Trowa did not know quite how they'd ended up at the blonde man's room. He had mentioned that his own place wasn't fit at the moment, avoiding the particulars of his short-lived destruction, and Zechs hadn't responded. They had walked here, to the grandest of the dingy buildings of the town. Despite its richness, it still managed to retain the absorbing sheen of grime that all things kept here.

The boy sat out on the very edge of one of the room's fine, intricately carved mahogany chairs, sipping politely on a glass of some red wine that he didn't want, trying to observe all the place's finery without moving his head. He could see almost everything from where he sat, but the objects failed to register separately, and fell into a great blur of dark woods and soft lights, thick bedding and lush carpet.

Finally the man approached, standing before him, and spoke. "I want you to drink this." His voice was deep, like Khushrenada's, but not nearly as slow. Still, Trowa found that the sound drew him forward with an almost mesmeric quality, drawing all his attention to the speech itself, rather than its meaning.

When the boy did not reply, Zechs produced a small brown envelope, stepping forward to deliver its contents into Trowa's mostly full glass. "Drink," he said, voice neither in the form of a question nor a command.

The boy raised his drink to the room's weak light, gazing through the reddish liquid as tiny grains of powder descended towards its bottom, dissolving to nothing along the way. "What is it?" Trowa asked quietly.

"Do you care?"

Without hesitation, the boy replied, sure of his answer. "No." It was a strange comfort, but the fact that the man knew his nature so well set Trowa at ease, and he threw the entire glass of drug-laden wine down his throat in a single swallow.

[I'm glad that you're older than me]

Zechs took the empty glass from his loose grip, setting it on a piece of the dark-wooded furniture. "You'll want to lie down now," the blonde man said as if he were naming off an item on a mental list he kept, that he might any minute produce through some dark trick.

Obediently, Trowa rose from his chair, finding the task a tad more difficult than normal, but it might easily have been because of the alcohol, as he was unused to more than half a glass at any one sitting. Zechs did not lay a hand on him, but guided the boy to his bed nonetheless.

He laid Trowa out in the dead center of the king-sized affair, undressing him with reverence, standing to fold and display each article of clothing on a long, high table on the other side of the room. When he had the boy completely in the nude, he crawled up the bed from the foot, hovering over Trowa, waiting.

[Makes me feel important and free]

They both lay still for a long while, Trowa assuming the older man was stalling until his drug took effect. But after a time, the boy began to doubt, and slowly inched his hands along Zechs's bare sides.

The blonde man recoiled from the touch, grabbing both of the boy's arms and pinning them to the mattress above his head. "Don't move," he said, a hint of fear lingering in his voice.

Trowa meant to reply, meant to assure the man that he could play any game he wanted. But as he attempted to open his mouth, he found it would not move, as if held shut by a pair of hands. The boy was not troubled initially, sure that the alcohol had just made his body sluggish. By his fifth failure at speech however, Trowa found he was slowly filling with a sharp sense of dread.

Zechs did not hold him, laid no hand upon him, and yet no matter how intently he tried to move, he could not. He could move neither leg nor arm, head nor eyes...he was completely frozen, completely suspended.

As Trowa watched, helpless in the truest sense of the word, Zechs smiled, body visibly relaxing. "It's working. Good. Can't have you moving about now, can we?" As soon as his words had died away, the blonde man dropped his smile, face becoming grim, and Trowa knew what was coming.

[Does that make you smile,]

With the fingers of one hand, Zechs pulled Trowa's eyelids shut, his voice a bare whisper. "Rest now, boy, and when you awake, I'll be gone."

The urge to panic welled up inside him, but just as quickly as it came, vanished. Trowa felt the fingers on his eyelids fall down to his mouth then inside. The man stroked his tongue then slid to the back of his throat. The boy felt as if he might gag, but the sensation passed as the fingers were withdrawn.

They were replaced by Zechs's hot mouth, the man's tongue violently caressing everything it came in contact with. Trowa felt two heavy hands at his chest, going over his nipples repeatedly, and without a way to stop himself, found that he had become hard.

[Isn't that me?]

Zechs ceased his kisses and stroking, bringing his head to rest on Trowa's chest, over the boy's heart. "So slow, but it quickens. And your flesh is too warm..." The man sighed and lay still for a moment. When he chose to move again, he closed his mouth over one of Trowa's stiff nipples, stroking it from left to right with his tongue.

The boy wanted to cry out, to clutch the man's head to his chest, to beg to be taken...anything but lie paralyzed and blind beneath such tortures. He felt the man's heavy weight moving lower on his body, a wet tongue tracing patterns along the way, a mouth coming to rest on his hip and finally swallowing his swollen cock.

He could not surge up into that warmth, could not bury his hands in that hair, could not throw his head back in silent cries...could not follow the script that was usual for this type of performance.

Trowa felt himself penetrated, a finger sliding forcefully inside him from behind. As Zechs continued to suck at his cock, he moved inside of the boy, taking no care as he did so.

The warmth above his lower half was displaced, and his body overturned, his face now buried in the bedding around them.

[I'm in your way]

He could still breathe, but it was difficult, and he longed to turn his head to the side, draw in a lungfull of fresh, easy air. But he was denied even that simple movement.

The next he knew, Trowa was being pressed further into the bed, Zechs's hardness penetrating him from behind. It was a painful action, unaided by any lubrication, but the pain quickly passed as the blonde man began to thrust in deep arcs, finding the correct angle in his first pass.

Things were becoming hazy, his oxygen deprived brain rebelling against him, and Trowa wanted air more than almost anything. But more than that, Trowa wanted the man to touch him between his legs, just for a moment, so great was the tension there. As he continued to move inside Trowa, Zechs gripped the boy's still shoulders, burying his lips in the back of his neck.

Zechs was skilled and Trowa knew the man could have gone for a long time, but rather than prolong the encounter, the blonde began to thrust harder and faster, sending them both towards completion.

With a final thrust that Trowa felt all throughout his body, the boy came, releasing into the bed in bare spasms. The man slid a hand beneath the boy, catching an amount of his seed on his fingers as he orgasmed himself, filling Trowa.

Even as Trowa still felt the effects of his orgasm, Zechs had pulled out of him, flipping the boy over on his back once more. His completion was made even more intense by the re-introduction of oxygen to his system, and he wanted to cry at how wonderful it felt.

Zechs caressed Trowa's mildly sculpted chest, leaving a trail of wetness across the boy's skin. Trowa felt a small stirring in his stomach at that, and the man moved downwards, wrapping his lips around the boy's flaccid cock.

[And I'll steal every moment]

As the man tried to reawaken his desire, Trowa wanted to moan, felt he should moan at the sheer unexpectedness of the act. He could feel himself hardening, the man's insistent mouth drawing heat into him once more. In another moment he came, harder than before, though it didn't last as long. Trowa thought the man must have drunk from him, as he felt no wetness on his body.

The man's weight and warmth left him, and Trowa could hear sounds echoing throughout the room. He wanted desperately to know what was going on, but despite his curiosity, felt heavy with sleep. Before he could even contemplate the foolhardiness of dozing off, he had done it.

 

---

 

When he awoke, it was as if from a cold, clinging dream, and his eyes would only slide open after great concentration on his part. His breathing was erratic, lungs laboring heavily as he stared up at the stark ceiling, areas of light and dark segregating themselves into shadows.

He lay there in the practice of breathing and moving his eyes for a long time, marking heartbeats, wondering if Zechs were still in the room somewhere just out of sight. The feeling that he wanted to move came, inevitably, and he attempted to twist his head a degree to the right.

[If this trade is a curse]

Trowa was almost surprised when the action was successful, but there was no ease in it, as if he were trying to pull his legs through ocean waves in the struggle back to shore. Movements that were normally only a thought away now required real effort.

As he pulled himself up on the edge of the bed, a series of machinations that left him short of breath, Trowa was seized with an overwhelming urge to leave. Not just the blonde man's room or his high building, but the entire pathetic town...the club, Khushrenada, his own sad doorway. He couldn't really go home, not after all the things he'd done, but at that precise moment, with his bare feet touching strange carpet and his head bent towards his knees, he almost felt that he could. Almost felt that he actually *wanted* to go back there, poor and crumbling as it was, and that they actually wanted him back there. But both were ridiculous.

The boy stood, wobbly at best, and swept the room with dilated eyes. He saw his clothing laid out on the high table, saw an empty bottle of alcohol along with several unused ones, saw several doors, one of which he guessed was a bathroom. The man was no where in sight, and Trowa wondered why he'd been left alone in a richly furnished apartment.

"You must trust me, Mr. Merquise," he said aloud, shaking his head as the truth of the situation came to him. Zechs's trust was much more vested in Trowa's fear of Khushrenada.

Choosing a door at random, Trowa found the bathroom, showered and dressed, all the while expecting Zechs to reemerge. The man never did.

[Then I'll bless you and run]

He had not been told to go, knew that the proper thing to do would be to stay, wait for the man to return. But a part of him knew that Zechs did not expect him to be there when he got back. That Zechs would, in fact, not want him to be there. That Zechs was only interested in inanimate bodies.

With a small shudder, the boy approached the exit door, almost forgetting his boots, which he spotted on the floor beneath the long table. He retrieved them and sat in one of the mahogany chairs, sliding a foot into the first one. When he put his foot in the second one, he felt a crumpled bit of something, and removed the boot. He found it was a piece of paper, a note from Zechs.

'You were exquisite. I will have you again.'--ZM

Trowa sat for a moment staring at nothing, the boot sliding slowly from his hands, landing unnoticed on the floor below. His mouth had become dry and he couldn't swallow, a cold sweat breaking out all over his skin as dread filled his heart.

This was what he'd wanted, wasn't it? To move into the upper echelons of whoredom, not have to lie with random men off the streets, the grim men, but be offered up to Khushrenada's 'Specials', a toy of the elite? Oh but he hadn't known, couldn't have known what that meant. Zechs was disturbed...they all were really, but Zechs seemed especially so. What would he do to him next time? More of his drug? What was it? Was it dangerous? In the moment he hadn't cared, his life a disposable commodity, but now...now he was afraid of what Zechs might do to him.

He had to get away.

[To the crossroads and hamburgers]

Once Trowa left the building, he lost track of where he was going. The streets all looked the same, day or night, and the only way to mark one's progress was by the few landmarks in the city. The club, the hill on the edge of town, the row of glass-front buildings...but he saw none of these, only darkness and other night creatures.

Eventually a structure came into view after he had wandered what seemed to him a considerable distance, and he entered it without thinking, only wanting to rest.

It was an eating establishment, perhaps a diner of some kind, perhaps a bar and grill. He wasn't sure. But it had a counter, mostly empty stools and dim lights. That was enough for Trowa.

[Boys,]

He sat at one end of the bar, as far away from the two or three other patrons as he could get. Behind the counter was a fat man, who swayed when he walked and coughed an awful lot, forever carrying a cooking utensil of some kind, hard to tell exactly what in the dim lighting. He didn't bother to ask Trowa for an order, only kept watch on the boy, along with his other customers, through narrow eyes mostly hidden by the two mounds of his cheeks.

Before he'd had time to get very comfortable, the air inside the building became displaced, a slight draft winging along the floor, and he could hear the door closing as someone entered. Trowa knew who it was even before the hand fell upon his shoulder. "Heero," he said, defying the person to be another.

[Boys, it's a sweet thing]

No response came, but the boy in question took the stool next to him, holding up two fingers to the fat man and nodding at the counter in front of them. After a few moments of silence, the two boys sat before lukewarm cups of black coffee, staring anywhere but at each other.

"What are you doing here?" Heero asked after another few moments, eyes resting on his cup.

Trowa took a sip of the dark liquid before answering, grimacing at its taste, neither sweet nor bitter, but with a quality that called into question the potability of the water it had been made with. "Drinking questionable coffee, same as you."

"You know what I mean."

[Boys,]

Trowa sighed, a quiet sound, not wanting to answer, but not wanting to deny an answer either. "It's a short story. Couldn't stay there, came here. Simple as that."

"I don't think it's simple at all." Heero turned to look at him. When next he spoke, his voice was barely audible. "Trowa, why?"

[Boys, it's a sweet thing]

The green-eyed boy was getting annoyed with the conversation. He'd given him an answer...why was he still carrying on? "Because they drove me out, all right? Enough."

"Your parents..."

Trowa cut him off quickly, evenly. "They were never parents to me."

Unexpectedly, Heero laid a hand over one of Trowa's on the counter, saying, "You're of age, now. You don't have to have any associations with them."

Trowa examined the other boy's hand on his, listening to his words. He jerked it away, grasping his cup and downing the rest of the sickening coffee before he'd quite realized what he'd done. "I can't go back there."

"You mean you won't."

"Can't."

"Do you really want to stay here?" Heero paused, trying to force the boy to look in his eyes. "Trowa, this isn't you. You're above this."

Trowa did meet his gaze then, and broke out into a laugh that echoed in the small, empty establishment. "No one is above this, under the right circumstances. Least of all me."

Heero took his hand again, this time gripping it tightly. "Come back with me."

[If you want it boys]

Trowa wasn't sure he'd heard Heero correctly at first, but when the words settled in his mind, he was only left with confusion. "Why?"

"I came here to find you."

"For me?"

"Specifically, to bring you home. With me."

Trowa was sure he was misinterpreting the other boy's words, but it almost sounded like... "With you?"

Heero smiled, and although it was a bare movement, it spread into his eyes and seemed to sparkle. "Yes."

Trowa pulled his hand out of Heero's tight grasp, examining it, going over every line, callus, and fingerprint. What had he seen, where had he been, what had he done? How long had he been lost? Could this be the way to find himself again? Could Heero...be the way?

He reached forward, threading his fingers through Heero's, studying their intertwined hands intently, the way their fingers crossed each other and their palms touched. He had an irrational moment where he couldn't bear the thought of ever letting go of that hand again, but it passed quickly, and he only felt calm.

Quietly, Trowa said, "I've felt like I'm *worth* something here, for the first time. People have paid money...just to be with me."

[Get it here thing]

Heero didn't reply at first, but moved closer, their faces mere inches apart, hands still clasped. "You're worth more than money. Money is for cars and houses...television sets. All the impermanent, temporary things in the world. You are forever."

Trowa's reply was mild. "Nothing is forever."

Heero's lips fell forward a bit, brushing Trowa's in a soft kiss. As he pulled away, he whispered, "It is if I say it is. All it takes is belief. And the world you want is real."

He couldn't comprehend all of this right now. But Heero's kiss, and Heero's hand, and Heero's words filled him with warmth. And of all the things laid out before him now, the blue-eyed boy was the best. Trowa squeezed his eyes shut, not quite sure why, and asked in a shaky voice, "What do you want from me?" When he reopened them again, he found that moisture lay on his cheeks.

"Come back with me," Heero repeated.

"You're asking me to face people and things that are dead to me. You're asking me to..."

"I'm asking you to believe. In me and yourself. I know it's hard. But I also know that we can do it. Together."

"I..."

"Hold my hand. And we'll walk out the door together. If we can make it out the door together, we can make it home together." Heero stood, his one hand still laced with Trowa's, and he gently pulled the green-eyed boy up by it, laying a couple of bills on the counter for the fat man. "Let's go home, Trowa."

[Oh boys it's a cheap thing]

He didn't want to go. And the door was so far away...Trowa didn't think they'd make it. But he felt he could take a few steps at least, and that might make Heero feel like less of a failure when he'd have to leave without him.

The two began the walk to the exit door, Trowa tightening his grip on Heero's hand in anticipation of loosing the warm touch. With each step, Trowa's thoughts betrayed him.

'You're worthless.'

'The only ones who value you are the grim men.'

'You belong to Khushrenada. You sold yourself.'

The green-eyed boy stopped in his tracks, pulling them both to a halt. He looked at Heero, his eyes already apologizing, but the boy shook his head. "We're going home, Trowa. Believe it."

He found the words kept him going another few steps, but the traitorous thoughts kept coming.

'They'll ridicule you.'

'They'll hate you.'

'They'll make you come back here.'

No, that was the one thing he couldn't stand, making it out, then having to return. That was the one torture he could never inflict upon himself. He pulled them to a stop again, this time finding they had made it to the door. But he knew he could never make it through the door with Heero. This was it. "Heero, I can't..."

The blue-eyed boy remained silent. Still holding tightly to Trowa's hand, he looked into the boy's green eyes, undaunted.

[Cheap thing]

Before Trowa knew what was happening, a part of his brain that he hadn't known existed presented him with a thought in contrast to all the others.

'He loves you.'

He hadn't said it, true, but Heero's every action had proved the fact. Trowa still heard the other thoughts, still felt that they were true, and yet, if ever he had believed something, he believed that Heero loved him.

And the world that he wanted became real.

"Let's go home, Heero."

Quietly, the two exited the diner, hand in hand, together. Trowa could see daylight beginning to break up the star-lit night and he sighed, wondering what they would say about him at home. Glancing in Heero's direction, he remembered that it didn't matter. Not as long as he had Heero at his side, and that seemed like it might be for a very long time. Maybe even forever.