Deserving
Deserving
It wasn't such a hard thing to break into your own home. Especially since he'd helped design the security system. What was hard was sneaking past the kitchen, where light and soft noises and the smell of a homemade dinner that was probably ready an hour and a half ago signaled his lover's presence.
He wasn't hiding from Trowa. He just didn't want to see him right now.
The tie and briefcase were abandoned in the hallway, the suit jacket on the bed, shoes and the rest of his clothing followed in a scattered line leading to the master bathroom.
He wanted the water scalding. Scorching and breath-taking enough to match his temper.
He didn't want to talk about his day, or the half-witted board members who had wasted so much of his time. He didn't want sympathy. He didn't want platitudes or the pretense of understanding. And he certainly didn't want recriminations or advice.
He wanted to stand under the hottest water he could find and hold onto his anger. Because the anger was his own and it was completely justified. What benefits he'd derive from the hot shower, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that he wanted it, and he wanted it now. It would be the first thing all day that had gone his way.
The water was so hot his first reaction was to shudder. It hit his shoulders like a thousand needles and he knew his skin was turning scarlet. He didn't care. After a few moments the numbness would set in. Quatre braced his hands on the wall and hung his head, steam already filling the bath and swirling about his head.
He felt the change in the temperature and steam cloud rather than hearing the door open, and he set his jaw in anticipation of the conversation he didn't want to have. But the glass door to the shower opened and an unclothed Trowa stepped inside.
Quatre frowned and bent to adjust the temperature. Trowa didn't like the water quite so hot. He hoped his partner wasn't angling for a sexual romp - he simply wasn't in the mood. But Trowa picked up a bar of soap and began to lather it in his hands, then reached for Quatre's arm. Soapy hands began to massage his forearm and Quatre opened his mouth to question Trowa's intentions.
Immediately, a slick finger was placed against his lips. Quatre grimaced at the taste of soap, and ignoring the smile on his partner's lips, sighed and turned his face to the marble wall. Trowa's hands continued their pursuit, kneading, massaging and spreading lather over both of Quatre's arms and up to his shoulders.
It did feel kind of good, Quatre thought, as he closed his eyes and relaxed into Trowa's touch. Up his shoulders and across the collarbone, pressing and rubbing in slick circles, soothing aches he didn't even realize he had, the hands didn't falter and they didn't stop. His whole body was being lavished with attention.
This felt really good, Quatre thought, and abandoned his earlier plan of clutching at his anger. It wouldn't hurt to let just a bit of that anger go down the drain.
Trowa squatted and massaged each of his legs. He tugged on Quatre's foot, and when he obliged by lifting it, Trowa used his thumb to rub circles over the sole and toes. When both feet were done, he stood and gently urged Quatre under the spray. Quatre's eyes were closed, so he didn't see the shampoo in Trowa's hands, but he felt the long fingers running through his hair and massaging his scalp. A deep groan came from his throat and he felt as if he were melting under Trowa's touch.
Finally, Trowa drew Quatre to him and circled his arms around him as he used his slick hands to rub Quatre's back.
Quatre sighed and rested his cheek on Trowa's shoulder. "I don't deserve you."
"True," Trowa quipped, causing his partner to let out a light snort. "But I'm not doing this because you deserve it."
Quatre smiled into the curve of Trowa's shoulder. His arms went around Trowa's waist.
"Love you, too," he said.