Endless Weiss: YojiXQuatre - Waiting For The Rain
Standard Disclaimers Apply!

The glass doors slid open, a tall, dark shadow looming by. "So you're in here."

The boy didn't look back, simply responded. "I like the rain." He was sitting on a the chair Yoji brought out on his balcony whenever he felt like thinking, or just smoking, staring out into the falling curtain of water splashing over his feet. Yoji removed his slippers and padded towards him.

He leaned back against the wall, shoving a cigarette back into his pocket and watched the boy simply take in the view, oblivious to the fact that he was getting wetter by the minute, the balcony's small canopy only enough to protect three-fourths across to the railing. He had his eyes closed.

"Thinking of anything in particular?"

He shook his head. "Just that, peace, could have been so beautiful."
Kudou Yoji clung to his shoulders, feeling slightly cold in his silky robe from the thrashing wind around them, and the silent words that floated their way to his ears. The boy sounded wistful, regretful, far from the child he seemed to be and was. Somewhere inside, he knew, he felt the same way.

"Could have?"

"Hai. You are lucky."

Yoji straightened, standing on his own, a bit startled by the unusual tone - the words themselves where not uncommonly thrown his way, but this time… it sounded as if the person had meant it. Quatre's words were extremely out of place, and yet he spoke of them with so little drama that they became too real in his ears. He paused for a while unsure what to say, threads of his own regrets wisping in his mind. Losing Asuka twice, and finding love again from the "wrong person", as Ken would call it - somehow, someway, Ken knew just how far the extent of his feelings had become. Far from Aya's little trysts with Schulderich or Crawford, which ever it was of the two who had convinced him to unlock the doors…

It bothered him to no end, how he had fallen so violently for the smoldering dark eyes of an enemy, a murderer, how he had walked into certain death with nothing but a faint readiness in his heart and even nervousness, just willing to accept the consequences up to the very moment he had tasted the cherry softness of untouched lips and plunged into the sweet heat of desire. Or let love die in the chilly whispers of dawn.

He could still remember how perfectly Nagi had fit into his embrace, small fingers refusing to let go even in sleep. How he smelled faintly of roses. How he didn't scream. How he tried not to cry while he entered him. And after.

Those same eyes were mirrors of his own, what his probably was to Schwartz and nothing more. Or nothing less. A soft sigh came from beside him and he turned his curious gaze to the shy boy seated with his hands on his lap. What could possibly trouble this child?

As if knowing he was looking, big blue orbs gazed back. "Gomen Yoji-kun I didn't mean to be so overemotional." He brightened visibly, smiling at him.

Yoji found himself smiling back, stepping closer to the chair and watching the rain with interest gained from Quatre's fascination of it. It was truly different, not getting anything from it but finding it appealing. "What is it Quatre?"

The boy started, smile diminishing slightly. "Nani?"

"I can tell that something's wrong. What makes such a young person as you so adept to life?" Damn he wanted to light up. But smoke, and Quatre... Omi never did let him smoke by the flowers.

Quatre closed his eyes, considering the question. It wasn't important, really. He was just that, another young person, with a number of years to life much less this man had but much more in spirit and experience.

Sometimes, he blamed the war, sometimes himself. Otherwise he would be dead.

"I just, I didn't have much of a childhood." At all, Quatre bitterly added to himself, the few fond memories of his younger years bringing more pain than mirth. Not with the OZ and his father and Sandrock all begging for his attention, asking fro his everything when he hadn't known what he was himself.

Yoji wasn't at all surprised, deducting this from earlier in their conversation. But surely nothing so serious could have happened, nothing so tragic.

It was just a whimper, but Yoji felt, more than heard it. It was too cold and Quatre was shivering, legs splashed with water to his knees. He rubbed his hands briskly for warmth and placed them on the boy's shoulders, and felt him stiffen with his touch.

"Quatre?" What's wrong?

Quatre kept his hands clasped to his chest, not bothering to look when Yoji knelt by his side and reached for him tentatively, waiting for an approval. Again he tensed, but didn't move away.

"Just don't ask anymore Yoji-kun. There are no answers."

Yoji lifted his hand to lightly trace the flushed cheeks, quelling all the uncertainty rising inside him with acknowledgement for Quatre's plea. He let his fingers feel the soft, baby-fine hair, damp strands subject to sideward rainfall sticking to the pale transparent skin on his temples. The winds around them were howling, the storm increasing, enveloping them completely now and thrashing against the wall at their back. Quatre shivered slightly, eyes lidding.

Deep blue flashed, liquid and moist, avoiding Yoji's gaze as he sought more. He couldn't help it; he asked. "Quatre, you're…"

Quatre's eyes broke open, hand over his mouth. "Ie! Not that!" He caught Yoji's hand and pushed it away from his face, a curious sort of half-anger flashing in his eyes. "Never that! Boys don't cry; father told me so." And he, tried, to smile again like he had been smiling for the entire day, for his entire life.

Yoji sucked in breath, not understanding why the words bothered him so. He spoke to him, voice so soft and low he could barely be heard. "And what else did he tell you?"

Limpid pools sheathed once more, rather involuntary. Ah, he'd answered this before, calmed and encouraged by the strength of Trowa's silent presence. He felt Yoji's breath caress his cheeks where gentle fingers trailed. It felt nice… "That the war is useless, that as long as the people dying weren't ourselves then it is none of our concern." His voice was barely a whisper now, as he licked his lips and tried not to suck in breath. The last part, no mater how many times he'd heard it, was always what hurt the most. "I am his only heir. I should be worthy of it."

Yoji listened, every aspect of the small confession unexplainable to him no matter how he sought it. War? Heir? Quatre unworthy? He wanted to *know*, but there was so much he himself had to hide and decided against it, decided that whatever it was would have nothing to do with what he was feeling at the moment. This much he understood; that Quatre *himself* saw himself unworthy, that the boy had lived devoid of affection and warmth and understanding. Much like Omi; much like any of them.

He had enough of words bringing back painful memories. He never did talk to his teammates about his past, except maybe Ken whom he had considerably been closer to than the others. There was nothing he can do about the past, but here and now… Carefully he touched Quatre's chin between two fingers and pleaded the boy to look at him. "Is this why you have never been kissed?"

Finally the features relaxed lightly, Quatre smiling a timid, relieved smile. "Ah, you believe me now, Yoji-kun?"

Casual reception. He flashed his best teasing smirk. "I don't know…"

"Yoji-kun hidoi!"

Quatre giggled and Yoji found himself smiling with less intention and more of a natural gladness, seeing Quatre so cheerful and back to his usual self, as he had seen him. It was a little disturbing how Quatre could be like this, able to shift from incredible contemplation to a pleasant mood to follow suit. It was as if he was used to it, used to bearing harsh wounds with a smile. He decided not to ask anymore and remind him of whatever hurt he was going through. He wanted no more tears tonight.

They were both sopping wet, with him in nothing more than a silk robe, and he enjoyed it. The cold water thrumming against his skin made him feel more alive, as if washing the weight of their previous conversation away.

"You'll have to prove it."

Quatre blinked, once, twice. "Prove it?" It was as if realization took it's sweet time, seconds ticking by until a faint red threaded across the bridge of his nose, eyes glimmering. Yoji took in the beautiful young face, the inviting pouty lips, the drenched black pajamas clinging to skin. Quatre would never say it, could only entail shyly with inward smiles and avid eyes, but he had to ask, had to be sure.

"May I kiss you?"

Flushed cheeks blossomed, if anything, warm breath washing over his face now from pink lips moistened and recently parted. No response, not a nod, and yet blue eyes shone brightly with a hopeful invitation beyond words or actions. Yoji let his hands fall on slender shoulders, bending forward regardless of the downpour now over their heads.

And he kissed him.


Click, the storm shut outside.

He remembered his first kiss; the promiscuous sensei that had pressed lipstick drenched lips to his and stayed there until he made an effort to at least smack back. She was probably twenty-eight, twenty-nine at the time. He was twelve.

Yoji watched the young boy dress up in the corner of the room shyly, taking in the well-built arms and legs and chest. Balcony doors long closed, he had changed into a pair of black boxers and lent Quatre the smallest ones he could find - Ken's, which he had *acquired* when the boy was merely seventeen.

Appraising eyes flitted over the pale rear view of the boy as he slid into the shorts. Really, the old faded gray pair had been awfully *lucky* in receiving wearers.

He found himself suddenly flooded by ecchi thoughts and had to look away, patches of exposed skin still fresh in his memory. Quatre's skin looked soo~o soft, just like Ken's had been, and Ken was soo~o tight…

Gah! Was he truly such a hentai that he couldn't get his mind out of *there* even just for a night?

Well… Ken would know the answer to that… he was to him, after all, The Kudou Yoji.

A small scuffling sound caught his attention and once he again he snapped back to his earlier quiet mood. Quatre was hanging wet clothes over chairs, so thoughtful and efficient a child. He reminded him of…

He touched his lips. They were still tingling. It was probably the chastest, most virtuous kiss he had delivered, but the same lack of indecency lingered in his breath. Quatre was sweet and naïve and awkward against his experienced mouth but it worked. And it felt right. He supposed he could very well be a shotakon hentai, falling for yet another blue-eyed fifteen-year old, but at least this time he could say the child showed apparent interest and not tried to blast him to oblivion with invisible hands on their first meeting.

As soon as Quatre finished hanging the wet clothes over various chairs he turned to Yoji. Yoji simply patted the bed beside him.

Quatre slid into the covers nervously - fully aware of how cold it was because of the weather and how little he was wearing. Yoji helped cover him with blankets and lay back himself, pulling sheets to his chin. And Yoji's bedsheets were *silk*, just like his, but it had never been this chilly back home…

"Ne, botchan, are you cold?"

Large hands found his frozen fingers and he couldn't deny it. "Hai."

Yoji pulled him in, nestling him gently in his arms. The way he was pulled forward was almost a shoving manner, but something told him Yoji had not meant it that way. "Better?"

"Hai." Quatre sighed. It was definitely more than better; it felt good. He raised his eyes to Yoji, who was staring at him. "You don't have to be nervous little one, I won't do anything your not ready for."

He nodded, cuddling closer to the broad, warm chest. Yoji had called him little one. He decided he liked that, used to being treated as Sandrock's deadly pilot rather than the child he was. He loved being treated like a child, being coddled. It felt safe, even just for a while.

Just for a while. He clung on tighter.

"Yoji-kun," his voice sounded feeble even to himself, "we might not be able to do this again."

Sleepy eyes blinked open, Yoji taken aback. "H-honto?"

"We, Trowa-kun and everyone, we're always moving." He let his gaze fall, unable to say anything more palpable. They could very well be sent to another uprising the next week, or the week after. The hold around him tightened.

"Quatre." It's alright. Yoji ran his thumb along the clean line of Quatre's lower lip, indulging in tiny gestures that meant everything that could ever have. Whether Quatre moved or not, nothing was to be expected of them and Yoji knew it all too well. He had places to go to, people to kill. And lives to protect; Omi's Ken's, and even Aya's. Young Quatre had so much more. Perhaps it was good and well that this was made clear now before they had invested more emotional ties to their friendship.

Perhaps they already had, the masks slipping between the past and present.

"I'll always be your first kiss, ne?" They both managed false smiles. It hurt somehow, but it was real as only painful truths could be, and predestined as their paths had always been. They didn't even know why it hurt as much, but it did.

Yoji bent forward again, lip brushing against Quatre's forehead lightly. The fair brows were knitted despite the light smile, eyes open and seeing in the dark. He wanted to take in and remember as much of Kudou Yoji, keep his witty smiles and handsome face and the glint of caring emerald orbs behind tinted glasses, and remember the deep whispers and broad hands and soft, gentle lips. A beautiful memory to take with him to war, to his death, to his dreams.

Slowly they closed their eyes and slept.


Quatre: If you liked this please visit Aki-niichan's dojo at
http://geocities.com/Tokyo/Blossom/2728/index.html
Thanx!