Work Text:
Taste the things your soulmate is eating/drinking.
1
Duo remembers the first time that the taste of something he hadn’t eaten and didn’t know what it was bursts across his tongue. He’s completely confused by the foreign taste—it’s good and hearty and makes him so hungry, and he was already hungry anyway, it makes him even hungrier—but Solo smiles at him and tells him it’s a good thing.
“You’ve got a soulmate, kid,” he says. Not everyone does, though Solo doesn’t know the numbers, just knows that it’s supposed to be something special.
It starts to happen regularly, a solid three times a day, which is way more often than Duo gets to eat under the best of circumstances. Foods that are rich, spicy, sweet, salty, and other tastes he has no name for. He tries to describe what they taste like when his soulmate is eating regular meals. It’s a game for a while, and on a very rare occasion, Duo will recognize the taste of something—usually fruits, occasionally a bread—and he will cheer.
For the first few months after it starts to happen, he kind of hates it because even though he can taste all the wonderful (and occasionally not-so-wonderful) things his soulmate eats, they don’t fill him up, they just make the hunger worse, his body expecting nourishment that it never gets. He convinces himself that he’s not hungry because he’s tasted all these wonderful things, so he can spare some of his food for the littles. He sees Solo’s frown, but he doesn’t stop Duo from sharing with the littles instead of eating his whole shares.
Solo never does tell him that the taste thing goes both ways. It’s not until the Church that he learns that part of the deal, although, really, he thinks he should have figured it out. A friend of Father Maxwell’s had sent him a gift—baklava—and he shares it with Duo. The crunchy-sticky-nutty-sweetness bursts into his mouth, and Duo can’t help but bounce with excitement.
“I’ve had this before!” he tells Father Maxwell, looking at the piece in his fingers, trying to figure out how he can make it last longer. He’s definitely had it before, though, or tasted it before, at least. “My soulmate loves it! But I don’t think they get to eat it very much—it seems like just for special occasions.”
He sees the surprise in their faces, the concerned looks they trade.
“You have a soulmate, Duo?” Sister Helen asks.
“Yeah! And they get to eat three times every day!” he tells them. “Snacks more often than that sometimes,” he adds, because it’s important. Even at the church, food isn’t abundant; it’s rationed and bland, but filling, at least. He sees the worried look on Sister Helen’s face and asks, “Is that bad?”
“Oh, no!” she says, kneeling down to his level. “No, not at all. Soulmates are a precious gift from God, and to have one is very, very special,” she explains. “It’s wonderful that you get to experience so much food through yours.”
Duo gives her a shy smile. “It is, isn’t it?” he asks. “But you look sad.”
He can see the conflict warring on her face. Whatever she feels like she should tell him, it isn’t good. Finally she says, “Soulmate bonds go both ways. You can taste what your soulmate is eating, and they can taste what you’re eating too.”
Duo thinks of his bland diet, thinks of the things he’s eaten to survive, and his enthusiasm for the treat dims. It seems wrong that his soulmate gets to share so many wonderous tastes with Duo, but Duo can share so little in return.
At least he can share a few bites of baklava, he decides, taking another small bite off the piece, determined to savor it. He decides it’s his favorite treat, and one day, he’s going to he able to share it with his soulmate.
2
They say that if a person has a soulmate, the signs usually appear by the time someone is seven. It’s not a hard and fast rule, Quatre knows. Sometimes there are age differences in soulmates that mean it won’t show up until later, but generally speaking, if you aren’t tasting things you’re not eating by the time you’re ten, you probably don’t have a soulmate. Less than a tenth of the population has one anyway, so it’s not like it’s expected that everyone will have a soulmate.
His parents weren’t soulmates.
Not that it means anything. Soulmates aren’t genetic; they don’t run in families. Just because one or both of your parents have one doesn’t mean you’re more likely to, or that if neither of your parents do, you’re less likely to.
Maybe it’s a little romantic to believe, but Quatre is absolutely certain from the time he can speak that he has a soulmate. He’s told often and loudly that most children believe they have soulmates and that you can’t know for certain until you’re at least seven, but Quatre absolutely knows. He knows it in the way he always knows which direction the sun is in and where the Earth is (both of those make nice party tricks). He’s so sure that he eagerly awaits his seventh birthday to start tasting what his soulmate is eating.
The tastes don’t come though. They’re on earth for his seventh birthday, in the desert, which is so dry and bland, it feels like he’s eating cardboard as often as not. Even so, he’s eager and watching for the signs, and every now and then he’ll get a bit of a taste on the back of his tongue. It’s usually bland, more a lack of taste than an actual taste. It’s certainly nothing identifiable. It’s almost certainly the dry desert air.
When he tries black licorice for the first time, he almost gags on it. It tastes rotten and spoiled, and he’s assured that the taste of black licorice is a love-it or hate-it thing, and he’s so busy trying to drown the taste of the horrible thing from his mouth that he never thinks to question if black licorice tastes spoiled to people who don’t like it.
His obsession with having a soulmate never fades, even as sisters and caretakers, and even—on an especially memorable occasion—his father try to tell him that he doesn’t have a soulmate if he hasn’t tasted anything by now. They’re wrong, and he knows it, so he tries to eat anything he possibly can. He wants to share all the tastes he comes across with his soulmate, even if he can’t taste their food in return.
When he’s nearly eight and a half, he’s feeling a little munchy and thinking about maybe trying to wheedle a snack out of the cook when the sweet, familiar taste of baklava—one of his absolute favorites—bursts across his tongue. It tastes a little stale, but the honey is sweet and the nuts are rich and creamy in turn, and Quatre can nearly feel the crunch of the filo on his tongue.
He worries he’s imagining it when he gets another bite. It seems like a small bite, but it’s enough to fill his mouth, and he realizes that his soulmate is taking tiny bites. There are four bites, four bright bursts of slightly stale baklava on his tongue, and Quatre holds the proof of them close to his heart.
It takes him months to taste anything else, and whatever he tastes, it’s rotten.
Perplexed, Quatre asks his sister Aldara why someone would eat something that tastes so foul. She looks at him with sad eyes and says, “Not everyone has enough to eat. Some people have to make do.”
He scrunches up his nose. “Make do?” he asks.
She tries to smile, tries to be reassuring, but the smile is tight and fake and she feels like pity and regret. “Not everyone is as lucky as we are,” she says, which is something he’s heard before but no one will explain. “Maybe your soulmate just had a bit of bad luck.”
But there had been four or five solid bites of that rotten taste, and who would keep eating something that was that disgusting?
As the years continue, Quatre realizes that his soulmate doesn’t eat much, what little he eats is usually bland at best, spoiled at worst. He comes to understand what Aldara tried to gently tell him when he was younger, that not everyone is as fortunate as we are. His soulmate isn’t. He doesn’t have enough to eat most of the time, and it makes Quatre cry himself to sleep on the days he tastes something spoiled on his tongue.
He tries to eat special treats on those days, hopefully to make the bad tastes go away. He wants to look for his soulmate, but Aldara is firm that finding a soulmate is a crapshoot. “You’ll meet them or you won’t, Quatre.”
When he’s twelve, the tastes change. They’re still mostly bland mixed on occasion with too salty and on especially rare occasions, bright bursts of fresh fruit or something sweet Quatre can’t identify. By then, Quatre knows that his soulmate is out there and has been lacking, and he has started to pay close attention to all the news in the world.
There’s so much suffering, it makes his heart ache, and not just for his soulmate. But his soulmate is definitely affected by it, and Quatre’s family has the power to make things better, so he determines that he will.
He hopes when he finally meets his soulmate that they can be proud of what he’s tried to do.
3
Duo has absolutely no idea what to make of Quatre Raberba Winner. The kid is rich, okay? Like Rich. Like, has probably never known what hunger is a day in his life because he probably throws away more food in a month than Duo has eaten in his whole fifteen years combined. That has to be the case, because when Duo sees just how much food is at the Winner estate, he can’t imagine they could possibly eat it all before it goes bad. Even accounting for the Magunacs, it just seems impossible to have this much food in one place.
He also doesn’t exactly understand why Quatre is a pilot. Oh, he talks a good game about wanting to do what’s right for the colonies, but no one is really that idealistic, right? It seems impossible. The colonies could probably fall out of the skies today, and of all the people in the world who would probably manage okay, the Winner family is likely near the top of that list. Even if most of their wealth is in the colonies, this god damn palace of a place is just a Winner estate. One of more than a dozen on Earth.
Seeing as he can’t quite wrap his head around owning one place this grand—or ever actually needing it, for that matter—he just gives up trying to make sense of owning multiple places like this around the world. Just… why?
The rich are so weird. But as weird as they are, as a collective subspecies, Quatre himself is almost too nice. Duo finally decides that he can’t judge Quatre for no other reason than the fact that Quatre isn’t judging him.
Duo is a nobody. He’s a street rat who doesn’t even own his own name, and an admitted thief, but Quatre never gives him the look he’s seen from other “respectable” people. His eyes don’t start watching Duo’s hands when he walks too close to the expensive things, he doesn’t appear to tell the help to keep an eye on him. He acts like he trusts Duo.
It’s bizarre, if Duo’s honest. Beyond the fact they’re both Gundam pilots, Quatre has no damn reason to trust Duo, and a lot of really good ones not to, not the least of which is hello, terrorist. Unlike Quatre, Duo’s not really in this thing to make things better for the colonies. It’s not that he doesn’t want that, he’s just a realist, and he knows that even if by some miracle they won the whole damn war, probably nothing is going to change for the colonies. That means, Duo is mostly here to avert the stupid fucking idea to drop the colonies on Earth and kill everyone, and to make the Alliance hurt as much as he can before he’s killed.
It’s really odd, the week Duo spends with Quatre. He eats better than he ever has in his life, and he gets to eat a lot of things he’s sure he’s tasted before but never knew the names of. For the first time in his life, he tries fresh seafood, fish, dates, almonds, olives, yogurt, and lamb, not to mention the dishes whose names he promptly forgets, but they’re things he’s tasted before. If home had a taste, it tastes like Arabic cuisine.
Which must mean that his soulmate is Arabic. Duo spares a fleeting though for whoever it must be. They’ll almost certainly never meet because Duo’s run the statistical analysis on the chances of him surviving this whole party, and they’re pretty awful, to be honest. Not that he expected otherwise when he took Deathscythe.
Quatre doesn’t seem to believe the same, which is just strange to him, but Quatre is strange, so it’s not hard to add another oddity to the mental list with a shrug.
“Duo,” Quatre says, sticking his head out onto the veranda where Duo has been relaxing and trying to soak in every good thing he can about Earth while he can. He really should be digging into where the Alliance are and what they’re doing, but the laptop has been set aside in favor of just enjoying the beautiful weather.
“What’s up, Kitty Kat?” he teases, mostly because it’s fun to see the pleased little flush that comes over Quatre’s face.
“Nasir made fresh baklava,” he says with a smile, naming the estate pastry chef. Not the cook, no Thana is the chef; Nasir specializes in the desserts. It still boggles Duo’s mind—the fact that the estate employs someone whose sole job is to make desserts—but Nasir makes such sinful delights that he gives it a pass.
Duo is about to get up when Quatre pulls out a tray. Smiling, a little abashed, Duo says, “You didn’t have to bring it out here. I would have come in.”
“I know,” Quatre says, bringing it over and setting the tray atop Duo’s closed laptop. “But I wanted to do something nice for you.”
Shaking his head, Duo says, “You’ve done nothing but nice things for me since I got here.”
“It’s my pleasure.”
Duo sighs, giving up partially because Quatre is implacable and partially because he kind of likes being spoiled.
“Well, if you’re going to do that, then you’re going to join me,” Duo insists, and Quatre—fortunately—doesn’t argue with him, instead settling into the seat next to him. Duo picks up a piece of the flakey, sweet dessert, but holds it up, like he’s toasting. He waits until Quatre takes a bite of it, and then freezes.
The crunch and sweetness and flakiness breaks across his tongue, and not only does Duo recognize this taste, he recognizes this exact taste. It was the favorite thing he’s ever tasted, a rare treat that was sublime when he was a child, and it is this same taste.
Quatre closes his eyes, almost in sensual pleasure, but seems to realize after a moment that Duo isn’t eating yet. He sits back up at attention, looking at Duo, confused. Swallowing, he asks, “What is it?”
Slowly, making sure Quatre is watching him, Duo raises the baklava to his own mouth and takes a bite. The same perfect sweetness and nuttiness and crunch explode across his palate, and Quatre’s eyes go wide as he realizes what Duo has already realized.
“You…” he says, the clasps his hands over his mouth, eyes gone glassy with tears, though Duo doesn’t know if it’s horror or joy in Quatre’s eyes. His shoulders rise and fall as he moves his hands away from his mouth, and cautiously, he reaches for Duo. “You’re… you’re my…”
Duo finishes his bite, then sets the uneaten piece of his treat back on the tray. “Yeah,” he says, using a thumb to catch a bit of honey clinging to his lips. He reaches out, smears it across Quatre’s bottom lip, and when Quatre’s tongue snakes out to taste it, the rich sweetness of it dances across Duo’s own tongue.
“I…” Quatre breathes out, then he laughs. “I… I didn’t think I’d ever find you,” he admits, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
“Neither did I,” Duo says. He leans forward, unable to resist, because this? This explains so much. No wonder the food here tastes like things of his dreams, it’s his soulmate’s home. Or one of them.
The thought makes him almost giddy. His soulmate has multiple homes.
And he’s a pilot, fighting on the same side, against the same injustices as Duo is. Which also means, they probably don’t have much time.
“Can I kiss you?” Duo asks him.
Quatre pulls out a handkerchief—of all things—and dabs at his eyes, wiping away the tears. “So soon?” he asks, surprised.
Duo gets out of his own chair, then goes to kneel between Quatre’s legs, looking up at him. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, now.” Don’t trust later, he thinks. Later is never a guarantee.
Cheeks pinking adorably, Quatre says, “I’ve never…”
That’s not unusual—it’s considered bad form to kiss someone who isn’t your soulmate if you have one. “I can show you,” Duo says, reaching up to guide Quatre to him.
The first brush of lips is tentative, tender, barely a whisper, but enough to catch the aftertaste of the baklava. It sends a shock of pleasure through Duo, and it must also do so to Quatre, because he gasps, opening his mouth, and Duo takes the invitation to slide his tongue in. The aftertaste is stronger in Quatre’s mouth, and Duo moans into it, chasing the flavor of it. Quatre sucks on his tongue, then brushes his own along Duo’s, seeking entrance. Duo pulls back, welcoming it in, sucking on it with enough force that he makes Quatre whimper a little.
They can only kiss for so long before they have to breathe, but it’s not enough for Duo. He follows Quatre up, teasing kisses along his jaw, down the skin of his throat.
“Duo…” Quatre moans, putting his hands on Duo’s hips. “We can’t… We’ve only just…”
Duo’s hand on his mouth silences him. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamed of you?” Duo asks him, letting his hand fall away, now that he’s sure that Quatre won’t interrupt him. “We are in a war, Quatre, and our odds are not good. Waiting till later is all fine and dandy in theory, but there may not be a tomorrow for us.” He stares into Quatre’s eyes, willing him to understand. “I don’t want to regret not taking every moment we have and trying to do everything we can before…”
The words fall, unspoken, into the silence between them. Before we die.
It brings heat and determination into Quatre’s crystalline eyes, and he lifts a hand from Duo’s waist to slide it beneath Duo’s braid so he can rest it on the back of Duo’s neck. “I’m not going to let that happen,” he says, low and fierce. “We’re going to survive, and when we do, we’re going to live a long and happy life together.”
He says the words like just speaking them can will them into being, can make them true, and Duo doesn’t know if he has that power, but he suddenly understands exactly how Quatre picked up his own personal army along the way.
“Okay,” Duo says. “We’ll do our best to have that… but just in case…”
Quartre’s brow furrows, and for a moment, Duo is struck with the fear that Quatre is going to deny him this, deny them this moment, this opportunity. The peace here is an illusion that could shatter at any moment, and Duo doesn’t want to go back into battle having given up this opportunity.
A chance to be with his soulmate.
“I don’t know if I’m in love with you yet,” Quatre says softly, the hand on Duo’s nape kneading in a way that makes Duo’s eyes flutter closed. “I know I will be. You’re mine, and I’m yours…” He tugs Duo forward until their foreheads touch.
“We’re soulmates,” Duo replies, putting his hands on Quatre’s thighs. “I’ve loved the idea of you for as long as I’ve known what soulmates are…” He can feel the dampness of Quatre’s breath against his mouth, welcome in the desert heat. His body is already warming to the task, to the opportunity. He wants this—needs it, even. “Please, Quatre…”
“Tell me what you need,” Quatre says. “I want—”
“You,” Duo says, not mincing words, sliding his hand up to tease at the joint of Quatre’s hips. “I want you. Want to be one with you… Please…” He feels Quatre freeze for the first time, feels like he can sense Quatre’s heart as it debates the intelligence of doing this. But why shouldn’t they? They’re soulmates, and they could die tomorrow.
“Okay,” Quatre says, standing and using his grip to pull Duo up with him. They’re of the same height, though Duo’s muscle is leaner, making him a hair thinner. Well, leaner muscle and a life of being underfed, probably, but he’s not worried about that—he wants to see Quatre in his glory.
They bring the tray of baklava, stumbling back to Quatre’s room, which is far larger than Duo’s already unnecessarily large guest suite.
When alone and faced with a bed, Quatre fidgets, looking adorably embarrassed. “I haven’t ever done this…”
It’s Duo’s turn to lift his chin, make Quatre meet his eyes. “If you don’t want this too, tell me now.”
“I want this,” Quatre says firmly, then chuckles. “I’ve wanted you since we first met, to be honest. I just thought it was a silly crush…” He scratches at the side of his face.
“But it’s not,” Duo says.
“We can’t love each other yet,” Quatre warns. “We love the idea of each other, yes, but not each other. We don’t know each other well enough to love each other yet.”
“But we will,” Duo assures. On their way to the suite, Duo had ducked into one of the guess baths and grabbed the personal oil there. He’d seen some in his own bathroom and knows it will work just fine for lube.
Quatre gives him a beaming smile, settling his hands on Duo’s waist again as Duo settles his arms on Quatre’s shoulders. “I’m surprised someone wearing a priest’s collar wants this,” Quatre teases.
Flashing him a shameless grin, Duo says, “Do you know a secret?” He pulls a hand back long enough to pull the paper out of his collar. “It’s just a piece of plastic.” He waves it, then drops it to the floor. “I’m not a priest—not even Catholic. It’s just… a memorial.”
Apparently growing courageous, Quatre takes a hand off Duo’s hip to reach for the end of Duo’s hair. “And this?”
“Another memorial,” Duo says. “But memorials are not what I want to be thinking about right now.” Without waiting for further invitation, he leans forward to kiss Quatre again. Duo helps Quatre shrug out of his vest, then starts on the buttons on his shirt. Quatre mimics his actions, and soon they’re down to undershirts.
Duo’s heart is pounding, almost unbearably loud in his own ears. He’s not a virgin—far from it—which he’s pretty sure his soulmate has to know, but that’s okay, because it means that he knows what he’s doing, and that will make this easier.
He steps back, grabbing the back of his undershirt and pulling it off, while Quatre pulls his own off. They continue mirroring one another, next with shoes, then socks. It feels silly, like a game, but it’s also fun. They want each other.
Quatre might be Arabian by descent, but colonies show in his skin, so pale but for a hint of a rosy undertone. Duo wants to touch him everywhere, wants to feel him everywhere. Both of their pants are tented slightly with their growing desire, Quatre’s more obviously, though whether that’s because the khaki makes it more obvious or because he’s… well, better endowed, Duo looks forward to finding out.
Closing the distance between them, he runs his hands over Quatre’s chest, fascinated by how soft his skin is to the touch. Duo slides his hands down until they find the fly of Quatre’s pants and his words probably tickle Quatre’s mouth as he asks, “Can I?”
“Yes,” Quatre says, the sea-brilliance of his eyes becoming a ring against the black of his pupils.
Staring into Quatre’s eyes, Duo undoes the button first, then drops to his knees as he pulls down the zip.
“Duo!” Quatre blurts, obviously embarrassed, but at least he doesn’t push Duo away. Duo grins up at him, amused at the tighty whities Quatre’s wearing, and even more pleased with what they appear to be hiding. He slides his hands around Quatre’s waist before slipping them down beneath his underwear and pants. Looking up, he watches Quatre’s face, making sure that he’s only normal types of nervous and not uncomfortable.
Quatre bites his bottom lip, his pupils getting even wider, but he nods, and Duo pulls the pants all the way down, revealing Quatre.
Grinning up at Quatre, he says, “I am a very lucky boy.” It makes Quatre’s flush darken, but it also makes his cock get harder. Impressive given that it’s competing with his face for blood.
Duo kisses the head, then takes it into his mouth, and it makes a delicious sound come out of Quatre’s throat. His hands quickly find Duo’s shoulders, then push him back.
“If you do that, things are going to be over far too soon,” he says.
“We are fifteen, last time I checked,” Duo points out, raising his eyebrow.
He’s startled—but not in a bad way—when Quatre’s hand moves from his shoulder to under his chin, lifting his face.
“I know,” Quatre says, bending in half, teasing his nose against Duo’s. “But I want us to come together the first time…”
It sends a shock of pleasure through his system. He likes the firmness in Quatre’s grip, likes the direction in his eyes. Quatre’s eyes narrow, and he tugs up again. It sends a thrill through Duo, and he follows the touch. Once he’s on his feet again, Quatre, kisses him, his hands going to Duo’s fly.
“I want to see you too,” Quatre murmurs against his mouth.
“Then strip me,” Duo says, making it a dare.
Quatre grins and makes short work of Duo’s pants and underwear, then walks him backward to the bed. It’s high enough that Duo has to hop up slightly to sit on it, but once he does, he opens his own legs, trying not to be nervous. He’s never been terribly body shy, but this is his soulmate. It’s different.
He tries not to be aware of the fact that where Quatre is soft and creamy, he’s strange tan lines—skin absorbing any hint of sunlight, it feels like—and assortments of pale scars that are more noticeable against the tan.
When Quatre steps between his legs, mimicking Duo’s hands sliding up his thighs earlier, blood starts heading south at an alarming rate.
“You’re beautiful,” Quatre tells him on a whisper, like it’s a secret. His thumbs dig into Duo’s hips, and the touch makes Duo squirm a little. As Quatre leans forward, Duo starts scooting back, grinning as Quatre matches him, until they’re in the middle of the bed, Duo on his back, Quatre between his legs, leaning over him. The desire is even clearer in his eyes than it is in his body.
One of his hands rises, running over Duo’s shoulders. “The sun has given you freckles.” He follows his hand with a kiss on his shoulder. Duo can taste the salt of his skin on Quatre’s tongue, and he wonders what Quatre thought of the taste of his own cock in Duo’s mouth.
It doesn’t take long for him to move from Duo’s shoulder back to his mouth, and Duo doesn’t know if the traces of the baklava he still tastes is from Quatre’s mouth or his own, and he doesn’t much care. They kiss and touch until they’re breathless, then break apart.
“I’m not really—” Quatre starts to say, but Duo silences him with another kiss.
“I know,” he says. “And I do.”
Broadcasting his movements, Duo gets Quatre to roll onto his back. He reaches over to grab the oil. It’s sweet almond oil, and when Duo opens it, the scent of almonds fills the air. He might have looked up whether it was safe for sex or not since it seemed like that was the most reasonable thing it was in the bath for. It is—as long as someone doesn’t have a nut allergy.
Duo definitely doesn’t have that problem. Judging by the eagerness Quatre ate the baklava, neither does he.
Straddling Quatre’s lap, letting Quatre’s hard dick rub up against his ass, Duo pours the oil onto his fingers, then kneels up. “Would you like to watch?” he asks.
Quatre’s Adam’s apple bobs as he grips Duo’s thighs and nods. Grinning, Duo slides two fingers down and into him. He could start out slower, but even though it’s been a while, his body remembers how this works, and starting with two is a delicious tease. He moans, letting his head fall back as he works his fingers in and out, tugging on his rim, trying to coax his body to relax. Against his thigh, he can feel Quatre’s hard dick as he shifts and squirms beneath Duo.
Reaching behind himself, Duo uses the remaining oil on his hand to slick up Quatre’s—really generous—length, his own cock throbbing in anticipation of being filled.
“Surely that’s not enough…” Quatre protests, his voice having gone deeper.
Duo shoots him a look from beneath his lashes. “I want to feel every inch of you open me up,” he says. It makes Quatre groan, and Duo can feel his cock twitch in his hand.
Deciding that they are, in fact, fifteen, and if he’s not careful, this is going to be over far too soon, Duo lines himself up with Quatre and slowly begins to sink down, trying to consciously relax his body, thinking about how much he wants this, wants to be filled. Quatre sits up slightly more, his hands moving back to Duo’s hips, holding on with enough of a grip that Duo would bet on bruises in the morning.
That only makes it better.
Quatre lets out a strangled sound when the head pops in, but Duo almost misses it over his own moan. He is big, and it is a lot, but it’s also so good. Amid affectionate whispers and reassurances, Duo eases himself down, taking his time.
He’s apparently so tight that it helps take a bit of the edge off for Quatre, at least for the moment, and it allows him to be fully settled on Quatre’s lap without embarrassing themselves further.
“This is…” Duo starts to say, but words fail him. It’s different than it’s ever been. It’s right; it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s ever wanted, and he knows that he will never want to touch anyone else like this, never want to be touched by anyone else like this.
Words are apparently a little much for Quatre too, because he kisses Duo, driving his tongue into Duo’s mouth, claiming it, mapping it, sucking on his tongue as though it’s a cock, and the comparison is eventually what drives Duo to begin rocking when his body relaxes.
They kiss fervently as they rock together with enthusiasm. Their hands roam one another, touching everywhere they can, though Duo intercepts Quatre’s hand before it lands on his dick.
“I want to come from your cock,” he says, his voice gone raspy with his panting, and he moans as he feels Quatre’s hips kip and his cock throb inside at the words.
Quatre teases his nipples, then sucks a hickey onto Duo’s pec. “I want to see you come for me,” he says, his own voice gone even more ragged than Duo’s has.
“Then make me,” Duo says, part dare, part challenge. He yelps as Quatre manages to flip them, putting him over Duo.
He may have called Duo beautiful, but Duo thinks his soulmate should look in a mirror sometime.
“I want to see you,” Quatre tells him, kissing him and nipping at Duo’s bottom lip. Not quite enough to break the skin, but enough to make it tingle with sensation. “I want to see what you look like when you climax.”
His hips start a driving rhythm, nailing Duo’s prostate, making him writhe and twitch.
“I’m gonna—!” Duo gasps out between thrusts. “I’m gonna—!”
“Come for me, Duo.”
If asked, Duo couldn’t say whether it was Quatre’s thrusts or his words or just the sheer desire to please his soulmate, but Duo comes, his body tightening up. He can tell by the way Quatre’s thrusts get extra sharp—dragging out Duo’s orgasm, not that he’s complaining—that he’s coming too. He groans and throws his head back, and Duo is again struck by how beautiful is soulmate is.
When Quatre slumps forward, Duo strokes his back, feeling the fine tremble in his limbs, ignoring the come splattered on both of their stomachs. Duo feels full and complete and right in a way he’s never felt before.
Quatre may be right: they may not be able to love one another yet.
But Duo knows they will soon.
4
“Happy anniversary,” Quatre says in a singsong voice as he slides back into bed and kisses the back of Duo’s bare shoulder, tracing a constellation in the freckles he finds there.
Duo groans, snuggling into the bed as though Quatre’s waking him up at some unbearable hour instead of at ten in the morning. Quatre’s far more of a morning person than Duo, but after five years together, he knows that ten is absolutely an acceptable time to wake up his soulmate.
After a moment, Duo peeks over his shoulder, then sweeps his loose hair out of the way to lean up on his elbow. They may have started celebrating their anniversary a little early last night, but Quatre finds it hard to be sorry about. Even if he has to help Duo untangle his hair, it’s not like Quatre minds.
“How is my soulmate a morning person?” Duo asks the familiar question, but his eyes sparkle with amusement.
“Opposites attract,” Quatre says cheerily. “But if you wake up, I have a surprise for you.”
“I told you not to get me anything—”
Quatre steals Duo’s favorite trick and kisses him to silence him. He pulls back when he feels Duo’s mouth go slack against his, and sits back as Duo’s eyes narrow.
“You didn’t…”
Giving Duo his best innocent look—not that Duo buys it much these days—he says, “I did nothing extravagant.” Duo’s eyes grow even more suspicious, but before he can start to try to complain about being treated like the wonderful, amazing partner he is, Quatre grabs the tray from the side table. Duo’s suspicion vanishes immediately.
“You got baklava,” he says, and he can’t help smiling. He reaches for one, but Quatre pulls the tray out of his reach, grabbing a piece from it and guiding it to Duo’s mouth.
There’s a moment where Duo just watches him, bemused, before he opens his mouth and accepts the perfect bite-size morsel. He does also catch a finger tip to suck on for a moment, and the flavors explode across Quatre’s palate as Duo eats it, moaning theatrically, though it’s so good, that moan might be real.
“Do you remember our first night together?” Quatre asks him, getting them both resituated with Duo sprawled against his lap, the tray just out of his easy reach. “Making love, then feeding each other the baklava.”
Duo swallows his bite. “Then smearing it all over each other and eating it off one another?” he asks, eyes sparkling. “How could I forget?”
“I thought that it might be fun to revisit that…”
A little line of confusion mars Duo’s brow. “I thought you had work today?”
Quatre leans down, capturing the residual tasted directly from Duo’s mouth. Duo opens to him, welcoming him, pulling him in. When they break apart, Quatre says, “I took the day off.”
Duo’s arms come up to wrap around his neck and tug him down a little more. “Good,” he says. “That means I get to you to myself all day…”
“And I’m going to spoil you horribly, dote on you, kiss you, feed you baklava…”
“Hopefully fuck me till your name is the only one I can remember,” Duo chirps, grinning.
Quatre grins in return, sliding one of his hands down Duo’s chest, beneath the blanket, till he’s teasing Duo’s pubic hair. “In five years, have I ever left you unsatisfied?” he asks.
“No,” Duo says. “No, you have not.”
Tracing a finger down the sharp indent of Duo’s hip, then down beneath his balls, ignoring his cock entirely, Quatre says, “Do you think I ever will?”
Duo lifts his hips, eager for more despite their lovemaking the night before. “No,” he says, spreading his legs wider. “And I’m getting hungry for more than just baklava…”
Chuckling, Quatre pulls his hand back. “All in good time, my love,” he says, teasing and picking up another piece. “All in good time.”
After all, they have all the time in the world.