Break me down

Two part ficcie that, hopefully, explains my take on the relationship between these two really well. 3x1, don't like it, don't read it.
_________________________

Trowa knew he was there before he opened the trailer door, but why not let him sit for a while. He walked into the darkened dwelling, leaving the main light off and walked straight into the kitchen area to wash some of the grime off his face and hands. The dim lighting from other trailers was the only thing brightening the interior.

Normally he’d wash up in the bathroom, but that meant walking through the living room, directly in the path of attack.

After drying his hands, the acrobat turned, leaning back against the counter top, crossing his arms over his chest. “What brings you here, Heero?”

Silence reigned for a moment before Trowa heard a sigh, and the lamp in the far corner of the main room clicked on illuminating the former pilot sitting in the far armchair. “How do you always know?” He changed the subject; either old habits die hard, or he didn’t want to talk about it.

“The lions told me.” Trowa stood and walked past him to the bedroom.

“You talk to animals now?” Heero raised his voice so as to be heard in the next room.

The performer left the door ajar in order to continue the conversation as he slipped out of his costume and into a pair of jeans. “No, they talk to me.” He smirked, almost able to feel the scowl through the wall.

Trowa didn’t bother with the shirt; it was warm this time of year, and he was still damp from his performance exertions. He needed a shower, but for some strange reason…he had the feeling Heero wanted to talk. Strange, but possible, so the shower could wait.

“Honestly, I’d like to know.” Scratch the former feeling. Heero wanted to be talked to…sometimes, its nice just to listen with no pressure of response, in a comfortable setting. Trowa was suddenly uneasy about the reasons for 01’s visit. He had an idea, but…

“Their mannerisms. The alpha male was restless but not agitated, so something is different but not completely unfamiliar. The females were unbothered, which usually points to a male visitor when there aren’t any new cubs. The male’s attention was settled on my trailer. Its either you or Quatre, and he would have called first.”

Heero’s face had gone from intense to calm. “Nice defenses.”

“Its less informative than your set up, but still affective.”

Yuy nodded in agreement, but was silent.

“Congratulations.” Trowa spoke, trying to feel out the reason for Heero’s presence.

The other tensed, and Trowa knew. “I’m not engaged.” His mouth was clenched, and Barton wondered how much shit he had been through and why.

It had been all over the news, Relena smiling and blushing at the questions of upcoming marriage, cameras zooming in on the huge diamond on her left hand.

“It was a PR stunt. Relena and her advisory staff thought she would do better in the polls if she was more relatable, thus, the engagement and huge publicity over it.”

“The ring didn’t look like something you would pick out.”

Heero scoffed. “The guy in charge of public relations thought it was perfect for her.”

Trowa was silent for a moment, watching Heero seethe at the situation. “Do you ever have any intentions of asking her?”

“No.”

“And you’re trapped now.” Relena really did it this time; with this much publicity, Heero can’t negate the statement without destroying her political career. Calling off the ‘wedding’ would mean handing in his resignation as security or answering a landslide of questions.

“Unless I disappear.”

Trowa nodded. “You’re welcome here for as long as you want.”

“Thanks.”

Silence settled in, and Heero shifted. He got like that sometimes. It happened often in his recovery after Wing’s destruction; when he was frustrated with a lack of ability or a weakness due to injury, he hated the silence. He would ask Trowa about his political views, his job in the circus, try to provoke him to argument just to hear another’s voice. It took Trowa a few times to figure out the motivation behind it, to recognize the pattern.

Trowa took a seat across from the other; he was not a talkative person by any definition, but he’d never really been able to refuse Heero anything. He sighed. “Give me a subject.”

Relief filled Heero’s face. “What’s changed here?”

Starting on location, the more he knew about his surroundings, about new faces and new acts, the less threatened he would feel with the ignorance.

The acrobat told him of the new contortionist act and how there were two new clowns that liked to prank the other performers, spoke about the horse trainer that had her skin died blue for three days when they added indigo pigments to her body wash, and how Catherine had sneezed for a week when they switched out her pepper for sneezing powder.

Heero smirked. “How hard was it to stand in front of her knives knowing she could sneeze at any minute?”

Trowa’s brow creased. “I’m not her target anymore, Heero. I haven’t been since before Mariemaia. I’m the high wire act now, and sometimes I work with the trapeze act.”

“You didn’t think that would be important to tell me?”

“Its been so long; I didn’t think to mention it.”

“Who is her target now?”

“Brendon, tall, blonde hair with grey eyes.”

“Another new guy?”

Trowa smirked. “He came in to help with the animals.” Heero’s brow furrowed at his expression, and Trowa’s smile went devilish. “She can’t miss with him, though. If she bleeds him, she sleeps on the couch.”

Blue eyes widened. “They are involved?”

Trowa nodded.

“Does that bother you?”

“No, should it?” Trowa looked somewhat confused, the slightest marring of his normally smooth face.

“I thought you two…” Heero trailed off watching Trowa for any damning reaction. There was none.

“No.”

But Heero wouldn’t let it go at that. “She seemed so possessive of you.”

Green eyes narrowed just a fraction. “She was protective of me, yes.” He corrected before continuing. “Her family lost a son in a border dispute when she was young; he fell out of the vehicle while they were fleeing a city. Catherine thinks of me as her long lost little brother.”

Heero’s eyes scanned Trowa’s face with a different light. “There are some structural similarities in facial features.”

“Yes, but genetically related or not, our lives were very different. She would never understand me completely, and she tries too hard to sometimes.”

Heero nodded and changed the subject, knowing the past can be brutal to those at home on the battlefield. “High wire act since Mariemaia, it suits your talents.” He was silent for pause, and Trowa knew more was coming.

“How did that come about?”

Trowa raised a brow, unsure what path he was supposed to head down.

“Did you head straight to the Foundation after the first war? And how did Wufei get so entrenched in their beliefs?”

He still wanted Trowa to talk, wanted a story to support or deny any thoughts he had as to how the past came about. It was something Heero wouldn’t need to know, or couldn’t have pieced together himself if he had thought through the facts he already knew, but he wanted to hear Trowa fill the silence, needed the drone of a familiar voice to release whatever frustrations or anxieties that plagued him.

Trowa settled in for a long night and began talking. He told Heero of the whispered rumors of a potential uprising in L3 sector, and remembered Barton showing him Mariemaia’s picture with claims of her universal reign, spoke of the circus traveling to the colony where he confirmed the rumors. Heero listened intently while Trowa spoke of joining the ranks of the Barton Foundation, making his fighting skills seem mediocre so as not to be noticed, not to stand out among the other new recruits. He spoke of the rush to take out Dekim when he was called out as a traitor during the initiation, how his acrobatics got him onto the stage and how Wufei stepped out of the shadows with a gun to his temple before he could end the revolution before it truly began.

Heero interrupted here before Trowa could continue. “You would have been killed whether successful or not.”

“I knew that before infiltration; it was the same with the Oz infiltration.”

Blue eyes closed as Trowa continued telling of Wufei’s intervention to keep him alive, convincing Barton to turn him to the revolution’s side, that his fighting skills would be more than needed with such inexperienced soldiers.

“Those weren’t Wufei’s words.” Heero interrupted again.

Trowa smirked. “No, I believe he used the word weak fairly often when describing the new recruits.”

Heero’s gaze held so many questions, but he only voiced one. “Even knowing you infiltrated Oz, Wufei interceded to keep you alive?”

Trowa paused, attempting to explain a difficult subject. “Wufei believed, as a skilled fighter, there was nothing more to his life than fighting, the strong were meant to rule the weak, that if the wars ended, there was nothing more to his life. I had believed that for the majority of my life; it wasn’t hard to convince him that I agreed with his cause to create more war.”

Heero’s face turned thoughtful. “When did it change?”

Trowa’s head tilted, thinking. “I think it began with my meeting with Quatre, but I didn’t realize my belief had changed until you.”

Blue eyes were intense as he leaned forward, wanting Trowa to expand. He did. “You gave me a purpose other than the battlefield. Looking at the scars on your body, you have to know it was touch and go for a while.” Heero nodded, and Trowa continued. “Giving you CPR and hoping none of your ribs were fractured enough to puncture a lung, fighting off infection in your deeper wounds, and walking you through your recovery showed me I had more within me than just the skills of a soldier. In my mind, I took on the role of your protector.”

“That’s why you went with me searching for the pacifists’ families.”

“Yes, you were still injured; I still had a job, so to speak.”

“Even after we separated and I was captured trying to take out Mercurius and Veyate, you made sure Oz knew I was useful to them alive, didn’t you.” His eyes were shrewd running through the past events and new found knowledge.

“I might have mentioned something or other.” The very edge of Trowa’s lips quirked.

“You held onto that role until you lost your memory; throwing yourself in front of me, sacrificing yourself for me.”

“You make too big a deal of it.” Trowa shifted, uncomfortable all of a sudden.

Heero’s eyes narrowed, the performer’s body language speaking louder than words. Trowa was hiding something. “When you got your memory back, you made it seem like an instantaneous reaction, but it wasn’t. You knew exactly what you were doing when you threw yourself in front of me.”

Trowa shrugged, but Heero continued. “I didn’t even think there was enough left in the suit after Quatre’s blast for the thrusters to get there in time…” His face accused Trowa, forcing the truth into the open. “There wasn’t, was there?”

Trowa sighed. “During the conversation between you and Quatre, I shut down the life support systems, transferring the last bit of power to the thrusters.”

The confession was done, and Heero could do nothing else. He couldn’t change the past, and scolding Trowa would do nothing. He would feel no remorse for being Heero’s savior. The Wing pilot looked sad all of a sudden. “Then I didn’t have a protector anymore.”

“You didn’t need one anymore. You never needed one in the first place.”

“I don’t need a gun to kill, but its nice to have one.”

Trowa scoffed at the thought. Anyone else would never associate the term ‘nice’ with guns, but then what Heero said sank in…

Shock overruled anything Trowa could come up with, then a small smile twisted his lips. “You missed me.”

Heero nodded. “I didn’t understand the concept at the time, but, yes, I do miss you.”

Miss. Present Tense. Trowa was at a loss for how to respond. He expected a smart ass response from the independent 01; he got nothing of the kind. So what now? “I need a shower. There are leftovers in the fridge if you’re hungry.” With that, Trowa left the room, confused and a bit unnerved by the conversation.

Heero sat, berating himself for saying too much too soon. He wanted Trowa, had for a long time, but the wars were first priority. Plus, Heero had always thought Trowa and Catherine were meant for something more. 03 deserved having someone close to him, and the knife thrower had the antagonistic personality to chase the acrobat down and force him to open up eventually.

But their relationship had been different than he thought. 01 was almost glad this media disaster happened because it forced him back into the life of the one person Heero felt truly comfortable with. He couldn’t imagine letting himself be vulnerable to anyone other than Trowa.

But Trowa was the most thoughtful person Heero had ever come across. He said nothing, gave no reaction without thinking through it completely first. If the situation or conversation confuses him or leaves him at a loss, he’ll distance himself from it until he does know how to react, which is why the acrobat was currently in the shower. If he couldn’t use distance to process, he shut down. His face would become the most perfect mask, lifeless, and his body would be motionless to the point that he looked almost robotic.

Heero had provoked him only once or twice to speak what he meant not what he thought the appropriate response, and he had been actively trying to achieve such responses throughout most of his conscious recovery.

Heero made his way into the kitchen. The leftovers Trowa mentioned consisted of stew. His stomach shuddered remembering Catherine’s lack of cooking skill, but he hadn’t eaten today; he should eat. Maybe she had gotten better. Hopefully.

He knew the layout of the kitchen from his time recovering, and grabbed a bowl and a small helping to warm up.

Trowa draped a towel around his waist and headed toward the closet that held his clothes.

“Catherine has gotten better.” Heero’s voice drifted to the acrobat through the trailer.

Trowa stopped digging through the chest of drawers hidden in the closet and looked at the other pilot. “No, she hasn’t.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

His mouth quirked at the scowl that blossomed on Heero’s face. “I made that.”

“You can cook.” Trowa couldn’t tell whether Heero meant it as a question or if he was offering a compliment to the meal he was eating.

“I hate cooking.” So he avoiding choosing between the two responses and made his own.

Heero’s eyes narrowed. “You subjected me to a month’s worth of Catherine’s stew when you could cook like this?”

Trowa smirked. “I was too busy making sure you didn’t re-injure yourself, pushing too hard; that, paired with all the chores I was responsible for as the new guy at the circus, I barely had time to sleep.”

“Maybe I was trying to get away from the food…Was I really that bad?” The other pilot looked slightly guilty.

“Yes, and don’t be so hard on Catherine, she was working with ingredients she’d never used before.” Heero just raised a brow to Trowa’s statement.

The former clown continued. “You needed a lot of protein and calories to heal the extent of your injuries; pair that with your determination not to rest until you completed your objective or passed out, there were several supplements I asked her to add that she’d never heard of before.”

Heero never realized the stew was made solely for him, but now that is was mentioned, he never saw Trowa eating it past the first few days after becoming conscious. Catherine was put in charge of making sure he ate; apparently Trowa was out performing the chores just mentioned as Heero was eating.

“Speaking of loaded with supplements, if you’re planning on lying low and hiding in the trailer for a while, I wouldn’t eat much of that.” Trowa pointed to the stew Heero was currently getting a second serving of. “Its full of calories; I burn too much on the wire, had to start cooking for myself. Catherine’s figure-conscious food wasn’t sufficient. You’ll gain about ten pounds in a week if you’re not careful with that stuff.”

“Noted.”

Heero stood, leaning against the counter, the soft clink of his spoon against the bowl was the only noise for a few seconds while he concentrated on not letting his eyes roam over Trowa’s towel-clad figure only feet from him.

After what seemed like hours to the Wing pilot, Trowa broke the silence. “I’ve got an early start tomorrow, so I’m headed to bed. Nothing’s changed, you know your way around well enough.”

“Pillow and blankets?” Heero never looked up, refusing to give anything to the other man.

But the fact that anything was said at all was enough for Trowa. Green eyes narrowed; they had shared a bed during the war on several occasions. What was different now? His answer reflected his curiosity. “The bed is big enough for two, but they’re top shelf in this closet if you’d rather bunk on the couch.” Trowa motioned at a door behind him as he spoke.

Heero stuck to his original intention, bunking on the couch that night.

He woke to the sound of Trowa in the kitchen, but let the quiet sound of the other pilot go, not giving any indication that he was awake. He watched the taller man leave under his lashes, not wanting to answer any questions about why he hadn’t used the offered bed.

Because Trowa would have questions.

Heero rose and headed into the kitchen and found a cup of coffee and a plate of ham, eggs, and toast waiting for him. The message was loud and clear. Trowa knew he was awake, knew he was avoiding him, and knew that Heero would be up and in the kitchen before the meal was cold.

Smug bastard didn’t even have to say a word to tell Heero how foolish he thought the game was.

Since yesterday’s conversation, Heero had been trying to figure out how to deal with the reclusive pilot. He wanted to know if there could be something between them, but Trowa played every card so close to his chest; it was practically impossible for Heero to be sly about gaining the knowledge.

Maybe, maybe there was another way, a way to be brutally honest without letting him run away, a way to use the truth to open Trowa’s eyes to something entirely different.

Trowa spent the day on the practice wire because he was trying a new tumbling combination, good thing, too, because Heero’s behavior was haunting his thoughts. What had gotten into him? He was nervous, reserved, and avoiding him. That had not been the case since Heero’s and Zech’s duel in Antarctica.

They hadn’t spent a great deal of time together since then, but the recent change in the other pilot was huge.

The jumbled thoughts caused Trowa enough grief on the wire that he hit the net a few times that day which compounded his irritated frustration. When he had invited Heero to stay, he hadn’t thought it would be like this…at all. Usually the two had a very good understanding of each other which made for a relaxed atmosphere when they came together, but that was not the case right now.

Trowa stayed on the wire through lunch to give Heero more time alone; whether it was for Heero’s sake or his own, he was still unsure. He headed back to the trailer half expecting the other pilot to be gone to avoid the confrontation they both knew was coming. Its not like Trowa hadn’t already told Heero he knew he was avoiding him with the breakfast stunt. Trowa took a deep breath and opened the trailer door, wondering what was to come.

Heero was sitting, slumped, in the armchair in the far right corner; while his body was facing the door, his head was not. His face was turned toward the lamp on the table against the wall, yellow light spilling across his cheek and neck. And while this posture was strange to begin with, what was stranger still was the fact that the hand farthest from the light was against his neck, one finger absently moving along the cords of muscle running from shoulder to jawline.

Trowa blinked, once, twice, then headed to the kitchen to start preparing dinner. He never moved from his position, never acknowledged Trowa’s presence, just sat. His hand was the only movement from the stoic man.

In the kitchen, Trowa was louder than need be, not obviously so, but he was not trying not to disturb the other. He was looking for some reaction, wanting some change, some regression back to the state of semi-normality of their visits with each other.

This was too strange.

As dinner cooked, Trowa took a quick shower, threw on some old fatigues, and went back to the kitchen. Heero never moved. There was still some time before everything was ready, so Trowa went into the main area, sitting directly across from a seemingly oblivious 01.

“What’s going on, Heero?”

His position stayed the same but the trail of his finger across his neck progressed over the jawline, two fingers now across his cheek, and they stopped right under his eye. One blue eye glanced down at the fingers resting at the dip where the bone becomes socket beneath flesh. He stared at his own fingers as if they weren’t his, as if they were unwelcome despite his command for them to be there.

Trowa was growing exceedingly frustrated and impatient; he opened his mouth to issue another demand, but Heero’s voice stopped him. “I don’t like to be touched.”

What? What the hell did that mean, and what was it supposed to tell Trowa about the current situation between them. Trowa waited, and Heero continued. “Relena was right.”

Those two fingers circled his eyes then trailed down his check and back down to his neck as he expanded. “I will never be able to have any kind of relationship with anyone because who would be a part of such a one-sided thing.”

Those were not Heero’s words; Trowa could tell they were Relena’s words in Heero’s mouth. Nevertheless, they must have meant something, struck some cord in the pilot for the words to have stuck so tenaciously in his mind.

Trowa was at a loss for a moment; Heero was acting so strangely, the performer was unsure how he would take anything said. But he was obviously waiting for Trowa to say something. “It’s a survival instinct, Heero. We all have it, except for Quatre, even Duo is very alert to any potentially threatening movements around those he doesn’t know. Those instincts are what have kept you alive until now; you can’t just expect to be able to shut them off.”

“Then what do I do? Give it up as a lost hope and travel constantly, letting no one close to me? Put a gun to my head and leave the universe to those more suited to peace?”

Why did it sound like he had been thinking heavily on those options? And why did something within Trowa scream at the thought? “I don’t have an answer to that.”

Heero’s eyes were intense then. “You touched me during my recovery.” Trowa nodded, and he continued. “It bothered me at first, but since then…”

Trowa closed his eyes slowly. “What do you want, Heero?” He knew, but he wouldn’t offer.

“Touch me. I need to become accustomed to the feel of hands on me.”

Training. The soldier within Heero had another mission: become acclimated to touch so that he could be fit to enter a relationship with someone else. A spike of resentment shot through the circus performer at the thought, though the reason was unclear to him. He didn’t want to play accomplice to this, but he never had been able to deny Heero anything.

Trowa nodded, not wanting to give voice to what emotions were running under the surface.

Relief washed over Heero’s face, and he held his hand out towards Trowa, palm up, the lighter skin of his wrist standing out, and fading into the bronze coating the outside of his arm.

Trowa hesitated; Heero was watching him so intently as green eyes scanned the arm placed in his view. It was too intimate. He couldn’t, not with Heero’s eyes so focused on his every movement, every reaction.

“Not like this.” The acrobat stood, turning away from the confusion on his face. He pushed the chair he was sitting in away from Heero, making room, and pointed to the floor. “Lie down.”

It was a control thing, Heero realized in that instant. He knew he was exhibiting a vulnerability in asking this of Trowa, but what he recognized watching Trowa’s reactions was that Trowa was just as vulnerable in accepting the task.

Heero slid out of his chair and spread out on the floor of the trailer on his back, but Trowa was shaking his head. “Roll over.”

Trowa had the high ground and a surprise advantage in this position, so to speak. It was difficult to let one’s guard down so completely, arms unable to defend, spine and head exposed, but Heero trusted Trowa, so he did as he was told.

The acrobat had been forced to learn several forms of massage to help speed 01’s recovery after the detonation. He had worked out trauma in the muscles, pushed accumulated fluid and swelling to crucial drainage points to speed healing, and desensitized overwrought nerves damaged by trauma. And, at one point, he did this daily. It had stopped pretty quickly after the pilot woke, but there were a few occasions…

So Trowa started on familiar ground, kneeling down by his feet; he reached out with one hand, nervous for the first time in a very long while.

As Heero felt the pressure of Trowa’s palm against his bare calf, he tensed, but didn’t move. This whole scenario was a bit of a ploy to pull Trowa out of his shell, see if he would be open to more between them, but that didn’t mean Heero’s situation was any less real.

Trowa’s fingers began to apply pressure, stroking along the muscle fibers, loosening the tension, his thumbs and, eventually, the heel of his hand joined in, working their way up to the back of his knee before switching to the other leg.

Heero’s mind registered the patterns those hands made, like currents of air over the globe, swirls and arcs against his skin, refusing to let him hide from the touch, forcing him to feel and acknowledge.

To Trowa, it was completely different. He shut down every outside influence except for the strip of flesh under his fingers. It wasn’t Heero under his hands, it was just a limb. It had to be impersonal; it was uncomfortable otherwise. Why was it so uncomfortable? Well, Trowa didn’t really delve too deeply into that.

Trowa passed the knee and up to about mid-thigh, where Heero’s spandex stopped; digging his fingers into the tight cords of Heero’s hamstrings, running hands over the slightly damp flesh, feeling the muscles give and relax under his touch.

“You know this won’t be enough.” Heero casually spoke, but flinched when Trowa’s hands gripped him hard, jolting as the unsettled pilot reacted to his voice.

The circus performer had effectively removed all intimacy from the situation, concentrating only on the limb and the job to be done. It wasn’t Heero; it was a damaged leg, treating the living body beneath him as impersonally as repairing a mobile suit.

But Heero’s voice had ripped him out of that state, just as 01 had intended. Trowa opened his mouth to speak but closed it quickly, changing his mind about his original response, then agreed. “No, it won’t.”

“It only gets me used to your touch.” Heero hadn’t moved, simply commenting.

Trowa felt a flare of resentment towards the other man. “Perhaps you should have asked this of someone you intended to pursue.” His tone was flat and unemotional, but the words themselves were sharp.

Heero tensed under his hands than began to roll over; Trowa instinctively scooted backwards, giving them both the desired personal space. But Heero just moved forward, erasing what Trowa had done. “Maybe I did.”

“What?!” Utter shock filled the face of the normally stoic man.

“If you don’t want this, stop me now.” Heero reached forward slowly, fingers raised to push the long, sweeping strands aside.

Trowa was still processing. He hadn’t expected anything like this, and as Heero’s hand closed on his face, he gripped the wrist, hard. Trowa watched as Heero’s brow furrowed, eyes scanning his face, questioning.

“I…” The acrobat couldn’t find words, and Heero smirked.

“Give me a reason, one good reason why this wouldn’t work.” He leaned in closer, his breath diffusing across Trowa’s face and neck. Green eyes closed, and Heero kept pressing. “Touch me, Trowa; we can teach each other to like it.”

Trowa’s eyes shot open at his words, knowing his own aversion to touch had been exposed in their dealing with each other. This was Heero; there was no one he trusted more…

Trowa released his grip on Heero’s wrist. Heero smiled and let the barest touch of his fingers slide across the other’s face as he tucked auburn strands back behind his ear. Trowa shuddered at the first skin to skin touch to his person in over a year, the first intimate touch in the span of his life.

Those fingers trailed along the curve of his ear, down onto the neck, and trailed along the line of his jaw before they were removed.

Then Trowa began breathing again. Heero watched him process what he was going through. Was it any touch Trowa couldn’t handle or just people he didn’t trust? Or was it any intimate touch? Did Trowa have some experience that justified not letting any touch him?

A protective urge overtook Heero; the though that someone somewhere may have abused Trowa sent a homicidal surge through him. If he ever found out who…they would beg for death.

Green eyes opened then, a little dazed, then widened at the fierce look on Heero’s face. Heero quickly put a lid on his thoughts and returned to the present. He raised his hand to Trowa’s cheek, not touching, just letting the warmth of his hand raise the temperature of the air separating the skin. “Tolerable?”

“In small doses” Trowa’s eyes were scanning Heero’s face, trying to piece together everything that was happening.

“Then we’ll keep it to small doses.” He laid back, face up on the thin carpet of the trailer. “Your turn, if you want.” Blue eyes closed, taking some pressure off the skiddish Heavyarms pilot.

“But you don’t like to be touched either.” Trowa’s hand hovered in the air, unsure of where to pick up the task again.

“Your touch relaxes me; it always has.”

Trowa grunted, running a hand along Heero’s bare arm. “So you actually came here because…”

“I needed a place to hide. Everything I told you was truth, Trowa. You’re the only exception to my aversion to touch.”

“And the farce of you lying face down with my hands on you…?”

“Maybe I was gathering my courage.”

Trowa was thrown, not used to this kind of situation. He had been wanted before, but never by someone that meant anything to him. Heero was a friend; it made things different. Did he find Heero attractive? Yes, in several ways, but could he give Heero the relationship he had spoken of earlier, the kind he was asking for? He had no clue.

He kept talking, trying to gauge the situation better, and Heero obliged him, answering his questions and his sarcasm with equal truth. Patiently, he allowed his counterpart to find more familiar ground.

Trowa picked up the arm and began applying pressure to the muscles from tendon to bone, working the tension out, just as he had those years ago after the original Wing was obliterated to prevent its capture. Its not what Heero wanted; he wanted those hands trailing across his exposed skin, exposing the parts he kept hidden, teasing the flesh to fury like he’d pictured an actual lover would.

But he wouldn’t push too much too quickly.

So he kept his body loose, tension melting out of him as Trowa’s hands worked him over. It could take time, a lot of time if the acrobat’s amount of patience was what he was judging by…but Heero could wait.

It was worth waiting for to him.

“So you’ll just stay here, then, hiding in my trailer?” The insulting jab caused Heero to look at Trowa; he was smirking.

“I’m sure I can find something to do. If all else fails, I could help with the animals; I’ve got a strong stomach.” This time Heero was smirking as he said it.

“No.” His comment was sharp, no room for argument; all the laughter in Trowa’s eyes was gone. “Not you.”

Heero’s eyes narrowed, but Trowa’s face was turned towards the limb, fall of hair skewing the vision of his face. “Why not me?”

Trowa was silent.

“Trowa? Why not me?” His voice was hard, demanding; he thought he knew but wanted the other to confirm.

“You’re too important to do that.” Trowa’s voice was soft, white noise within the quiet atmosphere.

“You did it. What makes me different? Explain.”

Trowa sighed, gearing up for a discussion he really didn’t want to have. His hands were subconsciously pressing harder to ease the tension in Heero’s biceps and triceps. “You’re the savior of Earth, Heero. There’s no way I’m letting you shovel dung.”

“You put too much value on that.” He sounded tired.

“You risked your life…” Trowa’s voice rose, but Heero cut him off.

“I knew exactly how much damaged had been dealt to Wing, how much more it could take. I knew there was a possibility, but I was pretty sure I’d see the next day.”

Trowa shook his head. “That doesn’t matter; you would have done it any way.”

Heero nodded, agreeing but not commenting on himself. “You threw yourself in front of a colony, in front of me, knowing that even if the blast didn’t kill you, space would. How are you any less important than me?”

Trowa’s hands stopped moving, cornered by his own actions. “You’re not keeping the animals. If you really want to stay, you can be my assistant. I’ll teach you the riggings.”

But the Wing pilot wouldn’t let it go. “Why, Trowa?”

“You’re too important to me, ok? I don’t want you doing something so demeaning.” His voice was forced, but still very soft in volume.

Trowa was resolutely not looking at the other man, and blue eyes studied every inch of him. The confession from the performer left Heero a little breathless. “Am I taking someone else’s job?”

A firmer footing, Trowa jumped on the new subject. “No, Manager offered me an assistant last year when I started being one of the main draws, but I’ve always done my own rigging.”

“Never trusted anyone else?” Heero pressed, his voice breathy.

“No.”

“Trowa?” Heero sat up, and Trowa’s hands fell away, watching him. “Kiss me?”

“I don’t…I” His eyes went wide, scanning for escape, unsure what to say or how to react.

“Please” It was a just a whisper, no voice behind the exhaled plea.

Trowa knew the basics of it, but he’d never actually let someone get that close to him before. Any trysts he had, he was the dominant, facing the other away from him, their hands forced to support their weight and the force of his thrusts, to keep the faceless partner from slamming into a wall or suffocating in the mattress. It was always fierce and fast, no time for pleasantries, no foreplay, and no kissing.

Trowa wasn’t about to expose his neck just for the taste of a stranger’s skin. But he never could deny Heero anything.

Blue eyes closed; it made it easier knowing he wasn’t being watched. Trowa leaned forward and paused, eyes scanning that face; Heero’s breathing hitched, elevated. He could feel the warm air of Heero’s lungs expelled across his cheeks and nose, could taste his breath across his lips.

“Please.” Heero repeated his plea, longing coloring his face.

It was erotic, hearing that plea, knowing how badly Heero wanted him to breach those few millimeters that separated them.

So he did.

As their lips were pressed together, Trowa wondered if he was supposed to feel something different. There are so many that make such a big deal of a simple kiss. But its just skin to skin contact, the press of soft skin against sensitive flesh. Then Heero opened his eyes, and Trowa saw a depth to them he’d never seen before. Heero’s hand covered his own then slowly began to slide upward, over his forearm, skimming the crease of his elbow, spreading his palm over the point of his shoulder, dragging over his collar bone, and up to apply pressure at the back of his neck.

The kiss changed then. Heero’s lips parted, sucking Trowa’s bottom lip between them while the hand on his neck tilted his head back and slightly to the side. Feeling the pressure of Heero’s lips surrounding his own, the slick slide of Heero’s tongue against his sensitive lips, never passing them, but encouraging participation, sent heat bubbling up Trowa’s back, curling up his neck, and set his scalp on fire.

Heero flicked his tongue against Trowa’s lips then let his jaw fall open slightly in invitation, and the performer realized how passive he was being.

The acrobat leaned forward and wrapped one arm around Heero’s waist pulling them even closer, forcing Heero’s spine to arch and his head to tip backwards as his tongue pushed forward. He moaned as their chests pressed together, and Trowa could feel the sound in his chest, hear it rip through the silence. That deep, needy sound out of Heero’s throat shut something down within him.

And it drove him on, pulling the Wing pilot closer.

Heero began putting more pressure on Trowa’s neck, closer and closer. Each man trying to bring them further together, pulled against each other at every available point, trying to crawl into each other’s skin, trying to breathe each other in.

The slow, cajoling kiss had turned into something much fiercer, much more primal.

Heero pushed Trowa backwards, breaking the kiss but using the extra space to straddle him. A groan tore from the performer’s throat as Heero’s weight settled right across the center of his world.

“Damn.” He breathed as Heero pulled their faces together again.

They were on fire, sweat beading between them, heart rates through the roof, gasping for breath; Trowa had the vague sensation that he even smelled smoke, like the air was too hot to breathe in.

Then a sizzling hiss shattered the gasping silence.

The two jumped apart, reaching for weapons that neither had on their immediate person, looking for any sign of danger. And Trowa remembered the dinner he had left on the stove what seemed like hours ago.

“Shit!” He stood and ran into the kitchen, removing the overflowing pot from the burner, kissing his dinner plans goodbye. Oh well, he wasn’t hungry right now anyways.

Heero caught his eyes, leaning against the doorframe at the entrance to the kitchen. His skin glittered with a sheen of sweat that they had come together to produce. His lips were slightly swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, and Trowa realized he was hungry, just not for food.

All of a sudden, Heero looked unsure. “Too fast? Should we slow down some?”

Something very close to a growl rolled from Trowa’s throat. “Bedroom, now.”

Heero smirked, no uncertainty left on his face, turned around, and calmly walked into the bedroom, knowing Trowa was gaining on his every step.
_____________________________________

TBC

Not beta'd so be somewhat nice. I'll fix errors as I post the next/last chapter.

Lemon next chappie. So sorry I haven't been present lately! My hard drive crashed! Its been hell without my computer this week, nervous because I wasn't sure the computer people could recover my data, and now all my files are completely disorganized. Grr, but present, yeah!

So I'll update my other fics really soon... like gimme two days, soon, but I have a couple of fics that I was so scared I'd permenently lose because I hadn't posted them anywhere. Omg! Freaked out. There's a couple of other pieces like this that I'll wrap up and post...hopefully by next week.

This weekend, though...I'm so getting trashed, dressed up in a bodysuit as Harley Quinn. I'll post, but I might be a bit hungover.

Happy Hallows!!

A.