The sweet, tremulous notes of a flute floated on the warm evening air, almost like the voice of mother nature herself. Like a serenade to the moon and the trees, the quiet melody wound its way through the orchard in the back of Quatre's large estate and reached the ears of the perfect soldier as he headed towards the garage to find a hammer. He paused without any conscious thought, staring off into nothing and letting the song seep into him, face expressionless.
Few things were beautiful in this world. Music was one of them.
Before he knew what he was doing, he'd turned his feet towards the quaint stone path and was following the enchanting notes, footsteps silent.
He paused beneath a tree, half hidden by the dark shadows as he watched the boy seated on the stone bench facing the moon, softly playing his night lullaby, lithe body relaxed, eyes closed as he spoke to the instrument held to thin lips with graceful hands.
Heero remained motionless until the very last wavering note had disappeared on the breeze, then shifted slightly, alerting the other pilot to his precense. Trowa glanced slightly over his shoulder, his one visible eye calm as he lowered the flute to his lap. "Heero."
"You like to play." The perfect soldier found himself starting a conversation without meaning to, stepping out into the moonlight, face dispassionate.
Trowa looked away, facing the stars once more. "Aa."
"Why do you do it? It's meaningless in this war."
"Like Duo's hair and Quatre's violin, right?" Trowa inquired quietly.
Heero nodded firmly, and Trowa rose smoothly, holding the flute by his side as he faced Heero, his face as composed as always. "Life isn't war."
Heero frowned slightly. "Nn?"
"There are more things to life than just the war," Trowa clarified. "We all need something that makes us whole. Quatre and I have our music. Duo has his hair." He arched one thin eyebrow. "What do you have, Heero?"
The soldier stared in stony silence, and after a long moment Trowa walked past him without a word, heading back to the house.
Heero turned his eyes upward, gazing at the stars above.
"Life *is* war," he said with quiet heat.
Behind him, Trowa's reply was calm. "Then what happens to you when the war is over, Heero?"
He didn't answer, and Trowa disappeared down the path without looking back.


Heero stayed silent as he listened to Relena talk, hidden in the shadows of the balcony above the floor of the mansion she had come to speak at. He had wanted to take this mission for himself: a simple assassination. Dr. J, however, insisted he have backup. Since Quatre hated assassinations, Duo was too noisy, and Wufei hadn't been around, he'd chosen Trowa. He was silent and competent.
The clown in question stepped up beside him, gazing down at the crowd, placing his hand on the banister. Heero had already spotted the target. Now all he had to do was wait until the man stepped away from the crowd. Better safe than sorry. As Relena droned on and on he found himself inspecting the pale hand near his own on the railing. Slender but strong, like the rest of the Heavyarms pilot's body.
His body acted without consent, his own tanned, calloused fingers reaching out to trace the back of Trowa's hand almost curiously. It surprised him, but if it surprised Trowa, the only indication he gave was a quick emotionless glance, and then he went back to his survey of the guests.
Heero drew his hand away. It had been...interesting touching another person. He avoided any contact with other human beings that wasn't necessary. So far only Duo had been strange enough to touch him in friendly manners, and that was barely tolerated by the perfect soldier.
"The target's moved," Trowa said in an inflectionless voice.
Heero reached for the gun in his belt, already striding towards the stairs, Trowa at his heels. "Let's go."

It wasn't until they had slain him quickly in the garden and were on their way to the motorbike out back that Trowa spoke up. "You don't touch people very often, do you?"
Heero looked straight ahead. "No," he said honestly in a monotone. "There's no need to."
Heero whipped the camoflauge tarp off the bike, placing the helmet firmly over his head as Trowa did likewise. Swinging a leg over the seat, he revved the engine quickly, and Trowa slid on behind him, one hand clasping the seat, the other latched firmly onto Heero's shoulder in front of him.
"Neither do you," Heero observed, quickly cutting through the grass and roaring down the dirt road towards the woods. He recalled the times he had ridden with Duo on a mission and how the enthusiastic Shinigami had whooped and wrapped his arms around Heero's waist to keep his balance, totally unperterbed at the notion of touching a teammate so intimately. Or at least it was intimate to Heero. He had almost crashed the bike the first time, he'd gotten such a shock.
No one touched the perfect soldier.
Neither of the two pilots said anything on the ride back towards the safehouse, since communication was nearly impossible unless you liked to shout against the wind like a certain braided baka.
Finally they arrived. "Oii!" Duo appeared, sticking his head from a second story window and grinning cheekily down at them. "Hurry up! Quatre actually tried his hand at cooking, and you'd better get in here and taste it or his feelings will be hurt!" Then he popped his head back inside.
Heero was pulling his helmet off when a cool, smooth hand reached out, brushing against his side. His head free of the helmet, Heero turned his cobalt eyes towards Trowa's calm face. The touch..for some reason, it didn't bother him. Merely a feathery feeling that sent a tingle through his side. Trowa said nothing, placing his own helmet on the back of the bike and facing the silent soldier.
"War isn't everything," he said quietly before walking inside, leaving Heero by himself to think on that for awhile.


Their first kiss was not at all planned.
But it was perfect.

They crouched together under Heavyarms, brooding over the blueprints, trying to detect what it was that was slowing the gundam's right arm down. Their conversation was about Heavyarms, mechanics, and occasionally the war.
Then Heero's eyes slid sideways and stayed locked on the auburn haid bent near his own, steady jade eyes fixed on the blueprints as they kneeled beside each other, handsome face smudged just slightly with oil.
Trowa felt his eyes on him and turned to face him calmly, one eyebrow arching.
Heero was about to turn away, but once more his body reacted prior to his mind, and he swayed forward just the slightest, touching his lips to the other pilot's, half expecting him to pull away.
Instead, warm lips opened for him, moving calmly but gently with his, showing him what to do.
When Heero didn't seem interested in pulling away after the first moment, the tip of Trowa's tongue touched his lips cautiously.
Heero was no slow learner. He opened his mouth, sliding his tongue past Trowa's.
The green-eyed pilot was dark sweetness, with just the faintest hint of meloncholy. He was experienced somewhat, by the way he was responding, and Heero had only a moment to wonder how Trowa could have learned this enticing talent when the slender hand he had so admired reached up, fingers sliding into his hair and cupping his skull, drawing him closer.
It was like nothing he had ever experienced in his life, this slow exploration of each other's mouths. Drunken pleasure that started in his lips and after a moment went straight to...
He pulled away with quickly muffled disappointment.
He had been warned by Dr. J to never let that strange excited feeling in his crotch gain control of him.
Of course the 'good doctor' probably hadn't expected this to happen with another *boy*..but that had nothing to do with it.
"It's a complication to you as a soldier," he'd been sternly lectured. "Kissing is foolish for the perfect soldier to do in the first place. But whatever stirs that feeling in you.. You need to crush it. Immediately. Work out. Tinker with your gundam. Kill someone. But don't let that feeling take control of you. If it won't go away, take care of it yourself. But lust can lead to complications if it allows you to feel for the other person. It is a weakness you must not lose to, Yuy."
Pushing the feelings aside the few times it had happened in the past by doing warm-ups had never been a problem before, but as Heero gazed at Trowa-- his pale face flushed just the slightest, his breathing a little quicker --he wondered suddenly if he would be resorted to using his hand as Dr. J had suggested.
The strange drowsy look in Trowa's eyes seemed to fade as he looked as if he understood what Heero was thinking. "Your training," he said simply.
Heero nodded. Once.
That was all it took. Trowa nodded in understanding and rose. "It would probably not be wise to continue.." he gestured towards the blueprints and the tools lying on the ground.
Heero nodded again silently, eyes glued to a screwdriver near his hand, trying to look absorbed in the study of Heavyarms.
Trowa inclined his head slightly and left on silent feet without a backward glance, unruffled as always.
Heero clenched his fists at the sudden urge to wipe the calm look off Trowa's ever-impassive face, to see those pale cheeks flush with color once more, to *make* him lose the composure he was so proud of.
This wasn't working.
He scowled as the feeling in his pants grew suddenly more acute. Rising to his feet, he strode out of the room to find a bathroom.


~Three days later~

The soft sounds of a flute reached Heero as he was striding through the house in search of his laptop. He stopped outside the door to the den, looking in despite himself at the slender pilot seated on the couch in the familiar position: eyes closed, head tilted, graceful fingers holding up the instrument.
Something in the notes seemed to strike an almost lonely, rueful tune that made Heero's pause turn into a longer stay as he stood in the doorway listening and watching silently, the other pilot unaware of his precense.
Dr. J had told him never to let his body do something he didn't want it to do.
But he *wanted* it to do this.
Ah, a loophole.
Besides, he thought as he strode stealthily into the room behind Trowa, hadn't Odin told him time and time again to follow his feelings?
Trowa was lowering the flute, his soft song ended, when his instincts went suddenly on the alert. He leapt to his feet, whirling around to face whoever was sneaking up on him.
The sudden movement triggered Heero's own soldier instincts and he leapt forward, seizing Trowa's wrists and using his momentum to slam the other boy against the wall, his mind screaming at him halfway through the fluid movement.
Realization of what he was doing hit him, and he quickly changed tactics.
Instead of pinning him more efficiently, the moment Trowa's back hit the wall he captured the other's lips with a fierceness that surprised himself.
With a tiny noise of surprise, Trowa ceased his struggle, his mouth opening immediately, almost- eagerly? -, his tongue reaching out to spar with the other pilot's, his body relaxing marginally against the wall, allowing Heero to hold him there; relaxing even more when Heero moved closer, their bodies mere inches apart as they tasted each other.
Lust pounded undeniably in Heero's veins at this rushed, passionate act, and he realized belatedly that even if he stopped now, he would be forced to revert to releasing himself with his hand instead of the long cold shower that had worked last time. And the memory of this would only play in his head over and over, taunting him until he did it again. And what if next time Trowa reacted more violently?
It was Trowa who finally tore away, practically gasping for breath, face flushed once more with passion, his normally impassive green eyes darkening and flickering with emotion and desire. Heero felt a triumphant shock go through his body at the sight of the untouchable clown so obviously affected. He ignored his own hard breathing, more intent on tasting and touching every part of the slender body he could touch, hands roaming down the clothed torso and flexing experimentally on narrow hips, mouth latching onto Trowa's throat.
The other pilot squeezed his eyes shut, battling frantically to regain his calm composture and losing miserably, unable to control his harsh breaths and the way his body was reacting, writing slightly under Heero's administrations.
He wanted..
He needed....
Pushing Heero away, he caught the other pilot offguard, pausing only momentarily to gloat privately over the lust-filled cobalt eyes before dropping gracefully to his knees and pulling the spandex shorts down before Heero could protest, giving the ghost of a smile before leaning forward to take the other soldier in his mouth.
Heero gave a strange keen, quickly biting his own arm to halt the noise, his breath hitching in his throat, his eyes twisted shut as he trembled all over, the pleasure from the skilled mouth shooting fireworks off in his body, his free hand burying itself in Trowa's silky hair as his hips bucked of their own accord, Trowa's tongue blowing him completely out of his mind, and finally driving him over the edge with a shuddering, explosive release that tore a deep if muffled groan from his throat.
He sagged against Trowa when the other pilot rose, lithe arms reaching up and wrapping around him to support his weight, lips that were not quite a smirk brushing against his ear.
Faintly Heero heard Duo's chattering coming down the stairs in the other room. Shifting the perfect soldier's weight, Trowa calmly pulled up the spandex shorts, offering a small calm smile when Heero met his eyes dazedly.
He started to walk towards the door, but Heero seized his wrist, and Trowa turned back, raising his eyebrows in question as fierce cobalt eyes bore into him, the unspoken question-- no, more like demand --hanging heavily in the air.
Finally Trowa turned away, that faint hint of a smile playing on his lips, his fingers brushing against Heero's as he calmly pulled his hand away.
"Tonight," Heero growled, barely audible, and Trowa made no reply as he brushed past the braided bundle of energy that bounced in the room a second later, yammering away a mile a minute about some dish or other Quatre had cooked up.
Heero ignored the inane babble, silently following the self-proclaimed Shinigami towards the kitchen, his mind in a place it had never before explored but was finding quite to his liking as he watched Trowa's ass through hooded lids.
The gutter.
And what nice trash was in this one.

Few things were beautiful in this world.
Music was one of them.
Trowa was another.


Author's Notes: *Scowls* no matter what i tried with this story, Heero *still* came out somewhat OOC.. *big wobbly eyes* At least I didn't make him sappy or NE thing.. *snff* >_< oh well =p i guess i can't blame the ppl that give up and just happily make him and trowa so lovey dovey ^^; cuz i mean.. seriously think about it: who on earth would make the first move in this couple?? @_@ They're both argh.. >< if someone writes a better fic than this pathetic one-shot, i wanna read! pweez! ^__^