Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Trinity ❯ Part III ( Chapter 3 )

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

"Here's a photograph of Mt. Cintu at dusk."

"I like how the flock of birds is black against the horizon."

"I knew you would."

So he's been to Corsica.

That's where we met, you know. . .

From the moment I met him, I felt the spark of our union and since then I’ve been secretly fatalistic, knowing deep inside that our destinies were intimately interconnected. I can still remember the anticipation I felt after offering up myself to him- the time it took for him to open the hatch felt like ten times the ninety granules it actually took. That first glance stirred up new and adult chemicals in my body. That skinny, suspicious boy aroused both my body and psyche, and our meeting has led to an epic-sized culmination of events, which continues even now.

While I was curious about our chemistry from the beginning, there was nothing especially noticeable to latch onto. It was intuition and nothing more. It wasn't until our music room episode that I had any reason to believe in anything paranormal.

They call it Automatism, and it's a psychic phenomenon during which an artist creates something totally independently of his consciousness. When I played with Trowa that day, I was not aware of any chordal patterning, rhythm changes or phrasing concepts. And yet. . .our work was flawless, comparable to a masterpiece by any recent musical genius. It was more than instinct- no one can "hack" sequences of augmented triads and obscure Neapolitan transitions with someone they've never met nor previously worked with.

Since then, our lives have been full up with such strangeness. None of our meetings have been true coincidences, though I wouldn't have acknowledged it at the time. During the war our connection was much more random than it is now, consisting mostly of eerie sensations and muddled telepathy.

After we lost Trowa in space, my connection with Heero grew. Early on, I attributed it to the psychological trauma of losing Trowa, and then later dismissed it as a way for us to mutually grieve over the young man we both adored. At that time, however, my abilities were ravaged by jealousy and envy- with the green-eyed boy came the green eyed monster.

For all our closeness, Trowa and I had never experienced anything more intimate than a platonic caress. I quickly found out through rifling and empathic prying that Heero and Trowa had been lovers before his death, and the fact tore me apart.

My good intentions aside, I was still spoiled at fifteen. It wasn't something necessarily negative, but it was something that separated me from Heero and Trowa. Of course, I'm not talking about material possessions, though it's true I had them- no, I was spoiled with love. As a child I'd taken my father's love for granted, and even at a very old fifteen there was no way I could fathom a life without that kind of devotion.

Heero and Trowa provided something similar for each other, though it would never be as sentimental as my upbringing. Thinking back on that, my immature reactions embarrass me.

How accepting I've become.

Not that it's anything to gloat about- it's simply an indicator of my previous pettiness.

After the Eve wars, and after half a year at the circus, Trowa had an epiphany and thus was born my obsession with the hourglass.

A traveller by circumstance, he associated the parts of his life with places and landmarks. So, to reconstruct his soul, he decided he would return to ruins of his past. Negativity and positivism were irrelevant-he would face everything that had ever been a part of him.

Thus, he returned to Corsica.


As we continue to flip through the photographs he took with Heero's camera, I get a bit melancholy- why had he gone there without me? Why had he taken Heero to the place he could only associate with me?

I've come to accept my position in his life, but it doesn't mean I'm immune to the sorrow the fact brings. I. . .I'm not even sure how much of his life he's been through, since his past is eternally blocked from both Heero and me. It's one of the reasons he fascinates us so, I suppose.

I mean to bring it up later that night, but after an intense bout of lovemaking and a long day full of conference calls, I fall asleep before I get the chance. My early dreams consist of the usual skewed interpretations of my day, which I can easily deconstruct due to their emotional (and not so) overtones. Dreams are not the same for me as they are for natural people, since in dreaming you do not interact with alien emotions- they all belong to you.

This means that I know when Heero crawls into the bed with Trowa and I. I can feel the intrusion of his emotions on my psyche, unlike Trowa who needs to be probed. What happens to my dreams when he comes to us? They cease to become dreams and become an absorption tank for his emotions. I am conscious, but powerlessly held by his space heart.

He is cold and sad. He misses the body warmth he's grown accustomed to over the past few years. Though he is lonely, he feels guilty about intruding on our time and acknowledges the period as being "too short". He bears no ill will towards me, or for the fact that Trowa smells of me and would likely taste of me. The envy is there, but it's entirely self-deprecating.

Had he been anyone else, he probably would've cried. Instead, I'm privy to the method in which he suppresses his emotions as he literally files them away for private reference.

Without thinking, he spoons up against Trowa, who is, in turn, hugging me from behind. Then Heero draws me into a sleep from which we'll eventually wake, drained and depressed.

When I do wake, he's gone and I smell coffee brewing. Every morning since they've arrived he's been up first, selflessly working to get our day started. I feel a little guilty doing it, but I snuggle back in Trowa's embrace for a moment, drinking in the first sensations of the day.

After a good night's sleep and some truly mystical dreaming, he feels deliciously warm and content. I bask in his sunlight, using it to blind me from my own angst. He used to do the same. . .

However, it doesn't work. The Heero situation is too distressing to be buried. Donning my house robe, I wander into the kitchen with no obvious worry, though my insides are full of scuttling anxieties.

He isn't there. The coffee is brewed and Danish pastry has been toasted and tossed on a serving platter, but he has vanished. Since my mind is fairly muggy first thing in the morning I prepare myself a cup of java and try to subdue my anxiety with pastry. With a still-fluttering stomach, I head off in search one perfect (lonely) soldier (tragically conditioned child).

I'm not surprised to find him in the garden- it's become one of his favourite sulking spots. He's tossing pebbles into the creek that cuts my property in two. The bubbling water- driven by a waterfall not a mile away- laps against Heero's bare foot, vying for his attention. But his thoughts are obviously elsewhere, for his stare is distant and focused on something just behind the horizon.

I’m tempted to call out to him, but intuition counsels silence, so I watch from a distance and say not a word.

There is something unnerving about Heero’s silence. Unlike Trowa’s serenity, Heero’s quiet is dynamic in a very negative way. For all his attempts at suppression, he exudes angst. His manner is nearly automatic, but there is a overtone of primality that counteracts that robotic impression. He shows little grace when he raises his hand to his forehead- it is more like a lever-a simple machine- than a process demonstrating the sophistication of the human animal. But something in his eyes and in the intake of breath spawns impressions of raw, biological power. He is a strange juxtaposition of evolution and regression.

In that manner he is the opposite of Trowa, who is perfectly blended, and constantly adapting. Heero is a patchwork of beautiful, but unrelated things.

I know he feeds off the way Trowa moulds to him, just as I’m greedy for Trowa’s ability to make my thoughts coherent for me. I’m. . .a muddled mass of conflicting neurons without him.

We leech.

With one eyebrow twitch, Heero’s façade deteriorates and I see his frustrations. His melancholy reconstructs his face into a horrible, wide-eyed caricature of the once perfected soldier. He clutches desperately at his hair, and then buries his face into his forearm. Still, his gaze is fixed on that point past the horizon, so much so that he has me convinced the resolution is hidden behind the blue sky.

“. . .Why can’t I hate you, Quatre?”

Though he looks to me, I know he doesn’t expect me to reply.

“It’s because we’re the same, I know,” he continues in a chilling monotone. “He even said it- we feel the same to him. We’re hollow, and we try to fill up the emptiness with guilt. We glut ourselves on him because we feel guilty for hurting him, with “him” representing all of the tragedies we’ve caused.” He corkscrews his knuckle into the turf, uprooting an anthill in the process.

Crawling to him, I grab his wrists and pull him to my chest. No matter how conditioned he is, Heero was never trained to evade affection. He freezes in my grasp, head resting against my sternum, hands above his head. Releasing his wrists, I wrap my arms around his waist and open myself to him.

“Quatre?”

“He’s committed the same crimes we have.” I continue Heero’s train of thought. “Why does he feel more pure? Why does he come across as unadulterated?”

“He. . .he didn’t die. . .” Heero attempts assurance, shuddering in my arms.

“I know he didn’t.”

“But we killed him.”

“Yes. Yes we did.”

In a sudden fit of emotion I press my cheek to his, holding him with a ferocity he reciprocates. His breathing is ragged in my ear and his hands claw miserably at my back, but I cling to him as the emotional tremors travel through and between our bodies.

This. . .is five years in coming.

We ride it out, this excess guilt, while silently begging each other's forgiveness. This is no longer about Trowa- it's simply the emotional weight of two soldiers who never released their pain.

We are murderers, he and I- mutilations of a beautiful archetype. We wanted. . .we wanted. . .
We only ever wanted to be heroes. And yet we couldn’t even save the one person who mattered most to us. He was sacrificed for our wretched ideologies-no, for our well-intended ambitions.

That is why we are the same and that is why neither of us deserves him.


After the tears have dried and the shakes have stopped, he pulls out of my arms looking drained. I offer him a half smile, which softens his expression.

"So. . ."

"So?"

"What do we do?" Heero Yuy suddenly sounds very young, which makes me feel necessarily old. I think about my answer carefully before replying to him.

"We love him, we support him, we take care of him and we take care of each other."

"That's it, huh?” He resumes his staring contest with the horizon. After a moment he continues with “And what about us?"

"Our existence is symbiotic-" I reply with a shrug, speaking entirely from the heart, "we help each other help him. We love each other through him and accept that our understanding is truly remarkable."

"This connection really does lead to symbiosis, doesn't it?" His eyes are full of child-like wonder. "I. . .I don't understand it, Quatre. I don't know what the Space Heart is, only that it has led me here, to him."

"I don't understand it any better than you do, and I understand my own power only slightly more. We may never understand it, Heero. . .Does that scare you?"

"It should, but it doesn't."

Snaking my arms around his back, I press myself to him and take in his new emotions. Above all else there is assurance, and it is both sincerely felt in him and directed towards me. This man, lying in my arms, is not the man I fell in love with five years ago, nor is he the man to whom I will eternally gravitate. However, this man- who is probably my polar opposite- understands me more deeply than I understand myself. If I am the light that shines on my beloved's face, then Heero is the shadow that comes from that union, and as long as I’m there, he and Trowa will forever be attached at the shoes.

I hear a gentle rustle behind us, and know it to be Trowa alerting us of his presence. Without letting go of Heero, I turn to smile at my approaching lover. He’s still wearing my old terry cloth robe and I know for a fact he’s entirely nude underneath. Before he takes to the patch of grass beside us, I pull free the belt, then reach between his knees to tug at the back of the robe.
He slips out of it, never breaking our eye contact. Contrary to popular belief, Trowa doesn’t have a problem with being nude- he has a problem with foreign touch, for it triggers generally unwelcome new type sensations in him. However, as I run my palm up the inside of his thigh, I only register trust and affection. I admire the subtle curve of his thigh into his knee, and the gentle, muscular bulge in the otherwise lean stalks. A shudder ripples through his form when Heero’s hand joins in the exploration, travelling up and down the back of his thigh and skimming the bend of his rear.

“Trowa?”

“Hmm?” He looks down at Heero and I from under hooded lids, speaking in a deliciously breathy tone. “What is it, Quatre?” His head lolls the side as Heero passes a whisper-soft caress over his hardening shaft. Heero quirks an eyebrow at me, a playful smirk gracing his otherwise unaffected features.

Yes. This has been long coming.

“Trowa, have you eaten yet?” I ask with feigned innocence, enjoying the uncontrolled gasps Heero teasingly milks from our lover.

“N. .no!” He grinds his teeth and tries to escape Heero’s hands, which are tickling patterns on his lower abdomen.

“Have you had your coffee yet?” Heero asks. I take the opportunity to nibble and lick at the inside of Trowa’s knee. He gasps and grabs onto my shoulder, his legs quivering and his cock proud and blushing.

“Trowa?”

“No! I haven’t. . .had. . .”

“Oh.” Heero and I simultaneously stop our teasing. I continue the thought with “Then we should probably have something to eat and you should have a mug or five. That way you’re not a miserable wreck by noon.”

“You’re intolerable without it.” Heero gruffs, rising to his feet.

“Miserable? Intolerable?”

“Incoherent too.” I add with a wink. Snapping my fingers, I feign inspiration. “Say- why don’t we pack breakfast and spend the morning at the falls? I know you were muttering something about that yesterday. . .How does that sound?”

My poor, naked and very aroused Trowa simply stares at me. Then, with a chuckle, gives a slow nod.

“That sounds fine, Quatre,” he smiles, gathering up his robe. After chastely kissing the both of us, he rewraps his blushing body in the terry cloth and double bows the belt. “I’ll just get dressed. . .” He starts back for the villa.

“Trowa,” Heero calls after him with an impressively straight face. “Dress quickly- we’re leaving in five minutes.”

Trowa’s gait falters for a second, but he maintains his dignity at least until he’s out of view.

“I’ll make the coffee and you get the lube.”

Not one to miss a meal, I gather up the Danishes and make a few sandwiches after finding the lubricant.


While money can’t buy happiness, it can buy beauty like grottos and waterfalls. My estate purchase hadn’t initially been packaged with the falls, but after offering an additional two million credits, the government was only too happy to sell the land. Hundreds of years ago it had been a national park, but decades of neglect had soiled it. Now, after devoting the last four years to its restoration, I can confidently say it’s one of the most beautiful places on earth.

And it is, of course, all the more beautiful shared with your favourite person in the universe.

Both Heero and I make him drink his coffee- frankly, neither one of us wants to suffer the embarrassment of having him fall asleep during copulation. The humidity and the cool breeze make for a balmy day- a perfect day.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Trowa move to the edge of the plateau to enjoy the spray. He removes his shorts (*my* shorts) and shirt (*Heero’s* shirt), folds them and neatly places them on a far ledge before settling back down. His body still hasn’t fully calmed down, and the gentle blush on his pale legs and shoulders sends a lick of fire to my groin. I can feel a similar lust in Heero and I pause a moment to watch our lover through his eyes. Through Heero I feel Trowa’s pulse increase, hear his breathing grow shallow and sense the inexplicable pull Heero has on Trowa. Rising, I travel the length of that invisible bond, stripping and tossing my clothes to the rocks. Lying behind him, I mould my torso to the curve of his back and wrap my arm around his waist. His head falls back and he cranes his neck to see me, to give me that smile he reserves for our time together.

“Quatre. . .”

He pulls my face to his and I yield my mouth to his seeking tongue. It tickles my palate and draws my own tongue into an unrefined dance. I smooth my hand down his wet chest and stomach, tracing the grooves of his abdomen and the slender ridge of his hipbones. I’ll admit to sensing his frustration, but I continue to tease him, rubbing my thumb over his nipples while allowing him only languid kisses.

Groaning into my mouth, he grabs a hold of my hair and mashes our teeth together, gorging himself, drawing from me my entire oxygen reserve. His hand catches mine and leads it to his growing cock, slippery and hot and perfectly sized to my grip. Wrapping my hand around the head, I twist my hand back and forth while tugging gently toward the base. He pulls from my mouth to mew and I eagerly lower my mouth to suck at his Adam’s Apple.

Suddenly, an extra wave of emotion floods into me. Heero has joined us, and sits just below, rubbing Trowa’s slender feet. I continue to masturbate my love, but watch in awe as Heero raises one shapely leg in the air and places a kiss on the arch of Trowa’s right foot. Long tongue strokes along the hypersensitive spot draw a moan from our lover, and he rolls his hips searching for extra friction I’m not willing to give. He looks back at me pityingly and I smile and kiss his nose.

“You’re so cruel.” He pants, crying out as Heero swiftly snatches him out of my embrace.

“Shut up,” grunts Heero, cradling him none too gently. He massage Trowa’s buttocks, running a strong finger up and down the cleft. He nuzzles against Trowa’s neck, kissing where I’ve kissed, then makes his way up to the hot mouth for another slick entangle.

I crawl to them on my hands and knees, projecting my wants. Heero shifts his body to allow me access, and I lower my head to lick delicately at the precome beading on Trowa’s beautiful cock. Steadying myself with one hand, I use the other to tug the skin toward the base and kiss the head and up and down the shaft, flicking my tongue along the underside split. His building heat echoes in my stomach, shoots through my organ and nervous system. I feel Heero’s finger as it invades Trowa’s passage, slick and searching, then I falter in my technique, suddenly feeling the shadow of my own mouth on my erection. After lying down, I begin to massage his sack and speed up my mouth, bobbing gently and undulating my tongue with every stroke. Heero adds another finger and increases the depth of his penetration- first pistoning in slowly, then faster, adding girth to the false shaft without notice. Trowa’s body jerks in an unanticipated rush of pleasure, dragging Heero and I with him. The sexual current slams into me, clutching at my insides, at my cock, at my mind. I force myself off Trowa in hopes of disrupting the current, thus prolonging the divine sensations.

Trowa falls to his hands and knees, shaking with need, on the verge of orgasm. His lips are red and swollen and his eyes are moist, making for a very wanton image.

“Quatre. . . Heero. . .”

Placing a loving kiss on the small of Trowa’s back, Heero holds him for a moment, and into them both I project a sense of calm. Then Heero lies back on the wet slag, utterly beautiful with a genuine smile and a submissive air. Still quivering, Trowa kisses his way down Heero’s torso and gently fellates the already over stimulated man. I seek out the lubricant, and give it up to Trowa as an offering. He prepares Heero lovingly, whispering gentle words that amuse Heero and make me melt. With an unsteady hand I lather up my own cock, holding the base firmly to dampen the twitching.

With an ungraceful moan Heero flips himself onto his hands and knees, his small buttocks firm and waiting. Grasping a hold of those hips, my lover slowly sinks an inch into Heero’s crushing heat. I feel Heero’s tightness start to strangle my cock and I rock into the air. Trowa follows my lead, moving deep and fast, rolling his hips with every thrust.

I almost don’t find my way, but somehow I make it to him. Already prepared, his tight passage dilates then immediately contracts, sucking in my length. And then I move with them- riding the all encompassing current of pleasure, feeling all the sensations available to our triune. Trowa’s channel clenches and releases, teasing me relentlessly, while I feel both his cock and mine take me roughly.

He takes me, I take him, we both take Heero and Heero takes us, all simultaneously.

I hear a scream, but the force of orgasm slams us all into rapture. The released pressure sends glittering shockwaves through us in circuit, gathering intensity with each pass. We clutch at one another, probably screaming, possibly crying, truly living for the first time in our combined existence.



We collapse, reeling, blinded by the intensity of our union. As the colours and shapes start to reform, I find Heero beside me, panting and on his back, and Trowa a couple feet away, his hands covered in Heero’s semen and his face with sweat and tears. I try to make my way to him, but my body continues to shudder with release. I project my love, enfold him in it, and feast on his beautiful emotions.


For a moment, he resists my probing, and I feel only the cold surface of his mental wall. He somehow manages to sit up, and I can feel his eyes on me- on us, rather- deconstructing the very essence of our souls. I watch him through Heero’s eyes, my heart cringing at the sight of his face marred by such sorrow.

How he looks at us! Those pitying eyes, shimmering with sorrow. His bruised lips make to speak, but they quiver and frown instead. He reaches a hand out to us, but the distance is too much. . .

W. . .why is he so far away?

“Trowa?” Heero whispers. His confusion mixes with my pain, and he desperately tries to bring Trowa back to us. But Trowa resists, and gently bows his head in apparent shame.

“I’m sorry,” whispers my love, clawing at the stone. He launches a sudden wave of contrition and his pain knocks the wind from my lungs. I push the negative emotions back, fighting for breath and stability. Beside me Heero attempts to project comfort to ease Trowa’s pain, but his actions are overwhelmed by our uncontrollable leeching.

“. .you’re wrong. . .I didn’t die. . .”

“Trowa!” I call out to him, trying to console him, but his intensity punches me in the gut. I feel Heero as his hand slips into mine and he channels his strength into me. Through Heero I lock eyes with Trowa, and suddenly feel the weight of his burden.

“I’m sorry my death didn’t absolve your guilt. I. . .can’t be your saviour. . .I can’t. Stop making me, please. . .let me go. . .I’m contaminated just like you. . . I’m just like you. . .”

He stumbles over and collapses before us in a tangle of limbs. I want to catch him, but the projected emotions render me helpless. He huddles there for a moment, trying to organize the mess, knowing full well that Heero and I can’t handle this newfound intensity.

Then he looks up at us, with a gentle smile. Tranquility descends, eradicating the fizzling angst. Heero reaches forward and cups Trowa’s chin.

“Trowa. . .”

“Both of you have to move on. . .you’re killing me. I am not a phoenix, I am not renewed, and I can’t turn the hourglass of my life on its head. I want this quest to be done so we can just live. Please understand that I can’t be everything else, but this. . .”


He opens up his mind to us, and only now, do I fully understand.


I have made Trowa a phoenix, but not by shooting him in space. No, I’ve made him a phoenix by selfishly *needing* him to be one. Five years of waiting for him has been misspent, because it’s never been about his restoration, but my own through him. I never thought I deserved renewal, but his quest gave me hope that it was possible.

All this time I’ve lamented his absence when, in fact, I have caused it. Through our beautiful connection I’ve pushed him away and elevated him to a position he’s never wanted, nor needed.

A glaring Heero clenches his fists and blasphemes quietly. “We. . .hurt you. . .” he whispers.

“I think it’s safe to say we’ve hurt each other, so don’t be a hypocrite,” Trowa muses, “You know why I did what I did, and it wasn’t to make you feel guilty, nor was it to absolve you from any guilt. I did it because it had to be done for the greater good.”

“Trowa.”

“No more of this! No more. Quatre, invite me home to stay. Don’t send me back out there to search for something as whimsical as salvation. We don’t need to have me traipsing around the universe in an existential haze. . .do we? Heero?” Trowa brings Heero’s palm to his lips. The heir to Trowa’s kiss looks and feels just as broken as myself, and the gesture is a bittersweet reminder that the perfect soldier and I are the same.

“No matter how much of you I see, you’re still so pure to me.” Heero’s choked reply is the most human I’ve ever heard. “ But,if your quest is done, then. . .”

“Is it done? Quatre? Can we finally be one?”

I stare at him a moment, marvelling at the rainbowed mist in his hair and the patience in his eyes. It would be so easy for me to feel guilty over this -so easy. . .

‘You’re too far away, Quatre- you need to stop going to that place.’

But I don’t. I draw on Heero’s power and Trowa’s wisdom to overcome my emotional masochism, and project unto them my adoration. Heero shadows me, and pulls us together with his strength- Trowa into his arms and me into Trowa’s embrace. And only in this union do I feel fulfilled and comfortable with my world. As the gentle mist baptizes us anew, washing away the stale sand of yesterday, I speak with certainty:

“It is done.”

We will never understand the nature of our connection, but not everything in the universe needs to be communicable through language and symbolism. We are what we are-three souls in one happiness, bound at the metaphysical seams, forever renewing our adoration.

Such is our trinity.