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Stepping Stones	By : Raletha Category: Gundam Wing/AC > General Views: 977 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Stepping Stones
- 1
Stepping Stones

by Raletha

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing does not belong to me. It is copyrighte Ban Bandai, Sunrise, and the Sotsu agency. I am using the characters for entertainment purposes only. Original content and concepts, however, are my own: © Raletha 10/03 & beyond.

Notes: This fic was born of a self-directed challenge to write a lemon for one of my least liked pairings without compromising the characterisations of the boys.

Thanks: To Anne, Windsor, Calliope, and Ruth for their comments on the draft.

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Earth - Europe - Late Spring/Early Summer AC 195

Heero Yuy was beginning to frustrate me. I thought he'd have been more like the others: like Wufei and Quatre. As much as Wufei was a loner, he had at least understood the purpose of camaraderie. He'd simply rejected it, and I respected that. Heero on the other hand simply didn't understand. He didn't understand that you take care of your fellow soldiers, and they take care of you. He didn't understand that if you didn't, you'd all (or both,our our case) end up weaker for it. It wasn't charity; it wasn't even generosity. It was enlightened self-interest.

At first, everything I did for him, he'd question or only grudgingly accept as if he were - in fact - receiving charity. But I was persistent, and gradually he grew more willing to accept that I wasn't going to abandon him or give up on him. His attitude grew more trusting, but it was still far removed from the reciprocity I'd hoped to develop with him. He may have trusted me with his back, but I wasn't sure I could trust him with mine.

This was for a very specific reason: a suicidal ally is no ally at all.

One thing I'd come to understand about Heero was that what I had first interpreted as bravery when he self-destructed his Gundam in Siberia was actually despair. He hadn't just intended to die then, he'd wanted to. Any soldier must be willing to give his life in pursuit of his objective - I hold to this belief above many others - but he must also carry hope. To fight in despair was a dangerous path Heero had chosen.

Heero didn't seem completely beyond hope though. His despair had a more lost quality to it than a strictly depressed one - as if he didn't have anything he was supposed to (or even wanted to) do next and so, therefore, he must be finished with his life. It was the despair of someone conditioned to external controls and motivations. Heero had been involved in Operation Meteor since he was very young, and I didn't like to dwell on what his training had been like - if his present state of being were an accurate reflection of it.

And now he'd run out of missions and didn't know where (or even how) to look for a new purpose. I think I must have pitied him for that.

It was a rash decision on my part, but I decided that I would do my best to show him he need only find something he wanted to do next - and then he wouldn't feel so lost. That he was now free to forge his own destiny separate from Operation Meteor, separate from the Gundams. He could do - he could be - anything he wanted now. That, I know I envied.

I was determined to help him, and - as Heero and I spent more time together - my desire extended beyond simple camaraderie to something more personal in nature. Perhaps it was because something in Heero reminded me of how my own life could have turned out. If I hadn't had anyone to care about me, teach me all those lessons I thought Heero still needed to learn, it's possible I could have ended up as lost and unsure of myself as he was. No one had taught him how to establish a sense of purpose and self that was independent of and insulated from violence.

So when he decided that he wanted to track down the Noventas, I supported it. Untiat dat decision, he'd been almost helplessly passive, and even then, I didn't think he was capable of caring well enough for himself. At least while he was searching, he'd found something that gave me time with him, to show him he needn't give up yet.

But when we found Sylvia in Marseilles, and he told me what he was going to do there, I realised that my task was to be far harder than I'd initially anticipated. It was complicated by Heero's steadfast thoroughness and rationalisation of his intention: to offer his life in exchange for that of General Noventa.

I told him it was just suicide in a different guise, but in his mind, everything he did was perfectly sensible, well thought out, and supremely logical. He didn't possess the introspection to discern his self-deception, and he wouldn't listen to me. Or if he listened, he didn't hear.

And I still pitied him. Pity, I learned, can lead you to strange decisions. It's a deceptive emotion, but I didn't fully realise this until I'd already been caught in its pull. Quatre would have helped me find the difference between compassion and pity, but Quatre wasn't there.

And Quatre was another factor. It didn't help me that in the dark, when Heero and I shared a bed, the heat of my companion's slender body could be mistaken for another's. Many nights my thoughts were of my friend, Quatre, and these were not innocent thoughts. I believed Quatre returned my feelings amply enough, but we'd both been unwilling to stress our young alliance with anything more than deep friendship.

I also knew myself well enough to know that I couldn't afford the complications of being so close to someone beside whom I had to fight, and there was an inevitability about Quatre, that if we started something, no matter our intentions, it would grow serious; I would love him. I knew I wasn't ready for that, and I doubt he was either.

Even so, I would pretend, just a little bit, that the warmth near me was the one I wanted. But I never touched. Touch would destroy the illusion, for I knew Heero's body to be wiry and hard with more muscle than his frame should possess - not at all like Quatre who embodied some kind of youthful, masculine perfection in my mind: defined muscles that were yet softened by youth - supple and strong.

Well, as they say, one should never say never.

My reluctance to touch held out only until our last night in Sicily. A tangle of pity, frustrated sexual desire, and the fearful realisation that Heero was rapidly falling beyond my reach to help him led me to my decision.

He had refused to heed my words, that letting his life slip out of his own active control wasn't the way to deal with his guilt. He'd made a mistake, and he couldn't afford to dwell on it. That his dwelling on it was paralysing him. Past was past and the future was, at least in part, something of our own manufacture.

Experience had shown me, hard though they were to find, there were good things in life, tiny moments of contentment to be found in even the darkest times. They served as stepping stones through our lives, allowing us to go from moment to moment and to forget the bad things that lay around them.

Hope could always be foun lon looking forward to the next such moment of joy, even if the moment were something as fleeting as a sunrise or as small as a stranger's smile.

Heero needed a stepping stone, and I? Perhaps I wanted one too.

It was an odd seduction, with Heero being the most asexual person I'd encountered. So much so that I had begun to wonder if he were possessed of sexual interest at all. That curiosity was surely a factor in my actions too.

I waited until it was dark. I didn't think I could do it if I could actually see him clearly. His eyes were so different from Quatre's, so different from the ones I wanted to see when I joined my body with another's, that I wanted the darkness to shield me from the reality of what I was doing.

And yet I wanted to do it. It was the strongest ambivalence I've felt in my life.

The room in the hostel where we stayed was small with a low ceiling that sloped steeply toward the exterior wall. It made it such that the only comfortable place in the room to rest was on the bed. Sitting in either of the room's two tatty armchairs left me feeling as if I were in imminent danger of bumping my head. Unfortunately, the bed was hard. It seemed to me that night, that it was the hardest surface on which I'd ever tried to sleep.

I lay on the bed, willing it to mould to the curve of my spine, and listened to the sounds of Heero in the shower. If I tried, I could imagine it was Quatre, except that Heero didn't hum.

I lay in the dark, having stripped down to my underwear and tried to reconstruct the tune Quatre and I had played together. Surely it had been an eternity since that day, and sometimes, like now, that warm, bright memory seemed like it was something I'd only ever known in a dream. Many of my memories of Quatre were like that though, and I'd come to accept it. They were some of my favourite stepping stones.

With concentration, I recovered the joyful harmony; I performed it in my imagination only, but let my fingers tap out the notes on my stomach.

The bathroom door opened, yellow light followed the steam from the door, billowing around Heero's silhouette as if the small room had just exhaled. He was naked but for the towel wrapped about his waist. I saw him extend his arm toward the room's light switch.

"Leave it off," I said softly.

He shrugged; his arm dropped, and he took a step away from the light and into the dark.

"Don't get dressed," I spoke again but didn't move yet. I'd run through many ways of making this advance toward Heero and had thought of no tactic better than bluntness.

"Why not?"

I smiled, aware that the light was shining on my face, and sat up to face him. He stood just a few feet in front of me, just out of reach. I cn'tn't make out his expression. "Turn out the bathroom light, come here, and I'll show you."

"Trowa?" He sounded wary, but I didn't hear rejection in his voice, only confusion. The bathroom light went out and in the immediate blackness following it, I heard him come closer.

Before I answered I reached for his arm. Curling my fingers around his wrist, I tugged gently until his towel brushed my knees. "Has anyone ever touched you to make you feel good?" My voice sounded low and strange to my own ears, foreign in its intonation.

"No."

I released his wrist and traily fiy fingertips lightly up the inside of his arm to his elbow, and then back to his wrist. Up and down I continued the caress in silence - for a time.

Heero said nothing, nor did he move, but I heard his breathing falter in its rhythm. I concentrated on the movement of my hand, the texture of his skin, and I tried not to think too much.

"Does that feel good?" I asked his shadowy form.

"I..." There came a thoughtful pause and then a noncommittal, "I guess so."

Without ceasing my fingers' journey on his arm, I lifted my other hand to his waist. I ran my hand up his side, over his ribs and brushed my thumb lightly over his pectoral muscle, just barely grazing a nipple. It was already stiff - from nervousness, chill, or arousal I wasn't sure.

He shifted on his feet, leaning a little closer, into my touch. This pleased me.

"You like that?"

"Yes."

I passed my thumb over his nipple again, more firmly this time, and slid from the bed to kneel in frof hif him. The carpet was coarse under my knees; the edge of the mattress a hard ridge behind my shoulder blades.

My heart thudded as I reached for his towel with both hands.

Quickly, before he could query my actions - and before I felt the urge to hesitate - I pulled the towel away, and slid one hand down to cup his genitals. He wasn't hard yet, but I felt his penis swell in (I hoped pleasurable) surprise under my palm.

Then a hand caught my wrist in a vice-like grip.

I winced and let my fingers relax against his stiffening flesh. My other hand fell to my lap.

"What are you doing?" he demanded. It was an abrupt question, but I could hear a note of curiosity beneath the instinctive defensiveness.

Though I was reluctant to meet his gaze, I tilted my head to look up at him. His eyes were wide in the dark, his lips set in a nervous grimace. "Following my emotions, Heero," I said.

His cock throbbed harder under my hand.

"Why don't you follow yours?" I suggested.

He released my hand slowly and nodded, a vague, barely discernable shifting in the dark.

Gingerly I removed my hand and replaced it with my mouth, inhaling as I parted my lips. His damp skin smelled like nothing more than the shower, of soap and shampoo. Under my tongue, he tasted oddly flavourless from his recent washing, and I was glad of that. It made this act of human intimacy more sterile and remote. Like the dark, it insulated me from my actions and enabled me to go further.

He was fully erect by the time I closed my lips around the head of his shaft. Heero shuddered, but made no sound. I sucked, pulling him deeper, working his flesh with my tongue, and relishing the hastened pace of his breathing. My awareness flitted between the responses of Heero's body, and those of my own: of the heat blossoming in my groin, the tightening of both my anticipation and my briefs.

I didn't know how much stimulation Heero required, but when I felt his thighs start trembling, and he laid an unexpectedly gentle hand on my shoulder, I pulled away. I didn't want him to climax yet.

As I shifted my weight to stand up, I didn't relinquish contact with his body. I touched his sides, the small of his back, the tense curve of his buttocks.

"Lie down on the bed," I murmured, pressing my hands against him in encouragement to move. We turned, and he complied, sitting first and then scooting back and twisting so his head rested upon a pillow.

His eyes never left my face, but I let my own regard travel over his body, as it was becoming more seductive to me in its uncertain arrangement of limbs, trembling with new born arousal. My desire kindled anew, for I wanted to give him this time: something new and good to add to his repertoire of experience, something that might help him realise that he wasn't finished with his life just yet. There was more yet to come for him, he need only not give up.

I reached for the tin of muscle balm on the table next to the bed. It wasn't ideal, but it would suffice - its cooling properties might even prove to be interesting. I sat down beside Heero, and unscrewed the lid. "Lie on your stomach," I prompted him.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Headlights from a passing car yawed across the wall and the bed, striking Heero's face and fleetingly revealing his intent stare. I was pleased to see no hostility there; pleased that I'd earned enough of his trust for that courtesy. Nevertheless, meeting his eyes for long unnerved me, and even though the light had passed, I quickly turned my gaze down to my hands.

Heero spoke before I did, "Tell me... please? I don't know, but I feel... I want...?"

"I know, it's okay," I fumbled with the words of reassurance, and set the lid aside. It made a metallic clink as it dropped to the hard surface of the night table. "I'll be careful." I dipped a fingertip into the balm, scooping out a small spearmint and lavender scented dollop.

"What are you going to do?" He didn't tell me not to do this thing to him, he just wanted to know what it was.

"I'm going to use this," I gestured, "to lubricate and stretch you. It will probably feel a little strange - cold - but it's all I have on hand."

"Stretch me?" He sounded completely baffled.

I had to quash a nervous laugh. I hadn't planned on having to explain things to him. "Your anus," I said.

"Why?" His legs tensed and he drew his thighs together.

"I want to have sex with you." I spared a reluctant glance at his face.

"In my butt?"

I couldn't suppress my chu tha that time, at the juvenile sounding question. It was endearing in its unwitting innocence.

Heero didn't laugh, since he didn't have a reliable sense of his own humour. Or perhaps it was only that odd things amused me.

"Yes, that would be my intention," I said.

"That sounds... uncomfortable."

"Trust me, Heero. I've done this before, it feels good."

Silence. I felt his stare on me for a long time.

I sat back and waited, keeping my eyes on my hands.

"Okay. What do you want me to do?"

"Why don't you roll over and try to relax?"

He did so without further hesitation, and my breath caught at the way the dim streetlight from outside caressed his skin when he moved, illuminating and shadowing the curves of his posterior in grayscale relief as he settled, prone. But there was tension in his back despite his sudden docility.

I set the tin aside, and with my free, clean hand stroked down his spine, over his rear, to his thighs. It definitely wasn't Quatre's body, with its tight, corded muscles under the duskier skin. Heero's shoulders were narrower, almost out of proportion to his long arms and legs.

Though I was content to just touch him for a time, I didn't want to give Heero's arousal the chance to subside. Thus, as soon as the first signs of tension drained from his shoulders, I moved my hand to spread his buttocks apart and with the other gently smeared the balm over his entrance.

As I lightly teased him with my fingertips, I kept my gaze fixed on his shoulders, seeking any indication of discomfort. He squirmed a little against the mattress at first, and flinched a little when I pushed my index finger inside him, but I saw no signs of protest.

He was expectedly tight, and so I took my time working my fingers against the muscles guarding his body. I stretched out to lie on my side beside him and leaned over him to place a soft kiss on his shoulder.

Once he seemed comfortable enough with my fingers moving inside him, I sought to bring him greater pleasure, twisting my hand and pressing down, searching for the right spot.

He shivered and gasped, jerking a little against me, and I knew I'd succeeded in my quest. I tangled my free hand in the damp strands of his hair and rested my cheek on his shoulder blade. His body was as receptive to penetration as it would likely become, so I drove my fingers into him faster. Heero's ragged breaths turned to soft whimpers, and he pressed his face into his pillow.

I closed my eyes and tried to will the hair caught between my fingers to be blond, the muffled moans filling my ears a little more lilting; and the hardness of the body beside mine, I willed tempered - not quite so sinewy and abrupt.

He was ready, but I wanted to prolong the preparation yet, show him that even this was a pleasure - the anticipation and the growing hunger for more.

But soon his pleading cries had pushed my desire to its limit for deferral. I pulled my hand away, stripped off my briefs, and smeared the remaining balm over my cock. The mint tingled on my skin with a mild sensation of paradoxical cold. It was a peculiar - uniquely pleasurable - contrast to the heat simmering beneath, and I hoped it was pleasant for my partner as well. I shifted to widely straddle Heero's thighs and guided my erection between the tight hemispheres of his rear. He tensed.

Lowering myself to my elbows, I bowed my head and whispered against his neck, "Just relax and let yourself feel this."

I pushed against his reluctant entrance steadily, failing to suppress my own gasp of pleasure when his body yielded and I began to ease inside. Slowly, I entered him, moving forward in small increments, pausing occasionally so he could catch his breath and adjust. He remained quiet and still, concentrating on the new sensation, I supposed.

And I panted swd sweated, grappling for my valued self-discipline. It been a while since I had done this, and memory paled to reality. I'd forgotten the intensity of the heat, the close embrace of muscle, the imperative to throw myself into blinding pleasure over and over again.

I began with short, slow thrusts; my head hung between my arms, and my harsh breaths puffed across my chest, tingling over the dampness of my perspiration. Each collision of my hips with the soft flesh of his buttocks drew me to press a little harder in my subsequent advance. Heero had raised his head, and his staccato exhalations punctuated each forward lunge. It sounded like I was progressively shoving all the air from his lungs.

My vision seemed stuck on my partner's shoulders. I stared at the way my bangs fell against his body, the curve of the strands fanning across paler skin as they swayed to the tempo my movements. I couldn't look up, to see the dark of his hair - instead of the colour I wanted to see. So I closed my eyes again and thought of Quatre.

My fantasy merged with my present, and I lost myself in the silken hold of Heero's body, entertaining the possibility that it could be Quatre's - either imagined past or hoped for future.

In and out of his gripping heat, I kept my pace moderate and even despite my body's whispered entreaty to let go and abandon myself to my more animalistic urges.

In and out of this glorious rapture, steady but unrelenting, I let the pleasure flow and build slowly. I wanted my partner to feel everything he could, to make this a good memory for him.

In and out, even as I drowned in sensation I moved with tenderness. I considered it might be a rehearsal for being with Quatre. And somehow it was; somehow my seduction of Heero was becoming a way of giving in to my desire for Quatre; this joining seemed - in part - a capitulation to the inevitability I sensed with Quatre.

"Trowa... unh..." my partner panted, breaking into my fantasy. The tension of his body told me he was close - but perhaps needed more. I pulled him against my chest and rolled us to our sides. I struggled to free the arm I lay upon to take my weight and with the other hand reached to take his erection.

My thrusts drove deeper and sped; his body barely resisted me now. I pumped the hand around his cock, and after a few quick strokes, he stiffened. Hot semen spurted over my hand, and his body tightened around me.

When his spasms subsided, I hurriedly pushed him back onto his stomach and strove to find my own release. It took longer than I expected for the swelling heat to overwhelm me, but when it did, I surrendered. I bit my lips shut and shuddered silently. When reason returned, I carefully withdrew.

I crawled from the bed and staggered to the bathroom before post-sex lassitude set in. I didn't bother with a light. I cleaned myself and returned to Heero with a damp washcloth.

He submitted to my attentions without speaking, but when he rolled onto his back, he took the cloth from me to wipe his own stomach. He made a half hearted attempt at the wet spot on the bedspread, before giving up with a shrug and handing the cloth back to me. I tossed it aside and pulled back the covers on my side of the bed.

Heero got up and did the same on his side. Eventually we settled beneath the sheets without touching. The silence between us was a thoughtful one, but even so, in order to belay any feelings of isolation, I rolled to my stomach and rested my hand on Heero's shoulder.

I imagined I could hear the workings of Heero's mind as he tried to make sense of his recent experience. Sex alone wasn't something I expected to have changed him, but I did hope that it had at least opened his mind to possibilities. And if I'd somehow managed to ignite within him some genuine, life affirming desire, then I would be content.

Sleep tugged at my consciousness, but I was reluctant to let it claim me until I had better sense of Heero's feelings. I leaned closer and kissed his arm.

"Thank you," I said softly against his skin, "I enjoyed that." He didn't reply, so I pressed a little further, squeezing his shoulder lightly as I spoke, "I hope you did too."

He shifted, turning his head toward me. "I did." His voice was pitched even lower than mine, and I detected traces of uncertainty as he fumbled over his next words. "Thank you, Trowa. But..." his voice faded into silence and he sighed.

I waited for him to continue, to formulate his own thoughts without my leading him.

"Why?"

That was all there was to his question, another questioning of my motives, another quest to understand why the people around him behaved the way they did toward him. "How do you feel?" I countered.

"A little strange... light and heavy at the same time. Warm, relaxed, sleepy." He paused in his cataloguing. "Good I think. I think I feel good."

"Well?" I raised myself to my elbow beside him and looked at his face. His shadowy expression was calm and unusually content. Some of Heero's desperate intensity had bled away leaving him.ofteofter.

"You wanted me to feel good," he concluded. "What about you?"

"I feel good, Heero," I assured him. "I'm glad you do too."

"I'm glad you do too," he echoed, but sounded nonetheless sincere.

I stifled a yawn against the back of my hand and rolled to my back.

"Was that the only reason?" he continued.

I chuckled softly at his persistence. "What do you think?"

"You miss your friend," he spoke like he were assembling his thoughts as the very words left his mouth. "Is this why you miss him?"

"Pardon me?"

"Quatre. The way you talk about him sometimes... I was just wondering."

With a sigh, I acknowledged, "I do miss him." But I was reluctant to say any more than that. Still, that he had spent time in contemplation of my feelings toward Quatre surprised me.

"Do you think he and Duo are okay?" he asked, his tone light and thoughtful. I even thought I heard a note of speculative hope.

"If they both evaded OZ's forces in Siberia, I'm sure they are," I encouraged.

He was quiet for a long time; I began to drift to sleep. But Heero wasn't quite ready for sleep it seemed. His voice roused me.

"I want to see Duo again," he declared, as if realising it for the first time.

"Well," I spoke slowly, collecting my dispersed consciousness, "that's up to you."

In the next silence, I stayed awake and waited.

"Can I go with you to Turkey? If Quatre's there, Duo might be too."

Quatre's base of operations in Turkey had been my original destination when we'd first left the circus. "Of course." I said and grinned more widely than I recalled having grinned for a very long while. "I'm sure Quatre and Duo would like to see you again as well - alive and in one piece."

He made a soft sound of assent - and then deemed our evening over with a soft, "Good night, Trowa."

"Good night," I agreed.

the end
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Stepping Stones

Stepping Stones