from the joint and holds it. Blondie doesn’t expect the interruption but he parts his lips anyway and breathes in the smoke with his tounge.
4) A Little Time, Beautiful South
Promise promises turn to dust
Wedding bells just turn to rust
Trust into mistrust
Any one of the guests could walk in on them, but he can’t help himself. Just fifteen minutes from getting married and there’s no-way that they won’t know what they’ve been doing. Not with them clawing at each other. Not with teeth working on his shoulder. Tonight the bride will be shocked by blossoming bruises down her husband’s neck and chest, and the scratches he welcomes with a deep moan. This is wrong... he can’t convince himself while strong hands move confidently up his thighs.
Determined eyes flick to his, holding him breathless as bruised lips order, “Don’t marry her.”
5) I’m a Beliver, SmashMouth
And then I saw her face
Now I'm a believer.
Whenever they made love (fucked, Trowa and Quatre had made love, Trowa and Zechs fucked; hard, sweaty, unappologetic fucking) Trowa liked to tie the blonde locks back to reveal the handsome face (if there’s time he does, but too often they don’t make it as far as the bed. Then Trowa twists and yanks the noble head back) and hidden (defiant) eyes. He lets Zechs push (yank) his unibang aside in return and they smile (bare teeth before the battle for dominance begins again) at each other. The press (violent clash) of lips is welcomed with (unmasked lust) unspoken understanding.
6) Touch-a Touch-a Touch Me, Rocky Horror
I've tasted blood and I want more
I'll put up no resistance, I want to stay the distance
I've got an itch to scratch, I need assistance
“Come out, Zechs.”
“No.”
“I did what you asked for.” Trowa reminded, grinning, “So...”
“I’ll kill you if you laugh.”
“I won’t laugh.”
The door opened slowly and out stepped a hesitant blonde in The Little Black Dress. He managed the stilettos beautifully as Trowa knew he would, and the fishnet stockings clung to tan, endless legs that disappeared under a sinfully short hemline. Somehow though, Zechs managed to still look every inch the embarrased price he was.
“Oh.” Trowa looked his lover over with a predetory grin
“You like?”
Trowa pounced, and Zechs fell back to the floor laughing.
7) Iris, Goo Goo Dolls
I don’t want the world to see me
Cuz I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
They always go to Zechs’ place. It’s simply practical. Zechs has a double bed with one pillow; Trowa had a single bed with two. They both pretend not to have read anything into that. Eventually Trowa brings his pillows with him, and they start to slowly talk after sex. It’s difficult and rediculous at first; a conversation about the weather after a mind blowing bout makes them laugh together for the first time. It’s easier after that. Neither of them are sure what their arrangement’s becoming. Zechs knows they aren’t falling in love; Trowa thinks that maybe they’re becoming friends.
8) Thought She Was in Heaven (Stupid Cow), Circus of Horrors
She could learn trapeze
she could be your play thing
This was so fucked up. That was the only thought that played through his mind as he was mauled by a horny clown. Trowa hadn’t even removed his half-mask after taking the leap after him from the trapeze, and neither the adrenaline rush nor the bouncing of the safty net had stopped yet. A gloved hand and its oversized ruff invaded his pants, curling around an already proud erection to make him gasp and bounce in the net.
“This what you wanted?” the clown growls as he pushes into Zechs in one hard thrust, his groan filling the big top.
9) Being Alive, John Barrowman
Make me alive, make me alive, make me confused
Mock me with praise, let me be used
Vary my days, but alone is alone, not alive!
Sweat and adrenaline rushed through every straining sinew. Hearts thundered. Colours stood out with an intensity neither of them had experienced since the war. Zechs finally knocked him to the ground, and was there to claim victory before Trowa could stop it, pinning the struggling pilot’s wrists above his head. Sweatpants were swept away.
“Cheat.” Trowa’s growl was silenced when Zechs spread his legs and claimed his prize.
They hissed and arched; pain and strength deepening pants and driving the harsh thrust of both hips. Lips clashed like swords, drawing blood. They crossed the line together with twin roars of victory.
10) Song for Ten, Murray Gold
I woke up today
And you’re on the otherside
Our time will never come again
There was a letter on Trowa’s pillow when he opened his eyes. There’s nothing special about it, not even a name, but after years of this arrangment he knew Trowa well enough to guess what it was. If they’d been in a relationship he’d call it a ‘dear john’ letter. The note holds exactly five words, and only one that Zechs hadn’t expected.
‘Gone back to Quatre.
Thanks.’
Well, he’d expected this. He wasn’t stupid. What he hadn’t expected, and what sent an explosion of feathers across Trowa’s side of the bed and the emptied night stand was the anger.