Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Leather, Violins and James Dean ❯ Chapter 01 ( Chapter 1 )

This is a thank you, fic for my friend Indigo - both for the wonderful pic he drew me and for simply being the wonderful person that he is.

I hope you like it hon ^_^.

Standard disclaimers apply: I don't own Gundam Wing or its bishounen, nor am I making any monetary profit from this fic whatsoever.

Author: Michalyn (darling_162002@yahoo.com)
Pairings: 3x4
General Warnings: PWP (plotless but not pointless I hope ^_^;;) AU: setting is the 1950s yaoi, angst, sap, lemon
Rating: NC 17

Feedback: craved ^_^

Leather, Violins and James Dean 1/2

By Michalyn

*~*~*

1953: Eisenhower is president; The Korean War ends, and somewhere in Memphis Tennessee a sultry young man named Elvis records his first album. In the balmy summer of that same year, - in an invisible town somewhere along the west coast - a new grocery store opens, little Doug Peters loses his first tooth - and an enigmatic stranger rides into Quatre Winner's life, changing it forever.

*~*~*

"Thanks Heero," Quatre said brightly, smiling at the quiet man behind the counter. The aproned storeowner grunted and nodded towards the longhaired youth lounging against some unpacked crates of Coca Cola. "Maxwell," he called sternly, "Help Mr. Winner with his bags."

"Awww man, Heero," Duo complained as he jumped agilely off the stack, his braid swinging pendulously behind him. "I'll never finish the inventory at this rate," he grumbled, approaching the counter and resting against it in a dramatic pose of weariness. His brilliant violet eyes twinkled with mischief as he regarded the older man and Heero glared.

"Perhaps if you spent less time lolly-gagging and more time working, you would have completed the inventory already," he said primly. He shoved a particularly heavy paper-bag into Duo's arms. "Now go." Heero's dark brows lowered and his voice held a definite threatening note.

"Oof!" Duo grunted as he balanced the heavy bag in his arms. "Sheesh," he said turning to Quatre with a smile " He sure is Mr. Sunshine huh?" he joked, sticking his tongue out at Heero in the same movement. Quatre shook his head and laughed softly, by now well accustomed to the two men's antics. It was one of the reasons he loved coming to Yuy and Maxwell's. The prices were better than those of Harold's grocery down the street, and the two storeowners never failed to entertain.

He had heard the rumors about the two men: that they were deviants, freaks - men who shared an "unnatural" love for each other. He had felt the hostility - veiled and otherwise directed at them - and himself by association - but the petite blonde refused to curb his visits to the store. He did not believe in any kind of discrimination - and he gave no credence to rumors or bigotry.

Besides, how could one hate those with his own inclinations?

He sighed softly and pulled one of the bags off the counter. Noting that Duo was already overburdened with the heavier of the two, he tried carrying the other but immediately released it when his knee protested. He bit his lip as the pain shot through him, sweat dotting his brow as he rested against the counter. He sat heavily on one of the stools, his vision wavering and blurring for a moment.

Immediately Heero and Duo were at his side. "Hey, Q," Duo asked concernedly. "You okay?" He looked from Heero, to Quatre's pale, sweating brow, with worried eyes. Heero's face hovered before Quatre's. "What is it?" he asked gruffly. "Are you alright?"

Quatre managed a weak smile. "I'm fine - really," he panted. "It's just my knee," he explained hurriedly. "I should have known better than to try to carry something so heavy," he breathed, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as the painful throb began to subside.

"Hn," Heero snorted almost disbelievingly, kneeling down in front of Quatre's khaki-clad legs. His strong hand firmly pressed up the other man's right calf, as he tested for injuries, - moving upwards until his fingers touched the heavy metal brace hidden under the soft material. Immediately Quatre's eyes widened, and he made a soft, choked sound as his hands covered Heero's. "Don't," he whispered pleadingly. His gaze lowered and his cheeks flushed in embarrassment and discomfort. "Please-- it's fine really," he murmured, refusing to meet the other's eyes as his hands desperately tried to push Heero's hand away from his deformity. "Just-just a little sprain."

Heero frowned but said nothing, releasing Quatre's knee and standing in a fluid movement. Duo frowned as well, looking to Heero with a question in his eyes. The dark-haired man shook his head once, slowly and Duo nodded in understanding. He ruffled Quatre's hair playfully. "Think you can make it home ok Q?" he asked gently, and the shorter youth smiled, nodding bravely.

"Yes," he said determinedly as he stood and reached once again for the bag. Immediately Duo moved to stop him. He put on his most good-natured grin. "Ah, that's ok man," he said to the petite blonde. "I'll take care of it," he said quickly. "Two trips down the street ain't gonna kill me ya know. Besides--" he patted his flat stomach lightly, "I need it: Been going a little too heavy on those sloppy joes of Heero's lately," he added with a wink.

Quatre pierced Duo with a look that plainly said that he was not fooled by the impish youth's act. "I am fine," he insisted. "* And *--" he added when Duo moved to protest, "There is no need for you to make two trips when I am perfectly capable of carrying this bag. Plus you have that inventory to do," he reminded his violet-eyed friend.

"I'll do the inventory," Heero quietly cut in. "Listen to Duo," he commanded firmly. "You need to get some rest." Quatre let out an exasperated sigh. "The two of you are being ridiculous! I--"

Whatever the blonde had been about to say was cut off by the chiming of the bell as a customer walked in. They all turned in the direction of the silvery tinkle, to find a tall stranger looking calmly about the store.

Wearing dusty jeans, a white t-shirt and a black leather jacket, the tall man reminded Quatre of that actor - James Dean - whom he secretly had a crush on, and his cheeks flushed again - this time for a different reason altogether as the stranger's singly visible green eye locked with his. His hair was all wrong, of course. In that strange hairstyle with the fall of bangs that completely concealed one emerald orb, it was nothing at all like the superstar's wavy blonde coif. --And there was that too - the eye color - and the different build. Quatre mused. Nothing was blatant or brashly sexual about this man. He was slim, compact and subtle, moving with the controlled grace of a panther.

But the air of quiet negligence - that was the same. There was an intensity hidden beneath the indifferent exterior. It burned in his brilliant eyes and in the way nothing escaped his notice as he wordlessly grabbed a bottle of soda and set it on the counter. He looked from one man to the other as Heero rang up his purchase and his gaze finally rested on Quatre. It traveled from the small blonde's fair head to the tips of his sensible shoes and back up again and Quatre suddenly very hot; the cotton shirt he wore feeling stiff and confining. He ducked his head, feeling the blush suffuse his neck and face as he tried to think of anything other than the enigmatic man staring unapologetically at him.

That thought steeled him a little - allowed him to dredge up a little indignation amidst his discomfort. Why should he be made to feel uncomfortable? The man had no right to just waltz in and ogle him in such a rude manner. He knew he was small for his 21 years - almost childish-looking to boot. --And of course there was his limp. But he couldn't help that he looked odd. He would never have Duo's shocking beauty or Heero's rough masculinity, he reasoned, but that was still no reason to single him out like some attraction in a sideshow.

Bravely, he raised his head and met the taller man's gaze. He was shocked to find that lonely green eye dancing with hidden amusement- and some other volatile emotion that made his stomach flutter dangerously. He swallowed convulsively and an actual smile teased the edges of the man's full lips. "Hello Petite," he greeted quietly in a deep, whiskey-smooth voice that rumbled across the blonde's nerves like thunder.

If it were possible, Quatre felt his face grow even hotter. Duo snickered behind the interloper and out of the corner of his eye Quatre could see Heero raising an eyebrow in surprise. "I - ah…ahem" he stammered, running a nervous hand through his hair. "Hi," he said quickly. He looked past the man's broad shoulder to the braided boy who was grinning in total enjoyment of the situation. " Ah Duo, I-I- think I'm ready to go home now."

"Sure Q-man," Duo sang as he hefted a bag against his hip. "Thanks," Quatre murmured, smiling weakly. "I'll just get this one," he said, warily eying the bag that was right next to the green-eyed man. He inched closer, feeling very uncomfortable under the stranger's gaze and unbelievably self-conscious as his right leg dragged slightly against the wooden floor. He wished desperately that he had brought his cane.

He reached for the bag, but the tall man smoothly snatched it away, balancing it effortlessly in one hand as he took a swig out of his soft drink with the other. "Please," he said solemnly, mesmerized by the shifting color of the blonde's eyes, "Allow me."

Duo's guffaw was cut short by a hollow thump that sounded suspiciously like a reprimanding slap being delivered to the fun-loving man's back. He masked it with a cough as he shot a glare in Heero's general direction. Quatre looked desperately over at the two men for help, but they were engaged in their own silent warfare, each glaring daggers at the other. He sighed and nodded resignedly at the tall stranger. "Sure," he said wearily. "Let's go."

*~*~*

Duo whistled appreciatively as he eyed the gleaming Harley Davidson parked at the curb. And from the small crowd of girls in fluffy poodle skirts gathered on the other side of the road, it appeared that he wasn't the only one who thought it was special. He circled the sleek machine, admiring its leather and chrome finish. "Wow," he breathed, "She's a real beauty." He turned to the tall man standing next to Quatre. "Is this baby yours?"

The quiet man nodded, then paused thoughtfully. 'Would you like to take her for a spin?" he asked unexpectedly, eyes fixed with little concealed interest on the tiny blonde at his side.

Quatre's eyes widened and he willed his friend to say no as Duo bit his lip in consideration. "Aww," the violet-eyed man finally said as he looked wistfully at the vehicle. "I don't think I could. I've gotta help Q with these and then it's right back to work for me," he explained sadly and Quatre breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks for the offer though," Duo added with a smile.

The man shrugged nonchalantly in response and they continued to Quatre's house in silence, but the blonde could feel the stranger's eyes on him all the way there.

When they were standing on the porch Quatre slid the key shakily into the lock and pushed the door open. He ushered the two men inside, telling them to rest the bags on the kitchen table as he moved to open the windows. He could see the tall brunette quietly observing the room - from its neat flower-boxes on the windowsills to the pretty wallpaper. But more often than not his attention was fixed on the small blonde moving about the room. Unconsciously, Quatre nervously wrung his hands, not knowing what to make of the green-eyed man's strange intensity.

Trying to appear calm, he turned to the other two with a smile. "Thank you so much, for your help guys."

"No problem Blondie," Duo mumbled enthusiastically around the cookies he had snatched from the jar on the table. "It was my pleasure."

He munched for a moment longer then stretched languidly. "Well, sorry to say - I gotta run," he announced as he moved towards the door. "Heero'll have my hide if I'm late again," he added with a wink. "I'll see you later Quatre."

Duo paused, noticing that the jeans-clad man had yet to budge. "You coming green-eyes?" he called cheerfully, but there was a note of steel to his voice that made the easy question a command.

"No, I think I'll stay," the other brunette said softly and just as firmly. He turned to Quatre. "That is, if our gentle host will allow me." Quatre's lips parted, the shorter man ready to insist that the traveler leave, but the man's pleading emerald eyes stopped him. There was no menace in those depths - only tenderness and an intense passion. He stared, unable to look away from the verdant irises.

Duo coughed and tapped his foot impatiently and Quatre flushed, tearing his gaze away. "It's okay Duo," he called softly. " You go on ahead. I'll be fine."

The braided man hesitated, then finally assented - but not before piercing the taller man with an assessing glare. Violet locked with emerald for long moments before Duo abruptly nodded and looked away as though satisfied by what he had found. He looked once more over his shoulder at Quatre. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he insisted, looking meaningfully at his friend.

The blonde nodded and smiled. "I promise."

Duo gave him a thumbs-up and tossed him a cheeky grin as he turned, long braid swishing behind him as he jogged lightly down the stairs and disappeared around the bend.

The silence stretched between the two men, and desperate for something to do Quatre shuffled over to the table and began to unpack the groceries. He was seriously beginning to reconsider his decision. Perhaps he should have heeded Duo instead. These were hardly safe times, and inviting intense strangers into one's home was not wise - no matter how magnetic their green eyes were. And he hated to admit it, but with his knee, he was less than capable of defending himself from any kind of physical attack. --And especially from a man over six feet and easily twice his weight.

Perhaps sensing the blonde's discomfort and wariness, the emerald-eyed man moved to stand next to Quatre. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to frighten you," he said quietly. "I am usually neither so forward nor rude." He extended a long-fingered hand to the surprised youth. "My name is Trowa Barton."

*~*~*

Quatre peered at his companion over the rim of his coffee mug. "So, Mr. Barton--" he extended the sugar bowl to the other man, who politely declined. "What brings you our side of town?" he asked softly.

Trowa leaned forward on his elbows. "I spent three years in the service," he revealed in that deep mesmerizing voce of his. "After the war, I had no family to return to - no obligations to anyone other than myself," he murmured. "In many ways it was a blessing," he mused. "When a boy leaves home on the cusp of manhood and spends three years being a killing machine - how can he ever be the same person to those who love him afterwards- when his hands are so stained with blood?"

His green eyes flashed with some hidden emotion. "I have always been rootless- an outsider. As a boy I spent time with a moving circus," he explained. " It was the closest thing I had to a family," he added quietly. " So last year I decided to take up the travel again. I've been on the road for six months now, trying to find something of the nation I once believed in." His expression became hard for a fleeting instant. "Besides, it's hard to have nightmares after spending a day on the back of a motorcycle."

Quatre was at a loss for words. He had experienced the War as most people had - struggling daily in their homes - and not on the frontlines of the battle. His knee had precluded any chance of him being drafted when men his age were leaving their families to fight an enemy on foreign soil. So what could he say to this veteran whose experience denied all his optimism? Could any words be sufficient he wondered?

"I'm sorry," he murmured futilely and Trowa shook his head. " Don't be," he said genuinely. " None of us can change our pasts. But when I walked into that store and saw you--" He looked deeply into Quatre's blue-green eyes. " You shone amidst the others like a candle in the darkness. How could a moth like me but be drawn to your flame?"he asked passionately. " I had to talk to you."

Quatre shook his head vehemently, disturbed and saddened by Trowa's somber words. "You are wrong," he said fiercely. "None of us deserves darkness." He pushed suddenly away from the table eyes glittering with unshed tears. "I have no desire to be the kind of light that destroys," he said sadly, inexplicably drawn to this man that made his heart ache. He turned on the faucet and blindly began to wash the dishes, as tears clouded his vision.

He heard the scrape of the chair against the tiles and suddenly the tall brunette was behind him. Trowa reached over, shutting off the water and pulling a startled Quatre into his arms. Automatically, the slender blonde tried to shuffle backwards. His leg banged awkwardly against the cupboards and Quatre closed his eyes, grimacing at his clumsiness. He looked up with wide eyes at Trowa and bit his lip uneasily. "Um, I think I better find my cane…" he trailed off, caught in the glare of the other man's eyes.

"I'm sorry," Trowa murmured as he entwined his fingers with Quatre's smaller ones. "The last thing I want to do is upset you," he said ruefully. "You are far too special… Too pure - I'm almost afraid to touch you," he whispered sorrowfully. "But oh how I want to taste of your sweetness," he confessed, his voice equal parts regret and desire. "You make me want to believe again."

Quatre shoved angrily away from the older man, moving with surprising speed towards the living room as Trowa trailed confusedly behind him. Quatre whirled to face him, uncaring of the pain it cost him - eyes flashing with fire. "I may be inexperienced--" he ground out carefully, "But I am hardly naïve - and I refused to be treated like some fragile china doll. We are of an age - and we are both men. I will * not * be pitied or put on some ridiculous pedestal," he finished breathlessly, pale skin flushed from his tirade.

Trowa stared speechlessly at the suddenly fiery creature before him and finally had the grace to look sheepish. "Forgive me," he said lowly. "I--" At a loss for words, he spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

Quatre maneuvered over to the couch and sank onto it with a sigh. He rubbed wearily at his eyes. "No," he said softly, to the older man. "It is I who should apologize. You didn't deserve that." He ran an exasperated hand through his hair as Trowa sat next to him. "It's just that I'm so tired of being so small- so lonely - so *innocent*. "And--and for a moment, I thought--" He looked away. "I--I hoped that you could teach me," he whispered, as a furious blush climbed his cheeks. "I am drawn to you as well," he admitted quietly. "But I can't be your Savior or your Angel," he said sadly.

Quatre stared at his hands, afraid to see the expression on the other man's face. Already he regretted his impulsive words. When he felt Trowa rise wordlessly from the couch, he found himself rapidly blinking back tears. He wiped roughly at his eyes, furious at himself for becoming so attached to a man he knew nothing about.

"So much for proving yourself a man, Quatre," he thought derisively. It was no wonder that nobody wanted anything but a platonic relationship with a him, he thought self-deprecatingly. It was bad enough that he was scrawny and deformed - but to be bawling like a baby at the slightest provocation was simply pathetic. Shamefully, he buried his face in his hands.

The first strains of music reaching Quatre's ears shocked him - but not more so than the silent figure standing before him and radiating an intensity that he could not deny.

Trowa reached out his hand, and wordlessly the blonde took it, allowing the man to pull him to his feet and into his strong arms as the gramophone spilled rich, poignant notes. Quatre had listened to the record many times before - and yet never had the violin seemed so sweet - or so sorrowful as it did now. He pressed his ear against the sure beat of older man's heart, and Trowa's arms tightened, half-carrying, half-swinging Quatre as they danced awkwardly around the room. Not so much to the music, but to a bittersweet rhythm they found in each other's arms.

Trowa stopped, cupping Quatre's face in his hands as he focused every energy on emblazoning onto his memory the curve of soft white cheeks, the splash of marine hidden behind tawny lashes - and the delicate, rose of the soft, trembling lips he would never see again. His chest ached with need and regret as he bent, brushing his lips, once, twice over the enticing pout, suckling tenderly on the firm flesh; tugging gently - savoring the way the tiny blonde gasped and shivered in his arms. When he eased his tongue inside, mating it gently with Quatre's, the pale beauty's eyes fell closed, small hands fisting in Trowa's shirt as a surprised moan escaped him.

Trowa nibbled desperately at Quatre's lips for a moment, and then abruptly he pulled away. His forehead pressed against the slender beauty's, and their breath fanned against each other's in hot, labored pants.

"No promises," he breathed desperately. "No promises."

Quatre's lashes lowered, shielding the pain in his eyes. His smile was beautiful and heartbreaking as he took Trowa by the hand and led the taller man carefully to his bedroom. Looking deeply into tortured, emerald eyes, he placed a burning kiss in the center of the older man's palm.

"No promises," he agreed softly. He tugged Trowa's head down to meet his own, and placed a tentative kiss against the soldier's lips. "No promises," he repeated fiercely. "--Just this."