A/N: This is my first, and quite possibly last, foray into the world of Gundam Wing. First because AtheneMiranda got me hooked on the comics; last because this was such a torture to write. It's been sitting around on my hard drive for about a month, and then when I went down to London (bless you, Thene, for giving me a haven) I took it with me and vowed to get it finished. Not a good idea. I've had such trouble with it that in the end I completely cut the intended lemon and returned the fic to the sap from whence it came.
Many, many thanks to Thene and Persephone for pointing out when the characters were getting OOC, when Heero was saying too much or Trowa thinking too little. I hope everything fits together reasonably well. Thanks too to Trowa, who sat on my shoulder and kept nagging me until I got this done. Heaven knows I finish too few of my stories as it is. Even this one calls out for another chapter; little hope there, though.
Please drop me a review and tell me how you think I did.
Disclaimer: GW isn't mine. Major kudos to Sakura Asagi, though, for drawing such a beautiful Trowa in Blind Target #2.
Warning: Shounen ai. 1x3. Unconventional pairing that may incur wrath. *cowers* Don't hit me! Swearing (naughty Trowa) and relatively graphic slash (although it's all illusory). Don't say I didn't warn you.




I drag myself awake, my body kicking and screaming at being wrestled from its slumbers. My eyes manage to force themselves half-open, and I wince at the horrible gritty feeling in them.
Automatically, I reach out for Quatre, feeling for the warmth my instinct tells me should be there, but it's not. This bed's only warmth has been my own ever since...
Ever since...
Ever since I called out Heero's name when we were halfway through making love.
What was worst was that Quatre didn't go mad. He didn't scream, or shout, or even ask me why. He just stopped dead, and looked down at me with those big liquid blue eyes of his. I'll never forget that expression - not even a touch of anger or jealousy, just sadness, reproach, and a trace of disappointment.
He didn't say a word. Not a single word, just grabbed his clothes and ran out. And ever since then, we haven't shared a bed. Three weeks alone, every morning.

Every morning I ask myself why it happened. Quatre is a great person, he's attractive and sweet and sensitive, and I love him. Or loved. I don't know which or why, whether I still love him or not.
All I know is whose face I saw that night, the face I've seen every night for the past three weeks. Heero Yuy.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, and I squint against the unexpected light.
Heero.
Framed in the doorway, sunlight streaming around him, he looks like some sort of dream. Although he's wearing more than he usually does in my dreams...
I squelch that thought before it can get out of hand - but the blush that rises with it evades my efforts at control, slipping past my defences to tinge my cheeks. I toss my head, bringing my hair down and over my face to conceal the blush.
He cocks his head to one side and gives me that rare and completely inscrutable smile. I wonder if he knows how hot he looks, standing there in nothing but his black boxers, that tightly-muscled body highlighted by the shadow-lines.
Not that it needs highlighting. You couldn't find a spare ounce on Heero's body if you had several weeks and a map. His lean body doesn't carry any fat at all - he's just bone, sinew and muscle all the way through. And damnit, but it makes him look good.
No. I tear my stubborn mind away from this futile line of thought. I love Quatre. Anyway, Heero's...isn't he? He and Relena, they've...haven't they?
He folds his arms, and the shift and ripple of his body makes my mouth go dry. At the same time, a certain part of my anatomy starts making its presence known.
Down, boy. Not now. This isn't the time.
"Trowa Barton, what are we going to do with you..."
There's a teasing tone in his voice, one I haven't heard before.
"What d'you mean?" I deliberately keep my voice deep and inflectionless, blanking out any stray confusion that might've slipped past my blocks.
He moves across to the window, and my eyes follow him of their own volition, refusing to obey no matter how much I try to drag them away from him. If I didn't know better, I'd say he was doing this just to tease me - the play of muscles in his back and the way his buttocks shift inside those boxers is almost too perfect.
What's with you today, Barton? You never used to drool over Quatre like this. You're like some hormone-driven thirteen-year-old.
With a swift movement, the curtains are drawn aside, and light floods the room. I wince, and he quirks his mouth at me in that way which could never quite be called a smile.
"You look rough. What's up?"
I resist the urge - no, that joke's too easy. Plus I don't want to draw any more attention to my...little problem...than is necessary.
"Nothing," I eventually manage. "I just had a bad night."
Liar. You had a great night, mostly thanks to him - the only trouble is, none of it was real, and he has no idea about any of it.
"Bad dream?"
Flesh on flesh, skin on skin, hot lips on mine, body on fire where he touches me. No words, only searing kisses. Touching me everywhere, making me feel...
"No."
"Couldn't sleep?"
Hands in my hair, holding me tightly as he kisses me over and over. Tongue rough in my mouth but gentle on my neck, sweat mingling between us as we touch, everywhere...
"No."
He lowers himself onto the bed next to me, and instantly half of me wants to fling myself at him and half wants to jump up and run for my life.
What the hell is wrong with me? This is crazy! I'm going crazy!
"What, then?"
Hand wrapped around myself, pumping madly, seeing him doing the same - head thrown back, body glistening with sweat as he pleasures himself...
I shake my head to try and clear it. That was one of the worst dreams of all. It was so real, and I wanted him so much...
No! I love Quatre!
"It's nothing."
He fixes me with a look. "I know you're lying. Tell me what's wrong."
I roll away, not wanting to face him. "Nothing's wrong."
I feel a hand on my shoulder, forcibly rolling me back over, and then he grabs my chin in both hands and drags my face up level with his. His dark eyes are flaring, and he growls deep in his throat.
"Tell me."
As much as I struggle to keep control, I can't - something inside me breaks, and I start yelling at him.
"For god's sake, Heero! You want to know what's wrong? I can't get you out of my damn head, that's what's wrong!"
His eyes widen, but I can't stop now. My voice is getting louder with every passing second, and all I can hope is that the others are all out. Otherwise this is going to get very, very complicated.
"I dreamt about you last night, did you know that? That's why I couldn't sleep - every time I closed my eyes you were there, with that blasted sexy body of yours, kissing me and touching me! I jacked off thinking about you! Is that good enough? Want to know any more?"
The storm blows itself out, leaving me shaking in its aftermath. My eyes prickle, and immediately the old defences snap into place. No tears, ever.
Unfortunately, I didn't reckon with Heero doing something completely unexpected. He leans in and kisses me.

Instantly, all my shields slam up. I stiffen and tense, all my instincts screaming at me to shove him away. I put one hand on his shoulder, intending to push him off me, but he cups both hands around my face before I can move and holds me too tightly to get away. He's none too gentle - the kiss is rough and fierce, but somehow it does what Quatre's tenderness never could. I can feel my shields being stripped away, this assault leaving me exposed and vulnerable, and there's nothing I can do about it.
Finally, he lets me go, and we sit there panting. I daren't look at him - my cheeks are still burning with shame, and my head's full of confusion and indecision.
"Sorry."
His voice is flat and lifeless - so much so that I flick my head up to look round at him. He refuses to meet my eyes, just sits there staring down at the floor. His shoulders are slumped, his whole attitude one of someone fighting an inner battle.
Oh, I know what that's like. Every day inside my head is a battle just to stay sane, to stay safe and shielded and invulnerable.
And yet... Somehow, with him sitting there, I don't feel like I need that armour I've carried all my life. I don't want to be impassive and nonchalant and emotionless - I want to drop every single shield I ever constructed, to let in where even I don't dare to go. I want to reach out and feel his arms around me, and just let him hold me.
I've never felt this way before. Never. Not even about Quatre - I never let my shields down for him. Sure, I let him touch me, kiss me, even make love to me - but I never let him in.

I realise the silence has gone on for far too long already, but though I try to come up with something coherent-sounding all I can manage is "So..."
His head comes up and in his eyes I can see hope mingling with apprehension. Wow. This is the first time I've ever seen anything in those cobalt-blue depths other than cool self-control.
"So what?"
"Well..."
"Hm?"
I stare at him helplessly, only to have the look returned - he doesn't know what to do any more than I do.
"Look," he says matter-of-factly, "you've been through this before. I haven't."
"So?" I sigh. "You're not Quatre. I don't know how to cope with this." Except possibly by bleaching your hair and making you wear pink...
He shifts a little closer and awkwardly covers my hand with his. On impulse, I turn mine upwards, interlacing our fingers. His skin is rough but warm against mine.
That's how we stay for a long time, neither of us sure what to do next. It's no good waiting for him to do something, though - after all I'm supposed to be the one who knows how this goes.
Trouble is, I don't - I can't even infer from what Quatre did for me. I bet if he were here now he'd know exactly the right thing to say or do.
In his absence, however, all I can do is sit here, still half-covered by my quilt, feeling embarrassed and self-conscious and uncertain. My automatic response is to flick my head, bringing my protective fringe back over to shield my face.
"Don't do that."
"What?" Startled, I meet his eyes with my one unhidden one.
"Don't do that," he repeats, brushing my hair away from my face with his other hand. Despite myself, I can't repress a shiver when he touches me - his hand is warm, with just a trace of anxious sweat lingering on his palm.
"Don't hide yourself. You're...I...you...you're too...um," he stumbles. I can't believe my eyes. Iceberg Heero, so-composed-you-could-bounce-rocks-off-him Heero is actually incoherent.
"You have really nice eyes."
This blush isn't going to be hidden by any amount of hair. Instead I'm forced to drop those 'nice' eyes, the hand that isn't still clasped in his tracing awkward patterns on the quilt next to me.
"You do, though. Honestly." He's just as far out of his depth as I am - how am I supposed to tell him how strongly I feel about him?
"I..." I can't get any further than that. The intense look in his deep blue eyes has me completely caught. There's no doubt that he feels just as strongly as I do - but neither of us dare say it.
He shifts uncomfortably on the bed. "Um..."
"Mm."
"Hn."
"Uh..."
He shakes himself. "Fuck, this isn't getting us anywhere. Look, you are..." He laughs, a humourless hiss between his teeth. "God, if you don't know what you are, then you must've avoided every mirror in your life. You," he squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back reassuringly - this is costing him a lot to say, "are...beautiful."
My cheeks burn, and I drop my eyes again. "No. No, I'm not."
"You are."
"Am not."
"Are."
"Am not."
I realise we're doing it again. Shit. This cycle has to be broken - otherwise it's just going to get more and more awkward.
Fortunately, he gets there first.
"Can...can I kiss you?"
I can't stop myself laughing - that's so unlike Heero. Usually he never hesitates, he just does whatever he needs to, and mission accomplished.
He looks hurt. "What?"
I rest my forehead against his, daring more than I ever thought I would. The sensations are all so sharp - the warmth of his skin, the rough-smooth pattern of his hair, the intense look in his eyes, so close to mine.
"Nothing. Just...you."
He pouts - the first time I have ever seen him do anything like that, and shit, but it makes him look hot. I want him so much...
"What?" he repeats, and I shiver at the damp warmth of his breath against my skin.
"Nothing," I repeat, tilting his head up and gently meeting his lips with mine. For a few seconds we just sit there, barely touching, everything so different from the first time. Eventually he starts responding to me, and my heartbeat fills my ears as he sucks hesitantly on my bottom lip. I shyly slide my tongue out until just the very tip is touching his lips; he responds, opening his mouth slightly and sliding a hand up to tangle in my hair. Some indescribable feeling surges through me as his tongue just touches mine - I feel an incredible thrill course down my spine, like the best kind of electric shock.
I take up a tentative hold on his shoulders, loving the feel of soft, warm skin beneath my hands. All my shields are down - I'm completely open for the first time in my life. And it feels fantastic.
He shifts closer, pressing his deliciously warm, strong body up against mine as our tongues dance around each other. I 'mmph' softly into his mouth...
...and then I jerk away as I hear a soft cough from the direction of the door.
Heero doesn't turn, doesn't even take his eyes off me. "What d'you want, Maxwell?"
Duo grins at him from the doorway. "Lighten up, Yuy. I'm not gonna squeal. Why would I, when you make such a cute couple?"
Heero swings round and growls at him, and I touch his shoulder gently to try and calm him down.
Duo only grins even wider. "Boy, if only I'd remembered to bring my camera. I bet Relena'd pay loads to see a pic of you two snogging."
I glare at him, and he winks at me. "Don't worry, Trowa. I'm not that cruel." He turns, then calls back over his shoulder, "If anyone can get through to Heero, it's you. Good luck."
The door swings shut behind him, with Heero still glaring at it. I reach out and trace a finger slowly up his cheek. "Leave him. It'll be fine."
He turns back towards me, fiercely, protectively. "But..."
I slide my hand down to the back of his neck, pulling him gently towards me. "It'll be fine."
His lips touch mine, and I instinctively know I've spoken true. It'll be fine...