Took the Words

No rating really, because I  just... I don't know. I don't really give ratings anymore. How about a PG? That'll do. m/m love hints. Trowa & Quatre. Based on Meatloaf's song of the same title.

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It was a hot summer’s night, and we were stuck inside.

Well, not stuck so much, just inside. We didn’t really know where we were; only Quatre knew for certain his way around. He’d lived here before, you could tell. It was as natural to him to be here as it was to me to ride my motorbike. Since we’d arrived, something had visibly changed in him. He seemed to relax, be himself. I swear that I had seen him wearing lipstick on the odd occasion, not that I’d ever ask. I didn’t want to find out that I’d come across a secret that he didn’t want anyone to know.  I would look closely at him, every day, checking to see that faint pink tinge that made him seem even more effeminate. Made him girlier than any clothes ever could. It wasn’t as if I wanted to use it against him, his feminine features, but I liked to observe him, watch how he became his natural self.

On this night, his lipstick seemed a little more obvious – more red than pink – and I wanted to ask him how he could stand to wear it in such heat. It looked as though it was melted onto his lips, like red chocolate, and if had been myself, I know I would have the urge to lick it off. But that would mean admitting I knew it was there, so instead, I asked him if he was hot.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” He asked in return, not actually answering my question. I looked outside, carefully noting the stars and the clearness of the night. Taking my jumper, I nodded.

“You won’t need that.” He commented, gentle fingers wrapping around the fleece as he took it from me. “It’s as hot out there as it is in here.”

As we walked along in silence, I realised none of the others had followed us out. Maybe they had felt the invitation was to myself alone.  He said nothing, merely seemed to follow his own mental path, happily and slowly walking along, taking in the scenery, almost absorbing it. I wanted to ask where he was taking me, but felt it would ruin the peace. Instead, I followed, watching him as he led me down the winding path, led me astray, taking in how much he seemed to have changed; to become the easy going person before me. He was wearing a loose top, which I found strange. It was not often he would wear anything other than a formal suit, and I felt as though he was allowing himself a chance to be the teenager he really was. It hung about his frame like a top that was made for someone much, much larger than himself, revealing more skin than it was supposed to. Had he added a belt to it, it could’ve been a dress. Surprisingly, it matched well to his jeans, despite the length.

“We’re here,” He claimed, running to the centre of a large, open space. I noticed he had taken his shoes and socks off, then realised there was a faint sound of waves surrounding us. A beach. A lonely beach.

“Come on, Trowa, you can see the sky from here; it’s beautiful!” He called, and I slowly walked to where he had laid down. The fake light of the city was almost lost; it was dark enough to see all the constellations easily. He named a few of them, but mainly, he laid in silence, staring upwards; searching into the darkness.

I may have fallen asleep, but if I did, it wasn’t something he minded, because he slept too. Not for hours, but for a few moments, enough to allow him to awaken and shiver in the sudden cold. He was still only wearing the loose top, unlike myself, who always wears something with sleeves, despite the heat. Without even thinking about it, I got up and moves closer, sitting around him, arms around his body, warming him with my own body heat. He said nothing, but leant back into my arms, becoming comfortable. I could rest my head on his shoulder, if I wanted to. He seemed to tremble in the chilly air, for it was getting later and colder, and so I held him tighter.

“I used to come here when I was younger.” He whispered, almost to himself. “I’d watch the stars, hoping to see a shooting star, wish on it. Wish for what I wanted…” I was almost shocked he’s spoken. The moonlight lit his face, reflecting the echoed shadows and light from the water to his lips. The lipstick, faded in the moonlight, shone slightly, and once more I almost asked him.

“Quatre” I started to; but I couldn’t. The look in his eyes shook me too much to ask it. Open, honest. Trustworthy. Innocent and naïve to the question that played on my mind. I couldn’t shatter that trust, no, not by the single question that had touched the tip of my tongue. A nosy, invading question, into an innocent country? Never. Something caught my eye, and I turned my attentions to it; crawling across the sky at a speed unlike any other.

“A shooting star.” I added, with a nod to it. He looked up, hand reaching out as if to try to capture it. I watched it, through his shaking fingers, resting my chin on his shoulder.  “Make a wish.” I whispered, and I felt him shake; saw his fingers falter.

The air filled with silence, as he and I watched not one, but two shooting stars race across the wide berth of the sky.

“Trowa” It was almost a sigh, once I’m certain I wasn’t supposed to hear. My arms still wrapped themselves around him, and as he let his hand fall delicately to his lap, he let his fingers lace themselves into mine. I looked at the colours; the different textures of our hands combined, and wanted to say something. Wanted to whisper a thank you for showing me his private place, letting me see the beach, letting me see him. I didn’t know how to, though. Instead, I pulled him closer to me, letting him as close to me as was possible. I felt him move slightly, and was uncertain whether I had overstepped the unwritten boundaries. I turned to apologise, tell him I only wanted to thank him, but my eyes didn’t meet with scared, angry eyes. They met with watery, almost blushing eyes. This close, I could see the traces of light, light blue eye shadow, and knew the answer I had wanted earlier, but did not get the chance to appreciate it. The lips I had stared at so often were pressing themselves against my own, softly, as though it was a first. I couldn’t make myself react. Not even to return the sentiment, which was the first action I wanted to partake in. He pulled back, eyes desperately searching for an answer they seemed certain they wouldn’t receive. I opened my mouth to respond, tell him how I felt about it, but instead of getting the chance to talk, I felt his lips pushed against mine, insistent, determined not to let me speak. I reacted, the only way I could. I broke the kiss off gently and let go of his hand.

“Trowa.” His voice was timid, eyes fearful; but sad more than anything else. “ Trowa, please, I” I silenced him, a finger placed against his lips. Lipstick covered it, and I almost smiled. I leant my lips to his, kissed him with freedom, freedom of the beach, freedom that he was finding in his natural environment. I felt his body against mine, turning in to my embrace. I wanted to lay him on the sand, show him the words he had stolen from me with his kiss. Instead I broke the contact to him, pushing his hair back from his eyes, feeling the edge of tears creeping along his lower lashes. For a moment, I felt guilty, I had caused those tears, but then it left, as he almost merged into my embrace. My body shook against his, as the cold seemed to take hold of my arms, tugging at my body. I slowly disentangled myself, getting up, holding out a hand to him.

“It’s getting cold.” My voice was low, almost as if not to disturb the silence. He looked at my hand critically. “We should get in, warm up by the fire.” He said nothing, taking it slowly, attempting to let go once I’d started to walk back. I wouldn’t let him go, and it seemed to unnerve him.

“I don’t show just anyone my beach.” His whisper broke my heart. “Please don’t ruin it for me.” I tightened my grip and pulled him along, but said nothing. “Don’t make this just once.” I almost didn’t hear the words, but my training allowed me the ability to pick them up.  I stopped suddenly, and he walked into me; not looking where he was going.

“You wouldn’t hear my reply.” I retorted, and he shook, as if afraid.

“What is it?”

“Let’s go home.” I replied again, but he wouldn’t move, stood firm.

“I love you.” He whispered the words apprehensively. I didn’t know how to reply. I tried to move again, holding his hand. “Trowa, please, don’t.” His hand tried to escape mine once more.

“I won’t. I wanted to tell you my reply.” I called back to him, still moving.

“Trowa…” The note of desperation, the hurt inside. How I felt that pain, echoed. It stopped me in my tracks, turned me on my spot.

“I know.” My voice was illuminated by the sounds of the waves leaving the shore, the slight breaking of dawn behind us. “I know, and I love you as well.” I bought my hand to his face, wiping the tear that had crawled across his cheek slowly. “You bought me down here; and I made a wish. I never realised such beauty existed.” My eyes searched his, and I lowered my hand to his shoulder, gently embracing him. “Thank you for showing me.” For a moment, he was tense against my body, then, as though giving in, he relaxed, his arms around my waist, and rested his head against my chest.