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"Found in Translation"Written By: Dentelle_noir Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the
characters. GW belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This
is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU, Pairings: 1x3 Summary: It’s rather AU because I have a
difficult time getting into ‘mission Heero’s’ head,
and I didn’t want to do a ‘soldier’s fuck’ kind
of drabble. It's kinda sad, and it's not the most 'happily ever after'
sorta thing. You have been warned. "Found in Translation" I traced the curves of the Celtic-style tattoo across his lower back, wondering how I’d ever gotten so lucky… It had been a fluke, really, that I ever took French. I was already fluent in Japanese (since that was where my family had come from) and I had learned English as a child and used it as my mother tongue. But for some reason, I chose to take French in high school, and then in University. I never thought I would ever need to use it, until the day I met Trowa Barton. It was a little coffee shop near campus, and he was leaning against the counter, his jeans (a trendy looking style with a designer label that I had never heard of before) seemed to hug in all the right ways, accentuating his long legs and slim, tight hips, flaring out in a boot-cut over a pair of sleek grey running shoes. He looked absolutely gorgeous, and as he leaned ever more over the counter, trying to point to what he wanted, his thin grey sweater pulled up, giving me a peek of firm abs and a studded black canvas belt….and the edge of a tramp stamp, but at the time I couldn’t tell what it was. He was starting to get frustrated, I could see, and so was the woman behind the counter. They had communicated with the word ‘sandwich’ eventhough the man had said it with an accent, but they couldn’t seem to get much further. The man huffed in irritation, and went for his backpack, pulling out a French to English dictionary and began to flip through it, muttering to himself “Jambon” and that’s when I saw my opportunity. “Ham” I said, stepping up to the counter. He looked up at me, and blinked once, then looked in his book, “Ah… ‘am. Oui.” He said, the H sound dropped. His voice was velvety and deep, and it sent a little shiver down my back. The server seemed relieved, and between the three of us, we managed to get the order understood by all. And for all his trouble, I talked the server into getting him a complimentary coffee. And then I talked him into sitting with me. He didn’t seem too put out by the suggestion either. I learned his name was Trowa Barton, and that he had come to our University to do research on the aboriginal settlements in the area. He was an anthropology student who majored in languages. And he agreed to meet me for coffee again the next day. Then the next. I don’t know when our friendship changed-- maybe it hadn’t, since we went from strangers to lovers so soon, but soon he was in my bed when he should have been in class, and I could hear his English getting stronger the more he screamed out my name. I made him practice that ‘h’ sound, of course. Over and over. And he still rolled the ‘r’ sound of my name differently than anyone else, but I had come to enjoy hearing that. He always looked so beautiful, laying in my bed, his arms tucked under the pillow and his hip raised slightly, showing off that little tramp stamp tattoo. I had asked him about it once, when I first met him, but he had just gone quiet. Maybe today? “This tattoo is beautiful…Does it mean something?” Trowa went quiet again, his eyes going distant, “it’s a…hope. A dream, I guess…” He answered, his tone sad. “A wish for something I don’t think I could ever have.” “What does it mean?” I asked again, tracing it, leaning over his shoulders and placing a kiss to his neck, sucking gently on the spot right below his ear that I knew made him crazy with desire, made him moan so deep and hungry that I could never stop thrusting into him until he screamed my name. But for some reason, he pulled away this time. He smiled tightly. “It’s not for you to know, Okay Heero? Please don’t ask me again.” I knew then that our relationship wouldn’t last forever. Trowa and I cared for each other, and the sex was great, but we were both so quiet, and neither of us ever wanted to take the step and tell the other how we felt, or what we needed. I looked it up, after that. It was a word. It meant “four” I still don’t understand it. Or him, really. It was just luck that brought us together, but I don’t think that my luck can hold out forever.
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