Shrapnel, 2/3

[kaigou]

(final version, including previous parts posted. If I can ever get GWA to work, it'll be posted there, too. Grrrr.)

----
rating: MA
warnings: implied OC, adult situations, angst, divorce issues
pairings: 3=4, 1+2 & R+5 (background)



Quatre couldn't help but smile around the kiss. Trowa had evaded him all evening, but not this. Then Trowa broke away, panting, and pressed his forehead against Quatre's. Nose-to-nose, they stared, until Trowa smiled, shyly.

"Should we take this elsewhere? Because I think we've entertained a number of your neighbors already."

"Fuck," Quatre muttered, and dragged Trowa back to his place, not caring his door had been open the whole time, not caring for anything but asking another question, receiving another of Trowa's answers.

"You cuss," Trowa observed in a delighted voice, then more seriously, "just so long as you never use that language around Sadie."

"If I'm ever doing this in Sadie's presence, shoot me, because I'll have to be legally insane," Quatre replied, and planted a hand in Trowa's chest, shoving him up against the wall.

"I could do that." Trowa bent over to lay open-mouthed wet kisses along Quatre's neck.

"Shoot me, or have me declared insane?" Quatre groped for the buttons on Trowa's shirt, wondering how the skin would feel against his fingertips, touching history.

"Either." Trowa ran a tongue up to Quatre's ear. "Your ear's pierced."

Quatre rolled his eyes and kissed him again.

Together they stumbled down the short hall, shedding shirt and socks and shoes, a litany of everything they'd left behind in their lifetime, crashing through the bedroom door, laughing when Trowa once again forgot to duck.

"I keep meaning to have the place renovated," Quatre apologized, and sank to his knees, mouth pressed against Trowa's stomach. "I promise to kiss it and make it better," he teased.

"You're going in the wrong direction—" Trowa groaned, suddenly, as Quatre ran his tongue across the top of Trowa's jeans. "Or the right one," he mumbled, quieter.

"I can stop," Quatre whispered, wrapping his arms around Trowa's thighs. He could feel the hard press of Trowa's need, against his cheek, but he didn't move. "I can stop," he repeated, no longer sure.

"I can't," Trowa said, and pulled away long enough to unbutton the top of his jeans, peeling them back. He stared down at Quatre for a long moment in the darkened bedroom, then placed his hand on Quatre's head, running long fingers through hair, puling a little at the tangles. "Don't stop."

Carefully, Quatre inhaled, and smiled to himself, because Trowa would always carry the faintest scent of vernier fluid. It and the smell of desert winds were the two things Quatre always remembered of his oldest friend, and he closed his eyes, letting his tongue and his nose lead the way, to wrap his mouth around Trowa's cock.

...Only to find that he'd barely begun sucking, just a few minutes of fingers fondling Trowa's balls, and Trowa moaned softly, hips bucking, and hissed in a long-drawn-out sigh. Startled, Quatre deep throated, letting everything slide down the back of his throat while Trowa gasped at the sensation. Rueful, Quatre pulled away, licking the head of Trowa's softening cock before leaning back to look up.

"Sorry," Trowa mumbled, and grinned. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm an old man now, and you poured a lot of alcohol down my throat tonight."

"It's mutual." Quatre came to his feet. "At least this way when I come in twenty seconds..." He laughed, and remembered their first—and only—time together, hands searching desperately as hips bucked, and both of them coming too soon, flushed and embarrassed, jeans stained. Quatre stood before Trowa, and waited, mouth open.

Trowa stared at him for a second then bent to press his lips against Quatre, flinching for a moment before carefully, hesitantly, letting his tongue run along Quatre's lips. He pulled back with a puzzled look, pursing his mouth in a small o. "That's what I taste like?"

"I have no complaints." Quatre tugged him towards the bed, already focusing on letting his own erection soften and fade, to focus on Trowa. "Now I get to return the massage."

"Objection, plaintiff is distracting the defendant," Trowa intoned, and spun Quatre around, sending him facedown on the bed. "Actually, I know a few opposing counsel I'd like throw across the room."

Quatre shimmied out of his jeans, exposing his ass. "I bet a lot of your opposition would like to do this to you, too."

"My opposition doesn't need to," Trowa said, scrambling out of his jeans and tugging at his cuffs until his shirt came off. He dumped both and crawled up on the bed alongside Quatre, running a hand across Quatre's ribs. "They're already asses."

"I think I deal with their identical twins," Quatre observed, shivering under Trowa's fingers. He rolled over on his back and kicked off his jeans, sprawling across the bed with his shirt half up his stomach, socks still on. Annoyed, he dug a toe of one foot into the top of his sock, then started to sit up, only to find Trowa's head in his lap. "What—"

"My turn," Trowa said, and ran graceful fingers through the curly blond hairs at juncture of hip and thigh.

Trowa's breath, warm and quick, made Quatre moan softly and involuntarily spread his legs, socks forgotten. Cock hardening under Trowa's stare, Quatre leaned back on his elbows, head raised to watch.

"It's odd." Trowa clambered over him, coiling himself between Quatre's legs. "I've always wondered..." He stroked Quatre's cock, lightly, then grasping it harder as Quatre bucked, seeking more. "Stop that," Trowa warned, quick smile flashing in the light from the hallway.

Then he leaned over and Quatre had to squint against the sight, because the sensation of lips and tongue on his cock was already too much to bear. Dark auburn hair fell across his stomach, thick strands against the ugly scar above Quatre's hip, a harsh white line on winter-dull skin. Trowa's fingers danced across Quatre's balls, up his hips to his stomach. Quatre bit his lip to keep from pumping into the wetness, tentative licks across the head of his cock, and then fingers scraped and sought across the scar, then up to his nipples, tugging.

"Oh, god," Quatre cried, startled, and his back arched as his orgasm ripped through him. It was barely enough time for warning, but Trowa sat up, hand clutched around Quatre's cock, watching with avid interest as Quatre came across Trowa's hand and his own stomach. "Oh, shit," he added, softer, and exhaled. "So about being old and drinking too much..."

Trowa chuckled, wiping his hand on the duvet and lying down next to Quatre, who rolled on his side to face Trowa. Quatre rubbed the duvet's corner on his stomach with a grimace.

"I hope that's not all...there is." Trowa ran a finger across Quatre's face, down his cheek, thumb rubbing Quatre's lower lip. "Don't make me leave yet, please," he murmured, a plea, and he didn't look Quatre in the eyes.

"I won't, not yet." Quatre meant to joke, catching at Trowa's fingers and kissing each. "But I was serious. Roll over, and I'll give you a back rub."

"I don't—"

Trowa yelped when Quatre got leverage against the bed's footboard with one leg, and shoved hard, rolling Trowa onto his face. The rest of any protest was buried against the covers, and Quatre took advantage to crawl on top of Trowa, settling down on Trowa's thighs.

"I didn't mean—" Trowa raised his head, half-laughing, half-serious, and Quatre popped him on the back of the head. "Hey! What was that for?"

"Now you sound like Heero," Quatre replied, keeping one hand on Trowa while he leaned over to grab the body oil from the bedside table. It worked on keeping his hands from cracking after days of dealing with so much paper; it should work for massages, he figured.

"And how would you know what Heero—" Trowa groaned as oil-slicked fingers began digging into his shoulders. "I'll give you twenty years to stop that," he muttered, then froze.

"I've shared hotel suites with him. Thin walls." Again, Quatre laughed, taking it as a joke and letting the undercurrents slide by beneath them. "My fingers would wear away. I'll give you ten years."

"Two hundred," Trowa whispered, "and on, and on."


1am

Trowa rested his head against his upper arm, and twisted on the bed to look at Quatre, who lay beside him, head on a fist. Trowa's hand ran down Quatre's stomach and back up to his chest, large swirling circles that made Quatre's stomach flip-flop with each pass.

"There's lots of things I'd wanted to say, and not just about the war," Trowa whispered, then shrugged. "Okay, a lot of it was about the war. But...there was one thing."

"Hmm?" Quatre kept his hand on Trowa's hip, rubbing smaller circles with his thumb. Kissing for an hour had his entire body tingling, but when they'd paused, Trowa had begun talking, and Quatre had seen no reason to stop him, not then, not later, not ever.

"During the war you..." Trowa closed his eyes, his hand stilling on Quatre's chest, fingers splayed. He started to pull away, but Quatre caught his hand and held it, against Quatre's heart. Trowa shivered, and opened his eyes, dark glints under tangled bangs. "After the war, when we...were together, you seemed..." He closed his eyes again, exhaling sharply when Quatre didn't let go of his hand, and whispered, "did I make you turn gay?"

Quatre's first reaction was to laugh, in disbelief and the slightest hint of discomfort. But Trowa's stare had grown heavy and intense, and he stifled that response. "No," he murmured, pressing Trowa's hand against his chest, "but perhaps you did wake me to who I was."

"I worried." Trowa twisted to press his head against the bedcovers, cheek along Quatre's chest. It muffled his voice, but he kept his hand on Quatre, despite the awkward angle, despite the sensation that he hid, even as he reached.

"You shouldn't. Never." Quatre sighed. "I've had a good life. I've never seen shame in loving someone, and you taught me that. So maybe you just turned me into an adult."

Trowa chuckled, unexpectedly, and flipped onto his back, but kept his head tucked into the curve of Quatre's shoulder and chest. "What, the war wasn't enough? Two days of heavy petting were all it took?"

"I would've liked it to have taken more, frankly," Quatre replied, unable to help himself, but Trowa smiled, understanding it for what it was. But then Quatre quieted, musing on Trowa's words. "Has it really bothered you that much?"

"...Sometimes." Trowa closed his eyes, nuzzling Quatre's chest, and Quatre rolled over on his back, pulling Trowa with him.

They lay draped around and across each other, and it was as though they were in San Francisco again, twenty years younger and clinging to each other to stave off the nightmares. At least now, Quatre surmised, they would not avoid each other in the morning, one embarrassed, the other confused; at least, he hoped not.

"I never really thought about it before, not until you started dating that guy..." Trowa paused, kissed Quatre on the neck, the collarbone, the shoulder, and sighed. "I can't remember his name. The former test pilot."

It took Quatre a few seconds. "Kalim." He frowned. "Yeah, Kalim. What happened then? I can't recall anything that stands out." Not much about Kalim had, really, other than a shared history of flying and a love of fine engineering, and a taste for adventures in the bedroom.

"It was our fourth anniversary." Trowa's voice grew soft, and his fingers began moving again, writing runes across Quatre's body, poetry only he understood. "I don't know why that time, but Lisa suspected...she confronted me after we got home, that you and I had ever been more than friends."

"Oh."

"What's ridiculous was that I'd never thought to cheat on her. I made my vows, and I'd hold to them." His hand stilled. "She thought I'd...wanted sex...so much on our visits and afterwards because I was turned on and needing an outlet."

Quatre couldn't think of what to say to that, so he waited.

"I didn't." Trowa's tone was wry, but under the self-deprecating humor ran sadness. "I'd just wanted to remind myself that I was with her. Ground myself. She never understood that."

There were so many things to say: I'm sorry, or I wish I'd known, or... Quatre could think of none that fit, that would sound anything but awkward and false.

"That's when she tore up all the pictures I had, and I let her." Trowa took a deep breath. "She didn't hate you. She never has. She's never hated any of you. She just didn't see why I had to keep loving any of you. The war was over, for her. She wanted it to be over for me, too."

Quatre did the only thing he could, which did not involve words or platitudes or fumbling through consonants and vowels to create something new. Instead he sat up enough to cradle Trowa across him, tilted Trowa's head back, and kissed him.


2am

Trowa's hands lingered on Quatre's shins, fingers brushing over blond hair, sliding up behind to cradle the back of Quatre's knees. Quatre twisted his upper body to lie on his side, mouthing open kisses across Trowa's kneecaps. Long, muscular legs, if less wiry than they'd been at fifteen, and Quatre couldn't help but laugh softly.

"Mm?"

"Just thinking about what's supposed to be beautiful," Quatre whispered, and shifted on the bed to lick Trowa's inner thigh. Trowa grunted, startled, but Quatre caught the other leg before it descended, instinctively, and knocked him in the head. Smiling, he licked higher, brushing Trowa's half-hard cock with his forearm. "That younger people," he continued, pausing to blow softly across the skin he'd wet, "are some kind of innocent perfection and therefore more beautiful."

"Uh." Trowa chuckled, and then came tentative licks, mimicking Quatre, followed by a hand gliding over Quatre's hip to caress his ass. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Simple. When I knew you before, we were everything a poster-child should be for good looks, if you think about it. We were young—"

"And short." Trowa nibbled on the curve between Quatre's hipbone and thigh.

"In top condition, powerful, and I recall you had a six-pack that rippled with every breath."

"You're being poetic." Trowa sat up, turning around to lie down facing Quatre. "Now I have an entire keg. Back then we were stupid, idealistic, and short."

"We're not short anymore." Quatre ran light fingers over Trowa's stomach. "This is not a keg."

Trowa smirked and knocked his hand away. "That tickles. It's hardly sculpted muscle." He retaliated by poking Quatre in the side. "How much work does it take to keep this body?"

"How much are you willing to do?"

The question fell into a sudden silence, meanings loaded where none had been intended, but for all that, it had been asked. Trowa didn't answer, fingers stroking where he'd poked, and Quatre sighed, tilting his head to kiss Trowa, tongue probing between lips he'd watched speak for so many years, never more. Trowa tasted like red wine and sex, whiskey and tumbled bed sheets, the faint hint of gun oil and sweat, the iron tang of skin and blood. It was cruder, and more delicate, than any wine Quatre had ever drunk.

"What does it feel like?" Trowa's whisper came as they pulled apart, lips wet from messy kisses, sloppy and open-mouthed. "When someone is inside you..."

Quatre blinked, not sure what to say. Was Trowa asking? Should he say, we don't have to; should he say, it depends on the person; should he speak at all? But his body had its own reaction, and he hissed in surprise when Trowa reached for his cock, stroking lightly, that amused and delighted expression on his face as he bent his head to watch Quatre's hips buck jaggedly against his grip.

"I've always wondered..." Trowa's shy smile grew wider, almost coy, if that were possible. "There are so many things I've always wondered, it seems."

"Uh, yeah," Quatre managed, his brain scrambled by the sensation of rough calluses, just enough friction, and then Trowa smoothed his thumb over the cockhead and Quatre grunted helplessly, biting back a moan. He opened his eyes wide enough to see Trowa's raised eyebrows, and groaned, covering his face. "I'm not sure whether to kiss you or tell you to stop staring at me like that. You're making me feel like an exhibit."

Trowa laughed, and stroked more firmly, but slowed his pace. "Avoiding the question. What is it like?"

"It's..." Quatre bit his lower lip. "God, I can't think when you do that."

"Maybe you'll give me a straight answer, then." Trowa's smile became outright impish.

Quatre laughed, a broken sound, overcome by the sensation rippling through his body. He wanted to come again, but he didn't want it to ever end. He wanted to remain in this state of almost-having, because then he'd never reach the always-losing.

"Show me," Trowa murmured. "Please."

Startled, Quatre froze, then sat up to lean over Trowa, and the hand on his cock stilled, giving him a moment of respite. He traced Trowa's eyebrows, nose, lips, and cradled his jaw, stunned and excited and worried and terrified. "Are you sure?"

"Show me," Trowa repeated, quieter.

With great deliberation, he pulled up one leg, bending his knee and placing his foot not far from his hip; it angled his body upward, and his cock stood erect, slapping softly against his belly with the movement. Trowa grasped Quatre's right hand, and guided it to his cock, palm against his balls, then pushed Quatre's hand lower.

Trowa said something, but it came out only as a rush of air; his eyes slid closed, and his hips tilted up further, seeking. Quatre shrugged off Trowa's hand, and ran quick fingers along Trowa's ass, teasing and grazing until Trowa whimpered, hips jerking in tiny, impatient movements.

"Yes," Quatre finally said, then removed his hand. "But we'll do this my way."

"Your way?" Trowa panted, open-mouthed, one hand flat on his stomach, the other grasped Quatre's thigh, as if holding on. His fingers were sheet-white against Quatre's skin from the grip. Trowa chuckled, but it sounded more like a sob, despite the crooked smile on his face. "You have a specific way?"

The way that makes you realize you're mine, Quatre thought, and had no idea how he could do that, or even demand such. Trowa couldn't give that. He never had, and maybe he never would, and perhaps this was one night that would stand in shining contrast to Quatre's days. Better to just smile, let it be a secret unknown to both.

With that, Quatre ran his palms across Trowa's body, and settled between Trowa's legs. Trowa's cock waited, heavy and red, and Quatre smiled down, unsurprised to see Trowa's smile flicker back, uncertain but unwilling to show it, determined. That had always been the Trowa he'd known, the one no one had ever seen. For a split second, something petty in Quatre wondered if Lisa had ever seen Trowa's uncertainty, and if she had, if she'd ever understood it for what it was. Maybe. Maybe not.

He didn't know, and when he put his hand on Trowa's body, he didn't care.


3am

Quatre held still, panting, and stared down at his oldest friend. Trowa writhed in his hold, chest shuddering with each breath. Too many times Quatre had asked, so many times Trowa had insisted, and now they were joined. Indistinguishable; Quatre couldn't tell where he ended and Trowa began. Legs wrapped around his hips, fingers digging into his forearms. Quatre flexed his hips, uncertain at the creases of pain across Trowa's face. The first time was always difficult, though he'd done his best to go slowly, to make sure Trowa was ready...

Trowa grunted, eyes slitted, and he licked his lips, before tightening the lock his legs had on Quatre's waist. "Go," he muttered, hoarse. "Move."

"Trowa," Quatre managed to say, then gasped as Trowa tilted his hips up.

"I've..." Trowa grunted, doing it again, but strangely managed to grin at the same time. "...Learned..." He loosened one leg, nudging Quatre's arm with his knee, until Quatre had shifted his weight to his right arm. Trowa slung his leg over Quatre's shoulder, and groaned out loud with the change. "A few things..."

"God," Quatre replied, and a shudder racked his body. Trowa felt exquisite, and the words falling from his lips seemed the nearest he could manage to the truth, without breaking the moment: "you'll spoil me for anyone else."

But Trowa only chuckled, and pressed a hand over Quatre's heart. "Prove it to me," he whispered, fingers circling Quatre's nipple.

And since he'd asked, Quatre did so.


4am

Legs tangled, fingers clasped together, Trowa lay with his head on Quatre's shoulder until he groaned and rolled over on his back, pulling Quatre with him.

"What are you thinking about?" He ran a finger down Quatre's neck, and across his shoulder blades. "No," he said, before Quatre could speak. "Never mind. You don't have to tell me."

"Actually, I was thinking about whether I have clean bed sheets," Quatre said, and bit down on Trowa's chest. "Nothing so dramatic as what you might fear."

"I don't know what I fear." Trowa's hand stilled across Quatre's skin. "I doubt you're going to protest your undying love, after all. Though that is a guy-thing to do, when it comes to sex."

Maybe it is, Quatre wanted to say, and, maybe sometimes because it's true.

"That's how it happened." Trowa sighed, smiled into the darkness, but it was merely a curl of his lips. "Did I ever tell you that? I lost my virginity to her. And I'm afraid it wasn't very good, but it felt better at the time than..." He paused, frowning. "It was almost the best I'd ever had, up til then. I thought that's what love was."

You don't have to tell me, Quatre thought, but kept silent. He wanted to whisper, I don't want to hear it, but he couldn't.

"Sometimes I wonder about people saying you fall in love. It's not really a cliff, I think," Trowa mused.

He sounded sleepy, but satisfied; his voice was hoarse. He'd been so much louder during sex than Quatre had expected, and it had startled Quatre into being far more quiet than he usually was, too busy listening to Trowa's grunts, moans, whimpers, soft words begging him for more, telling him what it was like: so full, and, complete, and, deep. It had left Quatre wondering who Trowa was talking to, who had taught him to speak, or perhaps that was truly Trowa, and it was Quatre who didn't know how to find the words.

"I think it's just something you fall into. Like...a hole, a comfortable bed, you trip and then you can't get out." Trowa shrugged, movement against Quatre's cheek. "I suppose you just want to sleep, now."

"We can stay awake, if you want."

"I don't know what I want."

The words were there: I'll wait, but Quatre didn't give them life. He fingered the dark ring of Trowa's nipple, amazed at the breadth of Trowa's chest as a grown man, the strength still hiding in the older body. He wanted to reach around Trowa, clasp him tightly, and hold on, and for that very reason he didn't dare move. Instead, he simply lay against Trowa, fingers splayed against Trowa's slightly darker skin. He could not hold on, but he would impress Trowa's skin into his palm. Later, when alone again, he would press his palm against his cheek, and for a moment, he would imagine it was Trowa's chest against his skin.

"Maybe I'll know in the morning," Trowa sighed, and was quiet for several long minutes, breath evened to a steady low rise and fall of his chest. Then he stirred, and mumbled, "that's what I say to myself, every night. Maybe in the morning it'll be clear, what to do."

"Yes," Quatre replied, because he didn't know what else to say.


----
tbc

Comments

[windsorblue.livejournal.com]

God, this whole thing is just so fabulous, I don't know where to begin. They're so fantastically real - older, but still very much themselves, evolved and grown-up. So many parts of this just slay me dead, but this line takes the cake: For a split second, something petty in Quatre wondered if Lisa had ever seen Trowa's uncertainty, and if she had, if she'd ever understood it for what it was. Maybe. Maybe not. Yes. God, yes. That line is golden.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

Very, very pleased that you like it. I honestly was afraid it'd be too bittersweet-achey in a bad way.

[hyanan.livejournal.com]

Got here via windsorblue's rec.

I can't think of anything clever to say, so I'll just say thanks...so much...

[mssakura.livejournal.com]

I will second this motion.

Just, GUH!

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

Uhm, thanks? ;D

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

It was probably high time I did a 3/4 get together. I just have an odd way of framing them, I suppose.

[bleedtoblue.livejournal.com]

What excellent writing, so real with a bittersweet tang "that's what I say to myself, every night. Maybe in the morning it'll be clear, what to do."

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

I honestly don't know if I could've written this without having been through a divorce myself, because the self-doubt lingers on far after one's heart has made choices. One of those times personal experience really can help a story, I suppose (or mangle it beyond all belief!).

[yanagi-wa.livejournal.com]

My brain just went Guh!. This was really good. I think you have captured older Trowa and Quatre perfectly.

[solitude1056.livejournal.com]

Whew, thanks! It's always a risk to write them so much older -- how can anyone say, definitively, who they would become? Yet a lot of people like them when they're younger, and don't want to move away from that. But then, one person's IC is another's OOC, I've decided.