pairings:
overall- 5x4, 3+4, 1+2 [implied], and others.
this part- 3x3, thoughts of 3x4/4x3, and 1+2

notes:
<<.....>> = flashback
// italics // = inner thoughts

warnings:
Yaoi *Angst* Lemon Self-gratification.



{ PIECES }
part two

Trowa jerked awake. "Quatre?"


He sat up groggily. He had heard the Arabian's voice so clearly. As if.. as if Quatre were right next to him. What the hell had just happened? He had been engrossed in the most delicious wet dream involving the blonde, and then..


And then he was awake with a bizarre feeling of foreboding washing over him. Like his heart was trying to tell him something, but his mind refused to remember.


He quickly scanned the room, which was slightly a glow in the moonlight. His eyes took in every inch, and he laid back down assured nothing was amiss. The only sound in the room was Heero's rhythmic breathing. So why could he swear he heard Quatre's voice? It was so distinct, like the blonde had been whispering into his ear. Calling to him for help. Trowa tried to shake it off.


He closed his eyes and turned over, but sleep wasn't coming. It probably had something to do with the rigid arousal between his legs. It had lessened somewhat with his premonition about Quatre, but now it was rapidly hardening again.


//Great, I go from worrying about Quatre's safety, to wanting to pound into him, in three seconds flat. That must be a record. But that voice.. It's probably just guilt. I feel guilty for having all these dreams about him. That must be it. Some trick my subconscious conjured up.//


His anxiety decreased a bit as he mentally reasoned out his vision. Unfortunately his erection didn't. Now was not the time to be jerking off. Not with these creepy thoughts of Quatre lurking over him. And he needed sleep if he was going to function properly tomorrow. They had come this far, he wasn't going to screw it up now.


But even more unfortunate, his mind was ignoring him, as snippets from his dream were dancing before his eyes. He sighed and rolled over again. He might as well surrender to his thoughts. If he couldn't have the little blonde in reality, at least he could have him in fantasy.


He invoked an image of a very sweaty, and naked Quatre, writhing beneath him. His blue-green eyes were clouded with desire, and he was making these mewling noises as Trowa drove into him. Trowa could almost feel Quatre's tightness embracing his cock as he plunged into him repeatedly. His hands roaming over Quatre's slick body, grasping his stiff arousal...


//Ok, this is *not* helping//


His cock was so hard it was virtually engorged. Trowa sat back up and glanced over at Heero. The Japanese boy hadn't moved an inch, although he had incorporated a snore to match his breathing. //What the hell. Heero is sleeping so soundly he wouldn't notice if Wing Zero landed on his head. Let alone me going to the bathroom.//


Trowa couldn't believe he was being so impetuous, it wasn't in his nature. But truth be told he wasn't exactly thinking with his head. Well, the one on his shoulders, anyway.


The tall pilot tossed off the covers, and threw his feet over the side of the bed. He stealthily made his way to the bathroom they shared. He clicked on the light and then froze when he heard Heero mumble something incoherent in his sleep. But it was spoken too quietly for him to make it out. Trowa relaxed when the other boy turned over and resumed his snoring. He entered and shut the door. As he turned the lock he chided himself for worrying so. This procedure was a daily routine now.


He hated to admit he had feelings for Quatre. Doing so meant letting his defenses down, and he couldn't do that. And it also made him vulnerable, and that was something he was unprepared to handle. When the dreams had first started he had chalked it up to a case of lust. Who wouldn't find that cherub face, and those blonde locks adorable? But the more time he spent with Quatre, the deeper those feelings got, and that was dangerous. For so many reasons.


It was wartime, making commitments was pointless when any of them could die at any moment. He knew it would only lead to hurt in the end. But deeper than that he feared the rejection he felt would be forthcoming if he ever voiced his emotions. And that one fear was what kept him silent.


Sometimes he caught Quatre looking at him, and he fantasized that Quatre's thoughts mirrored his own. But he knew it must stay just that, a fantasy. He was thinking of none of this at the time being, though. His mind was on one thought alone.


Trowa removed his boxers and placed them on the counter, his T-shirt followed. Then he folded a towel and placed it on the tile floor.  He reached under the counter and retrieved a small bottle of lotion. He did all this quickly, as it was a process he was familiar with.


Every night, starting months ago, but recently getting more graphic, Quatre came to him in dreams. The blonde teased him, and tormented him night after night. Sometimes he fucked Quatre, sometimes Quatre fucked him. Whatever the case the morning result was always the same. He always awoke with a raging hard on. Trowa was forced to get up earlier that Heero to avoid the latter catching him masturbating. Although he felt the Japanese boy most likely already knew.


The green eyed boy knelt on the towel and poured a small amount of lotion into his hand. He then took his cock into his hand. He gasped at the effect that simple touch had. His thumb started caressing the head of his arousal. He stroked the tip slowly and gently at first, but as the heat built in his loins he grew rougher.


He imagined Quatre's hands in place of his own. Quatre fondling him lovingly, his silken hands running along Trowa's erection. The brunette started squeezing himself, welcoming the sensations coursing through his body. He then let his hand explore up and down his length, and he started pumping. He envisioned it was Quatre he was thrusting into, not his own hand. He was buried to the hilt in Quatre's tight passage, his walls were nuzzling Trowa's arousal.


But he wanted more. As he continued to pump, his free hand wandered around to his backside. Experimentally he ran his fingers over his untouched entrance. Slowly he pushed one of the lotion laden digits inside his warm haven. His eyes widened at the invasion, but he moved them in further.


It felt strange, yet at the same time good. Suddenly the tip of his finger brushed against something that made his world shake. It was incredible, he had never felt anything like it! He buried the finger in further, wanting to hit that spot again. It was like fucking Quatre, and having Quatre fuck him simultaneously. Every nerve in his body was singing, and his heart was racing.


He added a second finger. It was slightly painful, but the pleasure out weighed it. He pictured himself impaled on Quatre's cock. His fingers, no Quatre's cock, jammed deeper inside him, hitting that spot, that glorious spot that made his vision fuzzy. All his muscles taut, his fingers deep inside, he jerked his cock with abandon.


Trowa saw Quatre before him, taking his erection into his mouth. He felt his warm breath; his moist, pink tongue licking him. Quatre then drew him fully into his mouth, deep throating him. Sucking Trowa's cock wantonly, massaging his balls. Trowa was rocking back and forth between his fingers and his hand. He could feel his climax building. His body started to spasm, stars exploded before his eyes and pleasure rolled over him in waves. He spilled creamy strands of seed into his hand, and onto the floor.


His body went slack and he collapsed onto the ground. He laid there gasping, blinded by the intensity of his orgasm. Sluggishly he removed his fingers. Damn. He never let himself lose control like that. Masturbation was usually just a morning function, like brushing his teeth. Something he did to ease his morning erection, and to temporarily give in to his aching heart.


But tonight he had been reckless, completely lost in the moment. He laid there wrestling with his emotions, trying to get them back in check, when a stab of fear hit him. He looked at his essence on the floor nearby and a memory overcame him. But it wasn't a memory of himself. He shook himself and stood. He wasn't going to let his unfounded trepidation ruin the ecstasy racing through him.


He cleaned himself off, and hurriedly dressed. The he cleaned the bathroom, and returned to bed. He was relieved to see Heero hadn't moved much in his absence. As he settled in he was hit with a crushing sense of remembrance. Then in a blazing flash it came back to him. The reason he awoke so suddenly, the odd memory of the bathroom floor. The end of his dream. It had began as a passionate wet dream, like any other, but it had ended...


It had changed, and ended with Quatre laying on the bathroom floor. Beaten, and bleeding, and calling to him for help. Icy cold pinpricks ran down Trowa's spine as he burrowed under the covers. It was so real. He could see the pain, the fear, the shame in Quatre's eyes. The blood covering his small frame, and pooling at his feet. He could hear Quatre's whispered plea for help. His plea to him, Trowa. the green eyed boy could see it so clearly, like the scene was unfolding before his eyes. As if Quatre was standing at the end of his bed.


Trowa felt nauseous. He could taste the bile rising in his throat. It took all his will to keep from being sick. He laid there shaking trying not to throw up everything he'd ever eaten. //No. It was just a dream. That voice was part of the dream. It's just my mind playing tricks on me. Quatre is fine. He's fine! //


No matter how much he repeated those last words he didn't fully believe them. He turned over as if to escape his thoughts. It didn't work. One part of him was still filled with dread. The panic that something bad was happening to Quatre and he couldn't stop it. That Quatre needed him, and he wasn't there. //I know I heard him. It sounded so clear. Like he was right next to me. Like he was in the room with me. He was calling to me for help. But why?//


Eventually Trowa fell into a fitful slumber. All night he dreamt there were angels calling him. Beautiful, blonde angels. Covered in blood. With broken wings.


* * *


Just as Trowa was lost in a nightmare, Heero was trapped in his own. He never moved in his sleep, or made any sound to confess of the demons haunting him. He just awoke every morning more tired than he had been the night before. The word he had uttered aloud had been Duo.


For it was the violet eyed boy who had been plaguing his dreams these past months. Every night he came to torment Heero without fail. These nighttime rituals had had an obvious physical effect on the boy. In the weeks since the dreams he had lost considerable weight. His once fit frame, now bordered on gaunt. His eyes used to be hard and steely, although if you caught him in an off moment they were deep pools of emotion. Pools so deep, reflecting all the hardships he had lived through, and triumphed over.


Those same eyes were now flat, and carried large black bags under them. If eyes are the window to the soul, then Heero Yuy's was empty. For his eyes reflected no life. He used to have a purpose in life, a goal. He was always busy working on Wing, or off on a mission, foiling OZ's latest plans. He used to be so professional, mission first and all that.


Now he was listless, just drifting along, as if life had lost all meaning. He would often sit and stare into space for hours on end. This worried Trowa more than he would admit. He knew if need be, he could somehow complete the mission on his own. It would be a strain, but with Heero's behavior lately Trowa didn't know if he could rely on him.


But that wasn't his main concern. No, what worried him was that Heero seemed to be deteriorating before his eyes. And that plain scared him. An angry Heero he could deal with, a self detonating, mission crazy, gun wielding, lap top obsessed, fanatical Heero, those he could handle. It was this spiritless, lethargic, unresponsive Heero that had him troubled.


They had talked a little at the circus that time. After Heero had self destructed. And Trowa had accompanied Heero with his quest to make peace with the Noventa's. But even that Heero, one who offered his life as an apology, had spirit. As much as he was willing to die to correct his mistake, he wasn't suicidal.


This was different. Heero was unwilling to let Trowa know the problem. Although, Trowa had an idea as to what it was. He recalled when Heero changed, and the event that had happened at that time. But Heero seemed content to let his anguish eat away at his soul. And Trowa couldn't force him to talk. God knows if Heero didn't want to talk, no one on earth or in the colonies could make him.


Of course, Heero had no idea of the other boy's turmoil. He was too wrapped up in his own. Heero knew the dreams were slowly killing what humanity he had left. They always varied, tonight's showed Duo garbed in a white silk tunic. the braided boy reached his hand out to Heero. He gladly accepted, anything to be closer to his grinning illusion.


His hand clasped Duo's, but he drew it back suddenly. Heero looked down to see his hand coated in blood. Blood was rapidly spreading through Duo's tunic, his grin turning into a silent cry. The blood kept flowing until Heero was drowning in it.


Just as he felt himself blacking out, the scene switched.


This time Duo was being nailed to a crucifix, similar to the one he used to wear, the one Heero now possessed. Heero saw various men beating Duo, one in particular who looked so familiar, but his mind wouldn't let him figure out who it was. He saw the suffering on Duo's face, felt the wetness of Duo's blood as it hit him.


But he just stood there, as if held back by some invisible force. He could hear Duo screaming for his help, but he never moved. He just watched, horrified. He closed his eyes, those cries reverberating through his head.


When he opened them again he was in a new place.


It was a room that he recognized, but again he couldn't remember why. He saw Duo sprawled out on a hardwood floor. His unbound hair pooling around him. His amethyst eyes wide open, but unseeing. And the blood, always the blood.


His priest's attire, normally black, was soaked red. His chestnut hair was saturated with it. There was so much it seemed to form a layer on the floor. Heero could feel it lapping at his ankles. As he kneeled over Duo, Duo's hand shot up and started to pull him down...down...down


"No!"


Heero at up with a start. His eyes were glassy, he was still panicking, until the room came into focus. He sighed and tried to shake the distress that seemed to have seeped into his bones.


He heard the shower running and knew he was safe from Trowa's questioning looks. As much as Trowa tried to hide it Heero knew the other boy was worried about him. //And why shouldn't he? Look what I've become.//


He was always safe in the mornings, since Trowa got up before he did. And Heero knew the reason behind it too. Part of him thought he should be jealous that the other boy had someone to fantasize about, but he wasn't. If it made Trowa happy to lose himself for a few, brief moments in thoughts of a certain blonde pilot, well, Heero was glad for him. //I had my own taste of love, no matter how fleeting. Just don't wait too long to tell him Trowa. You don't realize how precious love is. And how little time we're given to enjoy it.//


He knew of the two pilots feelings for eachother. He'd seen the look in Trowa's eyes at the mere mention of Quatre's name. And he's seen that same look in Quatre's eyes at the mention of Trowa's. He only hoped they'd act on their emotions before it was too late. It was too late for him and Duo, but he prayed it would be different for his friends.


//I know the two of you love eachother, but that you're scared. Life's too short to be afraid. Take love when and where you can get it. You never know when your time's up. Any day could be your last. Give eachother love while you can.// Heero's thoughts were interrupted when Trowa emerged from the bathroom.


"Shower's free," he said.


Heero nodded to acknowledge he'd heard. He looked over at Trowa. The taller pilot seemed tired today. He looked like Heero felt. Heero sighed as he eased himself out of the bed. He padded noiselessly to the bathroom, which was still thick with steam.


Before he entered he turned to Trowa. "Act, Trowa. Before it's too late."


With that he went into the bathroom and shut the door. He didn't bother to look in the mirror, he knew what he'd see there. He turned on the shower, then stripped out of his night clothes. Heero stepped in and let the water spray his face. Then, and only then did he let the tears fall. They mingled with the water running down his face.


//Why Duo? Why wasn't I enough for you?// He leaned against the wall and let his heartache consume him.


Meanwhile Trowa was sitting on his bed, unaware of the grief his friend was experiencing. It pained him to see Heero wasting away, but he was frustrated because he didn't know what to say or do to get through to him. And Heero's cryptic comment had brought back all of his formidable thoughts of Quatre. A picture of a beaten Quatre flashed through his mind.


//It's like Heero knew. But how could he? That was just a dream, right?// As many times as Trowa reiterated that, he still couldn't get rid of the eerie feelings surrounding him.


Trowa's heart was heavy with thoughts of the Japanese boy's stoic depression, and alarm as to the Arabian's well being. He had never felt so helpless, like everything was going to come crashing down around him, and he was powerless to stop it.


~~~~~

tbc.

{ part 3 }

{ back to the pieces index }