"You managed to survive the war, and now you're going to kill yourself with those?" He had asked once, but Trowa only shrugged, taking another drag from his cigarette and ignoring the man wrapped in his bed sheets. Duo had ended up storming off to spend the night with Heero, but Trowa couldn't bring himself to care at the time.
It wasn't like he was obligated to do as Duo said, even if they were sleeping together on a regular basis – hell, Quatre went so far as to call them a couple. If Duo didn't want to put up with his smoking habit, he knew where the front door was.
But Duo always came back. Even if his kiss tasted like tobacco, and his fingers still held the smell of the filter. Because while Duo was not his to claim, he was addicted to Trowa.
"You're not much better," Trowa said, leaning over the railing to watch the ashes drop out of sight. "I'm not good for you, either."
"Stop thinking for once," Duo said, ignoring his words. "Just come back to bed after you finish. I'm not done with you, yet."
Trowa smirked lightly, taking one last draw and putting out the remains in the coffee tin. He closed the door to the patio, the only light in the room coming from outside the glass, and the half-lit silhouette of Duo was intoxicating.
Trowa was just as addicted to Duo, if he were to consider it.
The way that Duo would shudder under his touch, arching into his hand as he dragged it down his chest and stomach. The way Trowa's name would spill from those still-swollen slips as Trowa teased him, and how when Duo would lose patience and take the upper hand, pushing Trowa onto his stomach and leaving bruises and hickies down the expanse of his back and ass. How he would nudge Trowa's knee's apart, slipping his fingers into him, spreading the lubrication along his insides and stretching him out, planning on making this as pleasurable for the both of them as he can.
Trowa never fights him on this, the need to be filled and used by Duo his greatest addiction. How he could never get used to the feeling when Duo first pushes in, rocking in shallow motions until he feels Duo's thighs pressing against his own, when he hears Duo panting harshly in his ear, a steady stream of muttered nonsense and curses spilling into his ear as Duo starts thrusting, leaving Trowa in a constant stream of feeling empty and then full again. How Duo knows what it takes to drive him insane, to break his silence and having him screaming, begging shamelessly.
It's at these moments, when they are joined in mutual passion and ecstasy that he doesn't bother to consider what will follow, or the fights they've had. That Trowa still smells like cigarette smoke, or that there's a small bag of white pills in the nightstand drawer. That Duo had spent the night in Heero's bed the day before, or that Trowa let Heero suck him off in the bathroom at work the week before. That they both know this, and that they will never be the real, happy couple that Quatre assumes them to be.
But that doesn't matter in those moments, because Trowa's too far gone in the pleasure to care about the consequences or the future, only focusing on the feeling of Duo coming inside him, of Duo's thin fingers twisting around his cock, trying to bring him off even as he trembles from his own orgasm. How his semen is now soaking into the bedsheet, and Duo's pulling out, letting more cum dribble down the inside of his thigh.
How Duo will spend the night, but be gone in the morning, leaving Trowa to clean the mess up himself, and a strange ache will settle in his chest, not fading until Duo's back in his bed again.
He's addicted to Duo, and the nicotine staves off his need for him. The pills help him forget that Duo will never love him. And it will be the smell of tobacco that keeps Duo from realizing how much Trowa needs Duo to love him back.