And now, the long-awaited moment for many: the lime. It's short, I know, but I wanted to put it by itself…that, and because I didn't want to go into any more detail than I already had. I can read lemons well enough, but damned if I can write a good one. And remember, if you can't be mature about the context, don't read the chapter. It's not going to ruin the story for you.
"Can I kiss you, Quatre?"
He nodded gently. "I have waited two hundred years for another man to kiss me. Please do, Trowa. Please do."
Trowa leaned over to kiss the young spirit, but Quatre shied away suddenly, flinching.
"No."
The brunette arched an eyebrow. "But you just said…"
Quatre smiled at him. "I'm sorry, Trowa. I do want you to kiss me, but if you did it while I was in this form, you'd pass right through me and I would hurt you, something I am loath to do. A moment, if I may."
Trowa watched intently as Quatre suddenly became solid, fleshy, although he was still tinged with blue and gleamed with a spectral light. He reached out a hand, drawing his fingertips across the scientist's cheek. The touch was cold, as though he'd stuck his hands in a bucket of ice water, but it was a real, solid touch nonetheless.
"I can't hold this shape as long, but it will be enough to serve its purpose," Quatre informed him, aqua eyes beckoning. Trowa smiled and drew his hand up to cradle Quatre's jaw, leaning in and kissing him demurely. His lips were cloyingly sweet, tasting of cinnamon and strong tea, honey and perfume. It was an intoxicating taste, one that had become a siren song, drawing the American scientist inexorably closer for a second sampling.
"Quatre," he breathed, brushing his mouth over his partner's once again, daring to flick his tongue across that rosy lower lip. The pale young man yielded that tender orifice, parting his lips with the quiet utterance of a pleasured moan. Trowa slid his tongue into that moist heat, Quatre's working in a fervent counterpoint as flesh twined with flesh. Slender fingers reached up into that expanse of chestnut hair, pulling the taller man down closer, holding him prisoner. He was inebriated on taste alone, heart coursing heated blood through his veins, drawing downward to pool in his groin.
Breath was forgotten; Quatre had no use of it, and Trowa managed with very little as wild, almost desperate passion tossed the two young men into its throes. Lips reluctantly separated, Quatre issuing a disappointed whine, one that suddenly trilled into a near shriek of pleasure as those sweet lips began trailing down his pale neck, gently sucking on his skin.
"Ah, Trowa…" he gasped, fingers groping at the heavy cotton of Trowa's turtleneck. The American stopped, glass-green eyes wide with fear.
"Quatre, I'm sorry, I…"
The specter made a face. "I wasn't asking you to stop."
Trowa may have responded, but if he had, his answer was muffled, lips once again bruising his phantom lover's. He winced; need stabbing his loins with a sharp protest, his already tight jeans suddenly far more confining than ever. His fingers sought the hem of Quatre's shirt, trying to pry it upwards, but were thwarted by the various accoutrements of nineteenth century clothing. The blonde started scrabbling at the tiny buttons and bits of lace and waistbands with a frantic need, fingers tearing the garment to shreds.
"It'll just replace itself later," he explained, grunting as he shredded another half inch of material. The infernal shirt with its foamy lace cravat was tossed halfway across the garden with a small cry of reverie as Trowa's olive-skinned hands roamed an expanse of creamy skin, finding purchase in the dusky rose of Quatre's nipples.
"Trowa…" he giggled, arching his back under the touch, clawing at the collar of his lover's turtleneck. The green-eyed man tore it off in one swift motion, tucking it under the blonde head to cushion it against the cold stone of the bench. Trowa toed his shoes and socks off, running a bare foot up Quatre's instep, causing the phantasmal boy to gasp sharply.
"You're stalling," he growled, drawing himself upwards to lick at a stiffened nipple. Trowa groaned.
"You're just an impatient tease. You haven't been laid in two hundred years, what's a few more minutes?"
Quatre's lust-hazed eyes narrowed, clever hands making a swipe at his partner's erection.
"Trois was never this cruel."
Trowa laughed, unlacing the cerulean-eyed youth's pants. "You forget, I'm not Trois."
He pouted, squirming out of his breeches, now gloriously naked and lying prone on the granite bench, helpless under his lover's ministrations. Trowa slid himself out of jeans and boxers, drawing himself lower, until heated flesh grazed against heated flesh, invoking dual moans of bliss.
"I…I need…Trowa…Trowa, please. Trowa," Quatre whimpered, arching his hips to bring his throbbing arousal to brush against his lover's, gripping white-knuckled to tanned shoulders. Trowa let out a low growl, rumbling deep in his throat as his hips ground against Quatre's.
"Hearing you speak to me like that…"
Quatre gasped again. "Trowa, oh please, Trowa, take me now."
The brunette dipped over the bench, where his jeans lay in a crumpled heap, never once letting his clammy flesh leave his lover. He rammed his hands in his pockets, abject horror crossing his face as he searched more frantically.
"Shit…" he muttered. In his urgency, he hadn't the foresight to remember the vial of lubricant he made certain to keep on his personage at all times, in case he suddenly met the perfect man and had need of it. Suddenly his fingers wrapped around something, hauling up a tube of mint Blistex. It would have to do.
"Trowa?" Quatre's voice rang huskily in his ear, the angelic-seeming creature nibbling on his earlobe. Trowa nodded in understanding, ripping the cap off of the lip balm and liberally dumping it into his palms, smearing it on himself and his partner.
"Tell me if I hurt you," he murmured.
Things started escalating from there, the spectral being with his slender legs hitched over the shoulders of his mortal partner, the pained pleasure of joining themselves, body and soul. Trowa had moved slowly, though he was certain he could cause no pain to Quatre. The ethereal creature had spurred on their motions with fervent urgency, spine dipping and arching as he rose and fell to the strokes of his partner, each ramming home in a stab of pure euphoria. Now they were standing on the precipice, bodies heaving with the effort of their coupling, straining themselves to push farther. The night had gladly accepted their proffered cries, the invocation of each other's name and to God Almighty as the edge of that chasm drew inexorably closer with every heated thrust. And then there was that moment of brilliant clarity, white light and noiseless infinity that came when a body had reached its physical limit, the floodgates bursting in a torrent of whitecapped waters that washed away any doubts and inhibitions as foundations crumbled under its mighty slam.
Time and space and all things relevant seemed suspended in that single moment, ceasing everything and everyone in their courses. Trowa felt as though he were made of something liquid, flowing freely through everything, a part of Quatre and Catherine, Duo, Heero and Wufei, the air, the ground, and the roses who were nodding in consent to their union. He was Trowa and Trois and Quatre all in that one brief instant, and he felt the same indescribable, intangible emotion he'd experienced when the strains of amorous violin music had liquefied his soul. Eyes open, he saw the blue of Quatre's eyes staring up at him with awed rapture, and the striking green of his own reflected in them. They were truly one.
The moment of climax lasted some indefinite amount of time, and whether one or the other had initiated it was unknown to them. For all the lovers knew, it was simultaneous. Sated and exhausted, Trowa merely lay on the bench, completely spent and feeling boneless. Quatre was hardly fazed by the action, translucent once more and fully dressed, certainly not looking as though he'd been in the throes of passionate lovemaking only moments earlier.
"Thank you, my Trowa. You truly are an incredible man, and I love you with my whole heart," he murmured, kissing his love's sweat-drenched brow. His partner made no reply, seeming unconscious, as he lay sprawled across the bench, searing flesh wetly shining under pale light. Quatre sighed, taking up Trowa's clothing and tucking it under one arm before slinging his lover over his shoulder. To someone no longer living, the tall man weighed next to nothing.
The handsome ghost glided soundlessly, invisibly, upstairs to the bedroom of his former fiancé and newfound lover, drawing back the covers of the bed and depositing the cadaverous-seeming Trowa on the mattress, tucking him in with care.
"Sleep well, Trowa. I shall see you again tomorrow, I promise," Quatre whispered, kissing him once more before gliding out of the room. Trowa may have whispered back to him some term of affection, but in the end, he let his head loll on the lumpy pillow and fell back into a deep and dreamless sleep.
~^~
Voila. I hope this served as adequate enough, I know it was short, but I didn't see any way to lengthen it without destroying some of its integrity and ambiguity. Special thanks go out to all my reviewers, I'm so glad you like my fanfic, I really try. To Anne, thanks for archiving Parapsychology on your wonderful site, I'm working on a few things to fling at you as I write this. To Nicki, because you're Duo-fun. And Relwarc: next chapter, the weirdness will be brought on.