whomever wrote it. Not getting paid to do this, please don't sue, you know the spiel.
~*~ song lyrics
* story
Be still my beating heart
It would be better to be cool
It's not time to be open just yet
A lesson once learned is so hard to forget
~*~
*
Trowa Barton stood with his hands against the glass windowpane, staring out at the maze of lush
gardens and fountains that lay before him, three stories down. Everything was blanketed in a
serene navy blue darkness, a darkness that made his eyes go out of focus, lost. Thoughts swirled
uncontrollably in his head. Part of him was going over the speech he had prepared to say to
Quatre, that would explain everything. But that same part was trembling like a lost child, weak
and unsure. Another part of him seemed to be yanking at him by the collar, telling him to get the
hell in that bedroom and spill it, enough mental crap. Yet a third part scolded him for even
thinking some of the things he had in the previous week. "What would Duo say?" Trowa chided
himself. "That's easy. He would go into a whole dramatic speech about betraying God by having
such impure, devilish thoughts. 'How could you even think of falling for Quatre? What makes
you think he feels the same way about you? Why would he feel the same way about you?'" Then
he'd stalk off, disgusted. "But what would Heero say?" Trowa bowed his head, remembering.
"The only way to live a good life is to act on your emotions." But which of his emotions? What
did he really want? "Quatre would never speak to me again if I told him and he didn't feel the
same way. And the last thing I want is to lose him." He closed his eyes. "Then there really is
nothing to do." He cringed as a wave of passionate thoughts hit him, sending his troubled mind
reeling through images... Images he didn't want to see but wanted so badly to be real... Dizzy,
he stumbled over to the couch and collapsed onto it.
*
~*~
Be still my beating heart
Or I'll be taken for a fool
It's not healthy to run at this pace
The blood runs so red to my face
~*~
*
Quatre Raberba Winner sat at his computer, typing furiously. It was as if he could drive back his
thoughts with the bits of plastic under his fingers. Seeing it was useless, he stopped, leaning back
into his huge soft swivel chair. He closed his eyes and covered his face, images seeping into his
brain from all sides nonetheless. Images of things that were real, fantasies of things that could be
real.... And all of them of him - Trowa Barton. The man Quatre loved. It was undeniable. Yet it
was a concept that for its own sake could not be acknowledged. "How could you be so foolish,
Quatre?" he thought. "How?" He had invited the gundam pilots to his mansion for the weekend,
a sort of reunion, since he hadn't seen any of them for several months. He had purposely given
Trowa the bedroom next to his. He was going to tell him his feelings. His crazy, messed up
feelings. He loved Trowa. He loved him more than anyone else he knew. Mysterious, strong,
beautiful Trowa. "Why you?" Quatre moaned mentally. "Why of all the guys -and girls for that
matter- why you?" And now Trowa was but a room away and Duo had dragged the other two
pilots with him to some night club, and Quatre couldn't find the damn guts to go in there and spill
it. But god, he loved Trowa... he loved the way he moved, the way he talked, he loved the way
he looked in those little blue swimming trunks... Quatre blushed scarlet at the memory of the time
the pilots had spent a day at the beach with Relena, Dorothy, Noin, Hilde and Zechs. He couldn't
stop eyeing Trowa.... Quatre felt his pulse speed up and his face felt hot. "Trowa..." he
whispered. The small arabian boy began to tremble with desire, as a red hot shiver made its way
down his back...
~*~
I've been to every single book I know
To soothe the thoughts that plague me so
I sink like a stone that's been thrown in the ocean
My logic has drowned in a sea of emotion
Stop before you start
Be still my beating heart
~*~
"You need a distraction. Find something else to do." Trowa abruptly walked over to the
mahogany bookshelf, and pulled a random book down from the topmost shelf. He sat on the
couch again and began reading it. Momentarily, his thoughts were pushed to the back of his brain
as the story before him unfolded. The story of two friends, each needing the other...not admitting
it... "Nnnh." He groaned. This wasn't working. Too familiar. He picked another book, some
horror story, and that worked for a while... until the scene with a seductive blond vampire and the
tall dark haired innocent mortal in a hot tub together... Angrily Trowa tossed it onto the coffee
table, and proceeded to pick book after book, reading only a page or two before tossing them
onto the growing pile in front of him. Before long he was simply standing by the bookshelf in a fit
of rage, madly throwing book after book towards the center of the room. Some bounced off of
the couch, others flew through the doorway in the corner, to the small adjoining bedroom beyond.
One book hit the closed door that led to the hallway. Trowa hefted a thick hardcover novel onto
his shoulder, then heaved it across the room. It slammed into the wall, then dropped onto an
expensive looking lamp. With a resounding crash it fell to the floor, bringing down the small table
it had been sitting on with it. The sound startled Trowa, as if he were being brought out of a
trance. "Oh God, what am I doing? This cannot be happening...please God tell me this isn't
happening..." Once again he covered his face and slid to the floor, his back against the wall.
"Quatre." he whispered, barely audible. "Quatre."
*
~*~
Restore my broken dreams
Shattered like a falling glass
I'm not ready to be broken just yet
A lesson once learned is so hard to forget
~*~
*
Quatre uncovered his face and leaned forward again. He took up his work right where he had left
off, mid sentence. The clacking of keys filled the room, and the bluish light of the screen leant a
certain pallor to the room behind him. Quatre typed as fast as he could, barely processing what
words he was putting down. He leaned into the screen, his eyes widening... closer and closer...
until he hit his nose on the glass. Slightly stunned, he shrank back into his chair, rubbing his
smarting nose. "No. I don't have to focus on him. I need a cup of tea." He stood up and walked
out the door, into the brightly lit, carpeted hallway. Slowly he made his way toward the stairwell.
As he passed Trowa's room, he slowed to a stop. Not really knowing what he was doing, he
opened the wood door. "Nani!" Trowa exclaimed. Abruptly he turned away from the bookshelf,
where he had been busy shoving a thick paperback in among the rest. The room was back to
normal, except for the shards of porcelain from the lamp that he had swept under the coffee table,
barely visible in the gloom. "Oh, Quatre." He said slowly. "You startled me." "Sorry" the blond
replied. "I was going downstairs to get a cup of tea, care to join me?" he tried a smile. "Sure."
Trowa replied. The two headed out the door and down the carpeted stairs.
In the kitchen Quatre busied himself with heating water, and set sugar, milk and two cups on the
small kitchen table. Trowa began looking through the cabinets, until he found Quatre's stash, an
entire shelf stacked with tin after tin of teas. He took a box of chamomile for himself, then turned
to Quatre. "What kind of tea do you want?" He said slowly. "Hm?" Quatre looked at him. For
a moment their eyes met, emerald green to sparkling blue. 'His eyes' Quatre thought. 'They're
so beautiful...so intense.' He gave himself a mental slap. "Oh, tea. I'll have whatever you're
having." He broke away from Trowa's gaze as the kettle began to whistle shrilly. 'Idiot.' he
chided himself. 'How obvious can you get?' Trowa took out two teabags and put the box back
in the cabinet. He put one in each cup, and picked up the two cups to bring them from the table
to beside the stove. Quatre reached for the kettle, still in a daze. His knuckle brushed the hot
metal, sending sharp pain lancing up his arm. "Ah!" he half-cried, half-gasped. His hand jerked,
hooking itself around the kettle's handle. Its boiling contents spattered over the stove and floor.
Hot water splashed onto Quatre's arm, chest and stomach, soaking through the shirt to the pale
skin beneath. He clutched his arm, rocking in pain. "Quatre!" Trowa raced over to steady him as
he nearly fell onto the table. "Nhhh." Quatre moaned in pain. "Sit down," Trowa said calmly.
He eased Quatre into one of the chairs, then went to the sink. He ran the cold water, and soaked
a dishcloth in it. He brought it back to Quatre. Slowly, trying not to touch his burned skin,
Trowa began unbuttoning Quatre's shirt. He blushed profusely, trying not to gape. He began
dabbing the cloth at the skin. Quatre gasped and bit his lip, but let him continue. "Trowa, please,
you don't have to..." "Shhh." the tall boy said. "Just hold still." "Nhhh." Quatre shut his eyes,
squirming away from the cloth involuntarily. "Stop!" Trowa grabbed his wrist. "Huh?" Quatre
looked at him, and again their eyes met. His mouth dropped open slowly, lost in Trowa's green
orbs. Abruptly Trowa looked away and continued with his work. He leaned back, checking for
any missed burns. Deciding it was satisfactory he folded the cloth and pressed it onto Quatre's
chest, gently massaging it onto his skin to act as a cold compress. "Thank you, Trowa." Quatre
looked up. He placed a hand on Trowa's. Both shivered at the other's touch. Beams of energy
seemed to be running between them, almost tangible. Simultaneously, their heads began to move
closer, tilting to meet the other... and just before their lips touched Quatre's hands slipped around
Trowa's neck. The kiss was gentle, simple, sealing their promise of feeling for each other. When
Trowa broke for air Quatre left his eyes closed an extra moment, completely absorbed. Seeing
this as an open invitation, Trowa kissed his eyelids lightly, and was about to take Quatre's lips in
his own again when they heard a door slam, and the other three Gundam pilots walked in. Wufei was swaying from side to side, his blue top wrinkled and his hair mussed. Heero looked slightly red in the face and his eyes were glassy. Duo on the other hand, was cheerful as ever. "Hey
guys!" Noticing Quatre and the lack of his shirt, as well as the extremely short distance between
the two men's heads, he put a hand to his head and grinned nervously. "Umm, we just got back,
and I don't know about you two," he turned to Heero and Wufei "but I'm bushed. I'll be
upstairs. See you guys tomorrow." He skipped out, Heero and Wufei groggily at his heels. "We
better get to bed too," Trowa said. "Need a hand?" "Thanks," said Quatre. Trowa held out his
hand and helped the blond boy up, then put a hand around his waist as the two slowly went up the
stairs.
*
~*~
Be still my beating heart
You must learn to stand your ground
It's not healthy to run at this pace
The blood runs so red to my face
~*~
*
"Goodnight, Quatre." Trowa whispered, his arms around the arabian boy. "Goodnight, love"
answered Quatre, blushing at his spontaneous use of the term. The two leaned in for one quick
kiss before Quatre stepped into his room. "Aishiteru." Trowa whispered, just before the door
slipped shut. But somehow he knew that Quatre had heard him. And that he would always
know. Trowa returned to his room, and quickly got into bed. But he couldn't sleep.
*
~*~
I've been to every single book I know
To soothe the thoughts that plague me so
Stop before you start
Be still my beating heart
~*~
"Well," Quatre thought to himself. "That was something, wasn't it?" He rubbed his eyes, making
sure he was actually awake. "Trowa, my love..." he sat on the edge of his bed, looking up at the
ceiling with his eyes closed. "Now you know. Now you realize just how much it hurt to see you,
how many nights I dreamed, how many times you seemed so close and yet so far..." He sighed in
content as he pulled down the bedcovers, slipping between the sheets. He closed his eyes, reliving
the kiss at the kitchen table. How soft Trowa's hair was... and how warm his lips were. Jolting
him out of his thoughts, there was a click and the door opened.
*
~*~
Never to be wrong
Never to make promises that break
It's like singing in the wind
Or writing on the surface of a lake
And I wriggle like a fish caught on dry land
And I struggle to avoid any help at hand
I sink like a stone that's been thrown in the ocean
My logic has drowned in a sea of emotion
~*~
*
It was Trowa, clad only in his jeans. "Quatre?" He said cautiously. "Here Trowa." Trowa
walked over to the bed, his feet silent on the carpet. Instantly Quatre moved over to the far side
of the bed, pulling down the covers. "Are you sure?" Trowa rested one hand on the bed. "Why
be alone when you know you're not anymore?" Quatre said, smiling. Trowa sighed in relief. He
climbed in beside Quatre. Gently he moved behind him, putting his arms around the smaller boy's
waist. And so, in the comfort of each other and with the peace of mind brought with newfound
love, the two drifted into slumber.
Stop before you start
Be still
My beating heart
~*~
AN: Yes yes I know, sappy, lame and just weird. That sucked, didn't it? Oh well, I've got to
have something for a first songfic. Please review, flames welcomed! Oh, and if anyone out there
has a 3x4 songfic, could you give me the title? I'm really interested in what other songs people
came up with to use. I know there are very few people out there who like Sting... ^_^
