It was early morning; Trowa liked to get up early to see the sun as it
rose, the sky pink and familiar. He ruffled his hair into place, and got
up, slipping on an undershirt over his head and throwing on a pair of tan
slacks. Catherine would be asleep for awhile; he didn't know if Heero would
be up yet.
He opened the door quietly, so he wouldn't waken Catherine, and he tiptoed to the kitchen, his stomach protesting the lack of solid foods he'd consumed lately.
Trowa stood in the kitchen in front of the ice box. He'd never had an ice box. Let alone an ice box like Heero Yuy's, filled with every delicious food he could think of. He took out a bottle of milk and shut the door to the ice box carefully. He turned around to see an elderly man wearing a suit.
"Oh...pardon me, sir, but may I drink this?" Trowa asked politely.
"Of course, sir," said the old man, warmly and smiling. "Mister Yuy welcomes you to his household. My name is Sebastian Lockley; call me Sebastian, everyone does under this roof."
Trowa couldn't help but smile in return. "Thank you. I-I've just never had this kind of...luxury I suppose, of a glass of milk in the morning."
"And may you have several!" chuckled Sebastian. "Many, and for every morning! We want you to feel like we're hospitable people. Would you like for me to prepare you something to eat this morning, sir? I never get to serve breakfasts to anyone except myself these days."
"What do you mean?" asked Trowa. "And no, sir, the milk will be fine for now."
"Well, if you change your mind, please inform me, and I'll be at your service." Sebastian pulled out a seat from the table and motioned for Trowa to sit down. Trowa sat, a bit uncomfortable with all the attention being spent on him, and he smiled his appreciation. "Anyway, Mister Yuy doesn't awaken until one or two o' clock in the afternoon; he stays awake most nights until the wee hours of the morning. Painting, mostly."
"Why doesn't he paint during the day?" asked Trowa, cradling the mug of milk in his hands. He drank slowly, savoring the rich, creamy flavor he called a delicacy.
"I can't say I know the answer to your question, sir."
"Please, sir, call me Trowa." Trowa wasn't used to the formality presented to him that had changed with the span of a night.
"Not until you stop with the formalities as well, sir." Sebastian winked.
Trowa smiled. "I'm sorry. Sebastian. Please call me Trowa. The formality is just...strange, I suppose. I can honestly say I've never been called `sir' before."
Sebastian nodded, smiling genuinely. "I understand. Now, would you care for some toast? Eggs? Pancakes?"
Trowa shook his head. "No. Thank you, though, for your concern."
"Just call my name, and I'll come to your service, Trowa." Sebastian nodded and left the room, leaving Trowa alone in the kitchen. Along the wall of the kitchen, in front of the table where Trowa sat, was a large window that overlooked the streets below. Trowa gazed down from the third story view, and he viewed people the way he'd never seen them before. The people all looked so small. It was about six-thirty in the morning; not many people were up and running, but those that were walked the streets in a gloomy daze. A few street market areas were beginning to open. Trowa watched the city come to life.
//Yesterday, I was looking up at these buildings, wondering what life was like inside of them,// thought Trowa. //Now...I'm looking from one of those buildings and seeing how insignificant I must have looked...to people like Heero Yuy.//
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Heero awakened at around two-thirty, his hair ruffled and his eyes droopy. He had stayed up until about five o' clock that morning, drawing Trowa, worshipping the body that carried all the angles, textures, and the balance of light and dark that Heero craved.
He closed his eyes and pictured Trowa again, marveling at how the boy seemed to capture his visions every minute.
//What is wrong with me?// thought Heero.
He got up lazily, running his tongue over his teeth and stretching his legs out in front of him. His legs were entangled with the blankets as he climbed out of bed and over to his closet. Not bothering to put on a shirt, he picked up a pair of black slacks, pulling them up over his hips and securing them with three black buttons.
His feet pitter-pattered against the wooden floor in the hallway as Heero made his way to the bathroom for a bath.
"Sebastian!" he called, his voice hoarse and filled with sleep. "Can you have a sandwich ready by the time I'm out of the bath?"
"Certainly, Mister Yuy!" came the response.
"Thank you!" said Heero, and stopped at the hallway closet to get a towel. Holding the towel in one hand and opening the bathroom door to with the other, Heero entered the bathroom with full intention to look his best for his new houseguest.
He ran the bath, letting the towel and his pants fall to the floor. He leaned against the closed door of the bathroom, thinking to himself.
//How will I paint him...what shall I have him wear? He'll look good in a suit...a black one. No...better yet, perhaps just a shirt and tie. On the balcony outside of my room? No. Inside. He needs to be inside. Inside...by the window. By the window will be nice.//
He contemplated his as he turned off the running water, and took the first virgin step into the bath. It was warm and inviting, and he lowered his body into the bathtub with a relaxing sigh.
//I'll finally paint him tonight,// Heero thought, letting his head rest against the side of the tub, the warm water loosening every muscle in his body. //Tonight, I'll create a masterpiece.//
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It was midnight. Heero had told Trowa earlier in the day that Heero was to paint him at midnight that night. He never got to ask Heero why he wanted to begin so late at night, but before he could ask any questions, Heero had walked away, ordering Trowa to take a nap before they began.
So, Trowa had slept for a few hours, and woke to find Catherine asleep on the bed, and a stack of clothes laying next to him on the floor. A note was written on a piece of paper next to the clothes.
"Put these on before you come in. -H."
Trowa shrugged and fingered the fine cotton of the shirt he was to wear, and a dark black tie - he had never worn a tie before in his life.
He slipped one arm into the soft shirt; it felt like clouds brushing up against his roughened skin, skin that was dry and scabrous from the physical demands of gypsy life. His skin was so dark compared to the brilliant white of the shirt, and it fit perfectly against his thin, but agile frame. He shed his own dark brown slacks off his legs and pulled on the pair that Heero had provided, a black pair that was just as well-made as the shirt; soft and probably from a department store. He'd never worn department store clothes; Catherine had always made his clothes for him. Carefully tucking in his shirt and fastening the clasps on his pants, he surveyed himself in the mirror which hung on the far wall across from the bedroom door.
He could pass for a gentleman, if his skin wasn't so dark. He would have to grow a mustache or a beard; it was what all the most honored gentleman of the day had.
Trowa swung the tie around his neck, taking care that the tie fit under his shirt collar, and he realized one large neglected detail.
He couldn't tie a necktie.
Embarrassed, he opened the door to his room and walked down the stairs to Heero's room. He knocked tenderly, and the door was opened a few seconds later to reveal a room filled with candlelight.
The candles, so many in number, flirted with Trowa's eyes, the light flickering against the walls and playing in the shadows, sometimes revealing, sometimes concealing. Draped across one wall were portieres of velvet that hung dramatically against the wall and over the sides of the furnished love seat where Trowa believed he was to sit.
Heero had heard a knock on the door; he had just finished setting up for Trowa's sitting. Trowa was a few minutes late, but no matter. He stood and opened the door.
What Heero saw was beauty he'd never experienced before. Trowa had fixed his hair; the stray strands of before were now hanging rather orderly in his face, which accentuated rather than took away from the radiance of his verdant eyes. The outfit Heero had chosen fit Trowa well, angled in all the right places.
Heero realized that Trowa had asked him a question, and he shook his head. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." He was glad the room was relatively dark, so Trowa couldn't see the blush burning his cheeks.
"I said that I can't tie this." Trowa held the ends of the tie in each of his hands. He fiddled with the ends nervously as he looked away from Heero shyly.
Heero shook his head again, and stepped forward to motion Trowa inside and closed the door. "No problem, we can do without it for now. Follow me."
He led Trowa to the loveseat that Trowa had noted previously.
"Sit," Heero instructed.
Trowa sat.
"Rest your elbow on the arm of the sofa," was the next instruction that Trowa followed. "Lean your hand against your cheek and look to your left. Good. Now cross your right leg over your left, keeping your ankle rested on your knee. Are you comfortable?"
"I suppose so," said Trowa.
"Now listen," said Heero. "I really do need for you to be comfortable because you're going to stay like this for a long time, so, please, tell me now if you're uncomfortable."
"I.I'm fine," Trowa repeated. "It's awkward, but not uncomfortable."
"Well, I guess that's the best we'll do. Can't have you so relaxed you'll fall asleep." Heero stepped backwards as if to mentally photograph the scene before him. Trowa was glad Heero had him posed looking to the side, so he wouldn't have to face Heero's piercing stare.
When satisfied, Heero stepped around a canvas he has set up and sat on a wooden stool, his paint, brushes, and various other materials all scattered haphazardly on an old table that had been around since his parents' painting days. They were both long gone by now; Sebastian was more of a parent than anyone else in his life, in Heero's opinion.
He picked up his paintbrush, and fingered the bristles on the end of the brush. Soft. He peered around the side of the canvas to speak to Trowa.
"You can speak if you'd like. I don't know how good of company I'll be, but you may speak. It gets quiet after a couple hours of this." He tentavily dipped the tip of the brush into a jar of paint, slowly and decisively making each stroke as perfect as the subject in front of him.
"Alright." Trowa was silent for a few moments. He liked it that way, he supposed. He looked around the room. Candlesticks were everywhere; some were about to die out and some looked like this was their first burning, the wax collecting in icicles on the golden candlesticks holders. Most of the candles were white, a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room. A few candles were red, their dripping wax appearing like blood that the hungry candlestick holders drew in.
"Can I ask you something?" Trowa inquired quietly, afraid to break the continued silence, even though Heero had granted him permission to speak.
"Indeed," came a voice behind the canvas.
"Why do you choose to paint at night?"
"I suppose I like the candlelight," was the answer.
"But it changes. Like.the light flickers, so it's inconsistent. Doesn't that...doesn't it mess up your painting?"
Heero shrugged and continued to paint laboriously against the canvas. "I think that's why I like it so much. You're right; the candlelight is fickle. Always changing, never pausing. Similar to life itself. There are many changes that can't be done over again. And these changes are continuous, like how the candles continue to burn. The subject is sitting still, yet there still seems to be movement and motion within the painting."
"Oh, I see."
There was more silence. Trowa observed Heero intently; the way he furrowed his brow in concentration, the way his lips formed a straight line in his seriousness. His penetrating cobalt eyes seemed to burn into the page, much like the candles that continued to waver. Heero was handsome, and Trowa couldn't hide the fact that he was indeed attracted to Heero.
"Have you ever painted a self-portrait?" asked Trowa, his head continuing to face sideways, but his eyes locked onto the canvas that Heero hid behind.
"No."
"Have you considered a self-portrait?"
"No. I'm not fit for painting."
Trowa frowned. "Whyever do you think that?"
"I'm not a proper subject. I don't hold the qualities in a subject I would be fond of."
"Well, how did you choose me? What made me so interesting? If anything, you're a better subject than me."
"You live a life out of the ordinary. Your life is a mystery, an enigma to most. Society tends to look down on you, yet they will not admit their involuntary fascination with people like you."
"You mean gypsies?" Trowa deadpanned. "I don't understand why people look down upon us because of the decision we make about how to live our lives. It's our lives."
"I understand. Which is exactly why I wanted you to pose for me. You aren't ordinary. The reason people don't like the gypsy life is because they haven't experienced it and because it's not the usual way of life. Something out of the ordinary is normally dubbed unacceptable. You must realize this.
"Perhaps by painting you in the clothing of a gentleman, this painting can surpass boundaries and barriers set up by the people that judge before they understand." Heero took his brush and rinsed it in a jar of water, the swishing of the water the only noise that filled the room.
"I suppose," said Trowa. "But even if the people that view this painting see the message, that doesn't mean the next day they'll go up and shake our hands. It's futile in some ways."
"I suppose," Heero echoed, continuing to paint calmly. He looked down at Trowa and noticed that he had moved his hand during their conversation.
"You moved your hand," Heero pointed out. He stood. "I'll fix it."
Trowa was about to move his hand before Heero had suggested fixing it himself. He saw Heero rise, his eyes drinking in the sight of Heero's naked torso. Trowa realized that Heero liked to go around the house shirtless. Needless to say, he didn't mind. Heero approached him and knelt before him, arranging Trowa's fingers and shirtsleeve.
Heero felt a bolt of electricity shoot up his arm with the contact of his body and Trowa's. He hoped the Trowa didn't notice the slight jerk of his hand at that first initial touch.
"There," Heero said, satisfied. He looked up at Trowa, who had an odd look in his brilliant green eyes. There was a question lingering above them, around them, like a thick fog. Trowa turned his head towards the man that knelt before him and looked down as he brushed his lips against the painter's own.
Heero was startled, his eyes opening to the size of saucers as he tasted Trowa's lips for the first time. He looked up at Trowa, the same burning desire he felt in his own eyes showing through. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Trowa's firmly, lovingly, cradling the back of Trowa's head as the gypsy did the same to him. Trowa parted his lips, granting Heero access to his mouth completely, Heero's tongue thoroughly but delicately exploring. They broke away slowly, Heero licking his lips and tasting Trowa's lingering flavor on his lips.
"Open your eyes," said Trowa. "Don't close them."
Heero opened his eyes to see Trowa looking back at him, his gaze still piercing through half-lidded eyes. "I won't," he promised, his eyes mirroring Trowa's as their lips joined again.
Trowa leaned down further to deepen the kiss, his hands resting on Heero's bare, sturdy shoulders. They were slick with a small sheet of sweat, just enough to appear to be glistening in the candlelight which continued to cast odd shadows on both men's bodies.
Trowa felt a slight tug against his waistband, Heero slowly untucking his shirt. He broke the kiss to look down at Heero for some kind of reason, some motive as to why Heero was doing this; perhaps a motive as to why Trowa consented.
"Words can hide the truth, but actions cannot," was the answer. Heero's voice was a small, but powerful whisper as he moved his lips against Trowa's, their breaths intermixing; it was intoxicating, as Trowa's shirt became completely unrestricted from his slacks. Heero worked the shirt over Trowa's head, careful not to hurt Trowa, massaging each portion of skin and muscle as it was revealed to his hungry eyes.
In one swift movement, Heero stood and pulled Trowa to his chest, smashing their lips together. They both sighed simultaneously at the first touch of bare chest to chest, and reveled in the feelings of warm skin. Sweat intermingling, tongues intermingling, hands intermingling; it was pure and virginal.
They spent long extended periods of time like that, exploring each other's bodies and absorbing each other's warmth. It was comforting to Trowa, who had been unattached all his life; always moving from one place to another, never spending time with the people he would like to meet, the people he would like to get to know. It was comforting to Heero, who had chosen to be unattached until he'd found the contentment and solace in the gypsy's burning gaze which continued to set fire to Heero's own eyes.
Slowly, Heero began to undo the clasps that held up Trowa's pants upon his hips. Trowa tensed, then relaxed as Heero cradled and rubbed his back and continued to suckle gently on Trowa's neck. Trowa tilted his head back to expose more of his dark, delicate skin, and Heero took advantage of this, running his tongue and teeth along Trowa's throat while Trowa's pants, completely undone, fell to the floor.
"You are a god," whispered Heero, running his hands down Trowa's exposed hips while grinding their pelvises together. The room was filled with both men's quiet moans and sighs that were quickly muted when their lips met again and again. Heero lifted Trowa easily and laid him on the floor, Trowa's legs parted slightly as Heero leaned over the boy to kiss him savagely and run his hands over the boy's lithe body.
Trowa was drowning in pure, raw pleasure as he felt Heero's calloused fingers against his skin. He lifted his hips to rub against Heero's still covered groin, and he felt his lips and throat vibrate as Heero moaned into his mouth. They broke apart, both panting heavily. Not taking his eyes off of Trowa, as he promised, Heero undid the buttons of his pants and let them slide off of his hips and hit the ground softly. He immediately covered Trowa's body with his own, finally unrestricted by all clothing, two bodies worshipping each other's.
Heero let his hand wander down Trowa's body, first delving into a sharp and elegant collarbone, his lips and tongue taking the place of his hand. He continued to lick and nibble that collarbone as his hand then took to massaging the boy's pectorals and stomach, taking care of the remarkably smooth skin he found there.
He began to run his thumb along the line of pubic hair underneath Trowa's belly button, and he looked up from his ministrations upon Trowa's neck to seek approval from the beautiful figure beneath him. Trowa nodded, repeating his earlier command: "Don't close your eyes."
Heero consented as his fingertips danced along Trowa's erection, Trowa sighing an animalistic guttural noise that further aroused Heero and gave him motivation to go further. Heero grasped Trowa's cock, rubbing his thumb against the sensitive area below the head. Trowa almost closed his eyes, but didn't dare look away, looking up at the strong, picturesque man who kneeled above him, stroking him in the most sensitive, intimate of areas.
Trowa stopped reveling in pleasure long enough to take hold of Heero's arousal as well. Heero's chest fell onto Trowa's, but keeping his lower body raised on his knees, both fondling each other's erections with curiosity and wonderment only found in that first touch. Heero's hips snapped down in a small, jerky thrusting motion completely driven by need. Their screams and sighs were silenced by hungry kisses, tongues searching out answers as they stroked each other hurriedly.
Suddenly, Heero's hand left Trowa's body. Trowa immediately sat up to protest, but jerked back down as soon as he felt the warmth of Heero's mouth on his erection. Trowa opened his mouth to scream, but a hollow nothingness came out, and he looked down to see Heero engulfing his penis, still making eye contact with him. He involuntarily thrust upwards into Heero's solid heat, writing against the velvet draperies that had fallen to the floor, looking down at Heero with desperation and feelings he'd never experienced; feelings he'd never had the time to want to experience. Trowa felt himself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, where he'd dared not step before.
Heero also sensed Trowa coming closer, and he increased suction and speed on Trowa's arousal, never looking away from Trowa's half lidded eyes full of heat and passion. The heat and passion that had died long before was now returning slowly and surely into Heero's life.
Trowa exploded into Heero's mouth, hips jerking up, wanting to be enclosed in the exquisite heat for as long as humanly possible. Heero gagged a little, pulling away a bit and feeling each jet of semen coat his tongue, filling his mouth with richness. Some of it escaped his lips, and dripped down the sides of his mouth, down his chin and onto Trowa's thighs. Trowa continued to scream softly, sobbing as spasm after spasm of sheer pleasure ripped and burned through his veins, down his back, and to his arousal. After the final spurts of bliss subdued, Trowa lay on the ground, tears streaming down his face, hands bloody from scraping the wooden floors, and passion pulsing through his body.
Heero used his hands to collect the ejaculate that had spilled on Trowa's body and lubricated his penis. He looked down at Trowa for approval; Trowa nodded, resting his ankles on Heero's shoulders and pulling his body towards Heero's thick cock.
Heero leaned forward, one hand resting on the floor next to Trowa's shoulder, and one hand guiding his erection to Trowa delicately. He pushed steadily, forcing the head through and forcing Trowa's muscles to tighten uncontrollably to constrain the unnatural invader out. Trowa shook with fear and uncertainty.
"Look at me," commanded Heero. Trowa looked up at Heero, lips trembling, eyes jerking from one side to the other until they finally rested on Heero's own blue gaze. "Relax. As soon as you relax, you can truly feel."
Trowa willed his body to relax, Heero sheathing himself fully into Trowa's constricting chasm. Heero had never been so fully enclosed, so fully wrapped in heat and fervor. He compelled his eyes to stay halfway open as he regarded Trowa's once discomforted face to one of unabashed emotional joy. Trowa felt joy; the joy of being completely filled, the joy of being one with someone in the most intimate way possible.
Heero began to slowly pull out, until the only part of his penis that lingered in Trowa's body was the head. He thrust back in quickly, eliciting a grunt from Heero and a pleased moan from Trowa's lips. Over and over he repeated his pattern, pounding into Trowa's body beneath him while maintaining direct eye contact with the man that writhed and squirmed in delight.
"Oh god, yes. Yes! Heero-Heero-Heero-Heero-Heero-" Trowa called out to Heero like a mantra, Heero complying with Trowa's ever wish, every desperate call of need, of sexual hunger. He memorized and tattooed the location of Trowa's prostate in his memory, brutally hitting it again and again, causing Trowa to cry out in pleasure, sweat dripping off both of their bodies. Heero had never felt such tight heat.
"Oh please, Heero! More...I need more...please! Please!" Trowa wrapped his legs around Heero's waist, pulling him closer, forcing Heero's cock deeper into his body, ultimate pleasure shooting through each of their bodies.
Heero began to moan fully, vocalizing his pleasure with each surge forward, with each mind-blowing thrust into Trowa's wanton, supple body. The candlelight continued to flicker before their eyes, and in their eyes, sparks of lust flashed brightly.
"Please...more...faster, please! I need it...I need it so much..." Trowa
began to sob from pleasure, seizing Heero's shoulders with an iron grip. Heero slammed their bodies together, both on the brink of orgasm. Desire burned in their eyes, and they saw it in each other.
Trowa thought that he was experiencing the ultimate pleasure until he felt Heero reach down and start stroking his cock frantically in large, hurried strokes, bringing him closer and closer to his peak. Without warning, Trowa's back arched off the floor, spraying Heero's hand and chest with ejaculate, not ripping his eyes away from Heero's gaze.
Upon seeing Trowa's climax, Heero then followed, filling the boy with his semen in wave after pleasurable wave, and collapsing onto Trowa's body fully, lips smashing into Trowa's.
They broke the kiss and lay there, Heero's body rising and falling with the heave of Trowa's chest. They lay breathing heavily, eyes clouded, skin slick.
Heero was the first to break the impermeable silence. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned, brushing Trowa's bangs from his face.
Trowa reached up to loosen his grip on Heero's shoulders, letting his hands massage the broad shoulders. "Yes. Are you?"
Heero shifted so that he no longer lay on Trowa, but lay to the man's side and held Trowa's shoulders tightly. "Yes."
They lay there the night, letting the cool night air float through the windows, the candles slowly dying out one by one.
--to be continued--
He opened the door quietly, so he wouldn't waken Catherine, and he tiptoed to the kitchen, his stomach protesting the lack of solid foods he'd consumed lately.
Trowa stood in the kitchen in front of the ice box. He'd never had an ice box. Let alone an ice box like Heero Yuy's, filled with every delicious food he could think of. He took out a bottle of milk and shut the door to the ice box carefully. He turned around to see an elderly man wearing a suit.
"Oh...pardon me, sir, but may I drink this?" Trowa asked politely.
"Of course, sir," said the old man, warmly and smiling. "Mister Yuy welcomes you to his household. My name is Sebastian Lockley; call me Sebastian, everyone does under this roof."
Trowa couldn't help but smile in return. "Thank you. I-I've just never had this kind of...luxury I suppose, of a glass of milk in the morning."
"And may you have several!" chuckled Sebastian. "Many, and for every morning! We want you to feel like we're hospitable people. Would you like for me to prepare you something to eat this morning, sir? I never get to serve breakfasts to anyone except myself these days."
"What do you mean?" asked Trowa. "And no, sir, the milk will be fine for now."
"Well, if you change your mind, please inform me, and I'll be at your service." Sebastian pulled out a seat from the table and motioned for Trowa to sit down. Trowa sat, a bit uncomfortable with all the attention being spent on him, and he smiled his appreciation. "Anyway, Mister Yuy doesn't awaken until one or two o' clock in the afternoon; he stays awake most nights until the wee hours of the morning. Painting, mostly."
"Why doesn't he paint during the day?" asked Trowa, cradling the mug of milk in his hands. He drank slowly, savoring the rich, creamy flavor he called a delicacy.
"I can't say I know the answer to your question, sir."
"Please, sir, call me Trowa." Trowa wasn't used to the formality presented to him that had changed with the span of a night.
"Not until you stop with the formalities as well, sir." Sebastian winked.
Trowa smiled. "I'm sorry. Sebastian. Please call me Trowa. The formality is just...strange, I suppose. I can honestly say I've never been called `sir' before."
Sebastian nodded, smiling genuinely. "I understand. Now, would you care for some toast? Eggs? Pancakes?"
Trowa shook his head. "No. Thank you, though, for your concern."
"Just call my name, and I'll come to your service, Trowa." Sebastian nodded and left the room, leaving Trowa alone in the kitchen. Along the wall of the kitchen, in front of the table where Trowa sat, was a large window that overlooked the streets below. Trowa gazed down from the third story view, and he viewed people the way he'd never seen them before. The people all looked so small. It was about six-thirty in the morning; not many people were up and running, but those that were walked the streets in a gloomy daze. A few street market areas were beginning to open. Trowa watched the city come to life.
//Yesterday, I was looking up at these buildings, wondering what life was like inside of them,// thought Trowa. //Now...I'm looking from one of those buildings and seeing how insignificant I must have looked...to people like Heero Yuy.//
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Heero awakened at around two-thirty, his hair ruffled and his eyes droopy. He had stayed up until about five o' clock that morning, drawing Trowa, worshipping the body that carried all the angles, textures, and the balance of light and dark that Heero craved.
He closed his eyes and pictured Trowa again, marveling at how the boy seemed to capture his visions every minute.
//What is wrong with me?// thought Heero.
He got up lazily, running his tongue over his teeth and stretching his legs out in front of him. His legs were entangled with the blankets as he climbed out of bed and over to his closet. Not bothering to put on a shirt, he picked up a pair of black slacks, pulling them up over his hips and securing them with three black buttons.
His feet pitter-pattered against the wooden floor in the hallway as Heero made his way to the bathroom for a bath.
"Sebastian!" he called, his voice hoarse and filled with sleep. "Can you have a sandwich ready by the time I'm out of the bath?"
"Certainly, Mister Yuy!" came the response.
"Thank you!" said Heero, and stopped at the hallway closet to get a towel. Holding the towel in one hand and opening the bathroom door to with the other, Heero entered the bathroom with full intention to look his best for his new houseguest.
He ran the bath, letting the towel and his pants fall to the floor. He leaned against the closed door of the bathroom, thinking to himself.
//How will I paint him...what shall I have him wear? He'll look good in a suit...a black one. No...better yet, perhaps just a shirt and tie. On the balcony outside of my room? No. Inside. He needs to be inside. Inside...by the window. By the window will be nice.//
He contemplated his as he turned off the running water, and took the first virgin step into the bath. It was warm and inviting, and he lowered his body into the bathtub with a relaxing sigh.
//I'll finally paint him tonight,// Heero thought, letting his head rest against the side of the tub, the warm water loosening every muscle in his body. //Tonight, I'll create a masterpiece.//
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It was midnight. Heero had told Trowa earlier in the day that Heero was to paint him at midnight that night. He never got to ask Heero why he wanted to begin so late at night, but before he could ask any questions, Heero had walked away, ordering Trowa to take a nap before they began.
So, Trowa had slept for a few hours, and woke to find Catherine asleep on the bed, and a stack of clothes laying next to him on the floor. A note was written on a piece of paper next to the clothes.
"Put these on before you come in. -H."
Trowa shrugged and fingered the fine cotton of the shirt he was to wear, and a dark black tie - he had never worn a tie before in his life.
He slipped one arm into the soft shirt; it felt like clouds brushing up against his roughened skin, skin that was dry and scabrous from the physical demands of gypsy life. His skin was so dark compared to the brilliant white of the shirt, and it fit perfectly against his thin, but agile frame. He shed his own dark brown slacks off his legs and pulled on the pair that Heero had provided, a black pair that was just as well-made as the shirt; soft and probably from a department store. He'd never worn department store clothes; Catherine had always made his clothes for him. Carefully tucking in his shirt and fastening the clasps on his pants, he surveyed himself in the mirror which hung on the far wall across from the bedroom door.
He could pass for a gentleman, if his skin wasn't so dark. He would have to grow a mustache or a beard; it was what all the most honored gentleman of the day had.
Trowa swung the tie around his neck, taking care that the tie fit under his shirt collar, and he realized one large neglected detail.
He couldn't tie a necktie.
Embarrassed, he opened the door to his room and walked down the stairs to Heero's room. He knocked tenderly, and the door was opened a few seconds later to reveal a room filled with candlelight.
The candles, so many in number, flirted with Trowa's eyes, the light flickering against the walls and playing in the shadows, sometimes revealing, sometimes concealing. Draped across one wall were portieres of velvet that hung dramatically against the wall and over the sides of the furnished love seat where Trowa believed he was to sit.
Heero had heard a knock on the door; he had just finished setting up for Trowa's sitting. Trowa was a few minutes late, but no matter. He stood and opened the door.
What Heero saw was beauty he'd never experienced before. Trowa had fixed his hair; the stray strands of before were now hanging rather orderly in his face, which accentuated rather than took away from the radiance of his verdant eyes. The outfit Heero had chosen fit Trowa well, angled in all the right places.
Heero realized that Trowa had asked him a question, and he shook his head. "What? I'm sorry, I didn't hear you." He was glad the room was relatively dark, so Trowa couldn't see the blush burning his cheeks.
"I said that I can't tie this." Trowa held the ends of the tie in each of his hands. He fiddled with the ends nervously as he looked away from Heero shyly.
Heero shook his head again, and stepped forward to motion Trowa inside and closed the door. "No problem, we can do without it for now. Follow me."
He led Trowa to the loveseat that Trowa had noted previously.
"Sit," Heero instructed.
Trowa sat.
"Rest your elbow on the arm of the sofa," was the next instruction that Trowa followed. "Lean your hand against your cheek and look to your left. Good. Now cross your right leg over your left, keeping your ankle rested on your knee. Are you comfortable?"
"I suppose so," said Trowa.
"Now listen," said Heero. "I really do need for you to be comfortable because you're going to stay like this for a long time, so, please, tell me now if you're uncomfortable."
"I.I'm fine," Trowa repeated. "It's awkward, but not uncomfortable."
"Well, I guess that's the best we'll do. Can't have you so relaxed you'll fall asleep." Heero stepped backwards as if to mentally photograph the scene before him. Trowa was glad Heero had him posed looking to the side, so he wouldn't have to face Heero's piercing stare.
When satisfied, Heero stepped around a canvas he has set up and sat on a wooden stool, his paint, brushes, and various other materials all scattered haphazardly on an old table that had been around since his parents' painting days. They were both long gone by now; Sebastian was more of a parent than anyone else in his life, in Heero's opinion.
He picked up his paintbrush, and fingered the bristles on the end of the brush. Soft. He peered around the side of the canvas to speak to Trowa.
"You can speak if you'd like. I don't know how good of company I'll be, but you may speak. It gets quiet after a couple hours of this." He tentavily dipped the tip of the brush into a jar of paint, slowly and decisively making each stroke as perfect as the subject in front of him.
"Alright." Trowa was silent for a few moments. He liked it that way, he supposed. He looked around the room. Candlesticks were everywhere; some were about to die out and some looked like this was their first burning, the wax collecting in icicles on the golden candlesticks holders. Most of the candles were white, a sharp contrast to the darkness of the room. A few candles were red, their dripping wax appearing like blood that the hungry candlestick holders drew in.
"Can I ask you something?" Trowa inquired quietly, afraid to break the continued silence, even though Heero had granted him permission to speak.
"Indeed," came a voice behind the canvas.
"Why do you choose to paint at night?"
"I suppose I like the candlelight," was the answer.
"But it changes. Like.the light flickers, so it's inconsistent. Doesn't that...doesn't it mess up your painting?"
Heero shrugged and continued to paint laboriously against the canvas. "I think that's why I like it so much. You're right; the candlelight is fickle. Always changing, never pausing. Similar to life itself. There are many changes that can't be done over again. And these changes are continuous, like how the candles continue to burn. The subject is sitting still, yet there still seems to be movement and motion within the painting."
"Oh, I see."
There was more silence. Trowa observed Heero intently; the way he furrowed his brow in concentration, the way his lips formed a straight line in his seriousness. His penetrating cobalt eyes seemed to burn into the page, much like the candles that continued to waver. Heero was handsome, and Trowa couldn't hide the fact that he was indeed attracted to Heero.
"Have you ever painted a self-portrait?" asked Trowa, his head continuing to face sideways, but his eyes locked onto the canvas that Heero hid behind.
"No."
"Have you considered a self-portrait?"
"No. I'm not fit for painting."
Trowa frowned. "Whyever do you think that?"
"I'm not a proper subject. I don't hold the qualities in a subject I would be fond of."
"Well, how did you choose me? What made me so interesting? If anything, you're a better subject than me."
"You live a life out of the ordinary. Your life is a mystery, an enigma to most. Society tends to look down on you, yet they will not admit their involuntary fascination with people like you."
"You mean gypsies?" Trowa deadpanned. "I don't understand why people look down upon us because of the decision we make about how to live our lives. It's our lives."
"I understand. Which is exactly why I wanted you to pose for me. You aren't ordinary. The reason people don't like the gypsy life is because they haven't experienced it and because it's not the usual way of life. Something out of the ordinary is normally dubbed unacceptable. You must realize this.
"Perhaps by painting you in the clothing of a gentleman, this painting can surpass boundaries and barriers set up by the people that judge before they understand." Heero took his brush and rinsed it in a jar of water, the swishing of the water the only noise that filled the room.
"I suppose," said Trowa. "But even if the people that view this painting see the message, that doesn't mean the next day they'll go up and shake our hands. It's futile in some ways."
"I suppose," Heero echoed, continuing to paint calmly. He looked down at Trowa and noticed that he had moved his hand during their conversation.
"You moved your hand," Heero pointed out. He stood. "I'll fix it."
Trowa was about to move his hand before Heero had suggested fixing it himself. He saw Heero rise, his eyes drinking in the sight of Heero's naked torso. Trowa realized that Heero liked to go around the house shirtless. Needless to say, he didn't mind. Heero approached him and knelt before him, arranging Trowa's fingers and shirtsleeve.
Heero felt a bolt of electricity shoot up his arm with the contact of his body and Trowa's. He hoped the Trowa didn't notice the slight jerk of his hand at that first initial touch.
"There," Heero said, satisfied. He looked up at Trowa, who had an odd look in his brilliant green eyes. There was a question lingering above them, around them, like a thick fog. Trowa turned his head towards the man that knelt before him and looked down as he brushed his lips against the painter's own.
Heero was startled, his eyes opening to the size of saucers as he tasted Trowa's lips for the first time. He looked up at Trowa, the same burning desire he felt in his own eyes showing through. He closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Trowa's firmly, lovingly, cradling the back of Trowa's head as the gypsy did the same to him. Trowa parted his lips, granting Heero access to his mouth completely, Heero's tongue thoroughly but delicately exploring. They broke away slowly, Heero licking his lips and tasting Trowa's lingering flavor on his lips.
"Open your eyes," said Trowa. "Don't close them."
Heero opened his eyes to see Trowa looking back at him, his gaze still piercing through half-lidded eyes. "I won't," he promised, his eyes mirroring Trowa's as their lips joined again.
Trowa leaned down further to deepen the kiss, his hands resting on Heero's bare, sturdy shoulders. They were slick with a small sheet of sweat, just enough to appear to be glistening in the candlelight which continued to cast odd shadows on both men's bodies.
Trowa felt a slight tug against his waistband, Heero slowly untucking his shirt. He broke the kiss to look down at Heero for some kind of reason, some motive as to why Heero was doing this; perhaps a motive as to why Trowa consented.
"Words can hide the truth, but actions cannot," was the answer. Heero's voice was a small, but powerful whisper as he moved his lips against Trowa's, their breaths intermixing; it was intoxicating, as Trowa's shirt became completely unrestricted from his slacks. Heero worked the shirt over Trowa's head, careful not to hurt Trowa, massaging each portion of skin and muscle as it was revealed to his hungry eyes.
In one swift movement, Heero stood and pulled Trowa to his chest, smashing their lips together. They both sighed simultaneously at the first touch of bare chest to chest, and reveled in the feelings of warm skin. Sweat intermingling, tongues intermingling, hands intermingling; it was pure and virginal.
They spent long extended periods of time like that, exploring each other's bodies and absorbing each other's warmth. It was comforting to Trowa, who had been unattached all his life; always moving from one place to another, never spending time with the people he would like to meet, the people he would like to get to know. It was comforting to Heero, who had chosen to be unattached until he'd found the contentment and solace in the gypsy's burning gaze which continued to set fire to Heero's own eyes.
Slowly, Heero began to undo the clasps that held up Trowa's pants upon his hips. Trowa tensed, then relaxed as Heero cradled and rubbed his back and continued to suckle gently on Trowa's neck. Trowa tilted his head back to expose more of his dark, delicate skin, and Heero took advantage of this, running his tongue and teeth along Trowa's throat while Trowa's pants, completely undone, fell to the floor.
"You are a god," whispered Heero, running his hands down Trowa's exposed hips while grinding their pelvises together. The room was filled with both men's quiet moans and sighs that were quickly muted when their lips met again and again. Heero lifted Trowa easily and laid him on the floor, Trowa's legs parted slightly as Heero leaned over the boy to kiss him savagely and run his hands over the boy's lithe body.
Trowa was drowning in pure, raw pleasure as he felt Heero's calloused fingers against his skin. He lifted his hips to rub against Heero's still covered groin, and he felt his lips and throat vibrate as Heero moaned into his mouth. They broke apart, both panting heavily. Not taking his eyes off of Trowa, as he promised, Heero undid the buttons of his pants and let them slide off of his hips and hit the ground softly. He immediately covered Trowa's body with his own, finally unrestricted by all clothing, two bodies worshipping each other's.
Heero let his hand wander down Trowa's body, first delving into a sharp and elegant collarbone, his lips and tongue taking the place of his hand. He continued to lick and nibble that collarbone as his hand then took to massaging the boy's pectorals and stomach, taking care of the remarkably smooth skin he found there.
He began to run his thumb along the line of pubic hair underneath Trowa's belly button, and he looked up from his ministrations upon Trowa's neck to seek approval from the beautiful figure beneath him. Trowa nodded, repeating his earlier command: "Don't close your eyes."
Heero consented as his fingertips danced along Trowa's erection, Trowa sighing an animalistic guttural noise that further aroused Heero and gave him motivation to go further. Heero grasped Trowa's cock, rubbing his thumb against the sensitive area below the head. Trowa almost closed his eyes, but didn't dare look away, looking up at the strong, picturesque man who kneeled above him, stroking him in the most sensitive, intimate of areas.
Trowa stopped reveling in pleasure long enough to take hold of Heero's arousal as well. Heero's chest fell onto Trowa's, but keeping his lower body raised on his knees, both fondling each other's erections with curiosity and wonderment only found in that first touch. Heero's hips snapped down in a small, jerky thrusting motion completely driven by need. Their screams and sighs were silenced by hungry kisses, tongues searching out answers as they stroked each other hurriedly.
Suddenly, Heero's hand left Trowa's body. Trowa immediately sat up to protest, but jerked back down as soon as he felt the warmth of Heero's mouth on his erection. Trowa opened his mouth to scream, but a hollow nothingness came out, and he looked down to see Heero engulfing his penis, still making eye contact with him. He involuntarily thrust upwards into Heero's solid heat, writing against the velvet draperies that had fallen to the floor, looking down at Heero with desperation and feelings he'd never experienced; feelings he'd never had the time to want to experience. Trowa felt himself spiraling closer and closer to the edge, where he'd dared not step before.
Heero also sensed Trowa coming closer, and he increased suction and speed on Trowa's arousal, never looking away from Trowa's half lidded eyes full of heat and passion. The heat and passion that had died long before was now returning slowly and surely into Heero's life.
Trowa exploded into Heero's mouth, hips jerking up, wanting to be enclosed in the exquisite heat for as long as humanly possible. Heero gagged a little, pulling away a bit and feeling each jet of semen coat his tongue, filling his mouth with richness. Some of it escaped his lips, and dripped down the sides of his mouth, down his chin and onto Trowa's thighs. Trowa continued to scream softly, sobbing as spasm after spasm of sheer pleasure ripped and burned through his veins, down his back, and to his arousal. After the final spurts of bliss subdued, Trowa lay on the ground, tears streaming down his face, hands bloody from scraping the wooden floors, and passion pulsing through his body.
Heero used his hands to collect the ejaculate that had spilled on Trowa's body and lubricated his penis. He looked down at Trowa for approval; Trowa nodded, resting his ankles on Heero's shoulders and pulling his body towards Heero's thick cock.
Heero leaned forward, one hand resting on the floor next to Trowa's shoulder, and one hand guiding his erection to Trowa delicately. He pushed steadily, forcing the head through and forcing Trowa's muscles to tighten uncontrollably to constrain the unnatural invader out. Trowa shook with fear and uncertainty.
"Look at me," commanded Heero. Trowa looked up at Heero, lips trembling, eyes jerking from one side to the other until they finally rested on Heero's own blue gaze. "Relax. As soon as you relax, you can truly feel."
Trowa willed his body to relax, Heero sheathing himself fully into Trowa's constricting chasm. Heero had never been so fully enclosed, so fully wrapped in heat and fervor. He compelled his eyes to stay halfway open as he regarded Trowa's once discomforted face to one of unabashed emotional joy. Trowa felt joy; the joy of being completely filled, the joy of being one with someone in the most intimate way possible.
Heero began to slowly pull out, until the only part of his penis that lingered in Trowa's body was the head. He thrust back in quickly, eliciting a grunt from Heero and a pleased moan from Trowa's lips. Over and over he repeated his pattern, pounding into Trowa's body beneath him while maintaining direct eye contact with the man that writhed and squirmed in delight.
"Oh god, yes. Yes! Heero-Heero-Heero-Heero-Heero-" Trowa called out to Heero like a mantra, Heero complying with Trowa's ever wish, every desperate call of need, of sexual hunger. He memorized and tattooed the location of Trowa's prostate in his memory, brutally hitting it again and again, causing Trowa to cry out in pleasure, sweat dripping off both of their bodies. Heero had never felt such tight heat.
"Oh please, Heero! More...I need more...please! Please!" Trowa wrapped his legs around Heero's waist, pulling him closer, forcing Heero's cock deeper into his body, ultimate pleasure shooting through each of their bodies.
Heero began to moan fully, vocalizing his pleasure with each surge forward, with each mind-blowing thrust into Trowa's wanton, supple body. The candlelight continued to flicker before their eyes, and in their eyes, sparks of lust flashed brightly.
"Please...more...faster, please! I need it...I need it so much..." Trowa
began to sob from pleasure, seizing Heero's shoulders with an iron grip. Heero slammed their bodies together, both on the brink of orgasm. Desire burned in their eyes, and they saw it in each other.
Trowa thought that he was experiencing the ultimate pleasure until he felt Heero reach down and start stroking his cock frantically in large, hurried strokes, bringing him closer and closer to his peak. Without warning, Trowa's back arched off the floor, spraying Heero's hand and chest with ejaculate, not ripping his eyes away from Heero's gaze.
Upon seeing Trowa's climax, Heero then followed, filling the boy with his semen in wave after pleasurable wave, and collapsing onto Trowa's body fully, lips smashing into Trowa's.
They broke the kiss and lay there, Heero's body rising and falling with the heave of Trowa's chest. They lay breathing heavily, eyes clouded, skin slick.
Heero was the first to break the impermeable silence. "Are you okay?" he asked, concerned, brushing Trowa's bangs from his face.
Trowa reached up to loosen his grip on Heero's shoulders, letting his hands massage the broad shoulders. "Yes. Are you?"
Heero shifted so that he no longer lay on Trowa, but lay to the man's side and held Trowa's shoulders tightly. "Yes."
They lay there the night, letting the cool night air float through the windows, the candles slowly dying out one by one.
--to be continued--