This story was written for the fanworks challenge '101 ways to snog en route to a colony' to celebrate GWAddiction's two-millionth hit, which was organized by Psyche and Dracostella. (Thanks, guys!) This fic is archived under Snog 49. So, be prepared for shameless snogging.

Missing You

—

Quatre braced himself, reaching backwards for the cold glass he knew he was moving back towards. His hand made contact gently, but the rest of him was another matter; and when he hit their kiss broke for a frustrating second and a half, and his inertia made him arch back into Trowa, who trapped him between himself and the window. But if Quatre was trapped in body, his grip on Trowa made sure that boy's lips had no way of escaping. Nor did he want them to. Trowa returned his kiss hungrily, unrelenting even when he hurt both of them. He forced his way into Quatre's mouth, and the restrained moans the other made told him he was on the right track. Quatre's fingers found the beltloops of his jeans, pulling their bodies together; and to hide noises of his own, Trowa stifled them against Quatre's neck.

The clash of the cold of space at his back, freezing him through the back of his shirt and slacks, and Trowa's warmth pressed against him made Quatre shiver. When Trowa's fingers moved desperately to the lower buttons of his shirt, he found himself looking down the dark hallway self-consciously, listening for any movement. But there was no one there. He didn't really care either, with Trowa's tongue and hot breath in his ear, the gentle tug on his earlobe. Their lips came together again as Trowa slid his hands beneath Quatre's shirt, exploring that body that, every once in a while, seemed so familiar. The way Quatre sighed raggedly into his mouth, trying to hold back louder emotions, that was familiar too. That was what he wanted. Those feelings were exhilarating, addictive, and a little frightening, but if he could only hold onto them a bit longer he thought he might make some progress. Maybe he would at least find what Quatre was looking for.

That possibility was killed when Quatre reached for the button of his fly.

He started and took a step back, resting his hands against the window on either side of Quatre's head as he tried to collect his thoughts. The rapid pounding of blood in his ears continued even as the excitement of the last few minutes faded away. He swallowed. "I'm sorry," he muttered, monotone.

"Don't be," Quatre said with a sigh of resignation. The moment—when it had seemed like the old Trowa touching him, the Trowa who had saved his soul, instead of some strange, distant boy—was clearly over. He began to button his shirt. "I'm the one who should be sorry. I guess this is all still a little weird—I shouldn't have—"

"That's not what I meant."

Trowa turned to lean back against the window of the Peacemillion, looking out at the stars and Quatre's reflection in the glass because he didn't trust himself to say what he wanted to the real thing. "I know that was important to you," he told the transparency, "I just can't for the life of me figure out why. I mean, I know. But I can't feel it. I tried, Quatre."

"That's all right—"

"Not with me." He met Quatre's stare and faced the waves of guilt and longing and confusion crossing those blue eyes that searched him for some kind of understanding. He was kissing him again before he really comprehended what he was doing, gentler this time, just needing the sensation of Quatre's lips against his. His taste and the moist click of their kiss parting thrilled him, but there was still something missing. Why can't I get it? he wondered as he pulled away unsatisfied. What is it I'm afraid I'll find?

He shook his head at the question forming on Quatre's face, and opened his mouth to say something—anything that might be appropriate, although he could think of nothing—but the sudden sound of footsteps startled him to silence. "Oh, hey, Howard," Quatre said with a cheerfulness that sounded too forced and brittle to Trowa.

"Hey, yourself." If Howard detected it, he gave no sign. "You two missed dinner," he said. "I was starting to worry you got lost or something."

The two boys exchanged glances. "Sorry about that. I guess we lost track of time."

"Oh, yeah . . . well, that happens out here," Howard said distantly, looking between them out the window to admire the view—or at least seeming to. He could hide just about anything behind those glasses if he wanted to. He had to shake himself out of a stare. "Well, just don't forget to eat something. I know kids today are weird like that. They get so wrapped up in something they forget they need some nutrients every once and a while—that sounds like me actually. . . ."

12/16/02
Thanks for reading. :D