Story:               THE THEORY OF SIX

Author:              FancyFigures (fancyfigures@hotmail.com)

Disclaimer:        I don’t own ‘em, wish I did, just enjoy writing about ‘em for free etc

Pairings:           Zechs +

Category:          Drama, PWP

Warnings:         Yaoi, lemon, masturbation

Spoilers:           None

Notes:               Written for a day that should surely be Zechs’.

Feedback:         If you liked it, PLEASE let me know!

 

 

The tall, imperious soldier entered the room, closing the door behind him without a second glance.  He knew that no-one followed him; that no-one dared.

 

“Welcome,” came a voice from the other side of the room.  “Tell me what you seek.”

 

Zechs Merquise drew in his breath very slowly, like he was drawing in all of his strength.  A veil of long blond hair hung down the right side of his face: he impatiently pushed it back over his shoulder and began to shrug off his uniform jacket.  “Nothing,” he said, in his deep, rich voice.  “I seek nothing you have on offer.”  The jacket slid down his arm where he caught it in his strong, fine hand and tossed it over on to a chair.  His shirt was half-unfastened and behind the crisp cotton the muscles of his torso tensed across his ribcage.

 

“Everyone seeks something to complete them.  To challenge them.  To excite them.”

 

Zechs looked over towards the window and gave no sign of acknowledgment.  The sudden tension across his shoulders was nothing more than an instinctive stretching; the narrowing of his sharp blue eyes was merely a flicker.  His fingers slid down his chest, flipping the last few buttons of his shirt out of their moorings.  The material hung loosely around his waist.

 

“Tell me the steps you take.”

 

“This theory of yours …  Zechs’ voice sounded lazy, but the words were very carefully enunciated.  He walked the few feet to the window and leant against it.  It stretched from floor to ceiling, the glass cold and opaque with the blackness outside.   His reflection was clear in shape, though misted in its detail.  “You say everyone has six steps to satisfaction; six steps to their personal release.”

 

“We all seek something,” the other voice repeated.  “Our job limits the time we have; the attention we can give.  Six is the most we can allow ourselves.”

 

Zechs laughed, but softly.  He eased his shirt off his shoulders and tossed it over to join the jacket.  His broad, naked back was turned to the room.  There were scars under one shoulder blade; a small mole nestling in the shallow dip at the base of his spine.   His skin was supple, the muscles well defined and indisputably powerful.

 

“I have no time for theory,” he murmured, seemingly to no-one in particular.  He ran his right hand slowly down the window in front of him, his fingertips leaving medallion shapes of warm sweat on the cool glass.  He lifted his hand away and ran it down his own body, brushing at the taut skin of his torso.  The pale flesh shivered in the wake of the slender fingers.

 

“Is that your first step?  To stroke…”

 

Zechs grunted, but his fingers didn’t stop their rhythm, caressing his ribs; teasing almost aimlessly at a sharp nipple.  He toed off his boots one after the other, kicking them to the wall.  He wore no socks and his bare feet stretched with some relief on the thick carpet.  He spread his legs apart a little, at ease, though the position might have been less familiar than that of attention.  His fingers plucked at the buttons of his pants, but for a second he seemed to be fascinated by his own gaze reflected in the window.  He hesitated.  He sucked in a short breath and it sounded like a gasp in the still air.

 

“Your second step?  You like to savour.”

 

Zechs didn’t turn towards the other voice, but a smile teased at his full lips.  “I told you,” he said, “I have no time for the theory.”  He returned to the buttons, flipping them loose, one by one, until the fly opened and the fabric began to relax around his groin.  He wore no underwear; the sweat on his skin glistened in the artificial light of the room.  A thin trail of hair ran down his belly and into the open pants.  The waistband dropped gently to nestle just above his groin.

 

“Your third step…”

 

Zechs’ impatient grunt interrupted the speaker.  He dropped his head forward sharply, his long hair falling forward again over his cheek.  It hid the gleam in his eyes.  He stretched a hand forward against the glass and braced his feet on the floor.  His other hand slid down the curve of his belly and under the loosened waistband, cupping around the swelling at his groin.

 

“Your third step…”

 

Zechs shook his head a little, as if irritated.  He bit at his lower lip and his hand started to move up and down.  His pants fell away from his hips, sliding down his thighs to the ground, and he stepped out of them, kicking them also towards the wall.  He was entirely naked now, his pale skin like a ghost reflected in the window.  His palm slipped gently with sweat and his fingers curled around his cock as it reared out from his naked groin.  His buttocks tensed together as his legs bent gently to balance the harsh movement, his pumping slow but firm.

 

The voice continued, not quite as smoothly as before.  “Your third step is to stimulate.”

 

Zechs’s head snapped back, the hair hanging far down his back, licking at his hips as they thrust against his hand’s caress.  He glanced up swiftly at the window, catching the reflected glint of another pair of eyes, watching him, and he smiled.  His stroke became more languid; more sensual.  His tongue slipped from between his lips and licked moisture to the tired flesh of his mouth.  “Less theory,” he hissed.  “More action.”

 

“Is that your step four?”  The other voice was slightly ragged now.  “To seduce?”

 

Zechs hissed out his breath, his chest heaving as he leant more of his weight against the glass.  His gaze remained firm, but his hand uncurled from the turgid length of his cock and clenched instead around its base.  He squeezed a couple of times, as harshly as only he could know how.  He caught his breath, swallowing the throb of lust that pulsed in the blood-red flesh; containing it for a vital moment.  “It’s your theory,” he gasped.  “It’s for you to evaluate.”

 

The other voice laughed for the first time: a soft, breathless sound.  “Don’t deny your needs.  Is this what you seek in your fifth step – to suffer?”

 

Zechs moaned and released the restraining hold on his cock.  Strands of his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat; the muscles of his thighs were prominent as they strained to hold him upright.  His little finger snagged in the blond pubic curls; his other fingers stretched back between his legs, nudging the heavy balls to the side, teasing at the sensitive skin between cock and asshole.   His ass lifted as he probed inside himself, the tip of his finger squeezing through the tight, unstretched muscle.  His vision blurred for a second as the blood rushed to his groin.  He lifted his supporting hand away from the window and clutched back around his cock.  It jerked in his palm and he began to pump again, much faster now, moving in rhythm with his fingering.  He stood a foot from the darkened glass, his reflection shimmering as he thrust into his own caress, his attention no longer on the voice behind him or the eyes locked on his shuddering, naked body.

 

“Step six…” came the hoarse words.  “To surrender.  At last…”

 

Zechs gave a guttural cry and came, the cum looping out of him in spurts, hot and thick and glistening white against the black surface ahead.  It spat out, striking the glass and slowly dribbling down.  His hand pulled away from his ass and slammed back against the window, bracing himself once again, his limbs shaking with the force of his climax.  His head dropped; his chest heaved; his breath was harsh, panting for its release.

 

Behind him there was sudden movement; the swish of crumpling clothes; the sound of a moan choked back into a tight throat.

 

Zechs lifted his tired head and stared into the window’s reflection.  Beneath was the city, though he could see none of it, and they could see nothing of this room.  In the glass straight ahead was the reflection of two pairs of eyes, one fevered, one possessive.  Behind him was the heat of a body moving to touch him; the grip of a strong hand; the bite of a fierce, impatient mouth.

 

He stared just one more time, at his own smile of satisfaction.

 

Only six steps.

 

To begin with.