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"Christmas Cannon in D"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: PG 13 Warnings: AU, Pairings: 3x4 Summary: A Christmas concert allows two boys to
find each other through the connection of music. "Christmas Cannon in D" Quatre sipped on a cup of hot water in the crowded cathedral basement surrounded by the other boys. The gorgeous lights and festivities never failed to make him smile, even though he'd made it into the senior tier of the Vienna Boys Choir, being a four year veteran, and had been surrounded by Christmas constantly. The Grace cathedral was just a bump along the road for the whole choir, but the old church was most important to Quatre—his sister lived there, in San Francisco, and would be in the audience. He almost wished she was with him now, fixing his coat tails or smoothing his hair.... just like the red-haired woman bending over a boy no older then Quatre, and fixing his perfectly working buttons. The boy was tall, with very broad shoulders and a long, lean figure. The woman was fussing over him, straightening his lapels, nervously tugging his festively green turtleneck, and pulling her fingers through his hair. The boy smiled to her and stilled her hands with his. He whispered something to her, and she abruptly left to go to the refreshment table to fetch whatever he had asked for (in hopes that she would leave him alone for a minute, no doubt). Quatre didn't envy the boy—the woman reminded him of a momma bear protecting her cub. The boy's eyes lifted, and Quatre was caught looking. The boy was too handsome for his own good, with a face as chiseled and impassive as a Greek statue; he was absolutely breathtaking. But his eyes—oh, Quatre was all over himself looking into those expressive green eyes hidden under the fall of cinnamon-chocolate hair; nothing gave away one hint of nervousness except for those eyes. Quatre saw his opportunity and began to move across the cathedral basement, having to swerve around groups of people gearing up to go on stage for the Christmas concert. "Hey," Quatre said, finally getting to the boy. He nodded once, calmly, serenely. "You look so composed. Great. Don't let them see you sweat. Do you have a solo or something? You don't look worried," Quatre said. The other boy quirked a lip. "I'm playing Christmas Cannon in D, alone. I'm petrified," he confessed with a little wry chuckle. Quatre laughed uproariously, goading the other boy into it until they were both chuckling mercilessly—Quatre knew there was nothing like a good laugh to loosen someone up. Quatre nudged the boy with his shoulder, standing closer to him then a friend would, "I'm Quatre. I'm with the choir." Trowa responded, a little change in his body language showing that Trowa might be interested in Quatre’s advances—"I'm Trowa. Piano." Quatre grinned triumphantly, "Well, Trowa, it's a real pleasure to meet you. Are you from San Francisco?" And Quatre moved in a little closer, hoping the other boy was interested. Trowa nodded, moving his posture just a little. A little silver charm glinted from his right ear--a symbol of Trowa’s not-straight orientation-- and that said the rest for him. "I am. You're not, though? The choir travels, right?" "We're based in Austria. In a boarding school, and it's boring as heck sometimes. I can't wait to go to a real high school...but not until next year." Trowa's brows creased in confusion, "HOW old are you?" "Fourteen," Quatre replied, "I'm one of the oldest members of the choir." Trowa let out a knowing, "Aah! I just turned fifteen, but I'm in grade ten. I go to the Liberal Arts High School, though, so it's not so terrible." "My school's run by Priests," Quatre deadpanned. Trowa hissed appreciatively, "That must suck. Do you get to do anything fun there at all? Movie nights and clubs and stuff or...is it all...Catholicy?" Quatre grinned, making himself comfortable atop a table. "Well, yeah, it's very Catholic. VERY Catholic, but they've put a bunch of little boys under one roof—it's never quiet, at least. We have fun, but it's all G-rated. Some of the boys are kindergarteners even though they can't perform with us yet—you have to be ten before you can become a touring chorister. "But we get our own rooms, and I have my Wii which works as a DVD player too... I love movies!" Quatre finished. Trowa smiled, "I LOVE my Wii! I have to say, though, my favorite game right now's that Harry Pot--" "I LOVE Harry Potter!" Quatre cut him off with an excited squeal. Trowa smiled, "I've been to the opening night of each movie. My sister made me leave my Durmstrang bag at home tonight." Quatre grinned brightly, his feet swinging gently, "Oh yeah? I've always been more partial to Beauxbaxton," he teased back, grinning excitedly. "Do you like to write?" Trowa was a little surprised in the topic change, "I suppose...I don't have anything against it. I'm no poet or anything..." he replied, not quite sure where it was all going. Quatre grinned and found a cocktail napkin. He quickly scribbled on in, and then handed it to Trowa. "After this performance, we're moving to the next city...but we can write? You can be my pen pal if you like paper, but I put my MSN address on there too, you know…if you want to talk afterwards." Trowa smiled warmly and put the address safely in his pocket. The blonde choir-boy was far too interesting to loose. "Okay. I'd like that. You must like the choir to stay as long as you have?" Quatre nodded gravely, "Far too long, if you ask me, but I can't leave it easily—I do love it. It's been my life since I was about eight. Most of the other boys are from Austria, but I was lucky enough to be chosen. It's very competitive, and hours and hours of work a day just to keep up. And only some of the boys at the school get to be part of the touring choir. But some of the best musicians of history have worked with us—We're the best there is." Trowa smirked once, tightly, "That'd be nice—working with professionals. I bet YOUR violinist doesn't flake off on you to go to Hawaii." Quatre's jaw dropped, "What?!" A rueful snort was the only response, "Yeah...My solo tonight? It’s not supposed to be a solo. The cannon is usually a quartet arrangement, but we were going to do it duet. And then she went for holidays in Hawaii. My piece is going to be one boring repetition of the same chords without the accompaniment, but I can do it. I know I can." "I'm SURE you can, Trowa." Quatre said with a look of sincerity on his face, "It'll be wonderful." "So far, the best part of this week has been meeting you, Quatre." Trowa confessed, distracting himself by sipping on the water in his paper cup. Quatre looked quickly to make sure that the director wasn't looking, and then he leaned over and gave Trowa a quick peck on the cheek, "I liked meeting you too. And isn't that your director calling for you?" Quatre said, pointing to the woman who was in fact looking around the room. Trowa startled, looking surprised at the blonde—a
heat raising in his cheeks. "That—" Quatre didn't let him say another word and lifted his arm so the director could hone in on her preyperformer and pull him away. ~~~~~~
He felt the gentle tap from the director, and he saw the first curtain rising, sending the shimmers from the bright Christmas decorations of the cathedral dancing over the baby grand piano waiting for him. Trowa moved to it, keeping his pace slow and remembering to bow to the audience before taking the seat. Trowa took another breath, long and quiet, and put his hands to the keys. The first chord progression was like remembering an old friend, and then Trowa began to move along the song, closing his eyes and enjoying the technically perfect cannon, even if he was alone playing it. He could almost image the violin accompanying him...or a voice. Trowa's eyes opened and he looked toward the audience. There WAS a voice, and standing in front of the stage was Quatre and two younger choir members. They each waited their turns and moved into the cannon until all three of them were singing Trowa's accompaniment, the song moving like a round, the notes compressing and quickening as they continued. Quatre locked eyes with Trowa, a perfect clear tenor accompanying him with crystal notes, Quatre's voice replacing a need for any other instrument. Together, the music swelled. Trowa and Quatre watched each other—the entire room faded into nothing around them and only music existed between the two. It was as if they were talking only to each other...As if far more was being said between the two of them in the music then could ever be said in conversation. The crowd's applause broke the spell. The song wasn't very long, and they were both going through the motions of taking a bow to the audience and exiting the stage to the left, Trowa moving back amongst the curtains, and Quatre and his friends moving to a door leading to the downstairs waiting room. They met in the stair well, Trowa having raced downstairs and moved to intercept him as soon as he could. Quatre's choir friends moved past them, rejoining the rest of the choir, giggling at their little undiscovered disobedience and leaving the two older boys alone. "You didn't have to—" "I wanted to. You sounded incredible...I wanted to sing with you," Quatre responded, a faint blush on his cheeks as he realized just how close they were. Enclosed in the stairwell, Trowa was merely a stair away from Quatre, their every movement, every breath, could be felt between them. Trowa moved up to Quatre's stair, one arm touching Quatre's side and the narrow hall forcing them chest to chest. Then Trowa leaned down, capturing Quatre's lips, thanking, and worshiping, and finally tasting the lips he'd been thinking about with each note. The music of the next song swelled around them, soft and melodious, bringing the two even closer, arms wrapping around each other as they created a breathless crescendo of their own. They broke apart, neither moving away, and both looking at each other by the light of the glowing cathedral stage. "Boys!" The choir director called, signaling all his choristers to line up. Quatre had to go. The blonde looked back to Trowa, and pressed one more quick kiss to his warm, welcoming lips, "You will write to me, right?" Trowa let him go, knowing he had to for now, "Definitely, Quatre. I'll be here when you come back, alright?" Quatre moved away from Trowa, still holding his hand until the last moment, "I miss you already, and I hardly got to know you." Trowa smiled gently, a cocky tilt to his head, "I'll write. Then you can decide if you wanna stick with me when you come back here." The two of them looked away from each other then, Trowa moving out of the stairway and right into his sister's clutches. Quatre was swallowed up by the choir, lined up and readied for the stage. The choir went up and sang a beautiful set, but when they came back down from the stage, the basement was clear.
The director called the class to attention—a rather difficult feat in a grade eleven music class—and he got everyone settled. "Alright class, today we're working on your group projects again, and I'd like to introduce our newest student. All the way from Austria, everyone, meet Quatre Winner." And just as Trowa had been anticipating for months, Quatre moved into the classroom with a bright smile, his dress shirt and tight white-washed jeans crisp and handsome on him. Immediately he spotted Trowa and grinned. The director began to scan the room for a seat, but Quatre was already on the way over there, stopping to shoot Trowa an amused smirk, “Is this seat reserved?” Trowa grinned, replying easily, “Yes. My gorgeous blonde choir-boy of a boyfriend is coming from Austria, you see, and I want to make sure he sits next to me so I can show him off to all my friends.” Quatre laughed, plopping down into the chair and turning to look at Trowa, “Oh lover,” Quatre said with a long-suffering sigh, “Your humility amazes me.” “When I get you home,” Trowa replied, grinning
from ear to ear, “I’ll amaze you some more.”
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