Divided World Chapter 9
By: Ketsurui


*So hot...* Trowa half-thought, clumsily tugging at the mask that
protected his face from the desert sand. Seated behind Quatre now, he slumped
forward until his head rested against the smaller man's shoulder.
"We're almost there," Quatre assured the former nobleman. He felt
sorry for Trowa; the heat and travel was wearing on his already injured body.
There had been only so much the prince could do with his healing Powers,
which had been repairing broken bones and taking away most of the pain. He
couldn't take *all* of the pain, however, nor could he fix bruised muscles.
"There's a small inn along this route. You can rest there, Trowa.
*The way he says my name...it purrs in his throat. It's very
beauitful.* Trowa shook himself mentally. *The hear is clearly affecting my
mind!* He closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the blond's waist. *Just
a little longer....*
Nearly half an hour later they arrived at the aforementioned inn.
It was a small adobe building that had clearly stood the test of time by the
deep scratches on the walls made by wind-driven sand.
Quatre lead their horse to a small lean-to that served as a stable,
then gently pulled away from Trowa to dismount. "Come, I will help you
inside."
The brunet nearly fell from the beast and stumbled out with Quatre.
Once out under the heat of the sun, he sank to his knees in the sand,
swaying.
"Trowa! It is only a little further!" He stood before him, holding
out a hand. "Let me help you-oh!" He gasped when the taller man's arms
wrapped around his waist, pulling him close. "Wh-what are you doing?" Quatre
asked, his heart fluttering in his chest.
"How can you stay so cool in this?" Trowa asked, feeling as though
his mind had been burned to nothing in the cruel sun; it was hard to form a
coherent thought. The silky fabric of the prince's shirt felt soothing
against his burned face, and he rubbed his cheek against it. *I think I'm
going to die.*
Quatre put both hands on his shoulders, tingles racing through his
body and causing him to shiver visibly. "Trowa, stop."
The strange edge in Quatre's voice brought Trowa around. Was he
deranged, kneeling in the desert to rub his face against another man?! *Am I
SICK? What is wrong with me?!* He clawed his way to his feet, cheeks burning
in shame. *It's all this heat,* he assured himself. I'll be better once I
bathe and sleep.
* * *
Trowa surveyed the rented room critically. *It's tiny, and so dark
I can't see more than a foot, but at least it's out of the sun.* He sat on
the double bed, noting that it was a little too firm for his taste. "I would
like to take a bath."
"I'm afraid you cannot," Quatre panted as he walked past the door,
carrying a large box that held much of their camping supplies.
"I can't? Why not?" He asked when the blond walked by again.
The time, the smaller man paused and leaned in the doorway.
"Because water is a precious commodity here, and you will not be allowed to
use enough to bathe until we are back to my city."
*No bath? All right, I suppose I'll just sleep.* "Where is your
room?"
"It is here."
Trowa blinked. "Then...where is my room?"
Sighing, the blond prince sat on the bed next to his injured
friend. "Here as well."
A flash of heat passed through the brunet. "We have to share a
bed?!"
Quatre gave him a look of infinite patience. "Trowa, the only
reason I was allowed to return to your city without being accused to being a
spy is because I said I had to retrieve my lover. Until I get home, we have
to play the role of a couple, or we will both be in serious danger."
"You don't expect me to...to...do anything with you, do you?"
"If I understand the question correctly, no."
*All right, I can handle this.* He looked around the room. "Can I
at least wash my face?"
Quatre stood up and brought a deep bowl over to the bed. "This is
all we are allowed for today."
*This is all? I should drink some first, then.* He lifted the bowl
to his lips, noting that is hands were shaking. By the time he'd finished,
the shaking was so bad water was starting to spill out of the bowl. "What's
wrong with me?" he asked, alarmed.
"It's your weakness and the heat and the travel. Your body is
giving out." He handed Trowa a cloth. "Would you like me to help?"
"I can do it myself," Trowa insisted stubbornly. He lifted the
cloth to his face, then gasped as the muscles in his wrist seized up. The
hands fell to his side, fingers twitching. *That...really hurt.*
"Are you all right?" When Trowa nodded faintly, Quatre picked up
the washrag and ran it over his friend's face. "I'm sorry I need to push so
far, but we have to be to home soon."
"I'll manage," Trowa muttered bitterly, shivering when the cold
water trickled down his neck. Quatre was treating him as though he was made
of spun glass with his incredibly care. "You're not going to hurt me," he
whispered reassuringly, closing his eyes. It was soothing to feel the cool
moist cloth against his flesh that had been so abused by the sun. A shudder
ran through his body when he felt Quatre's hand slip below the collar of his
shirt, and he grabbed the blond's wrist. "Don't."
"Sorry," Quatre murmured contritely. He pulled away and said. "You
should sleep now; I'm doing the same."
"Good night, then." Trowa replied, turning away from Quatre. He
tensed when he felt Quatre shift behind him, then relaxed when he realized he
wasn't moving any closer. He lay staring at the wall for a long time, then
moved back until he felt the blond's leg touching his own. Closing his eyes,
he fell into shallow sleep.
* * *
Trowa awoke the next morning too sore to move. He felt comforting
warmth behind him, and turned his head slightly to see that Quatre had moved
up until his chest was bare inches from his Trowa's back. *I'll-I'll forgive
him for getting so close, since he can't control himself in his sleep.*
Slithering out of the bed, he painfully made his way to the dining area of
the inn to attempt to order breakfast.
"Your highness, we really should be heading out now," Rashid
muttered irritably as Quatre made his way to the dining area.
"We can spare a few minutes," Quatre said firmly. Sighing inwardly,
he sat next to Trowa, determined to make sure that he was happy despite the
rejection he himself had received. "You look distressed. Is something wrong?"
Trowa looked at the smaller man. Once of the escort members had had
to order the food for him, since the old innkeeper hadn't been able to
understand a word he was saying. "I was just thinking of how everything's
gone so wrong."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
He gave the desert dweller a condescending look. "Nothing has gone
right since the day you showed up in my home."
Quatre felt a stabbing pain in his heart. "What...?"
"I've been exiled, had my engagement broken, and nearly killed all because of
you." His voice was starting to rise. "If I never met you, I'd be safe at
home, not running all over the sands with men of questionable nature!"
The blond's hands clenched into fists. "Questionable...nature?"
Trowa ignored him and continued. "In my old life, I may have been
miserable, and I may have been trapped, but it is preferable to being dragged
around after a man that saved me because of his perversions!"
Quatre's iron temper finally broke. The pain and frustration he'd
been hiding since the moment he'd been thrown out of Trowa's home finally
burst out, and he drew back his hand, slapping the former nobleman across the
face. "You're not the only one who is suffering!"
A hand fluttered up to touch his injured face. No one had ever
*dared* to strike the young Lord Barton before, and the only way he knew how
to react was to be enraged. Standing up so fast his chair toppled over, he
grabbed the smaller man's shoulders, dragging him to his feet as well.
Blinding, he felt himself shoving Quatre, felt himself pinning him against
the wall. Shutting his eyes, he lunged.
Time seemed to stop. The shouts of the men who had been prepared to
spring to the defense of their prince had died away, and the shouts of the
innkeeper for the fighting to stop had been silenced as well. Trowa opened
his eyes, and was greeted with Quatre's closed lids.
They were kissing. Clumsily, as Trowa had never kissed anyone
before, but with a passion that the brunet didn't know existed within himself.
Trowa pulled away, a shaking hand rising to touch his tingling
lips. His eyes darted away from Quatre, who was in a state of shock that he
was demanding to understand, and he looked over the blankly staring face.
Taking a deep breath, he did what his instincts told him to do.
The sound of the hotel room door slamming echoed throughout the entire
building.
On To Chapter 10

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