It was snowing again. Of course it was winter, and we were in the mountains, and it was usually snowing. But there was something about it, the way it covered everything, kept us hidden from everyone and kept us inside.

"Trowa." It was Heero. It had been a month before he regained consciousness, longer than that before Cathy would let him out of bed. He was even more antsy than I was, having been confined for so long, and I knew his injuries frustrated him. He had taken to sitting next to the window, staring out at the falling snow as if willing it away.

"How're you feeling?" I asked him, as he leaned heavily against the wall beside me. "Still hurt?"

"Dying does," he answered, with that wry humour that's so hard to see. "Healing even worse. The next time I try spouting off words of wisdom at you, Trowa, you have permission to hit me."

"So he has doubts after all," I countered. "So much for acting on your emotions, then?"

A flicker of something I didn't recognise, barely visible, flashed across his face. "I didn't mean that. I stand by that one."

He was closer, suddenly, and I floundered to keep the conversation afloat. "It's worked for you, then? For something other than blowing yourself up?" He didn't answer--he pressed his lips to mine instead, nothing demanding, just a simple kiss. A rush of fear, mixed with an almost intoxicating lust, unexplainable and undeniable, rose in my gut and I pressed my back to the wall.

He noticed, and stepped back, and I felt my posture ease. I hated having so little control over my own body's impulses. Heero reached up slowly, instead, and touched his fingers to my cheek. "Are you afraid of me?" he asked, disbelieving and a little hurt.

"Not of you," I told him. It was true. I trusted Heero, even before I saved him. I wasn't afraid of him touching me, either--it was an old reaction, brought on by flash-floods of repressed memories and oversensitised survival instincts. "Just...of being close."

He nodded, and I could see him assimilating the information, analysing it. "I wouldn't hurt you," he promised huskily. "I love you."

I think the words startled him as much as they did me. They were words I'd heard before, but never seriously; it was a cheap pickup line by drunken old men. But he meant them. And even though I felt I should return them, I couldn't--I don't think I could have formed the words even if I hadn't been haunted by the memory of a sad, sweet pair of aquamarine eyes that had turned my world upside-down. I might be able to love someone, someday. But it wasn't Heero.

"Everybody says that to someone," I stammered, "but I don't think they really know what it means."

"I do," he answered awkwardly. "Otherwise I wouldn't be saying it. You know me that well at least."

I couldn't look at him, couldn't meet those deep blue eyes and admit all my own weakness and fears. I turned away, taking refuge in the chair by his bed. He watched me, I could feel the weight of his eyes and the nervousness that radiated from him though he did nothing to acknowledge it.

"It's all right," he offered after a tense moment that might have lasted years. "You don't have to say it back. I already knew you didn't love me."

"Just following your own advice?" I meant to try and lighten the mood, but it came out sounding plaintive, and the look Heero shot me was positively hurt.

"Something like that. Just forget it. I'm sorry." He turned away from me, back to the window, staring pensively out at the snow as if the entire incident had never taken place.

That was what I wanted, wasn't it? For the whole awkward situation to just go away, to forget it all and forget we could ever be more than comrades-in-arms? Heero had stated his case, and let me go, given me exactly what I'd asked of him.

So why did I feel as though I'd done something terrible to him?

It may have been a moment's hesitation, but certainly not a moment's thought--I wasn't thinking, I was acting, forcing myself past the knot of dread sitting cold in my chest. I couldn't stand being the reason for his hurt--his or anyone's, in truth. I hate making people sad. I stood up, crossed to the window to stand behind him, and bent my lips to the nape of his neck. His skin was deceptively soft, and soft strands of dark hair brushed against my cheek as I pressed lightly against his back.

He moaned, softly, his fingers clenched against the windowsill, his head dropped forward and his breathing caught. "Trowa--what are you doing--?"

"Following your advice," I answered, my tongue exploring the hollow behind his ear. "It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

"Trowa!" Faster than I could react he spun around, gripping my shoulders as he pressed me back against the wall. "What are you doing to me?" he demanded fiercely, precluding any attempt at answering by covering my mouth with his, his tongue probing between my lips, his breathing already quickening. Finally he pulled his face from mine, leaving me gasping, and buried his head in my shoulder. "It isn't fair." His voice trembled, despite his own obvious effort to regain his composure. "I know you love that blonde boy. Catherine told me, even if I couldn't see it in your face whenever you talk about him. I /won't/ hurt you, I won't. But I do want you, and you--you--doing that--" He faltered, his voice breaking. It was a long speech for Heero, he was no more prone to needless verbosity than I was. His touch was delicate, as if he were trying to let me go but couldn't quite bring himself to break the contact. I could feel his pulse pounding against my chest, the proof of his desire hard against my hip, the warmth of his breath on my neck.

"Heero," I heard myself whisper, "it's sex. It's not really about love anyway, it's about trust. I trust you. And I want it too." It was true. Despite the wash of terror and revulsion that so predictably flooded me at the first sign of a sensual touch, physical contact was subversively addictive as well. It always made me feel dirty, but I tasted the truth of my own words. This wasn't dirty, wasn't wrong--not with pure, idealistic, stronger-than-life Heero. And a very dishonourable part of me wanted, when I finally saw Quatre again, to go to him with at least one pure thought to offer.

I think Heero understood all of that--if not right away, and not consciously, then later on. "You trust me?" he repeated, wondrous, as if it were as holy and precious as if I /had/ said I loved him, and I nodded.

He kissed me again, languidly, pressing his body to mine til /he/ was almost the one touching the wall, his hands leaving my shoulders to slide down my sides and fumble with the hem of my shirt. "It's good enough," he whispered as he pulled away, his lips brushing my ear. "I love you, you trust me, I know there's no future for us but I want you anyway."

I started to respond but he cut off my words, claiming my mouth with a fierce possessive urgency that threatened to drown me. His hands tugged at my shirt, and I fumbled with his, til our bare chests rubbed together, throbbing with the syncopation of our hearts. He turned me, pushing me slowly backward til my knees hit the bed, then down onto it, and I pulled him with me. He tumbled, then rolled up and straddled me, bending forward to brush his lips down my neck as he dealt with my jeans.

A rush of cold air swept my legs as he stood up, pulling the last few layers of cloth from my body. "My God," he whispered, standing still at the edge of the bed, staring down at my prone body. "You're--" He shook his head, as if to clear it, and knelt near me. "I've never done this before. Tell me what you want."

That was all the warning I had. His mouth engulfed me, warm and wet, closed in slight pressure. I fought for consciousness through waves of alternating terror and euphoria as his tongue explored the length of me, as his fingertips blazed light trails over my skin. His eyes were half-closed, watching me, gauging my reactions, his tousled hair hanging limp and sweat-damped in his face. My hips bucked, thrusting into his mouth. Surprise registered on his face, followed rapidly by a sort of smug pleasure, and he allowed me a moment of it before resting an arm across my hips and holding me still. I moaned, frustrated, and his chuckle buzzed against my skin. "I'm doing all right then?" he asked when he lifted his head.

"Yes, of course--God, Heero, please don't stop!" As far as this encounter went, I was lost, unable to do any more than lie prone beneath his ministrations and plead with him to continue--something he seemed willing enough to do, because he bent his head again. I barely recognised as one of his hands left my body and reached for his own, when his blue eyes squinted tight against the fury of sensation flooding both of us. The sight was too beautiful to be described, as he knelt there, bent to pleasuring both of us, and I had to close my own eyes against the sudden dizzy whirling of the room. "Heero--stop--I'm going to--"

He did stop, but only long enough to pull back and look at me with smug curiosity. "Come for me, Trowa," he said, pumping me as he ducked his head to suck the tip of my penis.

I did. I might have screamed, I don't remember. He caught most of it in his hand, bent to lick some curiously off my body. He stood, ridding himself of the jeans already pooled around his ankles, and stretched out alongside me. "Not too spent, are you?" he murmured hopefully, his cupped hand exploring between my legs, sliding under me, coating me with the liquid still pooled in it.

I said before--it's an addiction. My back arched toward the ceiling, I hardened again at his intimate touch and the sultry low tones of his voice caressing my skin. "Take me, Heero, please...."

I think my directness surprised him, but I saw his eyes darken with lust and he rolled above me, settling himself between my legs. He leaned over me, kissed a line up my chest as I writhed under him, silencing my low moans with his mouth.

"You're sure." He requested confirmation one more time, though I think he was less afraid I would have changed my mind than he was eager to hear me say it again. I nodded.

"Yes, I'm sure, do it! Please!" I was pleading, now, I was so far gone. The last word had barely left my lips before Heero had hooked my legs over his shoulders, and was driving slowly into me. My body resisted at first, it always did. There was that wave again of black terror, threatening to blind me with despair, but Heero stopped as I was battling it away, pressed fingertips to my face and a kiss to the inside of my knee. I trusted him, and my body relaxed around him, accepting him.

He waited past the point where it was necessary. I opened my eyes, and he was watching me, hovering, disbelief mixing with concern and an unfamiliar tenderness in his face. "Did I hurt you?" he ventured.

I shook my head, dizzy. "No. It's--good."

He sighed, it might have been relief, and began to pull out, leaving me unbearably empty. I tried to reach his hips, and pull him back to me, but could only flail ineffectually at his sides. He grasped my wrists and pressed them firmly into the sheets as he eased back in, his eyes alight with a feral gleam.

"Patience, koibito," he chided, punctuating his command with a short quick thrust that made me moan. "I want this to last."

I squirmed under him, I would have pinned him inside me if I could, but he's stronger than I am, and he was the one holding me down. I didn't care about his reasoning. "Heero. HARDER. Please. /Now/."

Contrary to popular belief, even Heero Yuy is human, and even his self-control has its limits. I seemed to have finally broken through them. With a grunt like a moan, he capitulated, strong fingers still gripping my wrists, pounding into my body. There was no rhythm in his thrusts, only eager desperation; sometimes he hit a spot inside of me that made me see stars, and for the rest I reveled in the sensation of him filling me, and the sight of his sweat-glistened body and half-closed eyes above me.

He stopped almost abruptly, his breathing ragged, his cheek resting against my knee. "Much more of that and this /will/ be over," he confessed breathlessly.

"I don't care." My entire body was quivering with the high Heero was taking it to. "Just keep doing it. Please. I want you to come in me, Heero."

His body tensed, his eyes closing as he fought off a reaction to those words alone. "You," he informed me softly, punctuating his admonishment with teasing, gentle thrusts, "have no idea what you do to me."

The soft friction drove me insane, and I writhed under him, my hands straining for freedom. "Let my arms go," I whispered, and he released them as if he'd forgotten he was still holding them. My own desire was throbbing, and I reached up to touch myself. Heero's eyes grew wide, a strangled moan escaping his lips, and he took me in earnest. He drove into me, his hands braced on either side of me, a soft litany of breathless moans leaving his lips with each thrust. Balancing against him, I continued to pump my own sex, my other hand reaching between our bodies to touch the place where his joined with mine. He gasped as my fingers brushed him, and I felt his body trembling above me before his essence emptied into me and I was gone as well. For a moment he hovered, simply staring down at me in profound awe--then he eased out of me, lowering my legs to the bed and collapsing beside me.

I struggled futilely for something to say in this moment--I'd never had to bother myself before with anyone else's comfort. I didn't have to say anything. Heero propped himself up on one elbow, and bent to kiss me tenderly.

"I love you," he said a little sadly. "I hope Quatre knows he's a lucky man."

There was more ridiculousness in that statement than I cared to delve into. "You really are crazy." I shouldn't have said it--I didn't mean anything by it, but I knew as soon as I heard the words that it had come out wrong. Heero covered the flash of hurt in his eyes admirably.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I didn't mean it."

Heero sighed. "Trowa, listen to me." He could be commanding when he wanted to, and I nodded obediently. "You are incredible. You have a noble heart, a brilliant mind, and a beautiful body. You can do things none of the rest of us can. Don't sell yourself short, and don't let anybody else belittle you either." He brushed his fingers across my lips, ran them idly through my hair. "And if they do, I'll kill them," he added as an afterthought. Despite the vague smile on his face, I wasn't sure how serious he was.

"Ryokai," I murmured--it was Heero's tagline, and I saw his lips quirk up at the corners.

"Good." He rolled onto his back, silent for a moment. "Much as I hate to admit this, Trowa, I'm exhausted. And since I'd rather not be lying like this the next time your sister comes in to check on her patient, could you help me to the shower?"

I eyed him with melodramatic suspicion. "/You/ can't get yourself to the shower?"

He made a face at me. It occurred to me with astonishing suddenness that until recently, this kind of casual interaction would have been impossible for both of us. "Your honour, dubious as it is, is safe," he informed me flatly. "Now get your lazy if beautiful body out of this bed and help a wounded man to the shower."

Folding myself upright, I stared down at him, considering. "Hm. I don't think I will, since I'm lazy. Besides, if people insult me, this Gundam pilot I know says he'll kill them."

Heero eyed me sourly. "Already have done, consider this one paid for in advance." He swung himself weakly out of bed, and I abandoned the pleasant if unfamiliar banter and slid an arm under his shoulders to lead him away.

I cared about him intensely, trusted him intimately. But I didn't love him, even when I tried to force myself to. I wanted to make him happy, but it was like he said. There was no future for us. My heart had made its choice, and even late that night, alone in my bed and reliving the afternoon's events, I knew it wouldn't happen again.

And Heero knew it, too.