Don't forget, no matter how much I wish it to be so, these boys aren't mine. They belong to Bandai and the godlike creators of the Gundam world. Thank you for letting me live there.

Trowa awoke in a strange room, curled in a strange bed. He blinked, rubbing his eyes and brushing his long brown bangs from his face. He shifted his position, attempting to sit up in bed, but something held him back. Something warm and soft and draped over his body. Trowa glanced down cautiously, mouth taut, green eyes wide. He was greeted by the sight of another body, smaller, more feminine, wound around his own. The boy's arm draped across the taller pilot's waist, angelic face resting on his bare chest. Trowa smiled slightly, running his fingers through the halo of blonde hair. The boy stirred, yawning, stretching, wrapping his arms tighter around the French pilot.

"Je t'aime, mon petit," he whispered to the sleeping boy, causing him to stir again.

The boy blinked up at him, realization creeping across his face. Bright, innocent blue eyes met green. A large smile crossed his face.

"Trowa! Good morning!"

Trowa smiled, that small, rare smile meant only for the Arabian pilot beside him.

"Good morning, Quatre..." he murmured in his quiet, deep voice.

He tenderly kissed the blonde boy on the top of his head.

"Mmm, Trowa, I missed you."

"You've been right next to me all night, Quatre..."

"Yes, but I was asleep! Besides, you'll have to leave again soon---"

"Shh, don't think about that now," Trowa said, sliding down in bed to lay beside his lover, face to face.

Quatre leaned forward slightly and rubbed the tip of his nose against Trowa's, giggling quietly. They wrapped their arms tightly around each other, cuddling, rolling together like children. No one would have ever guessed they were Gundam pilots, wise beyond their 15 years, that they had seen war and death by their own hands. No, not right now; now they were kids again, not entirely innocent, discovering themselves in the body of the other.

Trowa's mouth covered Quatre's, trying to stifle the giggles escaping the smaller boy's body. It wasn't working. Exasperated, Trowa relented and moved lower down his lover's body, as Quatre's giggles turned to soft moans.

They barely heard the knock on the bedroom door the second time it came, accompanied by a deep male voice.

"Quatre-sama? Are you alright, sir?"

Trowa's breath caught in his throat as he felt Quatre stiffen and yell out, "I'm fine Rasid."

"Are you sure?" he questioned tentatively, not quite wanting to know the full answer.

"I'm sure, really. Everything's fine."

"Alright, Quatre-sama. Goodday."

They listened in silence as the heavy footsteps clunked down the hall, until they knew he was gone. Trowa didn't realize he had been holding his breath until it shot out his lungs, past his lips, a deep sigh. The look on his lover's face and his breath against his stomach caused Quatre to burst into another fit of laughter.

Trowa looked up from his place in the Arabian pilot's lap and smiled that small smile again. He kissed up the boy's stomach, smooth chest, thin neck. He pinned the boy's arms up next to his head, straightening his own arms, pushing up, staring down at him. His emerald eyes glowed with something from deep inside his soul. Quatre's laughter slowed, stopped, and he looked up at his lover.

"Quatre-sama," he mocked, lovingly, "you will have to tell them sometime."

"They know already! You know they do!" he cried, struggling against the other boy.

"Yes, I know," he said, deadpan, "but, still..."

"But, still!"

That smile again.

"Yes, but, still."

Quatre's smile lit up his face in response, sapphire eyes twinkling with delight.

"Yes, Trowa, I will tell them. I promise."

"Arigato, little one," he went to say, but didn't need to. Quatre already understood.

He descended upon his love, arms wrapping together, lips joined in eternal tenderness.

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