The sun beat down on the manicured lawn of the Winner Estate. It also beat down, almost deliberately, on the five boys who were trying to get some shade under the trees. "Good Lord," Duo yawned, fanning himself, "It�s so hot�"

The others nodded listlessly in agreement. Quatre brushed sweat from his forehead and stole a glance at Trowa before closing his eyes. The French boy, however, continued to watch, very much liking what he saw.

Quatre was sprawled out on the lawn chair, flushed and sweaty, wearing a tank top and a pair of denim cut-offs like the rest of them- okay, that wasn�t helping. The blond suddenly sat up and stretched, showing off a great deal of stomach to Trowa�s hungry eyes. "Hey guys, I think I�m going to take a shower."

Trowa felt both grateful and disappointed at the fact that he wouldn�t be able to watch the object of his affections, but then again, it wouldn�t run the risk of him getting a hard-on in front of all his friends. "Hey, Tro?"

Duo fanned himself and mumbled, "Could you get some towels? I�m really sticky here."

Without turning over, Heero replied, "Get it yourself, baka."

Duo scrunched up his face from underneath his dark sunglasses and said in a tone bordering on whiny, "But Trowa�s closer to the door."

Stretching his lean frame, Trowa mumbled, "Okay," and started for the house. The Winner family was loaded, so loaded that one would�ve believed their wealth was exaggerated. Lots of money meant big houses, big houses meant lots of rooms, and lots of rooms meant it would be take forever to find the nearest bathroom or linen closet.

Still, Trowa padded up the stairs and headed to the nearest bathroom, quite a distance away. The bathroom light was on, oddly enough, but Trowa figured Duo had been too lazy to turn it off. The cream-colored tiles felt cool against his bare feet as he went in, going straight for the small linen closet by the far wall. In one corner was an old-fashioned dressing screen; had the sun not fried Trowa�s brain so thoroughly, he would�ve seen the lithe figure behind the screen.

He opened the linen closet and started reaching for a towel when he heard shuffling behind him. Flushing red, Trowa bolted into the closet and shut the door. Peering through the slats of the door, he almost fainted when he saw who had been behind the screen the whole time. Quatre, clothed only in a towel around his hips, got into the shower stall and tossed the towel out before shutting the glass door. The brown haired boy made a strangled noise and felt blood gush from his nose.

Soft humming emanated from the stall as Quatre ran a soapy washcloth over his body, much to Trowa�s complete and utter dismay/delight. "Oh God�" Trowa moaned quietly from his hiding spot. He felt like some sort of sick pedophile, watching a child bathe. At the same time, his raging hormones protested that Quatre wasn�t a child; in fact, the blond boy would be turning sixteen in two months.

His emerald eyes followed the cloth as it traveled up Quatre�s arms and well formed upper body. Soap made trails and patterns over the slender waist and curvy hips, around to the small back, giving Trowa a perfect view of the firm, round rear.

It also gave Trowa a geyser of a bloody nose. "Oh hell," he whined, leaning again the wall. It was bad enough that he was practically getting heatstroke in that tiny closet, it was even worse that he was horny from just watching his love take a shower.

He was more or less relieved when Quatre set the cloth down. His jaw dropped open, however, when Quatre reached for the bottle of shampoo. "Heaven help me�" Trowa whimpered, banging his head against the wall.

The French pilot watched with rapt attention as the blond boy, oblivious to his little audience, picked up the bottle and squeezed a generous amount of shampoo into his small hand. "Oh no�" Trowa whined, "Oh hell no�" His eyes widened to comical and humanly impossible proportions as Quatre applied the shampoo to his wet hair, letting out a soft sigh that nearly gave his captive audience a mind-blowing orgasm.

Hot water rinsed the suds away, running over the delicate white body. Quatre ran his hands through his wet locks for a good measure and stooped down once more to pick a bottle of conditioner. Trowa groaned, "Oh Lord� no more�" He could feel his shorts stretching from his sorely neglected arousal.

Another soft moan wafted through the steam filling the bathroom. The steam grew thicker and thicker, making it almost impossible for Trowa to even see his own bangs; unfortunately, he could still see Quatre, and very clearly, one might add.

God must�ve been pretty pissed at him; he was trapped in a closet, *spying*, though not by choice, on the object of his love, lust, and wet dreams, while said object of love, lust, and wet dreams took a shower. On top of all that, Old Faithful down there was ready to erupt, he was dying from lack of oxygen, and he *ABSOLUTELY REFUSED* to resort to jacking off, due to matters of pride and human dignity in general. To be blunt, it was plain hell.

After what seemed like an eternity and 69 days, Quatre finally turned off the water and stepped out. Trowa banged his head against the wall a second time as the blond boy, naked and dripping wet, reached for a nearby towel on the rack. If watching Quatre bathe was hell, then watching Quatre dry off was Tartarus, Hades, and a threesome lemon with Dorothy Catalonia and Dr. J.

His glazed emerald eyes followed the towel as it traveled up and down the wet skin. Droplets glittered in the steamy atmosphere and gave the appearance of diamonds; Trowa suddenly found himself thinking of a better way to clean off the water. "Stop it," He scolded himself, wiping his sweaty forehead. He couldn�t help it though; watching the little blond dry off was incredibly, not to mention unexpectedly, erotic and seductive. Chances were, he would suffocate before coming in his shorts. But judging from how aroused he was, one would admit that his untimely demise was rather near.

Though starting to black out from way too much steam and way too little air, Trowa let himself sigh in relief when Quatre put on a pair of boxers and his tank top. Time seemed to slow down drastically as Quatre straightened the damp towel on the rack to dry, picked up several things here and there, and headed out the door, flicking the light off as he did.

The minute he was gone, the closet door flew open and a decidedly blue Trowa Barton crawled out, gasping for air. "Oh God�" He winced, sprawling on the tiles. Using his amazing strength and those incredible biceps- *drool*- he hauled himself to his feet and staggered out the bathroom door.

No sooner had he gone halfway down the hallway, he suddenly stiffened and collapsed in a twitching heap. "Owowowowowowow�" Trowa ground his teeth and tried to ignore the searing pain in his groin. First the weather, then the shower thing, and now blue balls?! God must�ve been pissed off.

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Ha ha� I must have the sickest bathroom humor there is -.-;

E-mail! ~ LiLi