They Make Me Feel Pretty
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Story Notes:

A response to an image prompt offered by theplottinghousewife on Tumblr.
Trowa smiled, lines forming at the corners of his warm, glinting eyes, and shyly bit his lower lip as Quatre came closer. Quatre smiled back, cheeky and mischievous, with none of his daytime politeness or mild-mannered reservation. He moved like a panther, bare feet soundless on the carpet, and stood between Trowa’s knees. He snaked his arms around his lover’s shoulders, gazing down at him through half-lidded eyes.

“Can you get my pants for me, darling?” he asked sweetly, head cocked to one side. Were it not for the wickedly sharp smile on his lips, one might actually believe that Quatre Winner had nothing but the most innocent intentions.

Trowa knew better. And it aroused him more than any erotic image or sensual touch ever could.

“Sure, babydoll,” he murmured, pleased to see Quatre’s cheeks darken even further.

He grasped Quatre by his belt loops, pulling him closer. Close enough to nuzzle the soft, bare belly while he undid the front of Quatre’s khaki pants.

Quatre sighed happily and combed his fingers through Trowa’s hair, tugging gently, the way Trowa liked.

The khakis crumpled to the floor, and Trowa ran his hands up the back of Quatre’s calves, lightly tickling the tender skin behind his knees, caressing his thighs, cupping the fleshy buttocks in their satin—

Trowa’s head snapped up. His eyes wide, face shocked.

Quatre smiled down at him and cocked his hips, making the lacy pink panties with their unfeminine bulge look even more astounding. They had certainly captured Trowa’s undivided attention.

“Oh fuck, Quatre,” he uttered.

Exactly.”

Trowa devoured him, pressing open-mouth kisses to Quatre’s belly, clutching his ass in both hands, panting helplessly onto his skin. Quatre grinned, leaning his head back when he felt Trowa’s hands at his hips. He moaned when Trowa slipped his fingers beneath the thin satin and began to stroke him.


Quatre thought the upper hand had been his—but it seemed that the thrill of playing dress-up excited him as much as Trowa.

“Oh God,” he begged, “take them off.”

The pink panties slid down Quatre’s pale thighs, dropping to the floor.

Their work here was done.


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