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❧
Duo steps back deeper in shadows as the girl who has been talking finally leaves. He waits another moment but no one else comes and he doesn't hear any other voices, so he pushes the tent flap aside and stands in the opening. Even though the other boy is still wearing clown pants and suspenders, Duo is absolutely certain now:
"Trowa!" He grins. "It really is you!"
Trowa turns to him. The demi-mask he wore during the performance is gone but his face is just as blank as the white porcelain was.
"It's me—Duo." His brow knits even as he flashes another grin. He takes another step in, letting the tent flap fall shut behind him. "Don't you recognize me?"
Trowa gives him a slow once-over, his eyes taking their time all the way down to the tips of Duo's boots, all the way back up to his face. For a second, Duo thinks Trowa is going to make some crack about his priest get-up; he gets the snap of his rejoinder ready to flip off the tip of his tongue.
"Did we fuck somewhere?"
The rejoinder rolls unsnapped to the back of his mouth and Duo swallows it. He studies Trowa, who is looking at him with mild curiosity. What remained of the grin falls right off Duo's face. "You really don't remember me."
"Don't take it personally." The corners of Trowa's mouth curve up and it strikes Duo that he's never seen Trowa smile before. "There's a lot I don't remember these days."
Duo isn't sure what to say, so he doesn't say anything. He's starting to think maybe he should just go for now, when Trowa casually says, "So, were you any good?"
"Any good at what?"
"Are you a good lay?" Trowa elucidates conversationally, bending to retrieve a nylon bag from the ground.
"Hey, man," Duo can't help saying, "aren't you the least little bit curious if you were any good?" He flashes another grin to camouflage the bristles that rear up in his tone and adds, "Seeing as you can't remember things and all."
"Nope." Trowa smiles as he reaches into the bag. "Already know I was good, since you're back for more." His hand comes out of the bag and tosses something in Duo's direction; there's a jingle and glint of reflected light, and then the keychain lands in Duo's automatically outstretched hand. "It's the second to last trailer in the row behind the north tents," Trowa says, jerking his head in that direction. "Give me ten, maybe fifteen to finish up here."
As he wanders towards the trailer row, Duo reflects that he doesn't know whether to be flattered or insulted that Trowa sized him up as a fuck partner just by looking at him. Then again, there is always the chance that Trowa is playing a joke on him. He never struck Duo as the funny type but you can't always tell.
Trowa's trailer is small but Duo isn't sure if he really does have the full minimum ten minutes Trowa promised him, so he only does a cursory sweep. There are few personal items, nothing to give away identity—which fits for a guy who is secretly a gundam pilot but also for one who has amnesia. There's a book on the floor by the bed but Duo is bored by the end of the first paragraph and tosses it back down.
He leans back with his hands supporting his weight, his legs stretched out in front, and lets his gaze wander around, over the edge-frayed poster tacked up on one wall, promoting a circus performance so long past the words have faded from legibility; then alighting on a ceramic lion, painted in bright oranges and yellows and hollowed out to house a miniature cactus garden. Duo studies the lion's face. It looks like it's not sure what it's doing here, and Duo wonders too; he wonders if this is really Trowa's taste, or maybe the work of that girl who had been talking to Trowa earlier, attempting to add a "feminine touch" or some crap like that. Then for a couple of minutes, he looks at a blank wall, which is still more interesting than that book had been.
Finally, the scrape of the door handle breaks the monotony. Trowa is still wearing the voluminous clown pants, whose vibrancy overshadows the ceramic lion. Duo looks up and finds amusement playing over Trowa's mouth.
"I could leave them on, if you want."
"Why would I want that?"
"I thought maybe you were into that sort of thing." Trowa gestures showroom model-like along himself, and then similarly at Duo. "Roleplay. Cosplay."
"Oh." It seems like a bad joke: a priest and an amnesiac clown walk into a bar, or something. Duo shifts his weight to one hand, rubbing the back of his neck with the other. "No, this isn't a costume or anything; this is just what I wear normally."
Trowa nods, then slides the suspenders from his shoulders, letting them drop to dangle from the waistband where they're still attached. He pulls his shirt off overhead and is undoing the fastenings on the clown pants by the time Duo realizes he's supposed to be undressing too, and gets to it.
When Duo is as naked as Trowa, he resumes his position on the edge of the bed, weight back on his hands again, legs stretched out. He watches Trowa's gaze travel the length of his body again and catches himself wondering if he is living up to the expectations Trowa's previous gaze imagined.
When their eyes meet this time, Trowa smiles and says, "Nice."
"Thanks," Duo says, then adds without lying, "You too."
Part of him still thinks this is an elaborate prank Trowa is pulling on him, feigning amnesia to see which of them flinches first. If that's what Trowa is doing, when Duo—when all of them have been so fucking worried, thinking he's dead; if that's the case, Trowa can kiss his ass.
So when Trowa stands in front of him and asks what he likes, the words slide down along Duo's slanted grin and drip from the corner of his mouth: "Well, I like having my ass kissed now and then."
"Okay," Trowa says. "Turn over."
Duo looks into Trowa's eyes but he can't see a joke in there.
So he does it. He sets his spread knees just in from the edge of the bed, folds his arms and rests his forehead on them, thinking that if this does turn out to be a prank, he's going to have to hurt Trowa severely.
Then he feels Trowa's lips, soft and warm, press to his ass. He skates his knees out a little wider and now there is wet with the soft and warm as Trowa kisses him. Duo moans lightly, closing his eyes as Trowa's tongue licks and laps over his hole; they've come too far for it to be a joke now; come far, going farther. Duo feels the easy dig of Trowa's thumb pads as he coaxes Duo open a little wider, and now Trowa is tonguekissing him inside, licking inside as far as the tip of his tongue can get, slipping out to swipe warm and wet across the surface and then dipping back inside, dipping and thrusting and licking, tonguefucking him.
Duo reaches down between his legs, stroking his cock as it bounces and slaps against his belly with his hip-rocking; off balance now, he inadvertently bangs his head into the wall with his next undulation.
"Oh," he moans in protest when the tongue leaves him, "no, don't, don't fucking stop now." His hand keeps moving on his cock but it's not as good now.
"I'm not going to stop," Trowa says somewhere behind him. "But I'm not going to fuck you if you wind up unconscious. Here, lie down the long way."
Duo shifts himself around on the bed, wrapping his arms around the pillow. The mattress dips with added weight as Trowa climbs on; and then Trowa's mouth is on him again, Trowa's tongue inside him, and Duo groans with relief as the warm wet muscle fills the ache its absence had left in him. He buries his head in the pillow to muffle the steady moans he can't seem to help—muffles the whimper that escapes him at the new loss of the tongue.
"No," Trowa murmurs as he gathers up Duo's hair. "Don't do that." He nips the newly-exposed nape, light scrape of teeth shivering down Duo's spine. "I like the sounds you make. Makes me hot." He bites again and this time Duo turns his head to moan into open air.
Trowa stays up by him, kissing and biting; he offers a finger to Duo, not to gag him but to get it slick enough to slide nicely in Duo's ass. The finger isn't as nice as Trowa's tongue—until the tip nudges his prostate, and Duo jerks and moans, "Fuck."
"Is that a request?" Trowa asks, breath warm against Duo's ear.
There's an easy amusement draping around the edges of the words but Duo knows it's not a joke. "Yeah," he decides, looking over his shoulder to meet Trowa's smile with one of his own: "Yeah, it is."
As Duo pushes himself up onto hands and knees, Trowa reaches under the bed and then, having found the lube, moves around to kneel behind him. He fingers Duo some more, slicker now than spit, stretches him and fucks him two-fingered. Keeps those fingers curved and scissoring inside Duo as he slicks up his own cock.
Then Trowa withdraws his fingers and Duo moans again, not with loss this time but anticipation. Trowa touches his cockhead to Duo's hole; nudges; nudges; pushes in, pushes slow and nice. Trowa's fingers take hold of Duo's hips and the slow push becomes a slow pull out, and then another push in. Duo sighs and moans and pushes back for each thrust, arching his back and rolling his hips as Trowa starts to fuck him in earnest.
Duo's cock is slapping hard against his belly now with each thrust of Trowa's cock, with each slap of Trowa's balls against his ass. With a groan, Duo folds one arm at the elbow, putting his weight on his forearm as he reaches with the other hand for his cock. As he starts stroking himself, Trowa reaches around to join him, stroking Duo's hand as the hand strokes Duo's cock, then sliding away down to massage and tug Duo's balls; Duo's cry is not soft as he comes.
He glosses his come along his spent cock, caressing himself as he softens, as Trowa keeps fucking him, both hands on Duo's hips again, pulling Duo back onto him with each thrust, eliciting soft thickened breaths from the back of Duo's throat.
Then one hand leaves his hip to reach for his shoulder, Trowa leaning into the last push, holding as deep as he can get inside Duo as he comes, hips rolling to nudge him just a little deeper after every spasm.
Trowa sits back on his heels when he finally slips all the way out for good. Duo lowers himself to the mattress, buries his face in the pillow for a few breaths, then turns his head to breathe air.
After a while, he feels Trowa shifting from between his legs. Duo rolls onto his back, bending at the knee to rest his feet on the mattress as Trowa leans back against the wall. The silence is not uncomfortable but Duo still wonders if this is why people smoke after sex sometimes.
"You can stay here tonight," Trowa offers casually, "if you don't have anywhere to be."
Duo thinks about it. "I should probably get going," he says after a moment.
Trowa nods. He smiles easily as he watches Duo get dressed.
"So," Duo says, fitting his cap to his head; but he doesn't have the rest of the sentence, and the word hangs there.
"Thanks," Trowa says and Duo wishes he'd thought of that first. "If we meet again and my memory's gone all fucked again"—Trowa grins at him—"tell me yes when I ask if you were good."
Duo's hand goes to the back of his neck again, his turn to say thanks. "You too," he thinks to add. And then with a grin of his own, "But I guess you already knew that."
Just as Duo is turning the door handle, Trowa says, "Hey, can I ask you something before you go?"
"Sure." Duo leans a shoulder against the door, fingers on the handle.
"Where do we really know each other from?"
Trowa is looking at him, serious and open. Duo doesn't know what to say. So he doesn't say anything.
"You have the same calluses on your hands that I have on mine," Trowa explains. "I didn't get these at the circus. I just can't remember where I got them. So I thought you might know."
Duo still doesn't know what to say. So he still doesn't say anything.
"Okay," Trowa says, soft. "It's okay."
It isn't, really. But Duo turns the door handle anyhow, pushes the door open.
He stops on the top step and turns back. "Hey, Tro," he says. Hesitates. "Next time we meet, if you remember, you might need to hit me." His grin is made difficult by having to swallow in the middle. "I kind of hope you will, to tell the truth."
Trowa doesn't say anything but after a moment he nods, accepting what he doesn't yet understand.
Nothing more to say, Duo nods too, leaving the door ajar as he goes.