by Lady Bast
"I don't know what you're doing, but it certainly seems to be working."
Heero drank deeply from his water skin and shouted a command at the soldiers practising their swordplay on the training ground. When the soldiers were performing to his satisfaction, he turned back to Trowa. "Nothing much has changed yet, but the Prince seems more relaxed. He no longer looks for danger like a hunted animal."
"Do you think so?" Trowa sipped at cool beer flavoured lightly with dates. "He hasn't changed his policies at all. I would have thought that you'd have given up on him by now."
"I had given up on him before. You're the one who wanted to give him a chance. Even Rashid is satisfied with your progress. He knows better than anyone how distrustful the Prince has become and he believes it will be some time yet before his men are allowed to resume their month-long visits." Heero paused a moment, lost in thought. "How long has it been since you started your campaign? Twenty days?"
Trowa smiled. "Eighteen. You make it sound like a war."
His good humour was not returned. Instead, Heero fixed him with his hawk-like stare. "Isn't it? It might be different for you. If you lodge an official complaint, you'll be placed elsewhere, but the people here are trapped. Katrah-en's fear is oppressive."
"Hmm. I suppose you're right. You know," said Trowa thoughtfully, "he isn't such a bad person when he is talking about something other than politics. He enjoys music and can play a harp though few people know it. A servant's work, he calls it."
"Servants or women," agreed Heero. "Mind you, many noble sons play with instruments before they leave the women's quarters."
"Did you?"
Heero laughed then. "I'm the son of a soldier; I have no talent for music. The best that I could do was beat a sistrum in time to my mother's playing."
"Tetiun is teaching me to play his flute. It's long and cumbersome, but I enjoy the sound of it."
"You can perform a duet at the next feast."
Trowa smiled. "I hardly think my skill is good enough for that and I'm not sure what Prince Quatre will think of a second instrument intruding upon his melodies."
"He might enjoy it. He seems to have enjoyed everything else about your company."
"I think it's far more likely that the Prince would resent me if I were to intrude upon his music," replied Trowa. "He doesn't work well with others."
"He seems to work well enough with you."
Trowa willed his heart to beat more quietly as he took another drink to avoid meeting Heero's eyes. "It's true, you know," the soldier said. "Everyone talks about how well you get along in the audience chamber. He acts as though he's in control of every situation - perhaps he even is - but you can't deny that he often looks in your direction to gauge your reaction. You might sit below the throne, but he values your opinion."
"The audience chamber," repeated Trowa. "Yes, well...I suppose he values the opinion of another ruler."
"If you like. Where are you off to today? Planning to practise any longer?"
Trowa smiled. "Not here. I think I've had quite enough of Paneb trying to split my ribs." He tilted his head slightly as though trying to dislodge a though. "I found those...pots...Relena asked after and thought I would bring them to her. Then the heat of the afternoon will be spent with Selket-em-paf and I planned to go to the market before this evening."
"Relena does have a fondness for pottery," replied Heero non-plussed. "If Hilde's there, be sure to show her too. I don't think she's ever seen the work of your people. Hey! Ta-memu! Your left arm up! You'll have your head cut off if you keep dropping your shield!" Heero shook his head, looking put-upon. "You'll have to excuse me. I should be down there watching them myself. You can still stay and watch, if it pleases you."
Trowa shook his head. "Your soldiers are very good and put on quite a show, but I should probably be going. I think I'm working harder now than when I was simply a prisoner with a diplomatic mission."
"Take Shusef with you for now and I'll send Paneb with you to the market. He's strong enough to deter trouble, but placid enough not to interfere if you have plans," said Heero, standing.
"Thank you," said Trowa with a smile. "You are a most considerate jailer."
"And you are a most considerate prisoner. Leave the cups. A servant will retrieve them."
Trowa nodded and raised his hand in farewell as Heero gave a brief bow and headed over to where Ta-memu was still struggling with his shield. Then, leaving the cups, but taking the small jar of beer, he turned and headed back into the palace.
"I come bearing gifts!"
Trowa lifted the clay jug and then spread his arms slightly, amused by the way he had become accustomed to the thought of physical assault during ritual greetings. That Hilde would be the one to fly from the room she kept with Bakara surprised him, but he smiled when she did not waste his offering, throwing her arms around him. "Come in! Come in! My mistress is out with Wufei, but you're always welcome here. Is the gift for me too?"
"I thought servants were supposed to bow," he teased, earning himself a playful swat. "Well this isn't the whole of the gift," he said, extracting himself from her hold and raising the jug of beer. "Tetiun is getting more from the kitchen. I brought this first taste for Duo, but you can have it if you can reach it."
Hilde snorted. Though slightly below average height, she never minded Trowa's little jokes. Taller than any of her countrymen, the Teresh prince ridiculed his size as much as her own. "You underestimate me," she said. "Is your gift stoppered?"
Before he could answer, Hilde gave a little jump and hooked one arm around Trowa's bicep, using his strength to propel her upward even as her weight drew his arm down. The jug tilted slightly when she grasped it and both cried out in surprise as a light spray of beer rained down on them. Afraid of being soaked, Trowa released the jug and Hilde clapped a hand over the top as she landed on her feet, then raised the vessel in salute and drank deeply. "Unstoppered then," she said with a self-satisfied smile. "Come into the back. I think the one you're looking for is there. I'll wash the beer out of your hair while you talk."
Hilde was certainly the most daring woman Trowa had ever encountered, but her manner charmed him. Not for the first time he wondered if Duo was truly aware of what he was getting himself into. Shaking his head, Trowa followed her.
"Oy! Trowa!" a cheery voice called to him before he had entered the small room at the back of the apartments. "You'll forgive me for not greeting you, I hope. I'm rather...encumbered."
The owner of the voice reclined on a cushion pushed up against the wall, the prone form of Bakara sprawled over his belly. "So I see," said Trowa, forcing a smile. "I'm surprised your voice doesn't wake her."
Duo did not look well. Though it had only been a few days since Trowa had last felt safe enough to steal a few moments in Relena's apartments, the priest's health seemed to have deteriorated rapidly. It was no one thing, no weakness that Trowa could name. Duo seemed more alert, stronger in body and in mind, but it seemed as though the shine had left his hair and the sparkle his eyes. Every part of him looked parched and cracked like soil that has been without water for many seasons. Ghostly shadows caressed his bones, hinting at the weight he had lost. Nevertheless, he seemed happy to have company.
"Nah," he replied, dismissing the thought with a wave of his hand. "I supposed she's comfortable with me." Hilde sat beside him and took another drink of beer before passing him the rest. "Thanks, Hilde," he said, and drank deeply.
"Be careful, you're spilling," Hilde scolded him.
"I'll wash."
"So you keep saying. You're lucky you don't have to explain why we need so much bath water all of a sudden."
"I thought you had decided on how terrible and dry everything was here. Not at all like the Delta."
"True, but that excuse won't last. Trowa doesn't complain and he's from across the Great Green."
"But Trowa's a big, strapping man...OW!"
Duo jumped when Hilde dealt his arm a stinging slap. The noise and movement startled Bakara who woke and began to fuss. Sighing, Hilde picked up the infant. "I'll bring her into the front. You're entirely too loud," she said, making a silly face at Duo and nodding to Trowa as she left the room.
"Serves you right," said Trowa, smiling.
Duo rubbed his arm and grinned. "This is why men fall in love. I hadn't expected it to happen - especially not so quickly - but it's rare to find someone who isn't afraid of me."
"Afraid of you? Everyone loves you," said Trowa, curious. "If they didn't you'd have been found out by now. All the guards are on your side as long as you sit quietly and do nothing to put them or their families in danger."
"I have a lot of friends and acquaintances," Duo admitted. "There are a lot of people who like me for who I am, but they're afraid of what I am. I'm the man they stop and speak with in the market, not the man who marries their daughters. I'm bad luck. If I bark an order, it would take an official decree from the Prince to make them disobey me. After all, if they upset me, I could do more than simply curse them for life. I could curse them into the afterlife and nobody wants that."
"Would you?"
"Even if I would, could I?" Duo swirled the last of the beer in the jar, then drank it quickly. "I doubt the gods are foolish enough to take my curses seriously. Men - as much as I love my people - aren't nearly so clever. They're afraid of everything. Hilde, now...she's afraid of nothing. She's seen too many of us demonstrate what idiots we are to be intimidated by rumours of bad luck. The only bad luck we make is for ourselves." He offered Trowa a lopsided grin. "She seems to like me anyway. That's the only woman worth marrying."
"That's cheerful news. You've made official arrangements," asked Trowa. He was somewhat disappointed when Duo shook his head.
"She's willing, but I haven't asked permission from her family. I don't think they'd refuse - being married to a priest is a step up from being a palace servant - but how could I put the burden of my health on her? If I knew it would improve, it wouldn't be a problem, but I won't know until I'm out of the city. I can't hide here forever."
"Will you go back to Kom Ombo?"
"They don't want me there. If I can, I'll head to the capital. Solo will vouch for me and I can work there, even if my position in the temple is much lower. In fact, that might be preferable. What's more, I could ask Hilde's father in person." Duo fingered his braid and flicked the tip in Trowa's direction. "Maybe I'll even hide this under a head cloth. Pretend I'm respectable."
Trowa chuckled. "I wish you luck. We'll miss your company. Will you be going soon?"
"As soon as I'm well enough to sneak out of here. Should be soon enough. Although," said Duo, "I'm rather curious about how this will all work out. I worry about Quatre, you know. Heero doesn't think I should, but I can't help it. I just...I remember..."
"How he was before?" Duo nodded. "Rashid says the same," said Trowa to reassure him. "I believe you both. I can see hints of it sometimes. If he stopped creating worries for himself, I think he could find that part of himself again."
"I hear the two of you have been getting along fairly well."
Trowa shrugged. "I'd like to think so. Sometimes I think he mistakes me for you. He misses you, you know."
"He misses what I can do for him," said Duo bitterly.
"No, he misses you although he would never admit it," replied Trowa. "He talks about you when he doesn't think to stop himself. Wufei too."
"His father..."
"He's decided to forgo talking to the dead for the time being," said Trowa with a slight smile.
Duo's expression softened. "That's good. He never needed magic to be a good ruler. At least he won't be lacking for other things, eh?"
"He might disagree with you." Trowa could not help but be amused by Duo's look of surprise. "It isn't that I don't want to, but I'm not you," he explained. "I'm not a scapegoat. I know what the dangers are in loving other men and I accept them. I want him to as well. Although I wouldn't go so far as to call it part of the problem, I think it might be part of the reason you never really succeeded with him. Sex with men is just another service for you, isn't it?"
Duo bit his lip. "I wouldn't call it a service, exactly..."
"But it's a method you use to achieve an end," persisted Trowa. "Add to that your station, which was to perform duties for the Prince that might be considered immoral, and I think that it might have made the whole thing seem a lot less real to him. Instead of making him realize he's done something worthy of punishment, you were absolving his sin, making him blameless."
"I hadn't thought of it that way," said Duo quietly.
"it isn't a failure," said Trowa. "Just one man trying to do far too much. In any event, if he's interested in me, I'm willing, but I want it to be his decision and his responsibility. If he can accept the consequences of one action, perhaps he can do the same for other things. It's only a matter of time."
"It's killing you, isn't it?"
Trowa laughed. "You have no idea."
"It's my business to have an idea," replied Duo, smiling slyly. "I've spent my life learning two things. Only one of them is how to kill people."
"Don't mock yourself," said Trowa. "Not when it comes to death."
They sat together for several moments in a silence that was not entirely uncomfortable before Trowa spoke again. "It's always a pleasure to talk with you, but I came for a more serious reason today. I know you were helping Wufei and the others to communicate with people outside of the city. I need to know about your contacts."
Duo's voice was calm, but his expression betrayed his fear. "Don't play that game, Trowa. Please...don't."
"How can I not? Most of the people trapped here are now my friends as well." Trowa feigned interest in the detail of a small box - presumably Hilde's - to avoid meeting Duo's eyes. "It won't be an elaborate system - I know that's too risky - but there have been several concerns...it's just a matter of letting people know that everyone is fine," he said, neglecting to mention Wufei's desire to leave. "Inuiu's willing to provide some misdirection on this end and now would be the perfect time as I'm expected to send a report to the capital, but I need contacts for each estate and reliable messengers."
"Well, if the heralds are involved, I suppose you have some small measure of protection," said Duo with obvious reluctance.
"One message to each household. Staggered," Trowa promised him. "Fewer if there is someone you can trust to spread the word on my behalf."
Duo nervously ran a hand over his hair and sighed. "I suppose a few messages couldn't hurt, but have Meiran forward most of them for you. Iras won't do it on her own, but she's sympathetic and will look the other way if Meiran sends letters to the other estates. There are only a few of the sisters who don't get along with Iras and some of their servants may need to be contacted separately. Now, I never really use messengers unless I have no other choice. I prefer to find trustworthy merchants who are always happy to make a profit for so little effort..." Trowa listened carefully as Duo outlined his methods and made mental notes to ask Relena which of the merchants had been the most fair in their dealings.
"It's a dangerous game, you're playing," said Duo when he had finished.
"So is war, but I've made it this far."
"A prisoner in the desert."
"I've seen worse," said Trowa. "As long as I'm still alive, I'm winning."
"If you do anything to hurt him..."
Startled by the ferocity of the implied threat, Trowa's good humour vanished and he turned to look Duo in the eye. The priest's face seemed oddly contorted in a mixture of anger and concern. It reminded Trowa of the day after the sandstorm - an emotion that belonged to Duo and yet was more than Duo - a parody of a living being. "I won't. Not like this. Not intentionally," said Trowa quietly. "I wouldn't do it at all if I could convince him to send out letters himself to explain the situation. I've tried and he's refused. He hasn't even informed his own family of this decision. I want to diffuse the worry to buy us some time."
"He doesn't need another betrayal," Duo managed to snarl from between clenched teeth.
"No, he doesn't," Trowa agreed. "And I won't betray him any more than you did."
Duo gaped and then turned away. Trowa exhaled. He hadn't even been aware that he had been holding his breath. "It's protection, not betrayal," he said. "Everyone knows that. He knows it too, but fear can be very strong."
"I know," said Duo, fiddling with the end of his braid. "I just...I want him to be happy for once and to have someone he can actually talk to and trust. I hope that will be you. I really do." Duo sighed dragged himself to his feet, pulling from one of the larger boxes a small gilded case full of bottles and jars. "Look," he said. "I know you're moving slow and everything, but you're eventually going to need oils or something. I know Het-Hori or Tetiun can get them for you, but I know what he likes and...well, it never hurts to be prepared." He managed a dry chuckle. "Hurts worse if you're not, actually."
The comment startled a laugh out of Trowa. "That was terrible," he said. "How did you get all of this? I hope you haven't been sneaking around the palace."
"Khemti-nub," the priest explained. "She can be expensive, but she's very good at what she she does."
"But if anyone catches her in your apartment..."
"Ah, well...she's made herself Relena's fetch, you see," grinned Duo, affecting a scholarly manner. "Sometimes things are needed that are either not available in the markets or are too expensive. If the item is perishable or unlikely to be missed, what harm is there in borrowing it from someone in disgrace? Until the temple calls for my possessions, no one will stop her provided she takes nothing of any real value. Khemti," he sighed. "I think I'll miss her. I only hope I don't forget her. I've been...forgetting...a lot of things."
Trowa said nothing. There was nothing he could say. Instead, he placed a hand on Duo's shoulder. The priest let it linger a moment, then quickly pulled some vials from his collection and hid them in a basket that he then turned over to Trowa. "These should keep you," he said.
Before Trowa could answer, Hilde appeared in the doorway. "Tetiun's here with food and drink. Do you want me to bring it in?"
"We'll sit in the front," Duo told her. "This room's too dark; I need some sun." When she left, he turned back to Trowa. "Remember what I said. I don't want him hurt."
"I solemnly swear," said Trowa as they left the room, "that I will do nothing until he truly wants me for who I am."
"But I want to. Just once."
"You did just now."
"Your mouth was closed, that's hardly fair."
Trowa sighed and looked up at the Prince. Quatre's eyes - a dazzling blue he had come to associate with the desert sky - shone with a playfulness that had become more and more frequent in their time together. Outside his chambers, the Prince continued to affect an air of cool superiority, but behind closed doors he was slowly reverting to the charming boy that people like Rashid remembered. Perhaps too much like the boy they remembered. Despite their often sensual nature, Trowa often found the Prince's advances as disturbingly childish as they were arousing. It seemed as though, unable to remember a time in his adult like when he had been happy, Quatre had assumed the demeanour of his self before the death of his mother.
However, his sexual appetite was no less that of a man. If anything, he loss of Duo's company and the absolute fear of speaking his needs out loud had increased his desperation for human contact. Burning with his own needs and desires, Trowa knew he could not be denied much longer.
"Prince..."
"Quatre."
"Prince," said Trowa firmly. If Quatre was disheartened by the formality, he gave no sign of it. "I thought you wanted to talk to me about farming districts tonight."
"I do," said Quatre. "And tomorrow night. And for as many nights as it takes should we be...interrupted."
"Are you often interrupted?"
"Yes. There's always some sort of decision to be made," said Quatre loftily. "Sometimes, when a thought occurs to me, I must interrupt myself."
"And there are thoughts occurring to you now?" said Trowa drily. Quatre inclined his head in such a way that he seemed to be agreeing without offering a commitment. Trowa sighed. "Are you sure they're the right thoughts?"
"They are the thoughts that suit me."
"And why me?"
"Because you understand me without words!" said Quatre, his voice coloured with wonder and delight. "Duo could do it, Wufei sometimes, but neither of them were as good at it as you are. Neither of them wanted..."
Quatre trailed off with a look of alarm. Trowa smiled bitterly. "Neither of them were attracted to other men?" he finished. "If you can't say it, how can you feel it?"
"Don't scold me!" snapped Quatre, his face colouring in anger. "I can feel as much as you can! I've already told you the power of words. Words can weigh a soul. You don't understand..."
"If your soul is weighted, you could be judged unfavourably after death," said Trowa. "That's the long and short of it. I never know what to make of you. You claim to not believe in gods or spirits, but you try to communicate with your father and worry about fair judgment."
"I worry about death," said Quatre quietly. "I believe in that."
For a moment, Trowa felt guilty. Why shouldn't Quatre fear the power of death? It had shaped his life. His mother. His father. Jia. Ba-het. He had surely heard about Set-Meketra. How many assassinations had his father ordered in view of his son?
How many had he ordered himself?
"You had Kamenit killed," said Trowa. "How can that be a lesser sin than...than what I am?"
"I ordered no such thing," said Quatre crisply.
"I'm sure you didn't," said Trowa, understanding. "You didn't have to because Duo understands you without words. Actions are nothing but shadows so you merely implied and gestured and he set off to do your bidding, taking all the blame for himself."
"That is his function," replied Quatre. He was tense and uncomfortable, but that was precisely what Trowa wanted.
"He was your friend and by your own system of belief, you damned him."
"He was already damned!" shouted Quatre, jumping to his feet to loom threateningly over Trowa's seated form. "He was already damned and you will not speak his name in front of me ever again! That friend killed my father!"
"And were you terribly sad when your father died?" said Trowa. "Alone and afraid, yes, but did you regret his death?"
Trowa knew he had spoken too quickly the moment the words left his mouth. He regretted them immediately. Quatre gaped, stunned, before his eyes narrowed in fury. "You..." he whispered, his voice trembling with anger. "You know nothing! I lost my father. Not to disease or accident, but to violence. The family is a sacred thing: father, mother, child. The man who loses one is poor, but the man who doesn't want...who can't have..."
For a moment, Quatre teetered on the brink of revelation, then his rage coalesced and he brought his fist crashing down on the table. "Why?" he screamed. "Why do you want to kill me? Get out!"
Surprised by the ferocity of the outburst, Trowa could only sit and stammer. "N-no."
"OUT!"
"NO!" roared Trowa in return. "I am not trying to kill you and I will not leave!"
"You are! You want me to say that I hated my father! You want me to say that it's my fault Duo is what he is! You want me to say...that I don't want a wife and children and that...that I would rather put myself in a position..." Quatre's voice wound down to a whisper as his anger retreated, leaving confusion and bewilderment. "In a position where a family would be impossible," he finished quietly, unthinkingly accepting a cup of wine from Het-Hori who had anticipated his need. He sipped it, hands trembling, and would not look at Trowa.
"I only want you to speak the truth," said Trowa, relaxing. He had not been aware of his tension until his hands loosened their grip on the arms of his chair. "How can I love a man not responsible for his own actions?"
"But..."
"Many noble men with families have concubines or second wives," Trowa persisted. "Why does this not violate your sacred family?"
Quatre hesitated. "Because they are an addition to a family. There is still a man and a wife and may be children. Second wives strengthen the family and provide children if the Chief Wife cannot."
"Then what," said Trowa calmly, rationally, "is the different between a second wife who is female and one who is male?"
"But I..."
"Can keep a wife to provide you with an heir and enjoy whatever pleasure you like on the side. In all fairness," mused Trowa, "it would be best to let her do the same. If you don't want them to be officially acknowledged, give them positions in the palace."
"There would be talk."
"There's talk now." Trowa paused, then reached out to gently take Quatre's hand. "You don't need to think of all this tonight. Lie down and I will massage you. You'll be happier and more relaxed."
Quatre resisted him at first, but finally allowed himself to be led to his couch where he sat stiffly, trying not to reveal the least bit of emotion. Trowa said nothing, but gently removed the Prince's pectoral, handing it to Het-Hori and making a gesture that brought him a bowl, a jug of water, and a fresh square of linen. The servant never seemed to be far away, which suited Trowa well. Despite the almost palpable presence of Het-Hori's curiosity and faint jealousy, he found it easier to deal with Quatre when the things he needed were always at hand. Fumbling about, as he have otherwise done, would only have tried Quatre's patience.
Pouring water into the bowl, Trowa picked up the linen, soaked it, wrung it out, and proceeded to wipe away the make-up Quatre had worn throughout the day. Body paint first, then face, then eyes. Without it, the Prince looked less severe, his expression weary, not cross. He looked younger in the way an artisan's son was younger - of an age to begin his life and career instead of being born to it. Trowa wondered briefly if he looked the same. The thought surprised him and he stopped, staring mutely into the Princes' face until a glance was cast in his direction from beneath a raised eyebrow.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" said Quatre.
Trowa rinsed the cloth a final time and set it aside with the bowl to be taken away. "I was thinking of other lives," he said, signalling to Tetiun to bring him one of Duo's oils. "I wonder sometimes if the craftsmen aren't happier than we."
"I would not be happy as an artisan."
Trowa poured a little oil in his palm and rubbed his hands together quickly to heat it, releasing its deep, warming scent. "A musician, perhaps?" Quatre did not answer and jumped when Trowa touched his shoulders. "Musicians have fewer fears," Trowa persisted, rubbing the oil into sun-browned skin.
"And fewer rewards," said Quatre, relaxing in spite of himself.
"And fewer restrictions."
The Prince sighed deeply as Trowa's fingers kneaded his back. "I love sandalwood."
"I know. You wear it often. I brought it especially for you." Trowa worked the oil along Quatre's spine, messaging the muscles around it. "Lie down," he said quietly near Quatre's ear. "Lie down and let me finish."
Quatre did not obey. Instead, he turned and took Trowa's hand. He did so cautiously, as though he feared he might be rejected, but Trowa did not protest. He tried to speak, the words thick on his tongue. "I...I want to kuh-hiss you."
"You have," replied Trowa.
Hoarse with fear, Quatre clarified. "With your mouth open. For real. I...I want to. Because you...like men." He lowered his eyes, his shame an instinct. "Like me. I...I need someone..."
"I'm sure you have advisors who can recommend any number of suitable companions," said Trowa with a tight smile.
"No!"
"You should be more precise then."
Quatre's frustration was palpable. Sooner or later he would have to explain himself clearly. If he knew the game that Trowa was playing, all the better. Perhaps he would understand Trowa's own frustrations. "It's all fine for you," said Trowa calmly. "You are the Prince of Nekheb. I am in a very dangerous situation and won't presume to act on anything that isn't clearly defined for me."
Quatre fell silent, obviously sulking over the ultimatum. Trowa stood patiently by the couch and waited. From the corner of his eye, he could see Het-Hori and Tetiun sitting against the furthest wall. They pretended not to notice the business of their masters, but the tension in their bodies suggested that they had been listening, if not watching. Trowa wondered if he could count on them as witnesses. He supposed that Het-Hori would do whatever his master commanded of him. Tetiun was trustworthy, but a resident of the city, bound to his Prince before a foreign master. In the end, Trowa decided that it would be safer to rely on no one but himself.
At tat moment, Quatre spoke. "I want...to kiss you because I am a man who...is interested in other men."
Trowa raised an eyebrow. "Merely interested?"
"I won't say love," replied Quatre quietly. "It isn't love so there's no reason to lie as well. I want to kiss you and share my couch with you as would a man and a woman. I am lonely. That is all."
The Prince's tight-lipped resignation affected Trowa deeply and he felt a surge of pity. There was no playfulness or threat in Quatre's request; it was an honest plea to the one man he knew of who could relieve his desires both physically and emotionally. Looking into the broken blue of his eyes, it seemed unfair to force him to admit to thoughts and feelings that could harm his reputation and his spirit, but, Trowa reminded himself, it was a necessary evil.
Even so, the admission had been made and Trowa honoured the promise he had made to himself. He did not tease any longer, but sat on the couch beside the Prince, bending to place the lightest of kisses on the corner of his mouth. His own desires demanded more, but Trowa refused them. Quatre's emotions were too variable to risk an unwanted advance. If he did not take the opportunity to act on his needs, Trowa would return to his own room, disappointed, but safe from false accusations of assault.
He need not have doubted. Quatre wasted no time in wrapping his arms around Trowa's neck and kissing him full on the lips, his tongue warm and inviting. He wound his fingers into Trowa's hair, touching, exploring, seeking familiarity in this new partner who had come to save him from fear and loneliness.
Trowa tried to restrain both himself and the Prince, keeping the encounter as light as possible, but Quatre's enthusiasm coupled with the heady scent of sandalwood quickly melted his resistance. Only a subtle movement at the corner of his eye gave him pause. "I don't enjoy being watched," he whispered in Quatre's ear.
"We are alone," the Prince replied, lightly biting his earlobe.
"Tetiun...Het-Hori..."
"Are no one."
"But I don't think..."
"Don't think," agreed Quatre, unwinding Trowa's linen belt and letting it flutter to the floor. He leaned forward, forcing Trowa back onto the couch, and teased each nipple as he kissed the hollows of Trowa's neck.
There was no point in fighting it. Releasing he last of his anxieties, Trowa surrendered himself to the lovemaking.
"The Prince of Nekheb" copyright A.C.Smith (aka Lady Bast), 2002. Send comments to asmith@ican.net Please do not repost or print (other than for personal use) without permission. The Gundam boys and all their paraphenelia belong to whomever currently holds the rights...I'm just borrowing them for a while. No infringement is intended, really. Really really. Please don't sue me, I have no money. If, however, you have a burning desire to hire me and PAY me money to write this kinda stuff, feel free to track me down.