Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Androgyny ❯ Chapter 1

Disclaimers: GW not mine. I get nothing but pleasure from this. The song "Androgyny" belongs to the super awesome band Garbage, but I do own the cd.

Warnings: songfic, language, gender bending, cameo, seriously obssessed Heero and Trowa

Pairings: 1x2, 3x4

A/N: This was originally supposed to be a pwp... but that never works out for me... so here is a plotish chapter. Thanks to Zaz for suggestions and Gunnmsangel and Harmonie Des Anges for all your help and support.

Androgyny
by Solanum Dulcamara

Chapter 1:


"Are you sure about this?" Heero eyed the interior of the nightclub warily. It didn't look any more promising than the exterior had. It was crowded, too crowded for Heero's taste. He was a man who valued his personal space, and the ever moving sea of anonymous faces left him feeling slightly claustrophobic. Trowa tried to say something, but he could barely hear his friend over the loud techno, "What?!"

"I said, 'I'll buy you a drink,'" Trowa repeated with uncharacteristic volume.

"Good," Heero thought, "I need one." He followed the back of his very tall friend towards the bar. They wove through groups of beautiful people and not so beautiful people. Despite the dim lighting and smokey haze in the air, Heero realized that this club could be an interesting place to people watch. He leaned closer to Trowa, who was ordering their drinks, "There are some... rather unusual people here."

The tall green eyed man turned around and handed Heero a dixie cup and lemon wedge. "What? You've never seen a drag queen before?" he answered with a chuckle, before shooting his tequila. The smaller man followed suit, forgoing the use of the lemon. He liked the taste of tequila.

Trowa raised an eyebrow, but made no comment on Heero's drinking habits. Instead he lightly jostled his friend, softly instructing, "Lighten up. I know it's been a shitty week, but you've got two whole Relena free days."

Heero cringed at the mention of his supervisor. Peacecraft International, the world's largest brokerage firm, was ironically a privately held business. Milliard Peacecraft had established the company with family holdings in 1908, and the firm remained family owned to this day. Heero wrote the programs to complete the daily functional trading, as well as supervising all computer maintenance for the building. Relena Peacecraft, granddaughter of CEO Milliard II, was director of operations. Being a very spoiled girl turned Relena into the kind of woman who expected to get everything she desired... including Heero Yuy. Heero grimaced as he thought about her daily interruptions. This week had been worse than most. He could endure her inane babble on occasion, but being called in for a lunch meeting which consisted of nothing but her feeble one-sided attempts at flirting was enough to drive a man to the breaking point. And today... today she had the gall to imply that if he didn't date her, she'd fire him.

//When everything is going wrong
And you can't see the point in going on//

"Good riddance," Heero thought, "Except that I need this job." he made excellent money, even for a programmer and enjoyed the flexibility the position offered. He sighed inwardly, thinking that he should talk to Zechs about it on Monday. Zechs, or Milliard III, went by his middle name and tended to be more practical and reasonable than his younger sister. "Nothing like going over your superior's head," Heero thought, bitterly.

"Earth to Heero."

The half japanese man snapped out of his thoughts and turned to Trowa, "Remind me never to work for a family held company again."

Trowa pushed aside the bangs that partially obscured his face. His elegant brow was creased in concern while his green eyes looked at Heero worriedly. He sighed with exasperation, "You're still thinking about that? Let it go. I brought you here to have a good time, so start having one, dammit."

//Well, nothing in life is set in stone.
There's nothing that can't be turned around.//

Heero turned towards the dance floor as he retorted, "It's not like good times are..." but he never finished his statement. He was transfixed. He wasn't sure if he was breathing or if his heart was beating, but he knew that he would never be the same again.

//Nobody wants to feel alone.
Everybody wants to love someone.//

"Not like good times are what?" Trowa asked after Heero abruptly stopped. He inspected Heero's face curiously, then followed his gaze to the dance floor. No sooner had he turned his head than he became equally mesmerized. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen before. The two usually calm and collected men stood side by side staring dumbly.

"Utsukushi..." Heero mumbled absently.

"I don't speak that weird language of yours," Trowa answered.

"Bella," Heero switched to Trowa's family's native tongue.

"Ah. Yes... beautiful."

"Male or female?"

"I... I'm not sure."

"I really don't care."

"Me neither. I've always had a thing for blonds."

"Trowa, how could you miss that long brown braid?"

"What are you talking about?"

It took each man a moment to realize that they were looking at opposite people. In the center of the dance floor, a circle of space surrounded two petite figures, one with short feathery blond hair and the other sporting a chestnut braid that hung passed his or her ass.

Heero shrugged, "At least you're not competition."

Trowa turned to his friend in shock, "You, Heero- being single and unattached is the best thing in the world- Yuy, are going to hit on someone?!"

//Out of the tree go pick a plum.
Why can't we all just get along.//

Heero's deep blue eyes were deadly serious, more serious than Trowa had ever seen them before, "I have to meet that person. I need to." The shorter man turned back to the bar, and haled the bartender. Trowa raised a brow in question. Heero glanced at him and quietly supplied, "I want a closer look."

Trowa nodded in understanding, "Make that two, Yohji."

The men shared a smirk before downing their shots, not tasting the bitter liquor or feeling its warm burn. They set the empty dixie cups back on the counter with a handful of bills that more than covered the price of their drinks. The blond bartender pushed a long sandy lock out of his face as he watched the two men's retreating forms. He sighed, gathering up the money, "I love beautiful men."

Heero and Trowa silently made their way to the edge of the dance floor, earning plenty of looks on the way. Simply stating that the two men looked good and looked even better together was an understatement.

//Boys in the girls' room//

Trowa was tall, gently grazing six feet, but he moved with fluid grace uncommon in a man of his stature. His lean body was encased in a black turtleneck and snug fitting black trousers, both of which clung to his body at various points, hinting at the musculature hidden beneath. His face was slender with elegant Italian features, but his eyes were the center piece of those. They almost glowed green, not some murky hazel, as is common, but a dazzling emerald. The green was unmarred throughout the entire iris, and in the dim club lighting almost looked otherworldly. One of these eyes was always hidden behind his fall of russet bangs, only adding to the mystery. He stood for all the world a poetic figure, the beatnik artist, the beautiful, tortured writer.

Heero, on the other hand, looked as conservative as he usually did, without ever meaning to... but there was always something that seemed barely restrained behind that conservatism; a barely harnessed power that sent electric shocks through those around him. He wore a pair of well tailored black chinos with a vivid blue oxford shirt, and although his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and several of the top buttons were undone, he still managed to look incredibly crisp. However, the most startling feature of this shirt was that it matched his eyes because his eyes were startlingly blue. Some called his eyes prussian and others called it cobalt, but in reality, crayola had yet to make a color that could come close to the blue of his eyes. His facial features easily belied his half-asian heritage below a mop of untamable chocolate brown hair. And he stood rather tall... for a Japanese person. Hitting about five foot six on a good day, Heero often wondered why his American genes had abandoned him so.

As for the looking good together part, one rarely sees two attractive men together in such close company. The men were intimate friends, this was obvious to all in their gestures, movements, and mannerisms. They were intimate friends, but nothing more. They had tried, years ago in college, but that had fallen to the wayside, leaving a comfortable companionship in its wake.

//Girls in the men's room//

The men stood together on the edge of the dance floor, quite entranced by the two dancers in its center. They watched the slim figures writhe with the music; sometimes together, sometimes apart, but never with anyone else. Sure, some unsuspecting fools tried to get close, but they were gently rejected with gestures more than words. Heero and Trowa watched as their supple bodies swayed and rocked to the pulsating beat.

//You free your mind in your androgyny//

The Italian let himself drink in the sight of the petite blond. Petite didn't even begin to describe the delicate looking person. They couldn't be much more than five feet tall and slender all over; a little waist that gently flared into narrow hips. Their legs were long, relative to body size, and the shapely appendages were encased in tight white pants that rippled over every curve. Below the pants, blue glittery dr. martens adorned absurdly cute little feet. Trowa's gaze dragged up the legs and over the flat stomach and chest that was all too visible through an incredibly sheer pale blue tunic style shirt. The article of clothing that couldn't have been made of anything more substantial than chiffon hung open at the neck and down part of the chest, as well as from two inches above the belly button and down, only held closed by several clasps in the center of the chest. Trowa had to repress a groan as he watched the soft fabric whisper across alabaster skin.

//Boys in the parlor//

The brunette with the braid captivated Heero's attention. The Japanese man couldn't tear his eyes away from the seductive and decidedly wicked undulations of the lithe body before him. The dancer was small on sight, shorter than Heero, with a lean torso wrapped in a sleeveless deep crimson crushed velvet top that laced up the front and failed to cover the flat stomach. Pale skin peaked through the black lacings over a remarkably small waist that curved into defined hips. Black leather hung scandalously low on those hips, hugging every inch of skin down long lean legs, until it disappeared just below the knees under black buckled GBX boots. Heero couldn't decide what to focus on the most and his eyes traveled back up to the braid that first caught his attention. The strands wove golden with chestnut in sun-kissed patterns that trailed down to brush the backs of the shapely thighs. Even from this distance, it looked soft.

//They're getting harder//

"Male," they said simultaneously, turning to each other with small smirks. Then with renewed determination, both men approached the edges of the circle, each filled only with thoughts of the man on the dance floor.

//You free your mind in your androgyny//