Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/174734.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Gundam_Wing
  Relationship:
      Catherine_Bloom/Trowa_Barton
  Character:
      Catherine_Bloom, Trowa_Barton
  Additional Tags:
      Sibling_Incest, Psychological_Drama, Angst, Erotica, Canon_Compliant,
      Sexual_Content
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-03-28 Words: 1093
****** Softly and Only in the Dark ******
by Raletha
Summary
     Catherine can't tell Trowa the truth. Set around episode 36/37ish.
     Circa 2007.
Notes
     This was written in response to livejournal's shenanigans and
     dedicated to fandom on livejournal.
Catherine woke to the sound of whimpers. Trowa.
More bad dreams of bad memories: the things he didn't remember when he was
awake. He was so vulnerable now, and soft. Not at all as he had been. She
slipped from her bunk at the rear of the trailer and padded barefoot to the
front, where Trowa lay on the fold out bed in the living area. Security lights
brushed the small space in faint, violet tinged grey. It was hard to tell if
Trowa were asleep or awake, wrapped around himself and shivering, his muffled
cries of complaint sounding like some small injured animal. Her heart hurt for
him.
She sat carefully on the mattress next to him and touched his shoulder. Soft as
her touch she said, "Trowa, honey?"
He started, twisted, and looked at her with blank, fearful eyes.
"Are you okay?"
Recognition came slowly to his gaze, but his shivers did not cease. "Sis?"
She stroked the sleep rumpled hair from his face, "Yeah, I'm here, Trowa. It's
okay. You're safe."
"I'm so cold."
"I know," she said. There were no more spare blankets, so Catherine gave him a
prod, "Move over," she said. He did and she slipped beneath the covers with
him, spooned up against his back. He shook against her, and she held his too
slender frame tightly. His feet were icy where they bumped hers, so she pressed
her feet against his to share more of her warmth. "Better?" she asked.
"Yeah," he said.
As he began to relax into her embrace she loosened her hold, moving a hand to
rub his chest soothingly. Gradually his breathing evened, his heart slowed. She
kept touching him, and, slowly, his t-shirt edged up under her hand until she
was touching bare skin. Trowa didn't complain. Rather he sighed in contentment,
so Catherine let herself enjoy the warmth of his skin.
It seemed hours passed; they didn't speak.
She stroked down to his belly, her caress absently lingering on the fine hair
beneath his navel. His shivers had subsiding into only the occasional tremor
and heat had returned to his body. Enough heat, Catherine thought she might
push the covers back. But Trowa shifted under her hand, pressed back against
her closer. Maybe he still felt cold. He moved again, and it repositioned her
hand, lower. He was even hotter there and, Catherine realised with a flush of
heat beneath her own skin, his penis was erect. Somehow it seemed natural -- as
natural as such strange things can feel, only in the wee hours, and only in the
dark -- to slip her hand beneath the elastic of his briefs.
And then. "Sis?"
"Shhh," she hushed and kissed him on the nape of his neck. Her eyes were
closed. He wasn't -- couldn't really be -- her baby brother. The warning rising
in the back of her brain said she should stop, but Trowa, the poor boy, he
needed her. Needed the comfort and closeness. This wasn't wrong, was it? To do
something to make him feel good? He'd suffered so much. It didn't feel wrong.
He didn't feel wrong, thick and hot in her hand, and his shivers had stopped
completely now. The poor boy; he needed this. "I love you, Trowa," she said.
He didn't reply with words; he didn't need to. The love was in his body and the
way he permitted, invited even, her touch.
"Does it feel good?" she whispered, sliding her hand around him, along him.
"Yeah," he breathed, little pushes of his hips into her hand.
When Trowa stiffened and his breathing faltered, Catherine sat up and let him
roll to his back. To avoid a mess she bent and took just the tip of him in her
mouth. He climaxed, sharp and salty, into her mouth and she swallowed it down.
She lifted her head to find him smiling up at her: a flash of teeth, the fear
banished from his eyes.
Oh, his smile was beautiful, and what was left in his gaze was warm and
relaxed. Trowa reached for her, a hand cupped her breast. Catherine held her
breath. From her eyes to her breast his gaze dropped. He stared at his hand as
it explored the swell beneath it. He traced the shape of her stiffened nipple
with his index finger. "I've never..." he said, between quick breaths. "I don't
think so anyway."
"You don't have to," she said, smiling back at him.
"I want to," he said, still smiling, "do something for you, too."
She couldn't say no; his innocence charmed.
Nevertheless, Catherine turned her face away as he tugged her panties down her
legs and pushed up her nightshirt. She couldn't look at him directly when he
moved down between her legs, bent his head and kissed her there so carefully,
and she couldn't stop her gasp when his tongue ventured, shy and uncertain, to
probe her more intimately, slipping warm and soft and wonderful.
"Trowa," she said. It sounded more like a moan. She should tell him to stop.
She should push him away. She shouldn't want this. But it had been a long time,
he was so beautiful; he couldn't really be her baby brother. And it felt so
good.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice low and filled with the intimacy of things
that can only happen in the wee hours and only in the dark.
She couldn't speak to say yes; she just squeezed shut her eyes and nodded, not
even daring to breathe now.
Now his hands were on her, spreading her open. The weight of his gaze was there
too, studying her anatomy. Curious. She opened her eyes just as he lowered his
mouth to her flesh again, touched with the tip of his tongue where she was most
sensitive, and withdrew. A deep shudder shook her.
"There?" he asked.
This time she couldn't stop herself from saying, "yeah."
Trowa's technique was unpracticed, but earnest and determined. Catherine came
hard and swift, clutching his hair as she sobbed through her release.
Afterward, he crawled up beside her and laid his head down over her heart.
"Thanks, Sis," he said.
Catherine ran her fingers through his hair. She should at least tell him the
truth. He couldn't really be her baby brother.
"I won't tell anyone," he said, reaching down and tangling his fingers with
those of her free hand.
She couldn't. He needed her, and the lie felt like the truth even though it
couldn't be. And so she didn't tell him.
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