AN: WARNING! CITRUS ALERT!!!! There is a lime and a lemon in this chapter, so please read at your discretion. Also note that FFnet still hates me and won't save right, so forgive any errors. This makes twice that I have lost over half of this chapter. *sighs*
To See A World In A Grain Of Sand
Chapter Three
*Another Month Later*
Life, for the most part, didn't change for Quatre. Now, though, he got the occasional trips up to the apartment, and the occasional make-out session there. They'd not ventured past the kisses and occasional touches, but life seemed pretty good. And apart from the kisses, Quatre's routine didn't change that much.
Wufei made it clear that he didn't like Quatre hanging out on that side of town, but he admitted that nothing Trowa'd done seemed shady... and that he had no control of Quatre's choices.
Iria had visited once or twice (and had been smitten with Trowa), but Quatre'd made no headway with his father, and quite frankly Quatre didn't much care. All in all, Quatre was content. No... he was *happy*. For what seemed like the first time in a very long time.
He sat in Trowa's living room on a lazy Saturday evening, curled up beside his boyfriend, watching as a car exploded by flying into a helicopter. Trowa was mostly layed down on the couch, Quatre stretched on top of him, idly tracing the inky patterns on the honey skin. His finger trailed lightly across the bare chest beneath him, circled the nipple he found there. He kept his eyes on the screen, but he felt Trowa's shudder, heard the intake of breath. He schooled his features well, resisting the urge to smirk and feigning innocence as he toyed almost idly with the hardening little nub.
Trowa didn't move, or say anything, but Quatre felt the change in breathing, the change in heart-rate. Quatre enjoyed action movies. And he'd like to see this one, but if given the choice between Bruce Willis on the TV and Trowa here and now.... there was little choice there. He let his fingers drift with a feather light touch, let them drift lower, slowly across the hard plane of Trowa's stomach. Slowly, lower and lower.
By the time his fingers reached the waist-band of the jeans, Quatre had lost all interest in the movie, too intrigued by the shudders now running through his boyfriend. But when Quatre quietly flicked the button of the jeans open, Trowa stiffened.
"Quatre...." he breathed. A soft breath of warning.
Quatre shifted, lifting his head so that he could look down at the taller man. He saw... worry in those Emerald eyes. Caution. But no rejection. Trowa was merely wanting to be sure. Cautious, like they'd been so far. But Quatre was tired of slow. He wanted *more*.
"Trowa... no waiting. No more. I'm sure of this... sure of you. I want you... I want to please you. I want to feel you shudder, feel you writhing against me. I want to hear you moan my name. I want to *feel* you and to feel you cum. Please, Trowa."
Not waiting for a response, he slipped his hand under the loose denim, under to cotton boxers. Trowa's breath caught, then shuddered out when Quatre's long, slender fingers closed gently around his forming erection. Quatre watched in fascination as those green eyes clouded, then slipped closed. He moved his hand in a steady rhythm, though he was a bit nervous. He'd never done this before to another man, but if Trowa's reactions were anything to go by, he couldn't be too bad at it.
He brushed his thumb over the tip, spreading the precum that was gathered there, and the passage of his hand became easier. Trowa's breathing became ragged, his hips thrusting up, into Quatre's hand. Quatre kept up his rhythm, watching in rapt fascination at the emotions flickering across the beautiful face in front of him as slowly the orgasm built and built and built, and finally tumbled free. With a loud gasping moan, Trowa spilt his seed all over Quatre's hand and inside his jeans.
"Oh, wow," Quatre whispered. "Beautiful." He leaned up, pushing his lips against Trowa's in a heated, torrid kiss. He'd never thought that bringing Trowa to climax could turn him on so much, make him so hard.
It took a few moments under the kiss for Trowa's braincells to return, and for him to feel the hot bulge pressing against his thigh. Who *was* this wicked little angel? Trowa couldn't remember the last time he'd ever climaxed so hard from such a simple touch. How could this little one turn him on like that? The teasing, almost unsure touch that drove him wild.
Trowa let his hands trail down the soft, soft skin of Quatre's sides, brushing his hands under the loose T-shirt his boyfriend wore. Trowa had no qualms walking around his own home shirtless, but Quatre had seemed to have a modesty quirk.
"Quatre," Trowa whispered against the tender flesh of the neck he suckled on. "How... how far do you want this to go tonight?"
"Ah," was the reply. "All of you, Trowa. I want all of you."
Trowa squeezed his eyes shut, pulled his lips back. "Quatre, do you even know what you're asking me for?" He could not forget how innocent his tiny lover was. He *would not* forget.
Quatre caught the hesitancy in Trowa's voice, and found it as endearing as he did annoying. He leaned forward, pressed his lips against Trowa's cheek before swiping his tongue along the lobe of his ear.
"Trowa... let me put this clearly," he said, voice husky, breath warm against goose-bumped skin. "I want you to make love with me. I want you to use this," he palmed the renewing erection beneath him, "to drive me crazy and show me *exactly* how to get to heaven and back." He kissed along the rim of Trowa's ear. "Kiss me, touch me, use me, Trowa. I may not have done this with another man, but I am *not* as innocent as you think I am. You *are* going to take me through to the bedroom and you *are* going to make me beg and moan and scream. Understood?"
Trowa shuddered, but nodded shakily. Oh, dear Lord.... what kind of fiend did he have on his hands?
~*~*~*~
Trowa remembered the first night he'd met Quatre. That cunning and naivety that had endeared him to the hardened former street-rat. That innocence that often masked the devilish, almost wicked flip-side. Of course, Trowa had known Quatre wasn't *completely* innocent. The blond had described his occasional trysts with females, in vivid detail that sometimes had Trowa laughing and sometimes had him hard and throbbing.
Almost as hard as he was now, gently laying his soon-to-be lover on the warm cotton quilt that spread across his bed.
His bed.....
He'd never allowed any of his partners into his home before... much less allowed them all the way to his bed. There was something inherently different about Quatre; something that made *him* want to be different. Kisses were rained down on bare skin... their clothes being lost somewhere between the couch and the bed. Soft moans rose to greet his ears as Quatre reacted beautifully to every kiss, every touch. Trowa had never been exactly gentle or reverent in his bed activities... he hesitated to call it making love. How could you make love when that particular emotion had never entered into the equation? But his hands on Quatre were soft and slow, gentle, reverent. There was no rush, no meaningless words... nothing but the two of them and the soft sounds offered up unto the night.
This, Trowa thought, was making love. He didn't know quite how the blond had done it, but Quatre had wormed his way into Trowa's heart. Trowa reveled in the feeling, in the revelation... the epiphany.
He'd never felt anything like this before. It was simply amazing and he felt glorious.
Quatre looked up at Trowa, aqua eyes misty with emotion, as he watched his lover retreive lube and a foil packet from the beside drawer. He had no clue as to the revelation... the storm that raged inside Trowa... but he could see love shining out of those clear, verdant eyes when Trowa looked back at him. His eyes slipped closed as the first finger, slick and slippery, breached him. It felt different; uncomfortable but not quite painful. He moaned at the second finger's intrusion, then cried out as three fingers filled him, bringing a slight pain along with them... and then lights erupted behind his closed eyes. A rainbow kaleidoscope of shapes and colors filling his mind with unbelievable pleasure.
"More..." he begged, breaking the silence that was filled with the sounds of their bodies, the moans and cries and panting. This was heaven, he thought, never even noticing Trowa unrolling the condom onto himself and applying more lube. It had to be heaven; nothing less could feel this beautiful.
"More," Trowa replied, taking that last plunge inside. Quatre's eyes flew back open at the amazing sensations washing over him. The pleasure, and the barely there, mild, discomfort.
Trowa set a steady rhythm; never too fast, never too slow. After a few minutes, Quatre adjusted to the new feelings and began to move with him, as Trowa's hand snaked between them and wrapped around Quatre's erection, pumping it in time with his thrusts. It took several times for Quatre to match the rhythm, but he did; the two bodies slid against each other, moving in sync. Gasps, moans. Cries, screams. Whimpers, pants.
Sounds echoed around the room, a sliver of light from the street lamps fell through the window, casting a ethereal glow upon the occupants.
"I love you," Quatre whispered, back arching as release found him.
Trowa watched as Quatre climaxed, watched as the emotions played across that angelic face. With Quatre's fall into ecstasy, Trowa let himself go. As the wave crested over him, swamping him in an aqua colored ocean of bliss, Trowa replayed those words over and over and over in his mind.
I love you. Love? Quatre loved him? No. Quatre shouldn't love him. But Quatre's eyes couldn't lie. And love had been written all over that beautiful face.
Love, Trowa thought as the waves receded, leaving him feeling weak and wonderful. He rolled to the side, letting Quatre snuggle up next to him.
"Shower?" QUatre mumbled sleepily.
"Too lazy," Trowa replied, truthfully but absently.
Quatre chuckled. "Mmkay. But just remember if we wake up all sticky that I told you so."
"Deal," Trowa muttered, wrapping a possessive arm around the blond and holding him close. He wasn't letting Quatre go.
Which was another 'first'. He'd never slept with anyone; not all night, at least. Hell, most of his trysts had never made it as far as a bed. He'd never spent the night with one of his partners.
Quatre had broken through every last defense he had built. Trowa's shell was shattered, and he knew that Quatre had the power to destroy his very heart and soul... if he wanted.
And for some reason... despite being scared shitless about it.... Trowa didn't mind.
He brushed a hand over pale blond hair, a soft smile finding his lips in the darkness.
"I love you, too, my Quatre."