Note: Many thanks to everyone who has been reviewing.

A Sunday Treat:

Quatre replaced Trowa's phone carefully, noting that his hands were shaking, just a little, and headed back into the living room.

Telling Heero his new plans had been difficult enough; he had no doubt that his friend would storm into the bookshop and try to drag him out by force. Still, even Heero Yuy couldn't get from L4 to Earth before the evening. That gave him a whole day with Trowa.

Talking to Iria had been apocalyptically bad. His sister wasn't used to being defied by anyone, certainly not by her biddable baby brother.

Too bad.

He was resolutely not going to think about any of that. He was going to give himself this one day in his new friend's company as a gift, and if Iria didn't like it, then….too bad.

'You OK?' Trowa glanced up from the book he was reading and let out a long wolf whistle. 'Nice. Duo's clothes suit you.'

Quatre blushed slightly, trying to hug the hem of his t-shirt down a little. He and Duo wore the same size, but Duo clearly liked his clothes to be a lot more fitted than Quatre was comfortable with. 'Are you ready to go?'

'Just a minute.' The book was put aside, and Trowa sauntered over, taking Quatre's mouth in a long, leisurely kiss. 'There. Now we can go.'

Quatre goggled up at him. He wasn't really used to people just… kissing him like that, as if they had a perfect right to do so. No one ever treated him like that. But it had felt so good, and one of Trowa's hands was perched on his right hip and the other was roaming over his ass and Duo's jeans were ridiculously tight, really. 'You kissed me.'

'You noticed.' Trowa laughed down at him and Quatre wished, for the millionth time, that he was taller. Although it was rather nice having to tilt his face to look up at the other man….'You're very perceptive. Didn't you like it?'

'Yes.' Oh, why even bother pretending to be offended? He'd liked it very much; it was just so different from the soft, gentle kisses Trowa had given him in that club, and Trowa had apparently reverted to the bossy, in-charge person he'd been when they first met.

'Good. I'm planning to do that a lot.' Looking at Trowa's lips move, remembering just how they'd felt on his, Quatre let his eyes close, lifting his face for another kiss.

Instead, Trowa let him go, gave him a light slap on the bottom, and laughed at the look on Quatre's face. 'You're the one who wanted to go out. Now, come on. We'll go to the bakery before all the good stuff is gone, and then I'll show you my shop.' He gave Quatre a very definite wink. 'If you like, we can carry on this discussion when we get back.'

'Oh, I'd like,' Quatre said boldly, surprising himself, and then shocked himself even more by throwing his arms around Trowa's neck and attacking the other man's mouth. After one little gasp, Trowa let him.

'Nice,' Trowa said finally. He was flushed, just a little, and breathing rather more quickly than usual. 'Ooooo-kay. Now I can't decide what I want to do; get to the bakery before all the raspberry muffins are gone, or drag you into my bedroom. Any opinions on that?'

Bedroom, Quatre thought longingly, but he didn't say it. He wanted to, very much. Instead, he squelched down that sudden stab of longing, and gave Trowa a demure little smile. This was moving far too fast; a brisk walk in the fresh air would clear his head nicely, and convince him that sex with a man he'd scarcely known for twelve hours was a bad idea.

'I'd hate to deprive you of your Sunday treat. Perhaps we should stay with the original plan. Um, if that's OK?'

Trowa laughed. 'I'm fine. It's a win-win situation for me, either way. Now, come on.'

In the small hallway, Trowa flung the door open, and Quatre hesitated at the first step down into the street.

This was it; his first step into the real world. He couldn't remember the last time he'd gone out without a bodyguard. But it was a bright sunny day and nobody knew who he was and he wanted, so much, to do this.

'All right, Cat?'

Quatre gave him a hesitant little nod. 'I just- well, I look like I walked into a wall. People are going to stare at me, aren't they? What shall I say if anyone asks me what happened?'

'It's not that bad.' Trowa tipped his chin back and gave him an appraising look. 'Honestly. And you can just tell the truth, can't you? That some guys tried to mug you?'

'I suppose.' Quatre took a deep breath, and moved his feet.

In daylight, it was a lovely street, paved with cobblestones, and with a little park at one end. All the shop-fronts were brightly painted, although the book shop was definitely the nicest, with its decoration of flowers and magical creatures.

The bakery smelled heavenly; the girl behind the counter obviously knew Trowa, chatting with him about how business was doing, and sneaking little glances at his companion, as Quatre picked out an assortment of pastries. He'd never done that either before; there was a pastry chef at home who sent up baskets of baked goods on request.

It was the same in the newsagents next door. The teenage boy who served them joked with Trowa but shot Quatre a long, curious look as well. It was the oddest sensation; none of these people knew who he was. They looked at him, yes, but they were probably wondering if the blond guy was Trowa's new boyfriend, or what had happened to his face.

They weren't looking at Quatre Raberba Winner. It was tremendously liberating, enough so that when they left the shop, he slid his hand into Trowa's. He'd never held another man's hand in public before. Mindful of discretion and duty to his family, his and Justin's relationship had been conducted almost entirely behind locked doors and tightly drawn curtains. It felt good, wrapping his fingers around the other man's, especially when Trowa squeezed back and swung their hands together.

'I'm not sure if we'll make it to the park, actually.' Trowa cocked one eye at the clouds gathering overhead. It looks like it's going to rain soon.'

'I like walking in the rain,' Quatre said dreamily, lifting his face to the sky, trying to imagine what rain would feel like, falling on his skin. 'Well, I've never really done it, but I like the idea of it.'

Trowa grinned. 'You colonials. You're as bad as Duo. When he first came to Sanque, he used to spend hours just standing in the rain. I was sure he'd get pneumonia at some point.' His tone was indulgent, and just a little teasing, but he somehow sounded like he understood as well.

'Haven't you ever been to space?'

'I was born on L3, but my family moved to Earth when I was just a baby.' He reached up his free hand to wipe something off his face. 'You know, if you really want to try walking in the rain, I think now's your big chance.'

The first raindrops danced lightly on his skin. It felt amazing; then a larger drop plopped into his eye and Trowa burst out laughing. 'You stand here and enjoy yourself if you want, but I'm warning you, you mightn't like a downpour in Sanque quite so much as you think. If you want to hang around and get soaked, please yourself. I'm going back home.'

'No, I'll come with you.' Quatre scrubbed at his eye. He hadn't expected it would be quite so cold, or so wet.

'Race you? 'Trowa suggested, shifting his packages under one arm, and taking off.

Quatre flung himself in hot pursuit, reaching the shop only a couple of paces behind.

'Hey, you're pretty fast.'

'You cheated!' Quatre accused. 'I wasn't ready.'

'I still won,' Trowa said smugly, opening the door. 'Don't I get a prize for that?'

'I don't think you deserve anything.' Quatre's eyes sparkled as he headed upstairs. 'It wasn't a fair contest, really.'

Trowa, following one step behind, swatted him with the folded newspaper. 'It worked though. Otherwise, you'd still be out there dancing with the raindrops and catching your death of cold, and I'd be all lonely here by myself. And speaking of colds, we should dry off a bit. You go into the bathroom and I'll get some more towels.'

He didn't actually look that bad, Quatre decided, looking at himself in the mirror. Well, apart from the fact that one side of his face was turning into a rainbow of mottled blues and yellows. The dash down the street had put some colour into his cheeks, his bangs were trailing into his eyes, and the wet, cotton t-shirt was clinging to his ribs and the points of his nipples.

He looked … almost sexy.

Trowa apparently thought so too. He came into the bathroom with an armload of towels, saying something about the hot water supply and then stopped short.

'Hey.' His green eyes were suddenly very dark, very focussed, and the focus was all on Quatre. It was exciting and exhilarating and just a tiny bit scary, having someone look at him like that. He'd stripped off his own shirt somewhere between bedroom and bathroom, and there were little trails of water dripping down his skin. 'You know, you really should take those wet things off before you catch cold.'

'I know.' Quatre swallowed. Oh, God, he'd never felt like this before. He was utterly, blindingly aware of sheer sensations. The slow drip of cold water from his hair; the soaking fabric moulded to his skin, and the sudden, aching need in his groin. That above all.

And Trowa, stalking closer, predatory and watchful as a big cat seeking particularly desirable prey. He hadn't noticed the smattering of freckles across his nose before, or that one of his front teeth was just a fraction crooked.

He hurled himself into Trowa's arms just before the other man reached him and the kiss was a desperate clash of lips and teeth and desire. He didn't even realise that Trowa had pinned him against the wall until he felt the cool tiles behind his back, and was ravishing his mouth.

Not just his mouth either; there was one hand between his legs and the other had torn up his t-shirt and was tweaking and teasing each nipple in turn, and throughout it all, Trowa was kissing him senseless in the truest sense of the word; stealing all of his senses, and sublimating them in that endless kiss.

One tiny, functioning part of his brain sent fingers scurrying to unzip Trowa's jeans, and stroke his arousal. Trowa came first, sprawling to the floor with none of his usual grace, and Quatre collapsed on top of him.

'Wow,' Quatre finally whispered. His head ached slightly where he'd whacked it against the floor; he could feel his own semen splattered on his skin, see it on his borrowed clothes. He was beyond caring. About anything.

It had never, never felt like that before. He'd had his most explosive, intense, starburst of an orgasm just from a kiss, and Trowa's hand on his cock. And he was still feeling the aftershocks; his body just wasn't used to this magnitude of pleasure.

It wasn't like having sex in those places on L4 either; Trowa wasn't rushing to clean up and dress and hurry back to whatever façade he lived behind. Far from it, he tugged off Quatre's clammy, sticky jeans and underwear and flung them across the floor to join his own, and then pulled Quatre close and kissed his forehead; one of those gentle kisses that sang with sheer affection.

'It was pretty wow, yeah.'

He could tell from Trowa's voice, from the look in his eyes, that this wasn't something that happened to him everyday, either. It was special.

'Can you even begin to imagine,' Trowa asked softly, 'what actual sex is going to be like?'

Quatre shivered. 'Mind-blowing.'

'Something like that. Talking of blowing, where d'you stand on oral sex? 'Cause I really, really hope you like it.'

'Oh, I do,' Quatre assured him hastily. 'Very much. Very much, indeed. As for the standing part, well, if you really want, we can do that way, but I quite like doing it in bed.'

'You,' Trowa's lips flitted over his temple, 'are something else. Totally.'

'Am I? Quatre wriggled happily. 'So are you.' He smiled, pressing his lips to Trowa's arm. 'Does it still count as pillow talk if we're lying on the floor?'

'Why don't you lie on me instead?' Trowa offered, draping Quatre's body over his like a blanket. 'How's that? You'd better like it, since I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to move again.'

'Me neither.' Quatre nuzzled his neck, letting his tongue dab against the slightly damp skin. 'I'll never actually want to move. Never again.'

'Guess we'll have to stay like this forever then.'

'Oh, the hardship.' It would be wonderful, Quatre thought hazily. Just him and Trowa entwined for all eternity. He could do that.

'Talking about hard, there may possibly be parts of me that want to move in the fairly near future. And given what you just did to me, you may consider that as a serious compliment.'

'Mmm,' Quatre sighed. He couldn't ever remember being this happy. It wasn't just the sex; it was the way Trowa was holding him; the silly, gentle teasing; the feeling of being exactly where he belonged.

'You know, we might be a little bit more comfortable in bed.'

'I'm comfortable right here,' Quatre protested. 'Please, Trowa. I don't want to have to move.'

'You're not lying on the on the cold floor. ' Trowa's arms tightened around him. 'Hang on. I'm going to move us somewhere a bit nicer. OK?'

'OK.' He hadn't been lying about not wanting to move, but it was rather nice to feel the strength in his companion's body, as Trowa stood up slowly. Quatre couldn't remember anyone ever carrying him before, not since he was a very small child. Being carried by a warm, naked man was extremely pleasant; especially when that warm naked man was eyeing him like he was the most delicious, extravagant dessert ever.

Leaning forward slightly in Trowa's arms, Quatre treated himself to a long, luxurious lick up the column of Trowa's throat as they crossed the living room.

'Right.' Trowa's voice came out somewhere between a growl and a purr. 'No way are we going to make it all the way into the bedroom.'

Quatre found himself tipped, unceremoniously, on to the sofa; Trowa tumbling on top of him.

'Tease,' Trowa accused, hands busily exploring.

'It's only teasing if I'm not prepared to follow though.'

Those hands were suddenly very still, one on his left hip, the other at his waist, and two green eyes were staring down at him.

'Ah. I see. Cat, just how far are you prepared to follow through then?'

Excellent question. It wasn't like he hadn't slept with strangers before; people he'd known for far less time and with whom he'd had no connection other than a mutual desire for some sort of physical release and the pretence of intimacy.

'Hey. It's all right.' Whatever Trowa saw in his face made him shift away slightly, although one hand was suddenly stroking his hair. 'We don't have to do that, yet. We can find some other stuff to start with, OK?'

'OK.' Miraculously, Trowa's voice managed to slice through the chaos of voices in his head. Iria saying that people would always want to be with him because of who he was, and all the warnings that Rashid and the others had dinned into him since he was a child, and even a long-ago memory of Jordan talking wistfully about a sports car he wanted, and how his birthday was coming up.

People always wanted something from him. Iria wanted the perfect, obedient little brother, and Rashid needed to keep him safe to fulfil the promise he'd made to a woman who'd died. There was only Heero, another lonely boy, who'd never asked for anything and had just wanted to be his friend.

And now, apparently there was Trowa, who seemed to want the same. Well, with a few extra benefits.

'I'm sorry.' He whispered it, not entirely sure why, except he spent most of his life apologising for something or other.

'What are you sorry for?' Trowa asked as softly and, just like that, there was nothing to worry about.

Just the two of them tangled on the sofa, with Trowa's hand in Quatre's hair.

'There's no rush.' Trowa grinned at him. 'You've taken care of the initial …hardship very capably. We can take things a little bit more slowly next time, hmmm? We've got all day and all night and….'

And someone rapped on the door, and Duo's voice floated into the room.

'Tro? I'm really sorry, but I think I did something wrong with the new stock control programme; the screen's frozen and I'm not sure what to do next. D'you think you could come downstairs for five minutes?'

Trowa swore luridly, one hand swiping the fall of hair away from his eyes. 'Fuck. I'll be five minutes. Ten, tops. Don't you dare move, got that?'

'Got that,' Quatre said obediently.

Damn. In the bathroom, he'd been prepared to let Trowa do anything, anything, without even considering protection or the fact that they hardly knew each other. He would have begged, Quatre reflected soberly. He wasn't innocent, or even particularly inexperienced. Over the past few years, he'd come to see sex as a physical release, a fleeting moment of connection if he was lucky. With Trowa, it had been more.

What the hell was going on with them? Heero had always claimed to believe in love at first sight; a rather charming inconsistency in his friend's ruthlessly practical personality. Quatre didn't really believe that such a thing was possible. Anyway, he hadn't fallen in love with Trowa the moment he'd seen him.

He'd felt just a little spurt of irritation that the man was trying to interfere in his life.

It had taken, oh, a minute or two. Trowa's smile, and the teasing glint in his eyes, and the feel of Trowa's hands on him.

Love, then. Heero had been right after all. It was possible.

All in all, maybe it was for the best that Duo had interrupted them when he did. He could keep telling himself that.

It was still raining, Quatre noted, glancing at the clock by the window. Not that he was going to time Trowa or anything. It was rather soporific, just lying there, and watching the raindrops; the sort of thing people did in romantic comedies. And Trowa's couch was comfortable; big enough for him to stretch out on, and deliciously soft.

The whole room was comfortable, actually. He hadn't paid much attention to the décor before but it was all cosy and quirky and a definite showcase for Trowa's personality.

Books, of course, shelves of them, with stacks on the floor where they'd over-spilled the storage area. At some point, he'd get up and see what Trowa liked reading, and go through his CD collection. And ask him where he'd bought the carved wooden masks, and why he collected circus posters, and who the little red haired girl was, who laughed out of a variety of photographs. At some point he'd do all that.

Right now, it was enough just to lie on that exquisitely comfortable, over-stuffed couch and watch the raindrops, and remember the feel of Trowa moving against him.