3x4 drabble
When all the right places come together
Trowa was quite surprised, no, shocked to see the blond man standing at his doorway considering he had not seen the man, at least in person, in one year, 8 months and 24 days. Not, of course, that he was counting in the slightest. The blond man stood proudly before him, a small smirk in place where on any other person a nervous smile would have taken course. The blond man lifted his head slightly and peered over Trowa’s shoulder into the mess that had become his one bedroom apartment or rather, the lack of mess or anything somewhat personal or fulfilling that had become his one bedroom apartment. After a momentary bout of silence Trowa was, in shock even to his self, the first to speak and break what should have been an uncomfortable silence but was laced instead with a tension he couldn’t quite place as uncomfortable but something far, far more intense.
“What do you want?” the man closed his eyes in what appeared to be amusement but Trowa realised it to be clouded with a definite strain of something more. He took a deep breath and snapped his bright eyes open, almost causing Trowa to loose his breath in the process as those prying eyes met his form.
“I was worried…about you” the man grumbled and Trowa fought the urge to snort, remembering that he deserved nothing of his anger. Trowa stepped away from the door and sauntered back to sit on the bed, staring at the scotch bottle that had been perched on the end of his bed In case of an emergency. He wasn’t quite sure if the billionaire turning up at his door like this was an emergency just yet so he fought the urge to reach for the bottle. It took a few moments for the billionaire to finally step into the home and Trowa guessed it was only through nerves when a loud bang of something not entirely human echoed through the hallway. Glancing at the man out of the corner of his eye he realised that he had grown somewhat, lost the edges of childhood and become a man without the need for Trowa but why would he need him he thought bitterly. They were only friends. He was dressed a little more casual that he was accustomed to but Trowa guessed he realised the troubles in the neighbourhood and had dressed entirely in black for a reason. Trowa almost cursed to himself as he came closer and he started to shake through nerves. Trowa Barton, cold blood mercenary nervous. One would have never thought.
He thought absently of Catherine and her husbands, finding a smile tugging at his lips at the memory of her happy face before reality came back and he turned to the blond. “Why were you worried Quatre?” Blue eyes flickered wide and looked at Trowa as if he had grown a third head.
“Perhaps because you haven’t contacted us in a year” A year, 8 months and 24 days he thought but his mouth did not move as his mind ran away with him. Quatre was loosing his cool and getting exasperated, or so Trowa thought before the man started chuckling to his self.
“What?” he raised an eyebrow and watched as a smile edged it’s way across Quatre’s handsome features and the man was handsome, god knows he was handsome. Trowa turned his head away from the man in an attempt to hide from his disgusting thoughts.
“You know, when I got shot” he whispered gently and without fear although Trowa winced at the insinuation, the sound of the gun still reverberating throughout his memories as it did every night. Keeping him awake and cursing his self. “and I woke up afterwards to find you gone. I couldn’t understand” he was looking skywards now in a contemplative light manner that Trowa didn’t quite understand. “It wasn’t your fault I got shot you know” Trowa fought the urge to scream and instead flexed his fists tightly.
“I should have been watching you more. It was my job”
“Yes but nobody saw the man was a double agent.” Quatre was standing in front of him now but he daren’t look up, instead focusing on the smart black leather shoes the man wore below his gaze. Perfection they were, as Quatre tried often and succeeded at times to be.
“He hurt you”
“You hurt me” the man whispered and Trowa frowned in confusion as gentle figures swept across his features, down to his chin and tilted his head upwards to look at Quatre’s face. He found him smiling warmly and the sight warmed his heart. He was sure he felt tears threatening to spill down his cheeks but it had been so many years since he had cried that he found his self unable to decipher whether it was indeed tears threatening his senses. “You left” Quatre was looking at him expectantly. “And I want to know why?”
There was silence for a long while, Trowa merely appreciating the feel of Quatre’s cool fingers on his chin. “Because I failed to protect you, because…” he took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes although his face remained kept upright. “I hate to see you hurt, because…”
“Say it Trowa” Quatre whispered gently.
“I don’t know what love is but…I think I love you” and then lips were gently pressing against his own and although he had jerked back in surprise, the fingers that had been smoothing across his chin were at the back of his head and pulling him forwards into Quatre’s passionate kiss. When they broke apart Trowa still couldn’t open his eyes and felt Quatre chuckle gently at the side of the man’s lips parted, head turned back and eyes closed in an expression of bliss.
“Come back, to Preventers, to me” Quatre whispered and Trowa nodded, eyes snapping open to look into Quatre’s face and an expression he would never forget. Love. A smile twisted a little oddly onto his lips as he stood, squeezing Quatre’s hand as he did so. Quatre squeezed back and reached for Trowa’s jacket, throwing it into his grasp as they turned and exited the small room, leaving the bottle of scotch unopened and alone for whomever the next’s occupant might be.
It was weeks later, with Trowa’s lips exploring Quatre’s body that he came across the bullet wound from a year or so ago. He had stopped momentarily and looked up at Quatre whose face was lapsed into an expression of lustful bliss, his cheeks flushed and waiting. “What?” he mouthed, unsure of his voice. Trowa had merely smiled and kissed the gunshot, merely hoping he could kiss it away as he did so. Quatre seemed inclined to agree with his attempts and moaned under his tender touches.
END
I'm not a good writer, i don't claim to be. I just do this for my own enjoyment and in fact have hundreds of stories on my computer just here for no reason. Please no hate.
Trowa was quite surprised, no, shocked to see the blond man standing at his doorway considering he had not seen the man, at least in person, in one year, 8 months and 24 days. Not, of course, that he was counting in the slightest. The blond man stood proudly before him, a small smirk in place where on any other person a nervous smile would have taken course. The blond man lifted his head slightly and peered over Trowa’s shoulder into the mess that had become his one bedroom apartment or rather, the lack of mess or anything somewhat personal or fulfilling that had become his one bedroom apartment. After a momentary bout of silence Trowa was, in shock even to his self, the first to speak and break what should have been an uncomfortable silence but was laced instead with a tension he couldn’t quite place as uncomfortable but something far, far more intense.
“What do you want?” the man closed his eyes in what appeared to be amusement but Trowa realised it to be clouded with a definite strain of something more. He took a deep breath and snapped his bright eyes open, almost causing Trowa to loose his breath in the process as those prying eyes met his form.
“I was worried…about you” the man grumbled and Trowa fought the urge to snort, remembering that he deserved nothing of his anger. Trowa stepped away from the door and sauntered back to sit on the bed, staring at the scotch bottle that had been perched on the end of his bed In case of an emergency. He wasn’t quite sure if the billionaire turning up at his door like this was an emergency just yet so he fought the urge to reach for the bottle. It took a few moments for the billionaire to finally step into the home and Trowa guessed it was only through nerves when a loud bang of something not entirely human echoed through the hallway. Glancing at the man out of the corner of his eye he realised that he had grown somewhat, lost the edges of childhood and become a man without the need for Trowa but why would he need him he thought bitterly. They were only friends. He was dressed a little more casual that he was accustomed to but Trowa guessed he realised the troubles in the neighbourhood and had dressed entirely in black for a reason. Trowa almost cursed to himself as he came closer and he started to shake through nerves. Trowa Barton, cold blood mercenary nervous. One would have never thought.
He thought absently of Catherine and her husbands, finding a smile tugging at his lips at the memory of her happy face before reality came back and he turned to the blond. “Why were you worried Quatre?” Blue eyes flickered wide and looked at Trowa as if he had grown a third head.
“Perhaps because you haven’t contacted us in a year” A year, 8 months and 24 days he thought but his mouth did not move as his mind ran away with him. Quatre was loosing his cool and getting exasperated, or so Trowa thought before the man started chuckling to his self.
“What?” he raised an eyebrow and watched as a smile edged it’s way across Quatre’s handsome features and the man was handsome, god knows he was handsome. Trowa turned his head away from the man in an attempt to hide from his disgusting thoughts.
“You know, when I got shot” he whispered gently and without fear although Trowa winced at the insinuation, the sound of the gun still reverberating throughout his memories as it did every night. Keeping him awake and cursing his self. “and I woke up afterwards to find you gone. I couldn’t understand” he was looking skywards now in a contemplative light manner that Trowa didn’t quite understand. “It wasn’t your fault I got shot you know” Trowa fought the urge to scream and instead flexed his fists tightly.
“I should have been watching you more. It was my job”
“Yes but nobody saw the man was a double agent.” Quatre was standing in front of him now but he daren’t look up, instead focusing on the smart black leather shoes the man wore below his gaze. Perfection they were, as Quatre tried often and succeeded at times to be.
“He hurt you”
“You hurt me” the man whispered and Trowa frowned in confusion as gentle figures swept across his features, down to his chin and tilted his head upwards to look at Quatre’s face. He found him smiling warmly and the sight warmed his heart. He was sure he felt tears threatening to spill down his cheeks but it had been so many years since he had cried that he found his self unable to decipher whether it was indeed tears threatening his senses. “You left” Quatre was looking at him expectantly. “And I want to know why?”
There was silence for a long while, Trowa merely appreciating the feel of Quatre’s cool fingers on his chin. “Because I failed to protect you, because…” he took a deep shuddering breath and closed his eyes although his face remained kept upright. “I hate to see you hurt, because…”
“Say it Trowa” Quatre whispered gently.
“I don’t know what love is but…I think I love you” and then lips were gently pressing against his own and although he had jerked back in surprise, the fingers that had been smoothing across his chin were at the back of his head and pulling him forwards into Quatre’s passionate kiss. When they broke apart Trowa still couldn’t open his eyes and felt Quatre chuckle gently at the side of the man’s lips parted, head turned back and eyes closed in an expression of bliss.
“Come back, to Preventers, to me” Quatre whispered and Trowa nodded, eyes snapping open to look into Quatre’s face and an expression he would never forget. Love. A smile twisted a little oddly onto his lips as he stood, squeezing Quatre’s hand as he did so. Quatre squeezed back and reached for Trowa’s jacket, throwing it into his grasp as they turned and exited the small room, leaving the bottle of scotch unopened and alone for whomever the next’s occupant might be.
It was weeks later, with Trowa’s lips exploring Quatre’s body that he came across the bullet wound from a year or so ago. He had stopped momentarily and looked up at Quatre whose face was lapsed into an expression of lustful bliss, his cheeks flushed and waiting. “What?” he mouthed, unsure of his voice. Trowa had merely smiled and kissed the gunshot, merely hoping he could kiss it away as he did so. Quatre seemed inclined to agree with his attempts and moaned under his tender touches.
END
I'm not a good writer, i don't claim to be. I just do this for my own enjoyment and in fact have hundreds of stories on my computer just here for no reason. Please no hate.