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“Have you seen where Amuro went?”
The young Karaba member who is unfortunate enough to be the one Beltorchika singles out as she storms through the halls in search of Amuro Ray freezes at the sound of the question, nearly dropping everything in his arms.
“Ah— s-sorry, ma’am, what was the question?” he asks, stuttering as he tries to gather up everything he had just almost dumped all over the floor.
Beltorchika stands in front of him, her hands on her hips and an unpleasant expression on her face. Maybe she wouldn’t be so annoyed if she hadn’t been searching everywhere for Amuro for the last hour, but since there’s no sign of the infamous Gundam pilot, she’s starting to get severely frustrated.
It’s not like him to just wander off somewhere and not tell me where he’s going, she thinks to herself, although half the time the only reason he’s so open about it is because she pesters him until he’ll say it. Then again, he also knows that if she has to wander everywhere to find him, either she’s going to be very annoyed with him by the time she does or she’s going to get herself into trouble somewhere along the way, so he really should know better regardless.
“I, uh— I haven’t personally seen him today, ma’am,” the young man offers, and then immediately tries to flee the situation, but Beltorchika slaps a hand on his shoulder to stop him from going anywhere.
Even if his response weren’t a totally obvious and suspicious non-answer, the way he’s stuttering and carefully avoiding her gaze would make it completely obvious that he’s hiding something from her.
“Oh?” She’s annoyed enough that she can’t even manage to sound fake nice, the way she usually tries to when she’s dealing with people she thinks can give her what she wants. “Then have you heard about where he is? Because it’s very important that I find him, and I’m starting to run out of patience.”
She can see in the young man’s face, the debate between keeping whatever secret he’s decided to keep and making her annoyed with him directly instead of with Amuro and the rest of the world.
It feels like a small eternity before he comes to a conclusion, and clears his throat.
“I-I think Lieutenant Quattro wanted to see him,” he says, swallowing heavily and refusing to look at her as he does, holding his nearly dropped paperwork close to his chest like he’s holding onto it for comfort. “Th-they went to one of the conference rooms…”
Beltorchika smiles in triumph at getting what she wants, and pretends to be brushing off imaginary dust from the young Karaba officer’s shoulder.
“Thanks for your help,” she says with fake gratitude, before brushing past the young man and heading in the direction of the mentioned conference rooms.
She can only hope that Amuro is still there when she gets there— and she fully intends to give him a piece of her mind for making her run all over looking for him all this time.
It takes a while for Beltorchika to find the conference rooms— no one is very forthcoming with her, and by the time she gets there, she can’t help but feel like she’s being completely yanked around by everyone.
Why else would they all be refusing to give her a straight answer, trying to dodge every question, as if they’re all deliberately trying to keep her from finding Amuro. What is this, some kind of conspiracy to keep them apart?
She’s so sure that by the time she actually manages to get there, Amuro will be long gone and she’ll have wasted all of her time for nothing— but as soon as she rounds the corner and finds the hallway filled with surprisingly well-hidden conference rooms, she hears a pair of muffled voices that are still loud enough to be heard from down the hall, and one of them is unmistakably Amuro’s.
Suddenly feeling that much brighter, although she’s still very much annoyed and her good mood will probably only last until she actually sees Amuro and can give him a proper piece of her mind, she trots in the direction of the conference room at the far end of the hallway— and only once she gets close does she pause.
Not because she’s suddenly changed her mind, but because when she gets closer, it’s easier for her to hear the voices coming from the room— and make out what they’re saying.
“I’m just saying I was surprised, that’s all.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“What? You’re not happy to see me?”
“It’s not like that.”
Beltorchika stops in her tracks only a few steps away from the door she had just been about to barge through, demanding to know why Amuro has been hiding from her. When she hears what the two voices are saying, though, it gives her pause.
Amuro’s voice is most definitely one of them, she would be able to identify it in her sleep. The other one definitely sounds like Lieutenant Quattro, which makes sense, considering what her first interrogation victim had told her.
The only thing she can’t figure out is…
What are the two of them having such a passionate conversation about?
It doesn’t sound like a full-blown argument, but the tension is so thick you could cut it with a knife. Part of her wants to barge right in there anyway just to put a stop to it before the two of them end up in a real argument. Considering their identities and everything that’s happened between the two of them so far, even though they seem to be getting along pretty well, it’s not hard to imagine things escalating quickly between the two of them.
On the other hand… It would be rude to barge in when they’re clearly talking about something important. So maybe it would be for the best if she didn’t.
Beltorchika decides to compromise; she isn’t going to barge in there to interrupt the two of them, she’s just going to hang back and listen and make sure that things don’t escalate to the point of violence.
That’s the responsible thing for her to do, isn’t it? It’s not creepy at all for her to creep up towards the door and press her ear to it as slowly and carefully as she can without alerting anyone inside to the fact that she’s out there. In fact, it would be irresponsible of her not to do this; Amuro can be such a hothead sometimes that, as his girlfriend, it’s her job to make sure he doesn’t do something stupid that he’s going to end up regretting later.
And if there’s the tiniest gap in the frosting on the window that allows her to peek through it and get a decent view of the room without giving herself away, as long as she ducks her head so her shadow isn’t visible in the window, then…
That’s also just being responsible.
The inside of the room looks about like what she was expecting. A long table with some mismatched chairs that have been haphazardly pushed into various positions, a couple of windows with the blinds half-drawn, bathing the room in an orange glow from the sunset light outside of them. It makes everything dark and yet bright at the same time, giving it an eerie, almost ghostly feeling.
Amuro is standing, leaning back against the table with his arms crossed and one leg lifted to balance against one of the supports of the table. The look on his face is more like a pout than anything else, but that might have more to do with the fact that he’s always adorable even when he’s angry, rather than having anything to do with how angry he is.
Quattro, on the other hand, is standing by one of the windows, the only one that has the blind fully pulled up so he can peer out of it. He’s looking away from the door, so she can’t see his face, but his usual sunglasses are absent; she can see them sitting on the table next to Amuro.
“You really think you’re not just running away again?”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
“You make it sound like I had a choice.”
“I didn’t exactly have one, either.”
Just from what little Bel has heard, she can tell the conversation is going nowhere fast. In fact, she wonders if the two of them have been going back and forth like this the entire time, long enough for her to have spent all of this time looking for Amuro and the two of them to still be here like this.
Like some kind of tragic play where people keep making the same mistakes over and over again.
It’s Quattro who gives in first.
“You know…” He sighs, the kind of deep sigh that comes from the back of the lungs and makes a person sound truly exhausted. Not just tired like they haven’t slept well or the way they might feel after a long day of work, but the way a person can only feel when life is pressing down on them like a heavy boulder all of the time.
Personally, Beltorchika thinks Amuro deserves to sound like that rather than Quattro, but she’s starting to get very fascinated by what the two of them might be talking about now.
“Sometimes I wonder if we would be like this if she hadn’t—”
“Don’t.”
Amuro’s word— singular— is spat like poison, startling Beltorchika enough that she almost jumps, which surely would give away the fact that she’s eavesdropping (even if it’s for a good reason).
Quattro doesn’t seem fazed by Amuro’s harsh tone. Bel watches him turn away from the window, and there’s a smile on his face— but even through the tiny opening that she gets to see into the room, she can tell it’s not a real smile.
It doesn’t go all the way to his blue eyes, for one. And the muscles in his face look tense, drawn tight, not loose like they would if he were happy.
“Why not? You don’t want to address the elephant in the room?”
“Quit it, Char.”
“I left that name behind me.”
“You don’t get to cling to some parts of the past and just throw away others.”
“Do you expect me to just throw her away, then? Forget what happened?”
“That’s not what I—”
“That’s what it sounded like to me.”
In the span of a blink, Quattro turns on his heel and advances on Amuro, slamming his hands down on either side of him on the conference table. Beltorchika’s eyes widen and she has to stifle a gasp, along with her desire to charge in there and put a stop to this.
Amuro can handle himself, she reminds herself. And Lieutenant Quattro isn’t going to do anything to him. They’re just having an argument. Amuro is a big boy who has to solve his own problems. If he can’t do that, then he’s no better than a child.
After all, as much as she wants to be the one to be able to solve all of his problems for him, she also hates weak-willed men who have to hide behind others.
Amuro looks shocked for a moment as well, but he recovers easily enough. He and Quattro glare at each other, their faces painfully close. They can probably feel the heat of each other’s breath like this.
“I didn’t ask you here because I want to fight.”
“Then why do you keep insisting on it?”
“I’m not. But it sounds to me like you’re the one who’s really trying to run away. From what, I wonder? Your guilt?”
Amuro’s hand tightens into a shaking fist. His jaw clenches so hard that the muscle in his neck stands out. He’s barely holding himself back from starting something then and there.
“We both played our part.” His voice shakes with anger just like his fist does, but he still manages to speak clearly. He doesn't avert his eyes from Quattro’s. The two of them don't even seem to blink as they stare at each other, like both of them are waiting for the other to make the first move.
It's Quattro who does, but that move isn't violent. If anything, the way he reaches up to push Amuro's hair back and away from his face is almost tender, with the kind of familiarity that makes Beltorchika’s stomach flip and flop in an unpleasant way.
Unfortunately for Quattro, it doesn't matter that he's not using violence. Even such a small, insignificant move is enough to make Amuro’s last thread of patience snap, and like a dog whose growls of warning have gone completely unheeded, he doesn't bother to give another one.
He grabs Quattro by the collar of his sleeveless jacket and surges forward. Caught off guard, Quattro can do nothing to stop Amuro from slamming him against the window he had just been staring out of, making the glass rattle in the frame.
“Why?” Amuro growls, but there's a wobble in his voice that sounds less angry, more uncertain— maybe even upset. “Why now? Why did it have to be you?”
Quattro doesn't have an answer to that. Maybe he's just as confused as to what Amuro is asking as Bel is, but she has a funny feeling that isn't the case.
Especially when his face falls, making him look just as tired as his sigh had made him sound.
Quattro doesn't do anything to loosen Amuro’s grip on his vest, and instead reaches out to grab Amuro’s jacket in a similar fashion. The two of them holding onto each other like that makes for quite the sight, and again the two of them stare harshly into each other's eyes, like they're trying to glare into each other's souls— or speaking without a word passing between the two of them.
It feels like an eternity before either of them does something else, even though it's realistically only a few seconds, a handful of heartbeats.
This time, it's Lieutenant Quattro’s turn to go on the attack, his face screwing up in agitation as he shoves Amuro backwards towards the table. Amuro lets out a startled cry even though something like that shouldn't catch him by surprise, and Quattro, with the height and weight he has on Amuro, has no problem not only pushing him back towards the table, but pushing him onto it.
The table hits the back of Amuro’s thighs and Quattro’s insistent shove keeps him going back in spite of that, the scrape of the table’s feet against the floor making her flinch from the sound. Amuro lets out a strangled noise as Quattro slams one of his palms down on the table next to his head.
This is the moment that Beltorchika really thinks she should intervene, even if Amuro will be upset with her for eavesdropping. The last thing they need is to be in-fighting right now, even if the two men have the kind of history together that could only ever lead to this kind of brawl.
But while she’s still grappling with whether to put a stop to this or whether to avoid revealing her trickery to Amuro, something unexpected happens.
Amuro reaches up to once again grab the front of Quattro’s vest, but instead of shoving him off or escalating the fight further—
He pulls him in towards him.
What looks like it might be an attempted headbutt at first instead turns out to be a sloppy kiss— one that amounts to little more than Amuro mashing his lips against Quattro’s with just as much anger as his glare and venomous words had been carrying before, but this time, put to a very different use.
Beltorchika gasps, slapping her hand over her mouth a fraction of a second too late to be able to fully muffle the noise of shock, though the two men inside the conference room are far too absorbed in each other to notice something so small.
In fact, even though Quattro tenses up when Amuro’s lips meet his aggressively, there's nothing like shock from him. He does nothing to pull away from Amuro, not even by instinct; if anything, he leans into it, and is rewarded for it by the way Amuro’s legs wrap loosely around him.
Beltorchika feels something hot and acidic rising up from the pit of her stomach, crawling up her throat, making her feel like she’s going to be sick. Her hands are shaking, but even though she feels like she’s going to throw up, she can’t force herself to look away.
In fact, it feels like her eyes are completely glued to what she’s seeing. Even though she only has a small space to see through without being immediately spotted, she loses all concern about the two of them seeing her.
Not only because she feels like she needs to see what’s going on at any cost, but because— and this makes her feel even more sick to admit— it looks like the two of them are so wrapped up in each other there’s no way they would ever notice her standing there.
Their passionate make out session on top of the conference room table definitely isn’t the sort of thing you see in movies. It’s rough, giving the impression that neither of them really knows what they’re doing, or at the very least they’re both out of practice. None of that does anything to stop the two of them, though.
If anything, the fact that it’s awkward, with noses bumping uncomfortably against each other and teeth clacking from too much enthusiasm, makes all of it seem that much more… Real. Real enough to make Beltorchika realize that, although she had been aware that there was so much more to Amuro’s past than the stories about him told, and than he’s told her the times she’s pushed him to reveal more about himself, she really hasn’t even begun to unearth the depths of the life he lived during the One Year War.
Eventually, Quattro and Amuro have to separate, because the two of them still need to be able to breathe. The actual, audible gasp both men let out as they pull away, like they had truly waited until the last moment to separate before their lungs had started to burn from a lack of oxygen, does nothing to help the jealousy that’s bubbling up inside of her.
“Are you sure about this?” Quattro asks, his bright blue eyes darting up and down, looking down the full length of Amuro’s body as he lay across the table with his legs hanging over the edge. “Aren’t you… Spoken for?”
Amuro makes a noise. Beltorchika feels downright offended at how non-committal it sounds. She’s even more offended by the way Amuro tosses his head back and forth, too wild to be a direct shake of the head ‘no’, but the message still manages to carry through.
“Don’t think about that right now,” Amuro mutters, pressing his hands to Quattro’s shoulders and pushing him back— not attempting to shove him away, just encouraging him to move so he can reach down and unzip his pants.
If there were ever a more ideal moment for Beltorchika to make up her mind about whether to barge in or leave, she can’t imagine one. On the one hand, she’s angry. She’s watching Amuro cheat on her right in front of her— sure, the two of them haven’t said anything totally committal to each other yet, but being at war makes it hard to have that kind of conversation, and Amuro should at least know enough to understand a woman’s feelings about that sort of thing!
She should march right in there and scream her head off at him, ask him how he could dare to do something like this to her, cry and call him every terrible name in the book. Maybe that would make him think twice about messing with a woman’s heart like that again, especially since it’s obvious that everyone else knew what was going on— why else would they have all tried to keep her from going to find Amuro?
On the other hand…
She’s so upset that she doesn’t want to see any more of it. She wants to find some quiet, dark space to cry her eyes out until they’re so red and puffy she can hardly see through them anymore. She wants to curl up in a tiny ball and just disappear.
Caught between anger and sadness, Beltorchika ends up doing neither of those things— instead she finds herself rooted in place, like she’s watching a slow-motion train wreck happening right in front of her, too horrified to even be able to look away.
Inside the conference room, there are a lot of conflicting thoughts and feelings going on, but none of them have anything to do with Beltorchika. Even Char’s question to Amuro had been brushed off as if the woman meant nothing to him.
Amuro doesn’t seem like the kind of person to be so brusque about something like that, but Beltorchika has been so forceful with him from the beginning that it’s not hard to imagine why he would be put off by it. Why he might need a bit of an escape.
Things between the two of them are so complicated that this tryst doesn’t feel like the kind of no strings attached encounter someone looking for that kind of escape might want, but it’s not really any of Char’s business.
Amuro is an adult who can do what he wants. And what he wants, apparently, is to lure Char into throwing him down onto a table.
Who is he to say no?
While Amuro struggles to undress himself, Char takes his time. He’s not the one lying at an awkward angle, and he knows he would just get an earful from Amuro about him being able to do it himself.
He doesn’t undress himself completely, because it would be pointless in this kind of situation. This isn’t some loving encounter; it’s meant to be quick and dirty, in the kind of place where anyone could walk in on them at any moment. The door isn’t even locked. Char has no idea if it can even lock.
He’s not going to bother to check.
Instead he shoves his pants and boxers down just far enough to expose himself, taking his cock in hand and stroking himself a few times. He’s already half-hard just from the passionate kiss the two of them have shared, and he gets himself the rest of the way easily enough.
Especially when Amuro finally manages to get his own pants and underwear shoved far enough down his legs to expose himself, revealing the leaking slit between his legs that’s already red and puffy like he’s not just aroused he’s angrily aroused.
Char wonders if he’d already started getting worked up in the middle of their argument before, if that was why Amuro kept trying to push him again and again. Well, he can’t deny the same for himself, so it’s not as though he can judge him for something like that.
Having the two of them sharing the same room, being able to banter back and forth, is something he had never expected to happen if he’s being honest. After Amuro had disappeared from the theatre of war following his victory against him, it had seemed like their differences meant they were destined to be apart.
Of course, that was assuming there weren’t higher powers at play, drawing them back together. That’s the only explanation Char can think of for why everything lined up so perfectly to bring them crashing back together like this, with the benefit of time and distance on both sides to make them a little more clear-headed.
Well, as clear-headed as two men like them can ever truly be, especially considering the circumstances that had brought them together in the first place— and every moment after that which had pulled them back together to clash time and time again.
“Hey, are you just gonna stand there and stare this whole time, or what?” Amuro sounds annoyed with his words, but his face tells another story— the blush and slight pout lend themselves more to embarrassment.
Well, he does have his pants down in the middle of a public space, but Char is the same way, so it’s not like he’s alone in that.
“Sorry,” he says, not really sorry at all, in fact far more interested in looking Amuro up and down and taking his time with it. “Just… Lost in thought.”
“We don’t have all day. Someone is going to come looking for one of us eventually,” Amuro reminds him, and even though he knows he’s only being hurried along because Amuro is embarrassed about the way he’s staring at his naked lower half, he can’t exactly disagree with him.
If they want to do this, their time is limited. And Char most definitely wants to do this.
He reaches out and plants his hands on Amuro’s hips. The way he’s lying now, on his back, isn’t the most convenient position— and Char has an easy way of fixing that.
With hardly any effort, he grips him and flips him over. Amuro lets out a sharp, harsh cry, which makes Char smirk.
He wishes he had the time to be able to take Amuro completely apart. He can picture it in his mind— Amuro, shaking and drooling, eyes rolled into the back of his head, every ounce of attitude drained out of him as he’s driven to the absolute limit of what his body can take. Of course, he would like a more intimate setting for something like that— although the idea of doing that somewhere even more public, where people would be able to see the two of them without even having to go looking, is appealing in its own right.
In the logical part of Char’s mind, he knows that he really doesn’t have any claim over the man under him right now. They had been enemies, rivals, and pulled together by the woman they both loved, in a way that still haunts both of them, that leaves Char lying awake in the dead of night even as sleep tries to drag him down and his body is so exhausted he can barely move, because he knows that when he falls asleep he’s going to see her in his dreams.
It’s not so much the idea of being haunted by images of her death that frightens him; he still sees that even in his waking hours sometimes, especially when he’s behind the controls of his mobile suit, the war flashbacks pushed into the back of his mind only by his singular focus on the battle in front of him, like a TV playing in the background with the sound just loud enough to be heard but to distorted to make out what’s being said.
No, it’s the idea that if he sees her in his dreams when he falls asleep at night, he’s never going to want to wake up again.
Is it the same for Amuro? Char hasn’t asked and doesn’t think that he needs to, although it does make him wonder how he’s been able to stand living such a quiet life for so long, because if he were left to only his own thoughts for so long, he’s certain he never would have made it.
Amuro glares up at him from where he’s on the table, but the effect is softened— enough to make Char chuckle a little— by the half-lidded eyes and blush high on his cheeks that makes it clear that, regardless of how displeased he might be with Char’s actions, it doesn’t stop him from needing exactly what’s on offer.
No— not just needing. Demanding.
He might not have the kind of claim on him that he wants, but with the limited amount of time they have, he’s not going to waste it.
He plants one hand on Amuro’s hip, digging his fingers in, hoping that he’ll at least be able to leave some bruises that Amuro will be thinking about as they start to fade into that sickly yellow-green colour before eventually fading. With his other hand, he lines himself up, pressing the head of his cock against Amuro’s wet slit.
There’s no time for preparation, not if they want to do this before anyone gets suspicious about what the two of them have been doing ‘talking’ for so long. But Char is okay with that. No, not only is he okay with that— it makes him throb as he runs the head of his cock teasingly along the length of Amuro’s slit, knowing that Amuro is going to be able to feel him long after the two of them have finished.
It seems like Amuro is of a similar mind, although he’s probably not thinking quite so poetically. No, he looks downright annoyed and impatient as he glares at him over his shoulder, even sticking his foot out to try to deliver a backwards kick to his shin that Char manages to dodge.
“Hurry up already,” Amuro mutters angrily at him, getting more and more like an annoyed cat with every passing moment, and is Char going to deny him?
No, not this time.
Instead he gives him exactly what he’s asking for.
When he shoves himself into Amuro, it’s with no warning. If he wants him to hurry, then that should be the least of his concerns, right?
Of course, Amuro lets out a sharp gasp that only doesn’t become a cry because he slaps his hand over his own mouth. It seems like he’s becoming more aware of just how loud he is, and is worried enough about people hearing them to bother with stifling himself.
Char would be lying if he said he weren’t a little disappointed, but he’s had plenty of time to grow up since he last saw Amuro, and he understands that sometimes you have to make sacrifices to get what you want, even if it makes it a bit less satisfying in the end.
It’s not like he could be unhappy with the way Amuro’s body is wrapped around him, hot and wet and tight. He can feel the way Amuro is trembling under him even if Amuro is doing his best to hide it, not to show weakness.
Is that his pride, or his ego? Either way, Char finds it adorable, but he’ll spare Amuro’s feelings by keeping that thought to himself.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” He isn’t above teasing him, though. They’re on the same side now, but that competitive spirit isn’t going to go away any time soon— even if he has to use all of his focus to keep his voice from straining and cracking at how good he feels, just to make sure Amuro thinks he’s the one winning at the moment.
He supposes he is, in a way. He gets to be buried inside of Amuro. He considers that a victory in its own right.
“You’re an ass,” Amuro growls at him, but he can’t stop his voice from cracking in the middle of his sentence. “If you’re so proud of yourself, then move already.”
“As you command,” Char says, sounding as smug as ever and fully willing to give Amuro the full asshole experience if that’s what he wants, having more fun than he can remember having in a long time.
It’s sure to be short-lived, not only because of the fact that people will come looking for them before long but because it’s not the time or the place to be worrying about having fun. Not with everything that’s at stake.
But all work and no play doesn’t make for a very effective soldier, now does it?
Char grips Amuro’s hips in both of his hands, pulling out of him until only the head of his cock is still nestled in Amuro’s body before slamming back in. It’s a hard enough thrust to bump Amuro hard against the table and make the legs squeak against the floor.
Evidently, in spite of his glares, that’s what Amuro wants now that he’s prepared for it. He lets out another cry that he muffles by burying his face in the table and stuffing his mouth with his own shirt. Char buries his own disappointment in not getting to hear Amuro’s uninterrupted cries as he fucks him by becoming completely absorbed in the sensations themselves, trying to memorize every inch of Amuro’s insides as he slams into him over and over again, swallowing back his own grunts and any other more embarrassing noises that might try to come out.
Some of them might escape in spite of himself, and Amuro answers with similar noises muffled by his arms, and Char thinks that perhaps letting himself slip a little in front of Amuro might not be such a bad thing.
Not anymore, at least.
Whatever sounds the two of them might be making are easily swallowed up by the echoing wet noises coming from their joined bodies. The slap of his hips against Amuro’s ass that's turning his skin a delightful shade of red, a sure sign that Amuro is going to be left with a limping reminder of what the two of them have done for at least a day if not more. The air quickly fills with the heat and moisture and smell of sex; even if the two of them are long gone by the time anyone else comes to this conference room, the smell alone is sure to give away what's happened in it.
Char knows that he isn't going to last long. It's not like he does this sort of thing often. It makes him wonder if Amuro does, and that thought alone is enough to make him see his signature colour flashing before his eyes, driving him to plow Amuro so hard against the table that the edge of it is sure to leave bruises against his thighs.
Amuro doesn't complain. Doesn't give him an over-the-shoulder glare or lecture him about being too rough with him when they both know he needs to be in as peak condition as he can manage given the circumstances. He just drools against the table and moans at the feeling of being taken apart by Char, sounds of pleasure he’ll probably try to deny making later to save his pride, but that won’t stop Char from committing them to memory.
Going back into space is going to be a long, lonely journey, after all, and who knows when the two of them will have the chance to collide like this again?
When he folds himself over Amuro’s back, that’s when both men know this is coming to an end quicker than either of them would have liked, but that’s probably for the best. Char wishes he could feel the heat of Amuro’s skin through his jacket, but he settles instead for burying his nose against the back of Amuro’s neck, feeling just how hot his skin is thanks to what the two of them are doing.
He fights with his own urge to run his tongue along the skin there, to lick the sweat from the back of Amuro’s neck. He almost manages to ignore that urge, but something powerful overtakes him— maybe the thought once again that they could go their separate ways from here and not see each other for years, or perhaps ever again if one of them were to fall in the war.
Or perhaps it’s the little voice in the back of his mind, the one that truly does not belong to him, the sweet tones he remembers so clearly in spite of the fact that it’s been so long since he’s had a chance to truly hear them.
Of course, that would be simplifying things too much. It’s not that he hasn’t heard her voice. It’s not that he’s forgotten anything about it, nor has he just dreamed about it, keeping it alive in his memories. But there are times when it’s further away than others, and right now…
Right now, not only can he hear her words as clear as a bell, he can practically feel her breath on the shell of his ear, her gentle hands on his shoulders. In spite of her demeanour of innocence, there’s nothing innocent in the words she whispers to him.
Perhaps it really is just his imagination. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t been this close to Amuro Ray in so long that things seem that much more clear, that much more keen.
But whether it’s truth or just a fiction cooked up by his already scrambled mind in the midst of an intimate fog, it doesn’t change the fact that he can hear Lalah Sune’s voice urging him on to leave his mark on Amuro— connecting the two of them even more than they already are.
Char licks across the back of Amuro’s neck, feeling the other man shudder under him, feeling him clench around him as he does, and that makes something else inside of him snap— something that drives him to open his mouth, his teeth brushing against the sensitive skin there before he clamps down, hard.
Amuro cries out, a sound not swallowed up by his folded arms because of how purely caught off guard he is, but it’s not just a noise of shock or pleasure this time. Both of those things are mixed in, but it’s a noise of pain above all else, as Char’s teeth bite into the back of his neck hard enough to leave a bruise.
The voice in the back of his mind that does actually belong to him tells him to bite even harder, to break the skin, but he can think of a dozen reasons why that would be a bad idea. Instead he worries his teeth, settling for leaving a bruise that his hair and his collar won’t be able to cover.
Just one more reminder that will linger long after their encounter has come to an end, and something Amuro will be left thinking about even when the two of them are far away from each other.
Perhaps that’s Lalah’s influence, or perhaps he’s just been thinking about it for too long.
The way Amuro clenches around him as soon as his teeth meet his skin feels painfully constricting in the best way. It makes Char lose his rhythm, trying is damnedest to hold on to his own pleasure, trying to drag things out as long as possible even while driving himself into Amuro like he can’t stop himself, which he’s sure at this point that he can’t.
The two of them have come this far, after all; there’s no turning back.
And then, Amuro lets out a keen, an animal sound that escapes in spite of his best intentions holding it back, and the clench around him somehow gets even tighter, Amuro’s body strangling him and trying to hold him inside of him like he never wants to let him go even though they both know they need to go their separate ways once again.
It’s for the best, anyway. Their reunion seems like a good thing now, but it’s barely been days and they’re already at each other’s throats, the tension only broken by falling into sex, like their bodies can make their brains forget everything that exists between them.
The strangling grip of Amuro’s cunt around him is too much for him to handle this time, especially as Amuro shakes apart under him, his orgasm piercing through the defences of both ego and pride and leaving him showing Char the most vulnerable parts of himself in spite of himself.
Char is almost glad that Amuro can’t see his face like this, because he feels naked and vulnerable with his eyes exposed, even more than he would with his actual clothes removed.
When he comes, he does so as silently as he can manage, though noises manage to choke their way out past the clog he feels in his throat in spite of his best efforts. He fills Amuro with his spend, with no regard for the fact that they had fallen into this so quickly there had been no chance to even discuss the matter of protection.
The air feels impossibly still and settles around them like a sweaty blanket, as both of them pant to catch their breath. Char pulls out of Amuro almost painfully slowly, and Amuro hisses through his teeth at the feeling.
“Dammit, Char,” Amuro groans as Char’s come starts to drip from him. “How am I supposed to walk around like this?”
“I guess you’ll have to go wash up and change,” Char suggests with mild sarcasm as he points out the obvious, even though the idea of Amuro walking around with his come inside of him for an entire day almost makes him get hard again. “Don’t worry, I’ll cover for you.”
“Am I supposed to say thanks?” Amuro mutters as he stands up, wobbling as soon as he gets properly to his feet. Char catches him by the elbow to keep him from stumbling into anything, and Amuro lets out a little noise of annoyance before he reaches down to pull his pants and boxers back up, doing what little he can to keep it from being too obvious what the two of them had just done.
Char could just leave things at that. He could just do what he’d said— cover for Amuro while he slips off to get rid of the evidence of what the two of them have done. But…
As Amuro gets himself as put back together as he can manage, Char does the same, but before Amuro can turn to leave, Char reaches out to plant a hand on his shoulder and stops him from walking away.
“By the way, Amuro,” he says as he leans in close to his ear, and can’t help but feel very proud of himself when Amuro shudders at the heat of his breath so close to the shell of it. “You looked good like that… I bet Lalah thought so, too.”
Char fully expects Amuro to prickle at his words, or at the very least his smug tone of voice, but before he can get the reaction he’s looking for the two of them are startled by a loud THUMP from outside the conference room door.
Amuro jumps, while Char frowns at the door.
“Someone was—” Amuro starts to say, heading for the door as they hear loud footsteps running away at speed. Char doesn’t try to stop him, but by the time the two of them reach the door, whoever was standing outside of it is already long gone.
“It’s alright,” Char says, with the kind of confidence that can only come from a person who doesn’t really know what they’re talking about.
Amuro certainly doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t press the matter. Instead, he just walks off, looking back at Char like he expects him to follow in short order, and Char doesn’t say anything as he does exactly what Amuro expects of him.
He’s gotten exactly what he wants, after all; there’s no reason for him to keep Amuro waiting.
Beltorchika has no idea what she’s supposed to do.
How is she supposed to deal with the fact that she just watched her… Whatever Amuro is to her, get fucked over a conference room table?
Although a part of her still wants to scream at Amuro for cheating on her like this, she can’t bring herself to do it. Not only because that would mean having to admit that she had stood outside of the door peeking at what was going on in the conference room from behind the little peeled corner of the frosted glass, but because…
Because saying it out loud would mean having to admit not only to herself but to reality itself that what she just saw really happened.
So, she stays quiet. She had really messed up at the end there, when she had practically smashed her head through the door in shock when she had heard Lieutenant Quattro mention another woman’s name, although it really had been just the moment that had brought everything crashing down and made her realize that what she had just stood there watching had been in real life and not on a screen like some kind of twisted porn.
But she had run away quickly enough not to get caught, and no one had stopped her to ask her why her face was so red. She’s in the clear, as far as she can tell— as long as she can keep her mouth closed and her thoughts to herself.
She’s too confused by what she witnessed and what she heard to really be serious about confronting Amuro, anyway. She would need to put her own thoughts in order first— and she doesn’t know if she’s capable of doing that at the moment.
By the time a few hours have passed, she’s calmed down enough to be able to go about her usual duties without looking like she’s in a daze and just sort of wandering through life. She doesn’t feel right, exactly, but she’s stuffed down her own thoughts and feelings enough to be able to ignore them, even if her mind keeps trying to drift back towards her very recent and fresh memory of what she had seen in that conference room.
She’s doing the best that she can to focus on literally anything else, though.
Until she sees Amuro.
Not just Amuro, either. Amuro and Lieutenant Quattro, together.
The two of them come wandering into the hangar while she’s tending to her plane as though nothing has happened between the two of them, as though everything is perfectly normal.
Maybe for the two of them, things are normal. That just makes her already racing heart beat even faster, and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach roil and toss, like it’s trying its best to make her throw up— out of anger or nerves or a mixture of both, she can’t really say.
Normally the second Amuro stepped into a room, she would be running up to him to capture his attention before he can do anything else… But this time, she stays right where she is. Amuro is too busy talking to Quattro to be able to notice whether she’s paying attention to him or not, anyway. She doesn’t know if he even notices that she’s there.
Someone else notices, though.
When Quattro looks in her direction, Beltorchika immediately looks away and tries to pretend she wasn’t just staring at the two of them. Her face feels hot, which matches the fact that she’s no doubt burning a bright cherry red at the moment. It’s impossible for her to hide all of that, so she does her best to just focus on what she’s doing and hope that Quattro will barely take notice of her.
Unfortunately, she’s not that lucky.
When she looks back up, Amuro is nowhere to be seen, although she can still hear his voice. He’s probably been called over to take a look at his mobile suit, or to help out with some kind of engineering problem.
Quattro, on the other hand, is walking directly towards her.
Beltorchika debates running off and giving some kind of excuse for brushing him off, or maybe just taking off so quickly he doesn’t even have a chance to ask and she can pretend— however silly— that she didn’t even notice him coming towards her. But before she has a chance to put either plan into action, Quattro is upon her, standing there with his arms crossed.
He might look intimidating if he didn’t look so smug at the same time, and that makes the fear in her turn to anger.
“Is there something you need, Lieutenant?” she asks, short and clipped, barely resisting the urge to follow that up by spitting out ‘aside from my boyfriend’, because not only would that be inappropriate it would be telling on herself.
Quattro doesn’t seem to care about how rude she’s being, though. In fact, he just rests one hand on her plane, leaning against it in a way she doesn’t like, as he looks her dead in the eye— even if it’s impossible to tell that he’s doing that from behind his dark glasses.
“I just wanted to ask if you enjoyed the show— and suggest that if you want to be part of a resistance movement, you might need to work on your sneaking skills a little.”
It takes a second for the words to even process in her brain, and when they do, Beltorchika feels all of her bodily rejections team up to make her feel like she’s going to die right there on the spot.
The sour burn in the pit of her stomach. The needles of anger in her nerve endings. The fear that leaves her feeling a flush of cold through her body in competition with the heat-rush of shame.
She tries to say ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about’, but they both know that would be a lie. She had thought she had gotten away without being discovered, but it seems that Quattro had been more observant than she had given him credit for.
Maybe he had even known she was there from the very beginning. Judging by the look on his face, it doesn’t seem like he’s angry— he just looks like he’s gloating.
As though there’s a competition between the two of them, and he’s not only won, he’s won right in front of her where she could see all of it happen.
Had he known she would be there to see them, or had it just been a happy coincidence?
Whatever the case, she knows when she’s being made fun of. It just makes her feel even worse. She doesn’t know what to do about any of it. If the two of them get into a fight about it right here in front of everyone, it’s just going to make her look like a creepy stalker, no matter what people might think about Amuro fucking Quattro behind her back.
So she does the only thing she can do.
She backs down.
It makes her feel sick to do it, but what else can she do? Quattro has her caught in his trap and he knows it. He’s a lot more sly than he acts most of the time, it seems.
She mutters “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” in spite of the fact that it’s all performative, both of them knowing she’s been caught, but it’s just something to fill the silence as she brushes past Quattro, walking quickly away from him and out of the hangar.
Nothing follows her. No commentary, no laughter, nothing.
But the frantic and angry beating of her own heart is more than enough of a soundtrack to her failure.