GW Fic So This Is the New Year 2/2 (B)
Title: So This Is the New Year Part II
Author: June
Genre: Angst, Romance, Camaraderie (if that's a genre)
Rating: R for language and sex
Pairing: 1x4, 2x3, past 2x1
Disclaimer: Do not own Gundam Wing. This is for fun.
Part b
*
“I didn't know you smoked.” Heero watched Trowa deftly rolling a cigarette and was shocked that the former acrobat would do such a thing to his own lungs.
“I don't.”
“You say that, but...”
“I keep a pouch of tobacco handy for emergencies. Rolling a cigarette is very therapeutic.”
He handed the cigarette to Heero, and he took it, holding it up for closer inspection. “Well done,” he murmured. He waited for Trowa to roll another one and then set his own between his lips. His host produced a book of matches from his pocket, and pulled one out, striking it once. It flared to life and he cupped his hands around it, bringing it to the end of Heero's cigarette. Heero sucked until it caught and then blew the smoke back out, not inhaling. When Trowa lit his own, he breathed in deep and then exhaled through his nose.
“No, you don't smoke,” Heero murmured, trying not to smile.
“You're not making this very therapeutic.”
“This was supposed to be therapy?”
“He turned you down, didn't he.” It wasn't a question, and Heero didn't stop to wonder at how Trowa knew so surely without having spoken to either of them.
“Yeah.” Heero watched the cigarette burn and flicked the ash into the bushes. He wasn't particularly interested in smoking it. He leaned back on the porch railing and shivered in his sweatshirt. “Shouldn't we have put on coats?”
“This is only going to last as long as one cigarette.”
He smirked.“Then we better get to the psychoanalysis.”
Trowa shrugged. “He's a self-sacrificing, overachieving, spoiled, exhausted, brilliant, complicated, kind-hearted, self-righteous little shit.”
“I didn't mean-”
“Well, it's the truth. And I didn't come out here to talk about you. You're fine. Your hip is a temporary problem and you're only frustrated at work because you're choosing to look at your work as boring. Or, maybe law enforcement isn't for you anymore. Either way, it's something you can work on.” He paused to flick ash into the bushes. “And you need to have more sex. That would help, too. But, really, you're fine.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette and continued to hide behind his hair.
“...Thanks.” Heero mirrored his actions. Maybe he did need a smoke after all.
“Quatre is not fine, and I think you should be the one to help him. I don't think you should listen to him when he says it wouldn't work out. He doesn't mean it; he just doesn't want to be a pain in the ass to anyone, but seeing him so miserable is upsetting.” He looked up and flicked his bangs out of his eyes. “And he doesn't want our help; he wants yours.”
“I don't know...”
Trowa flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the bushes, and straightened. “I'm going inside. It's fucking freezing out here.”
Heero watched him go and then took another drag. He blew the smoke upward and tried to absorb what had just been thrown at him. He wondered if Duo had talked Trowa into approaching Heero after witnessing his and Quatre's return from the bedroom a few hours ago. They'd both looked pretty dejected. Quatre was making noises like he'd leave tonight instead of the next day.
But he rejected that notion - Trowa could be forceful when he wanted to be, when the need arose. Heero wondered if he could say the same thing for himself.
*
Wufei had to physically block the front door and Duo had to steal his luggage and hide it before Quatre finally decided/was forced to stay another night. Heero steered clear of the whole persuading/coercing process, and smoked more of Trowa's tobacco than he should have out on the porch. He felt a little ill when they settled in for pizza, ginger ale - because no one wanted anything to do with the whiskey that remained in the bottle - and a movie, but he somehow managed to keep it together when the only open seat in the living room was next to Quatre. He took it and said nothing, and they sat as far apart from each other as they could manage for the entire movie.
When it ended, Quatre rose to his feet and stated quietly and firmly that he was going to bed. His raised his eyes to Heero's and it looked like one of the more painful things he'd ever had to do. “You can have the bed,” he murmured. “I'll take the floor. I found sleeping bags in the closet.” Then he turned to the rest of them where they sat scattered around the living room. “I might not see you in the morning. My flight is early, so I'll call a cab. If you're not up, then thank you Duo and Trowa for having me in your home. We should do this more often”
Heero felt his shoulders tightening as he listened to Quatre's forced and hollow goodbyes. Trowa's advice was on repeat, buzzing in both ears. He could feel Duo shooting him significant glances every few seconds as Quatre continued to spew meaningless formalities. Wufei only scowled down at his hands.
It was too much pressure on both of them and abruptly Heero was on his feet, limping over to where Quatre still stood making promises to visit in a few months. Heero shoved him hard in the shoulder, sending him lurching to the side.
“Hey!”
“Let's go,” he grumbled, bumping and pushing Quatre out the door into the kitchen.
“Heero, what-”
“Leave us alone!” he called over his shoulder at the moment he heard both Wufei and Trowa hissing at Duo to shut up. They turned left and he kept pushing until Quatre came up against the stairs. He looked back at Heero, and his eyes were wide like a trapped animal's. “Up,” he snapped. Quatre blinked and then nodded, automatically gripping Heero's arm when it became apparent that he didn't have his cane. They made slow and clumsy progress up the stairs and then turned left again into Trowa's room. Heero shut the door behind them, but didn't let Quatre move away from him. They stayed their by the door for several seconds, as Heero scrambled for what to do next. The farthest he'd gotten was 'get Quatre alone.' He leaned back, felt the doorknob dig into his kidney, flinched and slid to the right.
“What are we doing?” Quatre asked, voice tense and unsure.
“I don't know. I didn't have it worked out past this point.”
“Heero...” He sounded resigned and tired and it angered Heero to the point that he didn't care that he was uncomfortable and tense and clueless and all the things he hated to be.
“Don't,” he growled.
“Don't, what?”
“Don't make yourself be like that. Don't force yourself into making stupid choices that you'll know were the wrong ones.”
“Then how should I be?”
There were no lights on in the bedroom, but the street lamps shown in through the windows and highlighted Quatre's hair, making it appear silver. It hung over his eyes in thick chunks. His crisp button down shirt and his khakis glowed faintly in the soft light. Heero stood in Quatre's shadow and thought that he would always be ugly compared to this man - this man who could never be anything other than the brilliant, kind, exhausted, overachiever.
“Just...” He pulled his arm out of Quatre's grip and grabbed hold of that crisp shirt, jerking him forward and into an awkward kiss. He pulled until Quatre finally groaned into his mouth and came up against him, pushing him back against the door. He worked the buttons open one-handed and then shoved his fingers inside, only to have his palm come up against an undershirt. He growled in frustration and Quattre exhaled sharply, breaking the kiss. He shrugged out of the shirt and then tugged the tee from the waistband of his khakis. This time Heero found warm skin, circling his arm around a slim waist and bringing them back together.
“This is a mistake,” Quatre breathed, not sounding particularly convinced.
“You didn't think it was last night.”
“I was drunk.”
“No you weren't.”
“I was-”
“Stop it.” Heero's other hand worked open Quatre's belt and his fly, boldly sliding inside to grab hold of him.
He grunted in surprise, curling forward to rest his head on Heero's shoulder.
They fumbled their way over to the bed, until the backs of Heero's knees came up against the mattress, and he dropped down onto it, pulling Quatre down on top of him. He shoved himself back with his good leg and watched Quatre settle above him, holding himself up, one knee between Heero's legs, arms braced on either side of his shoulders. Pale blue eyes followed every move he made as he struggled out of his sweatshirt, long-sleeve shirt and undershirt. His fingers fell to his belt buckle and Quatre made a small noise in the back of his throat that Heero couldn't interpret. He froze and looked up, shivering in the chill, knowing he had goosebumps all up and downs his arms and sides.
“Do you want to?” he asked gruffly.
Quatre nodded, eyes raking up and down Heero's chest and belly.
Heero reached blindly into the bedside table, seeking and eventually locating the lubricant they'd found the previous night. Even though Trowa didn't sleep in this room anymore, it made sense that he'd have a few supplies for occasions when he and Duo switched it up. Heero was grateful for his foresight. There were even a few condoms in the drawer that hadn't yet reached their expiry date. Heero certainly didn't travel with this kind of stuff, and he suspected that Quatre didn't either. He shoved both the lubricant and the square packet into Quatre's hand and felt his skin tingle in anticipation. It'd been years since he'd done this. He wondered how different Quatre was from Duo.
Above him, Quatre was quickly divesting himself of the rest of his clothes, and when he was finished, he undid Heero's belt and pulled his jeans off in a series of careful tugs and yanks. Socks and underwear went last and then they were fumbling underneath the blankets, bodies coming together to generate heat in the chilled room.
“You sure about this?” Quatre whispered, setting aside the lubricant and condom and shoving his hand between their bodies to touch and rub and grab.
Heero choked back a moan and nodded. This had to work; this had to be enough. If they did this, then Quatre would see that he was serious, that they could be serious. And he didn't want to wait any longer - his skin was already on fire and they hadn't even done anything.
“I don't know...” But Quatre's words didn't match his actions - the confident strokes of his hand, or the steady movement of his hips.
“Remember that you trust me, and trust what you feel from me,” Heero murmured. He could think of only one way to prove it. He tugged Quatre's hand away and brought their bodies together, belly to belly, chest to chest. He felt Quatre's heart thudding against his breastbone.
At this direct contact, Quatre gasped and took hold of his arms in a painful grip. His breathing was harsh and ragged in Heero's ear, the only other sound in the room aside from a heartbeat that seemed to come from more than just their two separate bodies. “Holy shit,” he managed.
Heero hiccuped a laugh and could only stare unseeing at the ceiling as now Quatre's empathic abilities bled into him and back, and into him and back, until it was a deafening and blinding loop of emotion and sensation. Every move they made, every place they touched, the feeling was repeated and magnified until it filled them both. He was dimly aware of fumbling movement, the sound of a tearing wrapper, the feel of slippery intrusion, stretching, pushing. He felt it and groaned, Quatre echoing him a half-second later.
“Heero, I feel-”
The words were barely audible, lost in the whirl of given and taken and received. They moved like one person split into two bodies when Quatre pulled Heero's legs around his waist, canting his hips upward. The feedback loop grew louder and more intense with every passing second until they were finally joined, and they couldn't get any closer and they couldn't last any longer, and the joining was the final move that brought them off, shoving them over the edge. Quatre shouted and his hips jerked forward one more time, just as Heero's back snapped taught, and he accidentally bit his tongue. Quatre felt the brief jolt of pain and flinched with him. Then they separated because it was all too much and lay beside each other, struggling to sort out what was their own and what was the other's.
Heero spoke first, tongue clumsy. “Is it always like that for you?”
Blond hair brushed against his bicep as Quatre shook his head. “No. That was different - strange. I thought I'd figured out my empathy, but that was...”
“Fucking insane.”
Quatre exhaled a soft laugh and turned to lay an open- mouthed kiss on Heero's shoulder. “Yes.”
Heero shifted in the bed, stretching his legs and yawning. “I'm exhausted.” He turned to see that Quatre's eyes were already drooping. “And so are you.”
He nodded.
“But... you should probably clean up before you fall asleep.” Quatre groaned and lay still. After much protest and a few shoves from Heero's cold feet, he eventually rolled out of the bed and snuck off to the bathroom. Heero pulled the blankets up to his chin and tried to keep his eyes open until his return. He'd never felt so drained before, not after he'd had sex with Duo and not after all the times he'd taken care of himself in the ensuing years. He closed his eyes and didn't think he'd be able to open them again. Whatever sort of empathic connection they'd had must have-
His eyes shot open again when he felt a distinct zing of nervous excitement and pleasure, one that he knew was not his own. He leaned up on one elbow and looked around the room, but he was alone. The feeling faded almost immediately, and with it, any remaining energy he had. He sank back onto the pillow, and by the time Quatre returned and slid beneath the covers, he was nearly asleep again. He wrapped himself around the warm body beside him and buried his nose in soft hair.
He heard faint whispering just as he was drifting off, a hushed confession spoken into a pillow.
“I want you, too, Heero. I can barely keep from smiling every time I think about you. I'm nervous and afraid, and I'm a mess, but I want this to work.”
“I know,” he slurred, feeling his voice rumble in his chest and against Quatre's back. Quatre exhaled and they were both asleep.
*
He awoke to an empty, cold bed, hugging himself to retain what little warmth the blankets provided. Panic seized him and he threw off the covers, rapidly jerking on his clothes, eyes darting about the room for any signs of Quatre. There were none. He made it to the bedroom door in three strides, remembered that he couldn't walk very well and lurched the rest of the way down the stairs to the warmer kitchen, where he smelled coffee and toast. Wufei was again sitting with Duo, though they both looked considerably more with it than they had the previous morning. Wufei was reading the world news section of the paper and Duo was filling in the crossword puzzle with characteristic ease and speed, using non-erasable blue ink. Heero took the time to notice these things in his sweep of the room, looking for Quatre. His coat was gone from the hook by the door.
“Where is he?” he finally croaked, coming to sit next to his old partner at the table.
Wufei looked up and Heero saw a brief flicker of sympathy and sadness before the usual comforting cool exterior took its place. “He left two hours ago in a cab. I was the only one up. He said he would be sure to let us know he arrived safely.”
Nodding, he looked down into his lap, refusing to give in to the need to question why Quatre had left without saying goodbye, and why, after they'd had sex, he could feel what Quatre had felt, but by the morning he hadn't even woken up when his lover had gotten out of bed, gotten dressed, and left him. No, there would be no point to that exercise, none whatsoever.
He heard footsteps behind him and spun in his chair, heart leaping into his throat, but it was only Trowa. He glanced between his three friends and felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. His friends did not need to see his disappointment, and since it didn't appear to be going anywhere, he took it with him, rising from the chair and leaving the kitchen to pack his things and get ready for the flight home.
*
“I don't think I'm going in to work tomorrow,” he said, poking at his takeout with disposable chopsticks. He plucked a mushroom from between two drooping peas and ate it without really tasting it.
Wufei looked up at him from across the small table. Heero's kitchen wasn't big enough for it, so it sat in a corner of the main room, serving both as a catchall for his mail and work papers and as a place to eat when his former partner was over. Wufei put down his own carton of noodles and blinked a few times. “You're not?”
“No, I don't think so.”
His old partner's black eyes peered at him a little closer. “Are you ill? Is your hip bothering you more than normal? Do you want me to call Sally?”
Heero's mouth twitched and his chest ached with a fullness that Wufei probably would have scoffed at, but might have felt as well. He could never articulate to himself, let alone to Wufei, just what their friendship meant to him. But sometimes, like right then, it felt good to the point that it hurt.
“No, I'm fine. But I need to think about some things for awhile. I don't want to be a waste of space at work.” He stabbed at a piece of broccoli. “No more so than usual anyway.”
Wufei's eyes narrowed. “You're not doing a sulking, self-pitying thing, are you?”
Heero scowled at his food. “I don't do that.”
Wufei went back to his noodles. “No, not you.” Heero left his food on the table and went to sit in his favorite chair.
They left it alone for awhile, Wufei leaving the space for Heero to talk if he wanted to, like he always did, like Heero would always need him to do. He would talk if he had to, if it worked.
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. No, he couldn't go in to work tomorrow - he'd be useless. He had to think, had to get things straight in his head. If the past few days had taught him anything, it was that he was still young and his path was not mapped out by present conditions. Witnessing Duo and Trowa's happiness and joining Quatre's trouble with his own, the latent unease he'd become more and more aware of over the past year came into sharp focus. Now, January 2nd, was the time for action, or at least meditation on action. He needed to figure out what the hell he should do with himself if it wasn't fighting and enforcing and defending and embodying the peace which thousands had fought and died for. It wasn't him anymore; he wasn't a symbol anymore. So what was he? Duo was a mechanic - he just was. And Trowa was a tattoo artist. Wufei would always be a Preventer. Quatre was... And he was...
The phone rang and they both looked up, hesitating to actually reach for the phone. Heero kept his gaze on Wufei as, after it rang three times, his old partner grabbed it out of the cradle and tossed it to him. He caught the phone and stared at it for the length of another ring and then hit the 'talk' button.
“Hello?”
A second of silence hung on the other end until the line crackled. “Heero?”
He grunted an affirmative and was relieved at how level he'd kept his voice. Unfortunately, he'd sat bolt upright in his chair and swung his legs off the foot stool, so Wufei had to know exactly who it was. His partner was already half out of his chair when Heero met his gaze and shook his head quickly, no. “Stay,” he mouthed before shoving himself out of his chair and making his way as quickly as he was able out of the living room and into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and went to sit on the edge of the tub before he said anything else. But the voice on the other end spoke again before he could.
“Heero, are you there?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I'm here.”
A second or two of silence. “It's Quatre.”
“I know.”
“Why don't you have a vid-phone like all the others?”
“Are you really surprised I don't?” he asked, fiddling with the toilet paper roll hanging by his knee.
A small, nervous laugh. “No, not really, I guess.”
He took a breath. “So... you made it back to New York okay?”
“Yes.”
“That's good.”
“And- well, obviously you made it home, too; I'm talking to you on your home phone.”
“Right.”
He heard Quatre draw breath to speak three separate times, and every time his fingers tightened on the enamel edge of the tub.
“Heero?”
He waited.
“I was thinking about you at work today.”
He smiled.
“It was nice.”
His smile got bigger.
“I was thinking maybe I'd take some time off soon, to- well, to think about some things, sort them out, you know?”
“Sure.”
“I was thinking of starting tomorrow... maybe.”
“I'm free tomorrow,” he said. He looked up, heard Wufei moving around his living room, probably pacing.
“You are? Good. That's good. So I'll, uh, I'll call you when I get in.”
“Okay, sure.”
Another nervous laugh. “Okay, well I'll see you tomorrow then.”
End.
Author: June
Genre: Angst, Romance, Camaraderie (if that's a genre)
Rating: R for language and sex
Pairing: 1x4, 2x3, past 2x1
Disclaimer: Do not own Gundam Wing. This is for fun.
Part b
*
“I didn't know you smoked.” Heero watched Trowa deftly rolling a cigarette and was shocked that the former acrobat would do such a thing to his own lungs.
“I don't.”
“You say that, but...”
“I keep a pouch of tobacco handy for emergencies. Rolling a cigarette is very therapeutic.”
He handed the cigarette to Heero, and he took it, holding it up for closer inspection. “Well done,” he murmured. He waited for Trowa to roll another one and then set his own between his lips. His host produced a book of matches from his pocket, and pulled one out, striking it once. It flared to life and he cupped his hands around it, bringing it to the end of Heero's cigarette. Heero sucked until it caught and then blew the smoke back out, not inhaling. When Trowa lit his own, he breathed in deep and then exhaled through his nose.
“No, you don't smoke,” Heero murmured, trying not to smile.
“You're not making this very therapeutic.”
“This was supposed to be therapy?”
“He turned you down, didn't he.” It wasn't a question, and Heero didn't stop to wonder at how Trowa knew so surely without having spoken to either of them.
“Yeah.” Heero watched the cigarette burn and flicked the ash into the bushes. He wasn't particularly interested in smoking it. He leaned back on the porch railing and shivered in his sweatshirt. “Shouldn't we have put on coats?”
“This is only going to last as long as one cigarette.”
He smirked.“Then we better get to the psychoanalysis.”
Trowa shrugged. “He's a self-sacrificing, overachieving, spoiled, exhausted, brilliant, complicated, kind-hearted, self-righteous little shit.”
“I didn't mean-”
“Well, it's the truth. And I didn't come out here to talk about you. You're fine. Your hip is a temporary problem and you're only frustrated at work because you're choosing to look at your work as boring. Or, maybe law enforcement isn't for you anymore. Either way, it's something you can work on.” He paused to flick ash into the bushes. “And you need to have more sex. That would help, too. But, really, you're fine.” He took a deep drag on his cigarette and continued to hide behind his hair.
“...Thanks.” Heero mirrored his actions. Maybe he did need a smoke after all.
“Quatre is not fine, and I think you should be the one to help him. I don't think you should listen to him when he says it wouldn't work out. He doesn't mean it; he just doesn't want to be a pain in the ass to anyone, but seeing him so miserable is upsetting.” He looked up and flicked his bangs out of his eyes. “And he doesn't want our help; he wants yours.”
“I don't know...”
Trowa flicked the remainder of his cigarette into the bushes, and straightened. “I'm going inside. It's fucking freezing out here.”
Heero watched him go and then took another drag. He blew the smoke upward and tried to absorb what had just been thrown at him. He wondered if Duo had talked Trowa into approaching Heero after witnessing his and Quatre's return from the bedroom a few hours ago. They'd both looked pretty dejected. Quatre was making noises like he'd leave tonight instead of the next day.
But he rejected that notion - Trowa could be forceful when he wanted to be, when the need arose. Heero wondered if he could say the same thing for himself.
*
Wufei had to physically block the front door and Duo had to steal his luggage and hide it before Quatre finally decided/was forced to stay another night. Heero steered clear of the whole persuading/coercing process, and smoked more of Trowa's tobacco than he should have out on the porch. He felt a little ill when they settled in for pizza, ginger ale - because no one wanted anything to do with the whiskey that remained in the bottle - and a movie, but he somehow managed to keep it together when the only open seat in the living room was next to Quatre. He took it and said nothing, and they sat as far apart from each other as they could manage for the entire movie.
When it ended, Quatre rose to his feet and stated quietly and firmly that he was going to bed. His raised his eyes to Heero's and it looked like one of the more painful things he'd ever had to do. “You can have the bed,” he murmured. “I'll take the floor. I found sleeping bags in the closet.” Then he turned to the rest of them where they sat scattered around the living room. “I might not see you in the morning. My flight is early, so I'll call a cab. If you're not up, then thank you Duo and Trowa for having me in your home. We should do this more often”
Heero felt his shoulders tightening as he listened to Quatre's forced and hollow goodbyes. Trowa's advice was on repeat, buzzing in both ears. He could feel Duo shooting him significant glances every few seconds as Quatre continued to spew meaningless formalities. Wufei only scowled down at his hands.
It was too much pressure on both of them and abruptly Heero was on his feet, limping over to where Quatre still stood making promises to visit in a few months. Heero shoved him hard in the shoulder, sending him lurching to the side.
“Hey!”
“Let's go,” he grumbled, bumping and pushing Quatre out the door into the kitchen.
“Heero, what-”
“Leave us alone!” he called over his shoulder at the moment he heard both Wufei and Trowa hissing at Duo to shut up. They turned left and he kept pushing until Quatre came up against the stairs. He looked back at Heero, and his eyes were wide like a trapped animal's. “Up,” he snapped. Quatre blinked and then nodded, automatically gripping Heero's arm when it became apparent that he didn't have his cane. They made slow and clumsy progress up the stairs and then turned left again into Trowa's room. Heero shut the door behind them, but didn't let Quatre move away from him. They stayed their by the door for several seconds, as Heero scrambled for what to do next. The farthest he'd gotten was 'get Quatre alone.' He leaned back, felt the doorknob dig into his kidney, flinched and slid to the right.
“What are we doing?” Quatre asked, voice tense and unsure.
“I don't know. I didn't have it worked out past this point.”
“Heero...” He sounded resigned and tired and it angered Heero to the point that he didn't care that he was uncomfortable and tense and clueless and all the things he hated to be.
“Don't,” he growled.
“Don't, what?”
“Don't make yourself be like that. Don't force yourself into making stupid choices that you'll know were the wrong ones.”
“Then how should I be?”
There were no lights on in the bedroom, but the street lamps shown in through the windows and highlighted Quatre's hair, making it appear silver. It hung over his eyes in thick chunks. His crisp button down shirt and his khakis glowed faintly in the soft light. Heero stood in Quatre's shadow and thought that he would always be ugly compared to this man - this man who could never be anything other than the brilliant, kind, exhausted, overachiever.
“Just...” He pulled his arm out of Quatre's grip and grabbed hold of that crisp shirt, jerking him forward and into an awkward kiss. He pulled until Quatre finally groaned into his mouth and came up against him, pushing him back against the door. He worked the buttons open one-handed and then shoved his fingers inside, only to have his palm come up against an undershirt. He growled in frustration and Quattre exhaled sharply, breaking the kiss. He shrugged out of the shirt and then tugged the tee from the waistband of his khakis. This time Heero found warm skin, circling his arm around a slim waist and bringing them back together.
“This is a mistake,” Quatre breathed, not sounding particularly convinced.
“You didn't think it was last night.”
“I was drunk.”
“No you weren't.”
“I was-”
“Stop it.” Heero's other hand worked open Quatre's belt and his fly, boldly sliding inside to grab hold of him.
He grunted in surprise, curling forward to rest his head on Heero's shoulder.
They fumbled their way over to the bed, until the backs of Heero's knees came up against the mattress, and he dropped down onto it, pulling Quatre down on top of him. He shoved himself back with his good leg and watched Quatre settle above him, holding himself up, one knee between Heero's legs, arms braced on either side of his shoulders. Pale blue eyes followed every move he made as he struggled out of his sweatshirt, long-sleeve shirt and undershirt. His fingers fell to his belt buckle and Quatre made a small noise in the back of his throat that Heero couldn't interpret. He froze and looked up, shivering in the chill, knowing he had goosebumps all up and downs his arms and sides.
“Do you want to?” he asked gruffly.
Quatre nodded, eyes raking up and down Heero's chest and belly.
Heero reached blindly into the bedside table, seeking and eventually locating the lubricant they'd found the previous night. Even though Trowa didn't sleep in this room anymore, it made sense that he'd have a few supplies for occasions when he and Duo switched it up. Heero was grateful for his foresight. There were even a few condoms in the drawer that hadn't yet reached their expiry date. Heero certainly didn't travel with this kind of stuff, and he suspected that Quatre didn't either. He shoved both the lubricant and the square packet into Quatre's hand and felt his skin tingle in anticipation. It'd been years since he'd done this. He wondered how different Quatre was from Duo.
Above him, Quatre was quickly divesting himself of the rest of his clothes, and when he was finished, he undid Heero's belt and pulled his jeans off in a series of careful tugs and yanks. Socks and underwear went last and then they were fumbling underneath the blankets, bodies coming together to generate heat in the chilled room.
“You sure about this?” Quatre whispered, setting aside the lubricant and condom and shoving his hand between their bodies to touch and rub and grab.
Heero choked back a moan and nodded. This had to work; this had to be enough. If they did this, then Quatre would see that he was serious, that they could be serious. And he didn't want to wait any longer - his skin was already on fire and they hadn't even done anything.
“I don't know...” But Quatre's words didn't match his actions - the confident strokes of his hand, or the steady movement of his hips.
“Remember that you trust me, and trust what you feel from me,” Heero murmured. He could think of only one way to prove it. He tugged Quatre's hand away and brought their bodies together, belly to belly, chest to chest. He felt Quatre's heart thudding against his breastbone.
At this direct contact, Quatre gasped and took hold of his arms in a painful grip. His breathing was harsh and ragged in Heero's ear, the only other sound in the room aside from a heartbeat that seemed to come from more than just their two separate bodies. “Holy shit,” he managed.
Heero hiccuped a laugh and could only stare unseeing at the ceiling as now Quatre's empathic abilities bled into him and back, and into him and back, until it was a deafening and blinding loop of emotion and sensation. Every move they made, every place they touched, the feeling was repeated and magnified until it filled them both. He was dimly aware of fumbling movement, the sound of a tearing wrapper, the feel of slippery intrusion, stretching, pushing. He felt it and groaned, Quatre echoing him a half-second later.
“Heero, I feel-”
The words were barely audible, lost in the whirl of given and taken and received. They moved like one person split into two bodies when Quatre pulled Heero's legs around his waist, canting his hips upward. The feedback loop grew louder and more intense with every passing second until they were finally joined, and they couldn't get any closer and they couldn't last any longer, and the joining was the final move that brought them off, shoving them over the edge. Quatre shouted and his hips jerked forward one more time, just as Heero's back snapped taught, and he accidentally bit his tongue. Quatre felt the brief jolt of pain and flinched with him. Then they separated because it was all too much and lay beside each other, struggling to sort out what was their own and what was the other's.
Heero spoke first, tongue clumsy. “Is it always like that for you?”
Blond hair brushed against his bicep as Quatre shook his head. “No. That was different - strange. I thought I'd figured out my empathy, but that was...”
“Fucking insane.”
Quatre exhaled a soft laugh and turned to lay an open- mouthed kiss on Heero's shoulder. “Yes.”
Heero shifted in the bed, stretching his legs and yawning. “I'm exhausted.” He turned to see that Quatre's eyes were already drooping. “And so are you.”
He nodded.
“But... you should probably clean up before you fall asleep.” Quatre groaned and lay still. After much protest and a few shoves from Heero's cold feet, he eventually rolled out of the bed and snuck off to the bathroom. Heero pulled the blankets up to his chin and tried to keep his eyes open until his return. He'd never felt so drained before, not after he'd had sex with Duo and not after all the times he'd taken care of himself in the ensuing years. He closed his eyes and didn't think he'd be able to open them again. Whatever sort of empathic connection they'd had must have-
His eyes shot open again when he felt a distinct zing of nervous excitement and pleasure, one that he knew was not his own. He leaned up on one elbow and looked around the room, but he was alone. The feeling faded almost immediately, and with it, any remaining energy he had. He sank back onto the pillow, and by the time Quatre returned and slid beneath the covers, he was nearly asleep again. He wrapped himself around the warm body beside him and buried his nose in soft hair.
He heard faint whispering just as he was drifting off, a hushed confession spoken into a pillow.
“I want you, too, Heero. I can barely keep from smiling every time I think about you. I'm nervous and afraid, and I'm a mess, but I want this to work.”
“I know,” he slurred, feeling his voice rumble in his chest and against Quatre's back. Quatre exhaled and they were both asleep.
*
He awoke to an empty, cold bed, hugging himself to retain what little warmth the blankets provided. Panic seized him and he threw off the covers, rapidly jerking on his clothes, eyes darting about the room for any signs of Quatre. There were none. He made it to the bedroom door in three strides, remembered that he couldn't walk very well and lurched the rest of the way down the stairs to the warmer kitchen, where he smelled coffee and toast. Wufei was again sitting with Duo, though they both looked considerably more with it than they had the previous morning. Wufei was reading the world news section of the paper and Duo was filling in the crossword puzzle with characteristic ease and speed, using non-erasable blue ink. Heero took the time to notice these things in his sweep of the room, looking for Quatre. His coat was gone from the hook by the door.
“Where is he?” he finally croaked, coming to sit next to his old partner at the table.
Wufei looked up and Heero saw a brief flicker of sympathy and sadness before the usual comforting cool exterior took its place. “He left two hours ago in a cab. I was the only one up. He said he would be sure to let us know he arrived safely.”
Nodding, he looked down into his lap, refusing to give in to the need to question why Quatre had left without saying goodbye, and why, after they'd had sex, he could feel what Quatre had felt, but by the morning he hadn't even woken up when his lover had gotten out of bed, gotten dressed, and left him. No, there would be no point to that exercise, none whatsoever.
He heard footsteps behind him and spun in his chair, heart leaping into his throat, but it was only Trowa. He glanced between his three friends and felt his cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. His friends did not need to see his disappointment, and since it didn't appear to be going anywhere, he took it with him, rising from the chair and leaving the kitchen to pack his things and get ready for the flight home.
*
“I don't think I'm going in to work tomorrow,” he said, poking at his takeout with disposable chopsticks. He plucked a mushroom from between two drooping peas and ate it without really tasting it.
Wufei looked up at him from across the small table. Heero's kitchen wasn't big enough for it, so it sat in a corner of the main room, serving both as a catchall for his mail and work papers and as a place to eat when his former partner was over. Wufei put down his own carton of noodles and blinked a few times. “You're not?”
“No, I don't think so.”
His old partner's black eyes peered at him a little closer. “Are you ill? Is your hip bothering you more than normal? Do you want me to call Sally?”
Heero's mouth twitched and his chest ached with a fullness that Wufei probably would have scoffed at, but might have felt as well. He could never articulate to himself, let alone to Wufei, just what their friendship meant to him. But sometimes, like right then, it felt good to the point that it hurt.
“No, I'm fine. But I need to think about some things for awhile. I don't want to be a waste of space at work.” He stabbed at a piece of broccoli. “No more so than usual anyway.”
Wufei's eyes narrowed. “You're not doing a sulking, self-pitying thing, are you?”
Heero scowled at his food. “I don't do that.”
Wufei went back to his noodles. “No, not you.” Heero left his food on the table and went to sit in his favorite chair.
They left it alone for awhile, Wufei leaving the space for Heero to talk if he wanted to, like he always did, like Heero would always need him to do. He would talk if he had to, if it worked.
He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths. No, he couldn't go in to work tomorrow - he'd be useless. He had to think, had to get things straight in his head. If the past few days had taught him anything, it was that he was still young and his path was not mapped out by present conditions. Witnessing Duo and Trowa's happiness and joining Quatre's trouble with his own, the latent unease he'd become more and more aware of over the past year came into sharp focus. Now, January 2nd, was the time for action, or at least meditation on action. He needed to figure out what the hell he should do with himself if it wasn't fighting and enforcing and defending and embodying the peace which thousands had fought and died for. It wasn't him anymore; he wasn't a symbol anymore. So what was he? Duo was a mechanic - he just was. And Trowa was a tattoo artist. Wufei would always be a Preventer. Quatre was... And he was...
The phone rang and they both looked up, hesitating to actually reach for the phone. Heero kept his gaze on Wufei as, after it rang three times, his old partner grabbed it out of the cradle and tossed it to him. He caught the phone and stared at it for the length of another ring and then hit the 'talk' button.
“Hello?”
A second of silence hung on the other end until the line crackled. “Heero?”
He grunted an affirmative and was relieved at how level he'd kept his voice. Unfortunately, he'd sat bolt upright in his chair and swung his legs off the foot stool, so Wufei had to know exactly who it was. His partner was already half out of his chair when Heero met his gaze and shook his head quickly, no. “Stay,” he mouthed before shoving himself out of his chair and making his way as quickly as he was able out of the living room and into the bathroom. He shut the door behind him and went to sit on the edge of the tub before he said anything else. But the voice on the other end spoke again before he could.
“Heero, are you there?”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I'm here.”
A second or two of silence. “It's Quatre.”
“I know.”
“Why don't you have a vid-phone like all the others?”
“Are you really surprised I don't?” he asked, fiddling with the toilet paper roll hanging by his knee.
A small, nervous laugh. “No, not really, I guess.”
He took a breath. “So... you made it back to New York okay?”
“Yes.”
“That's good.”
“And- well, obviously you made it home, too; I'm talking to you on your home phone.”
“Right.”
He heard Quatre draw breath to speak three separate times, and every time his fingers tightened on the enamel edge of the tub.
“Heero?”
He waited.
“I was thinking about you at work today.”
He smiled.
“It was nice.”
His smile got bigger.
“I was thinking maybe I'd take some time off soon, to- well, to think about some things, sort them out, you know?”
“Sure.”
“I was thinking of starting tomorrow... maybe.”
“I'm free tomorrow,” he said. He looked up, heard Wufei moving around his living room, probably pacing.
“You are? Good. That's good. So I'll, uh, I'll call you when I get in.”
“Okay, sure.”
Another nervous laugh. “Okay, well I'll see you tomorrow then.”
End.