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"What's In A Name"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Smut, Fluff, Schmoop, Post-Endless Waltz,
Canon Compliant, Takes Place Right After the Last Scenes In EW Pairings: 3x4 Summary: After the Eve Wars, Trowa and Quatre
have their own private reunion. " What's In A Name" Christmas was bright and sunny, so unlike the murky gloom of the day before. It seemed to signify the start of something new. A world without war, without senseless violence. A brighter day, the promise of an even brighter future shining down in warm rays of hope that peace would reign for years to come. Trowa had decided that his stolen name was good enough. It got him this far and he wasn’t exactly keen on falling back to “No Name”. It certainly wasn’t something that looked good on a resume. What the hell. The original owner didn’t need it anyway. Quatre seemed to like it and for some reason, that was most important. They stared at each other across the short distance between them, their silent communication speaking volumes in regards to emotions not yet verbalized. Elation, cautious optimism, affection, and longing were laid out within the shallow depths of sky blue eyes, reflected in Trowa’s own. Eleven months had been too long. “Well,” Duo chirped. “I suppose I should let you two catch up. It’s getting a tad awkward standing between you while you eye-fuck each other. ‘Sides, Hilde will tan my hide if I’m not back in time for our date. Not that I thought it was a date, but if I don’t call it that, she gets mad at me and then I don’t get any nookie.” “Tragic,” Trowa deadpanned. “Yeah, well. Gotta do wha’cha gotta do to make the ol’ ball ‘n chain happy, y’know?” “I’m sure Hilde appreciates being referred to that way,” Quatre mused. “Pffft. Are you kidding? Where do you think I got it from? Anyway. I’ll see ya.” Duo stepped away and headed up the hill towards the bus station, lifting his hand in farewell. “You kids behave,” he added. Trowa shifted his gaze back to Quatre who smiled charmingly, dimples appearing in cheeks that still had yet to lose all their baby fat. He’d grown a little since the last time Trowa had seen him. Not much. Perhaps an inch, or so. His face had matured slightly, a bit more of an edge to the line of his jaw, subtle as it was. It looked silky smooth, still untouched by a razor despite just turning seventeen. Or perhaps his hair was simply too fair to be noticeable. Either way, he was still as angelic looking as he’d been when Trowa first laid eyes on him, only far less like a kid and much more like the young adult he was. “Trowa.” “Hm?” He jerked out of his reverie and blushed when he realized he’d been unabashedly staring. “Sorry.” “Don’t be,” Quatre assured him. His voice, slightly deeper than it had been eleven months ago, was laced with amusement. “I understand. It’s…been awhile. You’ve grown. You look good.” Face beet red and unaccustomed to compliments, he shuffled his feet and murmured his thanks. He’d only grown a few inches in height, but he’d more than made up for it with the muscle he’d put on during his rigorous performances as well as the grueling labor that went into the set up and take down of the circus’ attractions. “You look good, too,” he said, though that simple statement didn’t really convey his appreciation for how good Quatre looked. “I’m - well, I just - you look beautiful,” he stammered and felt his heart light up with something that could only be construed as joy when Quatre’s brilliant grin widened even more in flattery. The pale eyes scrutinized him, lingering on the muscular expanse of his shoulders and the swell of his arms and chest. At long last, he met Trowa’s eyes again and cocked his head to the side. “You wanna get out of here?” “Yeah,” he nodded and took a step closer. “You don’t have anywhere you need to be?” “It can wait,” Quatre said with an indifferent shrug. “Though I wouldn’t mind a lift. I don’t have a car, I’m afraid.” “Now that I can do,” he said and gestured up the hill with a sweep of his arm. “My truck’s only about one and a half kilometers down the road.” “Perfect,” the blond chirped, falling into step beside him. “It’s such a nice day. A little fresh air would do us good, I’m sure.” And God, how Trowa missed that sunny disposition. The optimism that Quatre drew from a seemingly endless well. He could brighten up a room without even trying. Chase the clouds away with that smile and a few words of unconditional encouragement. He was so much like Cathy. It was no wonder so many people flocked to him. He lured them in with his magnetic charm and kept them close with his kindness and generosity. It was strange walking side by side with him down the shoulder of an old country road. Strange in the sense that it was such a normal thing to do. A civilian thing to do. Two young people not anticipating an order to run to their stations and prepare for battle. There was no impending fear, or expectation of death. No tomorrows without a promise. A vast, unknown future was laid out before them and the possibilities were endless. “So what are you going to do now?” He asked, glancing over at the sun-pinked face. The desire to reach out and take Quatre’s hand was overwhelming and he thought back to that moment in Catherine’s trailer shortly after Heero had woken up from his failed suicide attempt. Those words he’d said to Trowa, “Follow your heart,” still stuck with him to this day. It was one of the few things that stayed with him during his amnesia. The other being the young man walking beside him. He’d never forgotten that and often employed it during moments of indecision. That “trust your gut” advice seemed to serve him well. It was the reason he had decided to return to the battlefield and that choice was the catalyst which gave him his memories back. Throwing caution to the wind, he grasped the blond’s hand and linked them together, his heart swelling as Quatre’s fingers wrapped tightly around his own. “Back to WEI, I suppose,” he said, sounding less than enthused. “You don’t sound happy about that.” Quatre’s expression was a mix between derision and exasperation. “I was groomed for this since the day I was bo - created.” “Being groomed for it and being happy about it are two different things.” “I was never happy about it. Despite having twenty nine capable daughters before me, he still reserved the helm for his only son. His heir,” he spat, mouth turning down as if he’d just eaten something sour. “I always hated that word.” “What? Heir?” “Yes. Allah, up until I was four, I thought that was my name. I got so tired of hearing “the heir” every time someone was referring to me.” He petulantly kicked a few stones in his path. “Made me feel like an object rather than a person. He never cared what I wanted anyway. My destiny was set in stone before I could walk.” “But…he’s gone now,” Trowa said, wincing at his lack of decorum once his brain caught up. He cleared his throat and pushed on, hoping Quatre wouldn’t react badly. “You don’t have to do it. Like you said, you have twenty nine capable sisters. I’m sure some of them would be up for the job.” “I know they would be. Thing is…I just don’t know what I would do. Where in the world I would fit in if I left? I don’t know how to do anything else.” “What are you talking about? You’re the smartest person I know.” “Smart only gets you so far,” Quatre muttered. “Anyway, what about you? I heard Wufei mention something to you about a position in the Preventers.” “Yeah, I don’t know. I need to think about it. Not sure I want to jump right back into all this after it just ended.” He gazed up through the trees, squinting at the sunlight that filtered through the rustling leaves. “Then again, I’m not sure I want to be a circus freak for the rest of my life either.” “Trowa,” Quatre chided. “You are not a freak, much less a circus one. There’s no shame in what you do.” “I guess not. Oddly enough, I only got the job as a way to pass the time and make enough money to get by. But…” “But you found a place that you can call home.” He glanced over, caught the understanding look in Quatre’s eyes and wondered how he’d gotten so lucky to find someone whom he could share such a profound, albeit inexplicable connection with. That feeling led to a sudden, all-encompassing desire to make love to him. It swept over him like a tidal wave and his body responded in kind, remembering the only other time he’d had that privilege. They’d found each other again after he regained his memories and the natural progression of such a connection had led to a physical need. A consummation that would bring those feelings full circle and etch them in stone. His body flared with heat as it remembered the phantom sensations of Quatre beneath him. The searing hot clench around his aching manhood and the palm of his hand smothering the blond’s cries so as not to wake their sleeping comrades. Quatre sensed it, too, and nothing more needed to be said. By the time they reached Trowa’s truck, they were both breathing heavily, on edge with arousal and anticipation. Trowa swung the door to the cab open and pulled Quatre inside and over to the makeshift bed. It was unmade, but neither of them were all that arsed to care. Quatre’s fingers trembled as he worked the buttons of his shirt open and Trowa’s were surprisingly steady when he slid the fabric off, exposing bony shoulders encased in silky, porcelain skin. He dropped his head and mouthed hungrily at the warm flesh, working the rest of Quatre’s shirt and vest down his back and off his arms. The clink of Quatre’s belt buckle was loud and erotic to Trowa’s ears. Like ringing the dinner bell, he thought. He helped him push the khaki trousers down his narrow hips until they reached mid-thigh and then he hoisted Quatre onto the bed, peeling the slacks off the rest of the way along with the brown loafers. Quatre’s chest heaved as he panted, the black of his pupils eclipsing the blue of his eyes which stared up at Trowa in desperate longing. The last shreds of Trowa’s tenuous control snapped and he tore at his own clothing, patience for the constrictive garments wearing thin. He crawled onto the bed, into the welcoming space between Quatre’s opened legs and settled into place. Quatre’s limbs closed about him like a sprung trap and he hissed when their naked groins finally made contact. Both of them were too far gone to give much consideration for foreplay. Trowa had just enough wherewithal to coat his erection with lotion before he pressed inside the feverish grip of Quatre’s body. He worked himself in deep, fucking roughly into the soft, velvety sheath that squeezed around him so perfectly, it brought tears to his eyes. Quatre clung to him, slender arms hooked around his neck, and whimpered his pleasure into the muggy air of the tiny cabin. Tiny mewls and the occasional bleating of his name when Trowa pushed in at just the right angle washed over his skin like rays of sunshine. Hearing not just any name, but his name…one he’d stolen from another man, bubble from the kiss swollen lips of the blond beneath him drove him to unprecedented heights of ecstasy. He never thought he’d have a name to be remembered by, much less hear it spoken with such unbridled emotion. He pushed harder, faster, digging in deep and moaning with rapture when Quatre wept his climax into his shoulder. The hot splash of come on his belly and the rhythmic contractions of Quatre’s body manifested into infinite tiny explosions, like fireworks going off inside his groin. The shock wave spread throughout his body, quick as a wildfire and he shouted his agony into the darkness of the cabin, his release torn from him with the white hot flare of a dying sun. He rocked his hips until there was nothing left to spill and collapsed on top of Quatre, spent and panting against the blond’s clavicle. Time seemed to escape him and he had no idea how much had passed before he registered the soothing stroke of a hand over the back of his head. The roar in his ears subsided enough to recognize that Quatre was humming, the vibration reverberating against his chin. “What is that?” He slurred against Quatre’s chest. “A Maqam. One of my sisters used to sing it to me when I was little.” “It’s beautiful.” “Mmm…this was beautiful.” He lifted his head and nipped at Quatre’s plush lips. “You’re beautiful.” “And you’re a suck-up.” “Only when it serves me.” He paused a moment and bit down into his lip. “So…you like the name?” “Trowa, you mean?” “Yeah.” “I love it. I really do. It suits you.” “Does it?” “Yes, it does. But it’s your choice to keep it, or not.” “I think I will then.” In fact, he knew he would. He knew with utmost certainty that he could never bring himself to change it. Not since he’d heard it spoken with such resonance, such worship, from the lips of the young man who’d saved his life, resurrected his soul, and held his heart in the palm of his hand.
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