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. It's archived under Snog 49.

Missing You

—

Quatre braced himself, reaching for the cold glass he knew he was moving back towards. His hand made contact gently, but the rest of him was another matter. When he hit, their kiss broke for a frustrating second and a half, inertia making him arch back into Trowa, trapping him between Trowa and the window.

If Quatre was trapped, his grip on Trowa made sure he couldn't escape either. Not that he wanted to. Trowa resumed their kiss hungrily, unrelenting even when he hurt both of them. He pushed his way into Quatre's mouth, the moan he got in response telling him he was on the right track. Quatre's fingers found the beltloops of his jeans, pulling their bodies together, and to muffle sounds 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 his front, his hot breath in Quatre's ear and the gentle tug on his earlobe, made Quatre shiver. When Trowa's fingers moved to the lower buttons of his shirt, he found his eyes darting down the dark hallway, on high alert for any movement. But no one was there.

Their lips found each other 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 Trowa could only hold on to them a bit longer he thought he might make some progress. Maybe he would at last find what Quatre was looking for.

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

Trowa started and took a step back, resting his hands against the window on either side of Quatre's head as he tried to order 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 resigned sigh. 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'mthe one who should be sorry. I guess this is all still a little weird for you. I shouldn't have—"

"That's not what I meant."

Trowa turned to lean back against the window of 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.

Then they were kissing again, before Trowa could really comprehend what he was doing. Only 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? Trowa 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 reassuring—but the sudden clearing of a throat 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, gazing between them out the window to admire the view.

Or at least seeming to. He could hide just about anything behind those dark glasses if he wanted to.

"Just don't forget to eat something. I know kids today are like that. They get so wrapped up in what they're doing they forget their bodies still need nutrients every once and a while. Hey, that sounds like me actually. . . ."