All the Things You Never Knew:
Part Three
By: Kitty E.
Quatre pushed open the door to Trowa's chamber carefully, pausing after every creak of old hinges. He suppressed his smile, knowing he would only melt into laughter if he let it shine through as he stepped through the doorway, and just as carefully shut the door. It was obscenely early, but despite being kept up most of the night by cluttered thoughts, Quatre had asked one of the grooms to wake him today before they went out to exercise the horses. However groggy he was, he knew he had to be quick in endearing himself to the prince before he became merely an annoyance, and this was another important event in his detached seduction of the melancholy prince was planned for this morning. Still, he could not deny how good it felt to be playful once more, to cast off the more somber bits of servitude, and pretend that he was happy.
He placed the breakfast tray at the table, wincing as he heard the dull clink of metal on wood. He waited long enough to make sure the prince was still asleep, then made his way into the bedroom. He stood at the doorway, listening intently, and pleased to hear an almost perfect silence. God be praised, he doesn't snore. Quatre padded softly over to the edge of Trowa's bed, leaning over he prepared to place a brief kiss on Trowa's forehead. Abruptly, he stopped, brow furrowing as he remembered when he had done this before.
Akhem... I woke up Akhem this way after that night we spent in the desert. Unconsciously, he pressed his lips together as he remembered his first kiss, given to his best friend in the hopes it would be well received. It still raised a bitter taste in his mouth to recall that had lost his virginity to some aging whore, now a self-proclaimed teacher of the forbidden arts, and not his oldest friend and first love. Now he planned to do the same, gleefully tricking some young boy to give his first love to him simply in hopes of being set free afterwards. Guilt washed over him as for the first time it occurred to him that it was just as wrong when he manipulated another feelings for his own agenda as when Duo did.
And why should I even care? Quatre asked himself cynically, as he bent down to kiss the prince like the fabled Sleeping Beauty. He waited, but Trowa simply shifted slightly, turning one cheek into his pillow. Amused, Quatre rolled his eyes, and tried again with a firmer, wet kiss to his prince's temple. A moment later, Trowa's eyes blinked open, and he groaned softly at the interruption of a pleasant dream.
Still leaning over him, Quatre waited to be noticed, raining down a convincingly cheerful smile. Blearily, Trowa stared up at him, seeming neither angered nor pleased with Quatre's presence. He yawned and stretched a bit, then asked, "What are you doing here?"
"I'm your personal attendant now, sire. Wherever you are, I must also be," he said, sitting beside him on the bed with a soft bounce.
"But I was asleep," Trowa chastised gently. "You don't come until I've called."
Quatre blinked at him, doing his best to look innocent, "Is that right? You must forgive me, majesty, but I'm dreadfully new at this. At any rate... you're up now," he said, ripping away the covers, and folding them down as if he were making the bed. He allowed himself to stare only for a moment, wide-eyed and appreciative, at the slightly muscled, completely exposed chest of his new master before moving to root through the clothes chest at the foot of the bed.
"I can dress myself," Trowa said, pulling the blanket back up, but keeping a careful eye on Quatre.
"True, but not well, sire. Honestly, no one has died in recent memory and yet you where the colors of mourning." he picked up outfits and put them aside. "Black, black, gray, black, oh look... a lighter shade of gray." He sneezed at the dust he was throwing up as he tossed clothes over his shoulder, but continued unabated.
"Stop it," the prince insisted, frowning at the mess Quatre was making. "You really do overstep your bounds," he warned sharply.
Quatre stopped, wanting to retort, but he knew it would help nothing. "Forgive me, sire. I just want to help. If you're not happy with me-"
"It's not that," Trowa said softly, he regretted having put such a look on Quatre's face. It seemed only a few days ago that explaining his actions to a slave would have been inconceivable, but he found the words tumbling out. "I'd just don't want you to think you've been given permission to go about changing what you don't see fit."
Quatre looked a little surprised, "I just want you to be happier, sire."
"You needn't worry," Trowa said firmly, hoping the matter was done with and that he could possibly get a few more hours sleep.
"But I do, sire. I do because no one else does, I mean well." Trowa stared back at him, not saying a word. Sighing, Quatre looked down and into the chest and almost gasped, "Oh!Here is something." He pulled out a long forgotten jacket, unfolding it with great care over the bed. It was finely made and in perfect condition, the green velvet still uncrushed despite years of improper storage. It was simply but stylishly cut, and Quatre could tell that it would compliment Trowa's form nicely. There wasn't much decoration, only a small stripe of gold fabric down the middle of the chest and sleeves, with a bit of embroidering at the cuffs and collar. "Green. You'd look good in green, I think, majesty. Why don't you wear this?"
"It's a riding jacket," Trowa said, sagging in defeat against the headboard.
"Then let's go for a ride, majesty." He smoothed the jacket a bit more, and went in search of some other items to go with it. "Though I've no doubt your horse is dead on its feet of boredom in his stall. It would be nice, it's a beautiful morning besides."
"It's too early for that," he groaned, realizing he hadn't made a dent in Quatre's tendency to meddle. "Besides, I don't like mornings."
"Of course not, majesty, that's why you wander about this castle at night like a ghost. You know," Quatre mused as he laid out a pair of black britches and the softest wool shirt he could find. "Perhaps that's why you're so gloomy."
"I'm not gloomy," Trowa said defensively, crossing his arms over his chest, and at last he realized he'd been talking to Quatre the entire time while half naked.
Quatre looked unconvinced, "That so? Well, there's only one way to prove it, sire, let's go out for a ride."
Growing up with two older brothers left Trowa gawking at the challenge, and helpless to refuse. He knew he couldn't pull off a fit nearly as well as Duo, and for a moment he tried in vain to glare as Heero might. Finally, before he even seemed to realize it, he spoke the words, "All right."
Quatre clapped his hands, genuinely pleased at the prospect of spending a precious few hours outside the castle walls. "Perfect! Now, if you don't need any help getting dressed..." he said, advancing slowly towards Trowa who was just now getting out of bed.
"No! Thank you, but no." The prince pointed out into first chamber. "Just go through there and leave me be."
Quatre did so with a bow, readying Trowa's breakfast as he waited, pausing every now and then to take a peek through the open doorway as the prince changed, making his assessments. He hummed softly, taking bits and pieces of popular and traditional ballads from his old country. He began to sing small snippets of them as Trowa ate his breakfast in an almoust pouting silence. The infectious tunes soon found their way under Trowa's breath as the walked to the stables. Briefly, Trowa wondered if he should tell Quatre that walking beside him was against protocol, but he had a hard time believing that the order for his new attendant to walk ten steps behind him would go unchallenged.
Quatre inhaled deeply as they entered the stables, the smell of dusty hay, old wood, and something distinctly equine mingled together in such a way that sent memories rushing back to him. He almost expected the horse at the last stall, next to the window of course, to be his own. Trowa grabbed a fistful of oats and held it out to a sleek, ruddy animal that seemed almost insulted by the offer.
"Arabian," Quatre breathed, a knowing grin spreading across his face.
"Is there any better breed in the world?" Trowa asked, as the tall horse made his way over. He lipped at the prince's hand, not entirely giving his acceptance but eating just the same. A well placed scratch on the forehead made it seem like all was forgiven.
"Not a one, majesty. His name?" Quatre asked, patting the horse's flat, round check marred by a single, small scar.
"Difficult," Trowa responded, motioning to one of the grooms to bring a saddle, and provide something for Quatre.
"Difficult to remember, sire? To pronounce?" Quatre asked, quite confused.
The prince shook his head, grabbing the harness as he unlatched the gate to step inside. "His name *is* Difficult."
Quatre leaned his elbows on the gate, "What kind of name is that for a horse? Could you think of nothing more poetic?"
Trowa shrugged slightly as he fumbled a bit with the harness, "Whenever someone would ask about him, I would just say, 'He's difficult.' I guess it just stuck." Quatre swung the door open as Trowa began to lead Difficult out, he followed them outside watching approvingly as Trowa hitched his own horse, but let the groom handle the rest. Quatre looked away as the second horse was led out, barely believing what he saw. A mare! I was all but raised on horseback and he brings some fly ridden trail horse? Quatre opened his mouth, but felt Trowa jerk him back swiftly.
"Do what you like when we are in private, I don't care enough to reprimand you, but you will *not* show disrespect before others, you understand?" The prince whispered from behind. Reluctantly, Quatre nodded, making a mental note to beg Trowa to let him ride Difficult as soon as they were alone. A soft neigh drew his attention back to the stables where Heero and his groom were emerging with a fine white stallion. Quatre sucked in his breath as they neared, meeting Heero's eyes before darting away to watch Trowa mount.
"Oh! Sire," he said, hurrying to the horse's side. "Take your foot out of the stirrup."
Trowa frowned, and did so, looking down he asked, "Is there a problem?"
"Not at all, majesty," Quatre grunted as he slipped his foot into and mounted the horse, falling softly behind Trowa in the saddle. He kicked softly, wrapping his arms around Trowa's waist as Difficult darted forward. He spared one smug glance back at Heero, who was glaring so grimly, Quatre found himself glad to be cantering away at the moment.
"What the hell are you doing?" Trowa said tersely, moving to turn his horse around.
"No, majesty, *please,*" Quatre begged. "Play along, just this once. Just until Heero is gone."
"You want me to help you make my brother jealous?" the prince asked, slowing Difficult to a walk, but not altering his path.
"Is that a problem, majesty?" Quatre asked sweetly.
Trowa sighed, "I'm convinced Duo meant for you to come to me. This is his kind of irony." Quatre hiccupped, and quickly hid his face behind Trowa's shoulder, not daring to make another sound for several minutes. "Why do you want him to be jealous?" Trowa asked, softly.
"I don't know, sire," Quatre sighed. He shifted, keeping one arm around Trowa's waist, and putting the other on the rim of the saddle. "I just do. I want him to regret making me his lover."
"Do you have such plans for Duo?" Trowa asked.
Quatre smiled, More attempts at conversation, that has to be good. He settled his cheek on Trowa's shoulder again, eyes drinking in the scenery as Trowa maneuvered towards the forest. "Prince Duo is not my lover, majesty, he was my master."
"But I thought-"
"There's a big difference, sire. I chose, in fact, I went out of my way to be with Heero. I'd never say the same for Prince Duo, because Heero made me feel like it was different. He was lying though," Quatre closed his eyes tightly, unconsciously pulling Trowa tighter against him. "Even though he never really used me, what we had was false. He let me call him Heero, let me look him in the eye, even let me refuse him, but it was just good tactics."
"That doesn't sound like him," the prince noted. There was a crease in his brow, Angry? At Heero, I suppose, he thought. He almost shook his head when he realized that didn't sound right. Iie, not really... I just don't like hearing this, knowing that Quatre felt something... or desired him... ah, I see... jealous. Jealous of what he had with Quatre. Why?
"Maybe it wasn't like that, sire," Quatre shrugged limply. "Perhaps he's madly in love with me and can't say it, but the fact still stands... with him I was still owned." He laughed, "I'm about to say some very controversial things, pay no attention to them. I suppose that I could never love Heero, in spite all that he offered, because no matter what he looked at me through the eyes of a Master, an Owner. I was made a slave by whom? By God? No, just some unpleasant people from another land, you can't mark my soul."
Trowa was quiet, and Quatre wondered if he had gone against some ingrained philosophy, perhaps offended Trowa's ethics. He was only half way through cursing his big mouth before Trowa spoke. "You are impudent, disobedient. You meddle, and make excuses like no one I've ever known. You don't invoke reactions, but take them. You've been subdued, but obviously never broken..."
Oh God, *please* don't say he wants to break me, please! Quatre prayed, he'd already been through that with Duo. It hadn't work but it was hardly worth the fight sometimes.
"If you are a slave, you're the worst one I have ever met," the prince finished.
Quatre sat in a stunned silence for a moment, "Oh... thank you," he whispered.
Trowa nearly had the life squeezed out of him as two surprisingly strong arms wrapped around his chest. Secretly, he was glad his compliment had been taken so well. He never said what he didn't truly believe and while he found Quatre's constant disregard for his authority irksome, he recognized that this was probably the best chance he'd get to have a real friend. The words that spilled from Quatre's lips seemed more sincere than the kisses that had come before, and he had felt like repaying that.
Quatre waited as long as he could before ruining the quiet moment, "Could we stop for a bit, majesty? Riding in a saddle like this is rubbing me in all the wrong places."
Trowa smiled, but didn't say a word as he found the nearest clearing and halted Difficult. Quatre slipped down first, not bothering with the stirrups. He took the reigns from Trowa and knotted them around a thick tree branch, leaving enough slack for Difficult to do a little grazing. He watched Trowa dismount smoothly, and then flopped onto the ground, staring up at the clouds. The musky, summery scent of wild flowers assaulted him, unfamiliar to a desert breed like himself, but pleasant all the same. He smiled when the prince came to sit beside him.
"You really must look at those clouds, majesty," Quatre said. "The sky is so different here, it's hard to believe it could be the same the stretches across the desert."
Trowa bent his neck and took in the sight, "You talk about it a lot. You find no beauty in this place?"
"Not really, it's nice, but so different. No sands, or pristine oases, darker skies, and a smaller sun. The air feels and smells different," he sighed and looked to see if what he said was making any impact. Trowa was watching Difficult tear through the tough meadow grasses. "Sire... take a good look at these clouds. Here, you have to be on your back. You can't just glance, you have to watch them," he chided.
"I'm fi-" All at once he fell backwards, a sure tug on his collar throwing him off balance. He felt softly next to Quatre, his breath rushing out of him.
"Better, majesty?" Quatre asked, scooting closer.
"I suppose," he said, rubbing the back of his head. He caught Quatre's gaze, realizing how close the other boy was. Another kiss came, gentle, and full of gratitude, as a natural force brought them together this time. Quatre's hand came up, hesitating briefly when he realized the movement was unmotivated, initiated of it's own accord, before stroking Trowa's cheek and embedding into his hair. Trowa broke the kiss as if remembering something, not moving away, but pinning his eyes to the clouds above. "Why do you keep doing that?" he asked, breathlessly.
"You don't like it?" Quatre asked, nervous again. If Trowa didn't prove receptive he had no idea what Duo would do.
Trowa pursed his lips, but still did not look at Quatre. Speaking about his feelings was unfamiliar to him, no one had ever seemed to care about his own thoughts or desires. "I can't enjoy it if I don't know what it means, it's as simple as that."
Quatre let a moment pass, then gently turned the prince's face back towards his. "Unless you order me to stop, I'll only continue because I- because this is what I feel. Is that what you'd like? For me to stop?" Quatre didn't know why he hadn't been to say, 'I love you.' The lie had refused to be spoken when he confronted Trowa's eyes. Something from deep inside him insisted that it was wrong to lie to those eyes, to pile one more injustice onto the prince's troubled heart.
"I don't know..." Trowa said as he started to sit up. It was clear he was struggling to find the words to explain, but was coming up short.
Quatre sighed, pulling him back down in the bed they'd made in the grass, "Then don't make the decision just yet." He placed one arm across Trowa's chest, and settled close beside him. Trowa made a weak attempt to break free but gave up quickly, letting the warmth of the embrace spread over him.
Neither said a word, letting time pass, and just getting a feel of the world they were in. A passing breeze ruffled Quatre's hair, the stray blonde locks tickling the underside of Trowa's chin. Unconsciously, he lifted his hand to smooth the hair away from his skin. They stayed there a moment too long, pulling in every detail through his fingertips. Quatre felt goose bumps rise on the back of his neck, the sensation running all the way down his spine.
God, now who's acting like the blushing virgin? How does he keep doing this to me? If I can't even lie to him while looking into those eyes, how do I get my freedom? In getting Trowa to open up, he'd revealed too much about himself. Quatre knew his tactics had to change, but not today. Today... will be for him.
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Part Four