The two boys arrived only moments late for lunch. Milliardo was already seated at the dining room table, waiting for them. Heero had not offered an explanation as to Treize’s departure, so when they sat to eat Trowa asked Milliardo.

“He has business in Atlanta,” Milliardo replied between mouthfuls, “he’ll be back within the month.”

“A month?”

Milliardo stopped eating at the alarm he heard in the Trowa’s voice and stared across the table, ‘Why do you care?’

“Yes, a month. Or perhaps a week, however long it takes for him to finish his business.”

“He’s visiting my mother,” Heero offered, “that in itself should give every indication that he won’t be gone too long.”

Milliardo snorted softly at the reply and the noise was accompanied by a low grumbling that shook the house. Thunder.

“Oh, thank the lawd!!!” The threesome heard Netti’s voice in the kitchen, “God knows we need us a good rain.”

Trowa looked past Milliardo and into the churning sky he saw through the window. And just as if God had indeed heard Netti’s words, the sky opened and a blanket of rain fell over the fields. It was a quick, heavy torrent and the sky lit suddenly, a white bolt streaking across it, followed almost immediately by a great clap and grumble. Needless to say, Malaise was nowhere to be seen.

Milliardo threw down his dinner napkin and rose quickly, “Damn. We should have another three months at least before the storms. I’ll have to get out of the weather. Netti,” he called as he was walking out of the door, “make sure all of the shutters are pulled and tell Relena and the others not to worry about the out-of-doors chores.”

“Can I be of any help?” Trowa asked, he knew how hectic the dash to safety in a thunderstorm was, he’d been in plenty enough. The rains would be a welcome but the lightning was not to be taken lightly.

“No. Stay in,” Milliardo was yelling now. He held the door open and the heavy rainfall roared like a passing train, it blew in with the wind, wetting his face and hair, “Duo and the others will help me.” And then he was gone, the door slamming behind him. The kitchen was quiet again save for the muted noises of the chaos outside.

“Well,” Heero smiled, he hadn’t seemed alarmed at all by the storm, in fact, he looked elated, “would you like to play with me?”

Trowa raised and eyebrow, “Play with you?”

“Yes. The rain makes me playful,” he leaned forward, closer to where Trowa sat, “Do you know hide-and-seek?”

“Of course.”

Heero smiled, the same wicked grin he’d had in the attic, and placed a hand on Trowa’s shoulder, “Then you, my friend . . . are it.” And in a blink, he was up and off, skidding through the dining room door and into the hall beyond.

Trowa stared at the swinging door for a moment. Somewhere in the attic, the past called to him, promising to answer all of the questions he’d never had a chance to ask. In the fields, Milliardo and Duo wrestled with frightened horses, pulling on ropes, being pulled themselves. Past those darkening fields, crowded into a small house, Catherine clung to Mahreem, wincing at the thunderclaps. And somewhere further still, Treize watched the mournful sky break apart and fall around him.

And Heero wanted to play.

The door swung again as he went through it himself.

The storm outside the Khushrenada estate raged on in all it’s glorious fury. The frenzied rains fell heavy and blew this way and that in the tumultuous winds. The sky had turned an angry gray and the fields were beaten down by the sudden onslaught. The rainy season had come early.

Inside the house, a bright flash lit Trowa’s path, followed by an ear-splitting crack, as he stepped into the foyer. He looked ahead of him into the near darkness. The sitting room loomed quietly, the ghost-like figures of the furniture floating before his eyes. But no Heero.

He turned and headed toward the stairs, deciding against the rest of the first floor. Heero was not one to make games too easy.

The stairway was dark as well and the landing at the top nearly pitch. There had been no time to light the lamps in the house after the storm’s unexpected arrival, and so as he walked, it seemed he waded through pools of blackness.

Trowa stepped lightly, listening for any signs of the other boy. His own breath greeted his ears, intermittently stamped out by the quelled noises of the storm. He began to wonder if playing with Heero was going to be a good idea. And then he remembered the kiss.

As much as he had tried to convince himself otherwise, he had quite enjoyed the sensual play of tongues and lips they had shared earlier that morning. Heero’s mouth had felt so foreign as it invaded his own, his tongue rough and silky at the same time, liquid sandpaper. How lovely it had been. And in the face of the uncertain feelings he had for Treize, the things that Heero made him feel were blatantly clear. The dark-haired boy excited him and frightened him all at once, made him want things he’d never dreamed of dreaming of. And Heero obviously wanted the same.

He continued his ascent into the higher reaches of the house, he was on the third floor now, deciding he might work his way down. He reached the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, and peered into the darkness. Treize’s rooms were to the left, Milliardo’s to the right. If he chose the wrong direction, he would give Heero an easy escape to the stairs. And still there was the attic to consider.

A deep rumble shook the foundation of the house and Trowa found the noise, the light shooting in from the small windows, eerily discomfiting. In the fields, a lightning storm could be gravely dangerous, yet he’d never been afraid of the bright streaks, simply aware of their proximity, just as they, he was certain, were aware of his. And the thunder was simply a marker. A telling grunt to warn how close the next strike might be.

But in a house, a large house, the storm became an invader, an oppressor. It beat against the framework, punching against the doors, creeping into the cracks. It was an unseen predator and Trowa didn’t like it. A voice startled him.

“You don’t like the storm, do you?” It was Heero. He couldn’t see the boy but the voice was unmistakable.

Trowa didn’t answer the question.

“Aren’t you supposed to be hiding?”

A small chuckle came from the darkness, “I am . . . you can’t see me can you?”

He had a point. “No.”

“Then shouldn’t you be looking for me?” Heero replied, and at that, a bright flash lighted the hallway and Trowa saw Heero’s figure scampering down the hall. A second later he was thrown back into the darkness but the image was burned into his mind’s eye and he started off in Heero’s direction. Where was he going? Treize’s rooms.

He reached out a hand to feel along the wall as he walked, and each time the lightning flashed he quickened his steps before losing the light. His hand reached a door and he felt it up and down for a handle, finally finding a cold metal knob. He turned it.

Treize’s bedroom wasn’t as dark as the hallway as it had a large bay window opposite the door. The room smelled of pine, as if Treize had had a fire recently, and the scent was intermingled with the lingering smell of the room’s owner.

Trowa closed his eyes and inhaled the familiar lavender tinged fragrance and for a flickering moment he wished it were Treize he were chasing, not Heero. Or better yet, Treize chasing him. And then a slow drawl of speech came from the bed.

“Olly, olly, oxenfree,” Heero growled. Trowa opened his eyes and squinted at the shadow sprawled on Treize’s large bed.

Heero was there, lying languidly atop the covers. The slight light that filtered through the curtains turned the room a light gray, enough so that Trowa could find his way across the room to stand beside the bed. He knew they shouldn’t be there. Sure, Treize was long gone, but if Milliardo were to finish in the fields and come looking for them only to find them here . . . the lightning itself would make a lesser adversary.

“Lay with me?” Heero asked him, the question almost a command.

Trowa stood quiet for a moment. Somehow, looking down at Heero, hearing those words, it suddenly became very clear how much his life had changed lately. He’d come from the fields, nameless, hopeless, without a true family. Now he had a name, the chance to find his real family, and the opportunity to discover the one person he’d never had the time, nor the want to know. Himself.

Whether it was the house, it’s occupants, or just something inevitable within himself, something was changing him. He’d found himself weeping at the slightest distress, running from things that should not frighten him, chasing things that should. And that’s what lay outstretched before him on Treize’s velvet coverlet. The thing that he knew should make him weep and cower. The thing that, at that moment, he wanted most of all.

“Did you hear me?” Heero asked, his voice low and demanding, “I asked you to lay with me. Don’t be frightened,” he stroked the bed beside him, “I won’t bite.”

Trowa hesitated for a moment more before lying down beside the other boy, both of them on their backs.

“You know, you’re not very good at hiding.” Trowa remarked softly as they both settled in to watch the light show that the storm played on the ceiling.

“And you are not very good at seeking,” Heero snorted, a smile audible in his voice, “had I hid in a cabinet or the linen closet I might have been there all day, the way you were skulking about.”

“It’s the storm. It makes me uneasy.”

“I noticed.”

There was silence for few long moments before Trowa spoke again.



“Why does Milliardo hate you?” The question was asked somewhat warily. Heero answered with a small laugh.

“So you noticed, did you? Well, if you ask him, it’s a long story with an unhappy ending and one Heero Yuy as the big bad wolf,” he breathed another laugh, “Though I wouldn’t suggest you ask him, especially if you like all of your appendages where they are.”

“And if I ask you?”

“I would say it was . . . somewhat of a misunderstanding”

“Oh.” Heero was obviously avoiding the question.

“Can I ask you a question now?” Heero rolled onto his side as he spoke, and Trowa turned his head to stare into the shadowy face.

“Yes?” Trowa replied, his voice getting thicker, affected by Heero’s closeness.

“Why does my uncle like you so much?”

Trowa was taken aback by the question, “I . . . I don’t know. Does he?”

Heero scoffed, “A blind man could see that, Trowa. He’s a different person around you, a little less Khushrenada, a little more Treize,” Heero’s voice betrayed a sly smile, “I think he has a crush on you.”

Trowa hoped that Heero couldn’t see the blush spreading across his cheeks. “I think . . . I make him upset and sad, sometimes even angry . . . but a crush . . .”

“Trowa,” Heero moved closer to Trowa, their faces inches apart. He ran a finger along Trowa’s jaw, “don’t tell me you don’t know how lovely you are.” His finger traced down Trowa’s face and then over his chin, the silken touch finally resting upon his lips, “hasn’t anyone told you?”

Trowa resisted the urge to close his eyes at the small yet overly pleasant touch. Even though the room was lighted somewhat, it was still too dark to see Heero’s face, keeping his eyes open was the only thing that held him to coherency. He struggled to think.

“You did,” Trowa managed and Heero’s touches did not stop.

“Yes,” Heero drawled, “and you gave me a black eye, remember?”

Trowa smiled a little, “I’m sorry, I . . . I’ve never . . . had anyone . . .” Trowa’s words were an effort.

“Touch you?” Heero finished for him, “Like this?” and then the roaming finger became a stroking palm, warm against a warmer cheek.

“Yes,” Trowa sucked in a breath just as Heero leaned forward enough to claim his lips. Their kiss was even sweeter than the one they’d shared that morning. Only their lips touched at first, and then Heero pulled at him, turning him fully onto his side and moving his body up against him. That was when Heero invaded Trowa’s mouth, that now familiar tongue gliding against his own. Trowa was in ecstasy at the taste, the feel. He deepened the kiss with fervor, pushing against the other boy, pulling him closer as he reached with clumsy hands. Heero was a delicacy, a candy to be devoured, and oh how he wanted his dessert.

So enraptured in the war between their mouths, Trowa had not noticed that Heero’s hand had strayed until he felt him squeeze the back of his thigh. He whimpered a little but did not break the kiss.

Heero stroked his hand further down, finally reaching the back of his knee and pulling the other boy’s leg toward him.

Trowa jumped and pulled away suddenly, giving a shout of protest, but it only took Heero a second to realize why.

“No! Stop,” he pulled his knee from Heero’s grasp, reaching down to catch Heero’s hands, “please, don’t do that.”

Heero had the advantage of having the window behind him so that he could see the small smile on Trowa’s face. He reached for the other boy’s leg again, smiling to himself.

“And why not,” he growled, clutching at Trowa’s knee again, “ticklish?”

Trowa squirmed under Heero’s grip, trying to get away but his laughter made him helpless, “Heero, no! . . . Stop!” He batted at Heero’s hands and kicked his legs in an attempt to save himself.

Heero had straddled the other boy now and was ruthlessly attacking his sensitive flesh. Trowa thrashed beneath him and Heero felt himself becoming more aroused by the second.

“You give?” Heero asked wickedly.

Trowa’s speech was peppered with laughter. The kind of laughter he had not known for a long time and it felt good let to go, “Hee . . .ro . . . no,”

Heero assaulted him doubly, the frenzy of their movements exciting him more. He was tickling everywhere now, knees, inner thighs, ribs. Trowa was weeping with laughter.

“Do you give?”

“Yes!” Trowa finally yelled, “Yes, I give, I give!”

At those words, Heero’s playfulness turned to something quite different and he dove down onto Trowa, catching the boy’s open mouth with his own. One of Trowa’s knees were raised between his legs and he rubbed his erection against it, moaning at the contact but not breaking the kiss.

All of these things were new to Trowa, being touched in so many places at once, being kissed, having an excited boy heavy atop him. But it was all quite wonderful if not frightening. He aided Heero in his endeavors, moving his leg against the other man’s groin, feeling himself straining against his pants. His hands finally found their initiative and moved to clutch at Heero’s back.

Heero ran his hands quickly down Trowa’s sides, pulling on the other boy’s shirt, untucking it from his pants and nearly tearing the buttons away. He was still kissing at Trowa’s face, but his excitement made him clumsy and he often kissed his chin, his cheeks and throat. He lapped at the salty tears that had come from Trowa’s laughter.

Trowa responded with zeal, kissing anything the other boy offered, moving his hands to Heero’s buttons. But Heero’s impatience was astounding, and a moment after he had Trowa’s shirt open, he sat up to remove his own, only to fall back into Trowa’s warm embrace a beat later.

They writhed against each other, Heero pressing his bare chest against Trowa’s, Trowa moaning at the sensation. Heero lifted his hips from the other boy’s and moved a hand between them.

When Trowa felt Heero loosening his pants buttons, he pushed his arms against the other boy, breaking all but that most alarming contact, “Heero, I can’t . . . I ,” Heero loomed above him, his hunger a palpable force. He could see the other boy’s face a bit now, and the spark in his eyes was frighteningly alluring. “I haven’t ever . . .”

“Shhhh,” was all Heero offered before diving in again. He pushed easily past Trowa’s arms, and began nibbling at the other boy’s throat, his chest, cleverly tonguing his way downward.

Throughout this, the hand at Trowa’s pants had not stopped, and when deft fingers pushed aside the irksome material to take hold of his aching arousal, Trowa arched from the bed, unintentionally bringing his leg back in contact with Heero’s groin and both boys groaned loudly.

The world outside Treize’s room was slipping away. Treize? Who was that? Catherine, Mahreem, Milliardo, Duo, none of them mattered. Even the attic, calling to him as it held the answers to his past somewhere in its dank belly, did not threaten to distract him. There was only Heero.

And Heero was not to be distracted himself. He continued moving down Trowa’s body, kissing, licking and touching every spot he exposed on the way. Little whimpers and moans from Trowa cheered him on, fueling his excitement. And finally, as he faced Trowa’s virgin erection, he felt the other boy tense and grow still.

“Heero,” Trowa started again, knowing what Heero intended to do. One part of him pleaded with the head he held in his hands and itched to push it down, impaling it on his arousal. But another was frightened. Not of the act, but the consequences.

When Heero finally took Trowa into his mouth, the room, the house, the fields, even the storm it seemed, were forgotten. He arched into that warm tunnel, marveling at the ecstasy that he hadn’t known were possible, and Heero eagerly accepted him. He closed his eyes, concentrating on sensation.

Heero’s hands, like his mouth were not idle. One gripped the base of Trowa’s shaft, restricting the wayward organ. The other, snaked wickedly down the outside of Trowa’s still-clothed thigh, finding and then tickling the sensitive knees.

Trowa yelped at the double assault. His stomach convulsed with the delightful tremors and he could feel himself growing even harder in Heero’s mouth. There was little more his body could sustain. Already unaccustom to such stimulation, he found himself verging on something, something that he knew would blind him with it’s arrival, choke the breath from his lungs and leave him quivering.

“Heero!” He screamed the other boy’s name, partly as a cry for help, partly as a demand for more. Heero took it as the latter and doubled his efforts.

Seconds later, with Heero’s mouth moving rapidly on him, Heero’s hands assaulting him, Trowa orgasmed for the first time. He gave a great cry, lifting his hips and pushing himself even further down Heero’s enthusiastic throat. The release of tension inside him burst like a floodgate, not only from the activities they’d engaged in for the last few minutes, but from the past few weeks in the mansion, the last several years in the fields, perhaps his entire life.

Trowa was somewhat dazed as sensation and emotion washed over him. Even when Heero released him and crawled back up to kiss his open mouth, it was as if the world were muted. He opened his eyes and saw that Heero was speaking to him. His lips were moving but Trowa heard none of the words.

“What?” Trowa breathed, and at the sound of his own voice, the world came back to him.

The storm had finally subsided, only a faint drizzle thrummed against the window panes as Heero spoke.

“I asked if you had enjoyed yourself,” Heero repeated, leaning in close to Trowa’s face. He stroked Trowa’s cheek softly and a strange grin spread across his face. Something undiscernible lighted in his eyes and Trowa felt his stomach clench nervously at the smirking glare.

“So did you . . .,” Heero continued, the sly smile spreading wider, thinning his lips as he dealt the final blow to Trowa’s fervent mind, “. . . Nashi?”

|Part 13|