A/N: I am fully, painfully aware that this is not one of the fics I owe people OR an update on one of my WIPs. I do apologize. It's been a rough few weeks and I'm frankly just relieved I have been able to write ANYTHING.
A/N2: Please drop me a line. Let me know if you enjoyed this. Hell, let me know if you enjoy my other things. Encouragement is literally the biggest motivation I have to write. Without it, I really do flounder.
A/N3: Speaking of encouragement. Eternal thanks to Ro. You are an amazing beta reader, a great friend, and always my biggest supporter. Without you, I think I would have stopped writing in 2015. Maybe 2014. Thank you for everything.
Warnings: angst, language, smut
Pairings: 6x2, 2x3x2, 6x3x2
This Feeling
Trowa had had fairly good luck, over the years, with avoiding the annual commemorations and celebrations that were put on every year to mark the end of human warfare.
Considering that his escapes had typically been missions - undercover, brutal, violent work that put the lie to the notion that humanity had evolved past armed conflict - Trowa had been grateful to avoid the ostentatious hypocrisy.
He hadn't been lucky this year, however. He had, in fact, had a string of bad luck. First, the sixteen-month-long undercover mission that had been wrecked when local L3 law enforcement had blundered into a firefight, and the resulting Earthsphere clusterfuck had meant Trowa was retrieved in a hurry and all of his intel burned. Then the motorcycle accident - or his half-assed suicide attempt, according to both Cathy and Heero. Trowa had had surprisingly minor injuries - broken ribs, a fractured femur and dislocated shoulder, as well as a nasty cut along his jaw that had required quite a few stitches but would still likely leave a scar. And then, of course, had been the string of dates that Trowa and Quatre had gone on, after Quatre had heard about the accident and dropped everything to come to Trowa's side and- and it had been a mistake, just as they had both always known it was. Trowa was too feral, Quatre entirely too determined to domesticate him, and after just six weeks, Quatre had ended things so gently and guiltily that Trowa had almost regretted it.
He'd been at a low point, then, when Une had ordered Trowa to report to her office and announced his promotion to Assistant Director of Intelligence. He hadn't put the pieces together until after she'd shoved him out with a sheaf of paperwork - the Assistant Director of Intelligence didn't do fieldwork. Certainly didn't do undercover work.
He still hadn't responded to the offer, despite the fact that Une had unofficially saddled him with half of the duties of the outgoing Assistant Director for the last three weeks, and he still didn't know how to respond to it.
In his efforts to avoid having to give Une an answer, he had agreed, immediately, to attend the annual Commemoration Ball in Sanc.
And now, on Christmas Eve, he stood in an enormous, gilded room, holding a glass of champagne and fighting the urge to scratch at the back of his neck while he hugged a mirrored wall and watched the rich and famous flounce across the dance floor.
He hadn't had to wear the Preventers dress uniform often, and he hadn't realized just how itchy the wool of the collar was against his skin.
He also hadn't realized that his presence would be a point of interest for anyone.
Well. He had anticipated a certain amount of interaction with Une, and even from Relena and Heero, who were hosting the event. He and Heero had been on less than friendly terms ever since the accident and Heero's bedside diatribe about Trowa throwing away his life. Relena, resplendent in a silver evening gown that managed to make her look both innocent and mature, had looked between them with sad eyes, but had pinched her lips together and remained silent when all Trowa did was nod at her greeting.
Trowa hadn't thought anyone else would give a damn about one more uniform stalking around the perimeter of the party, but he had been wrong.
He had been wrong.
Maybe it was the scar that had attracted so much attention, or perhaps it was Trowa's aloofness. Either way, more than a dozen barons, duchesses and politicians of all sorts had introduced themselves to him in the last hour.
He had made more idle small talk in that time than perhaps in the entirety of his life, and when he saw yet another liveried noble look in his direction, Trowa tossed back the last of his champagne and decided to escape.
There was still the fireworks display, at midnight, and he knew that his absence from that would be conspicuous to Une. And Heero. So he couldn't actually leave the palace. But he could slip out of the ballroom and find some other, quieter place to brood and avoid the mix of good cheer and melancholy of the other guests.
He had been to this palace before - once, when Heero and Relena married, and again, more recently, when there had been rumblings of an assassination attempt, and Trowa had insisted he be on the Preventers security detail for his best friend and the former Queen of the World.
Trowa had familiarized himself with the palace extensively, and it took almost no time at all to find the library.
It was a large room, two stories, with floor to ceiling windows along one wall and a balcony that allowed access to the higher shelves around three-quarters of the room. It was peaceful, and dark - amber light from the chandeliers dim, and the shadows in the room stretching long.
It was also, Trowa realized as soon as he entered, occupied.
The room was equipped with several desks and chairs, as well as sets of leather armchairs and couches spread throughout the room.
And on one of the couches, closest to the window and illuminated more by the exterior palace lights and the moon than the lights within the library, were two men.
Trowa had heard rumors about them. Had, since the botched mission and his desk assignment in Brussels, seen enough of their interactions to have a fair number of suspicions himself.
But this was the first time he had seen Duo Maxwell and Zechs Merquise together.
Former enemies, from opposite ends of the social and political spectrum, they had amazingly little in common except for dark, bitter pasts that Trowa imagined provided as much of a foundation for a relationship as they did for eternal enmity.
There was no denying that they looked good together, however.
Zechs was on the couch, propped against one corner, moonlight gilding his face and long, loose hair, and Duo straddled his lap, his own hair tied back and fisted in one of Zechs's hands. Duo's throat was arched upwards, head thrown back and long neck exposed for Zechs's lips, tongue and teeth to tease.
Zechs had eschewed the traditional livery of a Sanc prince, and was instead in the same Preventers dress uniform that both Duo and Trowa wore, but his jacket had been discarded on the floor, and his tie and shirt looked thoroughly mussed. Duo's jacket, shirt and tie had all been removed, leaving his lean, pale torso exposed.
Even from across the room, Trowa could see the whorls of scars and the solar system tattoo that ran the length of Duo's spine.
The pair of them, Zechs clutching Duo's ass possessively as he caressed Duo's throat and chest with his mouth, Duo's hands tangled in Zechs's hair, and soft, low sounds of pleasure escaping from his lips, were entrancing.
Trowa knew he should leave. He knew that, as much as Zechs probably didn't give a damn, Duo was intensely private, and would hate to think of anyone seeing them like this.
But he couldn't bring himself to move.
Instead, he moved deeper into the room, hugging shadows and searching for a better angle at which to observe the two men.
Zechs said something, words lost against Duo's shoulder, and the other man laughed, the sound breathlessly erotic, and Trowa felt his own pulse quicken at the sound.
He and Duo had fucked, years ago, when they had both started working for Preventers and had been furious at the world, at themselves and each other, and hadn't yet realized that they were good at something other than destroying everything they touched. For nearly a year, he and Duo had used each other as… not quite punishment, not quite stress relief. But the sex had been rough, exhausting in a way that had left both of them mercifully, painfully empty.
Trowa had been sent on a long-term undercover assignment, and when he'd returned, he and Duo had met up for drinks, went back to Trowa's neglected apartment, and things had been different, that last time. In Trowa's absence, Duo had found some measure of peace for himself, and Trowa had felt cheated, abandoned and bereft in the knowledge that he had, in some incalculable way, been left behind.
Afterwards, he hadn't returned Duo's calls, or followed up on any of Duo's casual flirtation, and after awhile, Duo had stopped trying. They had drifted apart - not just as the not-quite lovers they had been, but as friends too. Duo took a position in the Preventers legal branch, went to school and earned a slew of degrees and wore suits to work, the childhood terrorist buried behind a veneer of respectability, and only unleashed in the courtroom.
And Trowa… Trowa continued to drift.
He wasn't sure when Duo and Zechs had become a thing - presumably sometime after Zechs returned from his decade on Mars two years ago - but Trowa couldn't help the sting of jealousy that warred with his arousal.
Zechs touched Duo as if he knew him, large hands confident and possessive, and Duo moved against him as though all he had on his mind was pleasure.
This was not the Duo who had battled with Trowa in bed, who had shoved Trowa against walls and desks, or who Trowa had wrestled to the floor and whose clothes he had ripped.
Trowa swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat.
This was a Duo who was cared for, treasured, even, judging by the look in Zechs's hooded eyes. Not just a body to be used.
Duo rose up on his knees, urged into that position by Zechs's hands as Zechs trailed his mouth down Duo's chest, teasing at his sensitive nipples until Duo groaned and writhed in Zechs's arms.
Trowa's arousal was starting to overpower his guilt and regret. He remembered Duo making those sounds under his touch. Remembered working Duo to the precipice of orgasm and watching him shatter, remembered the vulnerable expression on his face in that moment of ecstasy before Duo became guarded again.
Zechs pushed Duo's trousers down, revealing the pale, firm curve of Duo's ass.
"You planning on fucking me right here?" Duo asked, humor tinging the rough, breathless arousal in his voice.
Zechs chuckled.
"It wouldn't be the first time."
Duo snorted, and then groaned as Zechs reached down to stroke Duo's erection.
"Yeah, but it's the first time there's been the potential for a royal audience from two dozen countries," Duo grunted.
"Hm. Not the audience you want?"
"No. I don't want any audience."
Whatever Zechs was doing to Duo's cock was clearly to his liking. Duo was thrusting into his hand, ass and thighs flexing with each movement. Trowa's own erection was painfully swollen, trapped in the confines of his trousers and underwear.
"Really?"
"Really," Duo gasped. "You're the exhibitionist, not me."
"Mm. Can you really blame me for wanting to put you on display? You're magnificent like this - unable to control yourself, desperate for pleasure, practically begging to be fucked."
Duo made an unintelligible sound, and Trowa imagined that Zechs's words were having a similar, if not heightened, effect on Duo as they had on Trowa.
He had always found Zechs attractive, in the cold, dangerous way that space was attractive. Unattainable and something Trowa hated to admit he feared.
His voice, on the other hand, had always been hot - the slight Sanc lilt to his English, the confidence and authority in his baritone - all of it deeply appealed to Trowa. Especially when he could hear Zechs's own arousal as he described Duo's.
"Besides," Zechs added, before leaning close to press an open-mouthed kiss to Duo's chest. "There's at least one man you wouldn't mind having watch us, isn't there?"
Duo's breath hitched, loud enough that even Trowa could hear it.
"Hm?" Zechs pressed when Duo didn't respond. He continued to stroke Duo, and Duo continued to rock against him, even as he clearly struggled with a response.
"Ye- yes," Duo moaned.
"And just what would Trowa Barton say if he saw you like this? In my lap, fucking my hand?"
Trowa's brain and heart skidded to an abrupt and thundering halt.
What?
"I-" Duo was at a loss for words. And Trowa himself was at a loss for thoughts.
"I imagine he would beg to join us, hm? It's impossible to resist you like this, Duo. Would you like that? Would you like to have Trowa Barton fuck you in my arms?"
"Fuck, yes," Duo moaned as he bucked against Zechs.
"Or would you rather I fuck him while he fucks you?"
"Yeah- Yes." The last word was drawn from Duo's lips in one long, harsh syllable as he moved erratically and then stilled.
He leaned over Zechs, bowing his head and capturing the other man's mouth in a kiss that lasted for quite some time.
Long enough for Trowa to finally start trying to process what he had just heard.
Duo fantasized about Trowa. And Zechs encouraged it.
It was difficult to wrap his head around that.
He watched their kiss gentle and then end as Duo sat back on Zechs's thighs.
Duo laughed, low and sensuous, and the sound sent a jolt of lust straight through Trowa's body to his cock.
"Your shirt is a mess."
"Good thing I have a jacket to hide most of it."
Duo snorted.
"You're not seriously going to wear a shirt with my cum all over it for the rest of the night."
"I am. And you're going to be thinking about it every time you look at me. And when we get home tonight…"
Zechs's long fingers trailed over Duo's ass, parting his cheeks and teasing his entrance.
Duo rocked into the touch.
"When we get home, it will be my turn."
"Jesus, Zechs, you're such a fucking tease. Just fuck me now."
The blond-haired man laughed.
"No. I'd rather make you wait for it. Besides, I don't have any lube. As much as I would love to fuck you right here on this rug."
"Zechs."
"Or on the writing desk, hm? Bend you over a priceless antique and fuck you hard enough to risk breaking it?"
Duo chuckled at that.
"Or perhaps here, on this couch." Zechs repositioned them, laying Duo down on the leather surface and propping himself above the other man. "I could take my time and worship you properly." He pressed a trail of lingering kisses across Duo's throat and torso, working his way down to Duo's flaccid cock.
Duo groaned, and then shied away when Zechs found the sensitive spot just above his groin, a spot Trowa had spent a fair amount of time teasing with his lips and teeth and tongue.
"Zechs, please."
"No. Not yet. Although I do encourage you to beg me for it. I might even reward you for it."
Duo laughed again, and Zechs smirked down at him.
The look they shared was filled with lust and intimacy that went beyond physical attachment.
It reminded Trowa, once again, of just what he didn't have - what he had never had.
-o-
The fireworks were spectacular.
Apparently, according to some muttered comments, they had been better last year.
Trowa hated them.
The circus had done small, cheap fireworks shows on occasion, and Trowa had always done his best to be far away during the displays.
It felt pathetic, but the roar of gunpowder and the flair of light was entirely too reminiscent of his childhood, when the end result of such things had been death and disaster instead of blossoms of color and light in the night sky.
The guests had assembled on the palace's eastern balcony, warmed by dozens of heaters so that the snow-covered grounds that surrounded them seemed like a dream instead of the frigid reality that wrapped around them all.
Trowa had, once again, positioned himself against a wall, pressing his body against the cold stone and hating every moment of his hammering heart and racing pulse.
Ironic. Just a few hours before, he had relished those sensations - watching Zechs and Duo together. Now, he hated them, and himself.
Relena and Heero were conspicuously at the front of the balcony, faces illuminated by the bursts of color. Heero looked tense, and the arm he had around Relena's shoulders looked like more of an attempt to ground himself than to offer her warmth or affection.
He looked around and spotted Duo and Zechs standing together, at the back of the crowd, several meters away from Trowa.
They also looked tense, standing so close together they were practically leaning against each other.
But they weren't actually touching, and Trowa wondered if that was an attempt to keep their relationship a secret, or merely the two men refusing to entertain the other guests by revealing their connection.
Another firework exploded overhead, and Trowa flinched, caught unaware.
Duo looked back at him, face warm in the reflection of the red light overhead, eyes dark and unreadable.
Trowa found it impossible to look away, impossible not to think about the scene he had witnessed or the words that had been spoken.
Zechs noticed the shift in Duo's attention and turned, catching sight of Trowa as well.
The taller man nudged Duo, who looked away from Trowa and up at him. For a moment, they stared at each other, and then Zechs started towards Trowa. Duo followed.
Trowa felt a little - a lot - like prey trapped in the gaze of a predator as Zechs drew closer. He was taller, broader, and the smirk on his face revealed a level of self-assurance that Trowa had only ever been able to fake.
"Enjoying the celebration?" Zechs asked as he positioned himself against the wall beside Trowa, close enough that their shoulders brushed, and Trowa had to fight the urge to react to the warm, solid presence beside him.
Duo settled himself on Zechs's other side, the larger man's body nearly hiding him from Trowa's sight.
"I enjoyed it more last year," Trowa said.
Duo snorted a derisive laugh.
Last year, Trowa had been embedded with a smuggling group, and the only 'celebration' had been a jug of spacer moonshine and some kind of chemical stimulant that had left Trowa high for nearly twelve hours afterwards.
Zechs's lips curved upwards, and he nodded in acknowledgement. Trowa doubted Zechs knew the particulars of where he had been last year - wasn't even sure Duo knew - but they both knew, at least, that he hadn't been here.
"Une tells me you still haven't accepted the promotion."
Zechs had been appointed the Deputy Director of Preventers two years ago, when he returned from Mars. Trowa wondered what he thought about Une's offer.
He also wondered what Duo thought. Cared what he thought, as difficult as it was to admit that to himself. He would have cared before tonight. But after what he had witnessed…
Trowa was having a hard time restraining the wild fantasies in his head of the three of them.
He was sure that waking up tomorrow with a champagne hangover, alone and cold in his small apartment in Brussels, those fantasies would seem as distant and impossible as they really were.
"I haven't given it much thought," he lied.
Duo snorted again, looking across Zechs at Trowa, his eyes calling him out.
Trowa shrugged one shoulder defensively.
"It'd be nice to see you around more," Duo muttered. "Nice to know you aren't bleeding out somewhere a million miles away."
The admission had Trowa feeling incredibly self-conscious. Especially when Zechs arched an eyebrow at him, clearly looking for a reaction to Duo's words.
"I don't like wearing the uniform," Trowa said into the awkward silence.
Zechs chuckled.
"None of us do. Wear a civilian suit, and no one will bother you about it. It's what we do."
Trowa knew. He had seen them at work, elegant and far too handsome in two and three pieced suits, starched shirts and silk ties.
Duo, in particular, was unfairly attractive in a three piece suit.
Trowa owned only one suit, and he said as much.
"I'll introduce you to my tailor," Zechs shrugged. "He'll be delighted to have yet another celebrity client."
"I'm no celebrity."
Zechs pursed his lips but said nothing. Duo grimaced, but the look he shot Trowa was one of sympathy.
He knew. He understood. In a way that Zechs, born to privilege and fueled by his own self-importance, never could.
Trowa wasn't a hero, he was just a survivor, and he was only barely doing that.
Celebrity was a laughable idea.
"I'm sorry about you and Quatre," Duo said, and Trowa realized that it was the most they had spoken to each other in years.
"So am I."
Duo nodded.
"I always thought- I dunno. I figured he was what you needed, what you really wanted?" Duo shrugged. "I wish it had worked out for you."
The words tugged at Trowa, making him consider the time he had spent with Duo all those years ago. Had Duo thought that then? Had Duo assumed Trowa was simply passing the time? Had that been what Trowa was doing?
"Well," Zechs said into the silence after Duo's confession, "I think we can safely make our escape without appearing too rude. Shall we?"
Duo nodded eagerly.
"Fuck, yes. I was done with this party two hours before we got here."
Zechs smirked, and gave him a look full of heat and knowledge. Duo reacted to it, licking his lips and huffing out a breath.
Trowa was all too aware of just what the silent communication was referencing.
"Would you like a ride back to Brussels?" Zechs asked him.
"A ride?" Trowa repeatedly stupidly.
"Car service," Duo clarified for him. "Zechs doesn't like to ride the train with the peons, you know."
Zechs rolled his eyes.
"I ride the train when I have to."
"Mm. You mean when there are first class cars to separate the masses."
They exchanged teasing glares, and Trowa once again felt a pang of jealousy.
Still, when Zechs gave him a questioning look, Trowa hesitated.
It wasn't a long drive - an hour and a half to two hours, in all likelihood - but Trowa wasn't sure if he could survive being in such close, dark quarters with the other two men for even that long.
"No thanks," he said, instantly regretting it when he saw the disappointment wash over Duo's face.
Zechs nodded, as if he had expected that response.
"You should come over for dinner soon. I promise we won't pressure you too much about accepting the promotion."
Trowa stared.
Dinner? At their home. He hadn't even realized they lived together, though perhaps he should have.
The rumors at HQ were very vague, and apparently very behind.
"Zechs does all of the cooking," Duo added. "So you won't die or anything."
Trowa remembered Duo's culinary skills - frozen meals or nearly expired ration bars that he had somehow managed to hoard.
"That sounds nice," Trowa found himself saying, and Duo rewarded him with a faint smile.
"Yeah? Good."
And then they were gone, leaving Trowa alone and wishing to be anything but.
-o-