Quatre forced himself to play with the dogs for a bit on Sunday morning before, pleased with his self-discipline, he headed over to Trowa’s house. There, after a long discussion about books, he chose one of the few Trowa owned that wasn’t in the unreadable magical language, and sat back in Trowa’s computer chair (dragged into the study for the day) to read it.
Trowa was once again making notes for his own hypothetical book, and it was pleasant to be able to look up and see him working placidly throughout the morning. Additionally, today Trowa finally noticed, for the first time, that his tea was a different flavor than what he’d been buying for decades, and Quatre got to tease him about that.
For lunch they had fajita steak and rice, which Trowa seemed to enjoy — but he seemed to enjoy it even more when, after they were done eating, they somehow (Quatre really had no idea how it came about) ended up making love in the living room. Then they finished clearing up after lunch, which process had been interrupted by the previous activity, and attempted to return to what they’d been doing earlier.
They found, however, that the fond looks they kept throwing each other for the rest of the afternoon rendered them absolutely useless at their respective pursuits. Finally Quatre set aside the book he’d been trying to read — it was interesting, just… not as interesting as Trowa — and went to join his boyfriend in the armchair.
It was remarkable how quickly hours could fly during the course of a conversation that was one third intelligent and productive, one third flirty and stupid, and one third kissing. Of course there was also an extraneous fraction in there somewhere comprised of the dark thoughts Quatre could not entirely banish about Trowa’s possible death, and, since Thursday, the possibility that the curse might not actually break tomorrow — but despite this, the time passed relatively swiftly and smoothly. And even once it was over, Quatre could still look back on it and work through it all again in his mind, if not with exactly as much pleasure as when actually taking part in it, at least with more than he took from anything else that didn’t involve Trowa.
But eventually, aware that he needed to leave yet reluctant to do so, Quatre slid out of the chair, standing straight and stretching slowly. “Well, tomorrow’s the big day…”
“Yes.” Trowa also stood behind him, and ran a hand up Quatre’s back to settle between his shoulder blades. He still moved somewhat hesitantly making gestures like that, but he was getting better.
Leaning against him, Quatre sighed, mostly in contentment. “I can’t wait to see you un-cursed,” he said. He couldn’t help adding mentally, Assuming the curse actually breaks, and you don’t die. Damn secrets.
“I’m looking forward to it myself,” Trowa understated.
Quatre’s backwards-seeking hands found Trowa’s arms and guided them around him, consequently pulling Trowa closer. “Are you nervous at all?”
“Yes,” Trowa said simply. “I never asked to be immortal, but I’ve gotten used to it… I’ll have to get used to mortality all over again.”
In one way or another, Quatre thought a little despondently. He noted, at the same time, that Trowa had expressed no nervousness about the curse’s actual end; it seemed he really did have faith that it would break tomorrow. Quatre said nothing about this, however. “I’m glad you’ll be mortal again,” he replied instead. “I’d hate to keep getting older and older while you stayed the same.”
“I’ll always be older than you, though.” Trowa’s tone was so serious, it was a few moments before Quatre recognized that he was teasing. Trowa was teasing him. Unprovoked!
It was difficult to keep his voice level after that realization. “But you always being older than me doesn’t mean very much.” He started walking, not really with a destination in mind but enjoying dragging Trowa along behind him. “I mean, I’ll always be older than Heero, but so what?”
“I’ll always be a lot older than you,” Trowa amended.
Quatre’s grin was now definitely sounding in his words. “That depends on how you’re keeping score! You were born when, 1898? And the curse started in 1923?” He laughed. “Actually that’s probably still older than me. When’s your birthday?”
Trowa had to think for a moment. “August twenty-second.”
“So that would make you about twenty-four and a half, right?”
“‘Twenty-four and a half…'” Trowa murmured. “It’s been a long time since I thought of myself like that.”
Quatre chuckled. “Well, mine’s in December, and I’ll be twenty-five then.”
“So I’m still older than you.” Trowa bent to kiss Quatre’s neck from behind.
Several minutes passed before Quatre made any further move to depart, and even then it was only at the sound of the clock; and after he’d been so responsibly keeping track of the time on his own, too! “I need to get home to bed,” he sighed.
He had already turned away when Trowa said hesitantly, “I wish… I wish you could stay. I know you have to work in the morning, but–” But he got no further than that, as his mouth was suddenly otherwise occupied.
Maybe Quatre had been unreasonable in wanting to hear voiced this particular desire; maybe he’d been asking Trowa to read his mind (something he knew now, since he’d inquired, that Trowa could not, in fact, do). And maybe it was silly to have essentially been wishing for Trowa to behave selfishly — to ask Quatre to stay even when he knew Quatre needed to leave — but somehow the lack of that request on all previous occasions had made Quatre feel as if his company was something to be enjoyed but never actively sought.
Someday, provided Trowa was still around, Quatre would explain to him that the real issue was not where he slept but how much (and thus the important question was what aspects of his sleeping arrangements might keep him awake); but at the moment he didn’t give a damn whether or not he was up all night — because Trowa wanted him to stay.
Eventually he drew back, releasing Trowa’s lips from the passionate kiss with which he’d enveloped them, and looked his somewhat baffled lover in the eye. “I’ll stay as long as you want,” he whispered.
Trowa looked pleased but a little confused. “Don’t you have to be at work in the morning?”
“Yes. But right now I have to be here.” And, taking Trowa’s hand, Quatre pulled him toward the bedroom.