Trowa returned with two cups of black tea, sweetened to his taste. He brought his chair up to the table and sat in it. Heero turned and walked up to the table with his feline stalk of a walk, and just looked at the table, the chair the second cup on the table with its thin line of steam rising from the nearly boiling contents. This was all before he sat across from the other boy. Trowa had begun to lightly sip his tea, taking it in small, semi-sips, intervals small enough to cool between the cup and his tongue. He turned his gaze pointedly to the fingers of the Japanese boy as he wrapped his hand around the mug, rather than using the handle. He began to ponder the difficulty the other was having with something so mundane as drinking tea. Pain, he understands physical pain. The experience of it from realization to those distended moments when the pain has reached its apogee and then the gradual acquiescence of it from his flesh. I wonder if-- he sat forward then, and pulled his sweater over his head. It left him in his jeans and a black sleeveless undershirt, the sweater rested on the back of his chair, folded in half. --He needs a release valve to loose the emotions he is otherwise incapable of expressing. His eyes had continued looking at the fingers from the moment Heero grasped the cup.
"The cup is hot," Trowa demurred, with a soft voice. He finally spoke to remind Heero of the pain, so that he might adjust his drinking method accordingly. Though he still did not drink; he simply looked at the porcelain emptily, if not a touch hostilely.
"Hn," came the response. Trowa continued thinking: Perhaps he is letting the pain burn his distractions away, something else to focus on. Does that mean he is leaving?
They sat awhile opposite each other their eyes both looking at Heero's hand and the mug he held. Eternities later at the same moment, they stripped their gazes from Heero holding the cup and aimed them at one another. Strangely though, there was no appraisal, no depth seeking, Just dark blue and green salient gazes.
It happened as if they did not think of it, and as if it were choreographed. Heero was straddling Trowa, one hot hand and one the same warm temperature of the room on each of the other boy's shoulders. Trowa easily pulled Heero up into a standing position with hands on narrow hips. He slid from the chair onto his knees, and rid Heero of his shorts. The strong little hands never left his shoulders. Heero's cock met with a mouth warmer than the hand which had an external surface with which to lose heat. Trowa's mouth was imbued with the same effortless skill the boy showed in everything he did. He mixed sucking with licking, hard with soft, with a combination of tongue movements and hands which grasped and alternately stroked Heero's thighs, his ass, his belly.
Heero, before any climax was met, took his kneading hands away from Trowa's shoulders, and pulled the other boy up by bracing his hands on the outsides of his biceps. With lightning speed they undressed and made their way to the bed. Rather, Heero pushed Trowa over the bed, and thrust his still warm and wet cock into Trowa. This he did over, and over, which of itself would have been gratifying to the taller boy, but Heero also knew, from an unfailing understanding of anatomy, various places where high concentrations of nerves were bundled, and thus where to touch, where to stroke with his hands to coax a small noise of pleasure out of Trowa before they simultaneously reached release. It was the only vociferous noise since Heero's response about the cup.
They stayed in this spent position for a few heartbeats. Trowa crawled onto the bed from there, reaching behind him to take hold of Heero's hands and pulled the smaller boy onto the bed with him. It creaked, for the first time that night, when it embraced their combined weight. Trowa wrapped himself around Heero, feeling… protective… Heero was trembling. It has all crystallized now. Trowa looked at Heero's eyes which were far away, not something he could recall ever having seen in the other's expression before. He is leaving. Hours later, after just laying there, holding and being held, respectively, their breaths rising and falling in perfect time yet creating no real bond, they fell to sleep.
When grey dawn waxed red and shone her light through the single window across the bed, neither boy had moved much. The sky was not through shedding night when Trowa became aware of Heero's rising and getting dressed, but he said nothing, nor moved. The door shut behind the perfect soldier, made imperfect by the lack of war.
