"Bottom Line"

Written By: Mookie

Disclaimer: I don't really need to be Captain Obvious here, do I? No ownership, no money being made. Written for fun, not profit.

Pairing: Heero/Trowa/Quatre

Rating: NC17

Summary: In a relationship, there is always music to be heard - if you know how to listen.

Word count: 13,964

Notes: Written for the Ménage à trois contest 2004, and for Briar Eve, my indulgent harem master.

 

"Bottom Line"

 

Part II

"He was here again," Quatre had said. "In bed with us."

There was nothing to be said to that, as far as Heero was concerned. Quatre wasn't the only one who had invited Trowa into bed with them, so to speak. Heero wondered if he and Quatre were doomed to forever latch on to each other as the next best thing.

He fought to keep the frown off his face. That wasn't true. He cared for Quatre, and he certainly found Quatre attractive - it was just in a different sort of way from Trowa, both physically and emotionally. He would never willingly surrender his body without trust.

He ran a hand through Quatre's hair. Surrender wasn't the right word. Share - that described what he and Quatre had done far better. He had shared his body, and part of his heart, with Quatre, and he'd done so despite knowing that it might not mean the same thing for both of them.

They'd enjoyed it, and to be honest, he hadn't been focused on Trowa once he and Quatre had gotten into it, even if he'd been in the back of Heero's mind before and after. At least he hadn't cheated Quatre by pretending he was someone else.

Heero wasn't sure how he felt about Quatre's confession. Part of him was relieved, but part of him wondered how someone as calm and collected as Quatre could fail to see the problem was that he missed Trowa.

They both did.

In the war Heero had been reluctant to accept Duo's help. Apparently Trowa had had a similar view initially, regarding Quatre's attempts to work with rather than against each other.

For whatever reason, Trowa had saved Heero after he'd blown up his Gundam. For someone who was reluctant to trust anyone, it appeared Trowa had gone against his better judgement on at least two occasions.

Heero had told Trowa to follow his emotions, but it appeared that his friend had figured that out on his own long before Heero uttered those words.

Quatre's fingers had gone still while Heero spoke, and they began running through the dark locks under his chin again. "Is it wrong to feel envious?"

"Envious?"

Quatre sighed into Heero's hair. "I'm happy, being here with you right now. I am glad that you and Trowa had the chance to explore something more, to reach out and grab that brass ring. I feel selfish, because you took a chance that I was afraid to. I think I've always envied you that recklessness."

Heero's arm tightened around Quatre and his breath was warm and moist against Quatre's neck. "You shouldn't."

Ignoring him, Quatre continued. "You've both always been independent. I have always had someone to fall back on. My family, the Maganacs, and then the rest of you. It's easy to act when someone has your back. Trowa didn't worry about a safety net. I couldn't even self-destruct the right way. Sandrock wouldn't let me."

"And Catherine didn't let Trowa," Heero reminded him. "You did what you did because you knew your life was more important than your death."

"What about yours, Heero?"

"It took me a while," Heero admitted.

Quatre grasped a handful of hair and tugged lightly. Heero raised his head and kissed him, then slid off the bed.

"Shower with me."

The two of them made their way to the bathroom, an ostentatious affair with a deep whirlpool tub and a shower that took up nearly an entire wall. Heero turned on the tap and adjusted the showerheads, setting them to a gentle massage rather than the more invigorating pulsation that Quatre had them on originally.

He grasped Quatre's hand and pulled him behind the set of double curtains, wrapped his arms around the blond, and they stood there under the dual shower spray.

Water streamed over Heero's head and shoulders as his lips coaxed Quatre's open, and he slid his tongue inside slowly. Quatre responded eagerly, their earlier roles reversed. His fingers dug into Heero's shoulders and he moaned.

Heero's tongue withdrew, and he murmured against Quatre's lips, "if I am the heart of outer space, then you are its brain." He kissed Quatre again. "I'm not sure what Trowa is, but maybe we need to stop pretending he's not part of this ."

He reached up to his shoulder and brought one of Quatre's hands to his groin, where Quatre wrapped his fingers around Heero's growing erection.

"If he's going to be here," he said, clasping Quatre's other hand with his fingers and bringing them to his chest. "We should stop trying so hard to throw him out."

Quatre took a deep shuddering breath, his own arousal pressing against Heero's thigh. "I feel like we're using him."

Heero buried his face in Quatre's neck, sucking his lower lip between his teeth as Quatre fondled his balls. "No man alive is capable of doing that without Trowa's knowledge and consent."

Quatre's fingers stopped their massaging of Heero's sac, and he brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against them.

"You're right," he said. A glint appeared in his eyes. "You're absolutely right." He ran his tongue along the side of Heero's neck and pressed his thigh between Heero's legs. "It's about more than sex," he said, his voice suddenly raspy with need.

"Quatre." Heero's voice was tight.

"So much more..."

Quatre's hand again cupped Heero's balls and he gave one last lick to Heero's throat before dropping to crouch and drawing Heero into his mouth. He teased around Heero's entrance with a wet fingertip as he sucked, then he wrapped his hand around the base of Heero's cock and swirled his tongue about the tip. He wriggled it along the underside of Heero's length and felt Heero's hand fall to his head. He knew when Heero was close, feeling the fingers tighten in his hair, and he hummed, sending a slow vibration through Heero's lower regions. He moaned around Heero's cock as the dark-haired man's entire body tensed, and then shortly after Heero's climax hit him, Quatre pulled back, got to his feet, and buried his fingers in the hair behind Heero's head. He slammed their lips together and opened his mouth, taking Heero by surprise.

Heero recovered quickly, pressing Quatre against the shower stall and returning the kiss almost savagely. He began stroking Quatre - fast and hard. It was the combination of everything that sent Quatre over the edge so quickly. The thrum of Heero's orgasm, the sharing of ejaculate, the eagerness with which Heero retaliated.

There was more than sex between them, but at that moment Quatre thought he might not care if he was wrong.

~~~

When Heero left later that evening, his hair was still damp at his nape and about his ears, curling against his skin in a way that drew Quatre's fingers to it in an attempt to straighten the errant strands.

Heero had looked at him in a way that made Quatre's knees weak, then kissed him quickly on the lips and left.

All he'd said since the shower was "I'll see you later."

It wasn't until he'd gone and Quatre had curled up on the sofa with a book and a cup of soup that he'd remembered that, with Heero, "later" could be a very long time.

He sipped his soup.

After what had happened, however, he doubted it.

~~~

Quatre was in the middle of pouring himself a cup of coffee when the doorbell rang, and he brightened. He'd known Heero would be back, but he'd not expected it to be within twenty-four hours.

Then again, Heero had a knack for taking in all the new information he'd acquired and coming up with a Plan B. Heero seemed to think he had trouble following his own advice, but as long as Quatre had known him, Heero had always let his emotions guide him.

It was one of the things they'd had in common from the start. He set the mug down on the counter and strode to the door. A bright smile was on his face as he opened it to greet the man with whom he knew his future would be entwined.

Serious eyes peered at him through dark brown bangs and a soft hesitant smile teased at his guest's lips.

"Quatre."

Quatre's eyes widened. "Trowa."

Trowa shoved a hand in his pocket. "I've wanted to see you for a while now, but last night..."

Quatre stepped aside to grant Trowa entrance, and he closed the door with a soft click.

"You spoke to Heero?"

Trowa looked confused. "Heero? No."

Neither of them said anything. Quatre went to the kitchen, poured a second cup of coffee, and brought them to the living room, setting one on the coffee table before sitting on couch. He waited.

Trowa followed him into the parlor and hesitated only a moment before sitting down at the opposite end of the couch. He picked up the coffee mug and held it with both hands, letting the warmth of the ceramic pass through his hands and watching the faint curls of smoke wafting from its surface.

Quatre sipped his own coffee quietly, and waited.

"This is coffee," Trowa blurted out.

"It is."

"I guess I'll always picture you the way you were at the base the first time we met."

He'd only intended to glance at Quatre, to make momentary eye contact as he spoke, but he found his gaze fixed on Quatre's fingers wrapped around the handle of his mug. His eyes flicked back to his own hands.

Heero, like Trowa, tended to ignore the handle altogether. Quatre, on the other hand, drank coffee much the way he drank tea, taking the occasional sip, as if each time he removed the rim of the cup from his lips, he had another thought to gnaw on.

Trowa removed one of his hands from the mug and turned slightly on the sofa, then stretched his arm across the back. His eyes roamed over Quatre, starting with the pale gold hair covering his brow, to the eyes bright with determination, and the soft pliant lips.

Quatre's shirt was unbuttoned at the top, exposing his throat and part of his collarbone. Trowa could see the Adam's apple bob as Quatre swallowed nervously, yet when he got to the hand clenched in Quatre's lap, the fingers slowly uncurled, one at a time, and joined the others in bringing the gleaming white cup to Quatre's lips.

No, Trowa realized, he wouldn't always picture Quatre the way he had appeared in the base. Back then, he'd viewed Quatre with rose colored glasses, even while he'd not given his trust.

When had he gotten to know Quatre so well that he'd taken that hit for Heero? How had he known he'd be able to talk Quatre out of the throes of madness?

Why had it felt like the utmost betrayal, to have the same hands that had created the most beautiful music, that had coaxed the notes from the violin, be the ones to fire that shot?

Trowa had seen people turn against each other during war. Fear did that to a person. Fear, and desire to protect those nearest and dearest.

Quatre had not been afraid, in the conventional sense. He'd feared for the future of humanity, and yet whatever ZERO had shown him had influenced his decision drastically.

"What it took away, it gave back," he murmured, remembering his own encounter with the system, and Quatre's soothing voice, breaking through the grip that ZERO had had on him so firmly.

He'd remembered Quatre, from their first meeting to the day that he'd seen Quatre at the circus.

The human mind was a complicated thing.

Never as complicated, however, as human relationships. He set the mug back down on the coffee table, then took the cup from Quatre and placed it right next to his own.

Trowa reached out and grasped both of Quatre's hands, turning them over and running his thumbs over Quatre's palms.

"You have a short lifeline," he commented, tracing the crease with the pad of his thumb.

"No matter how long a person lives," Quatre said, "it's only too short if he's not done what he wished to do before it's too late."

Trowa looked at Quatre's fingertips, at the calluses, and the small matching scars across the middle fingers from handling the controls of his Gundam, tiny burn marks that hadn't completely faded.

He continued making small sweeping motions along Quatre's hands as his eyes flicked to the open shirt. Just a little bit to the right was another scar, one delivered by Dorothy Catalonia.

Quatre had delivered a speech to her as well, one that echoed Trowa's words to Quatre that fateful day.

Trowa had done what he'd wanted with his speech. When the Vayeate had exploded, he'd been satisfied in knowing that Quatre had found himself again. He was sorry to put the burden of guilt on Quatre's shoulders for his death, but that couldn't be helped. Soldiers died all the time.

Trowa Barton had died trying to make a stand for the wrong things; it was only fitting that the nameless soldier who had borrowed his name would follow suit, only that time for making a stand for the right things.

He'd followed Heero's advice.

Trowa realized he'd done that quite a bit since the day Heero first opened his eyes, coming back from the brink of death.

He looked into Quatre's eyes, saw in them hesitation, guilt, pain. Trowa remembered the urgency with which Quatre had pleaded with him, even before he'd ever piloted Wing Zero. Their first meeting, when Quatre said they shouldn't be fighting.

Correction. That they shouldn't be fighting each other.

He tugged Quatre's hands close to his chest. "I don't want to wait until it's too late," he whispered. Trowa tilted his head to the side, let his eyes slide shut, and softly touched his lips to Quatre's.

A loud groan vibrated against his mouth and Quatre's lips parted. Trowa cupped Quatre's cheek with one hand, stroking it with his thumb while his tongue mimicked the action on the roof of Quatre's mouth.

Quatre pressed forward, his fingers closing around Trowa's hand as he maneuvered them into a prone position on the couch. Trowa had always known that Quatre was passionate, but he'd never imagined he'd be on the receiving end this way.

It was a vivid contrast, lying under Quatre, his fingers in the hair at his nape, to the sense of cold he felt when he'd first recognized Quatre. Past and present clashed, and he knew without a doubt that he'd do it again, even if the outcome had turned out differently and he'd remained adrift in space, a soulless corpse. It would have been worth it.

Accepting that, however, had little to do with the heat coursing through his body. He bucked his hips and ground his pelvis against Quatre's, seeking more direct contact, and more of that heat. The kiss was warm and wet, and it took a while for him to realize that the moisture on his face was a mixture of perspiration, and Quatre's tears.

Quatre's fingers pulled free of Trowa's grasp and began clawing at the hem of his shirt, tucked into his waistband. He pulled it free and one of his hands slid beneath Trowa's shirt, settling over his heart as he thrust against Trowa awkwardly.

Harsh breathing and heavy gasps, the sound of a zipper, the creak of a spring, and then Quatre buried his face into Trowa's neck and clamped his lips there, against Trowa's pulse. His tongue lapped at warm skin under his mouth, and he sucked harder than he'd planned when Trowa arched his back, groaning loudly as he came.

Quatre's breathing was still erratic as Trowa brought his arms up to embrace him. "You didn't kill me Quatre," he said quietly.

"I didn't want to, Trowa. I didn't want to kill either of you. But Heero-"

"Heero put the life of the colonists above his own," Trowa cut him off. "Would you have done any less, had your roles been reversed?"

He sighed into Quatre's hair. "You always tell everyone there is kindness in them. Surely you see it in yourself."

"I thought I'd killed you. Heero wouldn't let me save you. I hated him for that, and yet I-" he clamped his lips shut, realizing what he'd just admitted.

Trowa shifted his weight a bit, feeling the denim fabric clinging to the drying semen against his stomach.

"Quatre," Trowa said gently. "We all have regrets. If you did something," he chose his words carefully, "the right thing, but for the wrong reasons, in the end, does it matter?"

"It should."

Trowa heard the defeated sound in Quatre's voice, and he nuzzled the hair at Quatre's temple. "The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Quatre. We could tear ourselves apart second-guessing everything we did, and why we did it, and if our motives were pure or selfish.

"Did you ever notice how beautiful tears are in zero-gravity? They're suspended, like small jewels, bearing evidence of regret." He cupped the side of Quatre's face again, lifting his head off Trowa's shoulder and kissing his cheekbone.

"Sometimes even selfish acts, Quatre, are coincidentally good deeds. Would you deny any of us the chance for redemption?"

No answer was needed, but Trowa's point had been made. Quatre's lips sought Trowa's again, and this time the kiss was slow and searching. By the time he pulled his head back and looked down at Trowa, his eyes still alight with emotion, he was just as confused about his feelings as ever, but he thought that it wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

He rested his head on Trowa's shoulder again and inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of the other man.

When Trowa's heart rate slowed, and his breathing evened out in sleep, Quatre smiled against Trowa's shirt.

Redemption didn't seem such an impossible thing.

~~~

The faint strains of Pierre Csillag's Conversations were audible through the apartment door, and Quatre squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and knocked firmly.

There was a brief rustle of movement, and Heero answered the door, dressed in a wrinkled tank top and a pair of untied drawstring shorts. His hair was damp, and the faint smell of shampoo and soap teased Quatre's nostrils.

Heero's eyes moved from Quatre's nervous smile to Trowa, standing next to him, and he stepped aside and let them in without a word.

Once they were all settled, Heero on the armchair and his guests on the matching sofa, Quatre and Trowa exchanged a look.

"It's good to see you," Heero said, his eyes flicking from one to the other and settling on Quatre. "I was planning on stopping by this evening, but I wasn't sure if I should call ahead first."

"Sometimes," Trowa said, "planning ahead is the best route to take, and other times, it's best to go with your gut instinct."

"And if that gut instinct is wrong?"

"At least you tried."

Before Heero could protest, Quatre held up a hand. "I think we could all use a break from airing our demons and playing the 'my mistakes are unforgivable' game." A rueful smile quirked at his lips. "Because I can assure you that mine outweigh all of yours put together."

Neither of the other two argued.

The narrative of the music changed, and Trowa tilted his head toward the stereo system. "Two flutes and a piano."

Heero nodded. "Yes."

"Do you think that it would have been just as well done with only one flautist?"

Heero's thick brows furrowed. "It could, but it would change the dynamic of the piece."

Quatre smiled at him. "It would, wouldn't it."

A hesitant look of understanding crossed Heero's face, and he leaned forward. "None of us are strangers to plain speaking," he said. "Are you waiting for me to catch up?"

Trowa laughed. "No, Heero, somehow I think you were there well ahead of the rest of us."

Quatre got up and dropped to a crouch near Heero's chair. "I spent so much time trying to weigh the differences between how I felt when I was with you, and then Trowa showed up-"

Heero glared at him, and Quatre abruptly shut up.

"I thought we were beyond the self recrimination."

Quatre smiled at him, taking him by surprise. "I'm not lamenting the differences," he said. "I'm celebrating them."

He slid his hand along Heero's thigh, leaned forward, and kissed him.

Heero's eyes didn't even flick toward Trowa. Trusting Quatre, he let them slide shut, and he buried his fingers in the hair at Quatre's nape. One of Quatre's knees was between Heero's thighs, and he placed his hands on Heero's shoulders, pressing him against the back of the chair. His tongue slipped between Heero's lips and he groaned in satisfaction.

Watching them, Trowa noted the way the gold and brown hairs mingled together, how Heero leaned into that kiss, just like he had when he'd stayed with Trowa. Heero had been the first to realize what he'd been missing.

He looked down at his own hands, taking in his own collection of scars scattered over his knuckles. Turning them around, he saw the calluses on his fingertips. The two flautists continued their banter with the pianist, and Trowa realized it had been a long time since he'd last picked up an instrument.

Not since the day he'd met Quatre.

When he looked back up, Quatre's forehead was pressed against Heero's and his eyes were closed. Heero's gaze was fixed on Quatre's face. It wasn't until Quatre stood up and walked backwards to the sofa, sitting down a bit unshakily, when Heero's eyes swept over Trowa.

Heero had a way of taking things in at a glance, but he tended to make snap decisions. Quatre preferred to weigh all possibilities carefully, and take the option that would present the least risk to others.

"It's not selfish unless it puts your own wishes above everyone else's," Trowa reminded Quatre gently. He returned his gaze to Heero. "Sorry it took so long."

"Patience has never been one of my virtues," Heero replied, "but I do realize that sometimes it is necessary."

"It's not your virtue that I'm thinking of at the moment."

Beside him, Quatre chuckled. "Perhaps we should put this to the test, then."

Trowa placed his hand on Quatre's knee. "I think we've already had plenty of practice runs. I'm ready for the real thing."

Heero got to his feet and walked to the couch, staring down at them intently. They remained like that for several moments. Finally Quatre reached up and tugged at one of the drawstrings dangling from Heero's shorts. "Heero?"

"You're sitting on my bed."

Trowa threw back his head and laughed. It hadn't even occurred to him that Heero's apartment might be a studio. He and Quatre got to their feet, and each of them grabbed a couch cushion. Heero propped them on the floor against the side of the armchair, and Quatre unfolded the sofa bed. The sheet was a deep blue color, with a faint dusting of periwinkle stars. Heero tossed a couple of pillows, each with matching linens, to Trowa, who dropped them on the mattress.

The three of them exchanged glances, and Heero's hands moved toward his hips when Trowa realized that it wasn't really fair to expect Heero to make the first move again. He and Quatre had come over here for a reason.

He wasn't sure that this was what he'd expected, but he couldn't deny that the idea had certain benefits that satisfied a far more primitive part of his soul. He peeled off his shirt and threw it toward the armchair, where it slipped over the rounded arm and onto the seat cushion. His fingers were already unfastening his pants. He watched Heero as he slid them past his hips. He sat on the bed, removing them the rest of the way, along with his shoes, and then stretched out on his side.

Sometimes actions spoke louder than words, and he was looking forward to proving that.

It took Heero less time to follow suit, and he joined Trowa on the thin mattress, running his fingers over Trowa's jaw line. Quatre stood there, pausing in the act of unbuttoning his shirt, and just stared at them, at the way Heero's body molded against Trowa's, at the subtle contrast in skin tones where their legs entwined.

So similar, and yet so different. Like the two flautists.

Heero's bangs were almost hidden by Trowa's as the two men on the bed kissed, and yet Quatre could tell which strands were Heero's peeking through. Never would he mistake Heero for Trowa, or vice versa.

Quatre's long slender fingers slipped each button out one by one, and his cock, already half hard from kissing Heero, began pushing insistently at the front of his pants. His hands moved to his pants, the shirt hanging open as he unzipped them and pulled them off one leg at a time.

He'd never considered himself a voyeur before, but then, never had he been in a situation where the idea seemed so appealing.

Heero was kissing his way down Trowa's chest, his fingers and hair trailing after the path made by his lips. He paused when he got to Trowa's navel, and then he turned around so his head was toward the foot of the bed. He stretched out onto his back and tilted his head backwards to glance up at Quatre then, his eyes darker than Quatre ever remembered seeing them.

Trowa took the opportunity to straddle Heero's upper body, lean forward, and take Heero into his mouth.

Heero's head titled back even further, but he was no longer looking at Quatre. His eyes were closed, and his lips pressed together firmly. He reached up and fumbled for Trowa's erection with one hand, the other fisting in the sheet beside him.

Quatre watched the way Heero's fingers curled around the linen, and his eyes roamed over Trowa's backside, admiring the slender lines of his hips, the taut muscle at the back of his thighs, and the slightly rounded buttocks.

He quickly strode to the kitchenette, pulling open cupboard doors until he found the item he was looking for. He silently thanked Heero for the small talk they'd had at the cafe, otherwise he'd never have even considered finding a tub of vegetable shortening in the apartment. He pulled the top off and laid it on Heero's countertop, returning to the living room to watch as Heero and Trowa continued to engage in their foreplay.

Quatre scooped out a large handful of the thick white substance, smearing it on his erection and stroking it while Heero writhed under Trowa. He bit his lip as Heero moaned Trowa's name, and reached in a second time, burying his fingers in it. He made a mental note to restock Heero's cabinet as his fingers curled in the shortening. He set it down on the armchair and grasped his cock again, forcing himself to slide his hand up and down its length slowly.

Heero scooted his body further down until his head was between Trowa's legs. His fingers gripped the outside of Trowa's thighs and Quatre could see the top of Heero's head lift from the mattress. Despite his best intentions, his strokes sped up. Trowa's groan confirmed when Heero succeeded in surrounding Trowa's arousal with his mouth.

In this position, Trowa's ass was in the air, and Quatre's hand fumbled in the blue colored tin one last time before he approached slowly. He slid a finger thick with shortening along Trowa's cleft, then swirled it around Trowa's entrance. He was rewarded with a second groan, and he carefully pushed his finger in.

And then he stopped.

There was something overwhelming in the scene before him, and in the way they were all connected, and he had never been as aroused as he was at this moment.

Heero bucked under Trowa wildly, his fingers digging into Trowa's legs in a way that seemed almost painful, and then his entire lower body lifted off the mattress.

It was Quatre's name Heero cried as he came.

When Trowa's voice, husky with need, followed Heero's orgasm with a simple, "Quatre, please," there was nothing left for the blond man to do other than remove his finger, position himself behind Trowa, and enter him slowly.

Trowa pressed backwards, accepting Quatre more fully, and when the head of Quatre's cock nudged against his prostate, he threw his head back and gasped. Beneath him, Heero scooted toward the back of the couch, positioning himself directly under Trowa's erection, and wrapped his hand around Trowa's shaft. His thumb toyed with the tip, wet with precum and Heero's saliva.

"Heero."

Two voices.

He'd been right. While the narrative could have been the same in Conversations with a single flute, the structure of the music would have been completely different. Sex with Quatre had been fulfilling, but not the same.

Sex with Trowa had not been lacking, yet with Quatre here, Heero felt the difference. It was something he could not pinpoint, and he neither needed nor wished to.

He was tempted to draw Trowa into his mouth, to return the favor, but the sounds Trowa was making as Quatre pulled back and surged forward again convinced him that there was much to explore, and not everything needed to be attempted the first time.

Heero toyed with Trowa's sac, and he fondled each testicle, rolling them gently in his fingers. Trowa's breathing was heavy and Heero could see the beads of perspiration forming on his skin. On impulse, he flicked at one of them with his tongue.

Trowa's upper body dropped forward, his weight pinning Heero's pelvis to the bed. He turned his head to the side and his bangs brushed against Heero's leg. His ragged breathing was moist against Heero's thigh. If Trowa had not just brought him to the edge of climax, he was sure his cock would have been rock hard.

Quatre's moans began as well, and the metal frame creaked as he thrust into Trowa. His tempo increased, and despite the discomfort, Heero could not deny that he it was an incredible turn on to be in this position, to be a captive audience to a primal act between friends and lovers.

He wriggled one arm between Trowa's legs and let his fingers graze the underside of Quatre's balls with each thrust, a bare touch of skin that had Quatre hissing Heero's name a second time. His sac pressed firmly against Trowa's ass and his entire body went rigid, and he gasped Trowa's name as he came.

As soon as the rocking motion stopped, Heero reached his fingers around the base of Quatre's cock, and as the blond withdrew, Heero's hand surrounded it. He wriggled his shoulder and drew his arm back between Trowa's leg, then slid his hand up Trowa's length until he reached the tip. His newly lubricated fingers followed, and he continued to alternate hands, milking Trowa's arousal. Quatre slid a finger back into Trowa's entrance, rotating it before pressing down and against Trowa's prostate.

Trowa's entire body felt tightly wound, and it was Quatre's lips at the base of his spine that was the final straw. He recited a litany to a god he did not believe in, his fingers digging into Heero's calf. He wasn't sure what he'd expected when he and Quatre had shown up on Heero's doorstep; he hadn't completely ruled out the idea of having sex, but he had never expected it to be like this.

Comfortable. Satisfying. Arousing.

He felt Heero's hair brush against the back of his knee, and then "Quatre, is that what I think it is?"

"I kinda hoped you weren't planning on baking anything tonight."

Trowa laughed again, shaking his head. "I think I need a shower."

Quatre caught his eye as he rolled off of Heero, and gave him a rather lecherous grin. "Want me to wash your back?"

Heero gave Trowa a gentle shove, and he took the cue, pushing himself off the mattress and heading for the bathroom.

"I should have known you were the insatiable type," Heero said, turning over onto his stomach and peering up at Quatre.

"I knew you'd be able to improvise," he retorted. "You've always had that knack."

Heero wiped his sweat-dampened bangs from his forehead with the back of one hand and stood up. Holding up a grease covered hand and wiggling his fingers, he quirked an eyebrow. "Trowa never answered you."

Another laugh from Quatre followed Heero as he padded to the bathroom. Considering the size of the apartment, it was obvious that Heero had a much smaller bathroom than Quatre did.

He grinned to himself as he looked down at his cock.

Hell, the cockpit in Sandrock had always been a bit confined, and he'd never been one to suffer from claustrophobia.

And he was just as much in need of a shower as the other two.

~~~

The three of them sat on the floor around the coffee table, sharing two frozen meals between all of them. Heero's hair was still clinging to his neck, and Trowa's bangs were slicked back away from his forehead. Quatre speared a piece of beef with his fork and popped it in his mouth to hide a grin. He'd been doing an awful lot of smiling today.

The CD changer had gone through all the selections Heero had loaded and was back to Csillag again.

Quatre stretched out a leg under the coffee table, his foot caressing Trowa's ankle as he did so. The spear of broccoli on Trowa's fork fell into his lap, and Heero started chuckling.

Trowa looked up at him, noticing Heero's gaze was between his legs, but not on the errant vegetable.

"Two flutes and a piano," Heero said, shaking his head. He raised his eyes to Trowa, and they were alight with amusement.

While Trowa waited, Quatre fished the broccoli from his lap and placed it in his mouth slowly, licking the butter sauce from his fingers and then winking at Heero.

"Two flutes?" he prompted.

"Just thinking," Heero said, taking another bite from the plastic tray in front of Trowa.

He waited until Quatre had taken another bite to deliver his punch line.

"I'm glad Trowa doesn't have a bassoon."

"And I'm glad I don't have a piccolo," Trowa said, patting Quatre on the back to keep him from choking. "Just wait, Heero. Quatre's a pianist. They know quite a bit about fingering.

"Next time," he added. "Two tubas and a cello."

"Cello does provide a nice bass line," Quatre said, his voice raspy. He reached for his glass of water and took a long drink.

Heero nodded. "I look forward to it," he said.

"After all, it is important that the piece has a good bottom."

~ End ~

 

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