I Love The Way You Love Me
A Gundam W songfic
by Nikholas "Katana" F. Toledo

      I sense a pattern building here.  You might be able to guess that
this is, again, a songfic, and a boy band songfic (thanks, Boyzone!) at
that, just like its predecessor.  I can't help myself, guys --- Trowa and
Quatre look so good together and I swear I'm going to kill anyone who
dares say otherwise!  This is actually a sequel to "How Deep is Your
Love?"  I'm leaving it to you guys to look for the clue.

      This Trowa's POV story is warmly dedicated to my thespian-slash-new
otaku girlfriend Jenny (happy graduation to us, Yuri-chan!) and to our
new buddy Ron (howdy, Scriviner!).

      The movie that they're watching is actually "Stepmom", starring
Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon.  Watch it, people, Jen and I highly
recommend it... and bring tissues when you do... I reacted in the same
way that Quatre did to the exact same scene!

      Excuse the lemony scenes, again --- I'm practicing, okay?  And
maybe you guys can tell me if I'm finally getting the hang of it... you
know where to write me!

      Well, like I always say: have fun and enjoy!

                              ~ end notes ~


                 I like the feel of your name on my lips

              And I like the sound of your sweet gentle kiss


      Trowa Barton and Quatre Raberba-Winner are lying together in the
latter's bed.  The Arabian boy's head rests lightly on Trowa's chest, his
ear over his lover's heart.  His ocean-colored eyes are closed, the lids
fluttering just a little as he slowly drifts into a contented sleep.

      There's a somewhat wistful and definitely loving expression on
Trowa's face as he watches his "angel", his hands moving over the bare
skin of his back lightly.  A smile pulls up the corners of his mouth as
he exhales Quatre's name on an almost reverent whisper.

      Quatre stirs, smiles, opens his eyes and moves up to plant a
simple, chaste kiss on the one-time circus acrobat's lips, before
rearranging himself within the protective circle and closing his eyes
again.  His breathing evens out, and his body rests heavier on his
companion's.

      Trowa remains awake a while longer, merely smiling and watching as
his lover dreams.


              The way that your fingers run through my hair

          And how your scent lingers even when you're not there


      Bright morning sunlight streams into the Winner villa's music room,
where the two ex-pilots are making music: the stormy emotional strains of
a piece called Symphony No. 9, by a composer named Beethoven, resonate
throughout the sun-warmed space.  Quatre is playing like a man possessed,
the bow racing furiously over his violin's strings.  The same
concentration of effort shows on a seated Trowa's frowning features, and
the furrow between his drawn-together eyebrows deepens as the music pulls
him farther and farther into its spell.

      The last notes die away as they reach the end of the piece.  Quatre
lovingly replaces his instrument in its case and passes a hand over his
sweaty features.  He makes as if to sit down, but changes his mind, and
plunks himself down onto Trowa's lap.  He laughs softly as his friend's

eyes widen ever so slightly and tangles his fingers into the reddish-
brown hair that hangs over his face, which does *not* help the damp,
unruly mess any at all.

      After a few moments of gazing lovingly into each other's eyes,
Quatre gets to his feet, touches his fingers fleetingly to his lover's
lips in an "I won't be long" gesture, and then walks out of the room.

      Trowa leans back into the armchair, placing his hands behind his
head and stretching out his long legs with a little moan of satisfaction.
His bottle-colored eyes close slowly as he breathes deeply, as if to take
into himself the lingering musky scent that hangs in the air about him.


            And I like the way your eyes dance when you laugh

                   And how you enjoy your two-hour bath


      Something sparkles in Quatre's eyes, a something that is magnified
and reflected by the chest-deep water in his large bathtub.  His smile is
as brightly radiant as a million supernova-class stars even through the
heat haze that hangs in the chamber, and it is trained on none other than
Trowa himself as he lounges in the doorway, lanky body braced casually
against the wooden jamb, arms crossed over his chest.

      He hesitates for the briefest of instants, then strips off his
faded dark turtleneck and well-worn jeans and joins his lover in the
pool.  He corners Quatre against one side, kissing him with hot insistent
lips, his tongue lapping flicking against his teeth and inside his mouth.
The blonde pilot melts into him, winding his arms around his waist,
clinging on as if for his very life.

      They make slow, passionate love in the tub, their bodies slipping
sliding wetly together in the hot water.  Trowa plays the role of the
aggressor with relish, reveling in the small moaning sounds Quatre makes
to urge him on.

      The expressions on their faces as they dry each other off afterward
are nothing short of euphoric.  Quatre's eyes are still glazed over with
desire as he rubs a towel lovingly over Trowa's smooth and muscled back;
in his own turn, the hot blood lingers in the former circus clown's face
as he drapes a heavy terry-toweling robe tenderly around Quatre's
shoulders.


             And how you've convinced me to dance in the rain

                With everyone watching like we were insane


      All five mobile suits have been sent to attack an OZ outpost at the
same time.  Heavy driving rain has effectively silenced their approach,
masking the roar of their engines and the flitter, and the enemy soldiers
don't realize the mortal danger they are in until the Gundams are
practically on top of them.

      Heero Yuy in Wing Zero and Duo Maxwell in Deathscythe Hell pour
their considerable firepower into the main hangars, and the long-haired
pilot cackles with insane glee as his double scythes take out mobile suit
after mobile suit; a tiny cold calculating smile is fixed on the Japanese
boy's face.  Meanwhile, Chang Wufei and Nataku quarter the outlying
buildings, the thermal trident and tail guns leaving a huge swath of
total destruction in their wake.  Trowa in Heavyarms leads Quatre and
Sandrock into the very heart of the sprawling complex, and when they fly

out together in the next instant the command center explodes outward with
a deafening sonic boom, a many-petaled fire-flower.

      They gather amidst charred, twisted wreckage that hisses almost
constantly as the rain continues to pour down.  Quatre pops his hatch,
drops to the ground in a crouch, falls to his knees, holds his arms out,
tilts back his head, lets the rain wash the sweat and heat of the battle
from his body.  From above him, in his own cockpit, Trowa watches him for
a long moment, then vaults down to join his lover, placing his hands on
his shoulders.

      In a single fluid motion, Quatre gets to his feet and throws his
arms around Trowa, and a happy shout of "Mission accomplished!" echoes
and re-echoes off the rain-slicked Gundams.  The blonde pilot leads his
brown-banged lover into an ecstatic whirling movement, and soon they're
dancing together in the falling rain.

      Inside the other cockpits, both Heero and Wufei are watching the
scene with their eyebrows cocked upwards, while Duo grins down at them
before slouching down into his chair; neither Trowa nor Quatre notice, or
even care.


   But I love the way that you love me - strong and wild, slow and easy

     Heart and soul - so completely - I love the way that you love me


      Gentle kisses that fall on cheeks, nose and eyelids like spring
showers bring Trowa back to his senses.  A pleased expression of warmth
suffuses the angular features that soften perceptibly as he gazes up into
Quatre's eyes.  He raises one hand and cups the other's face, molding his
fingers to the smooth, supple skin.  His thumb gently traces Quatre's
lips, and he smiles as his lover leans into his caress, a little moan of
pleasure escaping his mouth.

      They kiss again, slow-silent-perfect, hands wandering touching
setting off fires in their wake.  Trowa feels himself getting ready
again, and he pulls Quatre down to him with a strength borne of passion,
rocking his hips against the other boy's in a relentless-hypnotic-
drugging rhythm.

      Quatre's breathing has dwindled away to little more than a shallow,
irregular susurration, the small and ragged gasps whistling from between
teeth clenched together in desire.  His eyes seem to have glazed over
with the love and lust that Trowa has enkindled in him, white-hot wanting
dilating his pupils.

      The aftermath: Trowa smiles down like Duo's "cat that licked the
cream" at his sated "angel".  Quatre, on the other hand, looks positively
wicked as he reaches up to flick his tongue against his lover's ear one
last time before settling into the crook of his arm to sleep.  Trowa
chuckles quietly, a soft rumble from deep within both chest and throat,
before following his example.


                    And I like the sound of old R & B

             And you roll your eyes when I'm slightly off-key


      Papers rustle and slither to the floor of Trowa's room, sheets of
shiny white stuff marked with musical staves and covered with notes and
words, all of them in Quatre's neat and compact handwriting.
Occasionally, the mobile suit pilot picks up the gleaming silver flute
from his lap and blows a few phrases out on it, but little by little the

pile around his feet grows, spreads out, crackles quietly.

      Quatre stops in his tracks in the door, the tray of steaming mugs
and freshly baked bread in his hands momentarily forgotten.  A few notes
trill loudly from Trowa's instrument, followed by an erratic-sounding
cadence, and with a start the golden-haired youth realizes that his lover
is playing a rather difficult type of music that was known as "rhythm and
blues".  Rasid called it R&B, soulful and emotional sounds that were
characterized by numerous technical flourishes and hard passages.

      The flutist fights to sustain his hard-won momentum through a
complicated stanza full of quick-dancing notes and syncopated accents,
but he winds up playing the final cadence in a slightly different key
from the one indicated on the sheet music.  Frustrated, he slaps the
paper down onto the small table located beside his bed, and the force of
the movement sends it fluttering clear across the room.  A small smile
pulls up the corners of his mouth, though, and he shakes his head at
himself.  The expression on his features shifts to one of sheer
determination to master the piece that reminds him of the boy who
suddenly walks into the room.

      There is another smile on Quatre's boyishly beautiful features as
he places the tray atop the abandoned pile of papers, and it widens as
Trowa looks up at him with a question in his eyes.  He pretends to roll
his own green-blue eyes with disdain at the flutist, then laughs as he
places a butterfly kiss on one high, scimitar-shaped cheekbone.  His lips
move with quiet confidence: "I trust you."


                 And I like the innocent way that you cry

             At sappy old movies you've seen a thousand times


      Light from the huge, wide-screen television monitor flickers over
Trowa's and Quatre's faces in the darkened room, making the tears that
are sliding down the slightly smaller pilot's cheeks glow softly.

      On the screen, a young woman with golden-brown hair looks
dejectedly into her shot glass.  "No one will be as beautiful as your
Anna on her wedding day," she says quietly yet forcefully, "and my
greatest fear is that as I'm telling her that --- while I'm helping her
get dressed --- she will be thinking 'I wish my mother was here'!"

      "And mine," the older, redheaded lady with disease-devastated and
wan features seated across from her answers in the exact same voice,
"will be that she won't... but we can always hope for the best.  I have
had her past... her future is yours."

      Quatre lets out a choking sob at that and rubs his hand over his
eyes, then reaches gratefully for the tissue that Trowa pulls from the
box beside the chaise they're sharing and blows his nose loudly.  The
question in the taller youth's eyes is plain to read --- "How many times
have you seen this movie?" --- and in response the Arabian holds up both
hands, all fingers spread out.

      Trowa pulls Quatre closer to him and nuzzles the corn-silk hair at
the back of his head.  Quickly, and almost violently, so that the boy
spooned in his arms doesn't notice, he blinks away a few tears of his

own.  He is momentarily lost in silent, tender contemplation of the
still-sobbing Arabian --- the innocent and trusting soul who was capable
of inflicting pain and suffering on those who crossed his paths.


        And I could list a million things I love to like about you

   But they all come down to one reason: I could never live without you


      It had been a fiercely-fought battle out in space, he thought as
all of a sudden the bloody memories resurged to the forefront of his
consciousness.  The galaxy that had been at peace since the space station
Libra had succumbed to the combined strength of their five Gundams, Zechs
Merquise's Epyon and the Peacemillion battleship was torn apart yet again
by the bloody war that Mariemeia Barton had unleashed upon the Earth and
its unsuspecting inhabitants.  Heero, Duo, and Wufei had held their own
against the newest mobile suits that the seven-year-old girl had sent,
and so had he himself and his "angel", but a stray laser shot from one of
their opponents had rebounded off a chunk of debris and slammed right
into him.

      The last thing that he had sensed had been the soul-shattering cry
that tore itself from Quatre, slashing through the numbing haze that
threatened to reach into the very core of his being: "I won't let you
leave me!  Don't let go, Trowa... I love you, don't leave me alone!"

      Trowa glanced down at the green-jeweled golden ring on his finger,
its fire flaring off the blue-green crystal in Quatre's silver ring, and
the scenes of darkness vanished under the twin stars.  He remembered
their vows --- "One heart and one mind, one body and one soul... till
death do us part" --- and he smiled at the old words, knowing that not
even Death, no matter how many times they had looked it in the eye, would
ever break their bonds.

      He himself would make sure of it, and he knew that he would, for
resting contentedly in his arms was his one and only reason for living.

                               ~ the end ~




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