Keep in Time

Dentelle_noir

Summary: AU 3x4. A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy. Together, they make new rules and find a new path.

Re-posted old chapters with new beta work, new chapters to be added VERY SOON!

Chapter 11

July huffed in exertion, her hair falling unattractively out of the strict bun and sticking straight out, stiffened from sweat. Trowa clapped and she step, step, jumped and Trowa grabbed her palms, pressing her high above his head with his arms.

She was supposed to bring her legs up into a simple pinwheel stance while above his head-- holding her own weight balanced on their two pressed hands. Instead, Trowa felt her arms give an unsteady shake, and it was enough to buckle his hold.

With a shriek, she came tumbling down-- caught expertly by the waiting Dimitri. That fall had happened more times than a proper dismount, for goodness sakes! The bad day Trowa had already gone through sure wasn't helping and tempers were steadily rising.

"This is getting ridiculous!" Cathy snipped from her spot on the couch. She was facing the practice room's dance floor and tying to coach July from the sidelines. It wasn't working. The press lift wasn't simple, but it shouldn't have been failing so badly that they couldn't even get off the ground after an hour!

"Can you stop friggan dropping me, Trowa!" July snapped, flattening her frazzled hair back into its bun and retrieving a water bottle from the table next to Cathy's couch.

"Everybody settle down," Dimitri said, his own voice edged with anger and weariness (he's been catching the girl for the last hour after all).

With a snap right back, Trowa growled, "Can you stop buckling!" He was just as tense and frustrated as everyone else. And after Cathy's near-refusal to even look at him, and his phone ringing near constantly as Quatre tried to get a hold of him, probably to yell at him some more, and he just wanted to get this over with so everything could be like it used to be! But it wasn't happening. July was not Cathy; He hoped to god his sister came back to skating soon so he didn't have to deal with all this...stuff.

Cathy stood up, leaving her crutch behind to hobble over to her brother. She threw her hands onto his and locked eyes, sending a thrill through Trowa's body.

He knew this. They didn't need a clap. Trowa knew Cathy. She pushed off and he lifted--

And then it all went to hell.

Cathy was up above his head, her two legs pointed out (since she couldn't very well pose with a cast covering most of her leg) when Trowa's arm spazamed and buckled. Cathy tumbled like a rock, bringing Trowa down with her. Dimitri was there to stop her from breaking her neck...but the damage had been done.

The whole room was stunned. Team Barton couldn't even do a standing press lift together.

Cathy's face flamed red as she scrambled to pick herself up, "What the HELL, Trowa! Been shirking weights or something because of blue-eyes? You DROPPED ME!" She screamed in outrage.

Humiliation set into Trowa's belly and he didn't even have the heart to get up off the floor, sweating and panting from the strain. Anger began to build, but at himself! He hadn't been working out like he used to. He HAD been spending more time thinking about Quatre then about Cathy. It was all coming out; he couldn't even lift his partner! His sister! Cathy hurled insult after insult, Trowa dropping his head in submission as he rubbed at his over-abused arm. What kind of skater couldn't even lift his partner?

July's coach threw her charge a sweater and directed her towards the glass door. It was obvious they would make no more headway today...

And that was when he spotted sad blue eyes looking in. Quatre was watching from the other side of the door. Quatre saw him fail. Quatre was seeing Cathy go up one side of him and down the other while he sat there like a doll and took it.

Suddenly it wasn't guilt turning his face flushed...it was anger. He picked himself up off the floor in one steady motion, fluidly bringing himself to his feet while Cathy continued her barrage.

July's coach opened the door, ushering her student out (and he knew Quatre could hear every word once the soundproof was broken) and Trowa snapped.

"You haven't done a lift since your accident! You've got ten extra pounds on one side, at least! And you're telling me it's my fault alone!?" Trowa didn't know where it was all coming from, but the idea of Quatre seeing Cathy wring him out was just too much to bear. "Maybe I haven't been lifting as much, but at least I'm still TRAINING! I landed a fucking triple axel! You can't expect to sit on your ass all day and party all night then just jump right in and expect it to be like before!" Trowa bellowed. Because it WASN'T like before!

Like a punch to the gut, Trowa realized it never WOULD be the same. He thought of Cathy's look. Cathy ignoring him. Cathy's forcing her music down his throat, Cathy pulling away from him on the couch... he knew it would never be the same ever again. Cathy's drive was gone. "You're not going to compete again." Flew out of Trowa's lips in a horrified whisper. Quatre was right. Quatre had always been right...Trowa just didn't want to see it. Denial was nicer then the truth sometimes.

Cathy's eyes widened and her hand came back...

The resounding SLAP echoed through the studio, the sheer shock sending Trowa off-kilter while his hand came up to rub at his cheek. "Fuck YOU Trowa Barton!" Cathy screamed, the sparkles of tears showing. Trowa reached out to... he didn't even know, but touch had always soothed them. But Cathy wouldn't let him. She flew out of the room, practically tumbling out the door and nearly swinging it into Quatre's stunned face.

Two heavy hands came down on Trowa's shoulders, goading him to relax under the kneading touch. Trowa hadn't realized he was as coiled as a spring until then, or that he felt like the whole world was off-kilter underneath his feet. When had it all gone so...so wrong?

"Take a break. Relax. Cool down." Dimitri said to Trowa, stopping his massage and taking a step towards the door. He gave Quatre an encouraging smile, holding the door open for the blonde. He excused himself to bring Cathy her crutches, and left Trowa and Quatre alone.

"I'm sorry," Trowa said first, sighing wearily and pulled his sleeved arm across his face to scrub off the sweat and the surprising wetness running down his cheeks. He could feel the sting from Cathy's hand still-- it reminded him that NOTHING was okay anymore!

Quatre took that moment to step into the work-out studio, quickly going to Trowa and wordlessly wrapping his arms around the skater. His own arms responded by curling around the blonde, holding onto his when all his other life-lines seemed to be snapping. He his whole body was trembling from the emotion, and Trowa just had to, just had to move-- he started to rock, taking Q with him.

The blonde swayed in time, dropping his head to pillow on Trowa's shoulder...then moving a hand to take Trowa's hand. "We're dancing now" Quatre hummed with a smiling voice.

Trowa had to chuckle at that, "Seems I just can't stay still," he replied, turning them, leading the dance.

"You never did take me dancing yet," Quatre said as he shifted his feet and flicked his hips in sync.

"When my mind is free, No melody can move me..." Trowa sang, beginning to move them to the beat in his head. Quatre grinned, picking up the tune and humming along.

Trowa twirled him out, then the dancer spun back into Trowa's arms effortlessly, continuing the steps, "I wanna get lost in your rock n' roll and drift away," Quatre's voice lifted over the room, over all the bullshit.

And Trowa held him by the swell of his hips and lifted him up, thrilling when Quatre moved with him and arched his back to dip gracefully back, back, arching until his outstretched fingers nearly brushed the hardwood floor. Trowa let his hand trace his spine, and Quatre followed with the movement, rolling upwards with Trowa's guidance until he was standing straight again, and flush against Trowa's cut body, moving and sliding against each other to the music they were humming to each other.

With a mischievous smirk hidden by his eyes half lidded in pleasure, Quatre put his hands into Trowa's--palm to palm-- and Trowa lifted, bracing the blond up high, straight up above Trowa's head, suspended there by the combined strength of the two of them working together to reach for the sky. And Quatre smiled, looking down at him delighted, "I guess I'll forgive you...but don't ever tell me to fuck off again, Trowa Barton! Or I'm SO breaking up with you!" Trowa started to spin just gently, turning that smile into a laugh of delight as Quatre was forced to wrap his arms around Trowa and just enjoy it.

From the hallway, Dimitri's eyebrows rose. The blonde was...a great dancer. He had the grace and experience, and for some reason he knew how to be lifted...And when Trowa and the blonde were together...it was magic.

Quatre moved back down to the floor, doing a little turn on his tip toes-- before the pain shot up his legs like lightning.

Trowa pulled him in tight, taking most of his weight without picking him up. The pain was obvious in his muscles--the tension was palatable-- but Trowa knew, knew without even having to see the determination in Quatre's face, that Quatre wouldn't stop the dance. He needed to dance. Fish needed to swim. Birds needed to fly. Quatre needed to dance, just like Trowa needed to skate, even without a partner, or without hope of competing, he NEEDED the ice.

Trowa continued to rock with the rhythm, and Quatre dropped his head again to rest on Trowa's shoulder, in thanks, or pleasure, and together they finished the song, the last note silenced when their lips met.

Quatre pulled away first, a soft smile of pleasure staying on his lips, "I missed you. I kept trying to call. I was going to yell at you some more...but then… I saw you in here...and you looked so upset..."

Trowa sighed, "I'm an asshole, Quatre..I'm very sorry, I never should have said that to you. I was just so shocked...so upset...but I can see why you said that, now. Cathy...Cathy's changed."

"So have you, Trowa." Quatre said gently, running his fingers along Trowa's rock solid arms, "You're doing this because YOU want to, not because others expect it. I mean, really, a Pairs skater barely needs to do more then a single jump, but you Trowa? You just can't keep off the ice. Just like I can't stop dancing, even though my friggan leg is killing me."

Shit! Trowa picked Quatre up off the floor in one swoop and carried him to the couch, elevating his leg and taking a look..."It's swelling, Quatre." Trowa declared with a grimace.

"Ah fuck" Quatre muttered, a tone of annoyance...but nothing more.

"You HAVE to stop re-injuring yourself, stupid. You'll permanently damage yourself if you keep this up." Trowa scolded him, putting the foot up onto the couch arm.

"I just have to dance, Trowa. Like you said, I hear a tune and I just can't stay still." Quatre said, looking forlornly at his feet and making them wiggle for the hell of it.

Trowa sighed, nodding in understanding...he dropped a kiss to the slightly swollen ankle and went to find him an ice pack.

Dimitri was in the main office, looking down at the ice where Petra was coaching the novice-women's class. Trowa stepped in, near-silent, the leather soles of his dance-slippers whispering against the hardwood. He saw July walk through, her bag slung over her shoulder as she passed the rink...stopping for a moment to look at the skaters with a little smile on her face and taking a moment to wave at a slightly confused Petra. Someone would have to tell her how practice had gone to hell in a handbasket. Dimitri sighed, "We have to do something, Trowa" He said, eyes never leaving the window.

A chuckled escaped Trowa's lips, "Eyes in the back of your head, again? Damn Dim, you're going to make one kick-ass parent."

Dimitri smiled, "And don't you forget it, Boyshka. I honed it on you. I just hope Petra doesn't have a girl. There's already enough hair pulling around here from the skaters." And finally Trowa's coach turned, watching Trowa walk over to the fridge and pull out an icepack. "You're not hurt, right?" Dimitri's gruff voice asked, a little alarmed.

Trowa was amused by the concern, "No not me. Quatre. He shouldn't be dancing like that. He broke his toes--he broke them bad. He's not even supposed to be reaching for anything on tip-toe, but like a true idiot dancer, he just can't stay down."

"He's....good. I like Quatre, you know that right Trowa? But he's...very good. Good at lifts. He did a press-lift, Trowa. You noticed that, right?"

"Yeah, he's great Dim, I love working with--"

Dimitri cut him off harshly, "Use your head, Boy! No ballet dancer learns a press lift. I like Quatre, but don't you think that's just a little suspicious?"

Cold shock ran through Trowa's veins "Are you trying to say that Quatre's a SPY?! He said his cousin used to lift him! I'm friggan out of competition this year! Who the hell would he be spying for anyway!"

"Team Lowe! Anyone. Trowa I'm just looking out for you since you seem to be mesmerized by every blink of his eyes. Every team in Pairs wants to know if Cathy and you are coming back. You're more interesting now, after the accident, then before. You need to be aware."

Trowa took the medical supplies and moved closer to the door, "I'll be careful then, okay?" He said harshly, then slipped out of the office and traced his steps back to the practice room.

Quatre was still laying across the couch, poking at the slight swelling with a slight frown. Quatre saw him walking in and smiled warmly, shifting so that there was plenty of room for Trowa to perch on the couch with him.

Taking him up on the offer, Trowa took Quatre's foot in hand and placed the ice pack on it, tucking it into Quatre's shoe so it wouldn't fall easily, "You need to let this heal.... hey, why don't you let me take you home?"

Quatre turned his eyes away from Trowa, looking at the closed blinds that shielded the rink from view, "Don't you have practice, or something?" Quatre said...but something in his tone brought today's fight back into perspective. Maybe Jason had been right about some things. Maybe Trowa never was there...

"It's been a colossal failure today. From dropping July to Cathy slapping me, and Dim calling you a spy? I'm done. Let me drive you home, please? I want to spend some time with you."

Quatre brightened, practically beaming, "Yeah...okay. I can make us dinner if you want to stay and visit for a while...?"

Trowa gave Quatre his hand and lifted him from the couch, grinning, "Then let's go." Dim was wrong. No spy could ever smile at Trowa so affectionately.

The first thing Trowa noticed when he went up to Quatre's room was the pair of Winnie-the-pooh PJ pants strewn on the crumpled red and gold striped bedspread. Quatre blushed and grabbed them, tossing them hastily into a hamper hidden in the closet then hurriedly straightened the covers of his bed. The room still had the sparseness of the converted guest room it was (Quatre's hadn't been boarding with Iria all that long) but Trowa could clearly see Quatre personal touches around the desk. On it were the standard text books and notes, and hastily scrawled numbers and to-do lists littered the area. To the side holding pens and pencils was a bright, Ultra-blue semi-transparent mug with Kiana School of Dance scrawled across it with a bold pointe shoe and trailing ribbons framing the logo. There was also a mounted cork board with letters and notes and pinned-up knick knacks-the whole place warmed Trowa just a little, because it was so...Quatre.

He must have bumped the mouse, because Quatre's screen suddenly turned on...and an Instant Message window was open. He wasn't SPYING, but it was kinda hard to not notice that 'Jayce-of-the-storm' was demanding "Where are you?!?" Followed by an icy "with HIM, probably."

It wasn't hard to figure out "Jayce" was Jason. Or that the cap locked "him" was Trowa. Trowa had the urge to write back "Yes he IS. Fuck you!" But thought it was a little too petty...especially since he wanted to add a "na na you suck!" at the end.... He was a grown man, for goodness sakes and was not jealous!

Then the computer went to screen saver, stopping him from typing. Not that he had been about to... Damn temptation.

Personal pictures danced across the blank screen, but one caught his interest. It was fairly recent (unlike the few of Winner family functions where the one boy looked no older then 6) and showed Quatre sticking his tongue out at whoever was holding the camera with his arm around another the neck of a boy with bright violet eyes and a devil-may care grin.

"Who's this?" Trowa asked, not the least bit jealous...really. He had to admit that the other boy was handsome, and it was obvious he and Quatre were close

"That's Duo! One of my best friends," Quatre supplied, "We took that right before I locked him and my cousin in the basement. The two of them were head over heels for each other, but wouldn't stop arguing long enough to tell the other. I thought he was SO pissed at me afterwards, since he didn't call for a good three days! Turns out they were just busy screwing like rabbits to inform me they hadn't killed each other." Quatre said with a mischievous wink.

It was then Trowa noticed that Quatre had slid out of his shirt, and was wearing a simple, nearly transparent cotton undershirt--and it looked...incredibly hot on him. He then became aware of the fact that he himself was still in his practice clothes--a simple black sleeveless shirt and clinging, stretching dance pants. Quatre was drifting his eyes over him, and when Quatre's little pink tongue came out to lick his lips....

Trowa knew. Just like that near-forgotten feeling of perfection when Trowa put on skates and he knew he wanted nothing else...Trowa knew he wanted Quatre. He was...glorious. So sexy. So gorgeous. And he made Trowa feel like he wanted to take on the world! No spy could make Trowa feel like that.

Trowa reached out, letting his hand brush against Quatre's cheek, lingering just long enough to curl around his ear-- Weaving through the soft strands of his baby-blonde hair--he brought his lips to Quatre's.

The blonde responded, kissing back warmly, affectionately, sighing into the kiss as his hands locked around Trowa's neck. Trowa wanted him just as surely as he ever wanted anything. When Quatre was in his arms, he just knew, just felt, and went with his instincts.

Trowa pushed gently, and Quatre followed his lead, not letting his lips part from Trowa's until he near-tripped over his own discarded shoes...

Quatre was wearing little denim-blue socks, Trowa noticed...and Quatre was seating himself on the bed, flushing prettily and inviting Trowa to join him with that half-lidded look. And he did. Under the watchful eyes of the Leahy and Danieil Simpkin posters on the wall, Trowa took Quatre's mouth again, tasting, teasing, exploring and melting into each other. Quatre allowed him in, melting into the kiss and into Trowa's arms until the two of them were laying on the bed, Trowa's hands caressing Quatre's sides and ribs and edging Quatre's shirt up. He knew he wanted to go to the next step with Quatre. Wanted to make him moan.

As if sensing Trowa's quest, Quatre withdrew from the kisses with an encouraging smile full of affection and desire, and lifted his shirt completely off.

And then Quatre's hands were at Trowa's sides, touching the warm skin, inching up Trowa's shirt, teasing, and tickling. The heat of Quatre's fingers was setting his blood on FIRE. He wasn't sure if he pulled, or if Quatre rose, but Quatre came into his lap, pressing against each other with lips, breath, flesh, and heartbeats as their tongues danced and fingers explored each other.

Trowa's fingers ghosted down Quatre's smooth, trembling belly to his navel and lower, following a trail of nearly-there hairs which tucked under the band of Quatre's pants, where Trowa's hands had never gone before.... Trowa broke their kiss, and turned his gaze to Quatre, licking his lips nervously, hungrily... "I want you. Can I?" Trowa asked, drifting his fingers across the restricting black pants and the straining bulge beneath.

Quatre's eyes fluttered...soft, welcoming, hazed just a little in lust...and he nodded. Trowa popped the latch-hook, slid down the zipper at his hip, and peeled back the pants. He didn't look so much as feel Quatre, letting his fingers caress the band before he ventured underneath the elastic of his underwear. Trowa's mouth came back to Quatre's, kissing him hotly, sweetly, and surely as he wrapped his hand around Quatre's weeping member, exploring the feel and length that was so similar, but different then his own. He's never done this with another boy before. He'd never kissed another boy before Quatre either, but he was rather enjoying it, anyway, as Quatre's soft kisses turned wild with passion and he moaned into Trowa's mouth to beg for more. Quatre was shorter than Trowa, but looser, silkier and when he moved his hips into the touch it was a rolling slow, powerful push and then drag, evoking whimpers and moans of desire which spurred Trowa on to move to his rhythm.

And Quatre's hands came down from Trowa's neck, caressing his shoulders and chest, smoothing over the planes and dips of Trowa's chest, mapping the flesh, flattering over--

Trowa growled as a hit of desire went straight to his already straining cock. Quatre's hands were teasing and sliding over his nipples, pinching gently as Quatre grinned into their kiss, obviously pleased with the reaction he was pulling from Trowa. Once he had all of the skater's attention, those deft fingers were traveling down Trowa's abs, squeezing and flattering over his stomach while Quatre hummed and moaned in pleasure.

Trowa hardly realized he was still jerking the blonde by the time Quatre reached the band of his dance-pants with nothing but a draw-string to hinder his movements.

And then Trowa's world went up in a cloud of pleasure as Quatre's fingers worked around him and began to stroke--stroking in time to Trowa's motions. With a shot of heady delight, Trowa realized Quatre was giving as much as he was getting, sighing and panting and dueling tongues, as together they moved against each other, working in time, racing towards the same finish.

"Wanna make you--" Quatre said, panting for breath as he broke their kisses to start a faster pace on Trowa, holding tighter as Quatre's body began to tense.

"Want YOU." Trowa growled back, his eyes opening to look straight into Quatre's, and then Quatre was going over the edge with a tumbling cry, spilling all over Trowa's hand and the front of his half-on pants.

And then Trowa was gone, thrusting into the hand that clamped tight and fast around him in those last moments, cuming with a guttural moan into Quatre's hands. Panting, Trowa pulled Quatre in tight, and the blonde happily acquiesced, laying his head against the crook of Trowa's neck as they stayed entwined, reveling in the warmth and touch and pleasure still humming in their veins.

Quatre was the first to break the quiet, his tone somewhat sleepy and lethargic with pleasure as he stayed happily wrapped around the other boy, "'Want me', Hm?" he teased, "What a change from fuck you a few hours ago."

Trowa moved to run his hands over Quatre's lower back, interlocking to rest atop his hips as he let Quatre comfortably cut off circulation to his legs, "I said I was sorry, and I said you were right... I want you. I want you all the time. Want you almost as much as I want to skate." And it was one of the few things Trowa was sure about right then. He wanted Quatre for as long as he'd have him, and heaven help anyone who tried to get in between them.

When Trowa's head finally turned itself on, he was curled tightly around Quatre, hugging as if he never intended to let go or leave his side. And Quatre was lying peacefully beside him, smiling gently.

The sound of a car door shutting was all the prompt they needed to roll apart, rapidly finding clothing and trying to fix the tell-tale signs of what they had been up to. It must have been Iria coming home from work. She was inside the house, and coming up the stairs, "Quat?? Where are you- and Trowa?" She asked. She already knew he was there? Damn. He'd left his jeep parked right out in the open and it was pretty telling.

Quatre pulled his text book off the desk and threw it onto the creased bed, and that was all the idea Trowa needed. Out from his bag he pulled his math book and binder and flopped chest down onto the rumpled covers (hiding the traces of mess on his pants), and pulled open his homework for the day. Quatre caught on quickly and followed, laying down and grabbing pencils and a highlighter to make the scene credible.

She still hadn't made it up the stairs, so Trowa took a glance over at Quatre's paper, "Hey. You're already done?"

Quatre lifted a brow, "Yeah... He gave us nearly 20 minutes in class. I was making origami for the last bit. It's not hard."

Quatre's eyes drifted to Trowa's homework...and the pages of crossed out division and barely-started questions.....one of which was wrong... "Um...Trowa..." Quatre started, "You need to use X as the denominator here."

Trowa's brows furrowed, and he began to look at his answers, and then Quatre's answers. His brows furrowed deeper.

By the time Iria had readied herself to bust into the room and break up what she was sure was hot underage sex (and damn it! Her camera was downstairs), Quatre was already demonstrating a question, with Trowa trying to follow. They looked less-than-innocent, and the room reeked of sex, but the two weren't at it now, at least. And the skater seemed too honestly baffled for it to be faked. Apparently math was not his thing?

"You boys... need some crackers or something?" Iria said, deciding on ignoring their telling proximity (and the little "Nike" athletic sock on the floor which she KNEW did not belong to Quatre).

Quatre looked up from the struggling skater and smiled at his sister, "No thanks. I think we're okay," he said, a little smile of thanks on his face for her being cool. She wasn't 'cool' exactly, but she knew when she needed to put her foot down and when not to waste her breath, and she walked out- but left the door open to stop further shenanigans. Their Dad would kill her if he found out she wasn't ringing the blonde's neck right now.

Trowa finally got the question after the fourth rather annoying try, and sighed, "I know, my math isn't too hot. I have to work on it."

Quatre smirked, quirking his lips, "There's a lot you need to work on."

Trowa's jaw dropped, "What's THAT supposed to mean!" He was so startled he didn't have time to work up righteous indignation. Was he saying he was bad at fooling around!

Quatre smiled teasingly, "Not THAT; that was just fine. Mmm." Quatre played, and began to kick his legs back and forth for something to do, "I meant your arm positions. You skate like a stick. You should dance with your whole body, let the music move you!" Quatre rolled off the bed, plopping to the floor suddenly, then popped back up with a flourish of arms and a twirl.

"Dance like you mean it!" Quatre said, a grin blooming as he raised his hands high, then arched his back, leaning nearly parallel to the floor, and let them fall open like a flower blooming. He twisted to the side and came back erect with a smile, "I never see you do those!"

"That's a layback! Only GIRLS do laybacks!" Trowa huffed, half indignant, half pulled in by Quatre's charming smile.

"Says who?"

Trowa lifted a brow, "The layback spin is a required element of the Woman's short program. It is not a requirement or even a point-scoring movement for ANY men's event! Only girls do laybacks."

"But they're so pretty!" Quatre said, bending once more back, relaxing and poising his arms to drift just atop his waist level. He couldn't very well spin while in his bedroom, but Trowa could see how great Quatre would look. It was pretty. "You're so flexible, Trowa. I know you can do one, so why don't you?" Quatre asked, sliding back up from the position again and looking at Trowa with that mischievous sparkle, "You CAN do one, right?"

Trowa raised, anchoring his body on the bed with his knees, and then dropped his head back. Trowa began to roll backwards, counter balancing by drifting his hips outward and sliding his weight back, back, back, arching like a perfect curve. Then Quatre was there, his body pressed close and his hand pushing against the middle of Trowa's back and one against his chest, urging him to curl more, giving that extra bit of support to make Trowa reach to complete the movement and get his pectorals absolutely parallel to the ground.

And Iria walked in, carrying some cans of diet pop, "What the HELL!" She squeaked, surprised.

Trowa jerked to get upright and nearly pulled everything in his body! Quatre's hands clamped tight to keep him in place, "SLOW slow! You've got to roll out of it!" and he raised the hand up Trowa's back inch by inch to work him back upright. Trowa and Quatre were so close...their breaths touching...

So when they both burst out laughing, they nearly killed each other, falling into mad giggles in a heap on Quatre's bed, splaying the homework in all directions.

"Well, THAT was awkward." Trowa finished, smiling as Iria walked back out of the room muttering something about 'psychotic performers' under her breath.

Quatre grinned, "Maybe... but your layback was really hot, you know."

"I'm not a girl." Trowa threw back, settling back down in front of his math.

Quatre relaxed beside, him pointing to a few more questions...then leaned in and dropped a kiss to Trowa's neck, "Amen for that."