by Jenn Abiding
Trowa's hovering fist clenches tighter for a moment; he turns and, seeing it's Duo, relaxes his hand as it drops to his side, unused.
Instead of asking what Trowa's doing, Duo shakes his head: "Why do you have to be so fraught all the time," he whispers. "You're fucking tragical, pal."
Trowa regards him through the strangely patterned play of shadows, in the diffusion of light seeping around the edges of the door, drifting down through the hall skylights. "I'm not sure that's a real word," he whispers back at length.
"I don't care if it's a word or not," Duo says. "It's what you are." He eyes Trowa's still curled fist. "Are you gonna knock, or what?"
"Not so loud," Trowa starts, when the door opens:
"I thought you'd - oh!" Quatre stops and smiles at Trowa. Smiles; his lips still parted, not speaking now but just smiling.
Trowa wants to smile back.
"I couldn't sleep," he says.
"Neither could we." Quatre's smile widens, and as Duo pushes by, hip-checking Trowa on his way, Trowa notices the snacks in his hand. "Would you like to join us?"
Trowa hesitates. He doesn't want to intrude, doesn't want to take advantage of Quatre's consummate hospitality. Over Quatre's shoulder, Duo raises his eyebrows and, with the slightest shake of his head, mouths, 'Fucking. Tragical.'
Trowa hopes that in the dim lighting, Quatre hasn't caught the flick of his gaze, off and now returning. "Thank you." He smiles, and Quatre smiles more.
Chocolates and dried fruits spill from their bags where Duo's dropped them on the bed, sprawled out himself on his belly, propped on one elbow as his other hand combs for papaya nuggets, braid trailing down his bare back, the tip resting over the waistband of lavender paisley pajama bottoms.
Lavender paisley.
The sound of a deliberately cleared throat snaps Trowa's eyes to Duo's; caught staring, Trowa says simply, "Quatre has a pair like this."
"Oh yes," Quatre says, chewing a coconut-rolled date, "they're mine. Duo didn't bring any sleepwear, so I lent him these."
"I didn't bring anything because I don't own anything!"
Before Duo can launch a full defense, Quatre tells him it's alright. "Trowa didn't bring anything last time, either. In fact," he turns to Trowa, "I think I lent you this same pair, didn't I?" Trowa nods, and Quatre chuckles as he touches Trowa a few centimeters above the ankle, brushing the fabric of Trowa's own pajamas against the skin that had been exposed in Quatre's: "They only came down to here on you."
"They're a perfect fit on Duo, though," Trowa observes, and Duo gets to his feet on the bed, model-poses, showing off every angle and curve.
"This is just one of the benefits of being Quatre's friend," he says, half-twirling.
Before Duo can clarify himself, Trowa gestures and notes, "They're a little tight across there."
Already looking back at them over his shoulder, Duo glances down, flicks his braid impatiently and slides the hand on his hip out of the way to get a better look at himself. "What are you saying," he feigns indignation, "that I have a fat ass?"
Quatre laughs and, ever the diplomat, offers, "I think he's just saying he likes it." Duo arches his brows at the implication, and Trowa also looks at Quatre; but their friend's attention is turned to picking coconut shreds from the mix, and it's impossible to tell how innocent of the tease he is.
Unflustered, Trowa replies neutrally, "I'm just saying it's not a perfect fit, after all."
"Riiight," Duo elongates the word.
"What?" Trowa wants to know. Fingertips feeding himself coconut, Quatre looks up.
"What?" Duo echoes back. "Nothing, dude, I'm not arguing with you."
The grin on his face is wiped off by the flung pillow hitting him squarely.
Sadly, the innocent bystanding snacks were the main casualties of their battle. The snacks, and the comforter sprayed and smeared by chocolate shrapnel.
Quatre insisted it was fine, wouldn't hear their apologies, claimed an equal share in the responsibility; and that was that. Still, the ruination of the comforter had a sobering effect, and rough play gave way to easy conversation.
They're lounging now, stretched and curled to individual satisfaction; Trowa's on his back, hands behind his head, eyes closed. He hears Quatre ask Duo a question. Hears no response. Hears a gentle snore. He raises himself to see Quatre looking at Duo; then Quatre's looking at him. "I suppose he'll be alright to sleep in here," Quatre says.
Trowa nods. Then: "It's late. I should go."
"You don't have to," Quatre says, wide-eyed, the slightest furrow to his brow, the slightest hint of surprise or confusion, or. "The bed's certainly big enough for the three of us."
Trowa hesitates. Feels the smoothness of his own brow, feels the furrows beneath his own surface. Hears himself say, over Duo's snores, "Alright."
Quatre turns out the lights, climbs back onto the bed, settles between them. It's quiet, except for Duo's congested breathing on the far side, Quatre's softer and closer, just outside Trowa's own. It's nice like this, these rhythms and closeness and; and Quatre echoes, articulates him in a whisper: "I'm glad you're here."
Trowa hadn't thought Quatre was asleep, but he jumps inside a little anyhow. "Thank you for inviting me to visit," he whispers back.
"No, I mean." Quatre scootches closer, his knee bumps Trowa's thigh, his shy hand finds Trowa's arm: "I'm glad you're. Here."
Trowa's heart jumps, thuds against the curved bones of his ribs.
"Trowa," Quatre whispers; and Trowa's heart makes another jump, beats in his mouth now, heartbeats filling the space where words should be. "Trowa," Quatre murmurs again. "I'd like to – can I kiss you?"
"Duo..."
"Duo's asleep." Quatre's closer, his breath warm on Trowa's cheek, his foot warm as it pushes up the cuff of Trowa's pajamas, touches his bared ankle. Then he pulls back, searching Trowa's face in the dark, brushing the hair back to search his eyes. "Or is it Duo you want? I thought it was me..."
Trowa's heart fills his entire mouth. He opens it; his mouth is full of his heart, and he can't speak.
Fucking tragical.
"It is," the words spill out around the pulse pressing on his tongue, beating in his mouth, "it's you..."
Quatre smiles at him, in the dark Trowa sees it. Quatre kisses him, licks the heart in Trowa's mouth, soothes the beating, warm wet soothing strokes...
"Duo," Trowa whispers again, and Quatre makes a small sound of displeasure.
"He's asleep," Quatre says. "Listen." Trowa does: hears Duo's steady nasal breathing; hears the hitch, the snort, the smooth suspiration as he sinks back down in uninterrupted slumber. "Okay?" Quatre touches his face. "Let me kiss you again," Quatre says softly. "I want to, okay?" Trowa doesn't immediately respond. "Okay?" Quatre presses; presses his lips to Trowa's softly. "And say my name this time."
The tease vibrates on Trowa's lips; the genuine request resonates on his tongue. He swallows hard, his heart slips back into place.
"Quatre..."
And Quatre sighs, sighsmiles into Trowa's mouth. Shifts closer, so close. Kisses him again. Asks if they can kiss a little more, and Trowa asks if Quatre wants to go somewhere else, and Quatre says he just wants to kiss a little more, just kissing.
Trowa smiles. "Yes." Says they can kiss, "we can just kiss," says he wants to, too; but does Quatre want to go somewhere else? Looks at him, only at him.
"Oh!" Quatre catches on. Glances at Duo, back to Trowa, only Trowa. "Yes." Kisses and smiles. Careful as he - kiss - climbs over Trowa, out of bed, draws Trowa with him, kisses him out of the room, kisses him down the hall, kisses him, just kissing...
Trowa doesn't make it to the bed before Duo's sitting up, blinking and peering at him. "Hey." Sleepy grin, glances around. "Where's Quat?"
"Asleep."
"In your bed?" Duo smirks.
"All the beds are his," Trowa says. "This is his house." Duo gives him a long-suffering sigh, and Trowa continues, "Anyhow, I just came back to thank you."
"You don't have to thank me," Duo waves him off: "It's just one of the benefits," he grins, "of being my friend!"