H
Notes: written for showering!Quatre month (april), plenty of time yet! Write!
Quatre sighed and arched back further, a moan leaving his lips as Trowa ravaged his neck, bringing one hand across the water slicked skin of Trowa's back, he leaned back further.
Something nudged him. It was cold, short and blunt, wedging it's way between the spread cheeks of his buttocks.
He moved slightly trying to find a position where it could accommodated. Legs wide open, heels slamming hard into glass paneling, trying to gain footing to no avail. Instead he is driven down on to it as Trowa presses forward and licks a nipple. Now that hurt.
Jittery from the necking, he starts to speak, stopped, mouth suddenly full of tongue. Choking he spits it out. Panting he half-glares at Trowa.
Trowa sends him a Casanova look, a glazed lust filled look in his eyes. "Wuh?"
He starts to begin, then as Trowa starts to grind their hips together, groans in frustration and pleasure. "Trow-a! You're kill-ling me!" He yelps, as Trowa starts to do something dreadfully sinful to his collar.
Nipping at his tight skin, his water logged hair resting against Quatre's shoulder, Trowa grins in the haze of water mist. "I know..."
"Nuh! Er, what I mean... ohdearlord! That you're about to brand me! Ngn..."
Looking up from his adoration of Quatre's skin, Trowa gives him a puzzled glance.
"H! With a H!"
"H? H... H as in Heero!" Trowa's face clears and he sends Quatre a teasing look, "You still like Heero. You're willing to brand yourself for him... Yet you still try to shag me!" Trowa started to mock weep hysterically.
He raised a brow and looked at the sobbing Trowa, it didn't quite work with the grin on his face. "Well, I believe you asked me to shag, darling. And I do not like Heero! In that way at least..."
"So you kissed him because...?"
"You dared me!"
"Oh, yeah..." Trowa looked down, "I always forget that."
"I know." Quatre says dryly. Then shifts, "So could you move, this hot water tap is giving me the," up and down his hips go, Trowa follows them the shower over his head, washing away the drool, "Shits..."
Not the best mental picture, Trowa thinks and shudders.
Still, he can't help but love a wet slippery Quatre.