Title: Duet: chanson d’amour
Author: Regina Wren
E-mail: wren13 @ gmail.com
Fandom & Pairing: Gundam Wing; 3x4/4x3
Keywords: yaoi, lime, romance
Rating: Teens
Words: 896
Status: Complete
Disclaimer: I don’t own Quatre or Trowa; I just thought they were perfect for this fic. They belong to Sunrise, Bandai and Sotsu Agency. The only thing I own is this story, but I’m not making any profit from this, this is purely for entertainment purposes.
Comments: This story was written in a desperate attempt to save my sanity after having done far too much English homework. Inspired by Italo Calvino’s If on a Winter’s Night a Traveller, and J. M. Coetzee’s Foe.
Duet: chanson d’amour
By Regina Wren
AC 199
An ancient Greek legend says that at the beginnings of mankind, each human being was born with four legs, four arms and two faces. But the gods split each person in half in body and soul, as punishment for mankind’s arrogance. Ever since then people have been wandering around lost, searching the world for their missing other half, the half that will complete them and reunite their soul.
It may be that it’s just an old story, but even fairytales contain grains of truth.
* * * * *
I enter the house, our house, Trowa’s and mine. We’ve been sharing it for the past two years and in that time it’s become the place we call home; as much as the desert was ever my home, and the circus was his, but now we’ve found a place of our own.
I hear the music in my mind before my ears even pick it up and I know Trowa is playing his flute, greeting me, welcoming me home. Inside it’s peaceful and cool, a relief from the gluggy heat of the Mediterranean afternoon, and the soft flute tones are soothing and comforting.
I smile. Perhaps at one time I would have been surprised to hear Trowa playing solitarily, but now it lets me know he is expecting me.
Duo once asked me how Trowa and I understood each other so well without having to speak a word. The truth is that there is a language beyond words, a language that can’t be spoken, a silent language. It exists in gentle glances and quiet gestures and doesn’t need words to be understood.
He’s speaking it now - it’s in the tune that reaches my ears - he’s greeting me, welcoming me back.
I’m reminded of the first time we played our duet together, he with the flute, and I with my violin. The last thing I expected was for him to join me; I wasn’t even playing any particular piece, only the notes that came to mind. It was a tune that flowed straight from my heart onto the strings of the violin, almost as if the instrument were playing itself. But Trowa listened and he understood; he picked up a flute and answered, responding to the tune pouring from my heart. Each of us played a piece of the composition that the other lacked, one of us played a query, an unfinished phrase, and the other completed it.
Our instruments were like the tunes, complementing each other and supplementing what the other was missing. Our instruments were made to play together, the same way we were. Neither of us was meant to exist alone, either tune alone would not have been a substantial melody.
Now I have reached the music room I turn the handle and open the door, my eyes immediately focusing on the figure standing on the carpet of sunshine that falls through the window. He’s just as beautiful as the day we first met, older, but still he hasn’t lost any of his beauty. A smile touches his lips and he lays down the flute, gently, as I approach.
“Quatre,” he greets me brushing a tender kiss to my lips. “Welcome home.”
I smile and slide my arms around his shoulders, snuggling into his embrace. He feels good; I don’t want to ever move from here. We found each other through the music in our hearts, first in spiritual recognition and then in physical form. The lost tunes drove us to find in each other what we had both been missing.
* * * * *
We find each other in the darkness where all separations between us vanish. Something more intimate than the discourse of mere words passes between us, holds us in this quiet moment. I linger over my lover’s body, questioning and waiting for a silent answer and he replies a gentle response. Our bodies find, skin to skin, the rhythms of the other, seeking and receiving vibrations and waves.
The steady beating of our hearts, the rhythms of our bodies searching for harmony in each other’s arms. Each of us reads in the other the unwritten tune, our hands and skin finding expression beyond words. We are reading music that the eyes don’t see in the darkness, but that the hands and lips can discover by touch. We have ceased to exist as separate entities and have become one, hearing the gasps and thrills of our other half in response to our own motions.
For, isn’t music like love? Like the tune of a song we rise towards an end, a climax, a completion.
The rhythms of our bodies converge, the beating of hearts and drawing breaths harmonising. My own emotions overflow and merge with Trowa’s in sweet symphony. There is something sacred in our lovemaking that allows us to come away refreshed and healed of our lonely division.
As I lie in Trowa’s arms afterwards I can only marvel at the chance that brought together two lonesome souls. How in such a wide universe one call for completion could be answered by another perfect half.
I was incomplete. Only one half of an unfinished melody that found its missing piece and finally became whole.
I feel Trowa’s arms tighten around me as he lays a soft kiss against my forehead and I sense his silent agreement.
===
2001