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"Unspoken"Written By: Honor Disclaimers: I’ve contracted some guy named
Doctor Draken to steal the boys. It’s part of his mad scheme
to take over the world. Nifty, huh? Spoilers: Nope Rating: Um…hm…NC-15 to be safe Warnings: Romance, some angst, some shonen-ai,
and language Pairings: 3x4x5x3 Author’s Insane Ramblings: ‘Soundless speech’ <communicator> *emphasized* " Unspoken" Chapter Three
“He is beautiful, isn’t he?” I looked up into green eyes. Well, I’m not the only one awake. I focused back on my—our?—blond before answering softly, to avoid waking him up. “Yes. He is.” “You can’t do that, you know.” The fun part about talking with Trowa is that in his effort to say as little as possible, he was annoyingly cryptic. “Would you care to extrapolate?” “Has anyone ever told you that you talk like a dictionary?” he queried in amusement. I just kept one of my eyebrows arched and waited, not particularly in a patient manner. “Hn.” He shifted slightly, settling more comfortably. “What I meant was, if we’re to make this work, you can’t walk out and give us privacy.” Great. We’re going to have another Meaningful Conversation. He has a bad habit of ambushing me with those. “You’re assuming that we’re actually going to try having a three-way relationship.” He actually rolled his eyes at me. “Wufei, you know damn well that we’ll do whatever Quatre asks of us. He has us both wrapped around his little finger.” …that was actually an understatement; most of the time Quatre didn’t even have to ask. As long as I knew he wanted it, or would be happy because of it, I usually acted. Dammit. I nodded to concede the point, but tried not to dwell on it too much. It’s hard to think before coffee, and trying to sort out an emotional tangle like this was sure to give me a headache if I tried to think anything through at this point. “Does it bother you?” I froze at the threadbare, hesitant whisper. Unbidden my eyes flew up to meet his, and I saw in those shadowed green depths that Trowa was…afraid wasn’t the right word, but deeply troubled by something. I wasn’t sure why, but he needed some kind of reassurance from me. “Not…really. The whole idea is a little unorthodox, I’ll grant you that, but…I know that it will hurt him and you if I try to make him choose between us. That is not something that I’m willing to do.” The troubled light in his eyes faded somewhat, slowly replaced by dry amusement. “Is that all there is to it?” Probably not. But I wasn’t sure how much more there was to my decision either, on an emotional level, and I wasn’t going to talk about it until I at least had it straight in my head. “I need to go into town for something. I should be back in an hour or so.” He arched an eyebrow at me, curious, but let it lie. Quietly I stole out of the bed. Quatre muttered in discontent when one of his heaters moved, and burrowed in closer to Trowa, one hand reached back to try and find me (no doubt to pull me back into position). I tugged the blanket up closer around his back before noiselessly exiting the room. While sleeping my subconscious had come up with a rather good thought, which I fortunately remembered when I woke up. Yesterday Trowa and I had tried to make Quatre break his own silence, but all of our methods had dealt somehow with war or missions. I had a suspicion that if I went with an approach that had nothing to do with war, something completely disassociated with danger, that maybe we’d make better progress. And to do that, I needed a violin. + I’m not a musician. I can barely play a cd. I can sing (somewhat) but that’s about it. Fortunately for me, the closest city to us had a very large music store. I went in, asked the man behind the counter what the best violin was, and bought it. The price was ludicrous, but I was using OZ money to pay for it so who cares? I just hoped that a Stradivarius was a good name brand, and that Quatre would be satisfied with it. When I came back to the safe house, I was greeted by a very unusual sight. Not wrong just…what the hell was Trowa doing? While I was gone, someone (probably Trowa) had set up various pots and pans bottom up on the table in a rough semi circle. He’d then sat in one of the chairs, put Quatre on his lap, and handed the blond a wooden spoon. As I watched from the screen door, Trowa was quietly murmuring to him. Whatever it was had been too soft to catch, but the look on Quatre’s face was priceless. It was a mixture of disbelief, amusement, and lustful anticipation. He gave Trowa a look askance before firmly turning towards the pots, wooden spoon held high. The spoon came down at high speed, but slowed abruptly before it could hit the pan, making only a soft thump as wood struck metal. Quatre bit his lip in frustration. I was rather surprised by what Trowa did, however—he pressed a soft kiss against Quatre’s temple before saying something. The tone was one of encouragement. The blond brightened slightly at the kiss, and with the next try his whack against the pot was a little louder. Trowa chuckled softly, and this time he placed a kiss against the side of the neck. I’ll be damned—as I watched, Quatre’s strikes against the pots became progressively louder, and every time he hit one Trowa would kiss him somewhere; temple, cheek, neck, any skin within reach. Whatever restraint held Quatre in check vanished as he received only affection and pleasure from making all that racket. With a broad grin he struck the pots with both spoon and his free hand in a flurry of movement, then turned and firmly caught his seat’s mouth in a kiss. Watching the man I love kiss another man should have made me jealous—and maybe it did, a twinge. But mostly it was one of the hottest things I’ve seen in my life (excluding that one time I’d accidentally caught a peek of Quatre naked in the shower.) They were very much wrapped up in each other, and good manners dictated that I should go before I was caught spying. One step away from the door, and I abruptly remembered Trowa’s words from that morning; that it was wrong to give them privacy, that in order for this relationship to work I had to be there too. I hated to interrupt them…but at the same time, I wanted to share in the joy that Quatre had broken past one barrier at least. I slipped past the screen, setting the violin out of the way, and approached. The kiss was broken and Quatre looked up as I came forward, eyes shining brighter than the noon day sun. He pointed at the pots, nearly bouncing. ‘Did you see?!’ “I saw,” I assured him, grinning back. “A, ah, unique method of training, Trowa. I commend you on your creativity—or I would, if I wasn’t suspicious of an ulterior motive somewhere.” I made sure that my tone was light and teasing, letting him know that I didn’t mind. “He’s kissable,” Trowa defended himself mildly. “Besides, I was only offering proper…encouragement.” There wasn’t anything ‘proper’ about it, but I decided not to mention that. Out loud. I’m sure my Look at him quite eloquently conveyed my opinion on the matter. I was distracted from saying anything else when Quatre abruptly ducked around me and picked up the violin case near the door. He looked back over his shoulder, growing excitement on his face. “It’s for you,” I confirmed. “I thought perhaps it would help. I don’t know anything about musical instruments, so I hope that’s a good brand name—” By this point he had the case on the table and the lid open. He froze open seeing it, jaw slowly dropping. His mouth moved, but since he was in profile to me, I couldn’t read his lips. Tugging his face around gently I asked, “Will that work?” ‘Work?’ he repeated incredulously. ‘It’s a Stradivarius!’ He was saying the name like it should mean something, but it didn’t to me. Judging by his reaction, however, it should be a fairly good violin. “Yes, it is. Can you play it?” ‘Can I play it? I’m not sure if my skill level is high enough to do it justice!’ Apparently frustrated with my ignorance, he grabbed at Trowa, and pointed at the violin. Trowa took one look and mirrored Quatre’s incredulous look exactly. “That’s a Stradivarius!” “Will you two stop saying that like it’s supposed to mean something?” I requested wearily. “I told you, I don’t know anything about music.” Quatre shot Trowa an imploring/exasperated look, which Trowa acknowledged with a flick of the fingers before turning to me. “Let me see if I can explain—Stradivarius is the highest quality of violins, Wufei. They’re rather rare, too. I’m astonished that you managed to get ahold of one.” “The music store owner picked it up at an estate auction,” I replied with a shrug. I didn’t care how it came to be in my possession, as long as Quatre liked it. “It must have cost a pretty penny,” Trowa noted with a growing smile. He knew good and well what was going through my mind. He’d feel the same, if our places were reversed. “It wasn’t cheap, but I knew that he’d put it to good use.” Speaking of which… I cocked an eyebrow at Quatre. “Care to try it?” He handled that violin like his first born child as he took it from the case. It was somewhat amusing to watch, really. Very gently he plucked each string, nodding in approval each time. It took a moment for me to realize that he was checking to make sure it was in tune. How does he do that? Just listen to a sound and know if it’s in pitch? Putting the violin under his chin, he set the bow to the strings and a little gingerly played a single note. I was impressed that he had made a noise at all. If Trowa hadn’t made him play with those pots first, I wasn’t sure if Quatre could have played anything. Gaining confidence, he started playing something sweet and pure. I didn’t recognize the song, but I knew that from that moment on it would be one of my favorites if for no other reason than as a reminder of this moment—seeing Quatre smiling in pleasure, playing, morning sunlight dancing around him. I didn’t recognize it, but Trowa did—he started humming the harmony to it, winking at Quatre when the blond looked up in surprise. It was such a perfect, peaceful scene I wished that it wouldn’t end—then I wished I at least had a camcorder so I could record it. Eventually it did end, and Quatre gently replaced the violin in its case. Once he was sure it was secure, he spun around and launched himself at me, arms tight around my neck, a warm and soft mouth on mine. After the first initial jerk of surprise I settled into that warm, addicting embrace like a man parched from desert sun would fall upon a cool oasis of water. A tad regretfully I let go when he pulled back, blinking myself back into focus. “You’re welcome.” With a silent laugh he darted in close again to steal another kiss, lingering only for a moment before retreating. “He’s gotten very good at non-verbal communication,” Trowa observed blandly. I snorted, but didn’t rise to the bait. “Well,” I observed to Quatre, “you’re making sound now. What else do you want to try?” + Quatre went back to some of the things we had tried before, like target practice, and went through them all without even a twitch. He did every noisy thing he could think of from vacuuming to banging on pots (he really did like that, especially when he got a kiss for every whap of the spoon) but despite all of our progress, he still couldn’t utter a sound vocally. At six in the evening we’d called for a time out and started preparing dinner, and then after that we’d simply let it rest for the day. Quatre had made tremendous progress, and he needed to rest for a while before trying something else. Trowa dug out his flute from somewhere, and for an hour or two I heard a duet being played out on the front porch. I sat on the couch, just listening and reading poetry. When twilight started to encroach on the day, they stopped and put the instruments away, ending my free concert. I was just getting ready to put the book away when Trowa called from the back of the house. “Wufei! Come here.” Head cocked in curiosity, I quickly answered the summons. It wasn’t difficult to pinpoint where he was, I could hear him speaking as I approached the hall bathroom. “…I know you’re frustrated, but beating yourself up isn’t going to help any—don’t pout at me, it’s not going to do any good.” Ancestors, now what had Quatre done? The bathroom door was partly open and I pushed it aside to enter. Quatre was glaring down at the floor, leaning slightly against the counter. Trowa was in front of him, both hands on his shoulders, a slight frown tugging at his mouth. He looked up in relief as I came through. “I’m not making any progress; you talk some sense into him.” I went to Quatre as Trowa gave way to give me room, cradling his face with both hands and forcing his head up to look at me. “What’s the problem?” ‘I want to talk!’ Ah. It wasn’t so much what he said as the expression on his face. I had an inkling what was truly bothering him now. “Quatre, you cannot approach this the same way you’ve approached every other problem in your life—sheer bullheaded stubbornness isn’t going to do any good here. You have to be patient.” ‘But…’ His eyes fell, shoulders slumping. “But?” ‘I can’t even tell him I love him…except through writing it out…’ …bingo. I knew there was a root to this frustration somewhere. “Airen, you’re being an idiot. Don’t you think he knows; that we know? You don’t have to say the words, we know by how you look at us how much you love us.” Trowa groaned slightly. “Is that what’s bothering him?” Quatre peeked up at me, searching for confirmation. I kissed him lightly, turned him by the shoulders, and shoved him at Trowa. The brunet caught him, smiling a little when his captive snuggled into the embrace. If I had possessed a magic wand at that moment, to make everything right again, I would have used it without hesitation. I could assure Quatre until I was blue in the face, but he wouldn’t be satisfied until he could tell us how he felt. We had to get his voice back. ~*~*~*~
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