Title: Alone Together
Disclaimers - I don't own Gundam Wing. If you do, then be happy and well in the knowledge that you make more money in a week than I have in my entire working life, and that you have much better, bigger and more important things to do with your time than hassle me.
Author - windsor blue ( windsorblue17 @ yahoo.com )
Pairing - Quatre Winner and Trowa Barton
Genre - waff, sappish
Warnings - swearing
Rating - MA for a bit of language
Summary - written for the International Day of Slash.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning - "Sonnet 12 - Indeed this Very love which is my boast"
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne, -
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone (ln 11-14).
One touch from you - one touch was all it took.
"Oh, you're here too!"
"I'm working alone."
"So am I. But wouldn't it be better if we worked alone together?"
You touched my arm then, as you told me that you had a place to stay that you were willing to share with me, and I turned - to tell you not to touch me, to tell you to leave me alone, but before I could get the words out you smiled, and I was lost.
One touch to break me, and one smile to save me. How did you manage to do all that in a minute's time?
The years have passed, and we've grown up and grown older. Not old yet, but getting there...getting closer to it than I ever thought I would, at any rate. Through two wars, your smile saved me every time I saw you. Your smile washed the blood from my hands and the guilt from my soul, wiped me clean and new when I was sure I was damned.
I lay here watching you sleep. Watching your rise-and-fall breaths and your REM-stage eyes fluttering beneath closed lids. Your lips part and you let out a sound - soft and breaking. Your dreams tonight aren't of being in my arms. They're of darker times, of your soul's guilt and your bloodied hands. Even like this, you're beautiful enough to bring me to my knees, to kill me with a sound. Your broken sound is what kills me, every time I hear it.
I want to steal it from you. I want to be strong enough to keep you from making it again.
I lean over, down, and kiss your eyelids as gently as I can. The skin there is feather-soft, quivers and stills under my lips. Your eyes quiet - your nightmares are leaving you. I'm chasing them away.
I dip to run my lips, light-touching, over your cheeks, your nose, your jaw. In your ear I whisper, "It's alright, Quatre - I'm right here. Always, I'm right here."
You saved me with your smile, so long ago now. I'll keep you safe with my kisses; use my mouth to save you from yourself. It's only fair, isn't it love?
Quiet, soft, you stir - I know your eyes open when I feel your lashes brushing my skin. And then your arms slide around me and you smile beneath my lips.
"Hey," you murmur, sleep thick and rusty in your voice.
I rest my forehead against yours. "You were having a bad dream."
"Mm." You smile again, the fuck-me smile, smile as you push me onto my back and roll on top of me. "Not having one now, am I?"
How could I do anything but smile back? "Don't seem to be, no..."
And now you're the one kissing me, and all over again I'm saved.