The first time Quatre tried, the first time he came close and pursed his lips and reached out, Trowa didn't see him. Instead of wide eyes and a soft mouth, he saw grasping hands and snarled smiles. He had panicked and shoved Quatre away.
Later, Quatre came to him, shamefaced, miserable, and apologized profusely. He'd misunderstood and Trowa need not worry - he would never touch him again.
And he didn't.
Trowa saw when the thought came over Quatre. Sometimes, when they were planning a mission or waiting for orders or simply being, Quatre would pause and look at him and Trowa would stare back, face impassive - inside he would be fearful, be angry, be hopeful. And then Quatre would blink and a wistful little smile would fall over his lips and he would continue on as if the moment never happened. As if he never wanted.
But Trowa did. He wanted, despite everything, to feel Quatre's lips, to feel his hands, to feel his heart.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, Trowa watched. Quatre was sleeping - his eyes moved under his eyelids, his mouth opened to noiseless puffs of air. To allow Trowa so close without waking; he must be exhausted. Trowa's gaze was heavy as he stared, and he reached out to touch Quatre's cheek. The caress was rough, unpracticed, and Quatre moved under it's weight, turning his face away. Trowa pulled back, eyes narrowing. He stood and knelt over Quatre, hands gently pulling Quatre's wrists over his head, pinning them against the bedding.
Trowa sighed, sounding nearly lovesick; he was trembling, he realized. Closing his eyes, he leaned down and touched his lips against Quatre's - petal soft at first before pressing harder.
He knew the moment Quatre woke up. The lips under his tightened and the wrists under his hands twisted, struggling free. Trowa transferred both of Quatre's wrists to one hand to cup his jaw, thumb stroking Quatre's cheekbone, pulling away just enough to press a 'shhh' against his mouth. Quatre murmured Trowa's name and calmed, tilting his head to deepen their kiss.
After a moment, Trowa pulled back, resting his forehead against Quatre's. A tiny, imperceptible smile played over his lips and Quatre answered it with a wider, softer smile. Trowa loosened his grip on Quatre's wrists. Bringing his arms down, Quatre slowly, cautiously looped them around Trowa's shoulders, careful not to curl his fingers or hold too tightly.
Trowa ran his fingers carefully over Quatre's face before lying down beside him on the bed, pressing his face against Quatre's hair. He realized suddenly that for the first time in a long time, he was happy.
no subject
...
The first time Quatre tried, the first time he came close and pursed his lips and reached out, Trowa didn't see him. Instead of wide eyes and a soft mouth, he saw grasping hands and snarled smiles. He had panicked and shoved Quatre away.
Later, Quatre came to him, shamefaced, miserable, and apologized profusely. He'd misunderstood and Trowa need not worry - he would never touch him again.
And he didn't.
Trowa saw when the thought came over Quatre. Sometimes, when they were planning a mission or waiting for orders or simply being, Quatre would pause and look at him and Trowa would stare back, face impassive - inside he would be fearful, be angry, be hopeful. And then Quatre would blink and a wistful little smile would fall over his lips and he would continue on as if the moment never happened. As if he never wanted.
But Trowa did. He wanted, despite everything, to feel Quatre's lips, to feel his hands, to feel his heart.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees, Trowa watched. Quatre was sleeping - his eyes moved under his eyelids, his mouth opened to noiseless puffs of air. To allow Trowa so close without waking; he must be exhausted. Trowa's gaze was heavy as he stared, and he reached out to touch Quatre's cheek. The caress was rough, unpracticed, and Quatre moved under it's weight, turning his face away. Trowa pulled back, eyes narrowing. He stood and knelt over Quatre, hands gently pulling Quatre's wrists over his head, pinning them against the bedding.
Trowa sighed, sounding nearly lovesick; he was trembling, he realized. Closing his eyes, he leaned down and touched his lips against Quatre's - petal soft at first before pressing harder.
He knew the moment Quatre woke up. The lips under his tightened and the wrists under his hands twisted, struggling free. Trowa transferred both of Quatre's wrists to one hand to cup his jaw, thumb stroking Quatre's cheekbone, pulling away just enough to press a 'shhh' against his mouth. Quatre murmured Trowa's name and calmed, tilting his head to deepen their kiss.
After a moment, Trowa pulled back, resting his forehead against Quatre's. A tiny, imperceptible smile played over his lips and Quatre answered it with a wider, softer smile. Trowa loosened his grip on Quatre's wrists. Bringing his arms down, Quatre slowly, cautiously looped them around Trowa's shoulders, careful not to curl his fingers or hold too tightly.
Trowa ran his fingers carefully over Quatre's face before lying down beside him on the bed, pressing his face against Quatre's hair. He realized suddenly that for the first time in a long time, he was happy.