Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/99629.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Gundam_Wing
  Relationship:
      Treize_Khushrenada/Trowa_Barton
  Character:
      Treize_Khushrenada, Trowa_Barton, Zechs_Merquise
  Additional Tags:
      Timeline_What_Timeline, Power_Imbalance, Oral_Sex, Authority_Figures,
      Military
  Stats:
      Published: 2010-07-11 Words: 3525
****** Vanishing Point ******
by Ponderosa
Summary
     Lt. Nichol manages to get Trowa arrested on suspicion of espionage.
     In exchange for Trowa's freedom, Treize, recently deposed, wants his
     help.
Dressed in the ornate, formal attire of the Sanc Kingdom, Zechs stood waiting
for him on the platform in Barge's hanger bay. Treize stepped off the shuttle,
and though he wished for a warm embrace, he offered no more than his hand and a
smile.
Zechs took both gracefully, silently, and after pointing the way, fell into
step beside him. There was no doubt in Treize's heart that this had been the
last favour he would receive from his friend.
"I must thank you, again, for delivering my dear Lady from harm," Treize said.
As they neared the end of the corridor, he looked over at Zechs. How strange it
was for him to look upon that naked profile in something other than half-light
and shadow. "If anyone who has served under my command better knows the strain
of wearing two faces...."
"Will you see her while you're here?" Zechs asked. He gestured for the soldier
standing guard to key open the doors to the detention area.
The soldier looked to Treize for confirmation. He nodded and the doors slid
open. "Perhaps, though it may do more harm than good," he said, and Zechs said
nothing more until they reached the last cell in the block.
"Trowa Barton, the pilot of Gundam Zero-Three," Zechs said, and beyond the
barred window, Treize saw the prisoner's head lift.
*
The room held nothing but a table, a pair of chairs, and the two of them.
Treize saw the boy's attention go to the security cameras. If he was worried
that the red eyes of the cameras were dimmed, he didn't show it. The odds were
that it was no surprise. From the looks of it, he'd seen the butt end of a
rifle more than once since his cover had been blown.
"A risky gamble, infiltrating a ship like this." Treize seated himself across
from Trowa. It was only a matter of time before those loyal to Romefeller would
question his visit and that there were no orders coming in on what to do with
the prisoner.
Keep the hounds from my heels for a few days still, Milliardo.
"Though you certainly covered your tracks well, Lieutenant Nichol was extremely
thorough in his investigation of the credentials you provided," he continued.
"It's no rarity to find young men who have falsified documents to enter into
military service, but surely you know that the political climate does not allow
a good commander to look lightly upon such trespasses amongst officers." Treize
leaned forward. "Particularly when they are given leave to pilot such important
machines."
Trowa said nothing. The silence weighed heavily.
"They've treated you poorly," Treize said, after a time. He folded his hands
together atop the table and with a gloved fingertip indicated the mottled
bruises darkening the line of Trowa's jaw.
"I apologise for that. I would see to it that they be disciplined, but I'm
afraid the soldiers responsible are no longer under my command," Treize said.
Though his regret was sincere and he had just confessed his waning influence,
the young man across from him showed no sign of having heard a single word that
he'd said.
"Very well, enough small talk. It appears you destroyed one of your comrades'
suits for nothing," Treize said. At that, Trowa started; it was nothing more
than a twitch of his hand, but the cuff around his wrist rattled against the
smooth metal of the chair as loud and damning as a gunshot.
"Save your worries for the moment, Zero-Three," Treize said. Careful not to
betray his eagerness, he held himself still and watched Trowa carefully.
"Though Lieutenant Nichol has spared no effort, he has produced no evidence
tying you to the Gundams with anything other than conjecture and coincidence.
Nor has Zechs betrayed your secret to anyone other than myself."
"What do you want from me?" Trowa asked, his voice quiet and calm and even.
Treize sat back in his chair and crossed his legs, hands sliding off the table
to drop into his lap. "I'm in a position to help you," he said. "With the way
things have progressed, we have a common goal."
"What do you want from me?" Trowa repeated.
"Cooperation," Treize said, and smiled thinly.
*
Treize headed for the wardroom after he ordered Trowa escorted back to his
cell. The prisoner would need time to determine whether or not Treize was being
honest with him, whether or not he could be trusted.
And above all, Treize needed a drink.
He had no insights with this pilot, no sense that the boy would truly
understand him. Still, he pinned his hope on Trowa because there were precious
few other avenues to pursue; Lady Une was too fragile, his path and Zechs's had
diverged beyond mending, and the other Gundam pilots were scattered, hiding
underground or—though he thought it unlikely—floating dead in space.
Mobile dolls. Treize's lip curled and he felt a familiar twinge of contempt at
the thought of those soulless machines pouring off the assembly line like so
many tin soldiers. They would fall accordingly, but how many lives would be
lost in vain before the world saw fit to correct the error of its ways.
Thoughts churning in an endless spiral and yielding no new results, Treize
entered the wardroom. He was surprised to find Zechs there, seated in a wing-
backed chair near the row of tall windows looking out into space.
Treize ordered a bottle of wine and two glasses, carrying them himself across
the room to where Zechs enjoyed the view. "It's poor manners to drink alone.
Will you do me the honour of joining me?"
Zechs drew his gaze away from the windows and nodded at the empty chair to his
left. "What did you think of him?" he asked. His thumb rubbed idly at the side
of his forefinger as Treize poured him a glass.
"He is not so determined as Zero-One, or as spirited as Zero-Five."
"No," Zechs agreed. He took the glass Treize offered him and raised it up in a
silent toast before taking a sip. "But, he is no less dedicated to his cause."
"You're certain of this." There had been a time when Treize would not have
questioned Zechs's assessment of a person, friend or foe, but, as the pale blue
eyes that fixed on him reminded him, times had changed.
"If you can convince him to help you, he won't turn tail and run."
The plush softness of the cushions whispered against Treize's uniform as he
relaxed into the chair's embrace. Putting his hand to his chin, he hummed a
thoughtful sound. He had only a handful of days to pull the right strings.
*
There were fresh marks on Trowa's skin the second time Treize arranged to see
him. There was an awkwardness to his step as well, and a few paces made it
clear that he favoured his right leg.
Declining the escorting soldier's offer to uncuff Trowa's wrists and recuff him
to the chair, Treize dismissed the Lieutenant with thanks. He was a loyal
soldier, although not as ill at ease with his fellows' treatment of a prisoner
as Treize would have hoped. Still, Treize understood the animosity in the ranks
held towards the Gundam pilots, even those suspected of being one on rumour
alone, and did not think too harshly of the man. Left alone again with the
young pilot, Treize took a seat and produced a file folder, tossing it across
the table.
Trowa caught it as it spun, the chains dangling between his wrists clinking
together as he righted it and looked up to ask: "What's this?"
"Your case file," Treize said. He reached across, pausing when Trowa froze,
muscles taut like a startled animal. "May I?"
Trowa shrugged, the tension bleeding away from his posture, though he remained
clearly on edge, and his eyes were sharp and wary.
"All the evidence they have against you is in here," Treize said, flipping open
the file and riffling the pages. "As I told you previously, the majority is
circumstantial. However, I wouldn't put it past someone to manufacture
evidence. Your documented skill as a pilot works against you here, and I'm sure
you can perceive the ramifications if the military tribunal sees fit to release
any information to the media."
Once Treize had settled back in his chair again, Trowa skimmed the pages in
silence. He paused a third of the way through the sizable stack, slim fingers
plucking at the edge of the printout.
"You're certain you can get the charges dropped and my record cleared so I can
continue serving in OZ?" Trowa asked. He spoke cautiously, as if he was trying
to convince himself that agreeing to cooperate with the leader of the
organisation he'd been fighting against for months was the right course of
action.
"Yes."
"You'll have to get me out of that cell as soon as possible, then," Trowa said.
He scooted back in his chair, reaching down to rub his hands along his shin. "I
won't be much use to you if those bastards get any rougher."
Treize dipped his chin in a slow nod. He looked towards the door. The clock
fixed firmly to the wall above it told him the time he had left on the camera
blackout was less than five minutes, and Lieutenant Baker would certainly be
back before that. There were few excuses he could make to transfer Trowa to a
more secure cell without rousing suspicion, and depending on who his tormenters
were, it might not do much good regardless.
He made a decision and closed the folder as he rose to his feet. This wasn't
his first choice, but if the good Lieutenant proved willing to indulge the
whims of a superior officer, it would yield the swiftest and safest results.
"I'll need you to trust me and follow my lead," Treize said. He stepped around
the table and put his hand to his belt. He looked down at Trowa who slowly
nodded in assent.
"Let's just hope this works, hm?" Treize said.
*
Trowa sat on the floor, his long legs bent and drawn towards his chest. A
dinner tray that had been made up for Treize lay empty beside him, picked clean
of everything including crumbs. He checked his reflection in a domed, silver-
plated cover, fingertips exploring the bruises Treize had pointed out two days
earlier.
"How long can you reasonably keep me here?" Trowa asked. He set the cover back
down on the tray and draped his arms over his knees. The white of his uniform
pants was no longer pristine, though his boots looked no worse for wear.
"It's difficult to say," Treize replied honestly. He had long-since removed his
coat, and presently he lounged on the bed, one leg dangling down to the floor.
"Until morning, certainly. After that I wouldn't expect they'd let me keep you
for more than twenty-four hours, and that's a generous estimate."
"So how long will it take for you to make whatever arrangements are necessary
to get my charges dropped?"
"The wheels have already been put into motion," Treize murmured. He undid the
topmost buttons of his shirt and scooted down, propping a pillow under his neck
and closing his eyes. "If luck is on our side, it won't be more than a day."
If not, you and I can both pray they don't break your legs or visit worse hurts
upon you when you end up back in that cell.
"Thanks for the food," Trowa said abruptly, and Treize heard him getting to his
feet.
"You're welcome."
"You won't object if I make use of your shower, too, will you?"
Treize smirked and waved a hand. "Be my guest."
*
"Have something I can sleep in?" Trowa emerged from the bathroom with a towel
around his waist, his skin flushed pink from hot water or vigorous scrubbing.
The marks on his body stood out in sharp relief, bruises considerably worse
than the ones on his face.
He tossed the wad of his clothes into the corner, and dropped his boots next to
the wall.
Treize swung his legs over the edge of the bed, heels thunking against the side
of the bunk. He stretched an arm out to catch the shoulderstrap of his luggage
and dragged it close. Rooting through the bag, he found an undershirt and a
pair of drawstring pyjama bottoms. "Adequate?"
"Yes." Trowa took the clothes and got dressed where he stood with the brusque
efficiency of someone accustomed to changing in close quarters.
"You're welcome to half the bed, if you don't mind having to share," Treize
said, yanking his boots off before laying back down again. He folded his arms
over his chest, shifting when his dress shirt pulled uncomfortably taut across
his back.
"You plan to sleep in your clothes?" Trowa stood at the foot of the bed. The
shirt hung loose on him, accenting the sharp angles of a body whose muscles had
yet to reach their bulk.
"I thought it would make you more comfortable."
"I'm in a room with a man who could expose me as a terrorist. Whether or not he
needs to iron his trousers in the morning isn't really going to the tip the
scale of comfort."
"Chivalry is dead," Treize murmured, amused.
"I had your dick in my mouth a few hours ago, I think we're past the point of
politesse."
That was not the sort of response he expected, and Treize permitted himself a
small laugh. Trowa was interesting, and far more complex than Treize had given
him credit for. The boy seemed uncomplicated on the surface, serious and
straightforward, but as the saying went, still waters ran deep.
Treize sat up enough to tug his shirt off over his head. Sleeves pulled inside-
out, he undid the cuffs and let it drop to the floor. "Should I apologise for
that?" Treize asked. He propped an arm behind his head and watched Trowa perch
on the edge of the bed. "If my associates come through on their end of things,
not only will you have to deal with lingering suspicion, but you now have the
burden of having been branded a catamite."
"It was only a matter of time before one of them tried to bend me over a
chair," Trowa said. "Better that I'm a notch on a General's belt, wouldn't you
agree?"
Treize laughed more freely, but his good humour vanished when the heat of
Trowa's hand slid up the inside of his leg.
"What game are you playing at?" Treize said, taking hold of Trowa's wrist and
lifting it away.
"I thought you might let me finish what I started earlier," Trowa said. He
dropped his weight onto his wrist and twisted, one knee pressing into the
mattress. The borrowed shirt hung low at his neck, and Treize found himself
eyeing the graceful sweep of Trowa's collarbone before he caught himself.
"Until morning, you said. That's the closest thing to certainty I have right
now...that I'll have in a good long while no matter what happens," Trowa
continued. He wet his lips and the hand splayed over the dark blankets pressed
deeper into the softness of the mattress, fingertips turning white. "Spending
it asleep seems like a waste."
The nearer the dawn the darker the night, Zero-Three?
Treize wouldn't call what he saw in Trowa's eyes fear, but rather something
more akin to loneliness. As men they were not on equal terms, nor were they
bound so tightly by circumstance, but they were both of them adrift and it was
enough to make him feel at ease with the thought.
Or, he chided himself silently, perhaps he was reading too much into things.
The thought of a warm and willing body in his arms was hardly disagreeable.
Fingers tightening around Trowa's wrist, Treize pulled him forward.
"Do you kiss?" he asked, a blade of lust stabbing into his stomach as Trowa
swung a leg over and straddled him, lean thighs pressing tight to his legs.
Slender fingers framed his face, and Treize slid his hands down Trowa's sides
as a soft tongue swept across his lips. "That's a yes, then," Treize murmured.
He tipped his head to the side and invited a deeper kiss, humming approval at
the ardent thrust of Trowa's tongue. His hands explored Trowa's back, from the
sharp angles of his shoulderblades to the dips and hollows along his spine,
careful not to press too greedily for fear of tender spots. The boy's cock was
hard, aligned and rubbing eagerly against his own, and Treize felt his blood
heat in his veins. It had been months since he'd had the luxury of sharing his
bed with anyone.
Panting out a quiet "Wait", Trowa pushed himself to sitting. He ran his teeth
over his lower-lip, kiss-flushed and thick, and rocked himself against Treize's
erection. Taking hold of the hem of his borrowed shirt, he pulled it up and
over his head, dropping back down on top of Treize as soon as he had shaken the
shirt free of his arms.
The heat of Trowa's body was startling, and Treize threaded a hand into the
soft hair behind Trowa's ear to pull him back into a kiss. Trowa was certainly
no blushing virgin, but there was an inexperience in him that spoke of stolen
moments in shadowed corners and the fumbling haste of youth. He could feel
Trowa's heartbeat warring against his own, and the quiet sounds of pleasure the
boy was making were sweeter than the taste of his tongue.
Bracing one arm on the bed and curling the other around Trowa, Treize rolled
them over. He hung above Trowa, an indulgent smile on his lips when Trowa's
arms tangled around his neck. "You'll permit me to return the favour, mmm?" He
turned his head to place a gentle bite at the inside of Trowa's elbow. He
inched down, left wet, sucking kisses across the smoothness of Trowa's chest,
and Trowa arched beautifully beneath him, breath ragged and heavy with want.
"Have patience," Treize said, fingers curling into the waist of Trowa's pants
and tugging them down over narrow hips. He mouthed the join of Trowa's leg,
lips tickling against fine hairs. "We have all night."
*
They had all night, he'd said, and yet Treize found himself responding to the
needy jerks of Trowa's hips beneath his hands with an equal intensity. He
moaned around the flesh hot in his mouth and looked up the long line of Trowa's
body to see his hands gripping the pillow above his head, fingers flexing as if
he didn't know what else to do with them.
Treize slid his arms beneath Trowa's body, pinning his legs in place and
allaying the impatient shifts and twists that sought to force him deeper into
Treize's mouth. He let Trowa's cock slip free and dragged his tongue along the
underside from root to tip. "There's no need to keep quiet," he said, blowing a
puff of air over the head of Trowa's cock before taking it between his lips
again.
Despite his encouragement, Trowa proved merely to be the silent type, all small
sounds and harsh, panting breaths. Treize closed his eyes, narrowing his focus
to the slick glide of hard flesh sliding in and out of his mouth, each stroke
measuring the tense, quivering need of the body in his arms.
He moaned when Trowa's hips bucked and when the hot rush of come flooded onto
his tongue, he nearly lost it himself directly on the sheets.
"Don't swallow," he heard Trowa say, and then there were hands on his face,
urging him forward. "Let me."
Treize curved a smile and crawled over Trowa, brushing their lips together
before he let the come pooled on his tongue slip into Trowa's waiting mouth. He
licked Trowa's lip, painting it slick with what remained and took a moment to
enjoy the sight before he sucked it clean again.
"How long until morning?" Trowa murmured, his eyes opening lazily.
Glancing at the clock, Treize answered him.
"Good," Trowa said. His tongue curled lewdly against his lip. "It's your turn."
*
Zechs didn't show up to see him off, and Treize boarded his private shuttle
with only a token farewell from the soldiers on duty. For a moment, he thought
to seek Zechs out, to thank him once more, but there would be enough
repercussions to deal with when he returned to Luxembourg that to delay any
further would be foolish.
As he took his seat, Treize harbored some regret that he had left only a letter
for his Lady. Laughing quietly to himself, he supposed that wasn't entirely
true; he had left her a far better gift than his company.
Provide well for our young shooting star, Colonel.
No, Trowa did not possess the determination of Zero-One, nor the spirit of
Zero-Five, but he had his own equally admirable qualities.
Treize rested his elbow on the arm of the seat and watched the glitter of the
stars lead him back to Earth.
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