Disclaimers: GW is not mine (unfortunately). The song "Killing me Softly" is by Lauryn Hill.
|| denotes lyrics
Oh, and, er, I couldn't remember exact details about the episode where Heero wakes up under Tro's care, so I took a few liberties... *sweatdrop* As always... la.... I don't remember how long Heero stayed w/ Tro, but I would assume it would be about a week or so in order to heal. And yeah, the song is about a singer and the fic's about an instrument, but oh well. -_-;; Deal w/ it… blah
Yosh', on with the yaoi madness XD


||Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song.||

"How's he doing?"
The solemn-faced boy paused, glancing back at the familiar voice.
Catherine shifted her pail to her left hand, cocking her right hand on her hip and smiling indulgently at her self-proclaimed charge. The noise of the animals and the other circus performers was a steady background that both of them were comfortable with, and the young lady didn't even blink when a tiger roared somewhere. "Didn't he wake up yesterday?"
Trowa inclined his head in silent affirmation before turning away and continuing on towards the trailer where he had been nursing his fellow pilot for the past few days.
"What are you doing now?" Catherine called after him.
Trowa lifted a bowl slightly over his shoulder in answer and didn't stop.
Catherine sighed, watching him go with a little frown. "Mou... I'd hoped after his friend made him laugh yesterday he would start to open up more." She strode towards the lions' pen, sulking a little. "He's never laughed for *me* before..."

Trowa pushed open the trailer door and entered the small room, nudging the metal door shut with his foot. Walking over to the counter to set down the steaming broth he had made, he glanced instinctively towards the bed his patient had been confined in since that night he had scooped his broken body up with Heavyarms and brought him to the circus. Several times since then Trowa found himself wondering why he had bothered to save the suicidal boy-- he had obviously been quite willing to give his life for the mission, and it really wasn't any of his business. In a way he envied Heero's conviction, and had said so when Heero had awoken the day before. Heero's honest if dry response had surprised him, and he had found himself laughing for the first time in... god only knew how long.
Heero was awake.
He watched silently, face set in its normal stern lines as Trowa calmly clicked on a small fan to help cool the broth and pulled the first aid kit from under the counter. The taller boy strode over to the bed and seated himself on the chair beside it, opening the kit with a little click.
Heero glanced away, towards the window at the clear blue sky outside, a faint frown playing on his bruised features. Trowa watched him out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the other boy longed to be up and about again. He said nothing, however, and set the kit by his feet, a thick square of gauze in his hand. He reached out, putting his other arm around Heero's shoulder to steady him as the soldier sat up carefully, grunting quietly in pain before leaning back against the wall. He watched silently for a moment as Trowa began to unwrap the bandages around his chest before returning his gaze to the window.
Trowa unwrapped the old bandages and tossed them in a nearby waste bin before carefully pulling the used gauze from the chest wound Heero had received in the explosion. The long scratch had stopped bleeding, and was starting to heal. Trowa took it as a good sign and reached for the basin of warm water he had set by the bed earlier, fishing out the sponge soaking there and squeezing out the excess water before dabbing carefully at the wound. Heero's muscles had tightened in reflexive pain as Trowa worked, but he said nothing, allowing the other boy to meticulously clean the wound and then work his way downwards, wiping down Heero's torso from his neck to the top of his spandex shorts and then his arms. He had given many such sponge baths to his patient since he had brought Heero under his care, though he allowed the other soldier the dignity of bathing his more intimate parts himself now that he was awake. He had just been washed the night before, however, so Trowa didn't bother to go into a thorough cleaning. After drying the other boy with a towel draped over the chair, he dipped the sponge again, squeezed it out, and reached out to run it down the other boy's tanned, scratched face.
Heero's eyes flicked towards Trowa at the touch, and the lean boy hesitated, wondering if he should have been so bold. He had only washed the other boy's face a couple of times when he'd been unconscious-it might seem a little too personal to the perfect soldier to have someone washing his face like a little child. He withdrew silently, turning to drop the sponge back into the basin, unfazed.
"Thanks," Heero said gruffly.
Trowa didn't even look at him as he busily and efficiently began to repack the supplies into the first aid kit. "Would you rather be dirty?" he asked calmly.
"I mean," Heero clarified, "for taking care of me."
The boy's voice was its normal blunt, emotionless tone, and when Trowa looked at him, his face was still immovable as a rock. The only sign of the fire that Trowa had seen burning in him in battle before were his eyes, set like twin burning pools of Prussian in a face that was a little too handsome to belong to a war-scarred teenager.
Trowa shrugged minutely, rising to his feet. "Aa."
"Who's the girl?"
"Catherine," Trowa reminded him as he walked to the counter and set the first aid kit back under the counter. He clicked off the small wall fan and carried the bowl of warm broth to his partner.
Heero was watching him with a hint of sour humor to his mouth. "You only say what you have to, don't you?"
Trowa sat down in the chair again, favoring the lithe boy with a dispassionate look. "Why should I talk when there's nothing to say?"
"That's Duo's job," Heero agreed dryly, and Trowa caught himself in danger of smiling just a little.
He handed the bowl and spoon over, and Heero accepted the food silently. He glanced sideways at Trowa as he ate, wondering why the boy was still sitting there, seemingly lost in thought, then decided it really didn't matter. When he finished, Trowa took his bowl and took it to the sink at the counter. He turned to face Heero, elbows propped on the counter behind him. His face was expressionless as ever, his single visible jade eye studying the other pilot thoughtfully.
Heero had returned his gaze to the window once more, and for several moments there was a comfortable, respectful silence between the two Gundam pilots.
Trowa glanced towards the window as well at the faint call. "Catherine," he said in explanation, pushing himself from the counter and striding over to the door. He paused to offer Heero a look. "Get some sleep."
Heero didn't respond, watching as the other boy exited, closing the door softly behind him. He scooted down carefully so that he was lying down again, gazing towards the window in helpless frustration, feeling very much like a pathetic, helpless child, unable to leave his bed.

||I heard he sang a good song, I heard he had a style,
And so I came to see him and listen for a while.
And there he was this young bwoy, stranger to my eyes,
Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song.||

"What's that?"
Trowa looked over his shoulder, a little surprised at the voice. He had thought his patient was asleep. "Hm?"
Heero was staring at him from where he lay on the bed, the soft light of the oil lamp flickering in his eyes.
Trowa was perched on a stool by the counter, fingers running absently- almost tenderly -along the length of his newest possession. "A flute," he said simply, tilting it slightly so that the lamplight revealed more of it to the other boy. "Quatre gave it to me when I stayed with him." His thoughts went back briefly to the duet he and the Arabian had shared.
"You play the flute?"
"I just keep it to look at," Trowa said with a straight face.
Heero's mouth twitched in surprise. Obviously he had never thought as Trowa as one who was capable of a joke, much less sarcasm. He allowed his mouth to quirk into a small smirk.
Trowa was studying the flute again silently. Heero was about to let sleep overcome him when the other's soft voice crept into the dark stillness of the room.
"It's a silly thing for a soldier to possess," Trowa admitted quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. "And a luxury. Demo…" Long, slender fingers traced the keys almost lovingly. "When Quatre played his violin, it was like a chance to escape and pretend we weren't in the middle of a war." He didn't look up, ragged bangs hiding his face in shadow. "You said to follow your emotions…"
"And you love to play," Heero finished for him, glancing from the instrument to the boy's shadowed face. "Will you play something?" He hadn't meant to ask the question, but it was out before he could stop and think. Expecting Trowa to decline, he
closed his mouth and fell silent.
Trowa had gone very still at the request, and for a long moment he seemed torn. Then he lifted his face to gaze calmly at the other soldier. "I have no reason to play," he said quietly.
Heero stared at him, frowning a little. "Play for me," he suggested. There went his mouth again, opening without his consent. It must be the medication Trowa was giving him. Making him say stupid things without thinking.
Trowa blinked. Then he gave a soft little sound, almost like an amused snort, before lifting the flute in his graceful hands and putting the mouthpiece to his lips.
He played softly, his melody for the perfect soldier alone, to keep from disturbing the other circus members in the camp. It was a short and heartbreakingly melancholy tune, the sweet notes holding Heero captivated as he lay and watched the taller boy play. Trowa's eyes had slid shut, his body tilted slightly as he played, as he seemed to become one with the flute. He was in another world, something close to an emotion shadowing his face as he played. His flute sang as quietly, as softly, as mournfully as he could make it, and it was the most beautiful music he had ever made.
When he finished his tune and lowered the instrument, there was an almost haunted look to his eyes as he turned them on Heero, though his face betrayed nothing. Heero stared back at him silently-it was not in his nature to admire or congratulate, but the other boy's simple, sad tune had touched something in him a little too keenly, and it made him uneasy. It was as if the song had been a picture of Trowa himself.
"Domo," Heero said at last.
Trowa rose to his feet, taking the flute apart carefully and saying nothing. He put the pieces back into their velvet-lined case, closed the lid, and after a moment of hesitation opened the cabinet door under the counter where the cleaning supplies were kept and tossed the flute in almost forcefully. He shut the door, seeming undisturbed at the muffled crash. He refused to look at Heero as he tugged his turtleneck over his head, removed the gun from his back pocket and the knife from his shoe and settled onto his cot. He rolled over so that his back was to Heero and said nothing.
Heero had watched Trowa's abrupt actions with a frown, but he knew the other boy didn't want to be questioned or talked to. Reaching out to pinch out the oil lamp, he shifted carefully, trying to avoid hurting his bruised, healing ribs, and waited for sleep to come.

||I felt all flushed with fever,
Embarrassed by the crowd,
I felt he found my letters and read each one out loud.
I prayed that he would finish,
But he just kept right on strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song||

"You should be able to walk around the camp in a day or two," Trowa informed Heero two days later as he sat washing the other boy's hair. Catherine had complained about the dirt and blood in it, and Heero had finally relented- more to quiet her than because of any feelings of self-consciousness he might harbor. Trowa had pulled the bed away from the wall and maneuvered Heero upwards so that his head was over the end. Trowa was sitting in his chair, the basin in his lap as he dribbled handfuls of warm water over Heero's scalp and hair, careful not to get the soapy water in his partner's eyes. He dipped his hands in the water once more and ran slender fingers through surprisingly thick hair to get out the blood clots and dirt.
Heero didn't wince as the tangles were tugged carefully free, gazing up at the ceiling as he mulled over Trowa's news. The sooner he could start walking around, the sooner he could return to duty. He couldn't lie to himself and tell himself he did not in any way enjoy his strange caretaker's quiet companionship or the brief respite from war, but he was itching to get back to the war nonetheless. It was simply something he had always done. It was all he knew.
As if reading Heero's mind, Trowa asked quietly, "What are you going to do after the war?"
Heero glanced upwards at the solemn face hovering over his own, the fingers running through his wet hair soothing. It had been a very long time since anyone had touched him in a gentle way. Relena had been the first to do so in years. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "What about you?" he demanded, knowing Trowa would not offer the information unless Heero asked him directly for it.
Trowa's shoulders moved in a small shrug. "I'll probably stay with Catherine and the circus," he said simply, and didn't expand on the subject.
Heero was used to Trowa's short, honest answers by now, and didn't press him. He closed his eyes, grudgingly allowing himself to enjoy the sensation of strong yet gentle fingers flexing against his skull, pulling through his wet locks.
Watching the other boy's eyes close in comfort, Trowa felt his mouth soften slightly. It was the first time he had seen the other boy look so peaceful- aside from when he had been unconscious. He leaned forward a little, to better study that tanned face, for once smooth of all harshness. His breath fell on Heero's cheek, and he pulled back belatedly. Heero's eyes were already opened, and though his expression didn't change, Trowa knew he had caught him leaning over him.
Neither of them said anything about it, and when Trowa had rinsed Heero's hair, he reached for a towel to dry it, suddenly desiring to get out and visit the lions. Heero was sitting up carefully, and he reached out unthinkingly, mind still on the wild cats as he covered the startled soldier's head with the towel and began rubbing vigorously.
"O-oi," Heero sputtered, trying to duck away.
Trowa paused, and Heero reached up to push the towel aside so he could see. His face was such a funny picture of injured dignity and annoyance that Trowa almost laughed. His lips curved a little, and he lowered the towel, handing it over. "Sumimasen."
Heero accepted the towel wordlessly, his hair fluffed from the rough drying, making him look like a ruffled, irritable cub, and Trowa got up quickly. He was afraid he was either going to stare or laugh, and either would annoy the other pilot even more.
He had half-turned away when a strong hand clasped his wrist suddenly.
He paused, looking down at the dark-haired pilot who was staring up at him with those enigmatic eyes, mouth a firm line. Their gazes locked, and after a moment Heero's eyes lowered to the limp, slender wrist in his grasp. He turned the taller boy's wrist, exposing his palm, the fingers curling slightly in their loose position.
Trowa offered a small, dry smile. "They're calloused just as yours are, Heero," he murmured. "Did my music the other night make you think I was soft?" He drew his hand away, and Heero let him go. "I'm a soldier, as well."
Heero gazed up at him piercingly. "I know," he said.
Trowa tilted his head slightly in silent inquiry.
"Your hands are suited for the flute," Heero pointed out. "You shouldn't give up your talent because of your occupation."
Heero's words from days ago danced on the edge of Trowa's memory. 'Follow your emotions'. Trowa lifted his hand, staring at it dispassionately. The long, nimble fingers were well suited to the instrument he had chosen. Yet those same fingers were just as suited to directing Heavyarms' controls and aiming a gun with unwavering accuracy.
He followed his emotions when he played his flute- but if that was what Heero was trying to tell him, he was wasting his time, and Trowa said as much.
Heero's mouth cracked in a humorless grin, one that did not reach his calculating eyes. "Is this a conversation?" he demanded wryly.
Trowa arched a brow. "Was this a trap?" he shot back quietly.
"To get you to talk?" Heero shrugged noncommittally, scooting to sit at the edge of the bed with only a slight wince. "Maybe."
Trowa was far more interested in the brooding Wing pilot than the wildcats he frequently tended to, and turned to face the other boy fully. "What do you care if I talk?" he asked softly.
Heero leaned his elbows on his knees, looking up at Trowa through dark, ragged bangs- hair still a little damp and ruffled -and said nothing. Unthinkingly Trowa reached out, brushing the dark locks from Heero's face to better see those striking eyes that seemed to pin him to the spot every time they turned their full force on him. His fingers tangled in the thick hair and lingered as their eyes met and held once more.
"Why did you bring me here?"
Heero's question brought Trowa back to awareness, and he gracefully drew back his hand, shrugging a little as he looked down upon Wing's pilot. Heero turned his head up and to the left a little to see him better, and the fetching pose gave Trowa a moment's pause before he answered. "It seemed a waste to let you die. The earth still needs you. Relena still needs you."
Heero's eyes sharpened, and he lifted his head fully to gaze sternly at the other boy. "Relena needs my skills as a soldier," he said a little crisply.
Trowa raised his eyebrows calmly. "I didn't mean anything other than that."
Heero grunted, looking away. "Duo," he said, "seems to think differently."
"You said Duo was an idiot."
"He is."
"Then what does his opinion matter?" Trowa glanced towards the window at the colorful tents outside. "No one's opinion matters to you, it seems."
Heero looked at him out of the corner of his eye. "You saved my life," he said simply. "I would think your opinion of me holds more weight than the others'."
Trowa turned back to him at the unexpected comment, frowning slightly. "I have no opinion," he said quietly and firmly, as if daring Heero to argue with him.
"Don't you? You already told me what you think of me, though," Heero pointed out.
Ah. When he had brought up how he envied Heero's dedication to the mission. "Aa," he edged. "Though it was a stupid thing to do, in hindsight."
Heero chuckled mirthlessly. "Hindsight doesn't keep anyone from being a fool."
"Aa," Trowa said agreeably, and Heero glared in mock anger.
Trowa felt a smile threatening again, but years of control prevented it from fully touching his lips.
"Why do you do that?" Heero demanded abruptly.
Trowa stared, uncomprehending.
"You always seem to stop yourself when you're about to smile," Heero accused, "or show any emotion at all."
"You're not exactly a ray of sunshine yourself," Trowa said dryly, pricked a little at the comment for some reason.
"I don't smile because I don't feel like smiling," Heero said bluntly. "You repress it. There's a difference. Why do you want everyone to see you with an emotionless mask all the time?"
"A mask?" Trowa heard the faint coolness to his own tone. "Are you implying *your* sternness is just that-a mask?"
Heero's eyes flickered with challenge. "I show what I'm feeling," he said shortly.
"Then you don't feel very much, do you?"
Heero stared at him, eyes dark and dangerous as he caught the steel behind the light tone. They stared hard at each other, narrowed Prussian eyes clashing with jaded ones.
"You said to follow your emotions," Trowa reminded him, "which means- if you follow your own advice -you refuse to acknowledge any emotions you have. Or you don't have any." He hesitated deliberately. "Aside from anger, that is."
Heero's eyes sparked with that familiar light of battle, and Trowa was fascinated despite himself. "I have no reason to feel happy, if that's what you're trying to say."
"And Duo does?" Trowa demanded quietly. "Duo is always grinning and cracking jokes and talking when no one wants to hear him. But he's a soldier and a Gundam pilot, and something he won't talk about tears him apart. Maybe something from his past. But he and Quatre still let themselves smile and live." Trowa stopped suddenly, realizing belatedly the trap he had dug himself in his irrational irritation.
But Heero was already speaking sharply, throwing Trowa's own words back in his face. "You have no room to talk, then. You have no excuse. You even have Catherine to help make you smile."
Trowa drew in a breath. "I am who I am," he said in a low voice.
"So am I," Heero said just as quietly, his voice a growl.
There was a long, tense moment as they stared each other down, locked in a battle of wills, and a part of Heero was a little surprised- and impressed -by the stubbornness of the stoic acrobat. The mysterious soldier had a hidden iron will that he had never seen outside the battlefield. He reached out suddenly, seizing a fistful of Trowa's turtleneck, and jerked him down to face level.
He crushed his mouth bruisingly to the other boy's lips, feeling him stiffen in shock at the unexpected move. Pushing him away roughly, he glared at Trowa as the taller boy stumbled back a step, his usual grace disturbed by his own surprise as he stared down at his patient blankly.
"That's emotion," Heero growled.
Trowa stared at him wordlessly, eyes a little wider than normal. Then he fled, turning sharply and striding from the trailer, shutting the door loudly behind him.
This time, Heero let him go.
Outside, Trowa reached up to place slender fingers to his mouth, gazing numbly at nothing.

||Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
killing me softly with his song,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song.||

The next day Trowa was acting as if nothing had happened.
He brought Heero his breakfast with his accustomed calmness and spoke little. After he had checked the other boy's injuries, he declared that he was ready at last to walk around the camp and stretch his legs, as long as he did not exert himself.
Heero stepped a little unsteadily into the mid-morning sunlight, grateful for the light breeze and heady with the relief to be out of the cramped trailer. Trowa left him to explore by himself, and left on some errand by the tents as Heero began his slow walk around the camp, muscles sore from immobility. His wounds still ached a little, but he ignored them, looking around silently at the bustling circus performers as he walked, his firm mouth and stern eyes discouraging conversation. Some of them looked up as he passed, or called good morning, but he ignored them, eyes skimming over the colorful banners and tents, the strange costumes and the caged animals. He heard a roar from the other side of the camp and wandered towards it, walking more slowly as his freshly-healed ribs began to protest all the movement.
He approached a large cage behind a tent that was holding an enormous adult lion, his thick mane and sleek fur shining cleanly in the sun as he paced, muscles moving like liquid under the skin, his intelligent eyes fixed on the boy crouching by the cage bars. It was Trowa. The lithe boy was getting the big cat's food ready, totally unafraid of the terrifying animal. The lion itself on a closer look seemed more eager to get to the boy than the food, and Heero felt a sudden sharp pang of fear as Trowa rose calmly and opened the cage door. He stumbled forward, a cry of warning already on his lips, but Trowa had already entered the cage, pulling the heavy door shut behind him.
The lion darted forward-
and bumped his big head affectionately under Trowa's elbow, his great weight almost causing the boy to drop the dish he was carrying. Hastily moving the food to his left hand, Trowa lowered his right hand to bury his long fingers in the thick mane, the ghost of a smile on his face. The big cat's rumbling purr could be heard even from where Heero stood as the lion trustingly nuzzled Trowa's side, careful not to thrust his full strength and weight against the tall boy and knock him over. Trowa stroked the cat's short bristly fur along its muzzle before setting down the food and going down into a crouch. He leaned against the cage doors almost wearily, watching with an expressionless face as the lion made short work of the meat it had been given.
Heero watched this all with muffled amazement and admiration for Trowa's complete lack of fear. He watched as the lion finished off its meal and then turned to regard his caretaker with large fierce eyes. Trowa ignored him, tilting his head back to gaze upwards as if lost in thought. The lion grumbled low in its cavernous chest, bumping its head against Trowa's shoulder, and the boy reached up almost absently to pet him before seeming to give into impulse and leaned forward to bury his face in the thick ruff, arm winding around the great neck like a child seeking comfort. The lion growled quietly again, the sound almost a comforting one as he stood and allowed someone he could snap in half with one swipe to cling to him desperately for several moments.
Then the lion glanced up and noticed Heero. His rumbling purr changed to a frightening snarl in an instant, eyes narrowed with dangerous malice, tail lashing threateningly. Heero walked slowly towards the cage, glancing once at the door to reassure himself that it was closed. Trowa looked up quickly at the lion's growl, instantly on the alert. The big cats knew the people of the circus and would usually only get so aggressive when confronted with strangers. He looked at Heero over his shoulders mutely, the arm around the lion's neck now seeming to hold him back more than seek comfort.
"He trusts you," Heero said, surprising himself by speaking.
Trowa looked at him silently for a moment before turning his face away. "Aa," he said quietly. "Animals understand people in ways that other people do not."
Heero winced slightly as his leg- still healing from when he had broken it in Wing's destruction -began to protest all his movement. Ignoring it, he walked closer, keeping a wary eye on the still softly-growling lion. Its growl turned into a warning snarl the closer Heero got, and the perfect soldier stopped several feet from the cage. It was as if the beast didn't want Heero to get any closer to Trowa, and noting the stiffness to the other boy's shoulders, Heero suddenly wondered if the big cat could sense how his presence bothered Trowa. The thought that Trowa did not want him around caused a momentary flicker of something like anger and regret. Perhaps he had gone too far last night.
"I'm going," he said abruptly. Trowa went very still, but didn't look back at him. "I'm going to find Wing," Heero continued in a flat voice. "I'll see you on the battlefield." He turned and walked away. Behind him, Trowa turned to watch him go, looking as if he'd like to say something but not quite trusting himself to do so.
Heero's steps were angry as he stalked back towards the trailer to retrieve his gun, his complaining wounds ignored. His leg got more and more sore as he walked, but he didn't notice it, thoughts dark and in turmoil.
By the time he realized he was pushing himself too much, it was too late. His leg flared in fierce protest, and he stumbled, reaching out to grab a tent pole for support. He stood on his shaking legs for a long moment to will away the throbbing pain before stubbornly releasing the pole and taking a few more painful steps.
Arms wrapping suddenly around his chest from behind caught him as he stumbled again, and he stiffened in surprise, twisting his head to stare into haunted jade eyes and an expressionless, handsome face.
"You're not completely healed," Trowa pointed out quietly. "You can't leave yet."
Heero glared back at him fiercely. "Watch me."
"Iie," Trowa said, voice still maddeningly calm.
Heero started to pull away, expecting Trowa to release him, but he got another shock when the arms only tightened around his chest, preventing him from leaving. Heero drew in a quick breath as Trowa leaned his forehead against the back of Heero's head, his grip almost as desperate as when he had clung to the lion. His slender hands were shaking minutely, and Heero froze, gazing straight ahead as confused thoughts whirled in his mind. Dimly he realized his heart was pounding, and wondered at it. He couldn't remember the last time his heart had drummed for a reason other than the adrenaline of battle, and it almost scared him.
They stood like that for what seemed like ages, caught up in the somewhat clumsy embrace as time seemed to slow.
After a long moment Trowa seemed to realize belatedly what he was doing and pulled himself together quickly, sliding his arms free and stepping up beside the perfect soldier. He draped one of Heero's arms around his neck, and Heero followed silently and slowly as the slightly taller boy led him carefully back towards the trailer.

There was something there between them that the two boys neither understood nor fought any longer. Trowa continued to nurse Heero back to health, and walked beside him silently the times that his patient wandered around the camp to strengthen his legs.
Something tense and inviting hummed vibrantly between the two of them that confused and enticed Heero at the same time. It was as if they both had the same secret but refused to speak it out loud- as if at a word the shimmering thread-like bond between them would evaporate. The tension between them sometimes was almost painful-but in a sweetly agonizing way. The urge to touch, to stare, lay on the two boys oppressively, but gamely they fought back the strange stirrings within them that frightened them both just a little. All of Heero's instincts and desires begged for him to grasp that slender wrist in his own strong grip, to reclaim that faint taste of Trowa he had stolen once before.
Trowa's fingers hesitated often near Heero's brow in the near-act of brushing back those dark, ragged locks, as if he was catching himself doing something taboo. Jade eyes strayed time and time again towards the figure on the bed when the other wasn't looking, and Prussian blue studied the acrobat's slender form whenever the solemn clown was conveniently looking the other way.
They could sense it building up between them and inside of them, something bursting to get free, and waited tensely for the climax to the whole intricate dance they knew was coming, wondering apprehensively what would become of it and what it would do to the strange, wavering bond between them.

||Strumming my pain with his fingers,
Singing my life with his words,
killing me softly with his song,
Killing me softly with his song,
Telling my whole life with his words,
Killing me softly with his song.||

Heero couldn't sleep.
He lay on his bed, staring restlessly up at the ceiling and listening to the crickets and the sounds of the animals stirring in their sleep outside. He glanced across the room at where Trowa was lying on his cot, and was a little surprised to see jade eyes caught in faint light of a lantern outside.
Trowa was not asleep, either.
They stared at each other across the small room for a long moment, unable to tear their eyes away, and something in Heero clicked. He knew suddenly that he had stared one second too long-that he could not pretend even in the farthest reaches of his mind that the strange stirrings in him were no more than innocent curiosity and friendship. And Trowa, who had not broken his gaze either, was realizing the exact same thing.
The Heavyarms pilot stirred, sitting up, the quilt Catherine had given him sliding off bare shoulders to pool in his lap. He rose to his feet, and Heero watched him approach on silent feet with his heart pounding in his ears. The lantern light from outside played strange enticing shadows across the boy's lean form, and Heero's breath hitched a little in the anticipation of one who has been waiting for something for weeks.
Trowa slid onto Heero's bed gracefully, lifting one long leg to settle it against Heero's right side, the other dangling over the edge of the bed to touch the ground so that he was straddling the other pilot. He did it calmly and without hesitation, as if it was something he had known was going to happen all along.
Heero reached up, strong fingers tightening across the back of Trowa's neck, and the other soldier didn't resist as his head was pulled down, his bare torso brushing against Heero's bandaged one.
This time Trowa's mouth opened unquestioningly for Heero's as they met, his lips soft and yielding as the two kissed deeply. Heero thrust his tongue into the sweet warmth of Trowa's mouth, almost groaning at the taste of him. His entire body was tensed, almost quivering, as it longed to do what it had been craving to do for days upon days.
Trowa kissed him back unhesitatingly, slender fingers skimming over the parts of Heero's torso that weren't bandaged, turning the perfect soldier's skin to molten lava. The kiss grew desperate, almost fierce, and Trowa rocked forward, their hips grating together and sending a sudden, sharp flare of desire through the both of them.
He moved against the other boy until Heero thought he was going to go mad, a gasp drawn from the dark-eyed boy as slender hips rocked against narrow ones, grinding the evidence of their want together over and over again until Heero's head snapped back and he thrust his own hips up in an instinctive search for more contact, the edge of completion hovering just out of reach.
Trowa halted immediately, and Heero drew in a sharp breath at the other boy's sudden unresponsiveness, darkened eyes opening quickly to stare accusingly at the faint smirk on the taller boy's face, his body screaming in frustration.
Trowa leaned forward to capture his mouth again, and Heero pushed his hands between them, deft fingers catching the button to the other boy's pants and wrenching it open, the zipper jerked down in one quick movement. Trowa kissed him deeply for another moment before pulling back slightly to rid himself of his clothing, tossing them almost carelessly off the side of the bed before returning the favor, drawing spandex shorts down strong legs and depositing them onto the floor.
They hesitated for a moment, staring at each other as if waiting for the other's reaction, bared before each other fully for the first time.
Heero's hands skimmed over velvety flesh, down Trowa's sloped shoulders, across his strong chest, and panning out over his trembling abdomen before shying away to grip slender hips in a possessive hold. Their kiss this time was lazy, a thorough exploration of each other's mouths. Heero's hands slid up to run along the slender back above him, while nimble digits accustomed to drawing beautiful music from a flute played down Heero's tanned sides in a questing, undeniably hungry touch.
Then one of Heero's fingers began probing lower, seeking instinctively for the entrance he knew was there. Trowa pulled away breathlessly, reaching out to snag the tube of lotion on the bedside table that Catherine had thoughtlessly left there. Heero took it from him wordlessly, their eye locked in a heated gaze as a moment later a slick finger slid inside of Trowa, stretching and searching. A second finger followed the first, and Trowa's eyes fell shut helplessly as he drew in a shuddering breath, rocking against the deep touch almost pleadingly. He sat up more fully, hands resting on the perfect soldier's strong shoulders as he lowered himself onto the other boy, face tightening in pain as he was penetrated, his body shaking badly at the warring lust and pain.
When Heero's hands gripped his hips and he gave a questing thrust upwards, Trowa's head fell back helplessly, his fingers tightening on the other boy's shoulders.
Heero couldn't speak, could hardly breathe as he became immersed in the tight heat of Trowa's body, his hips driving upwards in a pace that quickly became hard and fast, Trowa's sharp gasps driving him to a frenzied emotion that he desperately held in check, afraid he would hurt the other boy. Trowa rocked back to meet each thrust, eyes screwed shut, face for once broken of its mask as pain and ecstasy mingled on his shadowed face. He gave a sharp cry, his grip on Heero's shoulder's painfully tight, and Heero's head fell back into the pillow more heavily as wave after wave of pleasure wracked them both. He reached out blindly with one hand to grip Trowa's own member in his calloused hand, pulling at it in time to his thrusts until Trowa's body arched like a bow and went impossibly rigid, a strangled cry ripping itself free from his throat as he climaxed.
Heero heard a deep groan reverberate through his own chest as something inside of him exploded in blinding pleasure at his own release.
Then Trowa was slumping heavily on him, his face turned in against Heero's chest, his harsh breaths sounding loud in the room, mingling with the perfect soldier's own pants.
Running his hands up Trowa's quivering, sweat-slicked back, he tangled his fingers in auburn locks to bring up the other boy's flushed face for a quick kiss before they lay staring at each other, waiting for their racing hearts and quick breaths to return to normal as a languid feeling spread through their bodies.
"Arigato," Heero murmured, lowering the other boy's head to bump their foreheads lightly together. He closed his eyes, exhaustion settling over him to accompany the deep satisfaction he was feeling. "Arigato," he breathed.

Heero awoke the next morning to the quiet, lulling song of Trowa's flute.
He stirred, feeling deliciously sated as he opened his eyes slowly and blinked in the morning sunlight that crept in through the window. He lifted his head slightly, fingers curling on the quilt Trowa must have draped over him when he had fallen asleep.
Trowa was seated on the stool by the counter, fully dressed and unruffled as always. His eyes were closed as he was swept away by his own melody, slender fingers coaxing his flute to sing sweetly. This tune was nothing like the one he had played before, however. It was light and pretty, and something about it seemed to speak of a new discovery, a new happiness.
And when Trowa lowered the flute and opened his eyes to look back at Heero, his lips curved in a soft smile that reached his eyes.

Author's notes: yes, the lemon was kind of short and choppy, but I was going for the vague effect. I like vague lemon scenes. ^_^ They give the reader's imagination more free reign and the ability to create their own pictures in their minds of the scene. Mwahaha
Hope you enjoyed- I luv 1x3x1, and this fic was fun to write.

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