26-Nov-2004
Title: Bottom Line
Author: Mookie
Pairing: 1x3x4
Rating: NC17
Word count: 13,964
Notes: Written for the Ménage à trois contest 2004, and
for Briar Eve, my indulgent harem master.
Heero Yuy sipped his orange juice and looked out the window of the café, watching as passers-by hurried along the pavement in an attempt to get out of the rain.
He wasn't sure what they thought they were accomplishing by going faster, especially if their destination was a distance away, but far be it from him to figure out the quirks of others.
He'd had a hard enough time accepting those of his comrades, at one time.
Memories hit him at the oddest times. Memories of the sneers that Wufei had given him had come to mind while Heero had watched a movie featuring an actor with the same voice inflections that Chang had. He'd thought of Duo when he'd seen that priest at the supermarket. And flyers for the circus always brought back that time he'd been recuperating under Trowa's care.
He'd once been tempted to go see what a circus was like from an audience perspective, but he'd had no way of knowing whether or not the troupe performing was the same one that had provided them with cover during the war. So he'd thought so until several months ago.
As for Quatre... well, Heero couldn't help thinking of Sandrock's pilot whenever a dog approached him, its tongue hanging out and its tail wagging eagerly. Nor when he saw lawn flamingos outside anyone's home. Quatre had once told him about birds making themselves at home on his Gundam, and Heero thought there might have been a flurry of pink feathers and blood if the damn things had gone anywhere near Wing.
At least there would have if there had been any signs that the birds had defecated on its gundanium armor.
It was days like this when he wondered where he was going in life, and why he hadn't followed his comrades' examples and picked something, anything, as a direction in life.
He thought again of Quatre, the only one of them with any surviving family. What might it have been like to have that to welcome one home? He set his glass down and propped his chin in his hand.
Heero wondered what his future might have been like, had he grown up with a loving family rather than with Odin and then J, not counting the times in between and prior to those two mentors.
He resisted the urge to sigh. He hadn't made it this far in life regretting circumstances that were beyond his control. There were quite enough things he'd done that he only wished he could undo as it was.
Then there were a few things that he'd done that he didn't regret at all.
The faint chime of the door opening caught his attention, and he turned from the window in time to see a familiar figure walk in, and feeling an old, forgotten ache well up inside him as Quatre's head suddenly turned in his direction and their eyes met.
It had been during the time when they were in between their captivity on the moon base and hijacking the shuttle. Quatre had been Heero's enemy, and his comrade in arms, and then his friend.
His friend had become his lover, just for a single night.
Heero could still remember every gasp of breath as if it had just happened - the way Quatre's back had arched gracefully as Heero had stroked him. He could still taste Quatre's flesh, both salty and soapy after a hasty sponge bath.
It had meant nothing and everything all at once, and then they hadn't had the chance nor the inclination to discuss it, and what it had meant.
Quatre looked good. It appeared to Heero that life on earth had been apparently agreed with him.
He was delighted, undeniably so, when he turned his head and saw Heero sitting there near the window. His smile grew wider when Heero accepted his invitation to have supper together.
It was oddly familiar, as if they'd seen each other days ago rather than years. Over dinner, Quatre kept his questions carefully neutral, and the more they chatted about trivialities and shared a few random anecdotes, the more Heero realized he wanted to know more about the past few years.
But first he supposed he should start with what was foremost in his mind; if he could understand Quatre's reasoning, maybe he would better understand his own.
His mind made up, he set his fork down. "Quatre," he said. "About that night." He cleared his throat. "Why did you?"
Quatre very carefully set his glass on the table and returned Heero's direct gaze.
"You are the heart of outer space," he replied. "I think I needed to capture some of that for myself."
He got up and brought his plate to the sink, filling the basin with water and soap. As the running water created a faintly scented lather, he stared out the window over the sink. Everything he saw outside the paned glass could have been nothing but a distant memory if he'd had his way.
Guilt was his constant companion.
Heero moved behind him quietly and he placed his chin on Quatre's shoulder. One hand leaned on the edge of the counter. "Once," he murmured, "I did not believe I had a heart."
Quatre smiled down at the plate and silverware and shook his head. "You've always had one, Heero." He turned off the faucet and placed his hand over Heero's. "Once," he said, "I did not believe at all. Not in the ability of mankind to overcome its problems without a thorough cleansing. Zechs and I had that in common."
He leaned back against Heero's chest. "I had a skewed perception of reality, but I didn't want to kill you Heero. Not you, not Trowa. Just the colonies."
He shivered, remembering the zealous belief he'd held that what he was doing was not only the right thing, but the only solution available. It was hard to reconcile with his beliefs, and he doubted he'd ever be able to shake the weight from his shoulders. Atlas' burden had been for a far lesser crime.
"I wanted to kill you, Quatre," Heero said. "I also wanted to kill Duo, and Treize Khushrenada, and Zechs, and most of all I wanted to kill Relena. I had the chance so many times, and yet I couldn't do it."
Quatre finally turned around. He looked into Heero's eyes and brushed a lock of hair off his face.
"You remind me of Trowa at times," he said, "especially before I got to know you. You are both very dedicated to those you care for." He leaned forward. "And you both hide your eyes behind your hair, as if you might let others see who you really are otherwise."
His lips were barely an inch from Heero's.
"Never did I ever think your actions mirrored Duo's, or that Trowa's motivations aligned with Wufei's. When you both showed up in those mobile suits, ready to use whatever means necessary to stop me, I think that's when I recognized that you were both very different.
"I probably should have much earlier, not at the moment when it was the last thing on my conscious mind. You both had different agendas that day. I wanted to hate you afterwards for not going after Trowa. I begged you to, Heero. I wanted to despise you for not showing him any compassion or loyalty, especially after he'd taken that shot for you. I just could not understand why you wouldn't want to do all you could to save him if possible. Sometimes I think I still don't.
"You and Trowa understood each other better than I could ever hope to. I said that I wanted to touch that heart of outer space, and it's true. I did. I can't help but think, however, that maybe I just wanted to feel like I hadn't lost Trowa."
He licked his lips.
"I knew that night how wrong that was, to use you that way, and I don't mean to imply that I had any illusions that I was sleeping with Trowa. I knew who you were when we... " he hesitated over the right words to use. " ...were intimate. And... I know who you are right now."
Quatre's exhaled breath was warm against Heero's face, and the dark-haired man lifted one hand and slid his fingers into the hair at the nape of Quatre's neck.
"Maybe you could tell me who that is," he said quietly.
"Heero," Quatre breathed. He closed his eyes and brought their mouths together, running his tongue along the back of Heero's teeth.
Heero's mouth tasted differently than he'd remembered. Back then he could remember the sharp tang of blood and danger, but this time as he swept his tongue all around Heero's mouth, reacquainting himself with the warm cavern, it tasted of nothing but the faint spice from the curried chicken that they'd eaten.
Quatre's hands slipped under Heero's shirt, drawing the other man's body closer. Heero responded by sucking on Quatre's tongue and grinding his hips against the blond's pelvis, making no secret of the fact that he was becoming aroused. Quatre pushed them away from the sink and slipped one hand down the back of Heero's jeans, fumbling with the button on his fly with the other.
Heero broke the kiss and they stared at each other, both panting slightly. Quatre's fingers were still hooked over the front of Heero's waistband, the other hand firmly wedged between the back of Heero's pants and his ass.
"Bedroom?" Quatre inquired with a nod of his head in that direction. Heero blew a lock of hair out of his eyes and nodded.
Quatre slid his hand out of the back of Heero's jeans but left his fingers tucked into the front, leading the way without removing his eyes from Heero's face. Once they reached the bedroom, Heero dropped his hand to Quatre's and gave it a brief squeeze.
Quatre tore open the buttons of Heero's fly and slid his hands back under Heero's shirt, baring the taut abdomen underneath. He bowed his head and pressed his lips against the exposed skin, letting Heero pull the shirt the rest of the way off. Quatre's fingers ran up Heero's side as he dropped to a crouch, trailing his tongue further south until he reached the top of Heero's briefs. He tugged at the elastic with his teeth, snapping it slightly. Heero hooked his thumbs under the waistband and slid them and his jeans down his hips. He bit his lip when Quatre's palm cupped his balls. That was followed by a lazy flick of the tongue and a gentle grazing of thumb over wrinkled skin.
Heero tilted his head back and groaned as his cock sprang to full attention. He thought his legs would buckle when Quatre took Heero into his mouth, and he placed one hand on the tousled blond hair to steady himself.
It had been far too long since anyone had touched him like this. There had been that week he'd stayed with Trowa, six months earlier, but then the circus had moved on - and Heero had not. He backed up slowly toward the bed, forcing himself to stop making comparisons.
When the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he sat down, smiling faintly at Quatre's devilish grin. Quatre hadn't removed his mouth until they'd reached the bed, even if he'd had to waddle to accomplish that feat.
Quatre stood up and unbuckled his belt, then eased his pants down past his hips until they pooled around his ankles. He kicked them aside carelessly and looked at Heero, who raised an eyebrow at seeing Quatre naked from the waist down.
Heero leaned forward and flicked a tongue over the moist tip of Quatre's arousal. Quatre's hands fisted in Heero's hair as he worked his tongue along the underside of Quatre's cock slowly.
It was larger than he'd remembered - or perhaps it was the muddy recollection of youth, where everything seemed so much smaller when compared to mobile dolls and buster rifles.
He let his mouth slide off slowly and moved back onto the mattress, propping himself up on one elbow and waiting. Quatre joined him, kissing him almost frantically while Heero's fingers found their way to Quatre's throbbing erection. Their cocks were pressed together in Heero's grip and Quatre caught the top of Heero's mouth with his lower lip, toying with it before thrusting his tongue back in.
Quatre could feel the head of Heero's cock twitch against his own and he reluctantly pulled his mouth away. He gave Heero a smoldering look between slitted eyelids and then reversed his position, breathing heavily on Heero's erection before covering it with his lips again. Heero's hands went behind Quatre's buttocks and he drew Quatre's length into his mouth.
Heero's balls tightened and the muscles in his ass clenched. He gasped a few times, trying his best to continue swirling his tongue around Quatre and failing as his climax approached. He closed his eyes and bucked his hips, filling Quatre's mouth with his semen. When he realized Quatre was swallowing, he applied as much suction as he could to Quatre's arousal, adding a few rough, jerking motions at the base. It seemed to take forever for Quatre to arch his back, but Heero persisted, despite the numbness in his mouth, determined not to leave Quatre unsatisfied. He wanted to fully reciprocate Quatre's actions, but despite his best intentions, as soon as Quatre came, he pulled away, unsuccessfully repressing a shudder at the taste at the tip of his tongue.
Quatre rolled to his back and jerked himself off, then let his hand drop to the side once he'd milked the last drop from his cock. His breathing sounded unnaturally loud in the room.
"I'm sorry, Heero."
Heero sat up immediately and started at Quatre, wondering where that apology had come from. If anyone should be feeling any regrets, it should be him, not Quatre.
He wasn't normally as oblivious to others' feelings as his demeanor often suggested to those who didn't know him, which was another reason why Quatre's apology upset him.
If Quatre regretted what had happened - why the apology? They'd both enjoyed it. Neither of them were promiscuous - Heero could only speak for himself with certainty, but he could not see Quatre engaging in risky sexual behavior as a habit.
He frowned slightly. That didn't mean Quatre had been celibate, either. Why would he be? Heero certainly hadn't been, although that was only because of that week he'd spent on X18999.
Still, although Quatre seemed more than willing to take the blame when things went awry, that didn't explain much as far as what had just happened between them.
"Why?"
Quatre placed the back of his forearm over his eyes and sighed. "For lying to you."
That response had Heero leaning over Quatre, placing one hand on the sheets near Quatre's ear. "Explain."
Quatre felt miserable. Heero didn't resort to brief and abrupt responses unless he was angry, impatient, or upset. Possibly all three - it was hard to discern how much of what he was feeling was coming from Heero and how much was his own self disgust.
"He was here again," Quatre said miserably. "In bed with us."
Heero exhaled. He knew very well who Quatre meant, and it had been just as much Heero's fault.
"I know."
He said nothing more, simply rested his head on Quatre's chest and closed his eyes as fingers tentatively stroked his hair. They were silent for a moment, as Quatre assimilated the new information.
"For you, too," he finally said, his breath ruffling the hair at the top of Heero's head. He was surprised that he felt just as bitter as he was relieved. "Tell me."
Heero only needed to peer up at Quatre to confirm that this was something Quatre really wanted to know. Once convinced that it was best to come clean with where he'd been six months ago, he cleared his throat and began.
Intense blue eyes had tracked every movement, from the hecht to the side aerial, the triple twist to the salto, and ending with a graceful side planche. Heero didn't break his gaze until Trowa completed his routine, then folded his arms and leaned back in his seat as thunderous applause was given around him.
It was true, what Duo had said. Trowa's moves had been recognizable, in and out of his Gundam, but as Heero knew well from personal experience, the tried-and-true techniques were a soldier's staples for a reason. The difference was knowing when to break form and execute something unexpected.
Watching Trowa perform was a new experience for Heero. When he'd hidden out with Trowa, he'd been comatose most of the time, and shortly after he'd regained consciousness, Trowa had gone and tried to follow Heero's advice - advice that Heero spent a good time spouting to Trowa, when in fact he'd needed the reassurance himself.
Seeing Trowa embrace the role he'd originally assumed as a cover - that had been somewhat of a shock to Heero, and he didn't know why. He'd shared something with Trowa once, and he knew he considered Barton his friend. Heero hated to consider that he might have felt the tiniest bit of envy, that Trowa had had a place to go back to whereas Heero had not.
It was grossly unfair to feel that way, especially as Heero had no desire to settle down in one place right away, but knowing that didn't dampen the tiny flare of selfishness. He was happy for Trowa, truly he was.
Heero had spent a lot of time during his travels wondering at the unfamiliar feeling. He'd never needed anyone else and had only relied on a handful of others. He'd not been ready to commit himself to one job, one location, one road to his future. Heero had been afraid of losing that bit of himself he had begun to recognize. Assimilating himself so thoroughly into civilian life, just to feel he belonged, had the potential of taking the weapon of war and turning him into just another person who eked out a living in between paychecks.
He was determined to find what he had to offer, to his friends, to society, and, he admitted, to find what life had to offer him in return, and he wanted to experience it all as a civilian.
There was no reason why Heero should have been surprised when Trowa returned to the circus, but he had been. The one person whose background most closely resembled Heero's would have made a fine traveling companion, their backgrounds strikingly similar, even if Heero knew from the start that he'd not find the answers he sought if he looked to others to set an example.
None of the others had seemed desirous of the route that Heero took. Even Wufei had seized an opportunity to work with others, something that doubtful would have happened prior to the circumstances that had forced them all to work together.
Heero had left the others without so much as a by your leave.
He'd spent most of his time on earth, allowing himself the opportunity to visit places as a tourist and hand-for-hire. It had taken him a while to stop analyzing each new place to determine where the structural supports were and where explosives could be planted to bring it down most efficiently.
He'd eventually found himself back on X18999, and the memories had hit him as soon as he set foot on the very colony where Odin had given him his parting words of advice. Gone were the shields that he'd erected out of necessity, the very things that helped keep himself alive and functioning. An assassin had a short life span; Heero had known that. He knew it now, too, but the knowledge hadn't helped all that much when it came to how it felt to actually be back.
He'd thrown himself into the job he'd found as if the colony were still incomplete and in need of every hand. It was difficult; part of him wanted to dismantle rather than construct, but the work was therapeutic once he'd gotten over the initial shock at the rush of emotions that had swamped him.
He'd gotten a chance to follow Odin's mantra within a month after landing on the colony. There was little Heero could do about the excitement he'd felt when he heard the circus was going to be in the town where he was working. He'd trembled with excitement on opening night and had held his breath when the hum of conversation fell silent and the show began.
It hadn't been Trowa's troupe, and Heero had left as soon as he saw the ringmaster was unfamiliar. He'd skulked about the grounds, looking for any hint that he might have been mistaken, but nothing suggested that he'd find Trowa there, and he'd moved on.
It had become a bit of an obsession after that, Heero was able to admit that much to himself. The idea of reuniting with his friend had planted the seed of determination in him, and he'd thrown himself into tracking down one small traveling circus out of countless others. He'd certainly had the time, especially once he'd finished the contract work he'd accepted.
Ironically, his search led him right back to earth. The information he'd found wasn't very specific, but it was enough to give Heero a definite destination when he purchased his ticket back to earth.
Three days and three nights, Heero waited, before the circus arrived. He'd felt the tiniest lurch in his stomach, that which others referred to as "butterflies," when he saw the lions' cages. Heero had found a seat near the aisle and sat down, full of anticipation and a touch of nervousness. He'd suffered through the other acts until Catherine and Trowa had appeared. His breath had caught in his throat as the blades arced through the air - not because he'd doubted Catherine's skill, but because it was the first time Heero had seen Trowa since he'd set off on his journey of self-discovery.
There was something magnetic about Trowa, Heero acknowledged, something about the way he moved, certainly, but most of all about Trowa's loyalty that, once earned, was steadfast.
Perhaps that's why Heero had wanted to track him down. There had been a reason, after all, why he'd ever considered wanting to travel with Trowa - just the two of them.
Relena and Duo had both been unexpected distractions to Heero, and, in retrospect, in positive ways. He'd never have considered Trowa a distraction at the time. Trowa had understood Heero's need to hunt down the families of the slain pacifists - if anything, it should have been Heero providing the distraction for Trowa.
That wasn't to say that Trowa had agreed with Heero, but he had understood. More importantly, he'd respected Heero's quest for judgement, and that alone told Heero more about Trowa than anything else could have, especially since Trowa had been the one to bring him back from the brink of death in the first place.
It took a special kind of person to willingly hand someone a gift when the recipient clearly didn't value it very highly.
But that had been then.
It had taken Heero some time, and some of the working he'd done with the others, to realize that life - including his own - was inherently valuable.
He hadn't killed Relena, nor Duo, and in the end - although he knew he'd lay his life on the line if necessary - he had wanted to avoid it if feasible.
Trowa found Heero after the show. The latter had been leaning against stacked bales of hay in a posture of forced nonchalance. Trowa invited Heero in for a cup of coffee, and he'd seemed completely nonplussed to find Heero standing there.
They'd sipped their beverages in companionable silence, and Heero realized he felt relaxed and at peace. It had been a good idea to come here.
Trowa watched Heero from beneath the soft fringe of hair - in particular, the way Heero's fingers cupped the steaming mug.
They were graceful, Heero's hands - not in the same way that Quatre's were, but Trowa had learned that one's hands told a lot about a person - far more than any facial expression. While actors had crafted the art of adopting any number of expressions on demand, hands would always carry with them the mark of the person.
He'd found it interesting, when he and Heero had met Zechs Merquise for the first time, that Merquise had not only disguised his face, but his hands as well. More surprising was Heero's confession that he'd never shaken hands before. Heero, Trowa had decided, understood the significance of hands.
The image of Heero standing on the open hatch that day was forever imprinted on Trowa's mind. He didn't think he'd ever be able to think of Heero without picturing his thumb on that little red button.
Trowa couldn't say what Heero's expression had been that day, but he could remember the grip that Heero had on that switch. He'd not known then how very strong Heero was, but he'd still imagined the detonation device splintering into a thousand pieces - symbolically as well as literally - and then Heero's thumb had activated the switch.
Perhaps, Trowa thought, that was why he'd picked up Heero's lifeless body. He'd used Heavyarms' hand out of necessity, but there seemed to be a poetic rightness to the fact that Heero's body was enclosed in gundanium fingers.
When Trowa had brought Heero back to the circus, he'd not expected a miracle. He had given up hoping for those more years ago than he cared to count.
But then, he had also convinced himself that allies were only temporary, something forged out of immediate necessity. A soldier trusted no one, and in times of war and rebellion, that included his comrades. People were too willing to change sides, and everyone had a back pocket agenda. Ulterior motives were what drove most people to offer their assistance, and without knowing what those motives were, to accept help was to drag the Trojan horse through the gates.
Then he and Quatre had engaged in a caricature of hand to hand combat with their Gundams, and Quatre had insisted that they shouldn't be fighting. With that, he'd left his mobile suit grasping Heavyarms' hands, and had opened his hatch.
Trowa had known the game was over, and there was no point in continuing the fight when it was obvious the other pilot had no intention of letting Trowa vent his frustration the best way he knew how.
He had come out with his hands up, but his surrender had not been accepted. Trowa had followed Quatre - had gone with him into a base crawling with soldiers he knew nothing about other than they seemed rather loyal to the young man who couldn't have been any older than Trowa.
Trowa could still remember hearing the violin that day. It had drawn him to the music room. He'd stood in the doorway watching Quatre's fingers on the neck of the violin, and the way the bow danced across the strings.
Trowa had been hypnotized by those hands. They'd called to him, and he'd answered by going to the glass case and helping himself to an instrument that didn't belong to him. It was different than acquiring an enemy's weapons; this "borrowing" had nothing to do with war or fighting - not in the sense that Trowa was accustomed to.
They'd played together, and their hands had both caressed their instruments and coaxed harmonious accord from them. Trowa had fled the next day.
There was no pretending otherwise. He'd been intrigued by Quatre before he'd ever been privy to the pilot's name, and it had made him uncomfortable that he had felt far too at ease in the other warrior's presence, especially when Quatre had a troop of loyal supporters, leaving Trowa incredibly outnumbered.
It had been clear even then that Quatre possessed the traits of a commander, and the last thing that Trowa had wanted was to become just another follower of orders.
Not where Quatre Raberba Winner was concerned.
Quatre had called him from the window on his way out, and the former No-name had nothing to give him in return but his assumed name. There had been a small amount of regret in that.
Heero Yuy was clearly an assumed name - Zechs Merquise easily recognized it as well. In the soldier named Heero Yuy, however, Trowa had recognized so much of himself - at least so much of what he wished he could be - and it was obvious they'd both been groomed for war. It was obvious to Trowa that Heero was quite used to following orders, even if that little stunt with the detonation device had seemed to be Heero's taking an order and executing it in his own way.
While Heero lay unconscious after the destruction of his Gundam, Trowa had had a lot of time to study him. He'd cleaned the blood from Heero's battered form, noting how remarkably resilient Heero's body was. There were a couple of broken ribs and countless lacerations, a deep gash in Heero's arm, and blood matted in thick brown locks.
Trowa had washed Heero's hair carefully, gently massaging Heero's scalp with his fingertips. Catherine's assistance had been invaluable, wrapping clean gauze over Heero's wounds while Trowa held Heero's body in a seated position.
It had been almost too much of a relief to Trowa, after he'd finished binding Heero's arm and moved to his hands, to note that none of Heero's fingers had been broken.
Trowa could still remember using one of Catherine's knives to clean the dirt and blood from under Heero's fingernails, the feel of Heero's callused hand in his own. He'd held Heero's limp right hand in his, running the pad of his thumb over Heero's, almost expecting to see blistering or darkened skin where he'd pressed the detonation button, as if it had permanently marked Heero somehow.
Heero's actions had triggered something in Trowa, and when the unconscious pilot finally woke from his sleep and spoke to him, Trowa knew he had found someone capable of understanding him.
Catherine's tears had stopped him from following in Heero's footsteps. She'd not been particularly pleased with Heero after that, but she'd been more upset with Trowa, for it had been his decision, in the end.
He had been relieved, in a sense, that Heero didn't seem to care one way or another that Trowa hadn't followed through on his plan to self-detonate. He'd been very accepting that Trowa had let Catherine's impassioned speech sway his decision. He was gruff and seemingly apathetic, yet Trowa knew that Heero was acknowledging it had been Trowa's choice.
Having Heero's respect meant a lot to Trowa.
It had been with great relief that Trowa had crossed the last name off the list of family members Heero had diligently sought out. Heero the soldier was necessary for the war - of that, Trowa was certain. Heero the man, on the other hand... he was a mass of contradictions.
He'd felt devoid of feeling much of his life - he'd told Dorothy as much aboard the Libra - but there were times when he realized that they'd been there all along, just lying dormant.
Playing the flute to Quatre's violin had stirred something in him. Watching Heero sleep had felt much the same. Accompanying Heero on his mission for penance fanned that small spark into something he catalogued as respect.
Then there had been the confrontation with Quatre, in the new Gundam armed with the ZERO system. The very same Gundam that he later associated firmly with Heero Yuy.
Trowa had faith in Heero when they'd gone out in the Vayeate and Mercurius. He might have helped put Heero back together, but they both knew that OZ had given Trowa the power to hold Heero's life in his hands.
Quatre had been out of control. His voice had held a manic edge to it, and through it all he'd not actually wanted to kill either Heero or Trowa, but he was convinced that the colonies had to be destroyed. Trowa hadn't understood until he had the opportunity to see the visions that ZERO flashed in his own mind. At the time, he'd been surprised yet again by his reaction to the current situation.
We shouldn't be fighting each other, Quatre had told him at their first meeting. It's not right.
Nor was it right for Quatre to want to kill Heero, or Heero to feel the same way about Quatre.
When Quatre had aimed the rifle at the Mercurius, Trowa had known what he had to do.
He'd thought he was dead for sure when the beam hit the Vayeate, and even as he tried to tell Quatre how he felt, he'd felt a twinge of regret as well. He'd wanted to see them both survive. Heero... he'd worried about Heero, not quite sure how he'd retaliate against Quatre, but then, Heero had earned Trowa's respect for a reason.
Heero would do the right thing, and Quatre would be all right. It was those thoughts that had reassured him that he'd made the right decision. Catherine's words rang in his ears, and he felt a small pang of guilt for leaving her behind in sorrow, but he would not regret what he did.
It had brought Quatre back.
Fate was fickle; Trowa realized that. The crew that had found Trowa adrift in space had been bound for the same colony where Catherine was. He could still remember seeing her in the rain and latching on to her as his tether to safety.
Seeing Quatre again later had hit him hard. Catherine had been wildly protective when the images taunted Trowa - nothing clear or definite, just vague brushes with his past memory.
Quatre was part of that, and Trowa had known then that he had to go with him.
Trowa had to give Cathy credit; she'd been unhappy to see him go, and the concern etched on her face was not easy to stomach, but she knew that Trowa had a much bigger role to play than a circus performer, no matter how much she wished otherwise.
She'd been proud of him too, although perhaps she felt guilty for feeling that way.
Nonetheless, Trowa had gone with someone who was a complete stranger, even when he'd not remembered anything.
Because it had felt right to go with Quatre.
It took Trowa some time afterwards to realize that he'd only recently starting operating under the influence of feelings that had little to do with his outcome of success in battle.
Waking up in the same bed as Heero Yuy was not the same as waking up in a chair near his bedside or in an adjoining seat onboard a shuttle.
Neither of those had involved the touch of a bare leg, a slight tickle of fine hair against Trowa's calf. The most minute contact, and yet it had Trowa's entire body going rigid as it occurred to him that this was another of those "feels right" occasions.
He slid out of bed carefully and padded to the bathroom, quietly withdrawing a towel from the shelf over the toilet and hanging it on the hook behind the door.
He left the door ajar, suddenly unsure how Heero would react to his habit of leaving it open to keep the steam from condensing on the tile floor, and turned on the taps, adjusting them until the water temperature was comfortable.
Trowa hadn't planned on slipping a soap-covered hand down his stomach and to his groin for more than purposes of cleansing, but once it was there, he imagined Heero's dark lashes against his cheek and the ripple of muscle in his lean frame. Trowa's fingers curled around his length and he stroked himself slowly.
Trowa was no stranger to masturbation - it had never been a regular pastime, but he'd not been immune to the occasional nocturnal emission or to waking up with, as the mercenaries had so crudely put it, morning wood.
An insistent arousal was nothing to be ashamed or embarrassed of - and he'd taken matters into his own hands on more than one occasion, but never because he'd shared a bed with someone.
Certainly not with the likes of Heero Yuy.
Denying that some of his wet dreams had in fact featured Heero in a starring role did nothing for his current situation - it merely sharpened his desire for the friend who was still slumbering in Trowa's bed.
His mind replayed several images from the dream he'd had that night. Heero had been lying on the bed, naked and unashamed. The look he'd give Trowa had been intensely erotic and the erection jutting out proudly was already glistening at the tip. Then Heero had closed his eyes, freeing Trowa of their spell, only to reroute Trowa's attention to where Heero was stroking himself.
Trowa's left hand soaped up the right side of his neck and he slid his fingers down, along his collarbone, and then further until his fingertips grazed his nipple. As he pumped his erection firmly, he pinched and squeezed the hardened nub, then let the hand continue its downward journey. Trowa's fingers dug into his side, just below his ribcage, and he bit his lower lip, speeding up his strokes as he pictured Heero's hands at work instead of his own.
Heero had touched the inside of Heavyarms with those hands.
Trowa stepped closer to the spray and placed one hand on the wall for support. His lashes glittered with drops of water as the steam billowed around him, re-condensing on his skin like moist, tiny kisses. His eyes slipped closed, and a small moan escaped Trowa as warmth flooded his hand. His knees nearly buckled with the force of his orgasm, and he pressed his head against the tile next to his splayed fingers as his entire body shuddered.
He wondered if this would be a good time to regret extending that offer to Heero of staying with them until their performance in town drew to a close.
Heero had been awake when he'd returned to the bedroom with a towel around his waist. Trowa hadn't been able to meet his eyes, taking advantage of the curtain of hair to shield his sudden discomfort.
There was no reason for Trowa to feel awkward around Heero. None at all. Nor was there a reason to watch as Heero slid out of bed and made his own way to the bathroom.
And so went the first day.
The second night Heero had rolled over and flung out his arm. His fingertips twitched in sleep, grazing Trowa's ribcage. It had sent a shiver through Trowa's body, one that lingered even after Heero's arm retreated.
The third night was uneventful, but Trowa had lain awake listening to Heero's breathing. He had had dreams after finally falling asleep, but their exact nature escaped him.
Heero had taken to helping Trowa every morning and throughout the day. On the fourth day, Heero was sweeping and mopping out the soiled cages while Trowa tended to the animals. Trowa took a break to sit down next to the oldest of the lions, stroking his mane and rubbing him behind the ears. He had watched as Heero's shoulder muscles flexed, and his gaze traveled up to where Heero's hair, damp with sweat, curled at the nape of his neck. The lion began to purr beneath his hand, and Trowa glanced down at it, smiling and murmuring reassurances.
"He looks good, doesn't he?" he'd whispered to the king of beasts. The lion merely yawned and licked his lips. Trowa looked back up and realized Heero had frozen in place. His hands were clenching the mop so hard the tendons in his arm stood out like the relief on a topographical map.
Trowa didn't notice, however, because his eyes were on Heero's face. Neither of them said a word or moved. The lion butted his head against Trowa's hand and he resumed petting the animal. The moment gone, Heero resumed his task and Trowa had remained with the lion a bit longer before moving on to feeding the elephants.
At supper that night, Heero had reached for a piece of bread at the same time as Trowa, and their eyes locked again over the bit of baked meal joining their hands.
Heero licked his lips. "They trust you."
Trowa was afraid of reading too much into what he'd seen earlier. Heero had looked wistful, almost hurt. He was wearing the same expression now, and it reminded Trowa of some of the children in the audiences, especially those attending the circus for the first time.
It made Trowa feel rather uncomfortable. He'd jerked off fantasizing about Heero, thinking of his friend doing the same. To compare Heero to a young boy was bad enough. To imagine that Heero might be a tiny bit envious warred with the image Trowa had built up about the warrior he'd nursed back to health. The infallible, unflappable Heero Yuy.
He'd known that wasn't Heero - their trek across the globe had proven that, but still he'd always admired Heero. It wasn't right for their positions to be reversed. He tried to blow it off and make a weak joke out of it. His tongue remained stuck to the roof of his mouth, and finally he released the bread.
"They're very smart."
Trowa's message was clear, if unnecessary. He had never doubted that Heero had trusted him. Hell, Heero had trusted Zechs not to lure them into a trap, and that had been good enough for Trowa, even then. Heero was, for the most part, a decent judge of character.
They'd gone to bed earlier than usual, Heero sleeping with his back to Trowa as he had every night that week. It didn't take long for his breathing to fall into the steady rhythm of sleep.
When Heero rolled over this time, Trowa hoped he wasn't going to damage something that was more priceless than any amount of gundanium, but it had been Heero himself who'd lectured him on following his emotions. Who better to show them to?
Trowa slid his fingers into the sleep-tousled hair and leaned forward to brush his lips across Heero's.
Any fears he had that he'd misread the situation vanished when Heero opened his mouth to accept Trowa's questing tongue. Heero shifted his position on the bed, bringing his body closer to Trowa's without breaking the kiss. A groan escaped and was swallowed when their groins came into contact, and Heero became a more active participant. His tongue slid along Trowa's and his hand cupped the other man's ass, his fingertips pressing into the skin firmly.
The encounter was both quick and messy, leaving both their stomachs covered with semen. Trowa wanted to shower, but Heero had sighed in contentment and laid his head on Trowa's shoulder. Trowa had not had the heart to reject Heero after sharing such an intimate moment.
The next morning he woke up and peeled himself off Heero, heading to the shower to wash off the mixture of dried semen and sweat. He had just tipped his head back to let the water run through his hair when he realized he was no longer alone.
Heero hesitated a moment, as if unsure of his actions, then he pushed open the curtain and watched.
Trowa felt naked more from Heero's intense stare than from his own state of undress. He firmly ignored the awkwardness of the current situation, lathering his hair first, then picking up the bar of soap. He'd run it over his chest and found himself doing it much more slowly that was necessary for cleansing. He knew that he was putting on a show for Heero, and when the air changed around him, he knew before the bar of soap was taken from his hand that Heero had finally joined him in the stall.
Heero's hand, still holding the soap, slid around Trowa's waist and pressed against his back. Trowa opened his eyes and looked into the blue ones staring back at him.
Heero opened his mouth, ready to say something, but Trowa didn't give him the chance, instead leaning forward to capture Heero's lips with his own.
The bar slipped out of Heero's grasp, and his hand ran up Trowa's spine. Thick bits of soap still clung to his fingertips and the heel of his hand, and the contrast between the slickness of those small fragments and Heero's wet and roughened palm made Trowa's cock twitch.
One of Heero's hands was now behind Trowa's neck, and the other one was against the wall of the shower as he leaned further into the kiss. Trowa reached between their bodies, wishing for a moment his hand was equally lubricated, but undeterred nonetheless.
He couldn't deny that the friction was a bit stimulating as he attempted to stroke both his cock and Heero's, but it wasn't as pleasant as it had been the previous morning. As if reading his mind, Heero broke the kiss and dropped to his knees, reaching behind Trowa for the soap. Heero's hair, damp from the shower spray, brushed against Trowa's erection and clung to it while Heero's hand fumbled a bit more. Trowa knew when Heero had located it, because both Heero's hand and the soap pressed against his calf, and then he realized that lubrication was no longer needed because Heero lifted his head and engulfed all of Trowa's length in his mouth.
Trowa backed up slightly. The water was now beating down on Heero's head and streaming down his back. Trowa watched the head at his groin bob up and down a few times and groaned. He put his hand out to the wall as Heero had done earlier. It seemed ironic that never had he been in a situation that left him so off balance - not emotionally, but physically.
He bit his lip as he came, and Heero's tongue laved the underside of his cock, pressing it firmly against the roof of his mouth and milking it until Trowa placed his other hand on Heero's head. His fingers clenched the thick wet hair and he murmured Heero's name.
After that, Trowa had rather expected that the next night things would progress a bit further - and they did, but quite the way he'd anticipated.
Heero had showered before bed, washing off the spray one of the elephants had given him while he'd been shoveling up the animal waste. When he'd come out of the bathroom, he'd stood near the bed, toweling off his hair. His eyes were fixed on Trowa.
It was another reversal of circumstances. Many a night it had been Trowa staring at this very bed, at the still figure lying on it. Only this time both of them were conscious, and there was no question of either of them self-detonating on the morrow.
"It's not mine to discard so easily now," Heero said, surprising Trowa with his uncannily apt words. He turned toward the bathroom, flicking out the towel and draping it over the doorknob.
He returned to the bed and crawled in next to Trowa. One of his arms snaked around Trowa's waist.
Heero rested his head on Trowa's chest and listened to the steady heartbeat for a few moments. When he lifted his head and looked as he were about to move back to his side of the bed, Trowa lifted his arm and draped it over Heero. Heero's breathing didn't change in its rhythm, but Trowa knew he'd taken him by surprise.
Heero wasn't the only one.
When Trowa woke the next morning, Heero was packing his bag, putting away the laundry that Catherine had done, insisting that Heero had done more than enough chores already.
Heero departed at midday. Before he'd turned to leave, he'd extended his hand. Trowa had stared at it for three full seconds before grasping it firmly and pumping it up and down.
Their hands separated slowly, and then Heero thanked Trowa. The implied "for everything" covered far more than either of them wanted to acknowledge out loud.
"He was here again," Quatre had said. "In bed with us."
There was nothing to be said to that, as far as Heero was concerned. Quatre wasn't the only one who had invited Trowa into bed with them, so to speak. Heero wondered if he and Quatre were doomed to forever latch on to each other as the next best thing.
He fought to keep the frown off his face. That wasn't true. He cared for Quatre, and he certainly found Quatre attractive - it was just in a different sort of way from Trowa, both physically and emotionally. He would never willingly surrender his body without trust.
He ran a hand through Quatre's hair. Surrender wasn't the right word. Share - that described what he and Quatre had done far better. He had shared his body, and part of his heart, with Quatre, and he'd done so despite knowing that it might not mean the same thing for both of them.
They'd enjoyed it, and to be honest, he hadn't been focused on Trowa once he and Quatre had gotten into it, even if he'd been in the back of Heero's mind before and after. At least he hadn't cheated Quatre by pretending he was someone else.
Heero wasn't sure how he felt about Quatre's confession. Part of him was relieved, but part of him wondered how someone as calm and collected as Quatre could fail to see the problem was that he missed Trowa.
They both did.
In the war Heero had been reluctant to accept Duo's help. Apparently Trowa had had a similar view initially, regarding Quatre's attempts to work with rather than against each other.
For whatever reason, Trowa had saved Heero after he'd blown up his Gundam. For someone who was reluctant to trust anyone, it appeared Trowa had gone against his better judgement on at least two occasions.
Heero had told Trowa to follow his emotions, but it appeared that his friend had figured that out on his own long before Heero uttered those words.
Quatre's fingers had gone still while Heero spoke, and they began running through the dark locks under his chin again. "Is it wrong to feel envious?"
"Envious?"
Quatre sighed into Heero's hair. "I'm happy, being here with you right now. I am glad that you and Trowa had the chance to explore something more, to reach out and grab that brass ring. I feel selfish, because you took a chance that I was afraid to. I think I've always envied you that recklessness."
Heero's arm tightened around Quatre and his breath was warm and moist against Quatre's neck. "You shouldn't."
Ignoring him, Quatre continued. "You've both always been independent. I have always had someone to fall back on. My family, the Maganacs, and then the rest of you. It's easy to act when someone has your back. Trowa didn't worry about a safety net. I couldn't even self-destruct the right way. Sandrock wouldn't let me."
"And Catherine didn't let Trowa," Heero reminded him. "You did what you did because you knew your life was more important than your death."
"What about yours, Heero?"
"It took me a while," Heero admitted.
Quatre grasped a handful of hair and tugged lightly. Heero raised his head and kissed him, then slid off the bed.
"Shower with me."
The two of them made their way to the bathroom, an ostentatious affair with a deep whirlpool tub and a shower that took up nearly an entire wall. Heero turned on the tap and adjusted the showerheads, setting them to a gentle massage rather than the more invigorating pulsation that Quatre had them on originally.
He grasped Quatre's hand and pulled him behind the set of double curtains, wrapped his arms around the blond, and they stood there under the dual shower spray.
Water streamed over Heero's head and shoulders as his lips coaxed Quatre's open, and he slid his tongue inside slowly. Quatre responded eagerly, their earlier roles reversed. His fingers dug into Heero's shoulders and he moaned.
Heero's tongue withdrew, and he murmured against Quatre's lips, "if I am the heart of outer space, then you are its brain." He kissed Quatre again. "I'm not sure what Trowa is, but maybe we need to stop pretending he's not part of this."
He reached up to his shoulder and brought one of Quatre's hands to his groin, where Quatre wrapped his fingers around Heero's growing erection.
"If he's going to be here," he said, clasping Quatre's other hand with his fingers and bringing them to his chest. "We should stop trying so hard to throw him out."
Quatre took a deep shuddering breath, his own arousal pressing against Heero's thigh. "I feel like we're using him."
Heero buried his face in Quatre's neck, sucking his lower lip between his teeth as Quatre fondled his balls. "No man alive is capable of doing that without Trowa's knowledge and consent."
Quatre's fingers stopped their massaging of Heero's sac, and he brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against them.
"You're right," he said. A glint appeared in his eyes. "You're absolutely right." He ran his tongue along the side of Heero's neck and pressed his thigh between Heero's legs. "It's about more than sex," he said, his voice suddenly raspy with need.
"Quatre." Heero's voice was tight.
"So much more... "
Quatre's hand again cupped Heero's balls and he gave one last lick to Heero's throat before dropping to crouch and drawing Heero into his mouth. He teased around Heero's entrance with a wet fingertip as he sucked, then he wrapped his hand around the base of Heero's cock and swirled his tongue about the tip. He wriggled it along the underside of Heero's length and felt Heero's hand fall to his head. He knew when Heero was close, feeling the fingers tighten in his hair, and he hummed, sending a slow vibration through Heero's lower regions. He moaned around Heero's cock as the dark-haired man's entire body tensed, and then shortly after Heero's climax hit him, Quatre pulled back, got to his feet, and buried his fingers in the hair behind Heero's head. He slammed their lips together and opened his mouth, taking Heero by surprise.
Heero recovered quickly, pressing Quatre against the shower stall and returning the kiss almost savagely. He began stroking Quatre - fast and hard. It was the combination of everything that sent Quatre over the edge so quickly. The thrum of Heero's orgasm, the sharing of ejaculate, the eagerness with which Heero retaliated.
There was more than sex between them, but at that moment Quatre thought he might not care if he was wrong.
When Heero left later that evening, his hair was still damp at his nape and about his ears, curling against his skin in a way that drew Quatre's fingers to it in an attempt to straighten the errant strands.
Heero had looked at him in a way that made Quatre's knees weak, then kissed him quickly on the lips and left.
All he'd said since the shower was "I'll see you later."
It wasn't until he'd gone and Quatre had curled up on the sofa with a book and a cup of soup that he'd remembered that, with Heero, "later" could be a very long time.
He sipped his soup.
After what had happened, however, he doubted it.
Quatre was in the middle of pouring himself a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang, and he brightened. He'd known Heero would be back, but he'd not expected it to be within twenty-four hours.
Then again, Heero had a knack for taking in all the new information he'd acquired and coming up with a Plan B. Heero seemed to think he had trouble following his own advice, but as long as Quatre had known him, Heero had always let his emotions guide him.
It was one of the things they'd had in common from the start. He set the mug down on the counter and strode to the door. A bright smile was on his face as he opened it to greet the man with whom he knew his future would be entwined.
Serious eyes peered at him through dark brown bangs and a soft hesitant smile teased at his guest's lips.
"Quatre."
Quatre's eyes widened. "Trowa."
Trowa shoved a hand in his pocket. "I've wanted to see you for a while now, but last night... "
Quatre stepped aside to grant Trowa entrance, and he closed the door with a soft click.
"You spoke to Heero?"
Trowa looked confused. "Heero? No."
Neither of them said anything. Quatre went to the kitchen, poured a second cup of coffee, and brought them to the living room, setting one on the coffee table before sitting on couch. He waited.
Trowa followed him into the parlor and hesitated only a moment before sitting down at the opposite end of the couch. He picked up the coffee mug and held it with both hands, letting the warmth of the ceramic pass through his hands and watching the faint curls of smoke wafting from its surface.
Quatre sipped his own coffee quietly, and waited.
"This is coffee," Trowa blurted out.
"It is."
"I guess I'll always picture you the way you were at the base the first time we met."
He'd only intended to glance at Quatre, to make momentary eye contact as he spoke, but he found his gaze fixed on Quatre's fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug. His eyes flicked back to his own hands.
Heero, like Trowa, tended to ignore the handle altogether. Quatre, on the other hand, drank coffee much the way he drank tea, taking the occasional sip, as if each time he removed the rim of the cup from his lips, he had another thought to gnaw on.
Trowa removed one of his hands from the mug and turned slightly on the sofa, then stretched his arm across the back. His eyes roamed over Quatre, starting with the pale gold hair covering his brow, to the eyes bright with determination, and the soft pliant lips.
Quatre's shirt was unbuttoned at the top, exposing his throat and part of his collarbone. Trowa could see the Adam's apple bob as Quatre swallowed nervously, yet when he got to the hand clenched in Quatre's lap, the fingers slowly uncurled, one at a time, and joined the others in bringing the gleaming white cup to Quatre's lips.
No, Trowa realized, he wouldn't always picture Quatre the way he had appeared in the base. Back then, he'd viewed Quatre with rose colored glasses, even while he'd not given his trust.
When had he gotten to know Quatre so well that he'd taken that hit for Heero? How had he known he'd be able to talk Quatre out of the throes of madness?
Why had it felt like the utmost betrayal, to have the same hands that had created the most beautiful music, that had coaxed the notes from the violin, be the ones to fire that shot?
Trowa had seen people turn against each other during war. Fear did that to a person. Fear, and desire to protect those nearest and dearest.
Quatre had not been afraid, in the conventional sense. He'd feared for the future of humanity, and yet whatever ZERO had shown him had influenced his decision drastically.
"What it took away, it gave back," he murmured, remembering his own encounter with the system, and Quatre's soothing voice, breaking through the grip that ZERO had had on him so firmly.
He'd remembered Quatre, from their first meeting to the day that he'd seen Quatre at the circus.
The human mind was a complicated thing.
Never as complicated, however, as human relationships. He set the mug back down on the coffee table, then took the cup from Quatre and placed it right next to his own.
Trowa reached out and grasped both of Quatre's hands, turning them over and running his thumbs over Quatre's palms.
"You have a short lifeline," he commented, tracing the crease with the pad of his thumb.
"No matter how long a person lives," Quatre said, "it's only too short if he's not done what he wished to do before it's too late."
Trowa looked at Quatre's fingertips, at the calluses, and the small matching scars across the middle fingers from handling the controls of his Gundam, tiny burn marks that hadn't completely faded.
He continued making small sweeping motions along Quatre's hands as his eyes flicked to the open shirt. Just a little bit to the right was another scar, one delivered by Dorothy Catalonia.
Quatre had delivered a speech to her as well, one that echoed Trowa's words to Quatre that fateful day.
Trowa had done what he'd wanted with his speech. When the Vayeate had exploded, he'd been satisfied in knowing that Quatre had found himself again. He was sorry to put the burden of guilt on Quatre's shoulders for his death, but that couldn't be helped. Soldiers died all the time.
Trowa Barton had died trying to make a stand for the wrong things; it was only fitting that the nameless soldier who had borrowed his name would follow suit, only that time for making a stand for the right things.
He'd followed Heero's advice.
Trowa realized he'd done that quite a bit since the day Heero first opened his eyes, coming back from the brink of death.
He looked into Quatre's eyes, saw in them hesitation, guilt, pain. Trowa remembered the urgency with which Quatre had pleaded with him, even before he'd ever piloted Wing Zero. Their first meeting, when Quatre said they shouldn't be fighting.
Correction. That they shouldn't be fighting each other.
He tugged Quatre's hands close to his chest. "I don't want to wait until it's too late," he whispered. Trowa tilted his head to the side, let his eyes slide shut, and softly touched his lips to Quatre's.
A loud groan vibrated against his mouth and Quatre's lips parted. Trowa cupped Quatre's cheek with one hand, stroking it with his thumb while his tongue mimicked the action on the roof of Quatre's mouth.
Quatre pressed forward, his fingers closing around Trowa's hand as he maneuvered them into a prone position on the couch. Trowa had always known that Quatre was passionate, but he'd never imagined he'd be on the receiving end this way.
It was a vivid contrast, lying under Quatre, his fingers in the hair at his nape, to the sense of cold he felt when he'd first recognized Quatre. Past and present clashed, and he knew without a doubt that he'd do it again, even if the outcome had turned out differently and he'd remained adrift in space, a soulless corpse. It would have been worth it.
Accepting that, however, had little to do with the heat coursing through his body. He bucked his hips and ground his pelvis against Quatre's, seeking more direct contact, and more of that heat. The kiss was warm and wet, and it took a while for him to realize that the moisture on his face was a mixture of perspiration, and Quatre's tears.
Quatre's fingers pulled free of Trowa's grasp and began clawing at the hem of his shirt, tucked into his waistband. He pulled it free and one of his hands slid beneath Trowa's shirt, settling over his heart as he thrust against Trowa awkwardly.
Harsh breathing and heavy gasps, the sound of a zipper, the creak of a spring, and then Quatre buried his face into Trowa's neck and clamped his lips there, against Trowa's pulse. His tongue lapped at warm skin under his mouth, and he sucked harder than he'd planned when Trowa arched his back, groaning loudly as he came.
Quatre's breathing was still erratic as Trowa brought his arms up to embrace him. "You didn't kill me Quatre," he said quietly.
"I didn't want to, Trowa. I didn't want to kill either of you. But Heero-"
"Heero put the life of the colonists above his own," Trowa cut him off. "Would you have done any less, had your roles been reversed?"
He sighed into Quatre's hair. "You always tell everyone there is kindness in them. Surely you see it in yourself."
"I thought I'd killed you. Heero wouldn't let me save you. I hated him for that, and yet I-" he clamped his lips shut, realizing what he'd just admitted.
Trowa shifted his weight a bit, feeling the denim fabric clinging to the drying semen against his stomach.
"Quatre," Trowa said gently. "We all have regrets. If you did something," he chose his words carefully, "the right thing, but for the wrong reasons, in the end, does it matter?"
"It should."
Trowa heard the defeated sound in Quatre's voice, and he nuzzled the hair at Quatre's temple. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Quatre. We could tear ourselves apart second-guessing everything we did, and why we did it, and if our motives were pure or selfish.
"Did you ever notice how beautiful tears are in zero-gravity? They're suspended, like small jewels, bearing evidence of regret." He cupped the side of Quatre's face again, lifting his head off Trowa's shoulder and kissing his cheekbone.
"Sometimes even selfish acts, Quatre, are coincidentally good deeds. Would you deny any of us the chance for redemption?"
No answer was needed, but Trowa's point had been made. Quatre's lips sought Trowa's again, and this time the kiss was slow and searching. By the time he pulled his head back and looked down at Trowa, his eyes still alight with emotion, he was just as confused about his feelings as ever, but he thought that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.
He rested his head on Trowa's shoulder again and inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of the other man.
When Trowa's heart rate slowed, and his breathing evened out in sleep, Quatre smiled against Trowa's shirt.
Redemption didn't seem such an impossible thing.
The faint strains of Pierre Csillag's Conversations were audible through the apartment door, and Quatre squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked firmly.
There was a brief rustle of movement, and Heero answered the door, dressed in a wrinkled tank top and a pair of untied drawstring shorts. His hair was damp, and the faint smell of shampoo and soap teased Quatre's nostrils.
Heero's eyes moved from Quatre's nervous smile to Trowa, standing next to him, and he stepped aside and let them in without a word.
Once they were all settled, Heero on the armchair and his guests on the matching sofa, Quatre and Trowa exchanged a look.
"It's good to see you," Heero said, his eyes flicking from one to the other and settling on Quatre. "I was planning on stopping by this evening, but I wasn't sure if I should call ahead first."
"Sometimes," Trowa said, "planning ahead is the best route to take, and other times, it's best to go with your gut instinct."
"And if that gut instinct is wrong?"
"At least you tried."
Before Heero could protest, Quatre held up a hand. "I think we could all use a break from airing our demons and playing the 'my mistakes are unforgivable' game." A rueful smile quirked at his lips. "Because I can assure you that mine outweigh all of yours put together."
Neither of the other two argued.
The narrative of the music changed, and Trowa tilted his head toward the stereo system. "Two flutes and a piano."
Heero nodded. "Yes."
"Do you think that it would have been just as well done with only one flautist?"
Heero's thick brows furrowed. "It could, but it would change the dynamic of the piece."
Quatre smiled at him. "It would, wouldn't it."
A hesitant look of understanding crossed Heero's face, and he leaned forward. "None of us are strangers to plain speaking," he said. "Are you waiting for me to catch up?"
Trowa laughed. "No, Heero, somehow I think you were there well ahead of the rest of us."
Quatre got up and dropped to a crouch near Heero's chair. "I spent so much time trying to weigh the differences between how I felt when I was with you, and then Trowa showed up-"
Heero glared at him, and Quatre abruptly shut up.
"I thought we were beyond the self recrimination."
Quatre smiled at him, taking him by surprise. "I'm not lamenting the differences," he said. "I'm celebrating them."
He slid his hand along Heero's thigh, leaned forward, and kissed him.
Heero's eyes didn't even flick toward Trowa. Trusting Quatre, he let them slide shut, and he buried his fingers in the hair at Quatre's nape. One of Quatre's knees was between Heero's thighs, and he placed his hands on Heero's shoulders, pressing him against the back of the chair. His tongue slipped between Heero's lips and he groaned in satisfaction.
Watching them, Trowa noted the way the gold and brown hairs mingled together, how Heero leaned into that kiss, just like he had when he'd stayed with Trowa. Heero had been the first to realize what he'd been missing.
He looked down at his own hands, taking in his own collection of scars scattered over his knuckles. Turning them around, he saw the calluses on his fingertips. The two flautists continued their banter with the pianist, and Trowa realized it had been a long time since he'd last picked up an instrument.
Not since the day he'd met Quatre.
When he looked back up, Quatre's forehead was pressed against Heero's and his eyes were closed. Heero's gaze was fixed on Quatre's face. It wasn't until Quatre stood up and walked backwards to the sofa, sitting down a bit unshakily, when Heero's eyes swept over Trowa.
Heero had a way of taking things in at a glance, but he tended to make snap decisions. Quatre preferred to weigh all possibilities carefully, and take the option that would present the least risk to others.
"It's not selfish unless it puts your own wishes above everyone else's," Trowa reminded Quatre gently. He returned his gaze to Heero. "Sorry it took so long."
"Patience has never been one of my virtues," Heero replied, "but I do realize that sometimes it is necessary."
"It's not your virtue that I'm thinking of at the moment."
Beside him, Quatre chuckled. "Perhaps we should put this to the test, then."
Trowa placed his hand on Quatre's knee. "I think we've already had plenty of practice runs. I'm ready for the real thing."
Heero got to his feet and walked to the couch, staring down at them intently. They remained like that for several moments. Finally Quatre reached up and tugged at one of the drawstrings dangling from Heero's shorts. "Heero?"
"You're sitting on my bed."
Trowa threw back his head and laughed. It hadn't even occurred to him that Heero's apartment might be a studio. He and Quatre got to their feet, and each of them grabbed a couch cushion. Heero propped them on the floor against the side of the armchair, and Quatre unfolded the sofa bed. The sheet was a deep blue color, with a faint dusting of periwinkle stars. Heero tossed a couple of pillows, each with matching linens, to Trowa, who dropped them on the mattress.
The three of them exchanged glances, and Heero's hands moved toward his hips when Trowa realized that it wasn't really fair to expect Heero to make the first move again. He and Quatre had come over here for a reason.
He wasn't sure that this was what he'd expected, but he couldn't deny that the idea had certain benefits that satisfied a far more primitive part of his soul. He peeled off his shirt and threw it toward the armchair, where it slipped over the rounded arm and onto the seat cushion. His fingers were already unfastening his pants. He watched Heero as he slid them past his hips. He sat on the bed, removing them the rest of the way, along with his shoes, and then stretched out on his side.
Sometimes actions spoke louder than words, and he was looking forward to proving that.
It took Heero less time to follow suit, and he joined Trowa on the thin mattress, running his fingers over Trowa's jaw line. Quatre stood there, pausing in the act of unbuttoning his shirt, and just stared at them, at the way Heero's body molded against Trowa's, at the subtle contrast in skin tones where their legs entwined.
So similar, and yet so different. Like the two flautists.
Heero's bangs were almost hidden by Trowa's as the two men on the bed kissed, and yet Quatre could tell which strands were Heero's peeking through. Never would he mistake Heero for Trowa, or vice versa.
Quatre's long slender fingers slipped each button out one by one, and his cock, already half hard from kissing Heero, began pushing insistently at the front of his pants. His hands moved to his pants, the shirt hanging open as he unzipped them and pulled them off one leg at a time.
He'd never considered himself a voyeur before, but then, never had he been in a situation where the idea seemed so appealing.
Heero was kissing his way down Trowa's chest, his fingers and hair trailing after the path made by his lips. He paused when he got to Trowa's navel, and then he turned around so his head was toward the foot of the bed. He stretched out onto his back and tilted his head backwards to glance up at Quatre then, his eyes darker than Quatre ever remembered seeing them.
Trowa took the opportunity to straddle Heero's upper body, lean forward, and take Heero into his mouth.
Heero's head titled back even further, but he was no longer looking at Quatre. His eyes were closed, and his lips pressed together firmly. He reached up and fumbled for Trowa's erection with one hand, the other fisting in the sheet beside him.
Quatre watched the way Heero's fingers curled around the linen, and his eyes roamed over Trowa's backside, admiring the slender lines of his hips, the taut muscle at the back of his thighs, and the slightly rounded buttocks.
He quickly strode to the kitchenette, pulling open cupboard doors until he found the item he was looking for. He silently thanked Heero for the small talk they'd had at the cafe, otherwise he'd never have even considered finding a tub of vegetable shortening in the apartment. He pulled the top off and laid it on Heero's countertop, returning to the living room to watch as Heero and Trowa continued to engage in their foreplay.
Quatre scooped out a large handful of the thick white substance, smearing it on his erection and stroking it while Heero writhed under Trowa. He bit his lip as Heero moaned Trowa's name, and reached in a second time, burying his fingers in it. He made a mental note to restock Heero's cabinet as his fingers curled in the shortening. He set it down on the armchair and grasped his cock again, forcing himself to slide his hand up and down its length slowly.
Heero scooted his body further down until his head was between Trowa's legs. His fingers gripped the outside of Trowa's thighs and Quatre could see the top of Heero's head lift from the mattress. Despite his best intentions, his strokes sped up. Trowa's groan confirmed when Heero succeeded in surrounding Trowa's arousal with his mouth.
In this position, Trowa's ass was in the air, and Quatre's hand fumbled in the blue colored tin one last time before he approached slowly. He slid a finger thick with shortening along Trowa's cleft, then swirled it around Trowa's entrance. He was rewarded with a second groan, and he carefully pushed his finger in.
And then he stopped.
There was something overwhelming in the scene before him, and in the way they were all connected, and he had never been as aroused as he was at this moment.
Heero bucked under Trowa wildly, his fingers digging into Trowa's legs in a way that seemed almost painful, and then his entire lower body lifted off the mattress.
It was Quatre's name Heero cried as he came.
When Trowa's voice, husky with need, followed Heero's orgasm with a simple, "Quatre, please," there was nothing left for the blond man to do other than remove his finger, position himself behind Trowa, and enter him slowly.
Trowa pressed backwards, accepting Quatre more fully, and when the head of Quatre's cock nudged against his prostate, he threw his head back and gasped. Beneath him, Heero scooted toward the back of the couch, positioning himself directly under Trowa's erection, and wrapped his hand around Trowa's shaft. His thumb toyed with the tip, wet with precum and Heero's saliva.
"Heero."
Two voices.
He'd been right. While the narrative could have been the same in Conversations with a single flute, the structure of the music would have been completely different. Sex with Quatre had been fulfilling, but not the same.
Sex with Trowa had not been lacking, yet with Quatre here, Heero felt the difference. It was something he could not pinpoint, and he neither needed nor wished to.
He was tempted to draw Trowa into his mouth, to return the favor, but the sounds Trowa was making as Quatre pulled back and surged forward again convinced him that there was much to explore, and not everything needed to be attempted the first time.
Heero toyed with Trowa's sac, and he fondled each testicle, rolling them gently in his fingers. Trowa's breathing was heavy and Heero could see the beads of perspiration forming on his skin. On impulse, he flicked at one of them with his tongue.
Trowa's upper body dropped forward, his weight pinning Heero's pelvis to the bed. He turned his head to the side and his bangs brushed against Heero's leg. His ragged breathing was moist against Heero's thigh. If Trowa had not just brought him to the edge of climax, he was sure his cock would have been rock hard.
Quatre's moans began as well, and the metal frame creaked as he thrust into Trowa. His tempo increased, and despite the discomfort, Heero could not deny that he it was an incredible turn on to be in this position, to be a captive audience to a primal act between friends and lovers.
He wriggled one arm between Trowa's legs and let his fingers graze the underside of Quatre's balls with each thrust, a bare touch of skin that had Quatre hissing Heero's name a second time. His sac pressed firmly against Trowa's ass and his entire body went rigid, and he gasped Trowa's name as he came.
As soon as the rocking motion stopped, Heero reached his fingers around the base of Quatre's cock, and as the blond withdrew, Heero's hand surrounded it. He wriggled his shoulder and drew his arm back between Trowa's leg, then slid his hand up Trowa's length until he reached the tip. His newly lubricated fingers followed, and he continued to alternate hands, milking Trowa's arousal. Quatre slid a finger back into Trowa's entrance, rotating it before pressing down and against Trowa's prostate.
Trowa's entire body felt tightly wound, and it was Quatre's lips at the base of his spine that was the final straw. He recited a litany to a god he did not believe in, his fingers digging into Heero's calf. He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he and Quatre had shown up on Heero's doorstep; he hadn't completely ruled out the idea of having sex, but he had never expected it to be like this.
Comfortable. Satisfying. Arousing.
He felt Heero's hair brush against the back of his knee, and then "Quatre, is that what I think it is?"
"I kinda hoped you weren't planning on baking anything tonight."
Trowa laughed again, shaking his head. "I think I need a shower."
Quatre caught his eye as he rolled off of Heero, and gave him a rather lecherous grin. "Want me to wash your back?"
Heero gave Trowa a gentle shove, and he took the cue, pushing himself off the mattress and heading for the bathroom.
"I should have known you were the insatiable type," Heero said, turning over onto his stomach and peering up at Quatre.
"I knew you'd be able to improvise," he retorted. "You've always had that knack."
Heero wiped his sweat-dampened bangs from his forehead with the back of one hand and stood up. Holding up a grease covered hand and wiggling his fingers, he quirked an eyebrow. "Trowa never answered you."
Another laugh from Quatre followed Heero as he padded to the bathroom. Considering the size of the apartment, it was obvious that Heero had a much smaller bathroom than Quatre did.
He grinned to himself as he looked down at his cock.
Hell, the cockpit in Sandrock had always been a bit confined, and he'd never been one to suffer from claustrophobia.
And he was just as much in need of a shower as the other two.
The three of them sat on the floor around the coffee table, sharing two frozen meals between all of them. Heero's hair was still clinging to his neck, and Trowa's bangs were slicked back away from his forehead. Quatre speared a piece of beef with his fork and popped it in his mouth to hide a grin. He'd been doing an awful lot of smiling today.
The CD changer had gone through all the selections Heero had loaded and was back to Csillag again.
Quatre stretched out a leg under the coffee table, his foot caressing Trowa's ankle as he did so. The spear of broccoli on Trowa's fork fell into his lap, and Heero started chuckling.
Trowa looked up at him, noticing Heero's gaze was between his legs, but not on the errant vegetable.
"Two flutes and a piano," Heero said, shaking his head. He raised his eyes to Trowa, and they were alight with amusement.
While Trowa waited, Quatre fished the broccoli from his lap and placed it in his mouth slowly, licking the butter sauce from his fingers and then winking at Heero.
"Two flutes?" he prompted.
"Just thinking," Heero said, taking another bite from the plastic tray in front of Trowa.
He waited until Quatre had taken another bite to deliver his punch line.
"I'm glad Trowa doesn't have a bassoon."
"And I'm glad I don't have a piccolo," Trowa said, patting Quatre on the back to keep him from choking. "Just wait, Heero. Quatre's a pianist. They know quite a bit about fingering.
"Next time," he added. "Two tubas and a cello."
"Cello does provide a nice bass line," Quatre said, his voice raspy. He reached for his glass of water and took a long drink.
Heero nodded. "I look forward to it," he said.
"After all, it is important that the piece has a good bottom."
~ End ~
(:./mookie/bottom)
