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A GW fan fic: An Interlude
Quatre sucked in a breath as Trowa submerged his hands under the icy flow of the tap. The pilot of Heavyarms wore an inscrutable expression, but Quatre could clearly see the concern in his one visible emerald eye as Trowa examined his hands.
"It isn't that bad, Trowa. It's just some minor scalding."
With a slight wince he recalled the boiling amber liquid from the teacup that had spilled all over his fingers when it toppled over. It had happened in a rare moment of clumsiness, and Trowa was immediately by his side, deftly righting the cup before it could roll off the table and land in his lap. He had been gently drawn to the kitchen and his burning fingers met with sudden cold shock of the tap water gushing down on the angry red skin. The sudden flare of pain gradually faded as the cold water soothed damaged nerves and the shade of red colouring his scalded skin dulled somewhat. Trowa inspected his fingers again, stroking them lightly. Quatre grimaced although the touch was light, barely felt.
"You should be more careful," murmured the taller boy.
The golden-haired pilot smiled at him. "I know."
Mercifully, the sting was easing into numbness. Quatre looked back at the table with a dismayed expression as he remembered the spilled tea. A puddle of amber dripped off the corner of the table, surrounding the small teacup and spreading over the smooth, polished floor. He tried to pick up a dish rag with the intention of going to mop up the mess, but gave a small cry of pain as his hands ignited with fire once pressure was exerted on the tender skin.
Trowa's presence was a soothing balm as he took the smaller pilot's hands in his once more and blew gently on them. "Don't bother about cleaning up. I'll do it later."
Quatre was about to protest when Trowa gently ushered him to the bedroom. He gently laid the Arabian back on the bed and helped him sit up with the pillows supporting his back.
"Stay," he commanded and vanished back into the kitchen.
The pilot of Sandrock looked after him as he went and sighed. He gingerly brushed at his scalded fingers, wincing. It would be a little while before he could make use of his hands comfortably again, he noted ruefully. He listened as Trowa moved around in the kitchen, wetting a rag and efficiently cleaning up the spill. A moment later, he came back and sat beside the smaller pilot.
"You won't be able to use your hands for a while," Trowa said quietly. "So don't try to. I'll be your hands while you heal."
Quatre nodded in acceptance, grateful for his partner's solicitous nature. "Thank you."
He was graced with a small smile. Quatre wriggled forward and planted a kiss on the smiling mouth, nearly overbalancing until steady hands caught his shoulders and drew him closer. Trowa's presence enfolded him with a sense of security and safety, floating in a sea of calmness and gentle love. When he finally drew back, reluctantly, Trowa's smile was tinged with amusement.
"Get some sleep, little one." Trowa moved them both onto the bed and tucked Quatre into his arms carefully, mindful of his hands. "Later I'll feed you dinner."
Quatre obediently snuggled up under his chin and closed his eyes, releasing a soft sigh of contentment. Briefly, he pictured the vision of Trowa's feeding him like a baby and nearly giggled. He fitted his ear against the steady beat of his partner's heart, listening to his regular breathing.
"I love you, Trowa."
The taller pilot rested his chin in Quatre's soft golden hair as he answered softly, "And I you."
(© October 1999 by Stargem)
Special thanks to Reishin for beta-reading and pointing out the parts that could be corrected ^_^ Send your comments and criticisms!
->> For those interested, I *do* take bribes to write more/faster *evil grin*