Author: Zazu
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Lemon, spanking
Pairings: 3x4
Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply: I don't own GW, Quatre or Trowa, Raighne and Sharon own the picture this is based on, and I don't own the music this is based on. I own... the hands that typed the fic. @_@
Author's Note: Based on this pic. The picture seemed to take place outside, so I made it outside. Secondly, the piece of music Quatre is playing (and trying to perfect) in this fic is "Scherzo-Tarantella" (Opus 16, for Violin and Piano) by Henri Wieniawski (1835-1880). For the record, it is virtually hell to learn and play, and I can upload a recording for anyone who wants to hear it.
Metronome
"Stop."
Quatre lifted his bow off of the strings, his left hand sliding gracefully from fifth position back down to first before he lowered the violin from his shoulder.
"Remind me what tempo this section is supposed to be, Quatre."
Quatre glanced to the beginning of the piece; practice had only just begun. "Presto."
"I thought we had agreed that when I heard you today, you'd be playing at 152 per beat."
Quatre nodded. "I just needed a little bit of a warm up." He looked from the music stand to his listener, who was sitting on a bench. The bench had a thin mattress on top and a pillow at the end; Quatre usually liked to lie there and doze in the sun. The weather was perfect today; not too hot but without too much wind, which allowed him to practice outside. His violin always sounded different outside in the open.
"Very well," Trowa said as he stood. "I'm going to get a drink. I'll be back in a few minutes. You can do some warm ups for now." He bent close as he walked by his lover. "You know what happens if you don't hit your mark today, Quatre."
Quatre shivered and nodded, watching as Trowa walked up the path towards the house and vanished. Setting his violin on his shoulder and tucking it under his chin once more, Quatre lifted his bow and began a series of quick scales in attempt to loosen his fingers and warm up his bowing arm.
He did intend to try his best to play up to 152 per beat, but the piece was difficult and he had been suitable distracted from additional practice the last two nights by his green-eyed lover. What was he to do when Trowa turned a brief massage of his shoulders into an oral worship of his neck, and traced his lips up to that spot below Quatre's ear that made him melt? After all, one couldn't play the violin when they wanted onto to fall into their lover's arms and stay there forever.
Quatre switched on the metronome and listened to the steady beat of 138; it was fairly difficult to tell the difference between that and 152, and he had met the 126-per-beat mark three days ago. Switching it off, he tried the piece again.
Trowa returned to the sound of Quatre's violin, and took his seat on the bench again; listening as the quick section ended and Quatre began the cantabile section. The harmonics were beautifully done, but Trowa knew Quatre had spent a lot of time working on the slow parts of this piece. It had taken some time for him to correct all of the bowings and fingerings to something suitable and easy to commit to memory, and then Quatre had taken the time to touch up on the intonation, dynamics and overall musicality of the piece. Quatre could play the slow sections beautifully; Trowa knew this because they'd done a recording of it for Quatre's practice.
Emerald green eyes glanced over the metronome, then paused. Taking note of the number, Trowa moved to the adjacent bench where Quatre's violin case lay. Opening it, he drew out Quatre's spare bow before he moved to stand behind the blond just as Quatre was about to close off the cantabile section. He didn't bother to tighten it; that would damage the bow given how Trowa planned to grip it. Taking the bow in his left hand, Trowa lifted Quatre's bow from the strings.
"It says 'con fuoco', Quatre," Trowa whispered. "What does that mean?"
"With fire," Quatre replied immediately. "Let me try that again." He returned to the letter N in the piece, three lines prior to the 'con fuoco' mark and began once more. Trowa pressed a kiss to Quatre's exposed neck, sliding his right hand around to rest it against Quatre's belt buckle. He could feel a slight bulge under his pinky just as Quatre finished the five bars marked 'con fuoco'. "Was that better?" Quatre asked.
"Before the 'con fuoco', it says 'appassionato'. Try it again."
Quatre hummed in thought for a moment before he raised his bow again. As he began from the letter N, Quatre closed his eyes to feel Trowa's hand deftly unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his pants before the zipper was lowered. He completed the crescendo into the 'appassionato' section and shivered slightly when Trowa's hand traced under his shirt to splay across his belly before he completed the 'con fuoco' section.
"How was that?" he asked after taking in a deep breath.
"Better." Trowa set the spare bow against his leg before he unbuttoned Quatre's shirt. "Isn't it getting a little warm after all of that playing?" he asked, leaving no room for argument before he slipped the shirt from Quatre's shoulders. Quatre took his violin and bow in one hand, and then the other as Trowa slipped the shirt off and tossed it aside.
"Where should I start now?" Quatre asked.
"Cantabile," Trowa pressed a kiss to Quatre's shoulder. Quatre swallowed and tucked his violin in place again before he started at the top of the page. His stomach muscles quivered at Trowa's light touches and his harmonic slipped, but he continued on. Trowa set the spare bow on the ground before he lowered Quatre's pants, gently balancing his lover so he could slip the shoes and socks off before removing the pants completely, leaving Quatre clad in only his briefs as the blond reached section N once more. Picking up the spare bow again, Trowa straightening. "Keep going this time," he whispered before taking his seat on the bench again. For a moment, Trowa admired the movement of Quatre's muscles as he played his violin.
When Quatre entered the Tempo I section again, Trowa could see that it matched with the red light flashing from the metronome, the one that offered a silent beat. Raising the bow, he brought it sharply against Quatre's brief-covered ass.
Quatre jumped at the unexpected glance of the bow against his body, but he didn't turn around.
"I thought we agreed to 152, not 138," Trowa said.
"I forgot to change it back," Quatre hurriedly changed the metronome setting to 152. "I'll start from Tempo I again."
"Very well." Trowa allowed Quatre to listen to the metronome for a minute before the setting was changed to the silent blink of a single red light. The violin and bow were raised once more and Quatre began again. About four bars in, Quatre faltered, missing the high notes in favor of keeping up with the tempo.
Crack!
Quatre bit his lip and began from Tempo I again. Trowa eyed the growing bulge in front of Quatre's briefs with a small smile. He brought the bow down against Quatre's ass again when Quatre faltered again.
"You had two days to practice, Quatre," Trowa said, knowing Quatre wouldn't argue. "You haven't been working very hard, have you?"
"Not as hard as you, no," Quatre replied with a small smirk, but bit his lip again when the bow hit his ass once more.
"You sound rather proud of that fact," Trowa chuckled. "What will I do with you?"
"I'll leave that for you to decide," Quatre lifted his violin again, glancing at the flashing red light to pick up the tempo again before he set the bow to the strings. This time, he tried to carry on despite the first, second and third cracks of the bow against his ass.
"I suppose I'll have to leave you to practice for another day," Trowa sighed as Quatre lowered his violin again. "But the extra day doesn't come without a price. You know what to do."
Quatre nodded and loosened his bow before setting it on top of the music stand. He returned his violin to its case after removing his shoulder rest, and gently lowered the lid to protect the violin. Turning back to Trowa, Quatre shifted and began to drape himself over his lover's knees. A hand stopped him.
"Off." Fingers slid under the elastic of Quatre's briefs and snapped the top gently. Flushing a little, Quatre turned and removed his briefs, bending over slightly so Trowa could see the slightly red lines on his ass from the previous lashes. Turning again, his erection evident now, Quatre draped himself across Trowa's thighs, stifling a moan as the bottom of his cock grazed Trowa's thigh. A warm hand rest on the small of his back and slid down his side as another hand caressed his ass briefly.
"You should be practicing more, Quatre," Trowa admonished. "We can't meet the recording deadlines if you don't."
"It's my studio. I have access to the equipment whenever I want. That means I can do my recordings whenever I-" Quatre's sentence turned into a hiss as the bow came down across his ass.
"You may own the studio but you can't cut someone else's deadline just because you want to record right then and there," Trowa said before bringing the bow down again, this time right on the crease of Quatre's ass and thigh.
"Who said anything about cutting someone's deadline?" Quatre moaned as the blows rained down on his exposed flesh. "I'm perfectly fine with doing the recordings when the studio is clos-" Quatre groaned, arching his back. He could feel the fibreglass against his flesh along with the horsehair glancing off of his buttocks. The next hit hurt a little more; Trowa snapped the tip of the bow against his skin.
Quatre's cheeks flushed even more. He used to hate practicing where someone could hear him, and sometimes when his teacher was there to teach one of his older sisters, he would stop to listen to Quatre practice. When classes came around and Quatre hadn't done as well as the teacher had hoped, the teacher's bow would crack against his leg or ass as a reminder to work harder.
The little punishments drove Quatre to work harder and as he grew older, Quatre realized that they were what reminded him to practice more and reach the goals he set for himself as he learned a new piece. Not only was his love of music important to him, the snaps of the bow against his body somehow connected on a mental level that told Quatre he could do better.
That he would do better.
Quatre groaned again when the caress of Trowa's hand against his hot skin was replaced by another sharp crack of the bow. Fibreglass bows didn't break too easily and that had been one of the reasons Quatre had always purchased fibreglass bows. When he arched a little, his cock brushed against Trowa's pants again, flooding Quatre with a thread of pleasure. Precum dribbled from the slit at the head of his cock and Quatre whimpered when the bow snapped against him again, and again.
The blows stopped after a couple more minutes and Quatre lowered his head as he relaxed his body, torn between pain and pleasure. He hissed at the touch of Trowa's hand kneading his ass before Trowa expertly flipped him over as he slid back on the bench so Quatre could lay his head down on the thin mattress. Quatre hissed again when his ass touched Trowa's thighs, but he couldn't complain as a saliva-slicked finger slipped into his entrance. Dropping his other leg down to open himself, Quatre pushed against the finger and was rewarded with a second one before Trowa's second hand wrapped around his aching cock.
"A little more practice, Quatre," Trowa murmured. "And you'll do much better."
Quatre nodded, biting back the retort that if he had practiced too much, Trowa would not be so practiced in offering this kind of pain and pleasure punishment that Quatre craved along with his violin playing. Reaching up, Quatre grabbed Trowa's shoulders and pulled his lover down.
"Trowa!" he cried as fingers prodded his prostate before their lips met in a passionate kiss. Trowa's shirt grazed the head of Quatre's cock and he moaned into Trowa's mouth. Their tongues battled briefly and when his prostate was prodded just as Trowa's hand closed around the head of his cock and squeezed lightly. Quatre's feet found leverage; he pushed his hips up and climaxed.
Trowa smiled against Quatre's lips before he nibbled lightly and pulled back. Sated blue eyes gazed at him; Quatre's cheeks were flushed red although not as red as his ass. "Maybe I should give you another day to practice," Trowa said thoughtfully, leaning down to capture Quatre's lips in another brief kiss. "I can think of other things for you to do for the rest of today."
Quatre laughed. "Maybe I'll miraculously be able to play it at 152 by tomorrow."
Trowa smirked. "I'll be sure to be around to listen for this miracle then."
"Fibreglass bow in hand?" Quatre asked hopefully.
Trowa nodded. "Fibreglass bow in hand."
OWARI
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