by Flint
Trowa stood among the dilapidated houses and filthy streets of the neighborhood he was in. He would have been disappointed if he had clawed his way out of the bowls of hell for this. Life for these mortals was, in some ways, worse than the torture of the place of forsaken souls. At least there, you knew what to expect, you knew you were there to suffer, but here, here was a place where you were supposed to be able to have hope, love, and peace. It was an illusion. In his brief time here on earth the young demon had learned that life was pain, and that happiness was only an illusion to be broken, thus causing more pain.
He shook his head and continued toward his destination. As he rounded the corner, the old church he was heading for came into view. It’s stony grey façade was imposing and sad. He thought that, perhaps, it was made to make the viewer feel humble, but Trowa thought that it must make people feel damned already. "Just like those hypocritical bastards to damn someone before they even know them", he muttered. Unlike many of his peers, Trowa did not feel that all people deserved to be damned. He was a demon, it was who he was, but not all deserved the horror of hell. He kept this opinion to himself of course, but it was his belief nonetheless. So, ignoring the overbearing demeanor of the churches exterior, he waited for Quatre to exit. Quatre was a mortal who had, over the course of Trowa’s time here on earth, come to be his friend. He had no idea of Trowa’s true nature of course, but still, he was the only thing that kept Trowa here at times. Quatre was truly an angel, a heavenly being in mortal form, and Trowa was in love with him. He didn’t know how it came about, or when, but recently Trowa had come to the disturbing realization that he was in love with the young, blond, mortal, musician, and the prospect of what that could mean disturbed him greatly. He was a demon, supposedly incapable of love, but, nevertheless, he was in love. Worst of all, he was in love with a mortal. He was here to meet that blond Adonis for lunch, and he planed on telling him everything today. It would undoubtedly be his undoing, but, at this point, Trowa didn’t care. He would endure an eternity of torment, so long as he knew that his angel knew how he felt.
Trowa was disturbed from his reverie by someone calling his name. He looked up and noticed the object of his thoughts descending the front steps, calling him and waving. Trowa mentally steeled himself for what was to come. The time of revelation was at hand.
"So", Quatre said as he came down the stairs, " how’ve you been?"
"Fine," Trowa responded. " Are you ready to go?"
"Sure", Quatre said. "I’m starving."
As they walked down the sidewalk, Trowa’s senses were awash in the sensation that was Quatre. He could smell the soap Quatre used, and under that was the scent that was uniquely him. It was spicy, with a hint of muskiness. They were walking so close together that Trowa could feel the warmth that the other boy’s body gave off in the chill winter air. From the corner of his eye, Trowa could see the delicate porcelain that was Quatre’s skin. He quickly stuffed his hands into his pockets to avoid the great temptation to reach out and take the other boy’s hand. Trowa longed to feel that flawless skin with his own, but now wasn’t the time. As they rounded the block, they came into a better section of town, and the small outdoor café where the usually ate came into view.
As they sat down, the waiter took their orders, and Trowa mentally steeled himself for the conversation he was about to initiate. "Quatre", Trowa said, "do you believe that anyone can be inherently evil?"
"Well…", Quatre said with an odd expression on his face, "umm…well, no. I believe that any creature must choose that path for themselves. And I don’t believe that a few choices that go against society’s notion of "Good" make them bad in any way. Trowa, is there something you’re trying to get at? That was the oddest question"
"Quatre, I….I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I’m, well, I’m not exactly a normal person I…" At this point, Quatre reached across the table and took hold of Trowa’s hand.
"Trowa, you can tell me anything. I won’t think any less of you."
"Quatre…..I….I like you. I like you a lot."
" I like you too Trowa, that’s why we’re friends"
"No Quatre, that’s not what I meant. I meant I like you in a different way."
" I know what you meant Trowa, and I know that I feel the same way. I’ve just been waiting until you were ready to accept it. Is that what you were so worked up over?"
Trowa was so shocked by this revelation, that all he could do was numbly shake his head in affirmation. He didn’t even notice the waiter with their orders until Quatre released his hand.
"Is that all Trowa?", Quatre asked
"ummm….yeah." IDIOT, Trowa screamed at himself tell him the rest, he deserves to know it all. He quickly shoved that voice to the back of his head. Right now, he just couldn’t deal with that. In one swoop Quatre had just calmly yanked his world out from under him, and he was still in shock. He ate his meal in a daze that he really didn’t wake up from until they walked into the door of Quatre’s apartment later that evening.
Quatre turned on the lights and shut the door firmly behind him. "Is there anything I can get you?," he asked.
"No, thank you," Trowa responded. He had been to Quatre’s apartment many times over the course of their friendship, but now, it seemed like he was noticing it for the first time. He could see pieces of Quatre in his decorations, in the way he had placed his plants, even in the eggshell white of the carpet and walls. It was like pieces of Quatre’s personality were scattered about the room. Trowa turned around at hearing his named being called, and saw Quatre emerging from the kitchen with two glasses of wine in hand. He handed one to Trowa. Trowa took it without comment. It had become somewhat of a tradition when he came here. Quatre would always ask him if there was anything he wanted, Trowa would always answer with a no, and Quatre would always bring him something anyway.
"Have a seat", Quatre said. Trowa obediently sat down, and Quatre sat beside him on the couch. There was a long uncomfortable moment of silence as they sipped their wine. Finally Quatre broke it first. "Trowa, I’m sorry about today at lunch. I shouldn’t have just blurted things out like that."
"No, Quatre, you didn’t do anything wrong. It just startled me, that’s all. I wanted to tell you for so long, once it was out, I just didn’t know how to respond, and I certainly didn’t expect all the things you said. When you told me that you felt the same way I did, I just couldn’t comprehend it. No one’s ever told me that they loved me before Quatre," Trowa said with sadness in his eyes, " and I don’t guess I can blame them."
"Trowa!" Quatre broke in, "don’t say that! How could anyone not love you? You’re smart, kind, sensitive, and," here he blushed, " the most beautiful person I’ve ever met."
"Quatre," Trowa said hanging his head slightly, " there are a lot of things you don’t know about me. Things that would change the way you thought of me."
"Trowa," Quatre said, taking Trowa’s hand as he did so, " I do love you, and nothing, no matter how bad, is going to change the way I feel about you." At this Quatre reached up to lightly caress Trowa’s cheek. Just this simple touch made Trowa quiver all over. Then, before Trowa realized what was happening, Quatre raised himself up on his knees and kissed him. At first, he was so shocked that he didn’t know what to do, but the surprise quickly wore off, and he opened his lips to allow Quatre access to his mouth. As Quatre’s tongue entered his mouth and caressed his own, the room seemed to spin. He was distantly aware of the sound of wineglasses hitting the floor, and of the fact that he was being lain down with his head pillowed by the couch arm. All of this registered to him only as if through a haze, as if it was happening to someone else, and they were later telling him about it. All that seemed to be real to him was the wonderful sensation of Quatre’s tongue doing remarkable things to his own, and the warm weight of his Quatre’s body as he lay atop of him. It felt as if they were merging. As if their two souls had always been one, and that now their bodies were completing the act of joining. Quatre broke the kiss, and Trowa opened his eyes and looked onto the face of an angel. To his eyes Quatre seemed to glow with an inner light. He tentatively reached up his hand and ran his fingers through Quatre’s hair.
"Trowa, are you alright, why are you crying?" Now that he thought of it he did feel something wet and moist rolling down his cheeks. Was this crying? He had always thought that crying was an emotion connected to sadness, but now he felt as if his heart would burst from all the joy and wonder contained in it. Demons weren’t supposed to be able to cry anyway. He ran a finger under his eye and stared in astonishment and wonder at his tear. "Trowa, are you ok?" Quatre asked again with a concerned look on his face.
" I’m fine Quatre," he said with awe in his voice. Then he looked again on the face of his lover. "How could anything be as beautiful as you?" he asked. Quatre blushed and then stood up. Trowa quickly sat up, afraid that he had offended Quatre in some way, but before he could say anything, Quatre reached out and took his hand.
"Follow me," he said with a smile. He complied, eager to follow Quatre wherever he led. Quatre led him into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.
As soon as the door was shut firmly, Quatre turned around and kissed him again. This time was just as rapturous as the first, and Trowa, feeling his legs turn to jelly, quickly sat down on the bed. As soon as he did, he Quatre’s hands unfastening the buttons of his shirt, but he was to preoccupied with the exquisite things Quatre’s mouth was doing to his to try and stop the process even if he had wanted to, which, he realized, he definitely did not want to do. In both and instant and an eternity his shirt was lying open and loose around him, and Quatre was running his hands up and down his bare chest and abdomen. Wherever Quatre’s hand’s touched, it felt as if liquid fire was being trailed down his skin. It was exhilarating. Quatre was now nibbling his neck in a most extraordinary way, eliciting moans and gasps from him that he didn’t even know he was capable of making. As he did this, Trowa noticed that he was also unbuttoning his own shirt. Every button seemed to take infinite time to unfasten, but when, at long last, Quatre raised up long enough to remove his shirt entirely, the sight of his flawless ivory skin made Trowa’s pulse race, and he seemed to have no control over his hands as he reached up to delicately run his hands over it, stopping to play with Quatre’s soft pink nipples. This elicited a moan of pleasure from Quatre that Trowa found to be the most potent aphrodisiac ever contrived. He couldn’t contain himself as he sat up and paused just long enough to tear his own shirt completely off of himself and then proceeded to kiss the small nubs gently nibbling at them. He then ran his tongue over them and then pull away to gently blow his breath across them, which sent chills up Quatre’s spine and made him quiver.
Before long they were both completely naked and taking great pleasure in gently exploring each others bodies, finding out exactly what pleased the other, and then replicating it as many times as possible. Trowa thought at one point, when Quatre took him into his mouth and gently swirled his tongue about the tip, that he would loose control right then and there. He then replicated this procedure on Quatre, and he thought that he had never tasted anything so sweet as the pure taste of his lover, both his flesh and the clear precum that was leaking from him. As he was doing this, Quatre gently told him to stop. He was looked up with a concerned expression; afraid that he had done something wrong when Quatre rolled over and opened the nightstand drawer. He then pulled out a small tube of something.
"Trowa, I want you to make love to me. Trowa didn’t understand at first, but then as the true meaning of what Quatre had said seeped through the haze, he nodded his consent and Quatre poured a generous amount of the lubrication on Trowa, and then poured some into his own hand and proceeded to ready himself for his lovers entrance.
As Trowa entered Quatre, his one thought was that this must truly be heaven. It was so sweet that he again almost lost himself then and there, and had to once again reign himself in. Before long, they had a steady rhythm going, and the moans mingling with the sounds of their bodies colliding with each other formed a sort of erotic choir. However, it all ended to soon to Trowa, as he finally lost control and loosed his seed into his angel’s body. Moments later, Quatre, whose breathing had become ragged, screamed out Trowa’s name, and himself climaxed, spilling cum all over his abdomen. They fell asleep sweaty, sticky and sated, tangled in each other. Trowa’s last thought before he lost consciousness was that if he thought God would hear him, he would have said a prayer for the first time in his immortal life then, a prayer of thanks.
Trowa woke suddenly covered in a cold sweat. Glancing down at his arm, he saw a long jagged cut. He knew that there would be more on his back and chest. It wasn’t a dream. They knew, and they weren’t pleased. He got out of bed and walked to the open window, where a cool spring breeze was blowing in. Leaning on the windowsill he hung his head, feeling the weight of what this meant. How could they know? He had done everything he could think of to hide himself. He glanced over at Quatre who was still asleep. Trowa couldn’t repress the small smile that came to his lips. Quatre was sleeping in his usual manner, tangled in sheets, hair messed up, yet still managing to look like a halo around his angelic face, and taking up far more space on the bed than the laws of physics would allow for a body his size. They had been together for three months now, and, for Trowa at least, everyday was more wonderful than the first. It was in that moment that Trowa realized what he already knew in his heart that he had to do. It was never really a question now that he thought about it. He would have to go to them. If he didn’t, then they would come to get him, and probably kill Quatre when they did. This was his love’s only chance. As he looked at him again, he tried to soak up every detail; commit every feature to his mind. He then got dressed and turned to leave.
As he approached the door, he noticed something wet sliding down his cheeks. He was crying again. He immediately flashed back to the first time he had experienced this odd mortal sensation. Quatre kissing him, and his body feeling it would burst from all the happiness contained within it. This time, however, it was different. It felt as if someone were scooping out his heart slowly, so as to increase the pain. He had never cried with sorrow. Before he had met Quatre he hadn’t thought it possible for him to cry for any reason, and then, after that kiss and the first time he had shed a tear, he had had no reason to cry. Now, as he walked out the door on the one thing that had ever made his life worth living, he wept unabashedly.
As he walked down the street, he noticed small things. The trees budding, a couple kissing in an entryway, and it made him think. Never again would he feel alive, never again would Quatre’s kisses take his breath away. Then he looked up at the stars, shinning like diamonds in the night sky. It made him remember he and Quatre sitting on the roof of Quatre’s apartment building and looking at them. He had never noticed them before, but Quatre had pointed them out to him, and made him realize their beauty. Quatre was like that, he had pointed out so many things to Trowa that should have been obvious, and made him notice them. As he rounded the corner, he looked up at the abandoned church. The moon was shinning upon it, giving its shadows a sinister appearance. Its broken windows stared blankly at him like eye sockets in some sort of monstrous skull. Trowa had been here many times before, and knew that its outer appearance gave only a hint of the pain and loss experienced by those brought there. It was a place of misery and death. A gathering place for demons as they did their best to ravage what God had created. He took a deep breath, brought forth the image of Quatre clearly in his mind, and walked back into the darkness.
Trowa hang limp from a set of manacles covered in blood and chained to a bar across the ceiling. His feet were barely scraping the floor as his bruised and battered body swung back and forth from the last whip lash. As his limp bangs covered his eyes, tears, filled with the blood of many cuts ran down his cheeks. Over and over the mantra he whispered, barely discernable over the creaking of the wood, the crack of the whip, or the sound of the other torturer sharpening his knife before going at it again, was "for Quatre, for Quatre," over and over as blood ran in rivulets down his back and over his bare chest.
Quatre sat bolt upright in bed. He was chilled from the cold sheen of sweat that had formed over his body. He hugged his knees rocking back and forth as tears streamed down his cheeks. This was the third night since Trowa had vanished, and the third night since he started having these dreams. Each night was worse than the next, and it had gotten so bad that he had taken to taking sleeping pills to get passed the anxiety of going to bed. He couldn’t take much more of this. He got up and wandered over to the window to stare at the rain that was pouring down outside. Still chilled, he hugged himself and leaned his forehead against the glass.
"Where are you Trowa? Why didn’t you even say goodbye? And why, when I went to file a missing persons report did they tell me that the only Trowa Barton on record had been dead for fifty years?". It had been so frustrating to be able to give nothing to the police. Not Trowa’s social security number, not his birth date, not anything but a physical description. It was only then that he had realized how well Trowa had avoided those topics, or redirected the conversation somewhere else whenever it had gone in that direction. He knew almost nothing about him. He didn’t even have a picture. "DAMNIT," he cried out suddenly, striking the window with his fist as he did so. "I will not let it end this way. I’ll find him if it kills me, and I’ll start tonight. Those dreams are probably just anxiety over not knowing where he is, but damnit they’re the only lead I have."
He ran to his closet, threw on an old sweater, a pair of jeans, and his tennis shoes. He then grabbed an old coat, and went out into the rain.
Quatre stood dejectedly on the street corner. The windblown rain hitting his face felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing his flesh. He had been searching for hours, and had come up with nothing. He would have given up hours ago, but for the nagging feeling that Trowa needed him. Now, standing in the slum, he considered giving up and trying to get some sleep. "Just a few more blocks", he told himself, "then I’ll go home". Just when he was about to take his own advice and give up for the night, he saw it. It was the same church as in his dream. Quatre stood in disbelief. It was one thing to theorize that his dreams would lead him to Trowa, but it was another matter all together to actually see it happen. He had been so sure before, but now, he was beginning to doubt himself. As he looked up at the forlorn building, he was consumed with dread. Then he thought of Trowa hanging there and being beaten, and his resolve firmed. His legs no longer shook, and he started walking toward the building.
He crept silently through the church, staying in the shadows. He could hear the sounds of harsh laughter and the echoing of footsteps as the fell on the stone floor. In the distance, he could see a faint light, throwing shadows out among the columns of the sanctuary. Creeping closer, he hid behind one of the columns near the light and peered around it. He was horrified by what he saw. There, hanging by a chain, just like in his dream, was Trowa, only this time; it was real, and much worse. There was blood, so much blood. Tears welled up in his eyes, and only the sight of the two burly torturers kept him from crying out. He knew he had to do something, but these men were huge, and armed, one with a whip with multiple tongues, and the other with a knife large enough to be called a short sword. Then he felt something against his foot. He glanced down and saw that it was a large piece of pipe. Picking it up, he peered back around the column and waited for his chance. Then he saw it, the one closest to him had his back turned, and the other was holding Trowa’s face in his hand, intent on what he was saying to him. Quickly he stepped out and, with strength borne of desperation, he hit the whip bearer in the back of the head with the pipe.
There was a dull, wet, cracking sound, and, with a grunt, the man went down. Upon hearing this, the other man looked up and saw Quatre. Then, with a yell, he ran at him. Quatre tried to sidestep, but he misjudged slightly and the knife sliced his upper arm. Quatre cried out in pain, then spun on the ball of his feet and swung at the taller man’s kneecap. He connected, and watched the kneecap slide around to the back of the man’s leg in a most unnatural manner. The man screamed in agony, and dropped to the ground like a stone, dropping his knife in the process. Quatre picked up the knife, and, filled with rage, prepared to plunge it into the other man. Then, he heard Trowa yell, "Quatre stop!"
Quatre stopped in mid plunge, but didn’t move the knife. His eyes were like ice as he said, " why Trowa? This man was torturing you he deserves to die."
"Quatre, if you kill him, you will be no better than him. You will have lowered yourself to his level. Please don’t do that Quatre. Stay the beautiful creature I fell in love with."
At these words Quatre’s eyes began to water, and he visibly fought down the urge to slay the man who was still writhing in agony on the spot. Then, with a cry, he threw down the knife, and picked up the pipe. He then hit the man in the head, knocking him unconscious. Spitting on him, he turned and walked over to Trowa. Then, through his tears, he saw the full extent of Trowa’s injuries. He was hanging over a puddle of his own blood. His chest and back were covered in lacerations. His arms, stomach, and legs were covered with deep cuts, and he was shivering with cold, covered in nothing but his skin. "Oh my God, Trowa. Let me get you down." He then unraveled the chain from around Trowa’s wrists and helped his injured lover to stand.
As he was trying to help Trowa to walk out of the place, there was a rumble like a freight train passing close, then the columns began to sway like trees in the wind and the ground began to shake. They fell to the floor, and looking up, Quatre saw a sight that chilled the marrow in his bones.
As Quatre gazed up, the shadows in front of him seemed to solidify into one point and then expand until half of the massive room was filled by it. Suddenly, a voice like the ringing of great bells slightly out of tune pounded through his head, making it feel like it was going to split open. "You seemed to make quick work of my servants mortal, but I will drag your soul to unimaginable pain in hell for your impudence".
Trowa stared in horror as Quatre stood in front of him, feet slightly apart, pipe raised for battle. Trowa knew this demon. Alshesh was the torturer of hell. The one who punished demons. Quatre would die a million painful deaths for all eternity, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Suddenly, many things happened at once. First, Alshesh’s darkness swept forward like a pyroclastic flow to sweep over them. Then, time seemed to stand still, as Trowa did the only thing he could think of to save his love. He prayed. As he cried out to God, everything seemed to stop.
"GOD," he screamed, "please, hear my voice. I ask not for my life, but for Quatre’s; one of your precious humans. He has done nothing to deserve hell. I am too lost to be saved, but please, if you are a God of love and mercy, spare him. Please, spare my love". Then with a jolt reality snapped back into place. But, suddenly, as if it had always been there, there appeared a pillar of pure white light stood between the two of them and the darkness sweeping in. A voice like a million clear silver trumpets filled the air.
"You cannot have these two servant of the dark! Back to the depths of hell from whence you came!" Alshesh fell back before the light like fog before the blazon glory of the sun. There was the sound like the very gates of hell were collapsing, then, the darkness was gone, as if it had never been. The only thing to let Trowa know it hadn’t been a dream was the pillar of light, shining like sunlight through a crystal vase in the center of the room. Then a voice filled the air; a voice that seemed to take away all the pain, and fill all emptiness. Trowa felt as if he could wrap up in that voice like a blanket and stay safe and secure forever. "God has heard your prayer Trowa. He is pleased. Because of the love you have for this man before you, you have been given a great gift. You are to be given a chance to redeem yourself. You are to be mortal, live as a mortal, love as a mortal, and die as a mortal. You have never been to lost to be saved Trowa. All you had to do was cry out and God would be there waiting. Live in love Trowa".
Then the light was gone, leaving only the spots in Trowa’s vision to let him know it had ever been. He then realized that somewhere in all of this, he had stood up. Glancing over at Quatre, he saw the other boy’s eyes full of wonder, love, and tears of pure ecstasy. He walked over to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. Quatre gave a start, as if being wakened from a dream. He turned his eyes on Trowa, and they were full to the brim with love and understanding. "Quatre, you risked hell for me. Why?"
"Trowa, did you not do the same for me? I love you. Hell would be a small price to pay if I knew that you were ok. Trowa, your wounds, they’re…healed," Quatre said with wonder in his voice. It was then that Trowa noticed for the first time that Quatre was right. His wounds were as if they had never been inflicted. Trowa then looked again into those eyes; those beautiful, wonderful, loving eyes. As he reached up to caress Quatre’s cheek, he noticed that he was again crying. Apparently, this was something that he was going to have to get used to. Suddenly, the full extent of the events of a few moments ago pierced the awe and amazement that had held him spellbound, and Trowa threw back his head and laughed with sheer joy. He then took a startled Quatre into his arms and whirled him around as he laughed and smiled. Finally, setting Quatre down gently he planted a gentle kiss on those delicate lips. "I love you," he whispered.
"I love you Trowa. There are many things we need to discuss".
"Yes there are, but for now, they can wait. Lets go home". They walked hand in hand out into their new life.