Trowa wandered into the music room, of one of Quatre's many households on Earth, to find the blond staring out the window, humming wistfully and watching the shimmering white blanket of snow cover the gardens. The room was very dim, lighted only by the fire crackling in the hearth, but it cast an orange glow on Sandrock's former pilot's skin. In his hands was a plain white coffee mug. Quatre's humming was almost undistinguishable except when the blue-eyed boy almost whispered the refrain.
"Let it snow. Let it snow. Let is snow," he sang, his voice cracking a little from the extreme pianissimo. Trowa smiled slightly, recognizing it as one of the many carols that Duo constantly belted the week before, when the pilots were there for Christmas. But while else everyone had left on Boxing Day, Trowa stayed behind, hoping to spend a little extra time with Quatre before heading back to the circus.
"It seems to be obeying," the brunet rumbled breaking the magical moment.
"I still can't believe the beauty of snow," Quatre intoned not taking his eyes off the scenery. "The physics of the phenomenon isn't anything special. All snow is, is frozen rain, but still there's something special that makes it so wonderful. Allah was truly inspired with snow."
"For a moment there I was worried you were going to turn into Heero," Trowa chuckled as he moved behind his boyfriend, wrapping his well-worked arms around the slender waist. Quatre had grown since the war, they both had, but he still fit perfectly in the taller boys arms. "But yes, it is beautiful."
Oh the weather outside is frightful
But inside it's so delightful
The lights are turned way down low
Let it snow
Let it snow
Let it snow
With a contented little purr, Quatre snuggled closer into his lover's arms. "But it's much nicer in here."
"Yes much." Trowa peered down into the cup, trying to catch a glimpse of what the Arab was drinking. Instead of the opaque, brown liquid he was expecting, the green-eyed gaze fell onto something of a creamy tan and much milkier then tea, while the faintest hint of cinnamon and nutmeg wafted to his nose. "Quatre, what are you drinking?"
"Chai tea. Auda brought some back from India. Would you like to try it?" Wide aqua eyes looked upon the fine features of the Trowa's face, meeting the exposed green eyes with wonder, lifting the cup simultaneously.
"Is it good?"
"Hm." The blond teen nodded in affirmation.
"Maybe later."
"Okay." Comfortable silence filled the room as the pair started at the falling snow. "Do you really have to leave tomorrow?" Quatre asked after a while, bringing his musing into the real world.
"Unfortunately." Trowa looked at the other boy's face in the window. The hurt in those aqua eyes reflected the pain in Trowa's heart. "You know I'd stay if I could but…"
"They need you at the circus," he interrupted. "I understand that. I just…I wish it could be different."
"So do I."
"Let sit down. It's more comfortable to cuddle on the couch." Without waiting for an answer, the Arabian teen moved towards the named furniture, which sat perpendicular to the fireplace. All the other could do was follow.
Oh, it doesn't show signs of stopping
And I've brought some corn for popping
And since we've no place to go
Let it snow
Let it snow
Let it snow
Firmly settled against his lover's chest, Quatre listened to Heavyarm's former pilot's steady heartbeat. The cup of chai sat, forgotten and cooling, on the end table. Trowa was rubbing his back tenderly as they both started at the still falling snow.
After some time the teenage executive looked up at his lover with mischief in his big eyes. "Trowa," he started with a serious look on his face. "Do you think if it snows enough, you can't leave tomorrow? If the roads are closed, then you couldn't possibly dive to the airport. Or maybe the airport will be closed."
"Perhaps." Trowa smirked at the train of thought the young businessman came upon.
"And if that's the case then you'll just have to stay her for a few more days."
"Which would be imposing on you, poor Mr. Winner."
"Oh, I'd survive it somehow." The circus boy tightened his grip on the other as he smiled.
"That would be nice…"
"Mmmm." Quatre closed his eyes and returned the embrace, sinking into Trowa's warmth and nestling his nose into his lover's neck, placing a small chaste kiss on the soft skin. Shifting up a little, the flaxen hared teen, trailed increasingly less innocent kisses up to his companion's mouth, until both set of mouths were engaged in a lazy but loving embrace.
When we finally kiss goodnight
How I hate going out in the storm
But if you really hold me tight
All the way home I'll be warm
Somehow Trowa found himself singing the same song Quatre had been earlier, in his low, rumbly, but untrained, baritone, as he ran his fingers through his boyfriend's golden locks. He started to wish that there really would be enough snow to close the airports tomorrow or at least delay all flights for a few hours. Cathy could do without him for a few more days, and he didn't really want to go.
The song lyrics had become something more like a litany or a spell. Cathy once said he must have gypsy blood in him, because he was too restless to stay in one place. "Just like me," she chirped. Perhaps if it was true, some of the mystic powers the nomads were said to possess could be passed genetically. If he could do magic and wanted this hard enough, perhaps it would happen. But in reality, magic didn't exist, and no amount of wishing can change the path a fate.
Looking down at his significant other, Trowa found that Quatre was asleep with a small smile gracing his lips. Asleep, the young looking Arabian looked younger this his seventeen years, even with the faint hint of fair stubble. Detangling his slender fingers from blond hair, the moss-eyed boy traced it over the sandy surface of his lover's flushed cheek. Allowing the internal grin to spread across his face, the European placed a soft kiss into the other's hair, inhaling the clean scent that was distinctly Quatre.
"Love, you," he murmured before closing his eyes, and consternating of the slow breathing of he boy who stole his heart.
Oh, the fire is slowly dying
And my dear we're still good-byeing
As long as you love me so
Let it snow
Let it snow
Let it snow
Aqua eyes popped wide at the sound of the music room door clicking open. Groggily he looked out the window he's been watching before he drifted to sleep. Everything outside was a sheet of dirty white. He couldn't make out the shape of his favorite trees, the giant Douglas firs that grew at the edge of the property. In fact he couldn't make out anything.
"Master Quatre?" Rashid's warm voice quietly asked.
"Shh, Trowa's still asleep," he whispered back, casting an upward glance at his human pillow, making sure Trowa hadn't woken up.
"The news just reported that the airport was closed until further notice, due to freezing fog," the hulk of a man replied still keeping the decibels low.
"Really!?!" the teen exclaimed in a whisper.
"Yes. Should I call Miss Catherine and tell her that Master Trowa will not be coming home today?"
"I think she would appreciate that." Quatre settled back into the sleeping embrace of his paramour.
"Oh, and Master Quatre."
"Yes, Rashid?"
"Please try and get some more rest."
"Um-hum," he replied sleepily, still a bit groggy from his arousing
As quietly as it had opened, the door closed the room off for the rest of the house. This time the click woke Trowa.
"Um, Quatre?" he asked a little startled.
"Yes?"
"What was that?"
"Rashid just came in to tell me the airports were closed due to freezing fog. Looks like you're stuck here for a few days. And don't worry about Cathy. He's going to call her."
"Um-hum."
"You're falling asleep again, aren't you?"
"Um-hum." The auburn hared boy replied tightening his grip.
"Um." Quatre purred nestling back into his pillow and closing his eyes.
As he drifted off the sleep Trowa couldn't help but think that maybe magic was real.
Let it snow
Let it snow
Let it snow
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