Pairings: 3x4
Warnings/Ratings: NC-17, whumping, drama, angst, lemon/frottage.
Summary: Written for the 2010 Moments of Rapture contest using the prompts: imprisonment, yearning, first time and aphrodisiacs.
Disclaimer: These guys belong to each other. I wouldn't dare to try and argue that one.
Dedication: For Sharon.
Thanks to Lil and Susanne for beta reading, and Misanagi for stalking.

Distant Sun
by Anne

Trowa had no idea how long he had been here. It could have been hours or even a couple of days. Food came semi-regularly, shoved through a flap in the bottom of the door; there was no pattern to it so that he could determine the passage of time. His watch was also gone, but that was not surprising.

No one had come to interrogate him. He suspected they were biding their time, waiting until his defences had dropped low enough to make it worth their while. If that was the case they'd be waiting until hell froze over.

He leaned back against the wall, pulling his knees up to his chest, and closed his eyes, his senses still alert. Naps were all that he allowed himself. It was difficult enough to sleep with that cursed light burning, even taking refuge in the darker corners of the room, but he needed to rest when he could. He would have preferred not to sleep at all; it was the one time when his subconscious came out to play, taunting him with the thoughts he distracted himself from when he was awake.

This situation was of his own doing. He knew better than to be distracted while undercover and he had slipped up, reacting to something before he'd realised he'd done so. He'd covered it quickly but by then it was already too late. Later, he discovered that he was already under close surveillance. His past as a Gundam pilot had caught up with him one last time, one of the men in the organisation having served in the war as a member of OZ.

Shivering, he wrapped his arms around himself; the thin orange coverall he was dressed in did not function well in keeping out the cold. That was the other thing they'd done when he was captured; strip him and dress him in this. His bare feet were dirty, as was the rest of him. For a moment he allowed himself the luxury of imagining a nice warm shower. It was first on his list of what he intended to do when he finally got out of here. The second was something he'd tried to work through for far too long, instead of acting on it. After five years he'd almost convinced himself that it was time to put it behind him and move on.

His reaction just before he was captured showed him just how well he'd managed to do that.

The sound of metal scraping against concrete broke through his thoughts. Trowa was on his feet and alert instantly. This was not the noise he associated with meals; that was more of a creak as the metal slot opened and strained. He searched for the source of it quickly, but before he could move towards the opening door, someone was shoved through it, effectively cutting off access to the person on the other side, and it clanged shut again.

Trowa walked over to the still form on the floor cautiously. His new cellmate was also dressed in the less than flattering orange, but considering how he was curled in a protective ball it was possible that he was hurt, although more probably semi-conscious. But, even more likely he was a plant to gain Trowa's confidence, a ploy to gain information from a prisoner not deemed to be cooperative using other more conventional means. It was an old trick, and not one that Trowa intended to fall for.

The square or so of concrete nearer the door was darker than the rest of the cell, although still dimly lit by the solitary light. All of the walls were. Trowa tended to keep closer to them for that reason. He suspected it was one reason for the bright orange he wore; it made it more difficult to hide. The man on the floor groaned. Trowa moved closer, ignoring the shiver that went through him as he noticed the blond hair caked with dirt, and what appeared to be dried blood.

No.

He needed to focus. They'd seen his reaction. It figured that they would find someone with a similar build and colouring to use what they perceived to be a weakness against him.

They were wrong. That particular person was not a weakness, but gave Trowa strength, and was there for him when he needed a friend. The only weakness on Trowa's part was not admitting his feelings, but those had nothing to do with looks, but the heart and soul of the person he wanted and loved. This would not work.

Taking a deep breath and clearing his mind and his emotions, Trowa carefully turned the man over to get a better look and to ascertain the extent of his injuries if he had any.

His breath hitched, the words coming out before he could stop them. "Oh, god."

It was Quatre.

The voice was persistent, concerned. It sounded familiar. Quatre tried to focus, to use it to pull himself out of the darkness, but he was tired. He opened his eyes, focused for a moment and then closed them again. His head hurt, and his arm. He moved it gingerly, pain screaming through him as his mind struggled to make sense of his jumbled memories. But worse than the memories were his emotions. What he'd been given when they'd taken him down was interfering with his empathic shielding, shredding it as he tried to keep out emotions that were not his own. Emotions he did not want, could not afford to be tempted with.

Strong arms cradled him carefully, the voice speaking again, this time whispering his name, "Quatre." Whoever it was felt upset, no, more than upset; he was scared, although that emotion did not reflect in the tone of his voice. Quatre knew that voice, that touch. This person had held him before, steadied him, saved him.

He coughed, clearing his throat. It felt dry, he was thirsty. Hungry too. He hadn't eaten much before coming after Trowa, only what he needed to stay strong so that he could do what he needed.

"Trowa." Quatre's voice was hoarse, a dry rasping sound. He opened his eyes, his mind catching up with the present, although still foggy. It was difficult to focus; he supposed that was part of whatever had been in that damn needle.

"I'm here." Trowa gazed down at him in concern, tightening his grip. Quatre shook his head. It was important that they didn't give their captors any ammunition, not with what the organisation had planned. He frowned. He knew what that was, didn't he? The rumours had been why Trowa had accepted this mission in the first place; they had turned out to have more than a substantial part of truth to them.

Pulling himself out of Trowa's embrace, Quatre shuffled back to lean against the wall. Trowa holding him, however much he was tempted to just lean into it, would not be a good idea. Not now.

"What are you doing here, Quatre?" Trowa sounded calm. He was still on his knees, watching, not moving.

"Your cover was compromised." It had been by chance that Quatre had seen the photos of the men suspected to be a part of this organisation. He wasn't involved in this mission, hell he wasn't even a full time Preventer agent. Just someone they called on to consult, however much he wanted to be otherwise. He was tired of hiding who he was, and what and who he wanted. Weary of the obligations and responsibilities that were expected of him.

"So you decided to risk your life and come after me?" There was a glint in Trowa's eyes, just a minute one. Quatre nearly missed it. If he hadn't known Trowa as well as he did, he would have. The two pilots had been close friends for almost five years now; if it were up to Quatre their relationship would be more than that. But he was not about to risk their friendship for feeling and desires that were, in all likelihood, not returned.

"It was a calculated risk," Quatre replied, biting off the reply that he wanted to say. That it was what friends did, especially when they cared about each other. He'd known that it was only a matter of time before the OZ soldier recognised Trowa. Quatre hadn't waited for Une's approval. He had his own way of tracking down his friend, that same way that he'd known that Trowa was in trouble, even before he'd failed to report in when he should.

"Of course it was," Trowa said dryly, "because Quatre Winner never does anything that isn't calculated." His gaze flickered momentarily from Quatre to what appeared to be part of an air vent to the left of the light bulb.

Despite knowing that Trowa's response was for the benefit of the hidden camera, Quatre couldn't prevent the flicker of irritation that followed it. "I won't disillusion you that this wasn't part of the plan then." Quatre indicated their surroundings and his own roughed up state and attire. His captors had enjoyed that part of the interrogation a little too well, especially when Quatre had refused to give them any of the information they'd requested. Though, in hindsight, swearing at them very calmly in Arabic probably wasn't one of his most brightest moments. However, he did not appreciate being stripped and having a bucket of filthy cold water thrown over him, especially when it was followed by a graphic description of what they'd already done, and further planned to do, to Trowa.

Quatre knew that he'd given them ammunition, knew it before he'd seen their smug expression and felt their triumph. God, he'd wanted to wipe it off their faces right there and then. Instead, they had held him down, forced him into these coveralls and they injected him with something that they assured him would give them all the answers they needed.

Slowly shifting from his knees into a crouch before standing, Trowa moved over to sit next to Quatre against the wall. "How long have I been missing?" he asked. Quatre could feel Trowa's eyes on him, looking him over carefully, checking for injuries now that he was more lucid, and mobile. Trowa would have noticed the way in which Quatre was favouring his right arm. There is no point in trying to hide it.

"Three days." Quatre edged further away, putting space between them. His mouth was getting dryer; he licked his lips, trying to feel some moisture on them. He could feel Trowa's emotions as strongly as though they were physically touching yet they weren't. Not yet. His sense of smell appeared to be heightened also, but most of all his sense of Trowa, the room they were in merely background and of no consequence.

"How many before you came after me?" Trowa's voice was still calm, but his concern was growing.

"One." He'd caught sight of a date on a clipboard. Otherwise he would not have known. It had taken him a while to locate Trowa; there was no point in moving until he'd had a destination and somewhere to start looking.

Trowa sighed and shook his head. "You should have left me. I'm not exactly going anywhere." He laid a gentle hand on Quatre's arm, his eyes narrowing when Quatre flinched as he pulled it away. "Not broken, but bruised."

"Not broken," Quatre agreed, ignoring the warmth running through him at Trowa's touch. Quatre shifted, edging further away. Damn these cameras. He didn't want this stilted conversation, but a real one. To tell Trowa that he was fine, that there was no need to be concerned, that the bruising had merely been from where he'd been held down, his arm held steady so that the needle could go directly into the vein for which it was meant. It was his own fault; he'd panicked when he'd realised what they meant to do. Test subjects for their research, and he'd provided them with that, for the next stage of their experiment. If there was one thing that bad guys liked to do, it was boasting about their plans. Quatre sighed. God, he'd hung around Duo far too long. That comment, and the voice in his head making it, had sounded a little too much like his friend.

"Talk to me, Quatre." Trowa placed his hand on Quatre again, this time against his cheek. Quatre leaned into it instinctively, his breathing speeding up as he let out a hiss at the wave of pleasure that went through him at the simple touch. It was far more difficult to ignore skin to skin contact, or maybe the drug was finally taking the effect they'd promised him it would.

"We're being watched," Quatre pointed out, jerking away, shuffling further down the wall. He wanted Trowa to touch him like this, wanted it badly, and had done for so long.

"Let them." Trowa kept his voice low, moving so that his body was between Quatre and the camera. His voice lowered still further. "Your skin is flushed, you're warm to touch and your eyes are glazing over. You're fighting something. I know that stubborn look." Trowa cupped Quatre's face, held it in place so that he couldn't turn away. "What did they do to you?"

"Nothing." Quatre closed his eyes so that he wouldn't see the fear in Trowa's. He knew the risks going in the same way Quatre had before he'd followed. Probably more so with the three weeks he'd spent undercover here. The information that Preventers had was vague, but was still enough to warrant the original mission. Redlock Laboratories were experimenting with human hormones and their potential to take a person's self-control. In the wrong hands, at the wrong moment, those indiscretions would give Redlock's backers the power they need to blackmail and take another kind of control. Add to that a measure of another drug linked to addiction and dependency, and their prey would be caught, merely one mouse in the cage of a very powerful rat.

"Bullshit."

Quatre opened his eyes and looked at Trowa after he spoke the word. To Quatre's credit, he didn't try to continue the argument. That in itself was a concern.

"They injected you with the serum, didn't they?" Although it was a question, Trowa already knew the answer before Quatre shrugged and then nodded minutely. Fucking bastards. They'd pay for that.

"I'm sorry." Quatre pulled away from Trowa and shuffled back against the wall. He didn't look or sound right. His voice trembled with emotion and his words were hoarse.

"You don't have to apologise, Quatre." Trowa studied Quatre carefully, his mind working through possible scenarios of how they were going to deal with it. He'd read too much about the effects of this drug, more than he now wanted to know. As far as he was aware, there was only one way to let it work through a person's system. Damn it. He wanted Quatre, he always had, but because Quatre wanted him in return, not because he was driven to it by some damn drug.

And certainly not with an audience like the one they had now.

"Yes, I do." Quatre looked up and met Trowa's eyes. There was a slight frown on his face; it was chased by surprise and then guilt. He rubbed at his chest. The small light of hope in his eyes went dim.

Trowa wanted to kill the men who had done this to Quatre. He edged close again, sitting down in front of Quatre, placing one hand on his arm when Quatre tried to move away again. They did not have time for small talk or the evasion that he now suspected, after seeing Quatre's reaction; that was more mutual than either of them realised. Trowa cleared his throat. "You trust me."

"Yes." Quatre glanced at the camera and then at Trowa. "With my life. I always have."

"I wish this was another time and place." Trowa brushed damp hair out of Quatre's eyes. Even like this, slightly feverish, drugged, dirty and tired, he was beautiful. "I'm sorry too." He kept his voice low to a whisper. He'd shield Quatre's body with his own, and hope that their conversation wasn't overheard. He bent his head, his lips almost touching Quatre's ear. "I love you."

Quatre's eyes widened, just a little. If Trowa was right and Quatre had felt the emotions that Trowa could no longer hide, hearing the words still brought with it a reality than was more difficult to deny. Tiny drops of moisture caught the edge of Quatre's eyes; he blinked rapidly trying to clear them. "I love you too," he mouthed, reaching out his hand to squeeze Trowa's. He pulled Trowa into an embrace. "I didn't want our first time to be like this." The rest of it went unspoken but Trowa knew what the words were; they were the same as his own. /I didn't think there would be a first time./

"Neither did I," Trowa whispered. Quatre's breath was hot against Trowa's neck, and speeding up. Being close like this was only serving to accelerate the needs and desire that the drug brought with it. If they waited for a rescue that might not arrive, it might be too late. Their future gone before they'd had a chance to plan one.

"I wanted you even without this." Quatre's mouth was on Trowa's neck, kissing him lightly. "This isn't all just this bloody drug." His voice broke. "I promise you that."

"I know." Trowa would make this up to Quatre later, when they were safe, but for now they needed to do this to help Quatre survive. He pulled Quatre onto his lap; it would be easier to shield him from the camera this way. Edging down the zipper on Quatre's coveralls, Trowa kissed each piece of skin as it was revealed, lightly and tenderly. Just because this had to happen now, did not mean that it would be without love. Trowa would never touch Quatre in that way, whatever the circumstances.

A low moan escaped Quatre' lips; he lifted his head and kissed Trowa slow and deep, sliding further into his lap, rubbing himself insistently again him. Trowa groaned into the kiss, despite his intention to stay in control and just do what Quatre needed. God, this felt so good. Cupping Quatre's buttocks, Trowa pulled Quatre flush again him. He could feel Quatre's erection, hard through his coveralls. The flimsy material accentuated every touch, every caress, a light friction against his skin, of which he wanted more.

Fingers reached for Trowa's zipper, Quatre pulling it down so that he could slide it off Trowa's shoulder, his touch insistent, caressing lovingly despite the desperation that Trowa could feel from him.

Feel? God. Trowa broke the kiss, breathing heavily. He unzipped Quatre's coverall further, pulling it down to his waist, enough so that he could take it off, so that both of them were naked from the waist up. He traced one finger down Quatre's chest, sliding his hand down to stroke lightly.

He was losing control. Fuck, he couldn't do this; he had to stay with it, make sure that Quatre was safe. Trowa could feel his own mind, his emotions starting to cloud even as he felt Quatre's desire flood through him.

Quatre's hand dropped to Trowa's groin, mirroring his actions. Pushing into Quatre's hand, Trowa let out a low growl. Desperation and desire mixed and merged, both of them yanking at each other's clothes, touching and rubbing against each other. Quatre kissed Trowa's shoulder, biting down on the skin. Trowa cried out, stroking Quatre's cock, fumbling with the zipper so that there was nothing between them.

Thrusting into Trowa's hand, Quatre lifted up for a moment, just long enough for Trowa to pull down both of their coveralls. Both their cocks were wet, sliding against each other as waves of pleasure went through them. Wrapping his hand around his and Trowa's cocks, Quatre stroked and rubbed them together, alternating between loud groans and incoherent whimpers as his movements became more and more erratic.

Heat spread through Trowa, pooling in his groin. He kissed Quatre, hard and rougher than he intended, running his hands all over his partner, his lover, everywhere he could reach. Quatre felt so good, looked and tasted amazing. Trowa cried out again, into the kiss, groaning Quatre's name when they both lost control and went limp in each other's arms.

"I love you," Quatre murmured, resting his head on Trowa's shoulder and holding onto him tightly. Part of him knew that they should dress quickly as they would more than likely be getting company now that they'd done what their captors had wanted. But, he didn't want to let go of Trowa just yet, wanted to keep him close for as long as he could, especially as it was doubtful that they would allowed this again. Their first time should have been different; a comfortable bed, time to touch and to explore each other, to show their love physically and emotionally.

Instead, they'd been robbed of that. Whatever happened, this would always be their first time. Fast, driven by bloody drugs, and trying to cover each other as best they could from an audience neither of them wanted.

He shivered, and snuggled closer into Trowa, grabbing his lover's coveralls to pull up and cover Trowa's back, wanting to give him some degree of privacy and warmth, although it would not provide much of either. Their captors had seen enough; anything else they wanted would have to be taken by force. Quatre was determined to protect Trowa from anything else he could by any means necessary.

Trowa cupped Quatre's face. He spoke softly. "This is not your fault, and although I know it was not what either of us wanted for our first time together I don't regret it." He helped Quatre back into his coveralls and caressed his face. "I love you. I have since Corsica. Whatever happens now, we both know how we feel and we've at least had this." His voice was flat, and there was regret and sadness in his eyes. He'd come to the same conclusion that Quatre had. They'd given these men the field test they'd wanted. With both of them Preventer agents, and most likely Quatre also recognised as a Gundam pilot, they were now a liability. Better to find other mice to catch, someone in a position of power who would be more likely to bow under the pressure of blackmail. Quatre wouldn't. Now that he and Trowa were together, he had no intention of hiding it.

There was also no point in pretending what had just happened was all because of the aphrodisiac that Quatre had been given. Neither of them believed that, and no one watching would have either. It was merely the shove over the edge they'd both needed for a very long time. It wasn't just sex, but two people making love. That was what Quatre had always wanted, to have the opportunity to show Trowa that love.

"I've loved you since then, too." Quatre wanted to say so much more, but it now seemed too little, too late. He also was not about to say the words with those arseholes watching and listening. Instead he kissed Trowa gently. Sometimes an action said far more. Leaning back into Trowa, Quatre projected love and regret. He knew from Trowa's reaction earlier that he would feel it.

The door scraped, metal against concrete, as it opened slowly, cautiously. Neither Quatre nor Trowa moved. Instead they held each other tightly, not wanting to give up the precious few moments together they had left.

Better to go like this together than later, separately and god knew how.

The door stayed open, a cold breeze wrapping itself around the damp air inside their prison. Quatre lifted his head, annoyed, ready to tell whoever was watching to leave them alone, that they'd already had their fun...

And he froze, blinking like a deer in headlights.

Duo's voice was soft; his expression part concern, part anger. "Are you guys okay?" Quatre managed a small nod, as did Trowa. Duo walked over to them, carefully putting down what appeared to be two blankets on the ground next to them. His expression hardened. "The assholes who did this are in custody. Wufei's reading them their rights and he's fucking pissed."

"There is a video feed in this room," Trowa said quietly, never taking his eyes off Quatre, still holding him tightly.

"Yeah, I know." Duo put a brief hand on Quatre's shoulder. "It died as soon as we worked out what it was. No one saw anything. I promise."

"Digital..." Quatre began, his voice raspy. His mouth was dry; he didn't seem to be able to stop shaking. The bloody drugs were probably still in his system, it would take several hours before he was completely free of them.

"It had an accident. No one will be able to access any of it." Duo moved away. "Heero took care of it." He walked back over to the door. "Giving you guys some space before Sally gets too insistent. I can probably only manage it for a few more minutes though." He frowned. "Or should I send her in sooner?"

"No!" Quatre managed a shaky smile, nodding his thanks. He and Trowa would walk out of here together. "We're fine."

Trowa raised an eyebrow at the comment, but Quatre chose to ignore it. "We'll call if we need you." Trowa paused. "Thank you."

A grin passed Duo's lips, but it was a whisper of his usual one. "Any time." He glanced from one to the other. "You look good together, always have." Ducking his head before either of them could answer, he walked quickly out of the door, but making sure to leave it open.

Quatre watched him leave for a moment then picked up the blankets, snuggling under them and into Trowa once they were both covered. "So, what now?" he whispered. He knew what he wanted; that had never changed.

"We get decent and brave Sally when we both have the nerve to do so," Trowa answered dryly. He bent his head and kissed Quatre's hair. "I'm scared, but I want this, want you."

"That's what I want too." Quatre smiled, not the shaky one he'd given Duo, but a proper one this time, completely open. He took Trowa's hand in his, threading their fingers together. "A future together. I'm tired of living alone. I want to share my life with you."

Trowa smiled; it reflected in his eyes as they darkened, and lit up his face. Even tired and dirty, he was so beautiful. "That's what I want too." He helped Quatre to his feet, and they stood there for a moment, leaning into each other, before sealing their agreement with a kiss.

Their arms around each other, they walked together out of the artificially lit room, supporting each other, just as they'd always done as friends, and would continue to do so as lovers, and more.