Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Trinity ❯ Part I ( Chapter 1 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

" Trinity" or "The Laws of Passing Sand"


Pairings: 3x4, 1x3, 4x/+3x/+1
Genre: Spiritual erotica.
Rating: NC17
Warning: Series spoilers, New-type exploration, homoerotic content, spiritual stuff, threesome, angst, slightly disturbing, Waffs.
Summary: Quatre and Heero split the task of helping Trowa find the enlightenment he's looking for.
Thank you: To Raletha- my beta and one of my most favourite people in the universe.


At times like these, I often find myself preoccupied with the symbolism of the hourglass. A lot can be said about a timepiece shaped like an eight with transparent walls that actually shows the flow of time. Each grain of sand relates to a synaptic process- whether it's simply the act of living, or something more conscious. When a granule passes through the pinched crux, it goes from being a thing of the future to a thing of the past, and is only symbolic of the present for that split second it's caught in the pivot.

That is, of course, until the hourglass is turned on its head, at which time the material of one's history becomes the focus of the future, and every grain has a second chance to be the present.

The hourglass symbolizes humanity's dream of restoration and of perpetuation, which I'll say is a bit idealistic. I haven't come to a conclusion about life after death and I don't foresee any such decision in the near future, me being content with my current philosophies and with my position in life. But, to get back to my original thought, most lives can't be flipped over like an hourglass- the sand passes through and the bottom-heavy timepiece is forever imbalanced. I'm not talking metaphysically- remember, I know nothing of life after death- but emotionally, intellectually and physically. I know this, for I've seen people die and I've felt the death of their emotions. It's not a beautiful thing at all- above all other negatives it is painful and chaotic.

Yes, it all sounds very sombre and must reflect poorly on my general optimism. And, of course, I would be very affected by this had I not witnessed an exception to the rule.

People unencumbered by heroism's yoke say that all five of us Gundam pilots are like phoenixes, risen from the ashes of Earth's mistakes to help birth the new era. They're wrong. We bore the burden, yes, but our past makes us unbalanced, and, truthfully, I feel a little bottom heavy in the spirituality department myself. There are things I can't release, or that won't release me, and even more dark things that have burrowed.

But I have felt the hourglass tip and I have witnessed rebirth from ashes. And thus he lives now, relentlessly renewing his previous life and mission after being given the chance to turn his hourglass on its head.

So here am I, lying in my bed, waiting for one Trowa Barton to return to me after his latest fit of restoration. I hope that doesn't sound bitter, because it isn't- I'm happy for him and anxious for his return, which is imminent. It's been three months, which is a long time to wait for the one you adore. I know he's been well and happy, walking through war-torn Europe as a veritable mystagogue of present-day philosophy. I know he caught a cold in Switzerland and was forced to fill his coffee thermos with Echinacea tea, which turned him into an unbearable sulk. In Italy he met with the Pope to hear the mystic words from the icon's very mouth, as he'd similarly met with the Dalai Llama last year. He'd been stopped just south of Sanc when he realized he needed to return here, to me.

That was five days ago, so I've been preoccupied with the hourglass since. But my obsession hasn't overshadowed my sensitivity to the diminishing distance between us.

I know he'll be here tonight.

I've added two extra pillows and a light blanket to the regular bedding- he gets cold easily and the nights are quite cool here, even if the days scorch. I've dispensed with my regular nightclothes, and the Egyptian cotton feels delicious against my flushed body, though not as nice as it'll feel to lie in his arms after three months of sexual frustration. More important than that will be the comfort I get being able to sense him through touching him, rather than having a third party relay his sensations.

It's late and I begin to nod off. My dreams are affected by his closeness and reflect my anxiety. I'm generally a light sleeper, but I don't hear him come in, nor do I feel the stirred breeze from the door. But that initial touch wakes me, and I open my eyes to a shadow hovering over my bed.

"Trowa," I whisper, not entirely sure he's real. Without a word he removes his clothing and crawls into the bed with me. His cold legs and wriggling toes makes the experience believable, even when his mouth on mine further inebriates me.

"Quatre, hello," he murmurs between kisses. He flicks his tongue over my lips then nips at my bottom lip playfully. 'I've missed you. . .'

God, I've missed him.

His emotions are so inviting, so I dig in. Once upon a time I felt like a voyeur or an outright pervert intruding on his emotions like this. But now I know better. I know that he's inviting me into his private world when he lies back in our bed and reaches up to hold my face. It's a gift, and my most treasured.

I press the length of my body to his, delighting in the gasp it draws from him. We grind together, our hips meeting with our erections trapped between our stomachs. After a choked moan he pulls my head to his, knocking our noses together before a bruising kiss.

I slide my hands over his chest, briefly over his nipples, to which he responds with a thrust of his hips. We moan simultaneously at the new friction, and I pull away from his mouth, trying desperately to steady myself. Just as the heady haze starts to loosen its stranglehold, his lips latch onto my throat and begin to suck noisily. I'm vaguely aware of his hands- they're either kneading my buttocks or they're. .. oh hell, I don't know! My body is burning with pent-up need.

Trowa bucks up against me again, mercilessly rubbing our cocks together, his whimpering mouth tickling my throat. I reach blindly for the bedside table and the lubricant but find nothing. Suddenly Trowa wraps his arms around my waist and rolls us over, so that he's now atop me, pressing me into the mattress. Even in the scant moonlight I can see the blush in his cheeks and the dilated pupils, as well as the lubricant clutched in his fist. Our bodies are still pressed together, and into me flows his endless strain of positive emotions. Acceptance, joy, inspiration- they all pulse into me with his heartbeat, intensifying my adoration.

He squeezes a good dollop into his hand then, without moving his body from mine, works the lubricant between our stomachs and over our erections. Our eyes meet and lock and I clutch his hands as he slowly slides his stomach against mine. . .too slowly. . .

"Trowa," I'm gasping, the torture is so cruel. "Faster. . ."

So he does. We grind against each other, sliding back and forth along each other's bodies, the friction painfully building with each pass. Our legs entangle, which renders me helpless, save for my feeble rearing. The heat steadily builds, and I find myself crying out, overwhelmed by my lust and his onslaught of emotions. My desperation is mirrored in his eyes, and I search them for release, but find nothing so charitable. A deep thrust brings me near to the edge, intensifying the burning in my belly. I kiss him clumsily with hiccupping breath, rubbing against his perspiring skin and still gazing into his eyes.

"Quatre. . ." Suddenly his mind explodes with heat and light, which sends me reeling. I scream into his mouth, overwhelmed by our combined passion, and come hard into the vacuum our bodies have formed. The sexual electricity sends me into spasms and I clutch at him as we ride out our orgasms.

We lie together for a moment, still clasped in a feverish embrace. I'm loath to give him up at this moment for so many reasons, but mostly for his emotions, for they sparkle and cascade over me in an erotic baptism.

He does the sensible thing and cleans us up before resuming our embrace. His head comes to rest on my chest and I wrap an arm around his shoulders to keep him warm. His emotions are still buzzing, but I don't mind- it's a lover's ego trip, feeling his love like this.

"I. . .have so much to tell you," he whispers, almost inaudibly.

I know he does- it has been many grains of sand since I've seen him.

"Tomorrow. Go to sleep," I say, kissing his forehead. He looks back at me and gives me that smile he's reserved for our private moments together.

He falls asleep quickly, but I take a few more moments to bask in the afterglow before joining him.