Gundam Wing

Disclaimer: I don’t own Gundam Wing. I just borrowed some of the characters. Rated: NC-17

My Boy

Title: My Boy
Author: Yanagi
Archive: Mediaminer, Under Willow’s Tree
Category: Hentai
Rating: NC-17 or M+
Pairings: Tsubarov X Treize
Warnings: NCS, Object insertion, caning.

Written for Ponderosa’s LJ request. And my second lemon ever.

Treize sighed. Tsubarov was an ass, an annoyance and a barbarian. He sipped his wine and wished, not for the first time this evening that Tsubarov would just go home. He’d shown up near supper time and just walked in like he owned the place. Oh yes, of course. He did own it.

The man was obnoxious in the extreme. He’d rambled on and on during supper about the mobile dolls and how they were the coming thing in war. All Treize could do was snipe at him. They’d spent a, for him, miserable meal with Tsubarov finally completely ruining it by sneering, “My boy, if only you’d be more amenable to persuasion. I find your hot temper to be more than I like. You should be happy to use the newest and best.”

Treize interrupted. “Newest and best murder machines. They are an abomination.”

“Well, let us not argue, it will only ruin our appetites. More wine? I’ll pour.”

Treize just stalked into the library, accepting a glass of wine on his way.

Tsubarov continued to cut at Treize while he did the same to Tsubarov, making several catty remarks about his trade mark goffered ruff. They spent several minutes in verbal combat until Treize started to feel sleepy or more likely dizzy.

“What did you do to me? You vile . . . “

“Well, My boy, I’ve always said youth and enthusiasm will lose to age and experience every time. “

“Get out. Now!” Treize tried to force Tsubarov out by sheer force of will.

Instead Tsubarov exploded.

“You young idiot, your idealism will lose this war. I’ll win it for us because I’m practical. I know that we can’t rely on men. They get idealistic, or tired, or any one of a dozen other things.”

Tsubarov reached out and dragged a limp and nearly unconscious Treize out of his chair and smacked him sharply across the face. When he snarled and tried to resist, he got another smack across the other cheek.

When he woke, he was tied to the library table, face down. He struggled, but the cords holding him were stronger than they looked and all he managed to do was wriggle like a worm on a hook. Then it hit him with stunning force, he was ass naked. Tsubarov had cut the seat and most of the thigh from his pants. He was still wearing his long-tailed coat, the tails neatly arranged to cover his ass, for now.

“Well, My boy. It seems that we are at a bit of an impasse. You don’t understand your position in the least. You are essentially my pensioner. You live in my house and eat my food. You owe me. And I’m going to collect. Painfully. Are you a screamer? I do so enjoy a screamer.”

“You filthy old bastard. Let me go. I’ll . . .”

Tsubarov just walked away while Trieze ranted and snarled. When he came back, he had a collection of things he’d collected from around the room. A cane, a candle, a napkin and an egg-shaped glass paperweight.

“You’ll do nothing but what I wish. You’ll . . . perhaps not enjoy this, but you will react. I’ll show you with your own body why mobile dolls are better. You’re a fool, boy. We could have been such good friends. Now you’ll be my toy. You brought this on yourself.”

Over Treize’s muffled objections Tsubarov stuffed the tightly folded napkin into his mouth where it expanded enough that he couldn’t push it out with his tongue.

Tsubarov lit the candle and stuck it to the table with a blot of its own wax, ruining the table top in the process. He wandered around the room remarking on this and that, every time he passed behind Treize he patted him on the buttocks in a fatherly way that made Treize feel ill. He braced himself for what was to happen, vowing that he’d endure it with dignity.

Tsubarov smirked at the bound man, he could almost see the thoughts wending their way through his brain.

“You think you won’t react. But you will. You’ll see. I’ll teach you about pain . . . and pleasure. And the fine line between the two. How will you feel when . . . aaa, but that would be telling, wouldn’t it? Come. Let us endeavor together.”

Tsubarov took the candle from the table and lifting the fine wool coat tails with one hand he smoothed them back over Trieze’s back. “Beautiful. You have such smooth skin. Huummm and you smell of roses.”

The first drops of wax burned but Treize managed to keep silent as Tsubarov dribbled the wax across his body he bit down on the napkin, thankful for its help. Then he stopped. Treize heard him rummaging in the wet bar behind him then heard the unmistakable sound of ice dropping into a glass.

“Yes . . . so round.” Trieze thought if he said firm he’d vomit. “But you’re not interested in the maunderings of an old man. You said so yourself. So.”

Tsubarov took a hand full of ice and began to rub it on the drips of wax. He continued to rub the ice around slowly, approaching his goal. Suddenly he thrust a cube into Trieze who grunted, more startled than actually hurt. It was just incredibly cold.

Then more wax was dribbled onto him, this time it hurt even more as his flesh was cold from the ice. He stifled his moans and gritted his teeth in the napkin.

Then Tsubarov gently slid a finger into his resisting body. He would have thought that the man would delight in hurting him but instead he gently oiled both his fingers and that reluctant opening.

Then Treize realized what Tsubarov was probing for he tried desperately to pull away. But bound as he was there was no chance. Tsubarov laughed, a harsh cawing sound and massaged that spot gently. No harsh jabbing or pain, just that gentle stroking. Treize could feel himself reacting.

“Yes, just as I thought. A Sybarite like you could no more resist my touch than fly. You’ll scream before I’m done with you. And beg.”

Then he picked up the cane. Treize had been caned in school but he knew that this was going to be worse, much worse. He started out gently, each blow no more than a gentle pat. Tsubarov worked from the tops of his buttocks down to the backs of his knees. Then he started over again, this time a little harder. Trieze could feel and hear the wax breaking up and pealing off with the blows.

When Tsubarov stopped all Treize could do was cringe, he was half hard and knew he was losing control, the pain was only enough to excite him. This was going to be hard to resist.

A few more probes with a well lubricated finger hardened Treize all the way. All he could do was whimper in humiliation and try to squirm away.

“Na, na. Naughty, now you have to be punished. Such a naughty boy.”

Tsubarov took off his belt then, much to Treize’s surprise, he pulled the napkin out of his mouth.

“Now you’ll scream for me.”

Tsubarov smacked the belt across first one cheek then the other. He applied the lashes evenly, almost clinically, then went back to tormenting Treize with his fingers. He slid first one, then two, fingers into him and stretched and stroked him until he knew he was on the very verge of losing all control. Then he stopped.

“You bastard, what do you want.”

“I want you to beg me for relief. And you will.”

“Never. I’ll never beg you for anything.”

But finally he did, after what seemed like hours of alternating caning and stimulation.

When Tsubarov finally forced his way past a stubbornly resisting ring of muscles, he screamed in fury and pain. Then he came, jerking and straining at his bonds. Tsubarov didn’t last long, only a few strokes brought him to completion.

“Yes. There we are. I told you you couldn’t resist me. And no man can resist certain natural reactions. The dolls don’t have any natural reactions, only what they are programed to do.”

Then Tsubarov picked up the egg-shaped paper weight and firmly forced it into Treize.

“Just thank your stars that I’m in a charitable mood. Or I’d use something a lot harder to eject. Remember me when you see this.”

Tsubarov nicked the cord at Treize’s left side and sauntered out whistling.

After several minutes and some struggle Treize managed to get free. He stumbled to the stairs and got up to his quarters. In the bathroom he knelt on the smooth, cool floor and forced the object from his aching body. He picked it up and threw it against the wall, shattering it and several tiles to bits. Then he collapsed again, clawing at the floor tiles in agony and fury he vowed to ruin Tsubarov and his damned dolls.

~ *~

I could use some constructive critism, please.