Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Symphony ❯ Chapter 1

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Watching Duo's tempo change is like listening to a symphony.

In the daytime, he is the Summer to Vivaldi's Four Seasons.

He starts slowly, softly. One step at a time, with little pauses in-between. As he goes through his morning ablutions, you hardly hear him. But you know that the music has started to play.

When he finally graces us with his presence, the house stirs to life - the tempo picks up, the music is slightly louder. Yet he is still subdued. My lover isn't much of a morning person, and is quite useless before his morning coffee. But as he slowly downs his brew, sparkles appear in his eyes. His smile brightens. Enter the violin.

He turns to Quatre, starting his usual cheerful chit-chat. He knows by experience that neither Trowa nor Wufei will answer his banter - it isn't their style. And like me, they are listening to the chorus of violins that my lover has become. We wouldn't want to interfere.

Abrupt pause in rhythm as he silently runs a schedule for the day. When he is done, he turns to me with a bright smile and a wink. The violins begin again, as if they had been waiting for Duo to come out of his thoughts.

He then sets himself up for whatever he has planned for the day. He starts moving around. The music is building up.

He is soon all around the place, busying himself with chores, chattering to whoever is near him. He looks like a ballet dancer, unconcsiously following the symphony that is playing for him in my head. He waves his arms to add emphasis to the words that tumble from his lips in a rhythmic staccato. He leaps and twirls from one place to another, his braid flying and curling around his body as if it had a life of its own. Duo's movements are never jerky. They are in fact one long continuous motion. Watching him brings me a sense of inner peace - a feeling that had been completely alien to me before I met him.

The music plays at a maddening pace, matching the graceful whirlwind that is my lover as he dances his way through the hours of the day.

At night, when we make love, he turns into Carl Orff's Carmina Burana.

Duo's kisses are as fierce and intense as the O Fortuna opening theme, his hands rough as he practically rips the clothes off our bodies.

Momentary respite as he softly pushes me on the bed and lies beside me. The choir whispers.

Our breaths mingle, tongues engaged in a hot, moist duel, lips sealed together. His hands roam feverishly all over my body, turning me to lava. We are both engulfed in a spiral of rising passion. Then he is in me, hips rocking slowly. The rythmic movement sets me on fire, makes me thrust against him, aching for more. His pace quickens, his breathing becomes ragged. He is losing control. The choir sings louder.

Soon we are both panting and thrusting frantically against each other, lost in a raging sea of hot passion. The choir chants madly, drums beat angrily and trumpets are blown full force.

His hand seeks the part of me that is aching for his touch, pushing me close to the edge. His jaws are clenched, eyes closed. We are both so close. Until we are finally swept away by the blinding rush of our release. His voice and mine echo the final glorious cries of the choir, the deafening clash of cymbals and the furious blow of trumpets.

We lie in each other's arms, spent and sated by our love-making. The final notes of the symphony die slowly. He curls up against me and I watch him fall asleep.

My Duo - my symphony.