Drop in the Ocean

By Trinity

---

Quatre closed his eyes as he slid into bed with Trowa. A warm pair of arms encircled him and drew him close to his master's body. He sighed softly, content in the arms of another as the stars shone sweetly outside.

"Roll over," Trowa said, his voice husky with exhaustion. Quatre complied, lying so that he was staring into the taller boy's half-lidded green eyes. "Much better. I like it when I can wake up to your face, not the back of your head. You really are the most beautiful slave I've ever owned." One long finger stroked down his cheek, which was starting to fill out slightly. "I think you're always going to look malnourished, no matter what," the young king mused aloud. "But I like you just the way you are."

It was odd to think of Corazon's silent invader as a talkative man, but with his slave's soft, pale body held within his secure embrace at night, he found himself opening up now and then. Quatre seemed to find these random spoken thought processes as perfectly normal, and listened attentively even as his own eyes began to close. Smiling, Trowa kissed the other man's lips gently. "Goodnight, little one." Quatre's eyelids slid shut and he snuggled closer.

Trowa began to think on just how long he could hold back. Quatre was such an innocent, but playful and absolutely gorgeous. It was distracting sometimes when he was meeting or wandering the streets to know that back in his chambers waited a small, willing companion. The blonde was unfaltering in his lack of resistance and left everything up to his master, trusting him easily to know what his limits were.

Sleeping was a mixed blessing. Quatre was like warm little cuddly kitten that clung eagerly at night. Again, distracting. He'd tried sleeping without the slave once and hadn't even been able to keep his eyes closed.

Quatre had wandered off during the morning, and the Maganacs had spent a fruitless six hours searching for him, until a maidservant (Elysa was her name) had found him curled in a shadowy corner of the gardens. As punishment for staying out all day without telling one of the Manganacs where he was, Trowa had made his slave stay there all night without anybody, save for the guards posted there.

It had been a disaster. Two hours into the night, Trowa gave up and retrieved a bemused Quatre from the gardens at the ungodly hour of two in the morning. The blonde had refrained from asking any questions and simply acted as if nothing had happened.

Trowa was beginning to wonder if Quatre was ready for sex. After three nights of owning him, Trowa gave up ever bothering to tie or chain his slave up at all. Quatre wouldn't have left, he knew. The pale blonde had told him as much, in a sleepy moment of frankness:

"You don't have to tie me up...I'm not leaving. There's no point."

He had questioned the forthright statement, slightly confused. Quatre had simply smiled his drowsy little smile (it was - Trowa shuddered at using the word, but.. - cute how nearly everything about the little slave was small) and said that an escape attempt would be counterproductive.

Trowa sometimes wondered if perhaps Quatre did want to rule Corazon - for a great many of his decisions were influenced by the slave's gentle prodding from one direction to another. The blonde had a better sense of how people felt and what they wanted, but Trowa was much more skillful in taking the information and processing it, then acting accordingly.

He sighed. Paranoia's a bitch and a half.

Warm breath fanned across his face, reminding him, somehow, that he had a tedious meeting with the various barons and dukes in the morning and would require a decent amount of sleep so as not to drift off during the meeting. It was important to give Corazon almost a complete legal overhaul, as many of Wahea's laws had been made in accordance with the Koran, and as Trowa was not Muslim, he saw no reason to keep up the laws he disagreed with.

"Sleep," he ordered himself. You can fantasize about slitting Barton's throat when you don't need the rest.

---

The next day, Trowa decided early in the morning while dressing, was going to be The Night. He was driving himself insane with not giving into what he wanted and what he was fairly sure Quatre wanted.

"Trowa?" Speak of the devil. Or angel.

"Yes?"

"Mm...nothing. You just feel a little...tense, maybe. I'm not sure what it is." Trowa chuckled softly.

"Don't worry, little one. I'm fine."

"Don't overwork yourself," Quatre pleaded. "Corazon's not going to be rebuilt in a day." The young king sighed.

"Stop reading the stars so often. It would make some uneasy to know that the king's slave knows what he is thinking all the time. I don't think anyone has ever owned a prophet as a bed slave."

Quatre blushed. "I'm not a prophet. And...I can't help but know what you're thinking. I dream it."

"You predict the future. Thus, you're a prophet. Don't argue." The blonde lowered his head.

"Yes, master," he whispered. Trowa knelt by the bed and reached up the back of his hand, gently tipping Quatre's chin up. He leaned closer, kissing the smaller man gently. A pair of thin hands encircled his head, drawing him closer and deepening the kiss. Carefully, he pulled back, loosening the hold Quatre had on him. He regarded the smaller man for a moment, then smiled lightly.

"Tonight's The Night," he said simply. "Tell Rashid. He'll help you get ready." Quatre's eyes widened. He nodded once, then swallowed thickly. "If you're not ready, then say so." Trowa dearly hoped Quatre was ready - otherwise, he'd have to start sleeping (or attempting sleep elsewhere). Quatre shook his head once.

"No, I'm ready. Don't worry about me."

"Silly. It's my job to worry about you, little one."

"No, it's your job to reestablish Corazon."

"You're right, for a change." He leaned forward again and pressed his lips against Quatre's forehead. He stood and walked out of the room, slamming the door loudly. Quatre winced.

"I hate it when he slams it," the blonde man mumbled, half angry and half confused about Trowa's abrut decision. He shrugged and rose out of bed and opened the oaken wardrobe that held his clothes. He ran his hands through the opulent silks, wondering briefly about the evening and whether or not sex was the best thing for Trowa the night after a long, boring meeting. He shrugged and picked out a sky-blue coloured outfit, fingers deftly tying up the complicated metallic strings. He secured a veil, and then slipped down through the halls to the orchard where Rashid was waiting for him.

"Master Shaay! Good morning."

"Good morning, Rashid," Quatre smiled slightly, even though he knew the huge man could not see the gentle upturning of his lips through the heavy veil. "Um...Tro-Trowa said to tell you that...um...to-tonight...I mean..." he trailed off, flustered. Rashid nodded knowingly.

"I understand. Abdul, get Elysa for me."

"Yeah, she's right over there. Hey, Elysa!"

"What?"

"Well, his highness has a special night planned for everybody's favourite harem slave..."

"Ah. Shaay, let's get out of here before this huge lump of brainlessness scars you for life."

"Elysa!"

"Shut it, Abdul. Shaay, follow me." Quatre nodded as Elysa took hold of his wrist, wincing as she unintentionally applied pressure to the still-bruised skin. It had not been that long since Trowa had abandoned the idea of tying him up at night. The brunette called out some sort of apology, and led him to another room in the castle.

---

Quatre sat quietly on the floor as Elysa went ruffling through the huge walk-in closet cut into the wall. "Hmm..." she was mumbling to herself as she poked through the rather impressive collection of harem suits.

He studied her carefully. She was short, barely an inch taller than he, and had skin only a shade or two lighter than Trowa's, and deeply expressive coffee-dark eyes. Her hair was nearly the same colour as those incredible eyes, but it had golden streaks running through it. Her eyelashes were long, thin, and black, looking like a smoky breath against her fairly pale complexion. She had a very slim form, but not anorexic-looking, unlike his. She wore a short navy skirt that billowed around her lightly muscled thighs and a plain, loose white shirt that had an odd symbol stitched over the left sleeve. It was a closed eye with a star embroidered onto the lid.

The blonde felt her emotions: she missed her companion, a female soldier in Corazon's small army. Quatre concentrated a little more and saw a mental image of a Elysa's bedmate. The other girl was tall, nearly as tall as Trowa, and had shining golden hair dyed a fiery red to match her temper. She had odd, gray eyes and skin the same colour as Quatre's; she too blushed easily. Her name was Ana María. She was skilled with knives and dirks. [1] Ana María was more muscular than Elysa; Quatre could tell the two were very much in love. Oh, Allah, it's nice to see happy people. They like the new laws stating that people of the same sex can have a romantic relationship.

"Hello? Shaay?"

"Hm?"

"I've got an outfit for you." She brandished the sea-green shirt/pants set at him. He squinted slightly and realized the cloth was actually a shimmery blue colour with green undertones. It was much more revealing than his other clothes. He breathed in sharply.

"Um.."

"I know, it looks really slutty...but I guarantee his highness will enjoy it." She winked. "Ana María did."

Quatre started. "You knew I was...?"

"I'm sensitive to energy. I knew you were rummaging through my brain. I don't mind," she added hastily. "You might want to tell King Trowa how happy people are now that same-sex relationships are legal. Ana María and I are so happy that we can be together publicly. The other guards give her murder about it, but it's all in good fun. I wouldn't leave this country even if I had a chance. It's much better here than Lagrange or Sanq." Quatre frowned.

"What do you mean, even if you had a chance?" he asked sharply.

"It's illegal to anybody but nobles and royalty to leave Corazon without the king's permission. Another new law. Didn't you know?"

Just then, Ana María poked her head into the closet. "Oh, there you are, love. I was looking for you." She paused and examined Quatre. "You're...Shaay, correct? The king's concubine?" Quatre nodded, blushing and forgetting the conversation the red-haired soldier had interrupted.

"Ah. So, I see my desert flower is helping you. How sweet." Elysa scowled slightly.

"I'm not your property," she insisted playfully. Ana María walked towards her and leaned down, pausing to steal a kiss.

"Mmm...I'm a higher rank than you are...so I can say you're mine. Shaay, we'll just be leaving you for a moment so you can get dressed..." The redhead scooped Elysa into her arms and pressed their lips together. She pulled back again. "Ah, my pretty flower, you taste so sweet..." Quatre blushed and left the couple to their enthusiastic kisses.

He turned and spent the next fifteen minutes wrestling with his complicated clothing. When he twisted to ask Elysa if he'd got the suit on correctly, he saw Ana María pinning her against the wall. The smaller girl's legs were wrapped firmly around her waist as they crushed their mouths together. His face burned darker. He cleared his throat softly. Elysa wrenched herself away with a sigh. "Oh, Shaay! Erm, sorry. Ana María! Let me down...aah..." The soldier had begun attacking her partner's neck with hungry kisses. "I mean it, Ana María. You can answer to the king if his slave's not ready tonight." Regretfully, the taller girl pulled away and pouted slightly.

"No fun."

"I'll make it up to you tonight."

"Promise?"

"Yes! Now go, you'll be late." Ana María saluted mockingly, stole another quick kiss. Elysa rolled her eyes, then led Quatre to a three-way mirror. He sucked in a breath. The shirt was mostly transparant, only covering the area in which breasts would be located, were he a woman. Gauzy bell sleeves trailed over his fingers, giving them a hazy shape. The pants, too, were very revealing. They rode low on his hips, exposing a triangle of white skin. A platinum lining tightened the top of the pants, and they flowed down past his ankles, covering his slippered feet. The suit's bottom half was more modest; the fabric was four layers of the shirt's transparant material sewed together. Still, it outlined his legs, which he still thought were too skinny, even after two weeks of good food.

"Ooh, methinks the king shall be very impressed!" Elysa crowed. "Now, just a bit of makeup..."

---

Trowa swallowed, looking at Quatre's sleeping form. The pale tones of green and blue in the clothes brought out his colouring. He wore makeup - some brown powder smudged around his eyelashes, with a shimmery almost-gold colour lightly blended onto his eyelids flickering in the candlelight. He breathed in deeply, smelling the freesia perfume that accucented Quatre's own personal scent.

Tenderly, he ran a finger over the blonde man's cheek. Eyelashes fluttered, and a pair of vibrant blue-green eyes stared up at him. He reached over and unfastened the jeweled headdress and veil, and threw them off into the corner. Quatre smiled and pulled his master down for a long kiss, leaning back on the bed and stretching out so that Trowa lay on top of him. Eagerly, the green-eyed man plunged his tongue into Quatre's mouth, tasting and exploring him and provoking a muffled moan of pleasure. One long-fingered hand reached up to unfasten the shirt currently in his way.

With that accomplished, Trowa leaned back and pulled his own shirt off, then stood to push his breeches down. He looked at Quatre, lying there on the black satin sheets, half naked and breathing heavily. He reached over and unlaced his slave's harem pants. "So pretty," he purred, joining the other man in the bed. His hand slid across Quatre's bare chest to toy with one pale pink nipple. He bent his head down and sucked on it lightly, pulling little mewls from that soft mouth.

Slowly, he began a lazy path downwards, licking, nipping, and sucking gently as he went. He paused at Quatre's erection and kissed the tip, still listening to Quatre's helpless moans. Carefully, he slid his mouth over the throbbing flesh, swirling his tongue over the tip. Quatre cried out, half in surprise and half in pleasure. Trowa slipped his fingers underneath his slave's prone body to massage the firm curves of his ass. Soft groans and sighs of ecstasy filled his ears and made him almost painfully hard.

Abruptly, he pulled back. He searched his slave's eyes for any resistance, and found only half-lidded blue-green pools glazed over with lust. He smirked. "Did Rashid give you oil?" Quatre nodded, breathless. Then he sucked in a deep breath and the already pale skin of his hands whitened further as he clenched the sheets. "What's wrong?" Quatre's eyes slid shut and he began panting harder. "Quatre?"

"It's nothing," he gasped. "I just need a minute to handle...all this..."

"If you're uncomfortable, we'll stop," Trowa said, again hoping his little stargazer would not refuse him. I want him so badly...

"No-o...not exactly...I can just...feel what I'm feeling and I'm pulling stuff from you, too, and it's just...sort of...overwhelming...I'm trying to sort through...this mess...of emotions..." He screwed his eyes shut tighter. "Ohh...much better."

"What did you do?"

"Just put a light shield in place." He reached up and pulled the king back down on top of him and began suckling softly at his master's neck. Trowa gasped. Encouraged by the favourable response, he continued licking his way down. He paused at the collarbone, then shrugged slightly and started nibbling at it lightly.

As he slowly worked his way down, Quatre realized that he really didn't know what he was doing, so he dipped into the young king's mind, trying to figure out what it was he wanted. Processing the odd, jumbled information, he moved over to one dusky brown nipple and pulled it into his mouth, nipping and lapping at it gently. He reached his other hand up to stroke the other. He switched, then paused in surprise as Trowa flipped them over. He was now lying over his master's body, draped over the graceful limbs.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he continued his ministrations. Trowa's hands ran up and down his body, pressing him down harder, grinding their hips and erections together. He gasped, then slid farther from the brunette's chest, sucking delicately on the lean, well-muscled stomach, pausing to trace an old scar with his tongue.

Trowa's voice, deepend by desire, began to plead for more. Quatre, never one to disappoint his master, slowly licked the inside of Trowa's thighs, his cheek brushing against the other man's length. "Ooh.." The blonde, in response to the moan of pleasure, reached up and began stroking Trowa's arousal gently. "Niiice..." Trowa moaned, wondering humourlessly as to when his vocabulary had been reduced to monosyllabic words.

The small blonde man was curled up, almost, against him, fingers almost lazily toying with his engorged erection. The little slave had the nerve to just play with him...but oddly enough, Trowa felt no incentive to put him in his place. The stargazer was simply far too cute. There was that word again. He decided he had to find some way to rouse himself from this nice haze of pleasure...

"Quatre..."

"Yes, master?" Hearing his slave's sumbissive language and tone of voice sent shivers running down Trowa's spine.

"Turn over. On your hands and knees." Trembling, Quatre obeyed. Trowa reached over to a small bedside table and picked up the small jar of oil. He unscrewed the lid and coated three of his fingers. Taking his time, the young king slipped three fingers into his little concubine, one at a time, stretching him gently. "You're so tight," he whispered, leaning closer to Quatre's ear as he did so. The blonde flushed bright pink.

"Sorry..."

"No...that's good. Are you ready?"

"I-I...yes."

Trowa took a deep breath and smeared more of the freesia-scented oil over his throbbing erection, then carefully began to inch into Quatre's tight heat. "Ohhh..." It felt so good already, working his way towards being buried deeply within the small blonde.

A gasp. "Stop!"

"What?"

"Too...intense..." Abruptly, Quatre pushed himself back farther, impaling himself even more. "Don't think...just do..." Trowa nodded, at this point ready to do anything he could. Slowly, he began thrusting in and out of that exquisite tightness. So tight, little one, ohh, so good... "I said, please don't think like that, master!" Quatre cried out. The young king smirked, then increased the speed of his thrusts.

Trowa was gasping harshly by the time he thought to reach around to slowly stroke the other man's genitals. "Mmm...do you like this, little one?"

He was answered with a loud moan of pleasure. "Don't stop! Trowa!"

Innocently, "Yes?"

"Ohhh...ah!" Quatre bucked his hips wildly as Trowa brushed against...something deep inside of him. "Ohh, Trowa..." He smirked as again he sped up his thrusts. They were both quickly losing control.

"Quatre..." he panted. "I want you to come for me. Just let go." He kissed Quatre's ear and struck his prostate again, harder this time. Quatre threw his head back and screamed his pleasure as he coated his master's hand and the blankets with his seed. His whole body tensed for a moment, squeezing Trowa, who was still sheathed deep inside him. With a loud grunt, Trowa thrust once more and then let himself fall into the explosiveness of release, emptying himself with hot gushes into the little slave who'd captured his heart.

"Love you," Quatre murmured sleepily. Trowa started, then gathered the smaller man into his arms and nestled them underneath the blankets.

"Sleep, little one."

---

It was not until he awoke, long before Trowa, that Quatre reflected on Elysa's comment about not being able to leave Corazon. What are you thinking, Trowa? Are you afraid they'll all leave?

He sighed, then disentangled himself from his master's embrace. Trowa mumbled something incoherent. Quatre sighed again. It felt...wrong, somehow, the idea of telling Trowa he was running his country incorrectly.

But ah, a little voice in the back of his head whispered, It's not really his country. It's yours. You're Corazon's prince. He's just an invader that came in from Lagrange out of boredom. He said: 'Ooh, look, a cute little country. I think I'll play God and rule it.' He won't be good to the people, you know. You would rule better, you only want to help the people. He only wants the power Corazon can offer.

In a quieter, yet firmer voice: He knows what he is doing. He has grown up with classes on how to do things such as deal with people. You tell him what they feel...he'll do what he knows is best.

"So confusing," he murmured aloud. There was a tentative knock at the door. Hastily, Quatre wrapped a bathing robe around himself and threw on the simple cloth headdress and veil he usually wore when sleeping. Trowa sat up abruptly as the knock sounded again. He motioned for Quatre to join him in bed, then called out, granting entrance. The door swung open. Elysa stood there, her face covered in the salty trails of old tears. She drew in a deep breath, as if to steady herself, and nodded.

"Your highness?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"I have come requesting your permission to journey to Lagrange, highness." She pulled in another gulping breath. Trowa's eyes narrowed.

"Why?"

"My mother has died. I-I wish to be there for the funeral...she lived in Lagrange; she had left during the civil wars and was unable to get me out. She has been sending money to Ana María and I for a long time." Elysa squeezed her eyes shut, and more tears slid out. She fell to her knees. "Please, your highness! I have not seen my mother in so long...and I-I missed her so much..."

Green eyes stayed cold. "How should I know you are not lying? Perhaps you, as your mother did, wish to leave Corazon and stay in Lagrange." Quatre's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Trowa, she's telling the truth! I can feel it!" Trowa pushed Quatre down, then gripped his shoulder and applied pressure, ignoring his slave's wince of pain.

"When I want you to speak," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "I'll say so. Keep quiet." He looked up at Elysa, who was clenching her hands in her skirt. "Do you have proof that your mother is dead?"

Tremblingly, Elysa reached into her jacket's inner pockets and drew out a folded piece of paper. She approached the bed and handed him the letter. Trowa scanned it, then looked down at Quatre. "Is this authentic?" he asked sharply.

The blonde nodded meekly. "It feels real."

A nod. "You may leave, but if you have not returned in a month's time, I will contact my brother. If you are not either on your way or preparing to leave Lagrange, then Ana María dies."

"Thank you, highness," Elysa whispered. She bowed once more and scurried out of the room. Trowa turned his gaze to Quatre. His eyes softened.

"Little one, you cannot speak out like that," he whispered. "People will become suspicious. They think you were one of Wahea's old servants, a servant assigned to Wufei, and when we conquered the city, they believe I saw you, was entranced by your beauty, and claimed you as mine." Quatre nodded.

"I understand. I'm sorry." Trowa leaned forward and kissed him soundly.

I still don't understand, Quatre thought. But...for now, I'll stay safe in your arms, Trowa.

"I won't leave you," he said against Trowa's lips.

"I know."

---

- Michelle Branch, "Drop in the Ocean"

---

[1] A dirk is a long dagger, between a dagger and a sword in length. You can use them as a throwing knife or for simple, sword-style combat.

Elysa is based off my girlfriend. That's really how she looks, and believe me, she's gorgeous. *kisses Elysa* However, Ana María isn't based off me, I just wanted to stick Elysa somewhere 'cause I miss her at the moment. T_T

Anyhow, this is dedicated to KC, an awesome writer. Yay for yaoi and yuri! 13x5 lives! (as does 1x2, 3x4, 6x9 [het is okay!], SallyxUne, DorothyxRelena!)

-Trinity

P.S. If you feel the need to give me feedback, email me at crazycatholicgirl@hotmail.com, but put 'Katra' as the subject, please.