Yes, in my version of the world, Trowa is
French. The song is "Ice
Cream" By Sarah Mclauglin (sp?) I
don't own the G-boys. The song at the
beginning is by Savage Garden. Special
thanks to Athanael for correcting my french in this story! And just to clear up any confusion, this
story actually happens after the last story in the series, but I felt it needed
to go here.
So
you're the kind that deals with the games in the mind
Well you confuse me in a way that I've never known
You confuse me in a way that I've never known
Weak
Hearts
By Deathswings
Trowa stared at the back of Wufei's head. The two of them had been studying in
Trowa's room for the past hour or so, but Trowa found it was impossible to
concentrate on his studies. Trowa envied the pilot of Shenlong at times like
these. Wufei had nothing to take his mind off his work. The love of his life
wasn't sitting so close he could practically reach out and touch him, and yet
still be forbidden to him. Wufei didn't understand what it was like to watch
the one person you truly cared about in this life walk away, and all because of
some stupid war that you didn't want to be fighting in the first place.
He'd let Quatre go. The thought hit him anew everytime he thought about it. The
young blonde boy had opened his arms and his heart and invited him in, and he
had turned away. Had he gone mad? He'd been insanely attracted to the pilot
ever since the moment they met and somewhere along the way, he'd foolishly let
that attraction turn into love. Love wasn't allowed in war. Love gave the enemy
a toehold, a weapon. Love was dangerous. Trowa wondered if Duo and Heero knew
what they were doing, how vunerable they made themselves, everytime they
tumbled into bed. They must have temporarily lost their senses.
Or maybe Trowa had lost his...
Your love is better than ice cream,
Better than anything else that I've tried.
More and more, this seemed to be the truth to Trowa, even moreso since Heero
and Duo's little problem seemed to be cleared up. The two of them couldn't have
been happier, and Heero wasn't the type to take risks if they weren't worth the
prize. But could Trowa do it, even if he let himself try? Could he really
abandon everything that made him who he was? Could he really give everything to
Quatre? Despite his outwardly calm appearance, Trowa's stomache burned with
butterflies. The five pilots were staying at a safe house of Quatre's, enjoying
a rare moment of quiet between trying to muddle through saving the world, but
Quatre had been oddly absent, and Trowa hadn't seen him this whole time. In
fact, Trowa hadn't been in the same room alone with Quatre since ...
"Trowa?"
Trowa froze, muscles tensing.
You're love is better than ice cream,
Everyone here knows how to cry.
Where the hell had Wufei gone? How could Trowa *not* have heard him leave? If
the owner of that voice had worked for OZ...
"Trowa?"
"Oui, Quatre?" Trowa fought to keep his voice level. He had already
hurt Quatre enough, he didn't wish to hurt him anymore... but Quatre was still
a weakness that he couldn't afford, that the world couldn't afford.
"D...Dinner is served at six tonight. I hope I will see you there,"
there was a note of meloncholy in Quatre's voice, despite it's professional
tone- Quatre had never been good at hiding his true feelings from anyone, least
of all Trowa. Trowa's heart ached for the blonde boy and wept that he was the
cause of such suffering. He longed to turn around and sweep Quatre off his feet
and into his very willing arms. For a moment, he faltered, turned... but as he
did, all he heard was the sound of a clicking lock, and all he saw was the
inside of his door.
Trowa let out a sudden gust of breath and flopped backwards onto his
ridiculously large bed, fluffing a pillow self-consiously. This kind of luxury
made him nervous. He didn't think he could go down to dinner. He didn't think
he could watch Duo and Heero be so happy together and then stare into Quatre's
big, blue puppy dog eyes, knowing that he was causing the pain in them. But
could he really sleep on this huge bed...?
It's a long way down.
It's a long way down.
It's a long way down to the place where we started from.
Trowa's eyes snapped open in the darkness. Something was wrong. Something was
different. Trowa shook himself a little more awake, ready to defend himself
from this unseen assailant... and then he realised who his 'attacker' was.
Quatre's head lay against his chest, his breath fanning warm against Trowa's
neck, one arm thrown across Trowa's waist. All thoughts fled Trowa's mind and
he just stared at the ceiling, muscles gone completely stiff, unable to react
to what had to be the best thing he'd ever felt and the greatest temptation
he'd ever had to resist.
Quatre's eyes fluttered, woken by the change in his "pillow"
"Mmnn... Trowa?"
"Quatre... Est-ce que tu-" Trowa cleared his throat and tried again,
"Why are you in my bed?" remaincalmremaincalmremaincalmremaincalm.
"You don't have to do anything else. Just hold me. This is my weakness,
now, not yours. Just don't let me go." Trowa could hardly do anything
else. This is my weakness, not yours. That was a lie. It was Trowa's
weakness too. They shouldn't be like this. They shouldn't be doing this. But he
couldn't push Quatre away. He felt so safe, so secure... and that little voice
in the back of his head that screamed that this was wrong, that this was
dangerous, was impossibly weak and distant. Instead, the usual insidious pull
towards Quatre was a tidal force and Trowa found himself swept away in the
waves. He wrapped his arms around the little angel, buried his nose in the
blonde, soft hair, slowly took in the scent, like it was a drug he had been too
long denied. Hell, *all* of Quatre was a drug that he had been too long denied.
Quatre sighed softly and snuggled against him, small legs tangling in long
ones. Trowa found himself running his hands up and down Quatre's back as if to
soothe him somehow and he could feel the upturning of Quatre's lips even through
his shirt.
Your love is better than chocolate,
Better than anything else that I've tried.
They just lay entangled like that a long time, the only sounds in the room
their soft breathing and the gentle beating of their hearts. Trowa ran his
fingers through the blonde sunlight that was Quatre's hair. His walls were
crumbling, his defenses slowly melting into nothing. It was hard to resist
this. He wanted this so badly and Quatre was right here- warm and soft and
clinging to him. Trowa brushed his lips across Quatre's forehead, meaning to
stop there... but somehow his lips were trailing down Quatre's nose, seeking
his mouth. Quatre turned his face up and their lips met very gently, their
breaths mingling in the darkness. They parted after a moment, then kissed
again, almost an afterthought, and Trowa tasted the sharp salt of tears.
"Quatre..."
"I thought..." Quatre sniffled, "I thought you didn't want me. I
thought you didn't-" Trowa laid a finger across Quatre's lips, silencing
him,
"Don't think that. Don't ever think that. I love you, Quatre... and I
can't love you."
"I know. I know. I'm a weakness. Love is a weakness," the bitterness
of Quatre's tone cut Trowa to the very soul. The words tumbled out of Trowa's
mouth before he could stop them,
"You're right... You're right to be bitter, Quatre. You've given me
everything, handed me your body and soul on a tray and all I can do is turn
away and tell you that you're a nusiance, when really you're exactly what I
want... exactly what I need. You're so much more than I could ever have dreamt
of Quatre. Je suis desole... I'm sorry Quatre, I'm so sorry. What I'm doing to
you is utterly unforgivable." Quatre claimed his mouth again, briefly,
"I forgive you, Trowa."
Your love is better than chocolate.
Everyone here knows how to fight.
"I love you," Quatre continued, " and if you think we need to
wait until this war ends to love, I'll wait until the war ends. But Trowa...
what if the war never ends? What if one of us dies tomorrow. What if one of us
dies tonight? What then? What have we lost? Everything." Quatre was
holding on to Trowa so tightly by now that Trowa was beginning to have trouble
inhaling,
"Quatre... Quatre... Je ne peux pas respirer!"
"Nani?"
"I can't breathe!!" Quatre let go and Trowa could feel the blush
somehow,
"Sorry, Trowa."
"You really feel that strongly about it?" In the dark, Quatre nodded
fircely. Trowa took a deep breath and plunged headfirst off a cliff, "
Then I can hardly refuse you."
"Trowa?!?!", Quatre's voice was beautifully estatic and
Trowa might have liked to hear more, but his lips were already closing over the
blonde's as he fell belatedly, but gladly, into the spell that was Quatre.
It's a long way down.
It's a long way down.
It's a long way down to the place where we started from.
Sometime later...
Trowa looked down at the little blonde angel asleep in his arms. *His* blonde
angel. He'd thought this a weakness! How foolish of him. He'd never felt so
free and so strong. An incredible pure strenghth ran through him, laced his blood
with something he couldn't define, but liked very, very much. Trowa leaned over
and kissed those forgiving lips gently. Quatre was a saint. Only a saint could
face that kind of rejection and still stand up and worm his way into Trowa's
tangled heart.
Quatre stirred slightly, pink lips parting softly and Trowa kissed him again,
delicately sliding his tounge past those lips. Quatre let out a soft sigh and
snuggled closer against him. Trowa placed a hand on his angel's waist, turning
him around to lie spooned against him and Quatre automatically sighed and
fitted himself closer to the tall pilot. Trowa smiled just a little bit and
closed his eyes. The relaxing feel of this beautiful dreamer's skin pressed so
close to his own lulled him gently into oblivion. The last thought in his mind
was- Je t'aime, Quatre. Je t'aimerai jusqu'au jour de ma mort
It's a long way down to the place where we started from....