Gray

By: Moonkitty Liafle

A/N: The style is weird. Bear with me. This is a

LEMON. Be warned!

He lowered her to the bed slowly, letting his hands

travel down from her hips to her ankles in mesmerizing

slow circles.

Her body tingled and almost felt numb in pure joy in

reaction. She could not understand what was happening,

could not comprehend why he was touching her so

lovingly.

Did she deserve him? Did she know him?

Her mind traveled back to a few moments before when he

had knocked on her door.

...

It was gray and cold outside, the sort of day that can

drag most into the deepest of depressions but can also

spark the greatest rushes of creativity.

She had been reading or sleeping or something of that

sort, she couldn't really remember.

Everything before that moment made no difference to

her.

The door knocked, and she opened it.

She was, of course, surprised at what she had found.

Heero was standing there, hair in a disarray, as

always, haggard and hungry with lines of tension

marking his face.

It was as if war had never ended, only moved into his

eyes, fighting and struggling daily for the will to

survive.

"I needed to see someone who understands."

...

When had their clothes disappeared?

Her mind lost all sense of comprehension when his

hands lowered to just below her belly, sending jolts

of passion coursing through her veins. His hands

clenched and unclenched on the outside of her thighs,

leaving ugly red marks.

She didn't care. Her mind could not take it.

...

"What do you mean, Heero?" she had asked him, moving

aside so he could enter.

"I tried to kill myself today."

She did not respond.

"I tried, I had the gun lifted right up to my head,

like this," he mimicked the actions with a pointing

finger. She recoiled in painful despair, "But I

couldn't pull the trigger. I kept seeing this chorus

of angels singing."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think I saw the face of our creator."

"Heero, I've known you for five years. You're an

atheist."

He shook his head, "No, not anymore, Relena."

"Stop messing with me," she had growled. They were in

the hallway, and the door had been closed and locked,

and Relena had felt trapped, "Tell me something true."

He lowered his hand. His eyes grew almost soft, "I

love you. I love you and I hate you for doing this to

me."

"Doing what to you, Heero? What are you talking

about?"

"You are making me human. You are making everything

difficult! Now I have wants and desires I never had

before. How could you do this to me?!"

...

"Relena..." he moaned softly, kissing his way up to

her throat, to her lips, groaning into her mouth as

she pressed her palms against his chest, as she

wriggled softly beneath him, "forgive me..."

He pressed his hips against hers, lowered his arousal

in the warmth of her body, feeling her pain and

sympathizing as much as a man can.

"Please..." she whispered back, clenching her muscles

around him, lifting her legs to wraps around him,

"don't stop...don't you dare stop..."

And he didn't.

...

"What do you mean, Heero?" Relena had replied, her

blond hair whipping about her lean form as she turned

to face him.

Her eyes had been blazing with the compassion he had

admired for years.

"Your desires don't have to be forbidden," she said

softly. She took one of his hands and pressed it to

her waist, "Do you want to touch me here?" she took

his other hand and brushed her lips with his fingers,

"Do you want to touch me there?"

He pulled his hands away and pressed her against the

wall, sighing as he kissed her as desperately as he

had that one time so long ago...

...

Which was how they ended up on her bed, naked, making

love.

He pushed in and out, then in again, whispering her

name on the exhale, worshipping her with a purity that

made her feel flawed and sinful.

She knew he had never touched a woman as he touched

her, knew that his desires only centered on her.

She felt the same, but witnessing it was still

overpowering.

The fact that he had no idea how to express this love,

no abilities in communicating with other people, even

people he loved and desired, made her heart swell with

sympathy.

"I love you." she murmured, "I love you too."

And then he emptied into her, while she remained

wanting.

But she understood. She understood it couldn't be

perfect.

Not the first time.

He pulled out, murmuring apologies over the blood, the

desperation, her lack of pleasure, and she whispered

to him that it was alright, even though her body was

flushed with the remnants of unfulfilled lust.

She sighed as he tucked her against him as he drifted

off into sleep, snuggling against his warmth.

She would make sure there would be other times. She

was certain of that.

The grayness of the day collapsed into the clarity of

night, and all was well with the world.

A/N: I wanted to make a more accurate lemon. The first

time isn't always perfect, but it can still be

beautiful.