Disclaimer: Not Mine

Pairing: Trowa Barton/Quatre Winner
Word Count: 3,118
Rating: NC-17 (yaoi)

Summary: Trowa's residency during the summer becomes hotter than he expected, even in the desert.
Author's Notes: Written for the [ summerflinging ] community, this story is just a figment of my imagination about two boys who were the figment of someone's imagination. And I apologize profusely for being 27 hours late in posting this entry. Enjoy!

by Merith

Meeting the love of one's life at a roadside diner in the middle of the desert wasn't normal for mainstream. But I was never mainstream and was rarely considered normal by anyone's standards.

I almost missed him sitting in the corner booth with his back against the wall when I walked in. Taking a chair at the table opposite, in direct sight of him, I gave a slight smile with a quick up and down sweep. Golden blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in shorts and boots and a tee-shirt with some kind of logo on the left breast... he had to be some kind of deity. Then again, with the way my luck had been running, he would most definitely be straight. Probably married with four or five kids.

Having the look returned was a minor victory. I was eating breakfast alone, but I had an idea that I'd be buying lunch for two.

By the time my breakfast arrived, he had shifted around on the bench seat to more face me than his plate; his newspaper was folded neatly in front of him and he was working his way through the crossword. Only the pen he was using rested more on his lips than the paper. His mouth wasn't wide, but his lips were full, almost pouty.

Before my first egg was finished, I had decided he was an angel, a dirty-minded angel full of ideas on just what would please a man. Deliberate insertion of the pen's tip between his lips; a hint of tongue at the corner of his mouth; a leg hiked up on the bench seat giving me full-viewing access; a hand idly scratching the inside of his thigh; a look from beneath the cover of blond bangs. My cock was stiffening as the minutes ticked and I watched him finish his puzzle.

He was looking right at me, and his lips were moving. It took me a moment to decipher what my ears had heard. "...gain goodwill?" If it was a come-on line, it was the first of its kind for me.

But he was smiling, standing and picking up his paper in one hand, and his coffee cup in the other. He sat down at my table without asking (not that I was complaining) and tapped the clue with a manicured finger. "Fifty-six across," he said, "my Latin's a little rusty."

I was only able to blink at him. "I know quite a bit of Spanish, a little French and a smattering of Italian, but where I grew up, Latin wasn't a useful language to learn."

He only nodded and picked up my remaining half slice of toast. "It wasn't useful where I grew up either, but required." He was using my knife to spread jam... blackberry I think... over the slice. "Puzzles have a way of reminding you of just how much you did need to retain." A brow quirked upward, and he bit into the toast.

A glance showed just how close he was to finishing the puzzle. It looked like he managed to retain a lot. "What would your best guess be, then?" I asked, but only in the attempt to keep from asking what I wanted to ask.

"Not really a guess," he said and tossed a small corner triangle of toast back on the plate. "The word was propitiator." He was dusting his hands free of crumbs and rising to his feet. A look and a nod, and leaning over my plate almost kissing close, he asked, "want to get out of here and fuck?"

My mouth was forming the word ‘what', but he was giving me another look. I had heard him right. "Oh yeah."

He had his wallet out faster than I did, and threw down more than enough to cover three or four breakfasts. I started to protest, but figured the next meal would be on me.

From the walk in front of the diner, I could almost make out the stairs leading to my apartment. I turned to ask him where to, hoping he wouldn't ask about my place... I knew the sheets needed changing, dirty clothes still needed to be washed and a couple of days worth of dishes were still in the sink. If I'd dreamed of anything like this happening, I would have done something to prepare. But who would believe that kind of dream, anyway?

"Would you like to see where I'm staying?" he was saying, his hand grazing mine as he nodded his head in the direction of one of the few parked vehicles in the lot.

Thoughts of one of the resorts that dotted the highway to the south of town raced through my head. I had heard of those places, but didn't have the cash to blow to check it out. "Sure," I told him, following him to a large, tan SUV. At least he didn't go for the black.

It wasn't until he passed the turn off for the highway I thought to actually ask. "A bit after the fact, but, what is your name?" We were heading into terminal desert, now, and I knew civilized road would end soon.

"Quatre Winner," he said, flashing me a grin. "And you are?"

Quatre. I liked his name immediately. "Trowa, Trowa Barton." And he was smiling at me again. At some point from the main town road, he had pulled a pair of shades from a case and slipped them on. I couldn't see his eyes, but somehow the glasses made him look all the more devilishly innocent.

"Where abouts are you staying?" I was trying to remember what lay northward and was drawing a blank.

There was that smile again. "I recently purchased the old silver mine, about twenty miles north."

I had forgotten about that. "I thought it ran its vein dry sixty some-odd years ago."

"Oh, I don't expect to find any silver," he was saying, and turned off the paved two-lane and onto a barely graveled dirt road. The truck jostled us sideways, and I gripped the over-the-door handle. "There are traces of other precious metals in those hills."

"And you're planning to re-open the mine?"

"Possibly." He turned off on another dirt and gravel road, dust plume high in the air behind us. "But enough of that. Tell me what you're doing here." He was looking over at me, now, downshifting to handle the fissures pock-marking the road. "I never expected to find anyone like... you in a place like Yucca Springs."

I was still gripping the handle, but the earlier tension was easing away. "I'm a resident student at the clinic." Quatre shot a quick look in my direction and I smiled. "Studying to be a doctor." The glance that followed affirmed the idea he did know all about pleasure.

"And would you like to practice on me?" The truck lurched, and he slammed it into four-wheel gears, crossing the dry creek bed and up the other side. "Give me a thorough check up?"

As though I'd refuse that offer. And just ahead, a spot of white began to take shape. A box house was situated just to the lee side of the stunted mountain, a gleaming spot in the shadows. "Your place?"

"Home sweet home," he was saying, "completely self-contained with its own water supply, solar-powered generator with excess storage housing and hot tub."

The silver tanker wasn't hard to spot, and what I'd taken for air vents or skylight hatches were solar panels. "...hot tub?" I glanced at him, and back to the house. A small satellite dish was perched in one corner.

Quatre was pulling up along side the house, close to the front without crowding the doorway. "For when I've been hiking and hauling rocks all day," he said, shutting off the engine and twirling the keys, "you'll have to give it a try."

I was thinking about trying things while he gave me the grand tour, and for a prefab box, the place was a lot better than my studio over the Yucca Springs True Value. His living room was a couch, a desk and a large bookcase stuffed with books, notebooks, plastic trays, and loose papers. His desk, a laptop and even more papers, books and trays piled in some sort of order.

He had me backed up against the breakfast bar, eyeing the geology specimens. "If I'd known you existed, I would have cleaned the place up some." A hand reached for my waist, tugged on my shirt.

"Better than my place," I was telling him, doing a little reaching of my own. He was closing the distance between us, lips not quite touching skin.

"There's one more stop on the tour," he said, working my shirt loose.

Quatre was wearing a polo, and my hands slid under it with ease. "We must," I sucked in an unsteady breath, "visit the bedroom."

And he was leading me backwards, guiding by hands pulling on my shirt, undoing the buttons as we walked. He had kicked the door open and was sitting suddenly, backed into the bed. I looked down and he was looking up; I was pushing hair from his eyes and his fingers were on the button of my Levis. My "yes" was lost to sounds of my own heart, my breathing, or maybe it was his. But I wanted this, I wanted him and I sure as hell didn't want him to stop now.

He wasn't. His mouth connected with my skin just above where my jeans ended at the hipbone. The zipper was loud and his hands were cool as he pushed denim down my legs. Quatre's cheek was rubbing on my cock and his nose buried into the hair at its base. Feeling his tongue touching my balls, I nearly came right then.

"Oh fuck."

I was cursing but didn't care; Quatre was mouthing my dick and his lips were hot but the air conditioning was cold... my dick was jumping from his heat and the backlash of air coming from the vent. Better ‘n ice in August.

Minute vibrations were stealing their way down my shaft. Quatre was humming, or so I thought. It sounded like...words. Something Latin, but even as I tried to listen, he was sliding his mouth over the head of my cock and I suddenly didn't care if he was reciting the prayer on the mound.

It could have been seconds or hours, time was lost. I was fucking his mouth and Quatre was sucking me, one hand stroking a thigh and one stroking balls and the skin before my ass. I wanted to come, but not this way. I wanted to feel him and taste him and what he was doing would deny me.

"Enough," I was growling, unable to stop the roughness that'd crept into my voice. My hand was gripping his hair, pulling him back. Quatre halted with the bare tip of my cock in his mouth, looking up at me even as he bit down in a soft snap. I was shuddering, delicious pain, its shock nearly making me spill my load.

Quatre was sliding back on the mattress, his legs hiked up and spreading apart. He was looking at me, eyes devouring every inch. "You'll find what we need in the drawer," he told me, his chin giving a half jerk to the side.

Taking several deep breaths, I was trying to cool overheated senses, just staring at him. He was lying back with arms braced behind him, completely at ease opening himself to me; his hand fisting his cock and giving it slow steady pumps was doing more fanning the flames than cooling the jets.

I nearly jerked the drawer from its tracks, fumbled the bottle I found and, instead of taking one, I brought the string of plastic packs. Quatre only eyed them, his lips quirked up into a grin.

"A little ambitious, aren't you?"

"For later," I told him, ripping one away and tossing the others to the head of the bed. "Keep them within easy reach." He nodded, but reached for the condom.

"Let me." And he was opening the pouch and leaning forward to slide slick latex over my cock. It'd been so long since someone, anyone had done that, I'd forgotten how fucking hot it could be. Especially when he used his mouth and tongue to unroll it.

He was lying back again, leaving me a little room to kneel between his legs. Quatre's lower legs were covered in a fine nearly invisible blond hair, but his thighs were virtually hairless, his tan line pronounced at the hem of his shorts. I let the bottle lay off to the side, and began touching in light, fingertip grazing from his knees, down the inside of his thighs, to the back of his thighs and at the curve of his buttocks.

And I watched him. His eyes were watching my hands, my cock thick and heavy swinging between my legs. His chest was rising and falling in increasing succession. His hands twitched as they lay on the bed. "Do you know why I wanted to become a doctor?" I asked, fingertips circling upward, grazing his balls, ghosting over his cock. He licked his lower lip and shook his head.

"To... to help people?" His eyes were on mine now.

My fingers were on his abdomen and I lowered my head to his crotch. His scent was rich, smelling of soap and sweat and lust... that pheromone men secreted only for other men. I licked at the crease between cock and leg, scrapping my tongue over pubic hair and balls and soft, soft skin.

"To make them feel better," I told his cock and licked it too. His hips were making these short thrusts, pushing his groin into my face. But that's not what I wanted to do with him. I snaked a hand out, reaching for the bottle, letting the fingers of my other hand stroke and pet along the crevasse of his ass. I was only teasing for now, just to make it welcome more later.

Quatre was panting now; his ass rose up off the mattress seeking my fingers. "Your cure is working, doctor."

Taking a moment to flip open the cap and squeeze some of the gel off onto my fingers, I set the bottle aside again, only closer. He was at ease, relaxed and wanting. A two finger insert startled but my kisses were distracting him. And still he watched me.

He watched me slide up between his legs, my body barely touching his. He watched me hold myself up with one arm off to his side, and watched as I lowered my face to kiss him. "If you like the cure," I said feeling his breath as puffs on my lips. "then you should check out my daily maintenance plan." His laugh faded to a moan, fingers and mouth working in tandem.

A little more gel, and I was easing inside of him. My world narrowed to breathing in and out, shoving my cock in, pulling my cock out and listening only to the moans and grunts and little cries being made... they were his and mine, mixing and joining, tangling up together as our bodies were.

His hands were on my arms, his fingers digging into flesh hard enough to draw blood. His legs were high in the air, knees skidding on my shoulders and heels giving an occasional thump on the back. And his eyes, I watched his eyes slip into deepest blue and his lids slit to nearly closing.

His coming surprised me, his muscles clamped tight over my cock before I heard the deep grunt and felt his seed spill between us. In watching him, seeing his expression freeze in a grimace only to relax in a wonderful contentment, I was slowing. His eyes opened fully, suddenly, and he was staring at me, his lips spreading into a wide smile.

"Your cure," he said, levering his body up and rolling up onto his shoulders, "is the best medicine."

I didn't answer; I was rocking into him, deeper than I thought possible; wishing it would end, wishing it would last forever. His hands were on my arms, touching me, rising to stroke my face and shoulders.

"Come for me, Trowa."

And answer his request, I did.

Minutes, hours or merely seconds later, my vision was clearing and I lay cradled in Quatre's arms with my head on his chest, nestled to his side. I rolled up on an elbow, and ran my fingers through his hair. I wanted more and I wanted him. What started out to be one long, dry summer was suddenly too short by a lifetime.

"How long are you here for?" was my only thought.

Quatre's eyes were darting over my face as if searching for something that eluded him. He was no longer smiling. I wanted to look away but dared not.

"If I find what I'm looking for," Quatre was saying softly. "I'll be here a year or more. At least until operations is set up."

I nodded, and wondered at the sudden lump blocking air to my lungs. "And if you don't? How long will that take?"

"Another month, maybe," Quatre shrugged and lifted himself up to kiss me. "Maybe less. Ore deposits seem positive at the moment." His lips were skating over skin from my lips to my ear.

"After...," I was slowly losing the ability to think, "What happens after?"

"I go home," he said, and his teeth tugged on my ear. "Phoenix these days."

I wanted to faint. I wanted to shout and dance. But instead, I grabbed Quatre's shoulders and pinned him to the mattress. "Phoenix..."

"About three miles from the university, and four from the university hospital." Quatre was smiling again, lifting his chin and letting me kiss his neck.

"You ever think," I asked him slowly, touching him in soft caresses; it was no longer lust and passion, "you might like to have a resident at your beck and call?"

He stilled for a moment staring at me. And then he nodded, sliding his hand around the back of my neck and pulling me down to him.


The summer of my second year of residency had to have been the best in record to date. Though after ten years and a specialized medical degree later, summers with Quatre come close to topping that first one. Just as each season passes, he and I phase into the new and what's next.

And like the nights on the desert, ever changing but always staying the same.


on to 'propitator: two years in the future'

back to fiction

back to merith fiction

back home