Trowa pressed his face against Milliardo's chest, and listened to the
man's heartbeat. Some of Milliardo's hair fell upon Trowa's back, and
Trowa sunk even further into Milliardo's chest. It felt safe. All Trowa
wanted was safety.
Milliardo's feelings were at war with each other, the chiding in his brain battling the temptation of years without human touch only to find the beautiful subject of another pressed against him so closely. He held Trowa like a broken piece of glass; something delicate and already damaged, afraid to cause more harm. Trowa's tears were wet and tickled his chest as they dripped down his stomach. He didn't know quite what to do, only to let it be known that he was there and not leaving. It was the only thing Trowa needed at the moment, the only thing Milliardo could provide.
Trowa's short, choked breaths ended in a heaving sigh. The room was silent, as it had been for some time, and the weight of the silence began to fall upon Milliardo's shoulders.
"Are you alright?" he finally said, asking the obvious, still unsure of everything that was happening at the moment.
Trowa continued to breath onto his chest, moisture forming where Trowa's body pressed against him, and neither seemed to care. "I'm sorry," was Trowa's quiet response, although he did not move away.
Milliardo laughed a sad sort of laugh, the kind that only comes from one who has suffered. His mouth formed a tender smile, as he said quietly and confidently, "I understand."
Trowa looked up slowly to rest his gaze upon the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, which looked down on him with anything but a condescending manner. They were soft, but very tired, very aged as he looked closely.
You're beautiful, Trowa wanted to tell him. Do you really understand?he wanted to ask. How did you know that all I really wanted was understanding?he wanted say.
Instead, Trowa leaned up to capture Milliardo's lips in his own.
-----
"All rise."
The courtroom was full; the newspapers and the town had been anticipating the day of Heero Yuy's trial since the day of Judas DiAndretti's murder. Some people were attracted to the trial because of the murder, and without any other distinct suspect, all eyes were focused on Heero Yuy. The state was concentrated on Mister Yuy, for they had no other leads to the crime, especially since it was certainly obvious from over fifty alibis that Mister Yuy did not kill Mister DiAndretti.
However, the Church was another matter. The people that were not drawn to the courthouse because of Judas DiAndretti's murder were there for that of which Mister Yuy was most surely guilty in his paintings most recently displayed on the day of the death of Mister DiAndretti.
Hanging above Heero's head as he sat in the courtroom, mentally blocking out his surroundings, was a possible sentence of five to ten years in jail. Heero thought about the years he'd spend without a paintbrush. He thought about what kind of life Catherine would have whether or not he was jailed. He thought most about Trowa, where Trowa was now, and what Trowa was doing as he stood in front of the entire city, its state representatives, and members of the Church.
"Judge Aldighieri Talduccio."
An old, venerable man took a seat in front of the courthouse, signaling the mass of people gathered to watch the trial to be seated as well. Heero took his seat last, eyes glassy and neck stiff as he watched the proceedings as if viewing them in a dream.
The judge put on his spectacles adjusting them accordingly. The courthouse was completely silent, with the exception of the rain that fell lightly outside yet thundered on the aluminum roof of the courthouse.
"Heero Yuy," Judge Talduccio said, finally. His voice sounded tired, yet respectable.
Heero stood and nodded. "Your Honor."
"You understand that you are here to be judged upon one count of murder, that of Joseph Stephano DiAndretti by the power of the state." The judge peered over his spectacles.
"I understand," said Heero, his voice calm and steady, his heart anything but.
"You also understand that you are here to be judged upon one count of heresy by the power of the Church."
"I understand," Heero repeated.
"Then let us begin."
-----
They began slowly, in fluid movements, speaking with their limbs instead of their mouths. Trowa's arms hung over broad shoulders, hands limp as fingers snaked around Trowa's neck to cradle the boy's head in his hands.
Their kiss was slow, but deep, drinking each other like a fine wine, a wine to be shared not by lovers, not by friends, but as confidantes. They drank from each other's lips the secrets that they'd never shared and the ones they would conceal in the future. It was not a matter of love, it was a matter of trust, a matter of hope. A matter of faith.
This was not passion. Passion was not caring if there was a reason to believe in each other. But there was a hope that caused them to cling to each other tightly, holding onto each other for dear life. They had faith in each other; faith was not having a reason not to believe in each other.
Trowa slid into his lap easily, Milliardo resting his back against his bed. He molded Trowa's waist with hands that were now steady and sure, a sturdiness they had not maintained for years as his fingers pressed against a firm ribcage. Long legs wrapped around Milliardo's waist, his entire body pressed against Milliardo's as he rocked slowly.
Their breath was heavy together, but never dared rise above anything but. Their lips parted only to breathe before they relinquished each other again.
Milliardo tugged at the shirt he had repaired only days ago, only to toss it away on the floor, forgotten as he flicked his tongue quickly and silently against an exposed nipple. Trowa's head dropped back so quickly, Milliardo feared the boy had been harmed. However, the young boy's breath began to quicken, hands digging into Milliardo's back as he indulged the young man in his lap.
It was impulse as Milliardo braced one arm against the bed, lifting Trowa with the other arm and throwing him on the bed, hovering over the boy as he stripped them both of their clothes, joining the newly repaired shirt on the ground, out of harm's way of the fire. It was desperation as they became frantic, grasping each other blindly, trying to get their mouths on every untouched patch of skin.
He continued to bathe Trowa's chest, dragging his lower lip to the other nipple and nibbling softly, caressing the first with his thumb as Trowa's breath became ragged, hands still grasping golden hair that covered both their shoulders. Trowa swirled his tongue around the shell of an ear, the cold moisture contrasting his hot breath, causing the blonde to shudder violently.
Taking advantage of the sudden surrender, Trowa twisted and coiled until he sitting upon Milliardo's stomach, straddling the blonde's surprisingly thin waist. Milliardo was surprised as to how the lithe boy had managed to do this; the surprise quickly turned to pleasure as he slid down Milliardo's body, their hardness pressing against each other firmly. Milliardo's breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Trowa's face, the boy's brow furrowed in pleasure and concentration as he slipped to the floor softly.
Trowa didn't notice how his knees hurt as they rest against the hardwood floor, but rather the way these tired, brilliant eyes portrayed pure kindness and agreement as the older man propped himself on his elbows to look at the boy that now knelt before him. He gazed upon Trowa, who appeared more calm and beautiful than anything anyone could or attempt to paint.
-----
The courtroom was hot, muggy, and Heero felt like he could grab handfuls of the air. It was suffocating in his full suit, yet he did not dare complain. The judge and representatives of the state and the Church were debating his sentence.
Several alibis had proven easily that Heero was not Judas DiAndretti's killer. However, his "recent indecent display" was causing quite the controversy, something that could have been avoided if he had not indulged in the drink that was soon consuming Catherine.
Catherine. The press had asked about her numerous times before the court was in session. Heero had told every one of them that Catherine was indisposed and unable to attend the court, as was the distress of Mister DiAndretti's death so very hard on the poor girl. He got many sympathies for the girl who was now drinking herself to death, a luxury once thought by Catherine as reserved for the privileged was now at her advantage to abuse.
Heero would lie with Catherine at night with his hand around her waist, stopping her from reaching towards the night table to pour a glass of gin in the middle of the night. It was if Catherine had realized that this reservation was now attainable, now hers, and she wanted it.
She wanted it like the expensive clothes Heero would buy her. She wanted it like the pampering Sebastian provided. She wanted it like the money she'd find in Heero's room just lying around like the spare coins she'd make with Trowa for the gypsy train.
Heero wondered if Catherine knew Trowa was gone.
He wondered where Trowa was right now. Trowa was all he thought about. How the whole town knew what Trowa looked like, what associations he had with Heero, what kind of heresy he had committed. How seeing Trowa would be a risk in itself. How seeing Trowa may soon be an impossibility.
"All rise."
Heero shook his head quickly and stood, facing the judge as he entered the room again, followed by the state and Church representatives who stood to the side.
The judge met Heero's gaze during the verdict, and immediately looked away, reading in a mechanical voice.
"Heero Yuy," Judge Talduccio read. "By the order of the State, we hereby find the defendant, Mister Heero Yuy, not guilty of the murder of Mister Judas DiAndretti. By the order of the Church, whose witness is the The Almighty God and his son, Jesus Christ, our savior, the defendant has been reviewed and it has been affirmed that he has committed heresy against the Church, and will be sentenced to the confinement of his home and the Church for five years." Judge Talduccio placed the piece of paper aside and looked directly at Heero. "Your art, Mister Yuy, will be watched with the eyes of the
Church at all times." The judge raised his gavel. "This courtroom is adjourned."
The smack of the gavel reconfirmed Heero's fate. He would be painting for the Church.
Milliardo's words remained in his mind...that whatever you do, you do for yourself...the only person you have to please is yourself...
I cannot do anything for myself,Heero thought as he walked briskly out of the courtroom.
-----
Time had stopped as Trowa and Milliardo eyes were fixed on each other, Trowa gripping one of Milliardo's thighs in each hand as he knelt before him. Long blonde hair stuck to their bodies. The light from the fire flickered dimly, shadows dancing as Trowa's lips closed over the head of Milliardo's cock. His breath stopped, his eyes still staring hard at Trowa.
Trowa stared back, the sheer attraction of his eyes too strong to resist as he pleasured the man before him, swirling his tongue quickly enough to be pleasurable, slowly enough to begin the night ahead of them. Trowa let his hand cup an entire thigh, pushing it towards Milliardo's chest and hooking it over his own shoulder as he began to suck, gently at first, then with incredible force, swallowing until coarse hairs tickled his nose and he felt fingers rest on the back of his neck. Milliardo thrust shallowly, their eyes still set on each other, the most difficult kind of intimacy, yet it was even more difficult to look away.
Trowa pulled away slowly, lips parting as Milliardo's cock slid from his mouth, glistening with saliva and slick for a purpose. Milliardo understood as he lifted the boy from the ground to beside him on the bed, and he once again hovered over his body, kissing him with a force much like how they had begun.
Milliardo entered Trowa, their eyes now permanently one with each other. Trowa felt the pain of being split apart, which was soon remedied by the other's patience as he showered the boy with apologetic kisses on the boy's forehead, cheeks, and lips. Trowa wrapped his legs around him, causing him to thrust deeper, eliciting a gasp from both. Milliardo pulled Trowa's legs over his shoulders and began to thrust, letting out a gasp of breath with each thrust.
They alternated breaths, sometimes swallowing each other's as their lips mashed together frantically, their movements like liquid, simultaneous and mutually driven. Both had loved the same man, and both stayed away from the same man, turning to each other. Neither spoke, and everything was understood.
Everything was understood.
In a sweeping force, Milliardo lifted lean legs over his shoulders, changing the angle drastically and causing Trowa to cry out violently, the highest volume the room had encountered since they had begun to explore each other. He cried out continuously, repetitively, mouth agape and eyes wide open. Milliardo hooked his arms underneath Trowa's back to pull down on the boy's shoulders as he thrust deeply, his breath harsh and hot.
Trowa brought his hands to rest on Milliardo's face, forcing their foreheads to meet, their eyes less than an inch away. With a final shout, Trowa climaxed, his muscles tightening, pressing his lips to Milliardo's as he breathed in loud, muffled cries. Milliardo thrust a final time into Trowa's taut chasm, a stifled grunt resonating with each shallow thrust that followed his climax.
Milliardo collapsed onto the boy beneath him, their foreheads still touching as Milliardo's cheek hit the bed, their noses touching. He let the back of his hand trace Trowa's jaw line, his breath heaving, his hands surprisingly steady. Trowa cradled Milliardo's hand against his face, closing his eyes in thanks.
Milliardo watched the boy as his breath evened out in sleep.
- to be continued -
Milliardo's feelings were at war with each other, the chiding in his brain battling the temptation of years without human touch only to find the beautiful subject of another pressed against him so closely. He held Trowa like a broken piece of glass; something delicate and already damaged, afraid to cause more harm. Trowa's tears were wet and tickled his chest as they dripped down his stomach. He didn't know quite what to do, only to let it be known that he was there and not leaving. It was the only thing Trowa needed at the moment, the only thing Milliardo could provide.
Trowa's short, choked breaths ended in a heaving sigh. The room was silent, as it had been for some time, and the weight of the silence began to fall upon Milliardo's shoulders.
"Are you alright?" he finally said, asking the obvious, still unsure of everything that was happening at the moment.
Trowa continued to breath onto his chest, moisture forming where Trowa's body pressed against him, and neither seemed to care. "I'm sorry," was Trowa's quiet response, although he did not move away.
Milliardo laughed a sad sort of laugh, the kind that only comes from one who has suffered. His mouth formed a tender smile, as he said quietly and confidently, "I understand."
Trowa looked up slowly to rest his gaze upon the bluest eyes he'd ever seen, which looked down on him with anything but a condescending manner. They were soft, but very tired, very aged as he looked closely.
You're beautiful, Trowa wanted to tell him. Do you really understand?he wanted to ask. How did you know that all I really wanted was understanding?he wanted say.
Instead, Trowa leaned up to capture Milliardo's lips in his own.
-----
"All rise."
The courtroom was full; the newspapers and the town had been anticipating the day of Heero Yuy's trial since the day of Judas DiAndretti's murder. Some people were attracted to the trial because of the murder, and without any other distinct suspect, all eyes were focused on Heero Yuy. The state was concentrated on Mister Yuy, for they had no other leads to the crime, especially since it was certainly obvious from over fifty alibis that Mister Yuy did not kill Mister DiAndretti.
However, the Church was another matter. The people that were not drawn to the courthouse because of Judas DiAndretti's murder were there for that of which Mister Yuy was most surely guilty in his paintings most recently displayed on the day of the death of Mister DiAndretti.
Hanging above Heero's head as he sat in the courtroom, mentally blocking out his surroundings, was a possible sentence of five to ten years in jail. Heero thought about the years he'd spend without a paintbrush. He thought about what kind of life Catherine would have whether or not he was jailed. He thought most about Trowa, where Trowa was now, and what Trowa was doing as he stood in front of the entire city, its state representatives, and members of the Church.
"Judge Aldighieri Talduccio."
An old, venerable man took a seat in front of the courthouse, signaling the mass of people gathered to watch the trial to be seated as well. Heero took his seat last, eyes glassy and neck stiff as he watched the proceedings as if viewing them in a dream.
The judge put on his spectacles adjusting them accordingly. The courthouse was completely silent, with the exception of the rain that fell lightly outside yet thundered on the aluminum roof of the courthouse.
"Heero Yuy," Judge Talduccio said, finally. His voice sounded tired, yet respectable.
Heero stood and nodded. "Your Honor."
"You understand that you are here to be judged upon one count of murder, that of Joseph Stephano DiAndretti by the power of the state." The judge peered over his spectacles.
"I understand," said Heero, his voice calm and steady, his heart anything but.
"You also understand that you are here to be judged upon one count of heresy by the power of the Church."
"I understand," Heero repeated.
"Then let us begin."
-----
They began slowly, in fluid movements, speaking with their limbs instead of their mouths. Trowa's arms hung over broad shoulders, hands limp as fingers snaked around Trowa's neck to cradle the boy's head in his hands.
Their kiss was slow, but deep, drinking each other like a fine wine, a wine to be shared not by lovers, not by friends, but as confidantes. They drank from each other's lips the secrets that they'd never shared and the ones they would conceal in the future. It was not a matter of love, it was a matter of trust, a matter of hope. A matter of faith.
This was not passion. Passion was not caring if there was a reason to believe in each other. But there was a hope that caused them to cling to each other tightly, holding onto each other for dear life. They had faith in each other; faith was not having a reason not to believe in each other.
Trowa slid into his lap easily, Milliardo resting his back against his bed. He molded Trowa's waist with hands that were now steady and sure, a sturdiness they had not maintained for years as his fingers pressed against a firm ribcage. Long legs wrapped around Milliardo's waist, his entire body pressed against Milliardo's as he rocked slowly.
Their breath was heavy together, but never dared rise above anything but. Their lips parted only to breathe before they relinquished each other again.
Milliardo tugged at the shirt he had repaired only days ago, only to toss it away on the floor, forgotten as he flicked his tongue quickly and silently against an exposed nipple. Trowa's head dropped back so quickly, Milliardo feared the boy had been harmed. However, the young boy's breath began to quicken, hands digging into Milliardo's back as he indulged the young man in his lap.
It was impulse as Milliardo braced one arm against the bed, lifting Trowa with the other arm and throwing him on the bed, hovering over the boy as he stripped them both of their clothes, joining the newly repaired shirt on the ground, out of harm's way of the fire. It was desperation as they became frantic, grasping each other blindly, trying to get their mouths on every untouched patch of skin.
He continued to bathe Trowa's chest, dragging his lower lip to the other nipple and nibbling softly, caressing the first with his thumb as Trowa's breath became ragged, hands still grasping golden hair that covered both their shoulders. Trowa swirled his tongue around the shell of an ear, the cold moisture contrasting his hot breath, causing the blonde to shudder violently.
Taking advantage of the sudden surrender, Trowa twisted and coiled until he sitting upon Milliardo's stomach, straddling the blonde's surprisingly thin waist. Milliardo was surprised as to how the lithe boy had managed to do this; the surprise quickly turned to pleasure as he slid down Milliardo's body, their hardness pressing against each other firmly. Milliardo's breath caught in his throat as he looked up at Trowa's face, the boy's brow furrowed in pleasure and concentration as he slipped to the floor softly.
Trowa didn't notice how his knees hurt as they rest against the hardwood floor, but rather the way these tired, brilliant eyes portrayed pure kindness and agreement as the older man propped himself on his elbows to look at the boy that now knelt before him. He gazed upon Trowa, who appeared more calm and beautiful than anything anyone could or attempt to paint.
-----
The courtroom was hot, muggy, and Heero felt like he could grab handfuls of the air. It was suffocating in his full suit, yet he did not dare complain. The judge and representatives of the state and the Church were debating his sentence.
Several alibis had proven easily that Heero was not Judas DiAndretti's killer. However, his "recent indecent display" was causing quite the controversy, something that could have been avoided if he had not indulged in the drink that was soon consuming Catherine.
Catherine. The press had asked about her numerous times before the court was in session. Heero had told every one of them that Catherine was indisposed and unable to attend the court, as was the distress of Mister DiAndretti's death so very hard on the poor girl. He got many sympathies for the girl who was now drinking herself to death, a luxury once thought by Catherine as reserved for the privileged was now at her advantage to abuse.
Heero would lie with Catherine at night with his hand around her waist, stopping her from reaching towards the night table to pour a glass of gin in the middle of the night. It was if Catherine had realized that this reservation was now attainable, now hers, and she wanted it.
She wanted it like the expensive clothes Heero would buy her. She wanted it like the pampering Sebastian provided. She wanted it like the money she'd find in Heero's room just lying around like the spare coins she'd make with Trowa for the gypsy train.
Heero wondered if Catherine knew Trowa was gone.
He wondered where Trowa was right now. Trowa was all he thought about. How the whole town knew what Trowa looked like, what associations he had with Heero, what kind of heresy he had committed. How seeing Trowa would be a risk in itself. How seeing Trowa may soon be an impossibility.
"All rise."
Heero shook his head quickly and stood, facing the judge as he entered the room again, followed by the state and Church representatives who stood to the side.
The judge met Heero's gaze during the verdict, and immediately looked away, reading in a mechanical voice.
"Heero Yuy," Judge Talduccio read. "By the order of the State, we hereby find the defendant, Mister Heero Yuy, not guilty of the murder of Mister Judas DiAndretti. By the order of the Church, whose witness is the The Almighty God and his son, Jesus Christ, our savior, the defendant has been reviewed and it has been affirmed that he has committed heresy against the Church, and will be sentenced to the confinement of his home and the Church for five years." Judge Talduccio placed the piece of paper aside and looked directly at Heero. "Your art, Mister Yuy, will be watched with the eyes of the
Church at all times." The judge raised his gavel. "This courtroom is adjourned."
The smack of the gavel reconfirmed Heero's fate. He would be painting for the Church.
Milliardo's words remained in his mind...that whatever you do, you do for yourself...the only person you have to please is yourself...
I cannot do anything for myself,Heero thought as he walked briskly out of the courtroom.
-----
Time had stopped as Trowa and Milliardo eyes were fixed on each other, Trowa gripping one of Milliardo's thighs in each hand as he knelt before him. Long blonde hair stuck to their bodies. The light from the fire flickered dimly, shadows dancing as Trowa's lips closed over the head of Milliardo's cock. His breath stopped, his eyes still staring hard at Trowa.
Trowa stared back, the sheer attraction of his eyes too strong to resist as he pleasured the man before him, swirling his tongue quickly enough to be pleasurable, slowly enough to begin the night ahead of them. Trowa let his hand cup an entire thigh, pushing it towards Milliardo's chest and hooking it over his own shoulder as he began to suck, gently at first, then with incredible force, swallowing until coarse hairs tickled his nose and he felt fingers rest on the back of his neck. Milliardo thrust shallowly, their eyes still set on each other, the most difficult kind of intimacy, yet it was even more difficult to look away.
Trowa pulled away slowly, lips parting as Milliardo's cock slid from his mouth, glistening with saliva and slick for a purpose. Milliardo understood as he lifted the boy from the ground to beside him on the bed, and he once again hovered over his body, kissing him with a force much like how they had begun.
Milliardo entered Trowa, their eyes now permanently one with each other. Trowa felt the pain of being split apart, which was soon remedied by the other's patience as he showered the boy with apologetic kisses on the boy's forehead, cheeks, and lips. Trowa wrapped his legs around him, causing him to thrust deeper, eliciting a gasp from both. Milliardo pulled Trowa's legs over his shoulders and began to thrust, letting out a gasp of breath with each thrust.
They alternated breaths, sometimes swallowing each other's as their lips mashed together frantically, their movements like liquid, simultaneous and mutually driven. Both had loved the same man, and both stayed away from the same man, turning to each other. Neither spoke, and everything was understood.
Everything was understood.
In a sweeping force, Milliardo lifted lean legs over his shoulders, changing the angle drastically and causing Trowa to cry out violently, the highest volume the room had encountered since they had begun to explore each other. He cried out continuously, repetitively, mouth agape and eyes wide open. Milliardo hooked his arms underneath Trowa's back to pull down on the boy's shoulders as he thrust deeply, his breath harsh and hot.
Trowa brought his hands to rest on Milliardo's face, forcing their foreheads to meet, their eyes less than an inch away. With a final shout, Trowa climaxed, his muscles tightening, pressing his lips to Milliardo's as he breathed in loud, muffled cries. Milliardo thrust a final time into Trowa's taut chasm, a stifled grunt resonating with each shallow thrust that followed his climax.
Milliardo collapsed onto the boy beneath him, their foreheads still touching as Milliardo's cheek hit the bed, their noses touching. He let the back of his hand trace Trowa's jaw line, his breath heaving, his hands surprisingly steady. Trowa cradled Milliardo's hand against his face, closing his eyes in thanks.
Milliardo watched the boy as his breath evened out in sleep.
- to be continued -