Fall, Flight

AN: Written for the December session of the Pervy Potluck LJ community.

Trowa closed the door behind him, leaned back against it and folded his arms. He nodded to the girl with the knitting set, glanced at the boy lying in the bed beside her chair. "How is he?"

Catherine put the would-be scarf down, gave Heero a brief, saddened look and sighed softly. "Still the same - sleeping."

"But alive," Trowa stated.

Mellow, she smiled. "Yes..." She put her knitting away, stood up. "You never told me what happened to him."

You don't need to know. "You don't want to know, Catherine."

Her brows furrowed, her gaze challenging him, despite how she knew that trick never worked, not with Trowa. It had been two days since Trowa had brought the stranger in, both of them soaked with blood - the stranger's blood. He'd been in bad shape; cuts, scraps and bruises, even small pieces of shrapnel in his flesh. She'd been startled at first, but upon Trowa's request, she'd helped treat the boy's wounds. All her questions either went ignored or were deftly deflected. She knew there was a lot to Trowa she didn't know - or put another way, very little she did know - short of how she felt she could trust him. The animals implicitly did, and they were often quicker to pick up on the true character of a person than people were.

"I'll tell you later," he surprised her with. "For now, this has to stay between the three of us."

She nodded, she understood. Even though she could only speculate on them, the boys undoubtedly had their reasons for not wanting the rest of the world knowing - or the rest of the circus, for that matter. Why else wouldn't they have gone to a hospital? "Did you finish?"

"All but the horses."

"Okay," she said. "I'll go tend to them, and then I'm going to boil some broth for you two." She made a faint smile. "You both need to eat."

He gave a curt nod, a brief thanks as he passed her and sat down at the chair, still warm.

Catherine watched as Trowa brushed the wounded boy's bangs out of the way and placed the back of his hand across his forehead, his free palm scooping limp fingertips and scooting up to close around his hand. She briefly closed her eyes, exhaled quietly. She wasn't blind; she could see - more than Trowa wanted, probably. All she could hope for was that some day, he'd trust her enough to tell her.

As she closed the door to Trowa's trailer behind her and set off to the paddock, she knew that was not today.

Trowa remotely registered the soft click of the door and leaned closer, pushing the dark brown bangs upward as he turned his hand, splaying his fingertips to slide into the ruffled mass, a gentle pressure building up behind his eyes, easily ignored. So close. Heero had been so close to-

He closed his eyes, shook his head. It wasn't a thought that would help anyone, least of all Heero.

He should have been dead.

Images from his past flashed Trowa's retina.

They both should be.

Perhaps they already were.

There had certainly been moments Trowa felt like he didn't exist anymore. He wasn't even sixteen, but he had lived lifetimes; lives that changed so suddenly, transforming into another existence entirely. The family he'd been born with, he got violently separated from. The family he'd been raised in had been wiped away by a traitor - by his own inactions. The family he'd infiltrated only existed long enough to serve his purpose; Heavyarms. And finally, the family he'd sought out... wasn't a family at all.

But there was potential.

They weren't what they thought they were; none of them. There's always more than meets the eye in a person, and often more than even they themselves could understand. They were special; their nature made them seek out the power to change, to improve, to help - to save the least fortunate. Yet, they believed their motives their own, and they had lost all knowledge of their true origins.

They didn't remember.

Trowa did.

He hadn't, not at first. Rebirth was a tricky thing, it usually wiped the slate clean to allow a fresh start for the soul - but it was different for them. The memories were too deeply carved into their spirits to be swept away. They could be covered up, locked away until the proper trigger was applied, allowing them access to at least a fraction of their old selves; their old powers.

He'd not even been five, standing at a desolate plain in the deep night, admiring the stars and moon bright in the sky, all alone. He hadn't eaten for days, dodging search patrols from the evil men who'd killed his first surrogate family.

Yet, something had compelled to stand there, his small hands in fists, staring blankly into the dark of space high above, his mind clear, ignoring the rumbling of his tummy. He still remembered the shooting star sliding across the big black; a real one, not just a re-entry vehicle carrying another load of mobile suits back from space.

And a whisper at the back of his mind had begun, softly recalling memories of a lost time, lost lifetimes. As he stood there watching the night sky, the whisper grew into a story teller, into a theatre, into a chorus; the greatest chorus there ever was, is, and would be. The choir he'd once been part of.

It seemed like a dream then, and it would take years until he understood it wasn't. One of their mercenary team had been mortally wounded, but Trowa had persisted in administering first aid and a healthy dose of morphine, hoping to at least ease the man's passing. Once done, without knowing why he did, he'd put his hand on the man's dressed wound - and there had been a brief, soft glow. He had chalked it up to his imagination at the time.

As if by a miracle, the man had survived, and since that day, he'd sheltered Trowa as best he could - eventually even becoming their commander.

When he'd again been caught in a life-or-death situation, Trowa had tried bringing that gentle light from his palm back out, but couldn't. The soft voice spoke with great sadness as it reminded him his powers were limited, especially with humans. Divine design ensured they could only nudge the grander scheme of things; he was simply not allowed to save this man a second time.

Trowa had made a vow to himself to discover all he could about his powers then - how to control them at will as well as their limits.

He still had much to learn, but he was in no hurry.

He'd known enough to save Heero, and that was all that mattered right then.

Duo didn't know how right he was; Heero wasn't quite human.

Takes an angel to know one.

His eyelids fluttered for an instant, and Trowa shifted his palm to caress the top of Heero's head, his other hand still clutching Heero's, glad to feel the pressure in response. Dim, blue eyes looked up, found him, sought to him for answers.

Trowa started to smile. "You're safe."

"I'm alive..." Heero answered in an almost disappointed tone.

"You still have things to accomplish."

He gave a weak snort in protest, glaring up at the ceiling. "I'm a failure."

Trowa shook his head. "No," he told him off. "You're just flawed, like the rest of us."

If nothing else, it got his attention back - but only for the moment before Heero glanced down at their joined hands instead. His blue eyes returned to Trowa, chilled, accusatory, confused.

He couldn't explain it, didn't want to - didn't have to, short of what he did; lean forward, slip off the chair to kneel at the side of the bed, move down to touch his lips to Heero's; a graze at first, repeated twice but not repelled, until he felt Heero arch his neck to meet the kiss, return it; a release for a need Heero didn't even know he had, and every second the kiss lasted, the warmth and craving for it increased, sending tingles along every nerve of his body, invigorating him.

In the beyond, such a thing as sexes did not really exist, not for angels. They had neither, they had both; they could choose at will - albeit for the reassurance of the worldlier souls, angels tended to pick one general appearance to appease them.

Trowa let go of Heero's hand and reached for the far corner of his covers, quickly wrenching the thin layer of protection away from his naked body.

Suddenly exposed to the slight chill of the trailer, Heero's body shivered, not just with cold, but also anticipation, need. The bandages covering parts of his skin - his left thigh above the knee, his right upper arm and shoulder, his upper torso - was all the protection he had left,

Yet, as Trowa reached down and closed his palm around Heero's throbbing arousal, he felt no need for protection at all, only for more; he bucked his hips as their kiss ended.

Trowa remembered; indeed, there is no soul, no angel without sin, just as there is no sin in love; the lust he felt was but a branch of that. Between angels and souls they loved, such feelings became something greater; a sharing of essence, of power. That was the secret behind the glow.

Humans deciding the rules of religion tended to get it wrong, tended to distort even their own scriptures and beliefs to whatever purpose their current sentiment favored. A devout Christian might have been appalled at the thought of two heavenly beings, two beings in the same image, doing what Trowa and Heero were about to. Yet, the very Bible they used as a guideline, as proof of their righteous beliefs, repeatedly told them that there was no ideal when it came to love, short of love itself. One in the mercenary band had been a theologian, and he had more than once chosen to prove it over ration breaks. Trowa had listened quietly, even though he knew some of the tales first-hand.

In the old testament, Ruth declared her love for Naomi, her former mother-in-law; 'Where you go I will go, and where you stay I will stay. Your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die I will die, and there I will be buried.' Perhaps not carnal love, but a profound love between two women nonetheless. Less veiled was the Bible's description of the deep love between David and Jonathan, David at Jonathan's death even proclaiming Jonathan's love for him was worth more than that of any woman.

Jesus himself cured a Roman centurion whose 'boy' - not his son - was ill, merely through the love the centurion showed for the boy. The very Christian ideal of the 'core family' was flawed; Jesus was born out of wedlock, Joseph was but Mary's fiancé, and well aware he was a surrogate father - but certainly no less of one. The love of that night, both between the three and the love for them of all those who visited them the night of Jesus' birth, was indisputable.

The greatest thing is love. Nothing else really matters.

Trowa used his wrist to good effect as he kissed Heero's Adam's apple, feeling it throb against the tip of his tongue. He pulled back, glanced at Heero and met his gaze.

"Please," he whispered hoarsely.

Trowa nodded, leaned down to touch his lips to Heero's clavicle, his bandaged pecs, the faint bump he knew marked Heero's nipple. He scraped his teeth across the gauze, eliciting a hiss as his pinky simultaneously caressed Heero's balls at a deep downstroke.

As Trowa continued his ministrations, Heero managed enough presence of mind to reach for Trowa's waist and tug at his jumper, then his T-shirt. He pulled at both layers of clothing with his increasing strength, soon enough exposing Trowa's belly and lower chest.

Trowa leaned back up and raised his arms, allowing Heero to strip him. He tossed his high-neck and bland T-shirt aside. They kissed again, fast and rough, breaking for air. Not giving pause, Trowa let his lips and tongue trace a leapfrog path down Heero's chin, throat, chest and stomach, right until he touched the tip of Heero's cock. He scooped up the head with his tongue and closed his mouth around it, sucking hard.

Heero groaned and thrust his hips up as he fumbled with Trowa's pants buttons. He caressed the hard shape through the white cotton fabric of Trowa's underwear, felt the heat pooling in his groin, whispered, all but begged "More..." as he brought his knees up and spread them, planting his feet to the mattress.

Trowa sensed Heero was close, and despite a whimper of a protest, he relented. With Heero's help, he shimmied out of his pants and stepped clear of them. He put two fingers deep in his mouth, lapped furiously at them before he moved them in between Heero's legs, grazing his soaked fingertips to Heero's puckered entrance. It might be rough, but he knew Heero could take it; they were not quite human.

Trowa's hard dick tapped Heero's cheek, calling for his attention as Trowa moved in over him, a knee at either side of his head. Heero placed his hands at Trowa's hips and coaxed him down, eagerly swallowing Trowa's cock as the first finger penetrated him, followed quickly by the second, soon enough flexing to open him further. He moaned around Trowa's dick, rubbed his tongue against it, his fingernails digging into the flesh of Trowa's buttocks.

Trowa softly rocked his hips; fucked Heero's wet, warm and welcoming mouth gently, though going ever deeper, right until his balls slapped against Heero's nose, right until Heero's lips and cheeks and tongue and throat worked him to the brink. He pressed his eyes shut, summoning all his willpower to tear himself away; get up and roll over.

He had other things of Heero's to fuck than his mouth.

He quickly positioned himself between Heero's legs, pulled them up until Heero's calves rested at his shoulders, and with no warning and great need, Trowa thrust his saliva-lubed cock inside Heero, making them both cry out.

Heero's back was bent, his ass raised off the bed and pegged against Trowa's hips. His fists reached above his head to grab the bedframe, a grip that became so tight his knuckles turned white when Trowa started fucking him; hard, fast, rough, nailing him thoroughly, grazing his weak spots. Heero's dick slapped back against his belly with each fierce thrust, each ragged breath.

Trowa could tell Heero was close again, and that was all that made him calm down, ease his pace to a near standstill as he leaned down for another sloppy kiss.

Heero surprised him by reaching around his neck, using his lover to pull himself upright, forcing Trowa to sit back on his haunches. Secure in Trowa's lap, he craned his neck for the kiss Trowa sought, and then started to ride him as their tongues battled, deep, wet.

Trowa reached around for Heero's shoulders, steadying him, but he made sure to keep his arms clear of Heero's back, well aware of what might soon happen - would soon happen.

Heero was riding Trowa hard now, his cock tapping their bellies in turn, staining them both with his precome. He could hear the build-up in his own voice, he could feel the release deep in his body, the sudden rip of the air; along nerves he hadn't known for a long time he felt the soft graze of the new parts of him against Trowa's lower arms when he cried out his passion, his pain as the large set of feathered wings burst out of his back; from his shoulders and more than halfway down.

In Trowa's eyes, they were beautiful, almost pristine white, no doubt unused for the longest time - and even as he felt Heero empty himself between them, he could see the drained, fulfilled look on his face, the confusion mixed with ecstasy, and as Heero rammed himself down one last time, Trowa came too, sharing his lover's pain as his own wings shot out; not so white, nearly gray - the price of knowledge, of remembrance, of deeds done and not done. Lucifer himself had once been an angel; from on high there is a fall like no other, once your soul is so ladened you cannot take flight. This moment, however... this one moment, Trowa felt like he was soaring the sky, dancing in the clouds.

He held Heero as they panted, felt the warmth cycle their bodies, the blood music waning down from its crescendo. Their eyes met; sated, not fully comprehending. Trowa knew the voice was whispering to Heero now, but not more than hints, perhaps not even words Heero could understand yet.

Heero looked over his shoulder, tentatively touched his own wings, then reached out to feel Trowa's, both their sets already falling apart from the ends inward, feathers falling away and becoming less than dust, returning to the nothingness from whence they were called; features of a lost time, of a lost, eternal love they could only touch in these fleeting moments.

Trowa winced as Heero nipped out one of his feathers. Heero flipped it over, studied it, stroked his fingers across it. He started rocking gently in Trowa's lap, feeling Trowa's warm, softening dick still inside him. He touched the feather across Trowa's lips before kissing him briefly, smiling down at his lover, his savior... and he closed his eyes, fully spent.

As carefully as he could, Trowa let him back down, the last whites vanishing as Heero's shoulders touched the mattress again. He hesitated then, taking in the calm, pleasant look of Heero before him, and it was with reluctance he pulled his near-flaccid cock out, absentmindedly noticing the fast dampening glow.

On shaky legs, he got off the bed to fetched a towel. Once back, he used the towel to roughly wipe them both clean of the worst of sweat, spit and come, promising himself he'd do a better follow-up job later.

He lay down next to Heero, spooned him up as he pulled the covers up over the both of them. The gray feather remained, and Trowa took it from Heero's limp grasp to graze it along Heero's cheek, glad to see him still smiling, even though he knew Heero would probably wake up thinking it all a dream - if he remembered anything at all. It was simply not yet Heero's time to know his true nature, and it was not in Trowa's powers to know what Heero's trigger was. Divine plans moved at their own pace and will, but at least it allowed for fleeting moments such as this.

Tucking them in, Trowa touched his lips to Heero's ear and rested his cheek against his bare shoulder. If this was all they could have, he intended to savor it as much as he could. It would still be some time before Catherine returned with supper; enough time to rest close together, sleep a while, and share a quick sponge bath before then.

He slid his palm down Heero's chest and closed his eyes, intending to make the most of it.