Title: Running Deep: Continuation of “Still Waters” (Aka: “the bath fic”; “the snippet fic”; and “the qwikki ficci”)
Author: Reverand Maynard
Warnings: 6x13; Lemony
Disclaimer: Not Mine.

NOTES: This started out as a very short fic and was not meant to progress. After that it was written in very small section so any choppiness in the writing is due to that . . . or just that I’m a bad writer. ^ ^

It’s not often that a General, particularly during wartime, has the time or opportunity to lay with his lover, soaking in hot water and rose oil, and have himself washed . . . all without lifting his trigger finger. But for the General Khushrenada, such was how the evening had progressed.

“I never realized you had so many freckles across your back,” Zechs commented as he rinsed the last of the soap from the General’s speckled shoulders, squeezing water from a fat sponge.

“I daresay it’s not often that you’re back there,” Treize replied with a sly smile, running his hands along the wet legs that engulfed him.

“It’s a pity really . . . they’re quite lovely.” Zechs had put the sponge aside and leaned forward to kiss a few of the spots in question that peppered his neck and shoulders. After they had finally managed to divest Treize of the last of his clothes, Zechs had run fresh water to replace their cooling supply and now the bath was as hot as it had been and equally as fragrant. He hugged the General’s waist and relinquished his kissing, laying a cheek to his back instead.



Zechs was silent.


“Will you let me make love to you?”

The question came amongst the tinkling sounds of the water as Treize played in it. Yes, he, General of the Oz forces, was playing in his bath water, listening to the crisp and musical chiming of it as it rippled through his fingers, watching it sway the pale and barely-there hairs along Zechs’s legs. His posture was a slouch by just the faintest of degrees, something he did with such irregularity it was beginning to make his back ache, but Zechs’s gentle ministrations had all but made him spineless.

Now . . . there was this question.

“Are my freckles truly that alluring?”

He could feel Zechs smile against his back, “Yes . . . every inch of you.”

“Flattery is unbecoming of a soldier.”

“Then I resign.”

“Oh Milliard,” Treize winced, “don’t even joke about such things.”

The man behind him went quiet. Treize thought perhaps he’d taken him seriously, “I was joking as well, Mill-” he stopped himself. Sometimes even Generals slipped.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No,” Zechs interrupted him, “It’s quite all right. I should have ignored it.”

Treize reached a dripping and mildly wrinkled hand to tangle in the blond head resting so close to his own. “We’ve known each other a very long time, haven’t we?”

Zechs’s response was a while in coming, and Treize knew, whatever the answer, it would be an understatement, “Yes . . .”

The General brought a few of the shimmering strands into his field of vision. So beautiful . . .

“May I wash your hair?”

This answer was abrupt and definite, “No.”

“Well that was rather harsh don’t you think? And why not, exactly?”

Zechs sat up taking his hair from the General’s fingers and pulled the length behind him protectively. Treize had to catch himself to keep from falling backward.

“Because you’ll have it all mussed, and I bathed before you arrived. It’s already been washed.”

“You do not trust me with such things?” Treize almost sounded hurt as he turned awkwardly to regard his lover.

“There are things you do not trust me with. As well, it is a matter of experience. In all my years I’ve never known you to have long hair. You wouldn’t know how best to deal with it.”

Treize sighed idly and turned from Zechs’s serious face. He stood from the hot water then, and reached to a nearby rack for a towel. He dried his hair a little first (which Zechs had washed with no complaints on either’s part) and then stepped out of the bath and wrapped the cloth around his waist.
Finally, his reply came, quiet and small as he left the other man to the cooling bath water, “The same can be said for my hesitance in other matters.”

He moved about the room in silence after that, completing his nightly rituals, brushing his teeth, combing his hair, and other such mundane tasks. He felt somewhat irritated with himself for exiting the bath as he had. Really, it was childish of him. But his words had been true and he did not regret their having been said.

It was not until he had finished in the bathroom and made his way into the bedroom--not once looking back to the man in the bath--that he heard the drain catch released, followed by the deep and hollow sound of swirling water. He then heard other sounds of stirring and dripping, and though he could not see it, he imagined Zechs stepping out of the bath once again and that familiar, cat-like hunger was pouncing upon him. He would have to make amends.

Silk. Blue silk, he decided, was what the evening called for as he opened his bureau and pulled out a long pair of pajama bottoms made of precisely that. A most intense and royal blue. He let the towel fall from his waist and pulled on the garment to rest lightly at his hips. When he turned, Zechs was standing at the bathroom door in a white terry cloth bathrobe that Treize recognized as his own.

“Should I go?”

“Nonsense,” Treize remarked as he crossed to the bed and began pulling down the covers, “what gave you that idea?”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you the way I did . . . you were only asking a simple question.”

“And I should have answered yours.”

Treize was sitting on the bed now, almost an arm’s reach from where Zechs stood at the door, and smoothed lotion over his feet and hands, a habit he’d taken to since childhood. It did little for the callouses that never seemed to fade, despite the fact that he had not piloted in the last few months. But it kept them softer by degrees, something that he was certain Zechs, in particular, could appreciate.

“You don’t have to,” Zechs was saying, “answer me, I mean. It was just a foolish whim.”

Zechs looked like a penitent child, refusing to meet his gaze, choosing the safety of watching the floor instead.

“Why do you let yourself be cowed by me?”

Zechs’s perked up, a light of defiance in his eyes. Treize winced inwardly at that. He was supposed to making amends.

“I am not being cowed. I apologize when I make a mistake. If it seems I’m overly--”



“I’m sorry.” Regret was not a sentiment a General often expressed. For Treize, the task was no easier, but the look on Zechs’s face, the mild surprise, the appreciation, and a little of whatever he had seen in that gaze during their bath, lessened the chore considerably.

Zechs was standing there, just feet from him, his pretty cheeks still a little red from the heat of the water, his eyes set off by the white fabric he wore, the golden strands on his head. He had his arms crossed as he leaned on the doorjamb and he was watching Treize intently.

“I didn’t bring anything to sleep in,” Zechs began as if nothing had happened, eying the fine blue silk that graced Treize’s body, “I didn’t think it necessary.”

Treize leaned forward and reached out a hand, catching Zechs by the back of a thigh and Zechs allowed himself to be pulled closer. His hand strayed farther up and Zechs held his shoulders, looking down into eyes nearly as blue as the lovely fabric, “Who says it will be?”

“Well there must be some reason that you’re dressed,” Zechs replied, inching closer to where Treize sat.

God, but he was beautiful. It never ceased to amaze Treize how stricken he became at the mere sight of his second. Zechs’s beauty seemed ethereal, otherworldly. Even the flesh beneath his fingers, the warm and mildly damp skin of his thigh and buttocks, was so soft and yet impossibly taut with muscle, delicate but masculine. What misinformed deity had thought Treize so worthy as to send him such a thing?

“You don’t think I’m that easy, do you?”

Zechs smiled, “Certainly not. In fact, I find you most difficult.”

Treize’s idle hand moved to the robe’s belt at Zechs’s waist and pulled it loose with ease, causing the robe to fall open before him. He had heard Zechs’s reply but his concerns were elsewhere as he leaned forward, pulling Zechs to him and licked at his navel. The hands at his shoulder were in his hair now, gentle at first, holding him there. At length, as the General lathed Zechs’s abdomen with his tongue, continuing to rub his backside, those hands became more insistent and urged him downward until finally, when Treize ran a finger down the other man’s hot cleft, they were pulling at his hair, suddenly urgent.
“Treize . . .”

As if on command, the General lowered his aim until he nuzzled a soft, blond thatch of curls. Zechs’s need had been growing all the while and now nudged him beneath his chin, demanding in it’s own eager way.

“ . . . please . . .”

And Treize obliged them both.

Not that it was a chore for him. It was something he rather delighted in, the feel, the smell, the taste of Zechs in his mouth. He loved it. Perhaps not to quite the degree that he enjoyed ravaging that very same backside that he kneaded between his fingers, but the two pleasures were certainly comparable.

He nursed Zechs’s arousal for a while longer, pleased by the hungry sounds and eager swaying the other man had begun.

“Treize, I . . . stop . . .”

Treize was loathe to let the man go but necessity (his own) dictated it. He released Zechs carefully and in the same fluent movement, divested him of his robe and pulled him down atop him. The two long bodies shimmied across the blankets until Treize lay flat, hands in Zechs’s hair, and Zechs hovered above him. They kissed.

It was such a wonderful kiss, the General thought, curtained as he was in Zechs’s still-wet hair, the other man eagerly devouring his own taste from Treize’s lips. Zechs was, perhaps, being a bit more aggressive than usual, but somehow that didn’t seem to bother him. The mouth on his own was greedy and insistent, yet at the same time, the kiss was soft and so . . . so loving.

Treize caught Zechs’s face in his hands and deepened the kiss with fervor before pushing the other man away from him enough to see that crystalline gaze. Zechs was flushed and panting.

“I--” Treize began, and suddenly there was that odd pain again, the one in his chest. It was much less severe this time but it made its presence known, and it was that ache that fueled his words, “I want you by me, Zechs. I want you near me always. I will end this war and make the world right, make you mine until the end of my days, however short they be . . . and I will kill any man or woman who might try to put that asunder.”

Or at least that’s what he might have said. Instead held Zechs’s face, lost again in those deep oceans. Then Zechs shook himself free and kissed him again. This was not the time for confessions.

“Taste you . . .” Zechs purred before he began making his way down the General’s body, laying swift kisses along heated skin, his destination clear and obviously his sole objective. Seconds later and Treize felt fingers, lips at his pants line, and then the distinct sensation of a wet tongue through silk, mouthing him, outlining him, licking him through the fabric. He moaned despite himself, breath quickening, and wished for all the world he had simply remained nude.

Apparently Zechs shared his thoughts as he began pulling Treize’s pants down over his hips. Treize assisted by lifting them from the bed and moaned again as the soft fabric slid over sensitized skin. Perhaps silk had been a good idea after all.

When he lowered his hips again, things became altogether different for him.

He raised his head to look at the man between his spread legs, at his own organ that regarded him proudly, trickling a little with his excitement, and the cause for his alarm: the new angle of his lower body, caused by a stealthily placed pillow. Had he been any less a General the apprehension he felt might have shown in his gaze. Instead it was more like suspicion.


But Zechs had no reply except to kiss the juncture at his General's inner thigh, and then he moved in farther until he nuzzled a soft, warm sac. He licked one first, gently, and more careful still, with soft lips and an easy tongue, gathered the full and heavy flesh into his mouth, and began a slow suckling.

Treize's protests were gone with a low moan. Zechs knew this would make him spineless, yielding. The wet mouth massaging him . . God!, nursing him. It made him harder still and he drew his knees up and wide, feet flat on the bed, allowing Zechs better access and forgetting momentarily that he was supposed to be upset with his sneaky second. No individual in Treize's past had ever taken the time to learn this about him, his fondness for having his balls sucked, and yet Zechs-that glorious creature-had found it by instinct and pushed the advantage whenever possible.

Idle hands searched for placement as the waves of delight washed over Treize, spilling from Zechs's mouth. One was finally splayed across his own stomach, finding it a reminder to focus on reality, to not get so lost in sensation that he might never return. The other found it's way to a blond head and silky hair, petting and encouraging, then fisting when Zechs began to hum.

"Good . . ." Treize moaned and breathed more than spoke, ". . . so good." The attention lasted a long moment more before Treize felt betrayed when that mouth left him. Then long fingers wrapped around his neglected length and he found that that mouth had not gone far.

"Zechs!" His entire body tensed as a wet and wandering tongue licked gently at his divide, but the hand on his hard sex gave a gentle tug in that instant and the urge he had felt to flee was forgotten. Lord, it felt so wonderful!

"Nothing you don't want, Treize," Zechs promised between lingering licks, hot breath washing over Treize's entrance, driving him mad with the sensations he had been the maker of so often but never once received," . . . nothing you'll not enjoy."

He set about kissing Treize's backside then, deep kisses that Treize was surprised to find himself pushing into. All the while, his less than idle hand worked Treize's wet erection, his nose gently nuzzling his sensitive sac and Treize was nearly delirious.

This was insanity, this ecstasy. Treize couldn't believe himself--moaning and trembling, eagerly wanton, and worse yet . . . beneath. He was no young cadet for the taking, no inexperienced recruit ready for a tumble with one of the higher ups. He was a General. He was in control. He was control.

Treize was coasting the edge, walking a cliff that begged him to fly off its rocky face. The slick hand swiftly milking his need, the hot mouth driving him mad, they coaxed him well . . . but he was never one for jumping.

Zechs made a startled sound when the hand in his hair reached under his chin and pulled his face away from the exquisite taste of his General. Another hand caught his wrist where he gripped Treize and hauled him up by it until he was suddenly lying atop the Treize again, their hot bodies so right against each other. Another breath and he was half-pinned beneath the larger man, cinnamon hairs tickling his chest where Treize held him, moved against him, Treize's arousal hard against his hip and so near his own. Had he lost this battle?

"Ask me again," Treize commanded and kissed Zechs's swollen lips, his throat, running hands along his thighs and up to cup his balls, stroke his erection. Treize was suddenly everywhere at once.

"Pardon?" Zechs asked, a little shock and much pleasure flushing his cheeks.

"Ask me again," Treize panted, hearing the hint of desperation in his own voice and he teased Zechs with a little more hoping the other man wouldn't, " . . . and I promise . . . I'll say yes."

Continued in: 'In the Wake'