"Becoming Whole"

Written By: Jabberwocky

Title: Becoming Whole

Author: Jabberwocky

Author's e mail: jabberwocky@rock.com

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Exhibitionism, Heero's POV

Pairing: 1x3.

Summary: Trained to deny everything but orders, an assassin can spend his entire life denying himself, always on the run. After those giving the orders are dead, what is left to do but carry on in the same manner as always? But what happens when you meet an equal, someone who changes the order of things?

"Becoming Whole"

I watch, endlessly. For patterns, for habits, for schedules. Because any one of the people that surround me could be my enemy either in the present or in the future. Allowing yourself to establish a pattern of daily life is ingrained. Everyone does it, the patterns of some are just harder to find.

But allowing your enemy to find your pattern is essentially handing them your life, and I own the life of everyone that surrounds me.

That in itself is a habit of mine, though if you had told me that a year ago, you would not be alive now. I will always have enemies; that has been beaten into me since childhood, and it is just as true now than it was then.

I live surrounded by people in an apartment complex that is middle of the price range, middle of the city, middle class workers trying to raise enough money to get out of the depths of the city. Average. But average is a perfect camouflage. Its best not to be noticed, because to be noticed is to be remembered, and memory can lead to assassin’s downfall.

The people that surround me serve other purposes besides a place to hide, they can also serve as protection, crowds often dissuade overt violence, and as cannon fodder if all else fails. I doubt that will ever happen; I am very meticulous in my potential escape routes, very organized and very unpredictable. It is the reason I am alive today, despite being betrayed by those who made me.

I was orphaned when I was too young to remember. There were many of us, orphans of the war, but I was different. Instead of being taken to a shelter, the government took me into their experimental program. It was hypothetical; it didn’t exist to any except those who ran it. There were five orphans in the facility. We were sculpted in the ways of war, strategies, explosives and incendiaries, language interpretation, fall back routes, mission parameters. How to kill an opponent who was stronger, larger than you, how to medicate yourself if injured before the completion of your mission because that was the ultimate importance. My life was disposable; as long as the target was destroyed, I was a success no matter if I returned or not. Obedience above all to the mission and to those who set the target.

Never trust. Any ally can become an enemy with the right pressure; never trust anyone. It was an adage set to us daily. Trust none.

What they did not tell me was that the axiom applied to them as well.

The training took years, and we were taken into the program young enough that our trainers were like gods to us. We followed every order to perfection. And the program was a success. The war that had been waged for over two decades began to decelerate as soon as the boy assassins were unleashed. We were trained to be ghosts, and if that failed, we were just children, we were thought to be harmless. Who would ever expect a ten year old child to pose such a huge threat? Two more years, and the stirrings of surrender began. We were beginning to become unneeded.

The man coming into power, Peacecraft, knew of the existence of the boy assassins and thought the idea appalling. Our teachers had grown accustomed to the power of wielding such powerful weapons, and did not want to relinquish their creations. So our next mission was a series of nearly simultaneous assassinations. Peacecraft and his allies were the targets. We were given the layouts to the housing of our respective targets, and told to outline our data. Point of entry, prospective termination areas, places easily guarded and therefore avoided, potential exit routes all submitted and logged into the system for our superiors’ perusal, for their records.

My target was located the farthest from the facility. We all departed simultaneously so the terminations would be in quick succession. The terminations were too far apart for us to stay in communication with each other, but we had all been instructed how to tap into the satellite communication systems, zero in on waves originating from specific locales.

Because of this I knew the first scheduled termination was a success. It was delayed, and our operative was lost, but the target, who had been evacuating the building, had been taken out. The second was set to happen under an hour after the first; however, because of the delay in the first, the second commenced around the same time.

The second failed, our operative lost, the target still living. The third was the same. The target had been evacuated and the assassin contained and destroyed. This bothered me for some reason. Some instinct tickled at the back of my mind. The fourth assassination was scheduled to commence about the time that my shuttle landed. I had to pack up my equipment and move into position, so I had no way of knowing the fourth had failed as well until later.

I was on alert from the moment I breached the perimeter. I knew something was wrong the moment I viewed my planned entry point. There was nothing in particular that drew my attention, but something made me stall my progression, some movement out of the corner of my eye, the edge of my subconscious. I waited for approximately five minutes until I saw the movement again, more clearly. Men. Three of them lay waiting, flanking the entrance in perfect ambush positions.

I knew the plans of the building well enough to enter at another point, but I also knew that leaving them alive might come back to haunt me if an alarm was signaled. And there was no guarantee those other potential entrances were clear of hindrances. Three throwing knives later, I was dragging bodies into a nearby bush to stall discovery.

But because of this planned ambush, I proceeded with extreme caution. I entered the ventilation system in order to stay out of sight. This was not in the reported plan, but it was an infiltration technique I had used before in dire situations. Ventilation systems are not a preferred tactic because, if discovered, you are trapped with no mobility, and bullets can pierce the flimsy aluminum walls easily.

I knew this, but I also needed to do some additional recon to assess the situation. In the vents, I could do this without being seen. I just had to be careful not to be heard. The termination areas I had submitted to my superiors were drowned with guards, and as I listened to their reports, I discovered my target was not even present in this facility. He had been alerted to the assassination plot and relocated. Alarms went off in my head, but disobedience was never an option, mental or physical. Since the target was not present, I made for my primary escape route. Blocked. With men, with barricades, with thin lines of wire I could only assume were meant to be invisible traps. My secondary escape route, the result was the same. The third, the same.

But I had always been extremely good at seeing patterns. I had a talent for finding routes invisible to others. In the initial training simulations, I would turn in anywhere from five to fifteen potential routes in and out of a building. Most plausible, some based on luck and skill to utilize. My superiors required only three, and punished me for wasting their time with more.

Just because I no longer reported the additional routes, did not mean I did not commit them to memory. This trait saved my life that night, because I had been betrayed by the very men to whom I submitted the report, and the longer I remained in that deathtrap, the more certain I was of that fact.

My life was disposable, ultimate obedience. Pounded into my head daily. If they had simply ordered me to take my own life, I would have, there is no doubt in my mind.

But this elaborate ruse changed things. Allies can easily be turned to enemies. Trust no one. These things were drilled into me until they became second nature, instinct. In that moment, the instinct kicked in. Basic survival.

I exited the building, found a safe location, and began hacking my way through systems. I located the current hiding place of my original target, sent a message to the program about my initial failure and pursuit of the target. As long as they thought me dedicated to the mission, and far away from them, I had an advantage. I was giving them a distraction, but I also began making preparations. I could stall my superiors from finding out what I knew for a short time, but eventually they would figure it out. I had to move before them.

They were now my enemies, and they knew everything about me, the extent of my training, my skills, my habits, the list of identities I had been given, everything. They were a liability that had to be dealt with quickly.

My target was eliminated, but that is not all I accomplished that night. Before the sun rose, two of my teachers were dead, and the facility where we had been housed was a stretch of black, scorched earth. The two I considered the most dangerous, I had taken out first, and the electronic copies of all my information destroyed by my favorite virus before burning the entire complex. At the close of a three month period, everyone in the inner sanctum of the program had been eliminated, all evidence of my existence destroyed.

I could have gone higher up the chain of government officials distantly linked to the program, but as long as they did not seek me out, I did not intend to hunt them.

After four months, the original targets that had lived when my fellow assassins died, were dead by my hand. I’m not sure why I felt this need to finish the mission. Maybe it was respect for my former colleagues, maybe the programming inside me refused to leave things unfinished. Maybe it was to avenge the deaths of those who had been like me. I can not explain what compelled me, only that it was like an obsession.

I hacked the funds set up for the program, compensation for years of successful missions and the intended death sentence, and made a clean escape.

Then another problem presented itself. How does a thirteen year old boy avoid scrutiny when he is living alone, supporting himself? Answer: he doesn’t. I found that out quickly enough. Even though I was capable of taking better care of myself than most of the adults surrounding me, I could not avoid their concern or notice. My solution, I moved. I moved around too quickly for anyone to catch a good glimpse of me.

For five years I was a nomad, living on the streets, though I had enough money to avoid such. I rented storage units to conceal my equipment in various places, set up mock accounts to throw off anyone that might be pursuing me electronically, and roamed the inner city streets, imbedding myself in gangs. Letting the filth provide its own camouflage. People tend to avoid looking at the less fortunate, avoid eye contact and they don’t feel as guilty about not helping. They can convince themselves the meeting never happened.

I was trained to be a ghost; I never went hungry. I was a human weapon; no one could harm me, but when I turned eighteen, I gave up that life. It was a necessary evil to avoid suspicion, but I was glad when I could rent a permanent residence. Well, as permanent as I would allow myself.

I haven’t stayed in one place for over three months since I destroyed the facility. This current residence is the third. I am an assassin. Its what I was trained to be, its something at which I excel. I can’t be a stationary target in case some family member tries to avenge a death, or some mob boss decides he does not want a witness to the crime he orchestrated.

Despite their contact information, I am not easy to find. When they present their offers, they are filtered through at least five different, virtually untraceable systems. Someone in my line of business can never be too careful, so I still move.

That’s what I tell myself, but somehow, I know its something more. I’m restless. Killing is easy for me. I’ve begun taking riskier assignments, preparing less for infiltration, bringing less weaponry. Its like racing a lit fuse, an adrenaline rush, but eventually, that’s not enough either.

So I find other things to occupy my mind, different twists to old habits. It temporarily passes the time until my next assignment, which will be my last from this location. I’ll set up my escape routes through another location, then reposition home base again.


A different place, a different time. This feeling of restlessness still lives within me, still bores through me. It’s a stark emptiness, like I’m missing half of myself. I have decided to try something else, because my constant moving and near reckless mission behavior might get me killed or caught, but mainly because I need to sleep.

I spent less than a month in my last residence. Between setting up parameters for my next target and setting up the escape routes for my next habitation, I slept less than four hours at a time. Maybe eight hours a week. I was trained to withstand sleep loss. My body is capable of days awake before my reactions slow, before I begin to shut down. But that does not mean I enjoy sleep loss. It doesn’t mean I intentionally deprive myself when I am able to sleep, when I am as safe as one such as I can be.

However, if I slowed down, if I tried to sleep, the restlessness hit me full force. Its an abyss. It is an enemy I grow to hate. One I can’t see, can’t understand, and worse, can’t kill.

A change in tactics was needed as sleep deprivation only postponed what was becoming inevitable. A change in scenery, perhaps.

Instead of the ratty hovels overlooked by all save the lowest ranks of the population, which had become my bases of operations for the last year, I went upscale. The middle class apartments were good in theory, but neighbors can be a hassle, and I do not have social inclinations.

I went into the inner city dwellings to avoid contact with the neighbors, to avoid questions about the hours I keep. But there I found nothing else to occupy myself. The walls were so thin; I needed no training to spy on those around me. The people were so predictable; I knew their life’s habits an instant after seeing them. Dull. And the restlessness returned with reinforcements.

So I’m in the process of trying something new. That’s not a common occurrence in my life, but anything to preoccupy my mind.

I found a complex of high-rise condos ten minutes from the city. Most of the people that live here are forced to work fairly hard to make the money to stay here. That means I shouldn’t be too bothered by the neighbors. There is a gym and a swimming pool so I can keep up my strength training with something other than the paltry program I’ve developed for use inside past residences.

Another plus to living here is the electronic databases the complex uses. I knew every one of my neighbors before I purchased the room. The names and numbers were filed away in my head along with the blue prints and potential escape routes.

Before I moved into this complex, I had everything in place. Right now, I have three different storage containers hidden at three highway intersections in the city. If one is blocked, I can easily get to the other two. In those containers, I have a vehicle of some sort, papers for a new identity, and a cache of weapons and explosives to break through any barrier that may be placed in my way.

There are two different escape routes besides the front door if someone manages to catch me at home. But this time, I plan to barricade myself in this base of operations for at least five months. I need to regain my sleep, my strength, and I need to shake the restless itch that’s been haunting me.


Everything was as planned. I have been in residence at the condo for fifteen days; the last three, I have been shuttling across the globe to eliminate latest assignment. I was returning to the complex. I was on schedule, walking down the streets. I would arrive at exactly 0300. There was no moon, and therefore little illumination, none would play witness to my return.

Sticking to the shadows, I was making my way through the grid-like streets of the city. If there was one thing I could change about my current base, it would be the distance to the shuttle port. Despite the inconvenience, it does have the advantage of being less predictable.

As I was coming upon the condo complex, I was bought up short. There was someone walking along the sidewalk twenty feet in front of me. I was unnoticed, as I was enshrouded by shadow.

I closed in on the unknown. My first inclination was to dismiss the person and take an alternate route, but instinct refused to allow this action. I quickened my pace, to shorten the distance between us. When I was within ten feet, the details of this unknown became clear.

The person was male, carrying a duffle bag over his shoulder, walking along the sidewalk in the middle of the night seemingly without a care. This makes little sense, so I trailed him, watching closely.

His gait gave him away. It was fluid and well balanced, like he could turn, block a punch, and have a knife at your throat in milliseconds. Dangerous. And the duffle was concealing any weapons he was most likely carrying.

I continued to tail him, thankful that there was little light to reveal my pursuit.

He stayed his course, and I was alert to any movement. Any tension or abnormal shift of weight could forewarn me that he had noticed his tracker, could alert if he was about to turn for a confrontation. I was hyper alert to everything about his movements, so when he turned left around the corner, I was ready for it. It wasn’t until I turned that I realized he had just walked through the gates of the condo complex that had been my destination all along.

Had I been discovered? Had he been sent to exterminate me? The thought sent a shock through me. I only moved two weeks ago. How had he found me so fast?

I flattened myself against the administration building as I watched him disappear around the other side. Something itched at me as I sped up to round the corner after him, but I ignored it.

As I cleared the building, I came face to face with the man I had been following for the past five blocks. His hands were free and hanging loosely; the duffle sat off to the side.

The air was tense and heavy, both of us wary of the slightest finger twitch that might be the drawing of a weapon. I didn’t know who this man was, and I did not want to kill him until I knew why he was here. But I was not willing to die for the information. It left me in a bit of a quandary, so I stood there ready for any action he threw at me, but unwilling to start my own attack.

After approximately two minutes past of us standing there staring at each other, he slowly moved his hands away from his body, fingers spread, a gesture of surrender. Contradictory to a true surrender, he turned his back on me, picked up his bag, and continued on his way into the complex.

I couldn’t remember ever being so confused. I was a dedicated study and apt pupil at almost every subject immediately upon its teaching during my training, but I had seen the others expressing confusion. And now, it seemed it was my turn to experience the uncomfortable emotion.

I watched this stranger turn his back on me, a potential enemy, and walk away. He was in no way letting his guard down, I could tell that simply from his stance, but he gave me an advantage had I wanted to attack. It was unthinkable.

As I watched him key in the door code and disappear, my brain seemed to click back on. He did not enter my building, was not intending to either. The most convenient path to the building housing my base was around the other side of the administration building.

Looking up, I scanned the windows of the side facing me, hoping I could figure out which was his destination. Or was he here to pull a job? In that case no lights would appear which could also be the case if he lived in an apartment on the opposite side of the building. I stood there for a moment wondering if he was crazy enough to pull a job when he was seen so clearly on his entrance. I knew every detail of his face despite the low lighting; it was a serious security risk and careless.

Then I noticed it, a tiny sliver of light peeking through the bottom of very heavy drapes. In that instant I knew who he was. Apartment number 3319: Trowa Barton.

Confusion still lingered over his actions, his intentions, and his overall sanity; however, now I was closer to one of my specialty elements: espionage.

The complex in which I live is set up to enclose the courtyard and swimming pool. Facing the main street is the administration building. This building houses several things. The laundromat is in the basement; the gym takes up the first and second floors, and the administration offices are on the third. Every resident has a pass card to get into the building any time day or night, but the elevators only travel to the third floor between the hours of 8:00 - 6:00 unless a code, known only by administrative employees, is input.

Behind the main building is the pool and courtyard, flanking this area are buildings two and three which face other across the pool. The buildings are inversed blueprint identicals no more than one hundred feet apart. Apartments in these two buildings are either one bedroom or two.

Building four completes the pool enclosure, facing the pool, but is very different from two and three. It houses two and three bedroom apartments, but is also used as a storage facility for lawn and pool maintenance.

The most interesting fact of this entire situation: Barton’s condo in building three was directly across from mine: 2319, building two, third floor, number nineteen.

I spent the next 72 hours concealed behind my curtains staring across the pool at his. I was determined to identify his pattern. He was dangerous, and I needed to know his movements.

But my efforts were frustrating. The day after our meeting, I watched him exit the building. He was gone for a little over an hour and returned carrying two paper bags filled with groceries. At that point, I thought my information gathering would be simple, but that’s the last time I saw him.

I pried myself away from the window long enough to grab something to eat, and pull my laptop over to the seat I’ve been using to observe. My search on one, Trowa Barton, proved futile. His pseudonym is a blank slate, absolutely no history save one bank account set up to pay the rent, electricity, water, and internet bills. Tracing the bank account gave me nothing to go on except that it had been set up less than one month before the rent from this condo complex began withdrawing from it.

I moved to this complex to get sleep, and its been over a week since my last decent night’s rest. I don’t sleep while en route to my intended target’s destination, and I was returning home from an assignment when I ran into Barton. My muscles are getting stiff, and I’m finding it hard to concentrate. The beginning signs of sleep deprivation.

My thoughts? Its time to go to sleep. Barton’s apartment is under contract for the next four months. It was rented one month prior to my investigations into this area of the country. No one could predict this was where I’d move when even I did not know. I completely changed my habits with this move.

Conclusion: Barton is a skilled operative, but his presence in this complex is completely unrelated to mine.

I still plan on watching him carefully. It is not wise to turn your back on a coiled snake, but then again, I’ve seen him do so and live.

So I slept. I shut down for twelve hours and woke in the middle of the night feeling rejuvenated. My muscles were stiff from lack of exercise and an extended time period sitting in the same position, so I decided to take a swim.

The pool was not open this time of night, the normal hours of operation long past, but I did not need nor want a body guard. And I have never concerned myself with rules unless they were set forth by my instructors. Since my instructors are long dead, I do not concern myself with their wishes anymore.

I put on a light pair of shorts that would work for swimming, threw a towel over my shoulder, and headed downstairs. The courtyard was dimly lit with soft bulbs hidden behind the landscaping casting green halos of light around the perimeter. The pool itself had a light on one end.

After tossing my towel on a nearby table, I dove in and began my laps. Time passed quickly as the water flowed around me. I felt freedom seep into my bones as I flipped over and pushed off the wall. It was a distinctly pleasing feeling when compared to the claustrophobic few days I had just experienced.

Time peeled away with my laps until my limbs began to struggle with my progression across the pool. I decided it was time to head back upstairs; there was just something I had to deal with first.

I knew he was there, had been for sometime. I noticed him as I turned my head away from the water to take a breath. He was just sitting at the table, benign, so I ignored him until I was ready to exit the pool. I made my way to the edge where I had begun, and pulled myself out.

Standing exactly where I had entered, I met his eyes unflinchingly as I soaked the concrete beneath me. The shorts I was wearing were barely decent as the excess water weighed them down, but if the choice was nudity or death, the choice was easy.

I knew he did not intend to kill me outright, he would have done so before now, wouldn’t have waited for me to notice him. But I was not certain what he wanted, so I was carefully watching him; my shorts were a lesser concern.

His eyes flicked down my body, weighing my stance, then he reached forward, gripped my towel on the table beside him, and tossed it to me. My eyes never left his as the towel landed in a crumpled heap in front of me.

I saw a slight sneer twitch across his lips as he gripped the handrails of his chair and began to stand, but I stopped him by breaking the silence.

“Why are you here?” My voice sounded loud echoing across the courtyard, despite my low tone.

Barton sat back down in the chair and stared, letting the silence draw out. I waited, and finally he spoke. “You followed me.” There was no accusation in his voice, only truth as he continued. “I assume the reason for that is your need for answers.”

I snorted and could not keep all the cynicism from my voice as I responded. “You came down here just to answer my questions?”

“On my own terms.” He was calm, but firm; there was no indecision in him.

I nodded and understood then. He would be cooperative, would allow my inquiries, but not until he specified when, where, and how. Although, I was the one who chose the when and where by entering a neutral territory, but I did not plan on telling him that.

“Do you know who I am?” I cut straight to the chase.

I barely caught his smirk in the dim lighting. “Do you know who I am?”

I refrained from growling at how pointless this all seemed at this instant. “Trowa Barton.”

I watched him blink slowly. “At least on paper.” He responded and solved any question I had regarding that fact. A name is useless, easily fabricated, easily changed. Me knowing his name meant nothing to him, just as him having my name should mean nothing to me.

“Are you a threat to me?” This encounter was a strange one, unsettling. I was unsure of his intentions, of his honesty, but I wanted answers to my questions. Whether he responded with truth or lie would be discovered in the future.

“Only if you make an enemy of me. Had I any intentions of killing you, you would have rounded that corner to face the barrel of my gun. But the true question is: should I be concerned with your presence here? Are you a threat to me?” The tenor of his voice was steady, as if he were reading his grocery list.

I moved in after him; I followed him. It was a logical leap to think I was meant to kill him.

“No.” It was the truth; I had not seen or heard of a hit that matched his description.

His eyes picked up the lights surrounding us, making him look almost feral. “Then I suggest I truce of sorts.”

“Truce?” My voice was flat, but it was meant to be a prompt for him to expand. He did.

“This way you will not have to look behind you every time you set foot outside your room, and I don’t need to hide from the sun while I’m in town.”

Ah. And here we come to the true reason behind his visit. There was something he wanted that our recon war was preventing. I am not sure what he meant with his words, but it was only a matter of time before I found out.

I nodded my acceptance.

“Good.” His voice rang out across the courtyard as he stood. “Welcome to the neighborhood, Heero Yuy.” His last words drifted to me over his shoulder as he turned and walked away.

I was beginning to wonder how often I was meant to watch his retreating figure.

The next day, I understood his request. It seemed Barton was fond of leaving his drapes open when he isn’t feeling threatened. They stayed open, and I found myself watching.

Sunrise would often find him sitting cross-legged on the balcony reading, or stretching. Not always, never a set schedule; he was absent enough to wonder if he would be there or not. Breakfast was an elaborate ordeal; he never ate only rations. Pastries, fruit platters, eggs, and a variety of meat graced his tables varying by day and time. He never ate lunch, but dinner was prepared with as much care as the day’s first meal.

I tried not to watch him; it seemed like it went against the truce we set. So I went about my life as well. I spent time setting up my next hit, filtering through the various offers. I was in the gym for hours, regaining the strength and tone I lost when I hid out in the inner-city hovels. There is only so much you can do when you’re limited to your own apartment.

No matter where I was, I found my eyes drawn to those open drapes. It was an odd compulsion, one I had not felt since my obsession to destroy those who had betrayed me.

Even sitting in front of my computer, researching my next target, there was a gap in my curtains, leaving me a view across the courtyard. It was a distraction, one I did not acknowledge until the lights were turned off that evening. When that happened, I realized I had been sitting in front of several open windows on my computer but had gotten nothing done. The past several hours had been spent attuned to the movements of his apartment.

It angered me that he could distract me so easily. My focus was the reason I was successful as an assassin, and now that was in jeopardy.

I threw myself into setting up mission parameters for my next hit. Researching his movements, his staff, his business prospectives, everything. I needed to start setting up my flight plans, designing routes to and from the target area, and making choices on the most suitable weapons for that environment.

Hours passed like minutes, and I never noticed. My focus was pure, until the light came back on.

I glanced at the clock on my screen, 0245. It was a weeknight, so most good citizens were sleeping in preparation for the workday. The floor length drapes were still opened wide leaving the whole of his apartment visible through the glass doors leading to the balcony.

I was drawn. There was no other reasoning behind it. I left every screen left open on my computer and walked over to my partially open window. I saw him walking around the room rearranging furniture dressed in long, loose shorts that fell to his knees. I watched him clear out the main area, pushing couches and tables to the outskirts of the room.

Barton centered himself, seated. I watched him extend his legs out to the sides and fold himself over them, pressing his chest to the floor. He was stretching; I have seen him do this periodically, but then it changed.

Instead of simply stretching himself in long lines along the carpeted floor, he pressed his hands down and lifted his weight until his body was completely lifted. He held that position, toes barely touching the floor. I was impressed by his strength and control, but it was only the beginning.

It was a routine. He would shift his weight over his head, over one hand then the other. Legs together above his head, legs split and balanced, back arched and contorted. Each position blended seamlessly together, fluid and beautiful. Long, clean lines of bone and muscle stretched and straining, but elegant and defined.

He was amazing. I felt odd watching him, uncomfortable but eager to see what he would do next. I felt disappointment when he reached his conclusion, stretching to end where he began.

As he stretched, I noticed the hair matted to his forehead, dark with sweat. I imagined I could see the sweat beading on his chest, gleaming on his arms. I watched the shorts ride up his legs as he moved to stretch different muscles, showing whiter skin than the dark olive of his chest and face.

I realized at that moment how much my heart rate and respiration had increased while watching. It embarrassed me when I realized what effect he had on me. This had never happened before, and I was concerned, but I also realized why he was so successful at distracting me.

I was angry and irritated but entranced.

I shut everything down, and headed to bed to see if the darkness of sleep could help me clear my mind. Instead of the serenity of sleep, I dreamed. It seldom happens, and they are usually unpleasant and far from restful.

In my dream, I sat on the couch watching Trowa’s dance. I woke with the sheets tented around my erection and frustrated beyond acceptable levels. A cold shower helped only marginally, and I spent several hours in the gym trying to work off that tension. I was exhausted but still riding that sharp edge of arousal thanks to my new neighbor.

Despite the frustration, I stayed up late into the evening in anticipation of the next performance.

It was a Friday night; people would be up until all hours of the night, so I was unsure if Trowa would leave the window unblocked. I was at war within about whether I wanted him to or not.

He did. It was 0450 when Trowa walked into his living area, cleared some space, and went through his routine. Early morning when the inebriated population has passed out, and the early morning fitness fanatics had yet to emerge.

I watched every movement like it held the answers of life’s questions. The long, loose shorts crawled dangerously high up his legs with gravity’s help, and I found my thoughts trailing over his skin. Wondering how much time he spent outside to have such a dark complexion along his face and arms, when his thighs were so fair. Wondering if that pale skin was softer, more sensitive to the touch. Wondering if he would shudder if I ran my hands across it.

My breath caught in my throat at my thoughts.

I couldn’t stand there any longer, so stripping and changing into some shorts, I headed to the pool to try to release the pent up energy that suddenly flowed through my system. I did not want to analyze why I had adrenaline rushing through my veins. My body was slightly stiff from yesterday. I had pushed it to my absolute limit at the gym yesterday, but I heal exceptionally fast. Its part of the legacy the scientists and trainers of my youth left me.

Despite dragging my body through metaphysical flames at the gym yesterday, I left reeking of frustrated tension. I hoped the pool would hand me different results.

It was 0610 when I reached the pool, and there was another swimming laps. She shifted her strokes to carry her to one side of the length, and I dove in swimming parallel to her on the other side, and immersed myself in the flow of water across my skin.

But the caress of the water soon became the caress of hands, and I wondered what his hands would feel like flowing down and across my flesh. Are his hands calloused from weapons training?

I blew the thought from my mind, frustrated, and pushed myself harder. The woman was crawling out of the pool, and I would soon be the sole occupant of the water. There would be more people around soon, traipsing about the courtyard, kids screaming running about. I needed to finish up quickly.

Pressing harder, I increased my speed, sprinting through the laps. It became harder and harder to drag air into my lungs in the short time between strokes, and my muscles started screaming. It was time to stop, so I went through the last flip turn and dragged myself through the water to complete the final stretch.

I was exhausted again. I swam for over an hour and a half, most of it at my top speed. It was a strain to pull myself out of the pool, but I covered the fact by twisting to sit at the side, my legs dangling in the water. I watched the activity begin to grow around me as the complex woke up to a Saturday morning.

The hairs on the back of my neck spiked; someone was watching me. I turned my head just in time to see an object flying at my head. My hand snapped up to catch it; and I expected to felt the pain of a knife slice through my flesh.

All I felt was the slap of rubber against my palm as my fingers closed around a ball. My eyes looked past the offending object and locked with brilliant green.

My body was still recovering, and that sharp movement ached more than I wanted to admit, but I refused to allow him to see any weakness. At the same time, my heart rate accelerated as he walked towards me. He was wearing loose jeans and a tank top that fit like second skin. The contrasting garments caused the skin above his waistband to show as the jeans hung below his hipbones and the top bunched up at the small of his waist.

I felt the attraction hit me as sharply as if he had thrown the knife I was originally expecting, but I fought to keep my face impassive. “Yours?” I inquired as I held the ball up near my shoulder.

He smirked. “I was just testing a theory.” By this time he had reached my side at the pool. I heard his clothing shift as he squatted down near me, just outside my reach, weight perfectly balanced on his toes.

I raised an eyebrow. I was too tired to allow him to bait me.

His face was as blank as mine, but I could tell he was amused. “You run, do sprints, lift weights bigger than you, and swim to the point of exhaustion. I just wanted to see if you do anything to keep your reactions sharp.”

His words sent a spark through me as realization slapped me. Trowa had been watching me, too. It was unnecessary information, given freely. People like us do not let such things slip out unintentionally. He wanted me to know that. Did that mean he knew I watched him as well, that he was fine with me spying on his displays? A thrill spasmed across my chest at the thought that maybe the performance was specifically for me, not a byproduct of my watching, but I pulled my reactions back under control.

I glanced at the ball which would have left a red mark the size of my fist across my forehead had I not caught it. My eyes returned to his as I spoke. “And if I do nothing?”

This time he could not quite keep the smile out of his voice. “Then I would have seen if a rubber ball could break our tentative truce.”

I couldn’t help but snort at the prospect of feeling threatened by a ball. If the ball was filled with C4, we would have a problem, but this one was hollow.

My eyes skimmed over his body held only three feet from me and returned to his face. Pulling my thoughts back from the brink of inappropriate and embarrassing topics, desperately reaching back for the subject we were on, I suddenly wondered why he was here. “Was there any reasoning behind your reactions theory?” I was actually relieved that my throat was loose enough to keep my voice impassive.

“Yes.” He said nothing, and I continued to stare him down until he expanded. Perhaps he got tired of hearing the children screaming in the background, maybe his legs were beginning to cramp from his position, but he finally spoke again. “When is the last time you sparred?”

I just continued to stare in silence.

“There is a large, open room with mats covering the floor near the indoor track.”

“I know the room.” I responded.

“I’ll be there every day at 1000 hours. I need to sharpen my reactions as well, and no one else around here would challenge me sufficiently.” He stood then.

“You want to set a schedule?” I was reeling from his suggestion. Why would he?

I saw his shoulders shake twice and realized he was laughing at me. “I think between the two of us, we could handle just about anything.” His voice gave no sign of the laugh I was certain I witnessed.

“So I am no longer considered an enemy?” I questioned before I could stop myself.

All the laughter drained from his eyes, the depth of them showed me the weight of his next statement. “If you were my enemy, you would have attacked me as I walked past one of the alleyways before I noticed you. You are very good, I almost didn’t.”

I nodded slightly, acknowledging his compliment.

“I’ll be there, come if you want.” With that he turned and walked away. This time as I watched him leave, my gaze was considerably lower than last time.

The first meeting in the gym was awkward in the beginning. Neither of us had an overly aggressive style; we usually just waited for our opponent to attack. But after the initial bout it became “winner makes the first move.” Things went smoother from then on.

We are fairly equally matched exploiting our different talents. He is amazingly agile and flexible; he can slip out of almost every hold I’ve tried on him. Trowa is taller than I am by three inches. It does not seem like much until he uses that leverage to throw off my balance.

I am physically stronger than he is, so when I catch him off guard and land a full blow, the fight is usually over as it takes him a couple of seconds to recover. I never give him the time. He is an extremely unpredictable opponent, though; his agility and balance usually keep him from taking the full force of my strikes.

Our speed is equal despite my stockier frame. It makes for interesting sparring sessions.

I find myself reluctantly leaving the gym everyday, and I spend near all of my time in a state of anticipation of our next meeting.

And I still watch him nightly, only now I am forced to take matters into my own hands. The close contact of our daily sessions would reveal any residue of my sexual frustration. I don’t often have the time to get lost in any promiscuous thoughts, or my face will suffer for it. I may be physically stronger, but he still packs a hell of a punch.

There are times, though, when I have him partially pinned, when he’s wriggling to get free of my hold, that I feel his body against mine, see the sweat cling to his brow, smell the scent of his skin, and I have to concentrate to control my treacherous reactions.

I find it ironic that the reason we started sparring in the first place was to improve my reaction speed, and now I have to suppress them. Granted those reactions are of a different species than the reactions we intended to train.

It wasn’t wanted, but I had a deadline approaching. After two weeks of sparring with Trowa, I had to tell him I would not be present for the next three to five days. For some reason, I was uncomfortable telling him that. He knew why I would be gone, and I was disappointed at the upcoming separation. But it had to be done.

He said nothing when I told him, just watched me and nodded, accepting the information. We sparred that day after I told him, but there was an unusual air of tension that I had never felt before. I did not have any time to think of it though because as soon as I did, I found myself lying on my back staring up at Trowa’s foot resting against my throat.

I wrapped my hands around his ankle to remove it, but I felt a very firm pressure against my jugular. I thought he would have let me up to start another bout, but he left me pinned underneath him until I looked up.

He gave me the full force of his gaze then spoke quietly. “Come back in one piece.”

It felt like my heart was in my throat, pounding against his bare foot. I nodded; there wasn’t a single thing I could say to his comment.

But that wasn’t the end of it. His foot pressed a bit harder for emphasis. “I mean it. Its too damn much trouble to hunt down your killer if I don’t know who it was.”

My eyes widened as what he said sank in. He removed his foot, but I remained motionless. Trowa would avenge my death. It may seem like nothing to most, but when all you deal with is death, you begin to wonder what will happen after your own. I’ve never been afraid of death.

But it was nice to know someone cared enough to avenge me.

And I wondered if he would feel as compelled to destroy my killer as I was to take revenge against those who had killed my companions of long ago.

His hand entered my line of sight, and I took it without thought. He helped me to my feet and we began walking towards the exit. The companionable silence in which we usually traveled seemed heavy today, still comfortable, but it felt like something was missing.

He stopped short of the exit to the gym. I paused my stride and looked back at him.

Half of his face was hidden behind the sweep of his hair. It was a pose that was well practiced for him, but he had not taken up this pose with me often. It was a sign of his uncertainty or when he had a reason to hide. He very rarely hid with me; we knew each other too well. From the moment we noticed each other that fateful night, we knew what the other was. There was no hiding from that.

But why was he hiding now? I let the thought go as his voice broke the silence.

“What do you like to eat?”

I felt my brow crease as I turned the unexpected question over in my mind; he continued before I could respond.

“I’ll make dinner when you get back.” One eye looked at me while the other remained hidden.

I blinked at the offer, and thoughts of being in his apartment with him flooded my being. Scenes of him cooking flashed through me, dreams of me lying on his couch with him wrapped around me trampled coherent thought.

“Or not, if you’d prefer.” Trowa spoke again, hesitantly, dropping his gaze.

It broke me out of my stupor. “No.” I negated his last comment, but I saw him flinch with the word. I quickly corrected myself. “I’d like that.”

He looked up at me, and I held both his eyes with my own. “I’ll take whatever you want to give.” My eyes widened at my response, but then again so did his. I nearly bit my tongue when my jaw clenched in reaction to the words that spilled, unplanned, from my mouth.

“A surprise, then?” His tenor rang out before I could try to amend my words.

I nodded, unwilling to attempt any other response. We parted then.

His performance was earlier that night, early enough that others may have been watching as well. I did not like the feeling that knowledge inspired, but I was glad I was able to watch him again before I left.

I actually had more problems than I should have with the target, but I was a bit distracted while I was supposed to be doing surveillance. I kept wondering if Trowa’s displays were done for me alone, or if he was still performing back at the apartment. I wondered why he was so hesitant to ask me over for dinner, did he feel the same attraction? I anxious to know if I was going to be allowed to watch in person rather than from across the courtyard.

The distraction made me miss one of the guards on duty. It wasn’t a lethal mistake; I disarmed him before he could truly hurt me, but he did get a slice of my shoulder with a knife while I was stripping him of his gun.

It wasn’t deep enough for stitches, but it would need to be cleaned when I got back. The target was eliminated with little more fuss. He had several guards, but they were mostly hired for looks rather than training, heavily muscled blocks of molasses that were practically harmless once you got the gun away from them.

I got back in late to avoid notice. I didn’t bother unpacking; I just threw my stuff in a corner of my bedroom. I stripped and fell into bed. I wasn’t necessarily tired, but I wanted to be awake, alert, and well rested for sparring with Trowa.

I wasn’t sure if he would show, wasn’t certain if he knew I was back or not. When I got out of bed, I went straight to the drapes and opened them. He would notice; he probably knew I was home, but I didn’t want to risk it.

I stopped cold in my tracks when I realized my thoughts. “Home.” The word spilled from my lips for the first time. It was in that moment that I realized that the restlessness that plagued me, that I was constantly trying to outrun, that emptiness I was constantly trying to fill with unnecessary risks, hadn’t bothered me in quite some time.

More specifically, since I met Trowa.

He was more than an equal, more than a sparring partner. He was a friend, someone I could confide in if I needed to, though I had never felt the urge. And I wanted him to feel the same about me.

To be completely honest, I wanted more than friendship from him, but I had not felt this sense of companionship in so long, I was not willing to risk losing it over temptation.

I glanced at the clock. I had to go if I was going to arrive at the gym on time.

My heart rate accelerated when I set eyes on him again. He looked the same as he always did, but that didn’t make him less attractive. I kept my face impassive, and the session began as if there had been no gap in the schedule.

However, it took Trowa approximately ten seconds to realize I was favoring one arm over the other, and another ten to have me pinned in a kill position to end the bout. I stood ready for another challenge, but he narrowed his eyes.

“Take off your shirt.” His voice was calm but had a sharp edge underlying it.

I raised an eyebrow in question, but my body wanted desperately to respond.

“I want to see your wound.”

“It’s a two inch slice over my shoulder, not deep enough for stitches.” I was tense, but I’m not quite certain why.

“I appreciate the report, but that’s not acceptable.” Trowa’s voice dropped to a growl.

I sighed. “It was just re-bandaged. I’ll change the dressing tonight after dinner, and you can see it then. Is that acceptable?” I replied wearily.

His jaw shifted, he did that when he assessing a situation. “I suppose, but we’re done for today. I refuse to be the cause of it opening wider.”

I smirked. “You could try.” I was baiting him; despite my wound and his less than favorable mood, I was enjoying the situation. He was worried about me; it provoked an odd feeling inside my chest. Odd, but pleasant.

He flicked his eyes to the floor where he had me pinned just seconds ago as if to prove his point.

“Fine.” I conceded. “What time should I be over? I would like to help, but I can’t cook, and I’m too well-versed in explosives to be trusted in the kitchen.”

The corner of Trowa’s mouth twitched with my comment. “Any time you want, but I’ll start cooking around 1800 hours.”

My mind treasonously started questioning whether now was classified as “any time.” I berated myself for the thought. I don’t want to risk pushing him too much. I can’t imagine what it would be like if he cut me out of his life. I have been away from him for too long if a short separation bothered me this much. But I’ve spent too much time with him if I am becoming dependent on him.

It was a definite concern, but I don’t know if I could stay away from him now. He still draws me to him with some unknown power.

I knocked on his door at exactly 1800. He opened the door a moment later, but rushed back into the kitchen before I could step across the threshold.

I suppressed a smile as I heard a few select curses float to me from the kitchen. “You can’t have burned it so soon after you’ve started, can you? You must be talented.” I let the teasing insult slip from my mouth curious as to his response.

His voice was dark and seductive as it answered me. “You have no idea what my talents consist of, Heero.” My name spoken in that bedroom purr made my groin tighten with promise. I wondered if he had meant to speak to me in such a tone; I welcomed the thought with a mixture of fear and desire.

I was still questioning his motives when he returned to the main room. “Do you want the curtains closed?” He glanced out the window, and I saw my own drapes staring back at me from across the courtyard.

“Open is fine.” I answered, I couldn’t really fathom his apartment without the sunlight pouring in, it did not seem right at this moment.

Trowa tilted his head slightly. “But you like them closed.”

“And you like them open. Your house, your rules.” I answered truthfully.

He smirked. “That sounds like fun.”

I watched as he turned away from me to head back into the kitchen. He shuffled ingredients from one pan to the other, and I had no idea what went where, but the scents lingering in the air made my mouth water.

Dinner was filled with the companionable silence that often accompanied us, and afterwards I helped with the dishes. He protested, but I gave him little choice. I can be very stubborn when I want to be, and I wanted to then.

We stood side by side as I washed and rinsed the plates and bowls. Trowa’s hand often slid over my own when he took the dishes to dry. The scene was one that will stand out in my mind for years to come.

In that time frame, I felt serenity. It was like we were lovers, like we lived quiet lives secreted away from the world. I wanted nothing more than for that moment to never end. It was a fool’s wish, but it was a poignant revelation of what I wanted from life.

I must have stopped washing because I heard Trowa’s voice bring me back. “Heero, are you alright?”

I started out of my dreamscape. “What?” I looked up to see concern etching his face, and felt the warmth of his hand on my arm. It was the first time I had been touched without aggression in over six years.

It felt like I was drowning, in his eyes, in my mind, my life and all I had known being swept out from underneath me like a fierce riptide.

“Do you need to sit down?” Trowa moved closer, and pressed the backs of his fingers to my temple and forehead as if he was checking for fever, but his touch caused my body to tremble. I had never felt such overpowering emotion.

“Leave the dishes. Let’s sit down.” His voice was soft as he took my arm in attempt to guide me into the other room.

But I shook myself a bit, pulled my composure back around me. “No, I’m fine, really.” The silverware was the only thing left to wash since he was in the habit of washing the pans as soon as they were no longer needed to prevent food from sticking to the sides. It would not take much time to finish.

Despite my reassurances, Trowa watched me very carefully while we finished, and, to my disappointment, only touched the utensils as he took them from my hand.

After dinner, he made me keep my promise to show him the knife wound. He noted the location, and chastised me for wrapping it myself. “You should have come here. I would have bandaged it for you, and you wouldn’t have made it worse by trying to use your injured muscles to keep it from bleeding.”

“It was late. Besides, I don’t intend to come over uninvited. Injured or not.” I responded evenly as he smeared ointment over the wound.

Trowa looked up at me sharply. “Nonsense.” His eyes narrowed, but he forced me to hold his gaze. “But if you insist, listen well. You are welcome here, anytime. Consider yourself officially invited.” His words were welcoming, but his tone was grave, demanding.

His hand began wrapping the gauze around my wound with a gentleness I never knew him to have, especially when he seemed so irritated with me at the moment. I temporarily lost myself in the sensation of his hands traveling across my skin.

I was thrust back into reality when he cleared his throat awkwardly. We were sitting close on the couch, the unused gauze lying across his lap. He shifted his weight away from me slightly, but he didn’t move.

“Well…” He trailed off, lips parted as if he changed his mind and decided not to speak.

I should have left, excused myself and went back to my apartment, but that is not what I wanted. I was being selfish, but he hadn’t acted like he wanted me to leave either. Want. What I truly wanted was to watch him, but did I have the courage to ask him?

Trowa tried to speak again. “I’m afraid there isn’t much here to entertain. I don’t watch television, so I don’t have one.” He was uncomfortable with the situation, but he still sat so close to me that I could smell dinner’s scent mixing with the aftershave he used.

It made me bolder. “I’m not bored. I don’t think I could be with you next to me.”

His mouth formed a shy smile that entranced me, and I leaned that much closer to him. We could have whispered and heard each other with perfect clarity.

“What do you normally do in the evenings?” His voice was somewhat wispy, like his breath had been knocked from him.

I took a deep breath, and let myself drown like I had earlier. “Truthfully? I watch you.” I heard the slightest moan slip from his throat, but I continued. There would be no room for doubt. “I sit in front of my computer for hours, but succeed in nothing but watching you move from one room to the next before settling on this couch to read. I’m not bored. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

I barely finished before I felt his lips pressed against mine. I straightened to bring my face closer to his, to make up for the difference in our heights. His hand came up and threaded through my hair, gripping the back of my head.

My hands gripped his hips and pulled him closer. I felt his lips move across mine, open slightly and take my bottom lip between them, sucking lightly. We pulled apart then, both panting as if we had been sparring for hours. His eyes were focused on my lips as he licked his own.

“Dance for me.” I spoke quickly before I could change my mind.

He pulled back farther, looking into my eyes, and I saw confusion chase across his face. “What?”

My head was a jumbled mess, and I blurted out my term for it. I had no idea the actual name for his erotic nightly routine. “I don’t know what you call it. Your stretches and lifts.” I paused trying to partially regain my breath, and I saw comprehension fill his eyes. I continued anyway. “I have never seen anything like it before I met you. Its beautiful and erotic; it amazes me every time I see it. Let me be in the same room. Let me watch you.”

Trowa was groaning by the time I finished. He pushed me back against the couch and straddled my lap. His mouth sought mine again; his lips parted and sucked on my tongue when I couldn’t resist the temptation. I felt his erection as his weight shifted, and his body pressed closer to mine. I shifted my hips to provide us both with more friction.

He dragged his mouth from mine. “Are you sure that’s what you want? I could stay right here and show you a different form of dance.” He ground his groin against my own so I had no doubt what he meant.

His movements ripped a growl from my throat. “I’ll take you up on that later if its still on offer.” I wrapped my arms around his back to pull he chest against mine, and ran my lips underneath the lobe of his ear as I spoke against his skin. “Please, Trowa, I’ve wanted this for so long.” I murmured softly.

I had never begged for anything in my life, but I have little doubt that Trowa could get me to do anything right now.

I felt his whole body begin to tremble, and I felt his pulse underneath my hands. His heart was racing. “Yes, watch me.” Trowa half-spoke half-groaned the words. He sat back, pushing against my chest. The muscles spasmed under his palms, his eyes were glued to the twitching movements as he nodded. “I’ll have to change, these pants restrict movement.”

His face was flushed and his lips swollen. His hair was ruffled, and his clothing disheveled. He was the most attractive thing I had ever seen, and I felt lust stab through me, brand across my skin like a hot iron. “You could just take the pants off.” I slid my hands down his hips and thighs repeatedly, thrilled with the fact that he was letting me.

I watched his eyes close as lust chased across his visage. “Shit, Heero. You’re not going to make this easy are you?” His head dropped back, and I watched his throat convulse as he tried to swallow.

“No. I intend to make it very hard.” This statement caused Trowa to stumble backwards off my lap. It was an abrupt change from the well-balanced, agile man I loved to watch, but I reveled in the fact that it was me who had caused the change, that I could have this effect on the man before me.

Trowa pulled himself upright, and tried to regain his composure. “I’ll go change.” He must have seen my frown because he slowed his exit to explain. “It’s a difficult routine, Heero. If you distract me, I’ll fall. Some of those positions are dangerous if I don’t concentrate.”

I nodded. I regretted asking him now, knowing it might be dangerous for him, especially in the state we’re both in currently. But I wanted so badly to watch him, and from his responses, it seems he wanted the same thing.

While he was changing, I decided to make myself useful and began shifting his furniture like he always did. Glancing up, I saw the window open in front of me. I moved to close the drapes, but something flashed in my head. All the discrete glances at the open window came rushing to the forefront, and inspiration struck me like a thunderbolt.

Is he an exhibitionist? Is that why his window is always open despite how easy a target he is? There was really only one way to find out.

Trowa emerged at that moment, and I let my eyes roam his body freely. He was perfection standing before me.

He caught my look and spoke before I could. “Don’t. Don’t say anything, Heero. I can’t let my control go, not now.”

Guilt raged at me again. How selfish was he going to let me be? “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do Trowa.”

I caught another flick of his eyes towards the window, then back at me. “Aren’t you going to close the curtains?”


His body shuddered visibly, and his voice was a bit shaky. “Alright.” Then he began, and I was mesmerized. I could see every crease of his flesh, every sway of his hair. I saw that pale flesh so close to me but felt the restraint I needed like a physical force. There was no glass between us now, only my tentative control and his safety preventing me from ripping his shorts from his body and doing sinful things to him.

The open window was actually insanely arousing. The darkness outside reflected the light inside letting others see inside, but preventing us from seeing out. What we could see, though, was our own reflection. The effect was like having floor length mirrors covering the wall. I could see every angle of Trowa’s body, and my cock was becoming painfully hard.

Trowa was breathing heavily as he finished, and I watched him crawl towards me. His muscles rippled with the movement like some great stalking cat, and I found that painful edge of pleasure with the sight.

He ran his hands up the inside of my thighs as his body came in contact with the couch beneath me, his shoulders pressing out against my legs. “I want you.” He breathed before he straightened, dragging his hands up my chest as he reached for my mouth again.

“And I want you.” I breathed between kisses. “I want to look up at that window and see your body wrapped around me, and I don’t care if everyone in the complex watches while we do it.”

I smiled as I heard him curse again. I guess I was right.

He pulled away and lay back on the carpet, lifting one leg up and resting the sole of his foot near his ass. It made those loose shorts ride up and expose the flesh of his inner thigh.

I slid off the couch and crawled over to him on the floor, but I stopped short to pay homage to the creamy skin of his thighs. I ran my hand up one, letting my mouth and face caress the other. I felt Trowa writhing on the floor beneath me.

I slipped my hands under the elastic of his shorts and waited until his lifted his hips before sliding them off along with his boxers. Pausing, I drank in the sight of his body. He was a vision of perfection.

“Heero.” He groaned beneath me and reached up to remove my shirt. I helped him strip my clothes from my body, and while he was distracted, gazing at me, I took him in my mouth. The sound that he unleashed went straight to my groin; I wasn’t sure how much more I could handle before I climaxed, but I wanted this to last.

I concentrated on the feel of his flesh in my mouth, on the taste of him. My thoughts were focused on the light suction of my mouth over his balls, the slide of my tongue over the sensitive ridge at the head. I heard him mumble something, but couldn’t make it out. I let his cock slip from between my lips. “What did you say, Trowa?”

His eyes had rolled back in his head. “Need something. Want you.” He rolled over and started to crawl towards the bedroom, trying to regaining his poise with the separation before he stood and entered his bedroom.

I watched him go focused on his ass shifting with every inch he moved away from me. I could see exactly where he wanted me to be, and I knew I wanted nothing more than to possess him. The fact that he wanted the same thing drove the lust through my body like fire through my veins.

I felt like I was being dissolved from within, burning, but then he returned and pressed something into my hands as his mouth covered mine again. Our tongues tangled viciously, and he groaned when he tasted his flesh on my tongue. “Now, Heero.”

I slicked my fingers, running the oil along the cleft, massaging the pucker before carefully, inserting one stretching and softening. I was living through torture, feeling the warmth of his most intimate area, knowing I would fill it with much more than my fingers, but not yet. I added another, then another when he was ready.

“Please, please, please.” He was chanting like a mantra with every push of my fingers.

My hands were shaking, but I managed to slick myself sufficiently. I used the oiled hand to grip his cock, sliding over his flesh as he cried out. I crawled over his body, and bent over him. We kissed again and again, but I didn’t enter yet. I could feel his frustration mounting as he began to thrust backwards trying to fill himself with me.

I gripped my cock, and began to press into him. He stilled his movements, but his hands clutched at my ass, pushing me forward as we both moaned at the feeling overwhelming us. His legs wrapped around me, his heels pushing into the backs of my thighs, pushing me forward.

“Yes!” He hissed as he reached the end of me. I stilled, holding my breath at the feeling; willing myself to calm.

I looked down into his face; his eyes were screwed shut. “Look, Trowa.” I began as I slowly pulled out. “Look at the window. I want you to watch me fuck you.” His body convulsed and tightened around me. Damn, but that nearly finished me. I continued, though. “Watch. See what every one else who looks out their window right now can see us doing.” I said as I thrust back into him.

“Oh God!” He gasped as his eyes rolled back in his head. “Fuck!” He swore as I increased my pace slowly. Trowa thrust back onto me as best he could, gripping my butt, pulling me towards him, deeper.

I groaned, trying to stave off the inevitable. I gathered my body over my knees, gripped his hips, and pulled him backwards and leaning back onto my knees. My arms under his chest pulled him up to me. He cried out as he was impaled in my lap, but that’s not what my intentions were.

I stood slowly as he panted my name, and walked with unsteady legs towards the glass doors. I pressed his back against it. The cool surface made him hiss and arch against me, driving me deeper into him.

Not long now. “Does it turn you on to know that everyone can see you, see us, what we’re doing? They have a perfect view of your perfect ass, Trowa. They’ll know exactly what’s causing the windows to steam.”

Trowa’s had flew back, banging against the glass as he gasped my name again, pumping his hips and convulsing as his climax rocked him. I sped my thrusts, harder, faster to prolong his orgasm and encourage mine.

Pleasure to the point of pain started as a pin-prick in my groin then blew outward like the shockwave of an explosion, engulfing my entire body. I cried out as waves of pleasure washed over me, sweeping me into a sea of sensation.

My legs gave out, and we both crashed to the floor, but nothing was penetrating the haze of ecstasy that clouded my vision. I had never felt such euphoria and rode it for as long as I could, but I was hoping it would become a regular occurrence with Trowa.

There was time to talk of that later. I gathered him in my arms, and somehow forced my legs to work long enough to get him into his bedroom. I tried to release him; I wanted to stay with him through the night, but I did not know whether he would welcome such.

I tried to slip my arms out from underneath him, but I felt his hand latch onto my wrist. “If you think for one minute I would enjoy waking up alone, I will kick your ass tomorrow, injured or not.” His voice was muffled around the sheets, and I smiled at the sight he made.

My eyes widened as I remembered the wound. It was a minor injury, not even worth worrying about save to prevent infection. It hadn’t bothered me at all during my expenditure of energy, adrenaline and endorphins overriding everything but the pleasure. I glanced at the bandage. There was a bit of spotting on the surface, but nothing worth worrying over.

I slid into the bed next to him; he wrapped his arms around me, and I felt whole for the first time in my life.

Anything, anything to keep this feeling. I have plenty of funds reserved to go anywhere, do anything, and I know without a doubt I would follow him for as long as he’d let me.

He’s the other half of me, and now I’m whole.


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