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A car door closes outside, the sound muffled by the time it reaches Amuro’s ears where he reclines on a sofa in his sitting room.
He sighs. This again.
He’s sick of whatever ‘treats’ the Federation decides to throw his way, their intention to keep him docile and tamed.
Footsteps echo in the hallway outside of the sitting room door, and Amuro shoves his clasped hands behind his head. Closes his eyes in the hopes that he doesn’t have to deal with this again.
Cracking the door, a member of the housestaff announces, “This evening’s guest has arrived, Mr Ray.”
Amuro doesn’t think he quite keeps the scowl off his face. He opens his eyes to glare at a spot on the wallpaper across the room.
“I don’t need another woman. Send her away,” he replies curtly.
“Is that so?”
Amuro’s eyes widen, a flash cutting through his mind. A hand clasps around the back of the sofa as a familiar - yet changed - face leans into his frame of view.
“Then perhaps,” Char says, leaning his chin into his hand - posing, he’s fucking posing - and smiling, smug, “...a man?”
Mouth hanging open, Amuro stares up at a face he hasn’t seen since he was a teenager. Somehow, despite being unable to see the other’s eyes, Amuro feels like the man is mocking him.
“Is there an issue with tonight’s guest?”
The staff interrupts whatever moment it is that they were sharing. Amuro pushes himself up, getting to his feet, and grabs Char’s wrist - something that takes the other by surprise.
“No, no… this is fine,” Amuro mutters, pulling Char with him. “Excuse us.”
Tugging the other into the corridor, Amuro leads him down a hallway into the main lobby, then up a spiralling staircase. They don’t speak the entire way, the only sound their footsteps as Amuro gradually squeezes Char’s wrist tighter and tighter (though the other never complains).
Reaching his bedroom, Amuro shoves Char through the door and promptly slams it shut behind him, locking it and rounding on the other.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demands.
He can say this here because this is the one place Amuro knows there are no cameras, no wire taps, nothing that can overhear them.
In response, Char says nothing. Instead, he sits casually down on the bed, slipping his coat off his shoulders, folding it, and setting it to the side. Then, he crosses one leg elegantly over the other. The entire time, Amuro watches him, eyes narrowed, back to the door, adrenaline pumping furiously through his veins for the first time since the war.
“What a way to greet a friend,” Char smiles as he says it, like it’s a little joke.
“We are not friends,” Amuro spits.
“Ah, true. Forgive me,” Char turns away, looks down at his coat on the bed. The smile doesn’t leave his face. “I forgot. A lover.”
Amuro sputters, face turning red with what he tells himself is anger alone. Char cuts him off before he can argue though.
“I’m here to get you out.”
His voice is serious now, no nonsense. It doesn’t make Amuro want to listen to him any more than he did before. It just makes him sigh, deep from his lungs.
“There is no out, Char,” he replies. “Wherever I go, they’ll find me.”
A sudden creak startles them.
Both their eyes shoot to the door, where the creak came from. Footsteps approached, but they have not retreated. Instead a weight settles there, in for the long haul. They’re being monitored.
Even in this, in the frivolities that the Federation plies him with, he has no freedom. Amuro grits his teeth against the very real rage that settles in his stomach now.
Resigned, he approaches Char on the bed. Seemingly understanding him without words needing to be said, Char uncrosses his legs, feet settling on the floor, and spreads his knees so Amuro can stand in the space between them.
Voice lower now, like they’re sharing a secret, Char says, “Guess we’ll have to put on a show.”
Amuro scoffs, but smiles at him. Something close to fond.
“We can figure something out. Get up on the bed.”
Char takes an order well, it seems: he kicks his shoes off and promptly shuffles himself up against the headboard. Though Amuro realises there must have been some kind of miscommunication when Char’s hands go to his belt, clearly intending to pull his trousers off.
To cut the action short, Amuro climbs up onto the bed and drops himself into Char’s lap, forcing him to move his hands away lest they be squashed.
Amuro leans his head down, lips to Char’s ear, “Nothing like that.”
Bracing a hand against the headboard, Amuro lifts himself to his knees and brings his weight back down onto Char’s thighs, deliberately avoiding any kind of real contact. They can do this, get the Federation surveillance off their backs, and have a real, honest to god actual fucking conversation.
Amuro repeats the motion, letting the headboard bounce off the wall this time as he lets out an exaggerated moan. When he bounces again, he goes off balance a little, but Char’s hands jump to his hips, keep him upright and lead him into the next movement.
This continues, Amuro’s head still dipped next to Char’s, the bed creaking under them. Char stays still beneath him, the hands on Amuro’s hips his only contribution to this charade. The least he could do is moan a little.
“I can get you out.”
Amuro’s bouncing stutters; Char’s fingers dig into his hips once more to steady him.
Char had spoken the words hot against his neck, breath tickling his skin. The promise of freedom is heady, making his body flood with warmth. It has been a long time since Amuro belonged to himself.
“And why should I trust you?” he asks, his own lips still close to Char’s ear.
He expects some long winded reasoning, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Char presses his forehead to Amuro’s right shoulder. Immediately, Amuro knows why - their scars, now connected through layers of clothing, tingle with recognition.
Stilling, Amuro settles himself down in Char’s lap properly. He finds his hands coming up to cradle the back of Char’s head, fingers twining into the other man’s hair.
They sit like this, for a moment, before Amuro tips his head into Char’s, cheek to his hair.
“What’s our plan?” Amuro whispers.
He feels something from Char’s mind, then, sudden and warm and bright.
“Your staff switches in the early morning,” Char whispers, “so that gap when the security systems are unmonitored is the best time for us to escape. They know you sleep late. If we lock your door and climb out the window, they’ll be less likely to bother you if they think you’re still here.”
Amuro hums his acknowledgement.
“Then, when we’re off the grounds, we’ll leave in my mobile suit, which is nearby,” Char continues. “We’ll meet up with AEUG forces, and you’ll be in space, out of Earth’s orbit within the day. Free. Nothing holding you down anymore.”
Char talks about it like it’s set in stone, like it will really happen. Amuro smiles at the fantasy, but that’s all it is really. Fantasy.
“I can’t go to space,” Amuro tells him. “I know why you want me up there.”
“I want you anywhere but here. What you do is your choice.”
“It’s not,” Amuro sighs. “Never has been.”
Hands leave his hips, arms wrap around his middle instead. Amuro lets them.
“It is,” Char promises, “this time.”
Sinking further into Char’s body, Amuro sighs, heavy. Despite it all, it’s nice to be held. It’s even better to be held by Char, which is something he should find surprising but doesn’t.
Amuro is not above admitting that, in these long years he’s spent under Federation custody, he’s imagined this. With his mind so close to Char’s right now, he instinctively knows that the other has imagined it too. They’ve both pictured the life they could have had if Amuro agreed to go with Char, if they had met under other circumstances, if they’d have been able to find peace instead of being stuck in these cycles of war they find themselves in.
So too have they both pictured a life - and this particular fantasy often takes place in a cabin next to a lake, swans swimming freely - where they had that peace with Lalah.
Amuro flinches at her memory, knows that Char feels it too.
“I’m scared,” he admits, ashamed. “Of her.”
“Lalah.”
“Yes.”
Char chuckles, but it’s not mocking. It sounds kind.
“She’s nothing to be scared of, Amuro,” he reassures. “She misses you.”
“I’m scared of hearing her again,” Amuro whispers.
“Don’t be,” Char’s hands have wandered up Amuro’s back. They rub soothing circles into it. “She simply… guides you, when she can. Other times, you’ll only feel her at the edge of your mind. A comforting presence.”
Amuro huffs, closes his eyes against a sudden teariness that threatens to well over. He holds Char closer.
“You make it all sound so easy.”
“It isn’t,” Char confesses easily, the words holding a weight to them that Amuro understands wholly, “but it can be. Eventually.”
Heart quickening, Amuro tightens his fists in Char's shirt, the weight of possibility tumbling untethered through his thoughts.
Mind made up, he pulls back.
“Okay,” the word comes out barely audible.
“Okay?”
Char moves so they can lock eyes, hands coming up to bracket Amuro's jaw. The hope in his gaze is undeniable, fragile.
“Yeah,” Amuro breathes, feeling that hope infect him too. “Yeah, okay.”
Char kisses him.
It takes Amuro off guard - not because of how sudden it is, but because Char's lips aren't as soft as he's always imagined them being. They're chapped, too dry, though they're quickly becoming wet as Amuro presses into Char's mouth. From the feeling of it, Char tends to worry the left side of his bottom lip between his teeth often, the skin there feeling rougher under his tongue. Amuro cups his hands around Char's neck and pulls him in closer, as close as they can get.
Too close: unbalanced, they tip backwards, Char between Amuro's legs, the two of them stubbornly refusing to break apart the whole way down. When they do finally part, they pant hot and breathless into the scant space between them.
Amuro looks up at Char's face, bracketed by curtains of blonde hair. Sunglasses still on.
Moving his hands up from Char's neck, fingers ghosting over the shells of his ears, Amuro slips the bastard things off and succinctly throws them to the side. Face bare, Char's expression is devastating, somehow. His eyes are open, easy to read. He's been thinking about this, Amuro joining him, for a long, long time. He's been thinking about it ever since Amuro turned him down at A Baoa Qu. Amuro saying yes now, joining him this time… it's like Char has been able to right a wrong. It settles his soul - Amuro can feel it where it hums velvet against his own.
In a moment of impulse, a sudden need to see Char on his back, Amuro twists them - hooks an ankle around Char's hip and throws him onto the mattress. He lets out a soft sound, bouncing against the box spring, as Amuro climbs on top of him. Above him.
That's better.
With sure hands, Amuro presses Char's wrists into the mattress, and Char lets him.
“What do you need?” Amuro asks him.
Caught off guard, Char blinks in response.
“Right now,” Amuro continues, “what do you need?”
Char wets his lips. “You. Whatever you'll give me.”
The answer is sincere in a way that makes Amuro's stomach turn, halfway between uncomfortable and aroused. He kisses Char again, but there's more bite to it now, teeth digging into flesh but never quite breaking it. Eagerly, Char moans into it, and then again when Amuro forces his tongue back into Char's mouth and starts mapping out the patterns of his teeth.
He wishes he could live underneath Char's skin, subdermal.
Wandering hands sneak underneath Amuro's jumper, coaxing it and his shirt from his trousers. Amuro is convinced to part from his ministrations to Char's mouth to let him pull it over his head. He takes the opportunity to start nipping at Char's neck, worrying the skin between his teeth - then intently doubling his efforts when he hears the way Char's breath starts hitching.
Char's shirt soon joins Amuro's own, discarded on the bedroom floor, and it's a miracle his groping hands don't pop any of the buttons off the thing.
Neither of them are thinking of whoever continues to stand watch outside of the room anymore. The entire universe is them and the places their bodies and minds connect. Nothing else matters.
When Amuro palms Char through the front of his trousers, Char keens - arches his hips away from the touch like it's too much. His back lurches off the bed, pressing his bare chest to Amuro's own. He imagines he feels their matching heartbeats under the skin, synchronised.
“Amuro.”
And he doesn't say anything else out loud, but Amuro hears it, clear as day: Char needs him to fuck him.
Amuro smiles into Char's skin, breathes hot behind his ear.
“You won't be limping while we're running tomorrow, will you?” he asks.
Char laughs, a little breathless. “I’ve taken worse than your cock, Amuro. Please.”
Pulling away, Amuro sits back on his haunches and takes a moment to admire Char spread out on the bed underneath him. Gorgeous.
Though he only thinks it, Char shudders in response. Two way connection.
Beautiful, needy, amazing. So, so good. Such a good boy.
“Amuro,” Char's voice shakes, strained. “Lube, now.”
Amuro offers him a jovial salute. “On it.”
While Amuro searches for the lube in his bedside drawer, Char valiantly wrestles his trousers off and throws them onto the floor next to the bed, underwear following after them. Then, preening, he reclines with his knees pressed delicately together just so he can relish the experience of Amuro parting them again - pressing his body between them as they open to greet him.
As soon as Amuro has coated his fingers in lube, Char is grabbing Amuro's wrist and forcing it down between his legs, not even giving it a chance to warm up. Amuro laughs, giddy for the first in a long time, as Char's shaky movements result in him smearing lube up over his wrist and the underside of the other man's balls. As a result, he has to recoat his fingers - he does punish Char for his neediness then, because he slides two in while the lube is still cold. Regardless, Char moans and arches all the same.
“You play the part so well,” Amuro teases him as he twists his fingers.
One icy blue eye opens to look up at him, the other covered by Char's blonde hair spread out about him. His mouth is open, panting. Waiting.
“Did you practise beforehand?” Amuro wonders as he moves his hand, presses deeper inside Char's body. “You have me convinced - panting and moaning like a good little slut.”
Muscles tighten around Amuro's fingers as Char whimpers.
“Amuro,” he breathes, “Amuro, keep going. Please.”
The word that circles in between their minds isn't the one Amuro expects Char to linger on, but he's not surprised by it either.
Good.
Char needs to be good. Char needs to be told he's doing a good job, and he needs Amuro - the only one who has ever proven to be his equal, his better - to be the one to tell him.
Well, Amuro is more than willing to indulge him.
“You take my fingers so well,” he breathes, leaning in so his lips brush Char's neck as he speaks. “Do you think you can take one more?”
Nodding frantically, Char pushes back into Amuro's bottomed out palm, encouraging. Amuro slides his fingers out slow and dragging, then slips the third finger alongside them as he pushes back in. Char gasps, then moans, reedy and high. He rocks back into the slow slide of them, as if he can force Amuro to go any faster. No, Amuro decides, he's going to take his sweet time working Char open. Meticulous.
In fact, he does so until his wrist is aching and Char is writhing against the sheets. Desperately, he tries to angle his hips down onto Amuro's fingers to get them to hit something Amuro has been deliberately, teasingly avoiding.
He pulls his fingers out all at once, leaving Char to gasp and whimper, empty. Amuro takes his own trousers off, then he retrieves a condom from the same bedside drawer he'd got the lube from - and is promptly met with a wave of disappointment from Char's mind.
Unamused, Amuro raises an eyebrow. “Really?”
Char is pouting without really pouting at all - the impression of a pout permeates him.
“I want to feel you,” he replies stubbornly.
“I'm sure you do,” Amuro chides, rubbing a thumb in condescending circles against Char's inner thigh, “but it doesn't change what we're doing.”
“I’m clean,” Char insists.
“It's still anal, you moron.”
“No, Amuro,” Char stares at him, unwavering. “I’m clean.”
At once, Amuro realises what Char is telling him. He'd douched ahead of this stupid fucking plan, just in case.
“Jesus christ,” Amuro can't help the laugh that enters his voice, “you're a real piece of work.”
Char smiles at him serenely.
“I guess I should reward you for being well-prepared…” Amuro hums, faux contemplative.
Smile turning smug, Char spreads his legs wider. Amuro takes the opportunity to resettle between them.
His knees bracket Char's ass, the other man's hips pulled onto his lap. Bringing one of Char's ridiculously long legs up over his shoulder with one hand, he encourages the other to wrap around his waist with his other hand. It's an invitation Char eagerly takes as he digs his heel into the small of Amuro's back and urges him ever closer.
Taking himself in hand, Amuro pushes into Char's waiting, willing, wanting body.
Char breathes out a sigh of relief as Amuro breaches him; when Amuro looks up, he sees Char staring down at the place their bodies are joined with rapt attention.
All it takes are a few gentle rolls of his hips for Amuro to bottom out. Seeing their pelvises pressed firmly together, Char lets out a moan and finally manages to look away, throwing his head back against the pillows.
Amuro plans to give him a moment to adjust, but Char has other plans, rocking his hips back against Amuro after only a few breaths, clenching around his cock inside of him. It forces Amuro to slip impossibly deeper, the breath punched out of his lungs as Char squeezes, molten hot around him.
“Fuck,” he breathes, staggered. “God, you take me so well.”
Char nods, moans his affirmative.
“So beautiful, so good for me.”
Char shudders underneath him, biting down on the inside of his lip.
Slowly, Amuro draws his hips back and slides just as achingly slowly back in, taking the opportunity to savour the feeling of Char around him.
His hands find Char's chest, and Amuro worries the other's nipples with his fingers as he sets a pace, sliding in and out in long, deep strokes.
It's not long before Char is rock hard against his own stomach, leaking precum liberally onto himself. Amuro dips a thumb into the growing puddle and Char watches him with keen attention, whimpering when Amuro accidentally brushes up against the sensitive head of his cock. Bringing the newly wet thumb up to one of Char's nipples, Amuro rolls the now slick nub between his forefinger and thumb.
Char throws his head back and groans. Invigorated, he tries to rock his hips back against Amuro in a poor attempt to quicken the pace - but Amuro refuses to entertain it, keeping up those long strokes instead.
“Please,” Char eventually croaks out, one arm thrown over his eyes.
“You're so polite, using your manners,” Amuro coos.
“Amuro, fuck me or I swear to god.”
“I am fucking you, aren't I?” Amuro asks, the picture of innocence punctuated with another methodical roll of his hips.
“Amuro,” ah, that's nice - he's close to begging, voice shaking around the words. “Amuro, god. It's not enough, I need- fuck.”
“Greedy, aren't you?” Amuro admonishes.
“Please,” there it is - Char's voice cracks around the word, going high for a moment. “Please, please - I need you. All of you. Please.”
And Char really does look somewhere near broken when he manages to force the words out. His hips are still giving those weak little rocks back against Amuro, growing more desperate by the second, but resigned to the pace being in Amuro's hands. His eyes glisten where they peek out from under his arm, crystal blue and clear, unshed tears threatening to fall.
Poor thing, he really does need it.
“Okay,” Amuro acquiesces, “you've been so good. You've been such a good boy for me, so I’ll give you what you need.”
He leans down, kissing Char all tender and sweet even as he bends the man nearly in half with that leg still over his shoulder.
Amuro digs his fingers hard into Char's hips as he pulls out and slams back into Char's body. He kisses Char through the cry that he lets out, finally, finally given what he needs.
They don't last long after that, Amuro setting a brutal pace that has Char throwing a hand behind himself to brace against the headboard. He moans, open and filthy, as he uses this new grip to get leverage, pushing back into Amuro, his other hand fisting tightly into Amuro's hair and pulling them ever closer together.
Sensations bleed in the limited space between them, Char's pleasure becoming Amuro's own and his own becoming Char's in turn. The friction of Amuro's stomach fleetingly brushing against the head of Char's weeping, desperate cock - along with the now relentless force of Amuro's hips - is enough to push Char over the edge. He comes hard against Amuro's stomach and chest, and the feeling of him tightening is enough to make Amuro follow him soon after. He'd follow Char anywhere, if he led him like that.
When his vision stops spotting, Amuro finds he's slumped against Char's sweaty body, pressing him into the mattress. Amuro's head rests against the other man's heaving chest, Char's hands now twined together in his hair.
He has just enough time to catch his breath before Char gives a little jerk of his hips and whimpers, cum leaking out of him around Amuro's softening cock. Char's own cock is pressed, still stubbornly half hard, between their bodies. Amuro can't help but let out a chuckle, hot breath tickling the skin of Char's breasts.
“You really are a greedy thing,” Amuro tells him. Char tries to squeeze around him again, goading him on. “And I thought you were supposed to be playing the role of servicing me.”
Amuro rolls his hips shallowly, the sensation more overwhelming than pleasurable. But it has Char choking on his own spit and begging sweet nothings, so he can bear it for just a little longer.
Bringing Char's leg off his shoulder, Amuro stretches it out on the bed instead, watching raptly as Char's toes curl at the shift in angle. Amuro mouths at Char's chest, wet, before breathing hotly against a nipple. Char tilts his head down to look at him, pupils blown, absolutely out of it. Under his gaze, Amuro runs his hand through Char's cum, gathered in the valley of his stomach, then wraps his newly wet palm around Char's aching cock.
“Be a good boy and squeeze down,” Amuro directs, spreading his own legs and planting his knees into the bed, “hard as you can.”
Then, when Char follows his instructions, Amuro pistons his hips into Char as quickly as he can stand, matching the pace with his slick fist around Char's cock. Char goes as taut as a bowstring underneath him, back arching off the bed, breath hitching, gasping and sobbing, as his body is forced towards another climax.
When Amuro bites down over his nipple and sucks for all he's worth, Char shouts and stills under him. His nails scrape painfully against Amuro's scalp, holding him there as Char shudders through a second orgasm, spilling over Amuro's fingers.
Amuro uses it as extra lubrication and keeps stroking, mercilessly milking whatever he can out of Char until the other slaps a clumsy hand over his fist, fumbling, forcing him to stop.
Lowering Char to the bed, Amuro slips out of him, his own cock long soft by now. Char shudders once more underneath him, then pulls Amuro down into a crushing hug despite his protests of it being sticky.
“Too late for that now,” Char relies, and Amuro can hear the grin in his absolutely shot voice. “Least you never have to clean these sheets again.”
“Never did in the first place,” Amuro admits.
Char laughs at that. Then, he presses his nose to Amuro's neck and takes a deep, long satisfied breath.
“After that, let's hope we're both able to wake up on time tomorrow.”