Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Breathing Methods ❯ Intermission - It's All In The Groove ( Chapter 7 )

 

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Intermission - It's All In The Groove

 

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I don't know exactly why I didn't take Quatre up on his...er...'offer'...for the elevator thingy. This building, however horrendously designed, does have one, and it's walls are covered with ceiling to floor mirrors. Ultimately kinky, right? But...hell, if you ever repeat this to anyone, I will barbecue you alive...I was worried about Trowa.

 

He was against this, you see...even though...I know he wants it.

 

I know I sound conceited, and sure of myself...but hell, he got hard from me and Heero just kissing. And though he doesn't seem jealous of the others, and I know this sounds nuts, it seems like he's jealous of me. And I don't know why.

 

Which is why I'm sitting on the garden wall next to him, watching him work silently on his bike.

 

The ultimate sacrifice, eh? I'm still in a lot of pain, believe it or not, even though it's been three days. It's winding down though...I can sit, at least...and the bleeding stopped a long time ago. And no, it wasn't from being fucked too hard. In my opinion, you can never be fucked too hard.

 

They just rubbed me raw, is all, and it's a wonderful feeling, once you get over the initial shock.

 

I hand Trowa a spanner when he looks around, and he stares at me for a long, breathless moment.

 

Trowa in ordinary light is pretty, in a macho, silent type kind of way. Trowa in full sunlight, shirtless, kneeling on the ground with greasy tools in his hand, is beyond realms of sexual turn ons, heading straight for erogenous heaven.

 

Poetic-ness in me, die. Die, die, die.

 

But...

 

Bright green eyes, not a hint of humanity or awareness in them, sparkling none the less with a light I know can only be consciousness, and if not, nervousness, a little apprehension. He's tall, and graceful, and muscular; he reminds me of a lion...yes, I get it, shut up....that's been forced to stand on his hind legs and elongate. All power and grace, you understand? His hair might be a little strange...the forelock is bloody unnatural...but it's a lovely auburn colour, making me think he has either some Mediterranean or Irish blood mixed in with his heritage. Pale skin, narrow bones, thin fingers, thin as a blade nose...he looks either like someone bordering on anorexia, or a beautiful statue. Something you feel good just staring at.

 

Like I am. He blinks at me, and the light in his eyes flares a little. His lips tighten, in a grimace I think, and he takes it as he loosens the lug nuts on the back wheel.

 

“Got barbs?”

 

He doesn't look around, yet I sense a small response in the set of his shoulders, the relaxed state of his body. `Yes.'

 

“Hughes highway?”

 

He shakes his head a little, his left foot shifting back behind the other, his hands tightening a bit more than necessary on the spanner. `Been down that road too, eh?'

 

“Yeah...bitch to go on.”

 

He tilts his head as he patiently works a greasy piece of metal free from its slide, wiping it with a cloth before setting it careful aside. His head is tilted a little bit to the left. `And rough as guts, as well, don't forget that.'

 

“Nope, I won't. Did you hit the potholes?”

 

He turns around, dropping the spanner, and just looks at me again, raising his eyebrows. I blush a little...not that I mean to....and carefully play with he end of my ponytail. It's not like I'm so desperate to talk to him I'm making answers from his body language, or anything...

 

“Well?” I ask, feeling defensive as I fold my hands in front of my chest. “Did you?”

 

He tilts his head to the side, and stares at me like I'm crazy. `Yes. I also ran into a patch of barbed thorns from being pushed off the road by said...potholes, was it?...and I do not appreciate the fact that you were also on the road. At the moment, I do not want anything in connection with me, coming from you.'

 

“That's just wrong! You can't speak to me like that! Not when I haven't prompted such a verbose argument...and why don't you want anything connected with me affecting you? What sort of answer is that?” I glare at him, swinging my feet from my...very precarious, and considerably uncomfortable seat...and his one visible emerald eye widens considerably. “What the hell?”

 

“Ah, you use your mouth as well.” I nod sagely, and pat him on the cheek...a little condescendingly, yes, but he's starting to piss me off. “You finished with that? Good. Come on, I want you to come listen to music with me, in my room.”

 

He lets me drag him up the stairs, thank God, a bemused expression hanging vaguely in the air around him. I don't particularly want to use the elevator at the moment, thank you very much.

 

I don't remember much of what I said the other night, but I guess it was pretty bad, considering the others won't come near me at the moment.