FicWad

Chapter 3:

I thought over the plan, taking two stairs at a time: we ride together, we eat dinner, we keep a casual correspondence over the next few years or so and maybe meet for coffee every other six months.

Beautiful.

I almost missed the doorbell; my hands were shaking like mad. I just saw him! I need to get a hold of myself. It's only dinner and then… we fade back into our normal routines, forsaking all else but moving from day to day.

My plan is beautiful.

It should be any minute now, so I feign blasé and lean against the opposite wall from his door. I pick up some movement from the other side and briefly consider leaving, but I think that would only have worked had I not already rung the bell.

I heard the slight creak of the floorboards under his weight as the door swung open to reveal the master of the house with a cellular phone attached to his ear and the layers of his business formal still outfitting his work-weary frame. A finger was held up in my direction and an apologetic depth of blue followed, offering a tight smile and a flick of the wrist to usher me indoors.

"They wanted to meet at four, so I'd give it maybe two hours max. No, I still have to go over that. Of course I do, Naya. They mean the world to me, you know that. Alright! I'll see what I can arrange. No, please don't start on that again."

I had heard it before. Granted, my one sibling couldn't compare to his twenty-nine, but the arguments sounded vaguely familiar. I listened to him as far as the next room he entered and then decided to look around while I wait.
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This definitely wasn't what I was expecting. Then again, I'm not quite sure what I was expecting. I suppose I could have predicted this. It wasn't Quatre. Not one bit. It was more like what Quatre's home should have looked like to an outsider, if that makes any sense. It was all sharp lines, light colors and clean, spotlessly clean, almost to the point of sterility; nothing out of its predetermined place. I knew for a fact that Quatre was a messy person. This was something out of a magazine.

My thoughts paused briefly as I felt the warmth of a hand on my shoulder, slightly turning me. I watched, transfixed, as his long fingers began working over his face to correct the headache that had already formed; thumbs splaying over his eyelids to collect at the bridge of his nose where they massaged circularly. This little motion had me so entranced that I almost missed the accompanying words.

"I'm so sorry to make you wait like this, Trowa. I'm going to take a quick shower. It won't take me long, so just make yourself comfortable. Please help yourself to anything you'd like; the remote's over there if you want to watch TV, there's wine in the cooler…"

He trailed off with my nod of understanding. He looked up at me then; all the stress of his young life showing clearly in his eyes as he submitted a tired smile and turned towards the back rooms.
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I wish I could explain how I ended up in his bed. The rich, vibrant tones of red, brown and gold that accented this room was what had first drawn me. The silken pillows and cushions tossed across Middle Eastern patterned rugs along with an occasional pair of socks or belt was what led me to believe that this was his personal bedroom. This was all Quatre. Warm. Inviting. Comfortable.

There was a large, four-poster bed in the center of the wall made from solid oak, stained in a deep Mahogany. The headboard was intricately carved, weaving a story of some long ago tale that I'm sure Quatre knew by heart; shamanistic creatures with trunks and rows of men walking single file only to be led to the center where a deity of some sort was kneeling in prayer. It confused me, but what confused me more was why I was still sitting here staring at it. I could hear the water running in the adjoining Jack & Jill and decided I still had a few more moments.

The bay windows were covered by panels of thin, but rich fabric that gently swayed in the breeze caused by the circulating fan Quatre must have turned on. There was a slight hint of his incense in the air and the closer I leaned to the bed, the stronger I could smell the subtle musk of his body in between the sheets. I couldn't help myself. Hearing the shower still on, I lowered my face to his pillow, inhaling the mixture of scalp and sweat and a light, earthy shampoo. With each passing moment, I could imagine each scent growing stronger till I could see him lying there, restless and writhing.

There was no describing the speed with which allowed my hasty exodus of his quarters as soon as the faucets made their journey rightward and all that could be heard from the bathroom was the soft pang of the glass door opening and the slowing drip of the shower head.
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Surprisingly, cartoons do nothing to ebb arousals.

My venture into his quarters had made its effect known in that I was now hugging one of his expensive couch cushions in a death grip. Once my olfactory sense had been activated by his lingering trail on the bed linens, there was no end to the mental barrage of images adhering themselves to the backs of my eyelids: Quatre showering, Quatre blushing, Quatre spread like a feast before me…

Sighing, I changed the channel.

Quatre chose this moment to exit his room in scarce more than a towel; still dripping and flushed from the hot shower.

Oh Dear Lord….Why me?

He had a towel draped over his head while he adjusted the watch on his wrist. While switching back to rubbing his hair, he threw me an amused smirk from under the terrycloth. "Nice, isn't it? You like it?"

Yes, you look very nice like that. I like it a lot, actually. Damnit! I need to control that.

I chose to go with the neutral, "Pardon?" I felt the slight twitch of the nerve under my eye.

"My new television! I told the girls not to, but they said I needed something to fill the big empty space on my wall. I rather like it, but I haven't had too much time to myself lately to actually use it. Pity, it just hangs there."

As he continued, somewhat bent at the waist, to wring his locks dry, I observed him; couldn't take my eyes away really.

He was perfect in an imperfect way. His skin, while still flushed and succulent from the hot water, was certainly flawed; the little reminders of wounds received were scattered across his sides and back. I had more, but that wasn't something one should be proud of.

He was exquisitely toned, from his arms and chest, to the flat planes of his stomach and tapering off somewhere below the line of his towel, a far cry from our years spent during the war. Back then, he had always appeared so young, having retained his slight preadolescent corpulence even during war times. This body before me was the body of a man no longer a child, as I realize that's what we really were back then. No, this body was strong, purposeful, wound tightly with the stress-filled threads of the company he had carried on his back for over three years now, and he was absolutely beautiful.

He began to move, leaving the room towards the kitchen while muttering something I didn't catch. Instead, my eyes attached themselves to the base of his neck, following the curve of his spine to where it puddled to form his lower back; the hint of his pert ass outlined in terrycloth, stirring me into movement.

I was behind him in an instant. I really don't know what I was intending on doing once I reached him, well, I had a few ideas of what I had wanted to do, but hearing the rattle of china and seeing the surprise flash in his eyes was enough to allow my self-control a chance to reestablish dominance.

"Oh! Trowa, I was just bringing this out to you." He shakingly offered the cup of tea; the saucer's width, a rough estimate to the distance between us. All I could manage was a tight nod as I moved to let him pass. What was I thinking? What was I about to do? Assault my best friend in the middle of his kitchen? HIS kitchen? Well, I guess I'd be lying to myself if I claimed I wasn't interested in men; this man, if you wanted to go into specifics.

Plastering on a practiced smile, he cleared his throat and turned back towards the stove top. "Well, I really am sorry about all this. I had hoped to be ready by the time you arrived, but it seems Allah had other plans for me today. Let me go put some clothes on and I should be right out. Think about where you'd like to eat." And he was gone with a pretty flush staining his cheeks from what I could only assume would be the kettle steam.

Wait….he didn't pick up on any of that, did he? Damnit! Fucking empathy!
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Needless to say, I was miserable the entire way to the restaurant. It seemed that no matter how I tried to reposition or however much I shifted, there was just no way to get comfortable without exposing…..certain things…..I didn't want Quatre to notice. It is maddening to realize that by merely his presence, he can invoke this sort of reaction from me.

In the end, Quatre had chosen a modest little Italian bistro on the outskirts of town. It seemed like a relatively innocent restaurant, but little had I known then that the wait staff would provide the answer to my problem.

They were blue. No, mostly blue, with flecks of gray clouding them; crystalline shards of amber scattered randomly; everything and nothing like Quatre's. I caught a coy glance from that unstrained blue over Quatre's head as we were ushered to our seats. His name was Adam. I read it on his apron.

"Are you alright, Trowa? You seem very uncomfortable about something. We can go to another restaurant if you prefer." Quatre's breath was warm and heavy on the back of my neck.

How do I tell him that it was because of him that I was uncomfortable, and that the hand he was using to rub circles on my lower back wasn't helping either? But Lord help me, I could feel every one of his fingertips clearly as they pressed through my shirt.

Carefully schooling my inner struggle to an outward expression of calm, I turned to him and nodded, "I'm fine Quatre." The concern in his eyes was evident, yet he smiled all the same.

"Your seats are right here, gentlemen. My name is Adam. What drinks can I get you started on?"

As Quatre began, I noticed the slight once over Adam was giving the both of us and felt the bile rise in my throat as his soft, seeking gaze lingered at the seat of my pants for the briefest moment. His lips curled in a knowing smirk; a little too pleased with his information, and rose from his kneeling position at our table. "I'll have your order right out for you both."

I watched the lean lines of his retreating form as he made his way towards the kitchens; definitely skinny, but with an underlying message of strength; dirty blonde and just my type. However, I was now, somewhat, working on a new project. Well, an old project really, that seemed to have fallen in my lap once more, and how could I say no to that? This was my best friend. This was my secret; although I'm sure Catherine had her suspicions.

He was looking at me now, and somewhere in the back of my mind I'm pondering the idea of why it didn't irk me that he had taken it upon himself to order for the both of us.

With our meal being ordered, Quatre settled back into his seat, preparing for a long query into my recent decisions; arms crossed, his disquiet showing clearly in the set of his brows, an attempt at a comforting smile playing at his lips. It was obvious that he was waiting on me to begin, and in my current physical state I wasn't in the mood to humor him. I couldn't sit like this for the entire meal, so I panicked; got up from the table, excusing myself in the briefest manner and took off for the bathroom. I vaguely remember running into our waiter on the way there, catching his eyes in acknowledgement of his presence, and then looking away in embarrassment when I noticed him clearly checking out my current predicament. Is there a glowing red arrow above my head? I feel like there is. How was I supposed to finish off my quiet evening now, with the patron's looks of disgust? Thankfully, the bathroom was a single. I barely waited for the click of the door shutting before I began, so lost then that I didn't register the second and third click of the door opening and then shutting again.
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I saw his eyes. I saw them. Clear blue, the color of shallow waters off an exotic coast; looking through me, sensing me, taking care of me. Quatre. Warmth; everything that's warm and comfortable and safe. Home.

Somewhere, my mind registered the cold tiles I placed my hand against to steady myself, my heart rate quicken, and a slight sheen of sweat begin to form above my lip and at my temples. I looked down into his eyes as he took me into his mouth. Those eyes, no matter how much I twisted reality, were not Quatre's. The blue skies over the serene waters of my vision clouded in a sudden storm of gray flecked with shards of amber. Quatre's face grew longer, his hair slightly darker, his skin tanner, his lips thinner.

"Nnnhh…" It wouldn't be much longer now. I can feel my body tightening, concentrating distally in response to his talented, practiced actions as I rock into his mouth, savoring the heat at the back of his throat and the small vibrations his moaning produced.

One of his hands had snaked its way under my shirt and was now toying with my chest as I found my own fingers fisted in his thick, messy hair.

All it took was the memory of one single drop. A drop of water sliding down his stomach, a shiny trail in its wake; falling, but only to be absorbed in the cloth of the towel about his waist as he wrung his hair dry.

"Ahhhnnn….ya.." His finger nails dug deliciously into my hips, holding them still while I found my release, pouring my hours of restraint down his throat.
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"Uhh..thanks." Man, that sounded intelligent. That wasn't me. Period. This isn't me standing here: locking my knees, softening and still hanging out of my pants, sweaty, physically satisfied yet more mentally unhinged than I was when I came in here. What the fuck just happened?

"Looked like you could use a hand."

A hand wasn't what you used.

How could I not stop to lock the door behind me?

He turned towards me then from his position at the sink, swiping a casual hand through his dirty blonde locks and bringing his thumb down to sweep across the corner of his mouth. "You better get back to your friend there. He probably thinks you've fallen in by now."

I revel in the slight breeze produced by the swinging of the door as Adam leaves, sliding down the wall to catch my breath and balance the things running through my head.

A soft knocking and a familiar voice at the door brings my anxiety spiraling back and I rise, only putting myself away at the last moment. Then he was there; warm fingers wiping the sweat from my cheeks, gauging my temperature, pushing me backwards till I could feel the cold porcelain against the backs of my thighs through the thin fabric of my dress pants. Then he was pressing a cool, wet napkin to my forehead, letting it trail its way down the side of my face, over my jaw and around to the back of my neck and for once, his touch was the most soothing thing. He brought his fingers to my forehead once more, but used them to slick my bangs back to look into both of my eyes at once; I know that's what he was doing; reading me.

Looking down in shame at what must be clearly written across my face, I was surprised to feel his forehead suddenly rest against mine.

"Oh Trowa," he breathed, and I could smell Zinfandel on his lips; Lord help me, he was so close. "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling good?"

He stepped back a bit; the expression in his eyes just then, something I couldn't even form words to put a name to, but never had I wanted to kiss him more.

"Come on Trowa, let's see if we can get our order to go, shall we?" and he was leading me by the hand like a lost child from the bathroom, scratch that, like Catherine used to lead me around the circus when I had amnesia; one step at a time.
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That's all for right now folks! Tell me what you think by Reading & Reviewing! Please? I love you all and I absolutely PROMISE that the next one will be out WAY sooner than this last one!