Sweet Summer Sweat
by Fancyfigures

Trowa woke suddenly, with his head whirling, at first forgetting where he was. Then he remembered that they'd run away; that they'd got lost; that he and Heero were at the motel. In that first second of stirring, it all felt like a thousand years ago.

He remembered being shown down a dim, flag-stoned pathway, passing on one side an open space like a courtyard. It was tucked between the main reception of the motel building, and another low-roofed area that may have been the kitchen; hidden from view from the front yard. There was the glint of light on a wall at the far side, throwing shadows on a couple of tall, palm-like trees, and what looked like stone benches. There was a sunken structure in the centre of the yard -- then Wufei had passed in front of him, and he'd not looked at it more closely. On the other side had been a line of doors, leading obviously to the motel rooms. There were no lights from inside those rooms. Their steps had echoed dully on the stones as they walked to the very furthest room in the row; no-one had spoken. Heero had been rather ill, that was it -- though he'd been in a strange mood since supper. Trowa knew he didn't know him well enough to understand all his moods. He didn't always have the patience, either. Their bag had been lifted into the room, one marked with a 6 on the door, though he'd seen no sense to the numbering of the rooms that they passed. Then they'd been left alone. His final view had been of Wufei's dark eyes glittering at him in the semi-darkness.

Trowa remembered sitting down on the bed to gather his thoughts. He realised now that he must have fallen asleep the minute he lay back on the bed. The journey -- the heavy, rich meal -- the strange events in the lobby - they had all taken their toll. But he was awake now, and he peered around him. The room was dark, but there was moonlight through the window. He felt confused. Weren't the lights back working again? Someone must have turned them off in the room -- perhaps to let him sleep. He wondered how late it was.

With a slight groan, he propped himself up on his arm. The air around him was still close from the heat of the day, yet not uncomfortably so. He saw that the room was barely larger than the double bed he lay on. But the mattress was surprisingly firm, and he knew that he'd slept well on it. There was nothing under him but a sheet, and a thin coverlet. He looked round slowly, seeing worn drapes, that were in places almost transparent; a chair and a mirrored dresser, up close to the wall, both made of wood that was well marked with age. On the dresser, a reading lamp with a faded shade, and candle holders beside it. And an overhead fan, set into the ceiling, hiccupping lazily around after a day's hard work. He saw the blades reflected in the old, spotted mirror tiles at its base. Everything very basic, and rather bleak. A typical, run-down motel.

But his head rested on deep, yielding pillows. And when he reached out to touch a pile of towels on the chair, he found them soft and warm. The contrast of sparseness and luxury confused his still awakening senses. The air was thick in here, and it moulded around his body. His skin was tingling with the groggy softness that comes after a sleep -- he ran a hand down his chest and liked the sensation. He stroked himself again. Still good...

He'd been dreaming, he was sure he had. It had been a suffocating, disorientating dream -- he felt the shudder still in his limbs, the throb of his heart. He couldn't remember all the details -- they were slipping away from him like sand through his fingers, even as his mind cleared. But he remembered there'd been a tall man, a stranger; a hypnotising smile... there'd been a Presence - something soft and thick, flowing like viscous liquid; stroking like feathers; full of warmth and colour and the smell of something delicious and sensual...

It had slid inside his pants, between his legs, seeking an entrance to his body...

With a shock, he realised that he was in nothing but his boxers, and that he had a throbbing erection. It tented the fabric -- there was the slightest damp patch at its tip. It was much fiercer than his normal waking reaction, and it showed no signs of dying down.

He'd never had such a strange, erotic dream before, not even about Heero!

He wondered if Heero had undressed him. Surely it wouldn't have been anyone else! The erection was nagging at him; persistent; demanding. He toyed with the idea of running his hand a little lower, and giving it what it needed...

Then a door at the back of the room opened, bringing a waft of scented, wet air. It was obviously from the bathroom.

"Heero -- is that you? Where are you? Come on over..."

His lover walked over, towelling at his hair. He was naked, except for another towel twisted round his waist. Trowa saw the moonlight slicing across his bare chest, exposing a single, dark nipple. He ached somewhere deep inside, wondering at the emotions that stirred in him. He lusted after Heero, of course he did -- but this ache was almost painful.

"How late is it? Have you had a bath? The lights are working now --"

"I know," replied Heero. "But I liked the candlelight in the dining room -- we can have the same in here. It's only ten o'clock or so. I left you here and ran a bath -- it's a very small bathroom, so I thought we'd have to take turns. And I thought you needed the sleep."

"Thanks," sighed Trowa. "But now I need something else..."

Heero bent at the dresser, lighting a candle in one of the holders there. When he turned back to Trowa, his face was dark and light in turns. The faint smell of sulphur from the match blazed a trail in the still air. Trowa sighed contentedly, and fell back on to the bed.

"Come and hold me, Heero. Come and lie beside me."

Heero's voice was a little distant, though he moved nearer the bed as he spoke. "It's just us now, isn't it, Trow?"

"Yes, love. This is our new beginning. For us -- together. They won't chase us any more -- there's no-one to keep us apart. To tell us who we can and can't see --"

"Swear at us -- spit at us --" Heero's voice was full of remembered pain and anger. It had been the worst time of his life, suffering the disgust of his so-called friends, when they hounded him for the truth about local gossip -- lying to them and his family on a daily basis, until he couldn't remember what was the truth. And all because he was drawn to this man; had wanted him. Was that so wrong?

"No more of that..." whispered Trowa. He could feel the damp heat from Heero's body -- smell the shampoo from his hair. He was also consumed by want -- very badly. Very fiercely. He rolled gently over on the bed towards Heero, trying not to catch his painfully aching cock on the cover. "No more sneaking around, doing it in corners --"

Heero winced. "In cars -- in alleyways --"

Trowa smiled, and saw the answering gleam of Heero's teeth in the half light. "Sometimes good, though, eh? Always exciting -- sometimes fun..."

"But we have a choice, now, Trow. A choice of when and where. Not just snatched half hours at lunch, or after dark, or while my parents are at some bar or other..."

Trowa moaned slightly. Heero had found it so much more distressing than he. He refused to care what they all thought -- refused to care what his parents said about him. Instead, he preferred to remember their desperate, awkward groping sessions. They'd never had much time together, to explore each other's bodies. Everything had been rushed; feelings anguished; lovemaking awkward. But as fascinating as an addiction, for both of them. Trowa knew that they had only scratched the surface of his needs and responses -- he suspected that it was the same for Heero. They had years of frustration and repression to set free. He would see that Heero was liberated from all of that -- that he would save him!



"My choice is now, Trowa. I want you here -- and now."

"Sure..." smiled Trowa. For didn't he want the same thing?

But Heero didn't seem to be expecting an answer. He was moving steadily on to the bed beside Trowa -- he leant over his prone body. The mattress creaked quietly under him. Trowa felt the whispering trail of his damp hair on his skin as he bent his head to kiss him. Heero's chest was heaving, with a swift, harsh breath. The towel fell from his hips as he straddled the other man's body, and Trowa felt the heat from his groin against his legs. Heero was as desperately erect as he was; Heero wanted him. He shuddered with delight. It had been days since they'd shared anything more than a kiss and a stroke...

Heero's mouth was soft on his chest; nibbling gently at the flesh. Impatient!

"Do you smell that perfume, Trowa? Like a herb -- piquant. Like growing things..."

"What?" he gasped. He couldn't concentrate -- his cock ached for touching, and he wanted to hold Heero's tight, young body, and kiss the hot mouth, and grasp his hips, and fondle down between his thighs to find the parts of him he dreamed about at night... "It -- it'll be something in the bathroom, I expect. I don't smell anything different except you...!"

"I want you, Trowa."

"I know, love, I --"

"No, Trowa, listen to me!" Heero's voice was low and harsh, and it bore a tone of command that Trowa had never heard from him before. "I want you to take me tonight, Trowa. I want you to fuck me! Very hard, and very well. I want you to make me come, groaning and crying out loud --"

Trowa had rarely been shocked. But he was now. Heero had never said such things before!

When he'd first met Heero, Trowa had had a little experience of sexual matters -- but he soon knew that Heero was a complete virgin. It had taken a long time to convince Heero that he was genuinely attracted to him -- that something was possible between them. Heero had been as sweet to kiss as his first taste of honey; as frightening to touch as the first time he dived alone into the deep, rough water of the sea. But once that barrier was broken, they had devoured each other like starving survivors, determined to discover more about each other, and with each other. They had experimented as much as they could, whilst keeping the true nature of their friendship a secret from everyone they knew. They met at spare moments -- before work in the mornings, and late at night, after their families were asleep. They borrowed cars -- they lied to friends that they were meeting others. They found corners and cellars and cubby-holes, to be together. To touch each other.

Until they grew careless, and the rumours started, racing quickly round the town like water finds its way through the smallest weaknesses in a wall. Time began to run out for them.

But in all their make-out sessions, Heero had never initiated anything between them. He'd always been enthusiastic, of course -- he'd accepted whatever Trowa suggested, and had held and caressed and pumped him, whenever they found the chance. He'd allowed Trowa's cock inside him several times, after they'd both confessed their feelings for each other, and the need they had to ease each other's lust. It had seemed the right way, to them both -- that Trowa should take Heero. It had always been fast, and often painful; there was a feeling overall of frustrated thrill - they desperately wanted to do more, but had so few opportunities. There'd never been any suggestion that Heero should be the taker.

And now they were together, in a bedroom, with the night to themselves. A night, steamy with remembered heat and a desire that Trowa knew had been growing in him since the beginning of their journey. He looked up at the ceiling, and saw Heero's dark, soft hair reflected in the mirror tiles; a distorted view of his own, pale face flickering between the movement of the fan, like an old-fashioned slide show.

Heero had wriggled down Trowa's legs -- he pushed them apart, so that he could kneel between them. Trowa felt fingers probing at his tightening balls; a tongue licking at the softer skin inside his thigh.

"Someone looks pleased to see me..." Heero hissed, his breath hot on Trowa's red, swollen flesh. Trowa felt his cock twitch under Heero's hands, as he eased the boxers over it, and dragged them down his legs and off. "I want to taste you, Trowa..."

And never had Heero gone down on him!

Trowa yelped with shocked pleasure as the firm, full lips slid over the head of him; as they teased at the skin, easing it up to the top, then letting it loose to shrivel back down the shaft. Heero was a little clumsy -- he had no practice in this. But his soft, hasty fingers were like trails of fire, burning their way over the flesh. His mouth was wet, and his lips eager to caress and consume. Trowa felt the ecstasy of his lover's enthusiasm, and his senses started to slip away. He'd sucked Heero off before -- they both loved that. Though he'd never swallowed him; that was one step too far at the moment. But Heero had never wanted to return the favour, preferring to use his strong, nimble fingers to make Trowa come for him.

Until tonight.

"Heero..." he gasped. "God - your mouth... I never..."

"Never what, Trow?" Heero's voice was muffled. He sounded as if he were impatient to get back to the sucking; to the licking. He rolled one of Trowa's sacs into his mouth, savouring it. Investigating the taste...

"Never felt like this... never thought it'd be so good..." Trowa groaned, and his hips bucked up against Heero's chin. He wasn't going to last very long at all at this rate! "God, Heero, I don't know what's changed your mind, but I'm gonna come very soon --"

Heero paused, his tongue lapping softly at the base of Trowa's balls. Kneading the little creases back and forth, tantalising his lover, whether deliberately or not, Trowa didn't know and didn't care. Slowly, Heero slid his mouth up and off the pulsing flesh. Trowa could hear his own harsh panting -- feel the dreadful suspense, coiling in his groin.

"It's noisy tonight, don't you think?"

"Huh?" Trowa managed nothing but a grunt.

"The others -- the guests, I suppose. I can hear all the voices...laughs...people calling welcome..."

Trowa shook his head; he could hear nothing but the sound of blood hammering in his brain. "Nothing, love... nothing. Don't leave me like this, Heero -- come here -- touch me again --" He was afraid that he was begging, and, again, he didn't care.

Heero sighed, and rolled languidly on to his knees. He lifted himself up on his arms, presenting his ass to Trowa. The flesh was smooth, newly washed; pale in the moonlight, with slashes of flickering brightness from the candle flame. The shadows between his thighs were dark; the crease between his buttocks promised a tight, damp sanctuary, teasing painfully at Trowa's need. "Fuck me," he whispered, fiercely. "Now, Trowa! I want you inside me. I want it properly, and I want it now -!"

"God..." hissed Trowa. He struggled to his own knees, beside the crouching man. "I -- yes, of course I -- but lube -?" He couldn't remember if he'd brought anything when they left; it had been the early hours of the morning, and they'd taken nothing but a few changes of clothes, and any money they could lay their hands on. He cursed his naiveté -- his stupid lack of forethought --

"On the dresser," murmured Heero. "I brought it in from the bathroom. There's everything in there, crammed together on the side of the bath -- oils, powders, creams...everything we could need."

In a second rate motel? thought Trowa. Very unusual. And not worth another thought, when he had a cock so rigid that his body was shaking, and the promise of satisfaction was beside him on the bed, waiting for his next move. "Heero -- " he gasped, grabbing at an unbranded jar of gel; fumbling with the lid; rolling the cool stuff over his fingers. "I -- are you sure --"

"Do it!" came the tight reply. He thought that Heero must be gritting his teeth. He felt the sweat springing up on his body again -- the fan seemed to have little effect the minute they started moving. The night would be as warm and sticky as the day had been sweltering. It made his hand slippery when he grasped Heero's hip; but he held tightly, as he slipped the fingers of his other hand into him, stretching him as gently as he could.

"Enough!" groaned Heero. "I'm fine. Fuck me, Trow -- for Christ's sake, get on with it!"

With a gasping guttural sound, Trowa came into him hard; Heero had never known him so determined. He gasped -- the pain of the penetration took his breath away. No more the nervous, hesitant inching of previous attempts. The fear of hurting; the desperate need, at war with the awkward inexperience. No, Trowa had obeyed Heero's order - his insistence was contagious. Heero felt his own cock bob beneath him, straining with its weeping arousal. He felt the thick throbbing of the shaft inside him; the awkward stretching of his passage to accommodate it. His legs shook slightly with the tension of holding himself up.

And Trowa began to thrust into him.

Heero groaned, his body pulled back and forth. It still hurt -- but it was good! It was better than before; it was different than before; it was nothing like before! He and Trowa were different men, now -- they were new lovers -- they were in another world -

He wondered briefly what on earth was happening to him, physically and emotionally, to be thinking such strange things. Then he abandoned the thoughts completely, to the incredible sensation happening inside him.

Trowa felt his climax approaching -- it was sweeter and sharper than he'd ever known it. He knew it was gonna hurt, it was so good! He thrust increasingly fiercely into Heero, not considering any more whether he hurt him or not. He needed to find satisfaction -- he needed to see his cock plunging into Heero's ass, then sliding out, only to plunge back in again. He needed -- he needed --

Heero was bent underneath him, held up on a single arm as he pumped at his own cock with desperate fingers. He moaned, and he panted and he begged Trowa to keep going -- to come with him. He cried out; he swore. He knew Trowa might hate the harsh words, but he also suspected that he'd be excited by them at the same time. With a groan, he felt the cum bubbling inside him, and the swelling at his tip. He squeezed himself, just as Trowa banged his hardest into him, and he came explosively, yelling Trowa's name as he pumped the thick, creamy stuff all over his hand and the coverlet.

"Yesss...Trowa! Fuck, fuck, harder, oh yesss -!"

With a shock, Trowa realised how aroused he was at Heero's shouts. He felt the muscles inside Heero's ass clench as he climaxed; his own movements grew fiercer. And then he felt the slithering, seductive warmth from his dream - the Presence - moving as he moved; thrusting as he thrust. It was inside him; it was curling inside his groin; it was stretching its tentacles out through his cock and into Heero's body. And it demanded he follow -- it demanded a satisfaction of its own. It was laughing at him; at his eager foolishness in allowing it to inhabit him! But it promised a glorious reward, at the same time...

Trowa felt the hot body shuddering underneath him -- and although he knew Heero had finished, he clutched at his narrow waist to hold him up, for he had just a little way further to go --

"Heero -" he groaned. "So fucking good -!"

He burst up into Heero -- felt the soaking of the walls inside, the walls that still held him so tightly. Felt the jerking of his own cock as it flexed against them. Felt the laughter and the pleasure and the triumph inside his body explode out of him with the cum and his rasping, agonised breath.

They fell to the bed, still joined.

Trowa lay, stunned out of his mind. At the excitement of it all -- at the release of such poignant need. There was a wash of emotions inside him, all mixed up -- though he didn't feel quite as comfortable with them as he'd have thought, having just fucked the man he cared for more than anyone else. He was still shocked and excited at Heero's passionate behaviour -- he had never known him so vocal before!

Heero lay beside him, exhausted. Sore. Thrilled. Remembering how frenzied things had been between them. Thinking that he'd never heard Trowa swear like that before.

Wondering if he'd really seen the flash of a blond head at their window, just as he knelt on the bed, and Trowa first entered him.

Just wondering what sort of a place this was.

Down the corridor, the voices sighed. The voices laughed very softly. The voices praised. In room 6, one body heard the murmurs of welcome in the heat of the wind, whilst the other heard only the beating of the fan.

"They're gorgeous, aren't they?" smiled Quatre. His voice had been one of the ones laughing. His face was flushed, and his body shivered with anticipation.

"Very," agreed Wufei. He rested comfortably against the wall, in a seated position. His hand played absentmindedly with Quatre's blond hair, as the boy's head lay on his lap. His voice had been one that praised; and he gave praise sparingly at the best of times. "Maxwell is very pleased."

"I am indeed," came a third, and new, voice. A man's voice. It was deeper -- stronger. But there was a rich timbre to it that was pleasant to the ear; a seductive, distracting quality. The two seated men started, but then they relaxed. Quatre blushed even further; his smile became sweeter.

"Join us..." he whispered. He wriggled in Wufei's lap, and he slid a hand behind his neck, to fondle what he found resting underneath his head. Wufei gave a sharp moan. His hands tightened on Quatre's hair; he tugged a little roughly.

But the third person didn't appear. There was just his voice, and maybe a darker shadow in the corner of the corridor.

"Come to me later," it commanded. They wouldn't question it. "I want to hear them for a while longer. Watch them..."

"The taller one --" sighed Wufei. His hand tightened on Quatre's neck, as he thought on Trowa Barton. "He has a darkness in him. A need."

"A dark one -- yes, I see it. And he is very fine," agreed the hidden voice. "You respond to that, I know. But the other --" He paused for a moment. "He is the sweet one."

Quatre hissed, and his eyes slid half shut. He twisted his body round so that he was now face down between Wufei's legs; his hand was moving slowly, yet firmly, up and down, on the bulge underneath Wufei's tunic pants. He opened his mouth wider; licked his lips thoroughly. The taller man looked down at him with hot, greedy eyes, and placed both of his hands deep into the soft, blond locks. He pressed Quatre's head further down, demanding his attention.

"See to him, Quatre," came the deep voice. The voice of a director; a master. "Touch him well. Then I may see the sweet one even more clearly."

Quatre pushed the light, loose fabric away from Wufei's erect cock, and bent his head to it. It was large, and swollen red with his caressing, and drops of pre-cum shone in welcome. Eagerly, he took it into his mouth, and began sucking. Wufei groaned, and thrust up into his mouth; they developed a firm, familiar rhythm.

There was a sharp intake of breath from the third presence, and the glint of hungry eyes in the darkness. Eyes that weren't focussed on the two men, but on something different -- someone different. A vision that was private and intimate; protected behind walls, and behind doors -- and yet was easily accessible to him.

Quatre had wriggled his shorts down his legs; he raised himself to kneeling, and spread his knees far apart on the flagstones of the corridor. He kept up the slow, steady strokes of his mouth down Wufei's cock, his head deep within the other man's lap -- but now he stretched his hand down under his own groin, moving with easy familiarity between his thighs, and he thrust two fingers up into his ass. He began to pump them, in time with his sucking. His cock, freed from its clothing, jiggled against his stomach. He moaned softly, under his breath.

From within a growing, erotic haze, Quatre heard the catch of the hidden man's breath. Smiling a little, he slid his tongue up and down the hot, pulsing, flesh between his lips, even as Wufei's hands cut cruelly, possessively into his scalp. He teased at his own prostate, even as he felt the dark-haired man bucking under him. The friction on his cock, rubbed between his bent thighs and the tight skin of his torso, brought him a fast, sudden completion, so that he shuddered and gasped, and spilled his seed all over his thighs and the ground underneath his spread legs. Then, as the sucking increased in fervour, Wufei groaned harshly, and surrendered to his own ecstasy, filling the welcoming cavern of Quatre's mouth with the sweet, bursting emission of his escaping cum.

Quatre heard the secret sigh of pleasure in the corners of his mind. He heard it as if it had been shouted aloud -- he was attuned to it.

He smiled still, lips moistened around Wufei's throbbing flesh, swallowing, and licking the threads of the tart liquid into his throat ; he relaxed, and allowed his mind to fill with the waves of greedy desire and satisfaction. Waves that came not from him nor from the man he was sucking off, but from the secret watcher. And waves that were not fed by his own, proficient performance -- but from that of another couple.

On to part four. Back to part two.