January 22, 2001
Sequel to 'Have You Ever...'
Standard Warnings and Disclaimers apply.
The door to the hanger bay sighed open, a bright square of light spilling in from the corridor, trying to push back enveloping shadows. "Trowa? Are you in here?" the blond boy called out into the seemingly empty space.
He paused just inside, the door remaining open. There was no answer and Quatre almost doubted himself as he began to worry his lip with a little frown and rub his chest wearily. He was about to sigh and turn back around when a small movement from above caught his eye.
His marine-colored eyes flew up the painted chest of the nearest gundam--Heavyarms--before flickering to it's large shoulder where the boy he was looking for sat crouched, one hand pressed against the face mask of the gundam while the other dangled between his bent legs. The boy stood gracefully, pulling back into his full height--no bones cricking, no grunts of pain from having crunched in one position too long. So small next to the grandiose gundam... and yet... he looked... invincible. Indestructible... and so incredibly fragile at the same time.
Quatre wanted to go to him... to hold him... to whisper 'Everything's going to be alright' as if the taller boy were a child and he his parent.
"Trowa..." It fell like a prayer from his lips, a caress.
The uni-banged young man took a step back, and then propelled himself into the air, his lithe young body gliding through the empty space as naturally as if he was a bird, flying through the sky. As many times as Quatre had seen these acrobatic tactics of his lover, his heart still jumped in his chest as fear closed around his throat--before Trowa reconnected safely with the floor five feet in front of Quatre.
"Trowa..." Quatre sighed again, looking up at the boy with adoring eyes.
"You knew I was here," the taller boy said flatly--not a question, not a accusation. Just a simple statement.
They stood facing each other for several seconds.
"Did you need something, Quatre?" Trowa asked, standing motionless before the blond boy, as if the next move was the others, not his.
A fine rose tint rose in the blond boy's cheeks as he raised a fist to his lips and stepped forward. The door slid shut behind him. "Well, actually," he began, noticing there were lights on in the bay that prevented the room from total darkness. "Noin reminded me how late it was... and, I thought..." He searched Trowa's face, looking for some hint of emotion that he could *feel* radiating, just below the surface of that calm façade. "I thought it might be nice... if..." His words trailed off, but not his meaning as he continued to stare at the other boy.
"I'm dirty," he said simply, and no more.
"Shower?" Quatre offered, a shy grin teasing his lips as he stepped nearer to the boy that fascinated him so. His hands reached out and slid up around Trowa's waist, tugging the other boy closer.
Trowa fell against him easily, took one look at that radiant up-turned face and fell deeper. He leaned down, his lips brushed over the blond's. "Shower," he agreed before Quatre could steal his lips, breath, and soul away.
She finished drying her hair and picked up her brush, pulling the utensil through the long pale, yellowish strands carefully.
Her hair was her one true pride and joy. She could still remember, when she was just a little girl, sneaking into her parents' bedchambers and sitting at her mother's vanity. Her mother had many beautiful things on her vanity, but none held the little girl's fascination like the silver handled brush...
If he mother ever found her there, sitting at her vanity, she would pull the child to the bed and brush her hair for her...
She could still remember the feel of the brush as it slipped through her hair, gently grazing along her scalp every-now-and-then. Her mother would talk to her during those times, tell her things, secrets. She had told her once that--when she was little--she had had hair like hers, but then the strands had darkened when she'd become a teenager.
Dorothy had been so happy when her hair never darkened. That way, if her mother ever saw her again, she would recognize her daughter.
At least, that's what she used to tell herself, late at night when she pulled the old silver handled brush through her platinum locks. Really, if she was honest with herself, she doubted if her mother was even still alive... or worse, if she even cared about her--her only daughter, her little girl--anymore. Or... was she her only child anymore? It was quite possible, in the years follower her mother's... departure, that the woman could have remarried and had other children.
The brush caught on a damp tangle and she yanked viciously.
It was quite possible that she had a brother or a sister or both somewhere out there in the world--just like Relena had Milliardo... and never knew...
Relena...
She should stop to see the girl before the final battle began. She should... but she knew she wouldn't. She couldn't. Relena *still* didn't understand what Mr. Trieze and Mr. Milliardo were trying to accomplish. What they were sacrificing... for her. All for her! Her and her peace! Peace for everyone, Earth, the colonies. Space and Terra, finally united at last in Peace... for her... for all of humanity.
It was a noble act, which made her heart swell with love and adoration for the two young men she'd known for most of her young life.
She turned to look at her reflection in the glass critically. She should probably do something about those eyebrows, she thought, but then immediately rejected the idea. Her mother had had split eyebrows. She's said it was a family trait--which was why her cousin had the same feature. Mr. Trieze had the same family feature and he never trimmed his. She would let it go. It was just another characteristic that made her different from everyone else. That made her special. It was good to be special.
She smothered her uniform down her young body and then turned away from the reflection, heading for the door.
There was one last battle to fight in this... the last war of humanity if done right. Or so she hoped.
Quatre slipped into the small room first, one hand darting out to flip the light switch, the other tugging Trowa in after him. Almost immediately after the taller boy cleared the door, Quatre whirled, pushing Trowa into the wall.
Agreeably, Trowa fell back, bending the critical inches that brought the two boys to equal height. Quatre ravished his mouth the second it was in reach, his tongue pushing into Trowa's mouth. Trowa's hands settled at Quatre's waist, Quatre's pressed at his chest, pulled at his neck.
Quatre pressed between Trowa's thighs, thrusting his hips into Trowa's. Trowa's groan was like gasoline, igniting Quatre even more and the blond thrust again. Trowa tore his lips away, his head falling back against he door. Quatre didn't miss a beat, his lips trailing over his cheek and chin and down the column of his throat, sucking briefly at his Adam's apple.
"Quatre..."
Quatre's hands fell to Trowa's waist as his hips circled. He could fell Trowa's erection pressing against the tight jeans and Quatre ached to free it. His hands slipped around back, moving into Trowa's tight ass, squeezing and molding the globes. And then he began pulling at the green tank top tucked into those tight pants, tugging it free and running his hands up Trowa's smooth back, revealing in the muscles that rippled beneath his fingertips.
The skimpy cloth slipped higher with Quatre's hands until the material was pulled up and off over his head. He let it go with little concern, his lips falling back to Quatre's the moment the cloth cleared. His hands fell back to the blond's waist and, fair was fair, he began tugging at the dress shirt, pulling it free from the khaki pants, his fingers working magically over the many buttons that flew up the center. He parted the material.
Quatre's hands trailing over Trowa's shoulders, his fingers outlining the molded muscles the taller boy liked to hide so well beneath his high necked, long sleeved shirts, skimming down those long arms, fumbled with those beautiful long fingers as he slid out of his dress shirt, letting it fall to the ground. Bare-chested, Quatre felt incredibly weak and venerable next to the other boy. He also felt incredibly excited, which he communicated to his lover by actually jumping onto the other boy, wrapping his arms and legs around Trowa as he pressed and rubbed his hips against his, creating a maddening friction between their two trapped arousals. Quatre's lips plundered Trowa's, his tongue sweeping into his warm mouth, teasing the roof of his mouth, his tongue, his teeth... as if the blond boy was trying to devour him.
Trowa almost whimpered as Quatre pressed closer. He felt the need, the desire well up within him and he knew he was going to give into it again. It was hard not to when the blond boy seemed to do everything in his power to overwhelm him. And Quatre was very powerful. As the other boy devoured his mouth, Trowa delved into the matter of belt buckles, quickly releasing Quatre's and unfastening his pants before loosening his own.
"Shower," Trowa managed to gasp when Quatre's lips left his.
"Mmm, shower," Quatre agreed, letting his legs slide down Trowa's pulling at the tight jeans with them. Quatre dipped, following the jeans' progression down those wonderful legs with his fingers and lips. Trowa dutifully stepped free from the denim, gasping when tiny nips rained down on the inside of his thigh.
"Quatre..."
Quatre's hands slid up Trowa's thighs, up to his waist, and back down, pulling the thin cotton material down with them and free Trowa's beautiful penis. Trowa tried to stop him, but even he was too slow for the blond's determined, worshipful actions. Quatre's lips sealed around Trowa's head, bobbing down before pulling back, slowly, his tongue laving the underside of the throbbing cock in his mouth. He moaned in delight; Trowa groaned, eyes rolling back as lids slid shut tight.
Quatre repeated the action, again and again, squeezing, sucking, licking, gumming the organ in his mouth, coaxing the boy to let go of his tightly held control, coaxing the boy to cum, for him... The tiny, tortured cries encouraged him on until he felt the small tensing and practically hummed as the salty warm cum filled his mouth and made a heated path down to his stomach. He pulled back, savoring the taste on his lip as he looked up at the slightly dazed boy over him. He smiled, climbing back up that beautiful body.
"*Now* shower," he murmured, kissing Trowa's lips again and leading him towards the shower stall.
End of Part 25: Interlude
Andrea Readwolf
Please send comments to: andrea_readwolf@hotmail.com