11-Feb-2001
Written: 04.Feb.01 - 08.Feb.01
Pairings: 2x4/4x2
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Language, yaoi, lemon.
C&C: Always welcome
Special thanks to Bonnejeanne for the thorough beta-reading and wonderful suggestions.
See notes at the end.
Spring has arrived, and joyously the birds
now welcome her return with festive song,
and streamlets, by soft airs caressed, are heard
to murmur sweetly as they course along. -- "Spring", Vivaldi
It's funny how we come to associate sounds and smells with people and events. Sometimes, I'll hear an old song on the radio and for some reason or another, it will remind me of the war, or a childhood memory.
I swear, everytime I hear a tune by the Grateful Dead I'm taken back to the time I spent working with Howard, when I first came down to Earth. I can almost smell burning oil and rubber, hear the sounds of metal clanking in the background, all to the rhythm of 'Box of Rain'.
/"Look out of any window... any morning, any evening, any day..."/
I can't help it. I'm always tempted to sing along.
/"Maybe the sun is shining... birds are winging or rain is falling from a heavy sky... What do you want me to do, to do for you to see you through?"/
It just totally sets the mood, and I get images of Howard spread on the ground, underneath some old engine, with his hands all greasy. There's just something magical about being a mechanic, the kind of mechanic and engineer Howard is. He doesn't just work with his greasy hands, he works with his heart.
If I ever get a whiff of freshly baked bread, I'll think of Sister Helen and Father Maxwell. Funny, because they never baked bread. We were lucky if we could get a molded loaf every once in a while. Still, I always think of them when I smell bread.
And then, on spring days like this, I always think of Quatre.
It's hard not to, when everything reminds me of him; from the clear blue sky, that reminds me of his eyes, to all the sounds and scents of nature, and the brilliant sun that makes me think of his cornsilk-colored hair.
Now, that came out rather poetic and sentimental, maybe even a little soppy for a guy like *me*, but that seems to be one of the side effects of allowing Quatre Raberba Winner into one's life. I'm not even sure what the little guy has; when I'm around him, I almost expect to catch myself writing sonnets and pulling poems out of my ass.
When Quatre and I first met, things had not been going too well. We had just gotten our asses seriously kicked by Oz, and had supposedly lost one of the Gundam pilots, Heero Yuy. Some loss that was! The guy had been walking perfection since the first time I'd laid my eyes on him; strong, efficient, focused, organized, and just utterly perfect, broken bones and all.
I admired him and despised him at the same time. He was the traitor who had stolen Shinigami's parts and I wanted to wring his neck just for that; but in the end, I'd found his treacherous act extremely amusing in a rather morbid way. Hell, the guy was ingenious and a good thief. I had to give him credit for that! Who knows, in his place, I might have done the same thing.
But I'm getting sidetracked here, talking about Heero. It always happens that way. While Quatre tends to turn me into an impromptu poet, Heero makes my knees weak, my mind wander, and any public speaking skills I might possess vanish into thin air. So much for trying to remain cool and collected, there's almost no chance of that when I'm around him.
But back to Quatre.
We met during dark and fucked up times. If I believed in destiny, I would think that's what had brought us together then. Still, for some reason or another, we ended up meeting. I guess it was just chance.
I was at a low point in my life. Very, very low. I'm guessing he wasn't in one of his best moments either, and as misery loves company, he asked me to come with him and I accepted.
He took me in when I didn't have anywhere to go. He allowed me to stay with him and his faithful Maguanacs, took me in like family, made me *feel* as if I actually belonged with them, as if I actually belonged *anywhere*.
Now, that was a good feeling.
You gotta understand, people don't always go around helping others or trying to make them feel better. There are some good people in the world, of course. I believe in goodness, and fellowship, and all that stuff. Hell, I better believe it 'cause I'm the living example of people's kindness . If it didn't exist, I might not have made it past my eight birthday. Or maybe I would have... who knows. I'm pretty hard to kill.
But kind people aren't really the norm. The vast majority are just vultures, the survival of the fittest at its best. So when you get a helping hand you call it a blessing; when you're fighting a bloody war you take that helping hand, multiply it by two, and keep your spirits high. There's really no other way to make it out alive. Well, alive and sane. I'm sure some pessimistic people make it out all right, I just don't know if I'd even like to be around them. They turn sour and bitter, and there's already lots of that in the world. I don't need any of that, thank you very much.
Quatre is one of those kind and sweet people, if a little naive. I think he's the kind of guy who always believes the best in everyone. No matter how many times he gets burnt, Quatre's gonna go back and touch the fire, you know? That kind of guy.
There was a time during the war, though, when it almost seemed that Quatre had lost all faith. He seemed to be short-circuiting and his light was burning out. Wiped out an entire fucking colony during that time. When I think about it, I still get the shivers. It's hard to even think of Quatre doing something so monstrous. But I got an explanation for that. It really wasn't Quatre back then, but that Zero system. Bad news, I'm telling ya!
It was just that one time for Quatre. The rest of the time, you could almost swear the guy is gonna sprout feathery wings from his back, a fucking big halo on top of his head and all. It's a funny picture, I know, but if you ever meet Quatre, you'll know what I mean.
When the wind hits my face, bringing smells of blossoming flowers and fresh grass, I think back to my days with Quatre. Not that there was any grass over there, no. The Maguanac camp was set in dry and arid land, somewhere in a desert. Guess it makes sense for them, being Arabic people and all. But there were definitely flowers. The girls grew flowers in pots and then cut them for their festival. I even got a nice bouquet from one of them while I was there. First time anyone gave me flowers!
And there was fruit. Lots of fruit and juicy meats, with bread and a special kind of Maguanac brew. Oh, the brew! I swear, I've never tasted anything so potent. Quatre and his guys sure knew how to live. I had never seen so much food together all at once, and I know my eyes must have been bulging out of my head. Lucky for me, my eyes are never bigger than my stomach. I ate like it was the end of days while Quatre kept looking at me with his big blue eyes, full of concern.
"Duo, you're going to get sick," he kept repeating.
That didn't stop me. And I did not get sick. I guess Heero's head is made out of Gundanium, but so is my stomach. Tell me, which one is more useful?
We spent three days in that camp while we were making adjustments to our Gundams. I was rather thankful that all the guys there had a way with mechanics. I guess it makes sense, since they had to take care of their own suits. Abdul was rather good and anytime I saw him tuning up and fixing, I was tempted to ask him to come back with me and work with Howard. A guy like him would be a good addition to our team.
Three whole days in that camp. Three whole days of listening to music and sometimes even dancing along, eating like a king, and drinking like the wino I was meant to be. It's no wonder I smell the fresh air of spring and I think of those days. If peace has a scent, then it smells like that.
While I was in that little corner Earth, I almost thought I was in a different world. It had nothing to do with the battlefield, nothing to do with the gloomy and miserable L2, which I will always call my home. This place was comfortable and certainly luxurious by my standards. I was surrounded by good people who knew that there was more to life than fighting. Their laughter was music to my ears and Quatre's smile would light the entire place.
Three whole days of peace.
I could almost have forgotten that there was a war going on outside of that camp. Almost...
By this time, Quatre and I had gotten a little closer, perhaps closer than we would have under normal circumstances. This is just the way it worked out. He's one of those people that you meet and immediately make you feel comfortable, very easy to approach. We would talk at night before going to bed, talk and talk, about all kinds of stuff. Books, most of which I'd never read, but he'd give me the crux on the plot and I took mental notes. I'll have to read them all someday. We talked about life, and music, and nature, space and Earth, desert and jungle; we talked about people, like the Gundam pilot who'd sacrificed his life, Heero Yuy. He came up in our conversations more than once.
Quatre admired him greatly. And so did I. Only, I was a little mad at him. I couldn't believe he had sacrificed his life without blinking an eye! Maybe it was because staying alive throughout the years had been so hard for me, because just waking up the next morning in the cold streets of L2 had been a mission all on its own; maybe that's why I have such a deep appreciation and respect for life. It angered me to see his act of self-destruction, heroic act or not.
I think Quatre felt my frustration too. Only for him, it was more in the form of pain. He was saddened by the war and by death. He was saddened by Heero Yuy's death. Maybe it was the fact that the guy had been just like us, young and brave. A Gundam pilot. It was hitting close to home. Or maybe it was just the he was a human being, and that alone made Quatre sad. The loss of a life.
Guess it couldn't made me as sad, simply because I had been around death for as long as I could remember. It was not unusual for me. Four out of every five people I've met in my life are already rotting underground.
Life is short.
On our last night at the camp, I was sitting outside smoking. Good tobacco, courtesy of Abdul. I was enjoying myself, just chilling, enjoying my cigarette and listening to the sounds of the night. Suddenly, there was another sound mingling with the wind. It was music. I saw a low light coming from Quatre's room, so I put out my cigarette and decided to go see.
I went to his room and found the door wide open. Walked in without knocking, not wanting to interrupt. There was just a candle illuminating the room while he played his violin. Have I mentioned that Quatre's very talented? Well, he is. I leaned against the wall and watched him play for a few minutes before he became aware of my presence. He was like a vision under dim candlelight. The music floated throughout the camp in waves of sound, and his body rocked from side to side to the rhythm of his melody.
I felt strong emotions overtaking me. Shit, what do I know about music? But the melody had a very strong effect on me. I felt a tight knot in my throat, and my chest could have just burst with feeling. It was simply... beautiful.
Later he told me that what he had been playing was "La Primavera", by some guy Vivaldi. It turned out that 'Primavera' really means spring. Very fitting for Quatre. I made another mental note to find out more about this Vivaldi and his music, if I ever got the chance.
When he finally finished playing, he put his violin down on his bed and sat down, his head slightly bowed. I watched him for a moment and we remained in silence, only the soft, flickering sound of fire coming from the candle.
"That was very nice," I finally managed to say, a mere whisper. And you know what? I surprised myself with how quiet I was being. I'm usually a loud mouth, I have to admit. But at that moment, my voice was low and quiet, as though any foreign sound would disturb the peace that Quatre's melody had left in the air.
"Thank you," came his soft reply. He lifted his head and gifted me with a smile. It was the nicest smile I had seen on anyone in a long, long time. Maybe I just hadn't been paying attention to anyone's smile since Sister Helen's death.
"So how long have you been playing?" I moved away from the door and shut it closed behind me. This was my first time in his room; he had come to mine for the past two nights and stayed there with me till very late, just talking, and talking. I looked around and found a place to sit, a fluffy and comfortable recliner chair.
"The violin? I don't know... about nine years or so." He picked up the violin case and took out a little rag. He proceeded to clean his instrument, as if it had really gotten dirty while he was touching it. "I started with the piano," he offered.
"I knew about the piano. Just didn't know you played the violin too." I watched him clean the violin and then the bow with the most tender care. It almost reminded me of Sister Helen wiping little brats' noses when they had a cold.
"And the clarinet," he said simply, not a tinge of pretension in his voice. I don't think Quatre knows what being vain is all about. It probably doesn't even occur to him that he's rich, talented, and beautiful, that he has everything going for him. He put the violin away and folded his hands over his lap; then he looked up at me, another bright smile on his lips.
I don't know how to explain what happened next. It almost feels as if that whole night had been a dream. Maybe it was the mood, the low light, the remnants of the melody, or just that Quatre's smile had a magical effect on everything around him.
Hell, it was probably just my fucking hormones acting up. We all have our debilities and this was mine, sneaking up on me.
We kissed.
Somehow I was no longer in my chair, but sitting on this huge bed next to Quatre, and my lips were pressed to his, with my hand holding the back of his head. I kissed him gently, and a soft gasp came from his lips. He did not back away, so I kissed him harder.
There was something about the way his lips tightened at first contact, and instead of opening his mouth he seemed to be closing it, and then he seemed to catch on and he parted his lips at last. He tasted good; he tasted clean, and sweet, like nothing I had ever tasted before.
I felt his body trembling in my arms and we were both breathing hard by the time we pulled apart. He looked at me with his bright blue eyes and I swear, I had never seen a look so innocent on any face. He definitely wasn't one of the guys from L2. And I could bet money, if I had any, that this had been one of his first kisses, if not the first.
"Sorry, Quatre," I said, struggling to catch my breath.
"Oh...no," he replied quickly. "It's fine," he added, and immediately bowed his head. In the dim candlelight, I could still see the flush on his face, and I lifted my hand and ran my fingers over his cheek.
He was hot.
Like I was.
I did not say anymore. I simply pulled him close and kissed him again. And again. I brushed my lips over the soft skin of his cheeks and then moved to his neck. Oh, he was soft and tender. Nothing like the rough, age-hardened skin I had kissed in the past.
But let's not go there. I never ruin a good moment with less fortunate memories.
I moved my hands to his back and drew patterns all over him, tugging at his vest and sliding it off his shoulders. He was making little sounds, very low but extremely sexy.
I was on fire.
I almost felt guilty for the thoughts that crossed my mind at that moment. I felt like I was perverting an innocent soul. He wasn't like me, not by chance, not like any of the people I had touched before, not like any of the people who had touched me. But Hell, if there is one, I'll probably be burning there no matter what. Might as well just enjoy the ride.
I don't know if he even had time to think of what was happening, but very soon I had his clothes and mine piled up on the floor, next to the bed. When you're a thief, you learn to use your hands, and to use them quickly.
I ran my hands over smooth, velvety skin. He was soft everywhere, from his face, to his round bottom, to the tiny hairs on his thighs that almost felt like silk, the skin of a peach. Our kisses became more passionate, the touch more urgent, and then my hand found a part of his body that wasn't as soft as the rest.
He was hard. Very hard. As hard as I was while I rubbed myself against his stomach. I kissed his neck, nibbled on his earlobe, and he was writhing on the bed, pushing himself into my hand. God, it felt so good! Our rhythm became faster, and faster, and I knew what he wanted, what we both wanted.
I drew my hand away and slid down his body to take him inside my mouth. I sucked hard, and it didn't take much longer. He pushed his head back against the pillows and arched his back, crying out in pleasure.
Hearing him cry out like that did it for me as well. I reached down to release myself, digging my nails in his inner thigh, forcing myself not to bite him as I came, spilling myself all over his bed.
I pulled away very slowly and sat up on the bed with the little energy I had left. My heart was pounding inside my chest and I was sweaty all over, my bangs sticking to my forehead, my braid to my back.
Quatre was looking at me with a dazed expression, his mouth was open and he was panting, very softly. The guy is beautiful, and the after-glow made him even more appealing to the eye, with his face all sweaty, his eyes glazed, his lips flushed. I moved away from the wet spot on the bed and crawled up to lie down next to him, wrapping an arm over his chest.
"Duo," he whispered, and he turned to look at me. I'm not sure what he wanted to say, but I didn't let him talk. I drew a finger over to his lips and silenced him.
"Shhh... don't say anything pal. Just enjoy the moment."
We lay in silence for a while, very close to each other, just listening to the cracking wick of the candle. I rested my head on his chest and rubbed my cheek over his warm skin, and I could feel the palpitations of his heart, slowing down, little by little, until they were back to normal pace.
When you're young, and lying around naked with a fairly attractive person, it doesn't take too long to get aroused again. And here I was, lying naked with one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen. Pretty soon I was on top of him again, kissing, suckling, fondling.
We were very close. I could feel his warm breath on my face, his long eyelashes caressing my skin, like butterfly wings, like sunbeams. His musky scent and sweat were intoxicating, like fresh herb and spice, and everytime I darted my tongue out to taste and lick, I knew I wanted more. I knew I wanted more than just touching, more than just being with him. I wanted to go all the way, wanted to be inside of him.
But I did not dare just fuck him like that. And no, it's not because I was feeling regret or still feeling like a pervert for going this far with the kid, no. We'd already done plenty and I don't believe in partial-virginity crap. The thing was, I didn't have any lube and I didn't want to hurt him.
First time and without lube is not a good idea. Trust me, I know this from experience.
He was already pretty worked up. We were both trembling with desire, and if he had been passive on our first round, this time he was devouring me with kisses. He had his hands all over me.
Damn, he was a quick learner...and God, did it feel good.
I couldn't drag it any longer. I knew I was going to explode and I had to think quickly, or as quickly as I could with my passion-fogged mind. I slid down again and took his full length in my mouth, licking around the sides and just making sure he was really wet.
He was beginning to rock his hips upwards and I pressed my hand flat on his stomach. "Not this time, pal."
He looked at me with a puzzled expression and I couldn't help smiling.
"We're trying something else," I whispered.
I straddled him and circled my fingers around his cock, positioning the tip at my entrance. I relaxed my muscles as much as I could, anticipating the sweet torture I was about to experience, and then I pushed down. Hard.
I will never forget the look on his face at that moment. At first he was surprised, and then it was pure ecstasy. He made a little whimpering sound that was drowned by my loud groan as I felt him tearing my insides.
I had not been in this position in quite a while, so I was a little out of practice.
It hurt.
Oh yes. . .it hurt so good.
I rode him, pushing myself up and down on him; he thrust his hips to meet my rhythm, almost wildly. We were covered in sweat, skin on skin. Passion and desire leading to pleasure.
An only pleasure as we flew away, hand in hand, floating to another dimension.
We were exhausted. I collapsed on top of him and kissed him softly, wiping away the drop of sweat that came from his brow. He was breathing hard and when I finally rolled over on the bed and lay down next to him, he took a deep breath. And then he smiled.
"Duo," he whispered. By the way he was looking at me, with his big innocent eyes, I figured that he wanted to tell me something important.
"What is it, Q?" I turned on my side and brushed the hair away from his face.
"I really wanted to ask you something before..." he said quietly. He sat up on the bed and looked down at me.
"All right." I gave him a little nod. "Ask away!" I figured after we had gotten up close and personal, the least I could was allow for any questions he had about me.
"Can I play with your hair?"
That was it!? I almost laughed out loud. I couldn't help it. It just never occurred to me that this would be his question, his one and only request.
I let him unbraid my hair and play with it for as long as he pleased. I don't know how long it was, but it was a very long time; not that I minded. I was nearly purring as his long fingers brushed through my hair.
I don't know how much time passed before we drifted off to sleep.
Maybe we had known that this would be our last night of peace. I guess I was glad we took advantage of the little time we had because the next day, the camp was attacked. We were out in the battlefield again.
I will never forget that night or the time I spent with Quatre. I would say he was a good fuck, except I cannot bring myself to talk about him that way. But it was good.
Maybe there is a reason why I have never been able to think of spring nights in the same light again. He gave that night and all spring nights to come a new meaning. Maybe there's a reason why his hair is the color of the sun.
Spring always brings new life after the long winter. It brings hope.
Quatre kept his light throughout the war and helped us all keep our spirits high. We became a team thanks to his efforts.
And now I sit here, thinking of him, as I sip on a cup of cappuccino.
I haven't seen him since we beat Mr. Psychotic-Dekim Barton and the little girl called Mairemeia. I've heard he's doing well and have seen him a few times on the news. He's looking good. He always did.
Maybe one of these spring days, I'll actually get in touch with him.
- Fin -
1) The idea came about one night as Stephanie and I listened to Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' and commented on the fact that we could assign melodies to different GW characters.
Quatre=Spring Heero&Trowa=Winter Wufei&Treize=Summer and Fall for Duo. ^_~
Who knew that about one month later inspiration would strike? ^_~
2) Dedicated to three special people, whom I will call muses: Jaimie, who thought I should continue writing when she saw the first two paragraphs. Stephanie, my partner in crime, always the source of inspiration. Bon, who always offers support and encouragement.
DaMoyre
Please send comments to: DaMoyre@aol.com