With each day that passed, the moment of Quatre’s departure in the evening became more difficult for Trowa. He knew both that he probably shouldn’t be getting this attached to and desirous of Quatre’s extended companionship, and that Quatre really did have a job and places to be in the mornings… but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed when conversation started working its way around to Quatre’s getting up and leaving.
Thus Trowa was startled and pleased when, instead of the usual “Well, I should get going” on Friday, Quatre asked unexpectedly, “Can I spend the night?” Which explained why he’d brought a backpack with him. Not that Quatre’s bedroom and the rest of his house wasn’t just through the front door, but it was like Quatre to come specifically prepared.
And did this mean…? It probably did, and it would probably have been obvious to anyone else that knew people and the world better, and it would probably seem very stupid to request clarification… but Trowa had to be sure. “Are you saying,” he asked slowly, “that you want to have sex?”
Quatre’s face took on a smile that was simultaneously fond, pitying, and full of a laughter in which there was no derision. “Yes, Trowa,” he said kindly, “that’s what I’m saying.”
“And are you aware…” said Trowa, even more slowly, “that I’ve never done that before? With anyone?”
“I thought that might be the case.” Quatre leaned up and pecked him briefly on the lips. “As long as it’s all right with you…”
It was more than all right with Trowa, despite the nervousness that had gripped him and everything he feared he might feel afterward. “Yes,” he said.
“Are you sure?”
“Why do you always ask me that?” Trowa was surprised at his own impatience as he voiced this complaint. “Yes, I’m sure.”
Quatre also looked somewhat surprised. “You’ve been alone for a long time,” he explained seriously, “and I know I’m sometimes a little overbearing. I don’t want to push you into anything you’ll regret afterwards.”
“Everything I enjoy I regret afterwards,” was Trowa’s blunt response. “Sometimes I even regret it at the time. But you were the one who told me I need to stop pushing away good experiences because I feel guilty about enjoying them.”
Appearing at the same moment pleased that Trowa was making this effort and concerned that there was still regret and guilt involved in all of this — and overall as if he was about to ask, ‘Are you sure?’ again — Quatre seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a few silent seconds. Eventually he must have decided that Trowa was, in fact, sure — or at least had the right to act as if he was — for he leaned up to kiss him briefly again and then said, with a playful smile, “Well, let’s have a shower.”
Taken aback by what seemed to him a total shift in conversational focus, Trowa echoed blankly, “A shower?”
“You know, where the water comes out and you get clean?” Quatre teased. “You do have…” He paused, his smile fading and his brows lowering as a thought struck him and caused his joking question to turn abruptly totally serious. “You do have a shower, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes,” Trowa reassured him hastily. “I just never use it.”
Looking perplexed and amused, “You’ve never seemed anything but perfectly clean to me,” Quatre remarked.
“I use magic to keep clean. It’s quicker and easier.”
Now Quatre’s smile spread out into a wondering grin of sudden understanding. “That’s why you always smell like books,” he said: “you get rid of the dirt with magic, but never wash the smell off.”
Trowa wasn’t aware that he did smell like books — though Quatre had told him more than once that he smelled nice — but thought this assessment was probably accurate.
Now Quatre took him by the arm and began pulling him toward the study (and, presumably, the bedroom and bathroom beyond). “Well, come on,” he said. “A shower every now and then won’t hurt.”
Trowa rather suspected it would do just the opposite, and followed willingly.
He found himself very nervous about removing his clothes, something he’d never done in front of someone — at least in this context — his entire adult life. What if Quatre didn’t like him… what if Quatre decided to call things off right then and there, and walked out, leaving Trowa naked, heartbroken, and guilty… what if Trowa’s thin, pale, inexperienced body brought everything to an end?
Besides this, there were other considerations slowing Trowa’s hands on his shirt buttons.
Quatre stepped out of his shoes, which he placed neatly against the wall beside the door, and then, with no apparent hesitation, took off his pants. Trowa’s eyes lingered on his bare legs, following them up to where the shirt obscured everything else and back down to the black socks he had yet to remove, while Quatre unthreaded his belt from his slacks, rolled the former and folded the latter, and placed both neatly on the closed toilet seat. Then he removed his tie and began unbuttoning his shirt, and by this point Trowa was completely motionless, riveted.
Unsurprisingly, Quatre folded his shirt as well, and stacked it on the other items on the toilet, then folded his tie in half exactly twice and set it atop the shirt. This put his back to Trowa again, who took the opportunity to examine two little dimples in the smooth flesh just above where an interesting indentation disappeared beneath a pair of tight, plain boxer briefs. Quatre bent to remove his socks (which he then balled and placed in one of his shoes), and this movement caused every last aspect of the area Trowa’s eyes were fixed on to shift and tighten. Involuntarily Trowa caught his breath.
Hearing this, Quatre whirled on him with a knowing grin. Instead of saying anything, he advanced until he was pressed up against Trowa, who in turn found himself pressed up against the sink. Quatre seized Trowa’s hands and brought them sliding down his sides, abandoning them only when he’d tucked Trowa’s fingertips under the waistband of his briefs in an unspoken but unmistakable command.
Trowa wasn’t sure whether nervousness or arousal made his movements more jerky, but at least he didn’t hesitate: his hands dug in, pushing the garment down over Quatre’s buttocks. The briefs stuck and hung in front on an already-halfway-erect penis, and Trowa thought that the act of clumsily disentangling this, and especially the little breath of pleasure and anticipation Quatre gave as he did so, would drive him crazy.
Meanwhile, Quatre was attacking Trowa’s shirt with motions far more dexterous and sure than any of Trowa’s — was he good at this because he’d done it with many others? how on earth was Trowa supposed to compare? — and had it off in almost no time. He didn’t fold it as he had his own clothing; either he was content to leave any such obsessive neatness relating to Trowa’s clothes up to Trowa himself, or happenings had gotten too interesting over here for him to make the effort. He did, however, drop it behind him onto his things on the toilet, rather than onto the floor, before returning to deal with Trowa’s pants.
“You know I’ve wanted to get you naked ever since I first saw you?” he murmured as he eased the khaki slacks down Trowa’s thighs, revealing another bulging pair of briefs.
“Is that why you got me drunk?” Trowa wondered breathlessly, leaning on the sink while Quatre pulled his pants entirely off of him.
Quatre laughed, twisting around again to drape the slacks over the toilet. He stepped out of his own briefs, which had been stretched between his knees, and sent them to join the rest of it. Then he pressed up against Trowa once more, stroking him through his underwear so suddenly that Trowa let out a surprised groan.
Up over Trowa’s jaw and cheekbone and ear Quatre’s lips crept as his hands eased Trowa out of the last garment covering any human flesh in the room. And when this, too, had taken its place on the toilet seat, Quatre stood back and made a great show of examining Trowa from head to toe. In response to this Trowa was torn; he doubted that what Quatre saw could possibly be particularly pleasant to look at, but at the same time it gave him the opportunity to return the scrutiny with interest — and Quatre naked was the most beautiful thing he had seen in his long life. Everything, from his utterly unabashed little smile to his well-shaped chest and the perfect slight inward curve of his waist to the dusting of pale, curling hair around his erection to the muscular lines of his legs… everything Trowa saw heightened his arousal and desire.
His nervous fears were somewhat allayed, for the moment, when Quatre gave a thoughtfully pleased mmming sound and a widened smile. He took Trowa’s hand and pulled him toward the bath.
“You really don’t use this!” was his amused remark as he pulled the shower curtain aside and looked around at the totally empty tub and the showerhead above from which not a gleam of dripping water showed.
“I’m not even sure why I have a shower curtain at all,” Trowa admitted, allowing Quatre to pull him into the bathtub.
“It’s a good thing you do, or my shower plan would be ruined.”
“I could contain the water magically, if I needed to.”
Quatre, who had arranged the curtain in question and then started fiddling with the taps, now abruptly pulled the little metal thing that switched the water up to the shower, apparently without regard to the temperature, and whirled on Trowa again. “Could you?” he demanded. He slid his arms up Trowa’s bare chest and pushed him against the wall. “Have I told you how sexy it is when you do magic?”
Taken by surprise by the sudden burst of cold water against his naked body, the cold tiles of the wall against his back, and most of all by Quatre’s remark, Trowa was barely able to get out a halting answer in the negative before Quatre was kissing him hard, pressed up against him again in an electric shifting of newly-wet skin. Mercilessly teasing, Quatre ran hands down and up Trowa’s sides, over his shoulders and back down onto his collarbone and chest, but did not touch him anywhere else even as he thoroughly explored Trowa’s mouth with his tongue.
By the time he withdrew, they were both shivering with cold and, at least in Trowa’s case, frustrated need, and Quatre took a moment to adjust the water temperature before returning to driving his lover absolutely out of his mind.
Trowa had originally assumed that the idea behind the shower was to get clean for the sake of more pleasant sex; then Quatre’s manner of undressing them both and practically incapacitating Trowa with kisses had made him think rather that the sex was going to take place in the shower. Now, as Quatre dragged him under the newly-warm water and began leisurely to follow its trails down Trowa’s body with his fingers — but never quite to where Trowa would prefer they go — he really wasn’t sure what the point of the shower was.
But the sensation of Quatre pushing his wet hair entirely back out of his face and kissing him right in the midst of the flowing water, the like of which Trowa had never felt before and that made all his skin tingle and his erection throb almost unbearably, led him eventually to the conclusion that he didn’t really care.
As you can see, Trowa is one of those people that thinks “sex” = “penetration,” and therefore what they did last week doesn’t count. Fortunately, Quatre understands.