Pressure of a Blade

WARNINGS: Some pretty heavy conversations (again)
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Don't want to read it, its at the end, you'll know when its coming

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He raised his hand and knocked on the hallway door in front of him. He wasn’t entirely certain why he was here, but he felt he needed to be.

And he wasn’t ready to deal with Heero yet.

The door cracked and Trowa saw Chang’s dark eyes widen when they registered his identity. The door opened wider; Wufei stood between the door and the door frame blocking the view into the room behind him. It wasn’t welcoming, but it wasn’t hostile, either.

“I wanted to talk to Maxwell.” Trowa felt his voice leave him, and Chang’s demeanor changed. His face showed approval now.

He nodded and held the door open. There was a split second where he saw Ninside the room; Duo was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed farthest from the door. He held a pillow wrapped in his arms as he stared blankly at the TV in front of him. Then the second was gone as Duo looked over to the door.

When he realized who the visitor was, he immediately jumped up from the bed and started walking over to him. “Trowa! Hey, man, I’m really sorry. I had no right to say those…”

But Trowa stopped him by holding up a hand. “You spoke your opinion; don’t apologize for that. I just wasn’t ready to hear it.”

“I shouldn’t have stuck my nose where it wasn’t wanted.” Duo looked genuinely remorseful, and Trowa couldn’t bring himself to leave it at that.

“I think, maybe, I needed to hear it whether I was ready or not.”

“Yeah?” Maxwell looked just the smallest bit brighter now, his expression losing its previous tension.

Trowa nodded. “I wanted to apologize for causing you distress. It wasn’t my intention.” It had been quite sometime since Trowa had asked for forgiveness from anyone, had cared enough to feel the need to ask.

“Naw, I over-reacted. That one was my bad.” Duo stood there grinning at him, with Wufei off to the side, just out of immediate range of sight, watching the interaction.

Now what? Trowa had said what he had come to say, but what does he do now?

“So… Are we…?” The word he wanted escaped him. Trowa had never felt entirely comfortable wrapped in the bindings of conversation.

“Friends?” Duo supplied, holding out his hand to the acrobat. It wasn’t the word Trowa was looking for, but the tentative look on Maxwell’s face wouldn’t let him throw it away.

Trowa nodded, hesitating for a fraction of a second before taking the hand offered.

Duo beamed at him. Off to the side, Wufei nodded, wearing a small smile.

The performer pulled his hand back, and everyone stood there for a moment, somewhat at a loss for what to do now. Just before it got awkward, Wufei stepped in.

“Perhaps, you should get some sleep, Trowa. Tomorrow may be a trying day with the royalty arriving.” There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice with the last sentence, and Duo snorted at the reminder of Queen Relena, the powerless figurehead with big dreams from the war.

She had changed since then according to the others, less naïve to the motivations of others, but Trowa hadn’t seen her in years.

He would wait to make his own assessment.

Now to face Heero.

Trowa entered the shared sitting room between the room he just left and the one which probably held Heero. As he meandered through the furniture, he took varying stride lengths, carefully building up the amount of time with his weight completely on his injured limb, it hurt like hell, but he needed to keep it moving. He would lose strength until the muscles healed, but he didn’t want to lose any flexibility. His life depended on being limber and well balanced, but any stretching could rip the stitches.

Stopping cold in his tracks, he mentally cursed himself for getting sidetracked, for allowing himself to get sucked into his thoughts. It was a subconscious stalling method.

“Coward.” He breathed, as he steeled himself and walked through the door.

The room was dim; the lamp next to Trowa’s bed was on, but other light had been turned off.

Apparently, Heero decided he didn’t want to share Trowa’s bed tonight because he was lying on his back in the other bed, shirtless, one arm tucked behind his head, inches away from the gun under his pillow. His eyes were closed, mimicking sleep, but Trowa knew he was awake.

Heero’s soldier instincts were too strong to sleep through someone entering his room. He had most likely been awake since Trowa entered the outer room.

But he gave no indication of notice.

Trowa leaned against the closed door. Subconsciously, staying as close to the exit as possible, his discomfort with the situation was coming out through his body language, despite his face showing nothing.

“Why me?” The sound of his own voice shattered the silence like broken glass.

Heero opened his eyes, staring straight up at the ceiling. Trowa got nothing more to show his had his roommate’s attention.

“You could have anyone you wanted. Why me?”

Heero turned his head to face the acrobat, face carefully neutral. “I already told you.”

Trowa grunted, unhappy with the response. “You gave me some bullshit about colors. That tells me nothing.” He crossed his arms, and propped one foot up on the door behind him.

He was being stand-offish, it was a defense mechanism he’d used over and over again. Trowa honestly was open to try what Heero wanted; he valued their friendship too much to want to end all contact with pilot 01.

They both knew that was what would happen if this fell flat.

But at the same time, this was so far outside his comfort zone, he automatically fell into his old habits. Blunt, straight forward comments designed to hit a weak point, to intimidate or anger the other into retreat; and if Heero didn’t recognize the strategy as one of his own, it would have worked.

Trowa watched as Heero took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. The movement drew his eyes to his chest, so he saw every nuance of muscle movement as he shifted his hips, rolled onto his side to face Trowa, and propped himself up on one arm.

Blue eyes narrowed as he scanned the Heavyarms pilot, thinking through how to phrase what needed to be said. “You have no idea of your worth, do you?”

“What?” Trowa’s position changed, dropping the foot to the floor, hugging his arms closer to himself. Of course he knew his worth. He was extremely skilled in hand to hand combat, he could hit a moving target with a scopeless rifle at 5000 feet, he could single handedly tear through a unit of troops with an outdated mobile suit. What the hell was Heero talking about?

Heero smirked, knowing exactly what was going through Trowa’s mind. “I know your battle stats, but that’s not your personal worth.”

But what else was there? For so long, Trowa valued himself solely for his combat skills. There was very little personality or charisma to the acrobat, he preferred it that way, but some of the others have told him repeatedly how quiet he was, that he had something shoved up his ass. It took little effort to guess who had said that to him, but, really, what did he have to offer besides those skills?

And Heero had repeatedly made it clear it wasn’t about lust…

There was little else to him, or so Trowa thought.

Heero shook his head, sadness reflected in his eyes. “You don’t even know.”

Green eyes narrowed on the Wing pilot, getting irritated, feeling like Heero was playing him, but he continued quicker than Trowa could comment.

“You have a complete ignorance to how important you were to us during the wars, but the truth is, you were an anchor to us all.”

A mirthless laugh echoed out of Trowa’s throat, now he knew Heero was toying with him.

“I’m serious. You don’t even realize how big an impact you had on every one of us without consciously trying.” Trowa dropped his head, hiding his face behind an auburn fall of hair, but Heero relentlessly pressed on. “You were everything we needed as individuals when we needed it, completely selfless. You were a companion for Quatre, willing to sacrifice your life to bring him back from the brink of insanity. You saved my life on multiple occasions. You were strong, but silent support for Wufei in his darkest point of the war, covering his retreat after Kushrenada defeated him, and you supported his decision by not destroying the ship Trieze was on despite the fact that you had the capability in Heavyarms.”

Heero now had Trowa’s full attention and direct eye contact. “And you may have thought Duo wasn’t conscious at the time, but he knows that you stepped in and stopped the Oz soldiers from permanently damaging him after the scientists turned him in. You risked your life everyday, surrounded by enemies, to infiltrate Oz so you could get close enough to Trieze to destroy him and his organization from within.”

“I am not selfless.” Trowa refuted his claims.

The Wing sighed, shaking his head. “I just wanted to tell you what the others and I think, how much we value you.”

Trowa grunted. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Heero growled, falling backwards onto his back and throwing his arms above him on the bed. “Fine. You want it straight?” He couldn’t keep eye contact, speaking to the ceiling. “You are attractive, strong, compassionate, selfless, organized, autonomous, dominant, a good fighter, someone I trust, someone who understands me.” As he listed, his voice slowed and softened. “You have a side that is gentle and serene which draws me in, but you can be hard, determined, and raw. I can’t explain most of what I feel, but I know that I want to be yours.”

“I don’t agree.” He tried, he really did, but Trowa couldn’t comprehend why Heero, savior of the world, wanted him, nameless clown.

“You don’t have to.”

He felt heavy as he pulled himself away from the door that had supported him throughout the conversation. “I don’t understand your opinion of me.”

“Then trust me.” Their eyes locked, and Trowa felt something break inside of him.

He did; it seemed he always had. He started walking towards Heero, still feeling an unnatural weight to every step he took. His feet brought him to the end of the bed, looking down on Heero.

“So…what now?” This was entirely foreign territory with no recon.

“Anything you want.” Heero stated calmly, his body laid out, arms flung above his head across the pillows, his only protection a thin sheet draped across his hips.

Trowa raised an eyebrow. Anything could be a dangerous possibility. Heero responded with folding his hands together behind his head, face carefully neutral.

It would be so easy for Trowa to revert back to old habits. To take the opportunity presented before him for release, then walk away. Just sex, a meaningless battle for release, no emotion needed nor wanted. But he owed Heero more respect than that.

And truthfully he wanted this, he’d always felt some sort of connection between them…but it was so hard to loosen the vise-like grip he held on those reigns of control.

He forced himself to slow everything down, his pulse, his thoughts, his lust, and just look.

Heero was magnificent. Every muscle was defined, shadowed by the dim lamplight. He was lean, tight muscles that could bend steel wrapped around his bones perfectly in sharp relief. Bronze skin stretched tight across every exposed inch.

Trowa felt his body respond, but there was more there.

His hands had skimmed that skin before, multiple times, but the focus was different. The circus performer had been trying to save his life, treating his wounds, keeping him clean to prevent infection.

Even in the low light, he could see silvery scars that he had tended after Heero’s self destruct. Those scars felt like his, like he owned some small part of Heero because he tended them.

Strange.

It was almost personal, like the pattern those scars made across his skin were a form of kanji writing his name, like that configuration was more of a name than Trowa Barton ever was.

There was an ache, suddenly, hiding in his chest. Trowa was uncertain of its origin, but one thing he was certain of, he wanted to run his hands over those scars.

“I want to touch you.” It slipped past Trowa’s lips like a prayer on the wind.

Heero nodded, and his blue eyes seemed brighter in the dim light.

Tentatively, Trowa crawled onto the end of the bed, slowly coordinating his limbs to crawl up towards Heero’s chest. A shyness he had never felt before enveloped him, and his fingers trembled slightly as he reached forward, ghosting one finger then another over a tiny star-shaped scar under his collar bone.

Heero’s breath squeezed out of him in a slow, hoarse murmur of sound.

Trowa felt a sharp stab of want echo across his body, and then that pressure returned. The tension of that blade against your throat; the pressure constricted around his chest and throat. It felt like he couldn’t breathe, his ribs wouldn’t rise to inhale. His throat couldn’t swallow, and his windpipe was the diameter of a pinhead.

It felt impossible, but he could breathe. He continued with what he had planned, letting his fingers drift across the planes of his chest to another scar he had painstakingly tended. This one was a jagged line on his side that started at the second to last rib, and wrapped around the front, thinning and curling up to an inch below the armpit.

And Heero felt every whorl, every loop of Trowa’s fingerprints as they burned across his skin.

He felt the Wing pilot shudder under his fingers and knew this would never be enough. His hands traveled Heero’s skin from elbows to ribs, seeking out the scars he knew so well. There were many of them, but they had all healed well, flat, silvery skin that blended in well. Calloused hands could barely feel the different textures, but his lips were more sensitive than hands calloused by years of weapons training.

Trowa traced every one with his lips, from the scattered shrapnel scars, to the road rash from skidding across the ground, to the surgical scars Trowa made to remove any traces of the death of the original Wing. Every one called out to Trowa as he worshiped Heero’s body with his mouth and hands.

And Heero just writhed underneath him, pressing his chest into Trowa, his arms tensing and twitching but never moving from behind his head, small, subvocal groans choking past his control.

Those scars screamed a name Trowa felt more kin to than the one he currently used, and they claimed Heero as his own. That was the most powerful aphrodisiac that he’d ever come across. Add to that Heero’s strength, his power, his body…

“Damn.” Trowa breathed as his eyes focused on Heero’s erection tenting the sheets. “I want…”

“Please.” Heero cut him off, his eyes following Trowa’s line of sight.

The acrobat wasted no time in removing all obstacles from his path. He felt blue eyes haunting his movements, and tried to compose himself, but his hands started trembling again as he reached out.

Heero’s length was impressive, shorter than his, but thicker, and it felt so smooth underneath his hands. Trowa ran his long fingers up and down that length feeling how very swollen Heero was. He was so hard, it was probably starting to get painful.

“Please, Trowa.” Heero spoke again, his voice harsh from heavy breathing.

Trowa wet his lips, bringing his head over the tip of Heero’s erection, letting his breath flow over it. Hips thrust towards his mouth, but Trowa pulled away, sliding his body between Heero’s legs. Trowa was on top of the sheet that partially pinned 01 from the knees down.

Trowa slid his tongue from the base, along the shaft, over the ridge, and across the slit. The Wing pilot jerked, his body rolled as the acrobat wrapped his lips around Heero’s cock.

Before he was a gundam pilot, Trowa spent a lot of time with a lot of hardened military men. He was no stranger to giving head. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he wanted to show Heero exactly what kind of pleasure he could give.

He plied his tongue against the shaft as his mouth sucked, pressure against the entire surface area. He let the pressure build for only a second before dragging his head backward, causing the pressure to increase that much more, before plunging down the length, and letting the blunt end strike the back of his throat. Repeating the motion, curling his tongue, flicking it against the ridge and head, wrapping it around the shaft, alternating the targeted areas with every bob of his head, every hollowing of his cheeks, he worked Heero deep in his mouth.

Trowa enjoyed the sounds of Heero expressing his pleasure, the shocked, syllables prying their way past panting lips. His own penis was throbbing in attempt to gain some physical attention, but Trowa refused.

This was about Heero; he wanted to make sure Heero knew that by this end of the night.

Heero’s body bucked beneath him as Trowa opened his throat and fought his way down that length of flesh until his lips rested against the base. Coarse hair tickled his nose. Heero’s scent branded itself across his sensory memory. With Heero deep in his throat, Trowa had to time his movement with his breathing pattern.

You can’t breath with something blocking your throat, but it was worth it for Trowa to watch Heero jerk, his body tense, every time the head hit the back of his throat and was forced through the muscular canal. Several passes let him get used to the feeling.

But Trowa wasn’t done yet. On the next pass, he took Heero as deep as he could, lips smashed into the skin of the base, and swallowed.

Heero’s body convulsed, his hands plunging into auburn strands of hair, gripping tightly, as Trowa swallowed over and over, muscles spasming around the sensitive head, tongue arching against the shaft.

It was too much. Heero thrust his hips, going even deeper into that spasming channel, and emptied his passion into Trowa’s throat. His body continued to rock and thrust with every burst of seed, his hands gripping Trowa’s hair tighter and tighter.

Then the oddest thing happened.

Trowa felt that pain in his scalp, the pressure against the walls of his throat and tongue, the thick fluid sliding down his esophagus trigger him. The throbbing from earlier erupted into a haze of white across his vision, giving Heero an ethereal appearance as pleasure burned through every vessel as the world disappeared for several moments.

He still felt the pulse of Heero’s cock in his mouth, the flesh looser after unloading, sensitive and twitching against his tongue.

He dragged his lips away. His head dropped, panting heavily, his supporting arms shaking. Trowa lowered himself onto the bed, draping his head across Heero’s thigh, regaining himself and his bearing slowly.

This had never happened before. He had never gotten off without some form of physical stimulation before, never so much as a wet dream. Too much control over his body and emotions wouldn’t allow him release without manhandling it from the reigns of restraint.

It was a first, but with the combinations of powerful turn-ons Trowa was dealing with, perhaps it wasn’t so much of a surprise, but there was another first that he was having more trouble dealing with.

He had locked eyes with Heero with he came. That was a rule never broken with casual sex. Even watching the face was frowned upon, it was too personal. You never look your partner in the eyes while they climax and never while you do. Ever.

He had done both.

Heero’s fingers were skimming through Trowa’s hair, waiting.

Trowa took a deep breath and then began the journey up Heero’s body. His shorts were wet and sticky. It was a gross feeling, but he wasn’t planning on his release, so it wasn’t like he could have prevented it.

When they were face to face, Heero leaned forward and took Trowa’s lips against his, mouth slightly open to let the other inside. There was no urgency to the kiss, just the brush of tongues, Heero enjoying the taste of his essence on the surfaces of Trowa’s mouth.

When they pulled away, Heero spoke. “You didn’t…”

“I know.” Trowa smirked.

“You could have.” Heero’s eyes scanned all of the other’s face.

“I know.” When Yuy’s brow furrowed in confusion, he continued. “I wanted to show you this was more than just sex.”

Heero smiled, his eyes dropped to Trowa’s lips, as if hungry for the words about to come. “I wanted you to.”

“When I can move my hip without sharp pains, I’ll take you up on your offer.” Trowa watched blue eyes widen with remembrance and smiled at the thought that he could rob Heero of enough of his mind to forget the injury he had tended only hours previously.
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Wow, so...I hope it was good for you. There will be a full lemon, just because I think these two are super hot together, and I can't NOT do it, but I didn't want to have to work around the hip injury that I created. Damn catch 22's, I needed it for the plot, but have to get rid of it for the lemon...meh, it'll work out.

I apologize for the two week wait, I try to do it weekly, but these conversations were a bitch to get them where I wanted them to go, in a semi-believable manner. Grrr. Stay tuned, and drop me a line if you get the chance.