Trowa stood motionless, his eyes blank yet still a brilliant green set
against the darkness of the night. "You want to...what?"
"Paint you." Heero deadpanned the words that he immediately regretted saying as soon as they'd flown out of his mouth ever so inexpectantly. //Why the hell did you say that?// he cursed to himself. //Now he thinks you're a freak.//
"I'd like to paint you," Heero repeated, quietly. His voice was throaty and harsh, like the wind that had started to pick up with the rain, the bits of drizzle biting at their faces.
Trowa paused as if in thought. "Why would you want to paint me?" he asked, oblivious. As if the concept frightened him, he crossed his arms across his chest, attempting to hide his body. He stepped back a little into the shadows.
"I didn't mean to intimidate you," said Heero, honestly. "I just think that." //You're beautiful, you're stunning, you're radiant, you are meant to be painted to treasure forever permenantly on canvas...painted with my hands.//
"I just think that you're an interesting subject. A side show gypsy-it's something I've never thought of doing before."
Trowa took another moment to think, his brow furrowing above dark, intense emerald eyes. "I'd do it. But the show is leaving town in three days. I have to go with them, or else I'm out of what little money I get. From asserbyers, like yourself, I get hardly enough to feed my sister and I."
"I would offer you money, of course," Heero said quickly, then regaining his composure just as quick. //Why are you acting this way? Don't sound desperate. You're not. You're not desperate.// "I'd pay you-for giving up your time to pose, I mean."
Trowa considered this proposal, then stepped forward a bit. "About how much money would we be dealing with here?"
//Didn't think about this one, did you, Yuy?// thought Heero. "Much more than you make here." Heero reached into his coat pocket and fingered a few bills he had stashed away. He offered the money to Trowa; Trowa looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. "Here's for the first night. I have a spare bedroom in my studio; it's several blocks away from here, but if we walk quickly we can make it in less than an hour." Taking a deep breath, Heero reached out to grasp one of Trowa's fragile, delicate hands, reveling in the feel of soft, creamy skin between his calloused fingers. Heero planted the money in Trowa's open palm, and closed each slender digit around the money. "It's yours, if you'd like it."
Trowa looked down at his hand, holding more money than he'd ever held in his hand before; more money than his whole family had ever had before his parents had left with a wandering gypsy troupe and left his sister and him alone with much less money than that which he was holding at the moment. His eyes locked with prussian blue ones, which looked for something beyond a painting, something beyond a few days' time.
"I'll go," he agreed, his voice still not rising above a hoarse rumble, like that of the thunder which continued to make itself heard, even though the rain was slowly letting up. "Only if my sister comes as well."
Heero considered this. He'd never expected another person to come along; but he was desperate. Very desperate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he would do anything for a few precious moments with this man who was merely a precocious boy to the world.
"Of course," said Heero.
"I'll go tell Catherine and get my things. I'll meet you on the main road up ahead." He motioned up the back alley and towards the main road. Heero turned breifly to acknowledge their meeting place, but when he turned around again, the quiet, abstruse boy was gone.
//Christ, Yuy, what are you getting yourself into? This is absurd. You just found out his name less than five minutes ago.and now you're having him stay under your roof? He's a gypsy, for God's sake; you'll wake up tomorrow morning and your whole studio will be barren except for your socks and your mattress. You know that better than anyone...anyone at the Bounderbys'...//
As much as Heero tried to convince himself what a rash decision he had made, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by Trowa's beauty. His charisma. His seclusion.
Heero walked up to the main street, and awaited for Trowa to appear.
----------
"No, Trowa, you're being absurd. This is the most irrational,
preposterous idea you've ever had."
Trowa watched his sister in the tent they kept up to shelter all the traveling gypsies in their troupe, the people that had taken care of them since they were children. The familiar smell of burning wood, the familiar acts all taking place before him as they did every night, yet never failed to be magical with each sighting-he'd have to miss these things. Perhaps Catherine was correct; he was being absurd.
But the money. They needed the money. Ever since their parents had left them alone, money had always been, and would always be a problem in their lives. He'd always taken care of his sister; given her the last piece of bread, given her the last sip of milk, given her the driest spot underneath the tent while he'd let the drops of rain splatter against his forehead as he tried to sleep. The money would be a huge help. And if what Mr. Yuy had put in his hand outside the tent was just his pocket change...Trowa's eyes went wide with thoughts as to how much he might receive next.
"But Catherine, look!" He thrust out his hand, showing the crumpled paper money Heero had given him and that he had grasped to tightly as to not fly away. Catherine immediately became quiet, and looked at the money in her brother's hand. She couldn't mask her pleased astonishment, but kept her mouth shut and her brow firm.
"Trowa, we can't leave these people. We've been with them our whole lives; how will we explain to them why we're not going with them? We may never see them again!"
"We won't HAVE to, Catherine. See this?" He thrust his hand towards her again. "This was in his coat pocket. Imagine what he's got for us to offer." He took his sister's hand and cupped them in his own. "Listen, I know it'll be hard for us to separate. But for once, look where we'll be; we'll have a roof over our heads. A solid roof, not this wretched tent. We can eat until food comes out our ears with this kind of money, Catherine. How can we pass this up? All I have to do is sit still for a little bit. And get this."
Catherine hesitated. She picked up a single bill, manipulating it gingerly as if a holy manuscript. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. "We'll go. Get your things; show me where this Mr. Yuy is."
Trowa embraced his sister warmly, tightly. "Thank you, Catherine. Go on now and say good-bye to our old life." He held up the money proudly in his hand. "I'll gather things for our new one."
Catherine smiled a small, frail smile that conveyed neither happiness nor sadness before exiting the tent and running towards the crowd.
----------
"This is where you'll sleep."
Heero pointed out the large queen sized bed in the guest bedroom of his studio. The girl Catherine ran her hands lightly over the bedspread, than took her hand away, as if it was too pure to touch. Trowa peered around the room curiously, in awe that such luxury existed.
"If you go through the door, the kitchen is to your left; feel free to eat as much as you'd like. To the right is my office; it's also where I sleep. Please, if you need anything, come knock on my door." Heero stood awkwardly; he'd never had guests before in his house, and he wasn't quite sure how hospitable he was being.
"Thank you," Trowa whispered in his soft mumured tone that was even less audible in the confinements of the bedroom.
"I'll let both of you go to bed. I'll retire myself; I think it's been quite a night for all of us." Heero nodded before stepping out of the room quickly and shutting the door behind him.
He leaned his back agasint the door, unable to hear the whispered conversations of the siblings. Yet, he could still hear the tones and pitches of Trowa's voice; never above a whisper, always so subdued, soothing. Heero closed his eyes and images of Trowa flooded his mind; the sweat-slicked chest, the straining muscles, the defiant chin, the troubled brow; and most of all, the piercing eyes.
//I have to stop thinking about him.// Heero quickly shook his head and walked into his bedroom to prepare for tomorrow's projects.
----------
Later that night, Heero crept silently along the wooden floor of his studio to knock on the guest bedroom door. There was no answer.
He opened the door slowly to find a slumbering Catherine, curled up on the bed with her folded hands cradling her head of red curls. On the floor slept Trowa Barton.
A half-bare Trowa Barton.
He lay calm, perhaps in a dream, but he was peaceful when at rest. Heero crouched beside the sleeping Trowa to study the man's features closely. He grabbed a spare sketch pad and charcoal from underneath the bed (he always kept a supply in various anonymous places) and settled beside Trowa to sketch him.
Trowa lay on his side, his chest exposed as well as his tight stomach muscles. A thin sheet Heero had supplied him with for the humid night was wrapped loosely around a small waist and falling over Trowa's slender hip. The shadows cast beautiful shades of grays across Trowa's body, shades that were all captured by Heero's sketch pad. His fingers flew across the paper, sketches coming to life before his eyes, before his conscious took hold.
//This is what I'm missing. This is what it's all about. From this boy...from this man. I'll learn everything I need to know.//
--to be continued--
"Paint you." Heero deadpanned the words that he immediately regretted saying as soon as they'd flown out of his mouth ever so inexpectantly. //Why the hell did you say that?// he cursed to himself. //Now he thinks you're a freak.//
"I'd like to paint you," Heero repeated, quietly. His voice was throaty and harsh, like the wind that had started to pick up with the rain, the bits of drizzle biting at their faces.
Trowa paused as if in thought. "Why would you want to paint me?" he asked, oblivious. As if the concept frightened him, he crossed his arms across his chest, attempting to hide his body. He stepped back a little into the shadows.
"I didn't mean to intimidate you," said Heero, honestly. "I just think that." //You're beautiful, you're stunning, you're radiant, you are meant to be painted to treasure forever permenantly on canvas...painted with my hands.//
"I just think that you're an interesting subject. A side show gypsy-it's something I've never thought of doing before."
Trowa took another moment to think, his brow furrowing above dark, intense emerald eyes. "I'd do it. But the show is leaving town in three days. I have to go with them, or else I'm out of what little money I get. From asserbyers, like yourself, I get hardly enough to feed my sister and I."
"I would offer you money, of course," Heero said quickly, then regaining his composure just as quick. //Why are you acting this way? Don't sound desperate. You're not. You're not desperate.// "I'd pay you-for giving up your time to pose, I mean."
Trowa considered this proposal, then stepped forward a bit. "About how much money would we be dealing with here?"
//Didn't think about this one, did you, Yuy?// thought Heero. "Much more than you make here." Heero reached into his coat pocket and fingered a few bills he had stashed away. He offered the money to Trowa; Trowa looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake. "Here's for the first night. I have a spare bedroom in my studio; it's several blocks away from here, but if we walk quickly we can make it in less than an hour." Taking a deep breath, Heero reached out to grasp one of Trowa's fragile, delicate hands, reveling in the feel of soft, creamy skin between his calloused fingers. Heero planted the money in Trowa's open palm, and closed each slender digit around the money. "It's yours, if you'd like it."
Trowa looked down at his hand, holding more money than he'd ever held in his hand before; more money than his whole family had ever had before his parents had left with a wandering gypsy troupe and left his sister and him alone with much less money than that which he was holding at the moment. His eyes locked with prussian blue ones, which looked for something beyond a painting, something beyond a few days' time.
"I'll go," he agreed, his voice still not rising above a hoarse rumble, like that of the thunder which continued to make itself heard, even though the rain was slowly letting up. "Only if my sister comes as well."
Heero considered this. He'd never expected another person to come along; but he was desperate. Very desperate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he would do anything for a few precious moments with this man who was merely a precocious boy to the world.
"Of course," said Heero.
"I'll go tell Catherine and get my things. I'll meet you on the main road up ahead." He motioned up the back alley and towards the main road. Heero turned breifly to acknowledge their meeting place, but when he turned around again, the quiet, abstruse boy was gone.
//Christ, Yuy, what are you getting yourself into? This is absurd. You just found out his name less than five minutes ago.and now you're having him stay under your roof? He's a gypsy, for God's sake; you'll wake up tomorrow morning and your whole studio will be barren except for your socks and your mattress. You know that better than anyone...anyone at the Bounderbys'...//
As much as Heero tried to convince himself what a rash decision he had made, he couldn't help but feel intrigued by Trowa's beauty. His charisma. His seclusion.
Heero walked up to the main street, and awaited for Trowa to appear.
----------
"No, Trowa, you're being absurd. This is the most irrational,
preposterous idea you've ever had."
Trowa watched his sister in the tent they kept up to shelter all the traveling gypsies in their troupe, the people that had taken care of them since they were children. The familiar smell of burning wood, the familiar acts all taking place before him as they did every night, yet never failed to be magical with each sighting-he'd have to miss these things. Perhaps Catherine was correct; he was being absurd.
But the money. They needed the money. Ever since their parents had left them alone, money had always been, and would always be a problem in their lives. He'd always taken care of his sister; given her the last piece of bread, given her the last sip of milk, given her the driest spot underneath the tent while he'd let the drops of rain splatter against his forehead as he tried to sleep. The money would be a huge help. And if what Mr. Yuy had put in his hand outside the tent was just his pocket change...Trowa's eyes went wide with thoughts as to how much he might receive next.
"But Catherine, look!" He thrust out his hand, showing the crumpled paper money Heero had given him and that he had grasped to tightly as to not fly away. Catherine immediately became quiet, and looked at the money in her brother's hand. She couldn't mask her pleased astonishment, but kept her mouth shut and her brow firm.
"Trowa, we can't leave these people. We've been with them our whole lives; how will we explain to them why we're not going with them? We may never see them again!"
"We won't HAVE to, Catherine. See this?" He thrust his hand towards her again. "This was in his coat pocket. Imagine what he's got for us to offer." He took his sister's hand and cupped them in his own. "Listen, I know it'll be hard for us to separate. But for once, look where we'll be; we'll have a roof over our heads. A solid roof, not this wretched tent. We can eat until food comes out our ears with this kind of money, Catherine. How can we pass this up? All I have to do is sit still for a little bit. And get this."
Catherine hesitated. She picked up a single bill, manipulating it gingerly as if a holy manuscript. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. "We'll go. Get your things; show me where this Mr. Yuy is."
Trowa embraced his sister warmly, tightly. "Thank you, Catherine. Go on now and say good-bye to our old life." He held up the money proudly in his hand. "I'll gather things for our new one."
Catherine smiled a small, frail smile that conveyed neither happiness nor sadness before exiting the tent and running towards the crowd.
----------
"This is where you'll sleep."
Heero pointed out the large queen sized bed in the guest bedroom of his studio. The girl Catherine ran her hands lightly over the bedspread, than took her hand away, as if it was too pure to touch. Trowa peered around the room curiously, in awe that such luxury existed.
"If you go through the door, the kitchen is to your left; feel free to eat as much as you'd like. To the right is my office; it's also where I sleep. Please, if you need anything, come knock on my door." Heero stood awkwardly; he'd never had guests before in his house, and he wasn't quite sure how hospitable he was being.
"Thank you," Trowa whispered in his soft mumured tone that was even less audible in the confinements of the bedroom.
"I'll let both of you go to bed. I'll retire myself; I think it's been quite a night for all of us." Heero nodded before stepping out of the room quickly and shutting the door behind him.
He leaned his back agasint the door, unable to hear the whispered conversations of the siblings. Yet, he could still hear the tones and pitches of Trowa's voice; never above a whisper, always so subdued, soothing. Heero closed his eyes and images of Trowa flooded his mind; the sweat-slicked chest, the straining muscles, the defiant chin, the troubled brow; and most of all, the piercing eyes.
//I have to stop thinking about him.// Heero quickly shook his head and walked into his bedroom to prepare for tomorrow's projects.
----------
Later that night, Heero crept silently along the wooden floor of his studio to knock on the guest bedroom door. There was no answer.
He opened the door slowly to find a slumbering Catherine, curled up on the bed with her folded hands cradling her head of red curls. On the floor slept Trowa Barton.
A half-bare Trowa Barton.
He lay calm, perhaps in a dream, but he was peaceful when at rest. Heero crouched beside the sleeping Trowa to study the man's features closely. He grabbed a spare sketch pad and charcoal from underneath the bed (he always kept a supply in various anonymous places) and settled beside Trowa to sketch him.
Trowa lay on his side, his chest exposed as well as his tight stomach muscles. A thin sheet Heero had supplied him with for the humid night was wrapped loosely around a small waist and falling over Trowa's slender hip. The shadows cast beautiful shades of grays across Trowa's body, shades that were all captured by Heero's sketch pad. His fingers flew across the paper, sketches coming to life before his eyes, before his conscious took hold.
//This is what I'm missing. This is what it's all about. From this boy...from this man. I'll learn everything I need to know.//
--to be continued--