Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Chocolate and The Sea ❯ One-Shot

Chocolate and The Sea. (1/1)

by Anne Olsen

Rating: This ficlet has been rated in accordance with the approve TTFF rating system. OK (Oz/Kiwi spelling/grammar etc) - PG - AU, romance, humour.

Pairing: 3+4. Trowa POV.

Author's notes: The use of the word 'jersey' (the Kiwi term for sweater, jumper et al) is deliberate as this ficlet is set in Wellington, New Zealand. Those who have been there will recognise the wonderful weather.

Summary: Trowa discovers that sometimes what you seek can be closer than you think.

Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu Agency. I promise to return the boys in one piece, more or less, when I'm finished, but hold no liability for any broken bones or psychological trauma sustained by them in my fiction.

Thanks to: Raletha and Lorena for beta reading comments, and the original 'seed' for the fic.

Archive: http://www.angelfire.com/ab7/shadesandechoes/gw/GW.html

Send comments to: anneo @ paradise.net.nz

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The room was warm, in stark contrast with the chill winter wind I'd been unable to escape outside. Living in an apartment building on the waterfront was wonderful in the summer. Bathing in a friendly sunbeam while curled up on the sofa, it was easy to follow the example of my cat and forget the harshness of the world.

I paid for it during the winter. The sun deserted me, and my suntrap became haven to a coldness I was certain had taken the express route directly from the polar ice caps.

Of course investing in a decent heater would have helped, but then I wouldn't have an excuse to haunt this pub. Living on my own, it didn't matter if I kept warm by huddling under blankets, my gloved hands typing furiously across the keys of my laptop while my imagination journeyed through distant lands and times.

Taking another sip of hot chocolate, I surveyed the room through the dusky brown of my tall glass. One of my favourite occupations on cold winter nights was to sit unobserved and watch those around me. It never ceased to amaze me how, if I made a concentrated effort to merge into the background, I could spend an entire evening in a pub full of people and remain unnoticed. I guess people see what they want to, and prefer the conversation of friends.

The crowd tonight were no different than any other. Noisy, but happy. Couples and friends unwinding after a week of work and determined to squeeze some fun out of the weekend before the cycle began again.

A light tenor caught my attention. This was a newcomer. Discreetly I moved my chair closer to the fire, using the pretext of warming my hands over the crackling wood to get a better view.

He laughed. Imaginary fingers ran up my spine, and I shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. I turned, just as he did. Our eyes met. He smiled at me and I found myself returning the smile. The woman bending over the table with his order smirked after he whispered something to her. He blushed, his pale complexion dusting rose petal pink.

Slender fingers brushed a stray lock of blond hair from his face before pushing his glasses further up his nose. He was nervous.

We both took a gulp of our drinks. I coughed in an effort to retain my dignity as I up-ended a good portion of it down my front.

"Are you okay?"

I glanced up in surprise, once I'd recovered, to find the object of my scrutiny standing in front of me. Concern was written over his face, eyes the colour of the ocean probing for an answer.

"Yes, thanks."

The blond man slid into the seat next to mine. Had I been wrong in my presumption

of shyness? A firm hand reached out to grasp my own, his skin smooth and cool to the touch." Quatre Winner," he grinned. His accent, although not obviously Australian, was still pronounced enough to prevent him from being mistaken for a local. "Just so you know who to curse for your coughing fit."

"Trowa Barton." I couldn't help but return the grin. "Next time I'll come prepared and bring a bib."

Quatre glanced down at the splattering of brown across my jersey and laughed. "Are you sure you should be allowed out in public?"

"At least I'm not wearing cream." My cheeks grew warm after I realised what I'd said. "I meant the colour of your jersey, not…" My voice trailed off, and I wondered exactly how much of an idiot I appeared to be.

"Er…miaow?" Quatre's eyes twinkled, suggesting a keen mind with a good sense of humour. "I can buy you another drink, if you'd like."

"No, it's okay," I protested.

"I need a refill myself," he insisted. Rising to his feet, one hand slid into his pocket for his wallet, the bottom of his loose jersey shifting up several inches to accommodate the intrusion. The action gave me a welcome view of a firm arse and well-muscled thighs show-cased in a pair of very tight black jeans.

Running my tongue over suddenly dry lips, I became aware of my accelerated heartbeat. So much for the detached observer - my hormones were not so subtly hinting that the slender, good looking package heading for the bar was everything I'd sought in a guy.

"Trowa?"

"Huh?" I hadn't even noticed Quatre's return to my…our table.

"You were miles away," He set the glasses down and then sat, this time in the chair opposite me. "I asked if you came here often."

"Most Friday nights," I admitted. "It's cosy, especially in the winter. My apartment is cold, and…" lonely, I finished silently. "I haven't seen you in here before." Changing the subject was always a good way to shift attention. Of course there were no ulterior motives behind this quest for information. I was keen to learn more about my companion. Writers are curious individuals by nature.

"I'm new in town," Quatre took a sip of hot chocolate, his tongue licking a stubborn dark sliver from the side of his glass. I tore my gaze away from the sensual display with a concentrated effort; my hormones were doing well enough on their own without joining forces with my imagination. "I've just moved into one of the apartment buildings overlooking the harbour."

I nodded. "Maybe we're neighbours?" As pick up lines went it wasn't one of my better efforts.

"Hopefully." My second drink nearly followed the path of the first. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very subtle of me, was it?" Quatre leaned over the table, catching the glass before it landed in my lap. "I'm not usually this…" He adjusted his spectacles with his free hand. "Forward. I'd blame the alcohol but this is only my second drink for the evening."

"You didn't finish your first," I reminded him, pointing to the half-full glass on the other side of the table. "And you'd be the first person I know of to get drunk on hot chocolate." I made a show of sniffing my drink. "Unless you've added something to this I don't know about."

Quatre laughed. "Oh dear, you've discovered my evil plan to get you drunk, take you home and then seduce you." I'm not sure which of us blushed brighter. "Oh God, I didn't mean…I've made an absolute idiot of myself." He stood, his arm knocking over his empty glass in his haste to leave.

I caught his arm. "No. You haven't. Sit down, Quatre. Please." I'd had enough experience of making an idiot of myself to realise what must be going through his mind.

After I'd persuaded him to retake his seat, I couldn't help but smile at his embarrassment. He was rather cute, in a very masculine way of course. I fought the urge to reach over and brush back that errant lock of hair overhanging off his brow.

"If you want a good laugh at my expense, go for it. You won't get another chance." Quatre's tone was as cold as the weather outside. "It'll be a good joke to take home to your girlfriend."

"No girlfriend." I shook my head. "No boyfriend either. And I wasn't laughing. I was smiling. There's a difference." Oh what the hell. I reached across the table to place one hand over his. "At the risk of you telling me I'm out of line…"

"Yes?" Quatre had obviously had practice in perfecting that glare.

"I was thinking about how cute you look when you're embarrassed."

"I don't do cute." The glare changed to a shy smile. He squeezed my hand. "You on the other hand…"

"I don't do cute, either." I paused. "At least not in public."

"Are you attempting to pick me up?"

I pretended to look affronted. "At least I went for subtle, unlike some people." Now it was my turn for the shy smile. "I'd like to get you know to you better, Quatre. If you'd like something stronger than chocolate I do make a mean mocha latte." I glanced around the room before continuing. "No strings. I'm not in the habit of picking up strangers in the local pub. Even good looking cute strangers."

"I'd like that," Quatre said. Then he smiled, and this time it mirrored the hope in his eyes. "I don't have a girlfriend either. Or a boyfriend."

Yet, I thought, as we collected our coats and headed into the winter evening. It seemed natural to put my arm around him. After all it was a cold night; we needed to keep warm. "My apartment is this way." I pointed out the old brick building.

It didn't take us long to cross the short distance. After swiping my pass card, we entered quickly, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to shake the excess rain from our coats.

"What number is your apartment?" Quatre asked, shaking his head. I couldn't tell whether it was in disbelief or if he was having second thoughts.

"227."

"I'm in 327." He chuckled. "At least we won't have to worry about disturbing the people upstairs."

"Not so many floors for you to climb, either." Without thinking I pulled him close so that our foreheads touched. He leaned into the embrace, glancing around to make sure we were alone. Our lips brushed, tasting of chocolate and the sea.

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~fin~

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