Part of my GW prompts series. I asked for prompts on tumblr and this is what you get in return. (and if you want to make requests, my tumblr is that-which-yields)
Heero glances out the window for the hundredth time, eyes squinting as they transfer from the computer screen to the brilliant glare of the sun. The beach beckons, so close to the make-shift office of their rented condo. The window is cracked open, letting a tantalizing breath of salt-air and sea waves trickle in, the soothing whoosh of the tide and the delighted screams of children playing in the ocean. More importantly, outside is his partner, ankle deep in the soft sand of a volleyball pit, stripped to the waist like the other players.
His gaze pauses thoughtfully on his partner's athletic form, on the sweat trickling slowly down the taut muscles of his stomach. They've been on the mission for half a month now, and his partner has reaped the benefit in the form of sun-burnished skin. The swim trunks ride low on his hips, occasionally revealing a flash of pale where the sun hasn't had a chance to kiss. And Heero licks suddenly dry lips as a flash of memory swamps him, of darkness and sweat-slicked skin, damp sheets and his tongue lapping across the salty flesh from hip to hip.
Trowa turns his head toward the house as if summoned, sweeping his hair away from his face. His torso lengthens in a slow stretch, an untanned inch of skin appearing as his shorts slip a little bit lower on his hips. Heero's breath hitches as Trowa rubs at his hip in an apparently innocent gesture, reminding Heero of far too many mornings after when they'd woken to Heero's hands bruised into that skin, the marks of forgetting his grip as an orgasm ripped through him.
He wrenches his eyes away, planting them on the computer screen with firm determination. He is not going to go outside. He is definitely not doing to yank out his phone and text Trowa that he found something, so the other man will return to their cottage. He is decidedly not going to attempt to lure Trowa into their shower, or their kitchen, or their bedroom, since he is on a mission and is supposed to be hacking into these systems to infiltrate the enemy's technology. He absolutely does not need to be breaking into Trowa's pants.
Trowa is outside because he is doing the social groundwork – all of the small talk and societal niceties that Heero still can't manage despite half a dozen years of working with Preventers. Trowa can make friends and be unassuming and amusing and entertain people, all the while making devastating observations that will lead to the downfall of a drug ring or a weapons smuggling enterprise. And at night, when the computers are off and the people are sleeping, Trowa can slip into his room and make the devastating observations that make his knees turn to water, turn his stubborn stoicism into gasping pleas for more.
And fuck, this isn't helping him focus. Heero grits his teeth, harshly reminding his over-active libido that it is a terrible idea to engage in mid-day sex, as delightful as it is to ride the waves of climax while the crash of the tide coming in echoes off the faint blue of the bedroom walls.
"You know," a voice murmurs from the doorway, sun-warmed and languid with pleasure, "we've been at this house for two weeks and haven't fucked in here yet."
Heero spins his chair to face the door, slowly, savoring the anticipation of the gradual revolution, the delay between hearing his lover's bedroom voice and seeing the mouth-watering planes of his body. He's seen Trowa bared and writhing beneath him more times than he can count, yet seeing the other man stand before him still takes his breath away. Trowa leans against the wall, all lean muscle and hidden strength. His still has the physique of an acrobat, lanky and toned, and god knows that he has flexibility to make a porn star cry.
And right now, dripping salt water onto the carpet, bronzed skin gleaming with sweat and the sea, swim trunks about ready to fall from those beautifully defined hips, Heero thinks he looks pretty damn perfect. And yet…
"We're supposed to be working," Heero attempts, swallowing hard as Trowa shifts into motion.
He stalks toward Heero and the desk, each step a predatory stroll, all decadence and effortless grace. At times like this Heero remembers the circus, his painful recuperation, and how he would wake in the early hours of the morning to find Trowa curled up with the lions. They never attacked him, and from time to time he remembers that Trowa was very much one of them. Trowa leans over him, one hand on the back of the chair, a mischievous grin playing about his lips.
"So work," he purrs, in a tone that warns Heero of an incoming distraction.
Trowa ghosts his lips over the Asian man's smile, tongue slipping between his teeth to tangle slowly with Heero's, inhaling slowly to steal the breath from his lungs. He pulls away, releasing their joined breath, turning Heero back toward the desk. Heero blinks sluggishly, still stunned from the possessive kiss, letting his hands fall back across the laptop's keyboard. He begins to type the first components of a complex code into his program, his sharp mind transitioning unhurriedly back to work. It might have succeeded if not for Trowa, slender body folding with consummate grace until he lands on his knees at Heero's feet.
Heero glances down at him as Trowa runs his hands up Heero's calves, resting lightly on his knees. The calluses from Heavyarms, still traced across the pads of his hands, add a delicious hint of friction as they move higher, slipping beneath the edge of Heero's shorts. Heero's head thumps against the back of the chair, his eyes rolling back slightly in his head as his hips twitch forward, begging for attention. The hands lift from the corded muscles of his thighs and he groans in protest, one ocean blue eye cracking open.
"Uh uh," Trowa singsongs teasingly, wagging one finger at Heero. "I told you to keep working."
Heero snarls low under his breath and angrily types out another line of code, his fingers jabbing at the keyboard. As the series of disgruntled clicks softens, gentling as his irritation fades, Trowa's clever fingers pluck at the button of his cargo shorts. He shifts his hips to aid in Trowa's effort but continues typing, not wanting to disrupt what he hopes will be a mind-blowing encounter.
Trowa's hand slips into the opening, not bothering to pull down the shorts, and wraps confident fingers around his shaft. He breathes out a curse, his hips jerking involuntarily at the first touch. His fingers still on the keyboard, heart pounding with arousal, until a gentle squeeze reminds him to keep working. The code blurs in his eyesight as Trowa's hand moves, restricted by boxers and shorts, short strokes still enough to fuzz Heero's mind with pleasure. He dutifully types a few more characters, fingers fumbling with programming that he knows by heart. Somehow, Trowa's touch is always able to blank his mind completely.
He exhales a soft 'please,' frustrated by the limited motion of Trowa's arm, and his partner obliges with a chuckle, drawing his cock out into the warm, salt-scented air of the corner room. His toes curl against the rubber of his sandals as Trowa's hand is replaced by the deliciously wet cavern of his mouth, one hand slipping off the keyboard to lace into Trowa's salt-stiffened hair. Trowa hums in protest, drawing a low moan from Heero's lips.
"Can type with one hand," he gasps, though his free hand lays unmoving on the keyboard.
Trowa murmurs something unintelligible, his lips wrapping firmly around Heero's shaft, cheeks hollowing as he inhales nearly to the base. His tongue traces clever designs across the vein on the underside of Heero's dick, pausing at the top to rim the sensitive crown.
"Fuck, you're good," Heero breathes, his hips lifting eagerly to match Trowa's rhythm.
Trowa's head bobs steadily, suction increasing with every spit-slicked descent down Heero's cock, and Heero's encouragement grows louder, heedless of the open window. Heero abandons all hope of work, thrusting both hands into Trowa's hair, tugging on the silken locks as his hips pump slightly with each movement of his hands. Trowa mumbles agreement, the vibrations shooting through Heero like fireworks. His hand slides down to cradle Heero's sack, deftly palming it, while the other hand slides even lower to probe at his entrance.
Heero comes with a hoarse cry a short time later, his hips snapping forward to bury his cock deep into Trowa's mouth as his lover's fingers prod insistently at his prostate, Trowa's name on his lips. His vision whites out with the intensity of his orgasm, returning a few moments later to a pleased smirk on Trowa's face. Trowa licks his lips suggestively as he tucks Heero away, deftly zipping up his fly. He slides into Heero's lap, winding his arms around his lover's neck.
"The next time you want a distraction, come and get me instead of staring through the window like a pet store puppy," Trowa drawls, trailing kisses up his neck.
Heero lifts his chin to capture his lips in a grateful kiss, their tongues twining until they are laughing and breathless. "Well it worked, didn't it?"