Friends and Lovers (cont)

He closes the door behind him. The only light in the room is from the open window, so all I can see of him is an indistinct outline.

He moves further into the room, closer to the bed, into the light. The moonlight bleaches away all color and he stands before me a study in ebony and silver. He stops several feet from the bed. I am sitting up, one knee bent to my chest. I hear my heart beat in my ears. For once in my life, I can't speak.

I can't stop staring at him.

He breaks the silence. "Is this a mistake?" he asks quietly. His voice is hoarse.

Yes it's a chance that we're taking
And somebody's heart could be breaking

I shake my head slowly. "I don't think so," I say quietly.

"I…" I see him struggle. It's hard for him to express his feelings.

"I don't want to lose what we have. I don't have many friends."

"We won't. You're stuck with me, Tro-chan. I'm not going anywhere."

"But what is this doesn't…"

"If it doesn't work out?" I push the covers aside and stand up, moving so there's barely two feet between our bodies. "Then it doesn't work out. It doesn't mean we stop being friends."

He shakes his head slowly. "No. It would never be the same."

I shrug. "It won't be the same now, if we stop right this instant. Nothing is ever the same, from second to second. It's always different."

"But what if it doesn't work?"

"What if it does? What if it's better? Different doesn't necessarily mean worse."

Well, there's a novel idea. I can tell he's having trouble processing that one. None of us are ever going to win any awards for optimism, but I don't think Trowa's ever even heard of the concept.

I fidget a little, stretching slightly. My movements aren't really conscious, they're just born of the effort of keeping silent. His eyes move, though, running over my shoulders, down my chest, following the patterns of shifting muscles and skin as I stretch.

And there it is. We're trying to intellectualize, to devise reasons that we should be together, why it would be logical to do so. And we've ignored the most basic one.

But we can't stop what's inside us
Our love for each other will guide us.

Abruptly, I close the distance between us. He sways, knocked slightly off balance from the impact of my body against his. Instinctively, he puts an arm around me to steady himself, and that's all the invitation I need.

I press my lips against his, kissing him with all the pent-up passion of the many months I've been wanting this. At first, he's stiff, unresponsive. For an instant, he seems on the verge of pulling away.

Just for an instant, though. My tongue slides along his lower lip seeking entrance, and that seems to be all that was needed to push him over the edge. His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer to him, and suddenly he's kissing me back with an intensity that's almost fierce.

I don't now how long we stand like this, in the middle of the room. Our tongues clash, exploring each other, and I'm frankly overwhelmed by the taste, the feel, the sensation of his lips and tongue against mine.

Eventually, I'm aware of his hands moving up and down my back, stroking my skin, and I'm consumed with the need to touch him like he's touching me. Without breaking the kiss, I move my hands to his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. His hands move to help me, and together we frantically divest him of his vest, his shirt, his pants. By the time we're done, his wedding tuxedo is pretty much a pile of expensive rags. Good thing it wasn't rented.

I move my mouth to his ear as I run my hands over his bare chest, marveling at its hardness beneath my fingers. Many times I've seen him practicing his routines without his shirt on, and all the strength and muscle built into that compact form has never failed to amaze me. It's even more impressive up close.

I feel rather than hear his growl of desire, feel him tense to move. Before I know it, I'm on my back on the bed, looking up at his shadowed face hovering above me. He leans down and kisses me again, his hands moving across my body. He explores my chest and moves lower, stroking my stomach. His lips still on mine, he slides one hand behind my back, lifting my hips off the bed. With the other hand he tugs my shorts off, pulling them down over my legs and discarding them. His lips move lower, trailing down my neck as his hands slowly slide up the inside of my thighs. I groan as I instinctively part my legs. This is not at all how I was expecting this to go, but notice that I am not complaining!

His teeth come together, gently biting my collarbone at the same instant that his fingers wrap around my shaft. I can't contain a shout of pleasure as his hardened fingers move over the sensitive skin, rubbing and stroking and driving me crazy.

I am aware that he's no longer kissing me, and I force my eyes open. He's staring down at me, watching me, as he drives me closer and closer to the brink. Somehow, the intensity of that stare is almost as erotic as his hands on my flesh. I close my eyes, unable to bear both at once, and moan his name.

He continues his ministrations, but I feel his other hand move lower. My body tenses as I feel his finger slide inside me. He stills for a moment, but when I don't protest another joins it, then another.

I can't believe this. I'm no stranger to this sort of activity, but I've never had an experience like this before. I always strive to be the aggressor, even if I'm not, really. Now, with Trowa, in an encounter I've been planning for months, all I can do is lay here and whimper as he controls the pace of everything.

I'm loving it.

And to think, I was going to seduce him!

Suddenly, his fingers are gone. He moves my legs up and apart, draping them over his shoulders. I feel something else probing me, and I know it's him, bare fractions of an inch away from being deep inside me. I arch my hips upward, inviting him. But he doesn't move.

"Duo." His voice is hard, harsh. I almost don't recognize it. I don't respond. I can't. I move against him, trying to pull him into me.

"Duo. Look at me."

He isn't going to move until I look at him. I force my eyes open, force myself to focus on him. His face is tight, tense with the effort of controlling himself. I can't read the expression in his eyes.

"Do you want this?" he asks.

What?! He can't be serious! I couldn't be any more blatant if I wrote, ‘Fuck me, Trowa!' in bright red letters across my forehead.

"I'll stop if you want me to," he manages. If I made him stop right now, the effort would probably give him a heart attack. But he'd do it. I know he would.

"Trowa," I gasp, "If you stop now, I swear by all I've ever held sacred, I'll kill you." I slide my hand down his back, squeezing his behind to emphasize the statement.

This seems to be all the reassurance he needs. With a muffled groan, he moves against me, surging deep inside me with one slow thrust.

I cry out, squeezing my eyes shut against the mingled pleasure/pain of his entrance. He is still for a moment, obviously forcing himself to allow me to adjust. Then, slowly, he starts to move. I feel him moving faster and faster, connecting with some spot deep within me, rubbing my hardness between our bodies until those sensations are all that I'm made of. The feeling builds and builds until suddenly I explode, coming apart at the same moment he buries his face in my neck and shouts. I feel his weight collapse on me, but it is unreal, for we are consumed by each other, floating together in fiery nothingness.

So I'll be your friend
And I'll be your lover
‘Cause I know in our hearts we agree
We don't have to be one or the other

After awhile, I am Duo again, and he is Trowa, and I am lying in a much damper bed with him heavy on top of me.

But it isn't the same.

When we reformed after the explosion, we didn't reform the same way.

Something of him went into me.

Something of me went into him.

He is mine.

I am his.

And there is no changing that. Ever.

I know it. But does he?

He rolls off me, settling on his back beside me. He doesn't speak, and we're no longer touching. We lay like this for several minutes, as our breathing slows back to normal. Even then, neither of us speaks or moves. He doesn't touch me. I steal a glance in his direction. He isn't even looking at me. His eyes are shut. It looks like he's asleep.

I want to hit him. I want to shout at him. How can he just lay there? How can he not feel this? How can he…

Abruptly, he shifts onto his side, facing me. He reaches out with one arm and pulls me against him, my head resting against his chest. He wraps his arm around me, and I feel his chin braced against the top of my head.

He's…holding me. Trowa is cuddling. I feel a giggle rise in my throat, and struggle to repress it. Who'd have figured it?

I feel his hand slide down my back, and he gently tugs my braid out from where it is caught beneath me. I pull back slightly and watch him as he rubs the unbound end of it against his cheek. His eyes lift and he sees me watching him. Neither of us speaks. Neither of us needs to.

He knows.

I know.

Nothing needs to be said.

I've been through you
And you've been through me
Sometimes a friend is the hardest to see

A long time later, I'm awakened by light touches on my face. I don't open my eyes, feigning sleep. I feel his fingers stroke my cheek, my chin, gently toying with hair on my forehead.

I feel warm. I feel content. Why didn't I realize he could be so gentle? I knew I was attracted to him, knew I wanted him. But I didn't know that he'd hold me all night and caress me while I slept.

He's told me before that he can't feel the softer emotions. He never knew them, so he doesn't know how. I wonder if he realizes yet that he's been lying to himself.

After a few moments, I hear the bed creak and feel it move as Trowa's weight is removed. I hear the rustle of fabric, and footsteps move away from the bed. A few moments pass before I venture to open my eyes.

I didn't have to worry about him seeing me; his back is to me. He stands in front of the window, watching the sun rise over the Sank Kingdom.

He has put his shorts back on, and I smile. I'd always figured Trowa for a tighty-whities type of guy. I couldn't be more wrong. The garment is a vibrant forest green, a few shades darker than his eyes, and it's made of some type of material that I can't identify, but that definitely isn't cotton knit. Who'd have guessed that he was a secret sensualist? Not me, but I definitely like it.

I slip silently out of the bed and move to stand behind him. He must have heard me, but he doesn't turn around or speak. I move until my front is pressed against his back, and slip my right arm over his shoulder, resting my palm on his chest. I have to lean into him a bit, since he's taller than me, so I perch my chin on his shoulder to help maintain my balance. He doesn't react for a moment, but then he slowly raises his left hand, and lays it over my hand where it rests on his chest.

We stand in this half-embrace for a long time, until the sun is fully up. I grin impishly. Time to liven up the morning.

My left hand slides over his hip, down to the waistband of his pretty green shorts. I've just slid my fingers past the waistband when his other hand shoots out and catches my wrist, effectively stopping my downward expansion.

He turns his head, craning his neck to meet my eyes at the awkward angle. "What are you doing?" he asks. The amused expression in his eyes and the half-smile on his face adds lightness to the somewhat abrupt demand.

I shrug as well as I can with both arms around him.

"Just saying good morning!" I inform his cheerfully.

He looks at me steadily for a moment, then twists in my embrace. He slides his arms around my back and presses against me, lowering his face to kiss me deeply. After a moment, he pulls away.

"That's how you say good morning," he tells me calmly, before releasing me and walking back to the bed.

I stare in befuddlement at his back.

Is he going to be like this all the time? I'd half expected him to be gone before I woke up. Instead, he's kissing me.

I broad daylight.

In front of an open window.

And I thought he was reserved.

He sits on the edge of the bed and begins to poke through the pile of his discarded clothing. He holds up his shirt for me to see.

"One button," he tells me ruefully, the half-smile in appearance again. "We saved one button."

And we always know when it's laid on the line
Nobody else is as easy to find

I stand in front of him and smile. He looks up at me, and the amused expression slides from his face. He looks down again, but not before I see a familiar blank, guarded expression cross his features.

Puzzled, I sit next to him on the bed.

"What's wrong?" I ask tentatively.

"Duo…" His voice trails into nothing. I'm a little worried. He rarely sounds so unsure.

"Where…where do we go from here?"

I shrug. "Well, they expect you at the circus, right? Think they'll mind me tagging along?"

He looks at me, and I see another unfamiliar expression in his eyes. Surprise.

"You're going to…come with me to the circus?"

I shrug. "If that's where you're going to be, sure."

"But…"

"Do you not want me to?"

"No! But I thought…"

"You thought I was just going to go back to doing my thing, and send you back to yours?" I shake my head. "You thought you'd send me postcards, and I'd show up for a little side nookie when I felt like it?"

"I just didn't think…."

"We established it last night, Tro. We're friends. And now…Well, friends don't walk away from friends at times like this."

"It could still not work, Duo. What if we can't…"

"How about we give it a try before condemning it to failure? It worked last night," I finish, grinning at him.

To my amazement, he grins back. I've never seen him do that before. He smiles slightly, like the Queen of England greeting her subjects. But he never grins. Until now. Maybe this will be good for both of us.

So I'll be your friend

"So, you're coming with the circus?"

"If you'll have me."

He smiles at me. "You can take care of the elephants."

I grimace. "Greeeeaaaat," I drawl.

And I'll be your lover

"And we'll…" He gestures toward the bed.

"I certainly hope so," I tell him bluntly.

Cause I'll be your friend

"And we're still friends? That doesn't change?"

"Never."

And I'll be your lover

He smiles at me.

Yeah, he knows. We both know.

We'll always be friends.

But we're more. We've gone beyond being friends.

It's going to take both of us time to say, to admit ­ to ourselves as well as each other. We've got a lot to work out, a lot to work on.

But as I push him down on his back on the bed and drape myself over him for a kiss, we both know. The word is there, between us, even if neither of us will dare say it aloud.

Sure we're friends.

But we're also…lovers.

‘Cause I know in our hearts we agree
We don't have to be one or the other
Oh, no, we could be both to each other.

~owari

[back] [back to Shoori's fic]