Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ I Got Game! ❯ Judith ( Chapter 7 )

Alternate Universe, Sci-Fi? Sporty, Some Events Based On Authoress's own experiences....(wee! Basketball!)

Standard Disclaimers Apply: Don't own Gundam Wing, but I own every original character that emerges...Don't own the songs listed with the chapters, either...

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<= means scene change

Pairings: For now, 3+4, 1+2, 5xM & various others..a little bit of lime in this bit...

A/N: Wagh! I've got another satisfied reviewer! :impersonates Shuichi Shindou, exploding from immense joy.: Thank you, you lovely wonderful reviewers! Taylor Mercury, Kawaii Jade-you've made this important to me. I'm soooo glad ya'll like this story-it's kinda surprising. I didn't think anybody would because it's not like your typical 3x4 woo and romance thing...Anyway. Thankies all!! ^_^

Chapter Seven~

"Judith" = Perfect Circle

Duo shook his head from side to side, feeling his braid brush against the back of his scrimmage jersey. Beside him, Manny moaned with annoyance, shuffling forward just in time to keep Hilde from pounding on Quatre. The two were squared off once more, Hilde much ready to start using her fists on the very temperamental blond. The two were shouting at each other once more, and when Duo glanced to the sidelines, where Ramos was sitting, he saw a very annoyed expression on the face of the older man.

"We're going to have so much problems if this keeps up, man," Triton said on a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Seriously. We gotta talk to him," Duo agreed, crossing his arms. "He can't keep thinkin' that we're all on the same wavelength! We do not play like him! We're not psychic! And this bullshit attitude with the girls? Hell...At least they're stepping up their game, you know?"

"Seriously. Oh, God, Ramos is coming over, shush!" Triton hissed, waving at him. Duo rolled his eyes and all eyes turned to the coach as he approached Quatre and Hilde, inserting himself between them.

"This is really getting old, you two," Ramos barked sharply, looking at each one in turn. With a jabbing finger, he pointed at each one in turn. "You need to keep a cooler head! You need to realize that we're not using circus acts in our plays!"

"I am not using circus acts!" Quatre snapped. "I thought she would have been there! If she had been a little faster-!"

"Don't you start that, you fuckin' ape!" Hilde growled. "I was there! I knew I was putting everything into it, but you pass too fuckin' stupid! No one's able to get those passes!!"

"Well, you would have, if you were faster-!"

"Both of you, shut up!" Ramos ordered, waving his arms sharply in front of him. As they both silenced, glaring at each other, he looked from either one. "This sort of attitude keeps up, people, we're going to have similar problems on the court."

"Take him out, then!" Hilde ordered, pointing at Quatre.

"Take me out?! I don't think so! Why are there girls on the team, anyway?!" he snapped back, looking at Ramos.

"Don't start that again, dickweed!" Sally screamed from her position on the bench, where she had been waiting and watching for her chance to be subbed in.

"All of you-!" Ramos threw his hands up in into the air. "Every single one of you, on the base line. We're running suicides for the last half hour of practice."

Amid all the groans and protests from all fifteen players, including three black glares that were directed at each other, Ramos watched them all. They shuffled to the base line underneath the far basketball, spreading themselves evenly so they wouldn't bump into each other. Of course, it was tight fit.

As Ramos signaled for them to begin, Quatre pushed himself hard into the first set, running from base line, to the free throw line, back to base; then from base to the three point line, back to base; then to half court, back to base, and repeating the phrase with the other end of the court. In his furious pacing, he caught a lot of glares from his teammates, especially the females. Amidst it all, Duo snickered with Tony over the entire thing.

After practice, Quatre slammed his way out from the locker room, making a beeline toward the coaches' office. Sally and Hilde were right behind him.

After the three disappeared into Ramos' office, Duo emerged from the locker room, pulling a gray sweater on over his practice clothes. Hiiro followed close behind, a smirking expression on his face.

"He ain't going to make it, man," Duo said, looking at Hiiro over his shoulder. "He'll cause too much trouble and problems with the others on the team. Ramos won't keep him."

"But he's good," Hiiro admitted with a shrug.

"It don't matter, Hiiro! He fuckin' sucks when it comes to team effort!" Duo exclaimed, throwing his arms up. "Basketball is about teamwork, not fuckin' whose best in what position! He can't make simple bounce passes-he turns them into fancy, behind the back things that aren't even necessary!"

"But he can get the ball where we want it..."

"So can you because you know where we are, and you ain't expecting us to be somewhere in like, two seconds! He's passing when no one's even there! What are we, superhumans?! Even Hautta can't get to those passes fast enough, and the guy's using his handicap some of the time! Ramos ain't going to keep him because he's too much trouble!"

Hiiro shrugged again, then followed Duo as the long haired student made his way out of the gym. "We going to dinner? I promised to meet Relena in the cafeteria after practice," Hiiro said, shifting through his pockets to search for his watch.

Duo snorted, shaking his head. "Whatever. You can meet her. I'll eat with Sam and Brian."

"Whatever," Hiiro muttered, walking ahead of Duo.

Duo sighed, staring after his friend's retreating frame. Then he stopped walking, exchanging a few words with the other players that walked by. Duo adjusted his duffle bag as he turned and walked around in a meandering circle, glancing at the doors every so often. Despite his problems with the new blond, he knew that this pressing matter, when it involved the team and their comradery. He felt he had to discuss what he felt with the blond, and try to talk some sense into him. Obviously, Quatre couldn't get along with the girls, thus their resulting arguments and constant put-downs. For weeks they had been fighting with each other, more on the pressing issue of the girls being unable to keep up with him.

Duo had to admit that Quatre was fast, and he knew what he was doing-but his style of play didn't match the others'. Duo and the others were used to defensive strategy rather than offensive. They were used to communication on the court-Quatre could communicate fine, he knew what he was doing when he led them about, but the resulting matter was that he relied too much on psychic fine lines and not the reality of things, when the players were just setting up and weren't ready for those quick, phantom passes. If they worked on things, if the new point guard could just calm down and adjust to their style of play, things would be fine. They would be a threatening team to those they came up against. But Quatre was unwilling to change-it was evident when he constantly did the opposite of what was wanted of him. He still drove too fast, he still passed to no one, he still commanded what was impossible.

So, Duo felt he had to speak up. Manny had tried, Triton had tried at one point, and Sally was too volatile, so Duo figured he'd give it a try. He was still pissed that Quatre had----someone beat him up because of their last prank, and he still felt sore that his friends were threatened and beaten as well, but this matter was about ball, not about personal lives.

As he was waiting for the blond to come out from what looked to be a complaint and whine session with the coach, he spotted his roommate milling about in the darkness nearby. Duo snorted again, crossing his arms over his chest as the black form emerged from the side of the gym building, smoking a cigarette.

"Hey, you," Duo greeted quietly, lifting a chin in Trowa's direction.

Trowa nodded back, dropping the cigarette on the sidewalk and grounding it to death with the tip of his flame-toe boots. Duo looked at the current outfit his roommate chose, lifting an eyebrow at the sight of red and black plaid pants, cotton jacket duster and Transformers tee. He shook his head with an annoyed grimace.

"I still don't get why you dress like that nowadays, Trow," he said, watching as Trowa approached him. "You used to be so normal..."

The lanky teen shrugged. When he didn't say anything in reply, Duo jerked a thumb at the gym doors. "He's in there. Started another fight with the girls. Seriously, you need to talk to him. Tell him to chill the fuck out. He's so fuckin' uptight with the way he plays he's fuckin' up the team. By the time we play in the Roseville Tourney, we ain't goin' to have the team effort we need to win."

"It's not my fault, Duo. He's your teammate," Trowa replied in that quiet baritone voice of his.

"He's your fuckin' boytoy!"

"Yes, that's true, isn't it?"

Duo stared at him with disgust, then shook his head. "Then fuckin' say something! Don't let him do this shit to us! Team effort's just as fuckin' important as the damn ball!"

"But it isn't my place to tell him how to play. You want him to play nice with the lot of you, you talk to him."

"He doesn't listen to us! I think he needs someone like you to tell him! I'm still fuckin' pissed he had-I'm still pissed at him for the bullshit earlier! I don't like him. I don't want to talk to him...but even when I really have to, he still won't listen! He thinks he's some shit. He needs to know that he's the reason why we're fuckin' up. Ramos won't do a thing because he's too pansy-assed to get involved!"

Trowa stared at him, blinking every so often. Duo sighed when he realized he wasn't going to get help from his roommate, and ran his hands through his steaming hair. "Look...just...just please say something to him? I mean, you know, as maybe a friend, or something? Let him know this ain't cool. We need our team to be joined in continuous comradeship, you know?!"

"I'll let him know."

Duo stared at him, trying to judge his sincerity. Then, when he decided that Trowa would do as he asked, nodded once. "Okay. Thanks, man. See ya later."

Trowa nodded, then watched as Duo walked off, heading toward the main building. Then, he turned to see Sally slamming through the doors, furiously huffing her way up toward the dormitory. Hilde slammed through a minute later, angrily adjusting the bag onto her other shoulder. Not even a few seconds after that was Quatre, furiously tossing his gym bag over his shoulder. Trowa judged that, from the look on Quatre's face, that things hadn't yet been resolved from the fight from earlier.

"Hey-!" he started to greet when Quatre threw him a blackened expression, reminding Trowa of the devil incarnate. Trowa held his hands up in surrender and didn't bother following his obsession tonight. No way. In this state, Quatre might do something even more dangerous to him-like follow through with his most comfortable threat and 'tear his head right off his shoulders and perform a slam dunk with it in the nearest trash receptacle'. Not that he actually believed it, but Trowa had an idea that Quatre was thoroughly pissed enough to try. He merely shrugged and walked off toward the dormitory, figuring he'd masturbate to one of his older drawings of his love and then retire to bed.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Trowa studied the Varsity Basketball Team Schedule, which was pinned rather artfully on the larger billboard near the entrance to the main school building. The tardy bell rang at that moment, but he paid no attention to it, chewing at his bottom lip as he took in the numerous dates and times of the schedule. Their first tourney of the season began in a week, and that was the Roseville Tourney, in Roseville, nearly an hour away, counting a good day in traffic. The times were To Be Announced, but he'd heard that there were at least ten teams participating, including Sophia Darken. He wondered if Duncan Jones' team was going to play, and had no doubt that Ralph would be there.

Like he truly cared, really. The moment Ralph left him, he moved on and decided to change everything about him on a whim. He'd been a good kid, really-scored perfect A's, suffered through anal-retentive moments where he'd freak if the teacher created a typo on a standard test because-damn it-he hadn't studied that typo in the first place, and he certainly didn't look like this. No, all he really wore were turtlenecks and tight jeans, and damn it all if those jeans were ever mistreated or any other color than white or gray. His hair had been somewhat appropriate, though he'd preferred a style that had counted on hairspray and gel to keep in place, and if someone ever messed with it, he'd power-chop their stupid ass, and all he could say as he looked at himself now was, "Damn."

He looked down at himself, noting the particular tie that he wore especially for today-a red haired woman, her short hair styled in spikes, her nubile, naked body bared due to spread legs and arms crossing over DDD cup chest. It wasn't his most favorite tie, but his tie most designed to piss off anyone who looked at it. His standard issue pants were scruffy at the heels, pressed where they needed to be, and he wore his white collar shirt, but he'd cut off the sleeves, wearing a black t-shirt underneath. His hair dangled over his face, and he smoothed it aside, noting that he needed a haircut. He figured he'd hit town sometime instead of the school barbershop, and figured that Quatre would probably want to come along. His heart leapt at the thought, and it automatically put a smile on his face as he turned away from the billboard and walked casually to class.

Quatre...boy, the sound of the blond's name just rolled off his tongue, making him grin like an idiot, unmindful that people could see the bane that were his braces. Any thoughts of Quatre, mean, loving, lustful or thoughtful always put him in a good mood no matter what. He couldn't wait to encounter the manic blond today, wondering if he'd made it to class on time. Trowa figured that Quatre himself could use a haircut, as the blond bangs were hanging in his face, frustrating him whenever he began to sweat his way across the court.

Sweat...oh, God, he was so delicious sweaty and muscled, commanding and yet passive while he worked his teammates through a play. Trowa had to shiver, grinning even broader at the mental image of Quatre using those same tactics in bed. Damn it. Don't think about that aspect. That aspect kinda softened the boner, due to his infernal freezing whenever Trowa made a move on him. Trowa frowned and resumed his usual blank expression as he climbed the stairs. What was going to make the blond more open to physical aspects?! Couldn't he see what he was doing to Trowa?! Trowa's continued case of blueballs was dolefully frustrating. As he tried to imagine what he could do to make the blond open up, literally and perhaps figuratively (though he lingered on the opening up bit, eyes dulling with unclear pleasure as he imagined that naughty bit in full detail), he tripped on the last step up and caught himself quickly by latching onto the hand rail.

As he straightened, grumbling about his clumsiness, he caught sight of movement to the left of him. He frowned as he shifted away from the stairway, watching as that basketball dick Triton Bloom gestured with his hands over something that was entirely enthralling to his obsession. Quatre, when he was given a chance to speak, vehemently shook his head and went into a familiar tirade that Trowa knew backwards and forwards. That Triton-argh, wasn't he a junior and wasn't he one of Ralph's drinking buddies?!- interrupted him with a quick retort that made Quatre scowl at him, muttering something that made Triton laugh.

Trowa felt himself scowling full force, lips tightening as he watched the cozy scene, Triton throwing his arm around Quatre's shoulders and playfully shoving him along the hallway. The taller teen-damn it, he was rumored to play the fields with both sexes and his last boyfriend was a blond as well-looked entirely comfortable keeping his blond close to him, never removing his arm until Quatre walked into his first class completely tardy, and walking off with a cheerful goodbye that made Trowa's throat clench with the need to murder.

Ah, jealousy. Trowa remembered that feeling, when he first learned of Ralph's infidelity with Chris. It burned, good and evil in the pit of one's stomach and dropped their confidence level to the bits of outhouse contents. It made one's breath horrible and made their brain unfocused. Triton's closeness level with his Quatre unnerved him. Quatre, while Triton hung all over him in that sickening comradery way all male athletes seemed to possess, didn't push him away. He didn't make a face at contact, nor did he threaten to 'flay his skin with the dull end of a book' (whatever that meant; sometimes Quatre didn't make sense when he was furious). Trowa was severely troubled by this, recalling his own instances with the blond-they were in a supposed relationship, and Quatre HATED when Trowa touched him, even in a companionable way.

Trowa's eyes narrowed, and he decided it wasn't worth attending classes today. He turned around and walked down the stairs, ignoring the call of his morning classes. He was aware that he needed a few extra credits to guarantee his passing, but he was too pissed to concentrate. Yes, jealousy was a very ugly thing indeed.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

That evening, after another botched practice, Quatre huffed his way back to his room, ripping off his sweater the moment he entered the stairwell of the dormitory. He was furious that Ramos had reprimanded him for not bothering to pass to the girls during their practice scrimmage, and he was even more so that the guys had laughed at him when he'd been forced to run extra suicides and laps due to his slip-up of traveling while on the offense.

He had a very bad feeling about the entire season-it looked like a definite possibility that Ramos was going to bench him until further notice. It infuriated him that he wasn't going to play. Why should he be denied to do what he wanted to do most when he was obviously the best at it?! It was unfair, and he told Ramos about it. Ramos calmly replied that perhaps it was for the best that he be benched until further notice, until he could learn to play nice with the rest of his teammates, including the girls.

He'd tried, he really did! He slowed his level of playing, had passed to Sally the moment he found her open, but the stupid broad immediately lost contact when Duo stole the ball from her. And when he'd passed to Hilde, she started complaining that she'd jammed her finger doing so. It was so entirely worthless trying to play with the pair that it infuriated him even more!

And what was worse, he'd overheard the guys talking over options over 'voting him off the team'. Could they do that? He knew if a player was a potential problem, that option was available, and he knew he didn't have close relations with any (even though he was quite comfortable with Hautta, who, of course, didn't care any less about the drama) of them, so he knew that if they passed the option with Ramos, he would be voted off the team. It was fucked up and he was angry.

He made it to his room, ripping off his practice clothes and switching to some dry pajama wear. He'd take a shower tomorrow morning, when he was thinking more clearly. Pacing his room, he ran his hands through his hair, trying to control his breathing. When he stumbled over one of his various basketballs, he kicked it as hard as he could and was rewarded with the ball bouncing off the wall and slamming into his groin. As he lay on the floor in agony, he realized he hadn't seen Trowa all day. Usually the goth would hang around the gym after practice was over with, or would have made an effort to see him between classes and during breaks.

Because there was an addictive bit of air about that goth, Quatre rose from the floor on unsteady legs, trying to ignore the nausea that plagued him as his balls ached with pain. He stuffed his bare feet into his shower slippers and walked out from the room. He headed down to the sophomore level, and passed a couple of groups that were laughing and talking loudly amongst themselves, and stopped in front of Trowa's room. He knocked, then waited, looking around him. The other kids seemed to have taken notice of him, and were darting glances in his direction. He recognized that bit of air about them, the kind that one automatically suspected people were talking about them, and felt uncomfortable being there. He was used to that sort of thing, but the way people looked at him unnerved him even more. He knocked again, and was rewarded when the door opened, Trowa looking at him with the air of someone who just woke up.

Trowa let him in, yawning as he carefully avoided his roommate's section of the room, Quatre getting his first glimpse of the goth's room. It was a good-sized room, slightly bigger than his to accommodate a larger closet space, equal amounts of bed and desk areas, and there was a funny imaginary boundary that seemed to separate each side. On one side, there was Trowa's section, filled with dark, discarded clothing and various art materials-on the other were piles of folded clothes, basketball shoes and school materials. He wondered who Trowa's roommate was, and immediately realized that despite the time they spent together, he really didn't know him at all. He immediately felt somewhat guilty, reaching up to rub the back of his neck as he contemplated this fact.

Trowa flopped back onto his bed and drew his blankets up, yawning as Quatre stood uncomfortably nearby. Curling into a cocoon that allowed only his face to peer out, Trowa looked at Quatre with a sleepy expression, wondering what the special occasion was.

"Er...I didn't see you around today," Quatre said, looking at him. The room was half-lit by the open window, where the lights of the campus just barely allowed enough light for him to see.

"What'd you want?" Trowa asked. His voice was curt and sleep-thickened.

Quatre shrugged. "I don't know. I just...I was just wondering where you were."

"For once?"

"Huh?"

"You've never searched me out, before. What's the occasion?"

"Er...I don't know. I was just wondering where you were. That's all..."

Trowa grunted, moving to lay on his stomach, pulling his pillow up close. Yawning, he snuggled deeper into his warm bed. "I skipped classes today. To sleep."

"You can do that?"

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Quatre fell into an uncomfortable silence as he fiddled with his fingers, careful to mind the piles of folded clothes that were Trowa's roommate's. He gestured at the somewhat neater section of the room. "Who's your roommate?"

"Ah. Some guy. I don't really know him."

"Really? Don't you two talk?"

"We don't have much in common..."

"Oh." Quatre wondered what it would be like to have a roommate that had nothing in common with him. He supposed he was very lucky that his father had preferred to give him a private room. He didn't know what he would do with a roommate...it was bad enough he didn't really have any friends. He shuffled in a small circle, catching glimpses of Trowa's clothing, various shoewear and numerous artpads. He didn't know what else to say, but he was too wired to go back to his room to try and relax. There was a stable ticking sound in the room, letting him know that someone's watch was steadily tracking time. There wasn't any clock or alarm functioning device anywhere, so he wondered how they knew when to get up and what time it was. He didn't recall Trowa ever wearing a watch, but then again, he realized with a guilty cringe, he didn't really pay any attention to the goth.

Quatre sighed, startling Trowa from his near-return to dreamland. Trowa blinked away sleep and shifted. The blond had been so quiet for the past few minutes that he'd started to drift back to sleep. He shifted in his bed, seeing that Quatre hadn't moved since he entered.

"You know, it's pretty late," Trowa said, rubbing his eyes.

"Practice ended at eight...it was only eight thirty when I came over," Quatre said.

"You don't know subtle dismissals, do you?"

Quatre wasn't sure whether he was being insulted or why Trowa was suddenly so cranky, but both made him freeze. He wasn't expecting this from the person that seemed to stalk him everywhere he went. He blinked, then shrugged. "I'm sorry...I just... I don't know, kinda missed you."

"'Kinda'? What's that supposed to mean?"

"I...don't know. I just...wanted to see what you were doing, I guess."

"Well, now you know. Go away."

Quatre frowned. "Are you mad at me?"

Trowa sighed and turned to the wall, pulling the blankets tight around me. "Our roles have been reversed, haven't they?"

"I'm not mad at you...but why would you be mad at me? We didn't even see each other today... is that my fault?"

"No, it isn't, Quatre. Just...gowan. I want to sleep."

"You said you were sleeping all day!"

"I wanna sleep som'more. Gowan."

"Trowa!" Quatre faced him, feeling somewhat indignant and a little more than annoyed. "Do you have something you want to talk about with me? I mean, you're acting a little strange..."

"Says the guy that was furious when he found out that I wore eyeliner..."

"Well, shit, Trowa. That's just plain gay."

"And you're not gay?"

Quatre made a combined sound of a snort and grunt. Trowa shifted to look at him over his shoulder, eyeing him with a sleepy frown. "Besides, I'm PMS-ing. That's what girls do, don't they?"

Quatre groaned, throwing his arms up into the air. "Fine! Fine, what are you mad about?!"

"What do you care? Quatre, how old am I?"

Quatre blinked. "Er...I don't know. Um, the same age as I? Sixteen?" Trowa sighed heavily and resumed his earlier position. Quatre blinked again. "What?"

"You really don't have any clue about me, do you? What's my favorite color?"

"I would say black. You wear it all the time."

Trowa sighed even heavier than before.

There was a sudden awkward silence between them, and while Quatre registered his own selfishness over the apparent situation, they could hear the kids outside laughing and screaming over something or another. At that moment, Quatre felt incredibly lonely. Back in Laramie, he had a large bunch of friends he could call up and hang out with; he had people to go to the movies with, eat out with, drive with; out here, he had nobody but a few acquaintances and a somewhat boyfriend that wore makeup. He recognized the feelings of homesickness, but he didn't want to risk being called a baby or a big girl for complaining about it, or discussing it with others.

"I'm sorry, Trowa," he then said softly, fiddling with his thumbs. "I've been really shitty, haven't I? I don't...I have to admit, I don't know anything about you. I didn't even give you the time, and...man, I'm really sorry. I've been a dick."

"Another day, Quatre, another day. I'm sleepy, now."

With an indignant stomp of his foot, Quatre snapped, "I'm trying to apologize to you! Could you at least acknowledge it?!"

"Quatre-!" Trowa sat up, throwing his blanket off. "Stop acting like you're the center of the damned universe! All right, I acknowledge it, but it's late and I want to sleep! I don't want to stay up discussing things with you when I'm tired!"

"You slept all day!" Quatre protested, gesturing at the bed.

"So?! Teenagers need tons of sleep!"

"But-!"

"Quatre, seriously." Trowa turned, his legs flying over the edge and settling at the floor. "What do you want? You came here without any prodding from me, you can't be serious that you 'missed' me because you can't think outside of yourself. Since I met you, you have not given any indication that you look beyond yourself and at others. So stop the bullshit. What do you want?"

Quatre chewed at the inside of his cheek as he contemplated this, nervously fiddling with the flayed cuticle of his left index fingers. Really, nothing came to mind, and he supposed that it was just routine when he searched for the steadfast thing in his life. He shrugged, slapping his hands on his thighs. "I was lonely, I suppose. I just wanted someone to talk to."

"Well, if you want to, go out there and make some friends," Trowa said, pointing at the door. "Some real friends, nothing that involves teammates or basketballs."

"I...I feel weird about it, Trowa. People look at me funny."

"Well, you should of thought about that before you began talk to minorities and hanging out with Spaulding, there."

"God, you talk about my basketballs like they were real people!"

"You treat them as such! They get more attention than I do!"

"Well, I'm sorry, all right!?" Quatre shouted. "I let you know in the beginning what came first-!"

"And it's with that attitude that you don't have any friends."

"I...I know. I just...I miss my home, that's all. I didn't really want to come here, but I really had no choice. I just...I don't like it here!" Quatre finally blurted out. "I hate it! All this social standing, this thing I have with the team, everything! I hate it here! I want to go home!"

"Cry about it some more, then, but take it to your room. Seriously, I don't want to talk anymore about this," Trowa grumbled, flopping backward on his bed. "It's always you, you, you. Never about anything else."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?!"

"Go...run, or something."

"It's snowing!"

"Go make anatomically correct snowmen and women, then. But just...go."

Quatre sighed. He sagged his shoulders, then straightened them as he fiddled with his cuticles once more. He stared at Trowa with a sheepish expression. "I don't want to be alone."

Trowa groaned, pulling his blankets over his face. "Go find Felicia or Drake. They hang out in the parking lot."

"No. They're...of questionable personality. Besides, Drake said something about drinking and partying with some older kids from NPU. I...don't like to drink. And that sort of crowd makes me uncomfortable..."

"So you come to me to whine about how pitiful your life is...?"

"Well...you listen to me...I just kinda figured that you would..."

"What, Quatre? What would I do?"

"I don't know...listen to me? You're the only one I feel comfortable with, I guess."

Trowa threw his blanket off once more, and turned his head to look at him. "'Comfortable'? You feel comfortable with me? This coming from the guy that never lets me touch him, and then when I do, threatens to discombobulate me?"

Quatre shrugged, unable to come up with an answer to that. "I just...don't feel entirely comfortable with...a...guy touching me. You know? I mean, I know it's normal and everything, but it's just-"

"Quatre, I've watched your teammates swat your ass and hang all over you!" Trowa spit with amounting disgust at what was coming out from the blond's mouth. "You let everyone else but me touch you!"

"I just-! It's just so weird to have someone touch me in that way!"

"Why is it?!"

Quatre blinked, trying to find the right words to better explain himself with. But he couldn't, and he realized how stupid he was starting to sound, so he shrugged rather helplessly. He stared at Trowa with an expression of remorseful apology, unable to better explain himself and unable to leave. He seriously was lonely and he was agitated by the actions on the court today. As a result, he was restless and edgy, and Trowa's sudden shift of attitude and mood was affecting him. He didn't want to leave. He chewed at the inside of his cheek, accepting that he'd been a dick. He wasn't sure how to make it up to Trowa, but something came to mind.

Trowa stared back at him, then nodded at the doorway. Quatre looked back at it, then with a strong fit of nervousness that nearly convinced him to turn and walk away like Trowa wanted him to, moved away from the door and sat next to Trowa on the bed. With an awkward press of his body and his arms moving around a stiff frame, he shakily pressed a kiss against the other's cheek. He began kissing his way along Trowa's jaw line, aware that his arms were shaking with a fit of nervousness over his actions and the fact that Trowa would reject him despite this sudden, desperate leap of physical affection.

Trowa didn't move, merely blinking with surprise as Quatre found his lips with his, shifting so that he was practically in Trowa's lap. This change in attitude and expression had Trowa's mind shorting out as Quatre kissed him, his arms shifting with an awkward grope around his shoulders. When Trowa finally accepted that yes, without prompting, Quatre was kissing him, he reacted with some indifference. He wanted to be mad, but how could he resist when his love was practically offering himself without him even asking?

Trowa returned the kisses with earnest, noting the smell of sweat and anti-perspirant, the way Quatre pressed himself against him in a brief hug, then shifting so that he was standing in front of Trowa, bent at the waist to keep their lips in contact. Trowa wrapped his arms around Quatre's waist and drew him close, forcing the blond to lay on top of him as he laid back on his bed. He felt the blond hesitate at this position, but Trowa distracted him by kissing his neck, running his hands up and down Quatre's back. When he felt Quatre relax, adjusting himself over Trowa's body so that his legs were between Trowa's and their hipbones weren't rubbing with uncomfortable sharpness against the others', Trowa felt his anger melt away.

He tasted stale breath once more, but it didn't bother him. He explored the blond's teeth with his tongue, loving the feel of Quatre against him, over him. He drew his knees up so that he gripped Quatre's waist within them, feeling the way the blond stiffened in reaction. But he didn't draw his legs away, he continued kissing what skin he could find. When he felt Quatre's hand slip up the hem of his shirt to touch his skin, he found that fair game to reciprocate, running his hands underneath the blond's shirt and touching the flexing muscles of his back. That was such a turn-on, knowing that the body atop of his was hardened with physical activity, that he wasn't flabby or heavy. Quatre's skin was soft and yet...yet Trowa found himself distracted by the disgusting anomalies that he'd tried to destroy the other night when he touched his shoulders and the middle of his back. In an effort to keep himself from being turned-off by that, he withdrew his hands from underneath the shirt and merely ran his hands up and down the clothed body.

After awhile, while roles were reversed and Trowa found extreme joy in leaving multiple reddish marks along the toned pectorals, he realized that his roommate was going to return from his nightly endeavors, and he doubted Quatre would like that someone was going to walk in on them. With a few goodbye kisses along Quatre's collarbone, he kissed his blond athlete's lips, fumbling to find their discarded shirts somewhere at the foot of their bed. When he found them, he lifted with a heavy sigh, better that he'd gotten something rather than nothing. And for the fact that Quatre did not impersonate a log tonight.

"He's going to be back in a few minutes," he whispered, wondering why he was doing so as he handed Quatre his shirt.

"Oh. Okay. Thanks," Quatre muttered as he pulled his shirt on with an embarrassed air, already missing the feel and touch of the other as he did so. His mouth felt pleasantly worked, still tasting Trowa's unique flavor on his tongue. When he wondered how many hickies he had on him now, the door to the room opened, and he sat up with mortified start as Duo walked in, looking at him with surprise.

"Duo?!"

"Quatre?!"

The two teammates stared at each other in surprise and shock while Trowa looked amused as he slowly pulled on his shirt, just letting Duo know what was going on before he walked in. Then he gestured at one from the other.

"Oh, yeah. Quatre, you know Duo, right? Duo, you know Quatre..."

Quatre couldn't believe this as he stared at Duo, his face reddening with mortification as his teammate stared at him in a dumb stupor. Then Duo blinked rapidly, looking at Trowa, then at Quatre again. He dropped his practice bag on his bed and began laughing hysterically. Quatre looked at Trowa, hit him across the head, and ran out from the room.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Felicia hummed a little ditty as she strolled through the hallways, late as always and not caring about it. As she turned the corner to the sophomore class level, she paused in mid-step then jumped back around the corner to keep herself hidden. Cautiously, she peeked out, narrowing her eyes as she watched Quatre talk rather comfortably (too damn comfortably) with that dickball, Triton Bloom. She watched their body language, the kind that told the world, Hey! Look at Us! We're Hot Together, Aren't We?! Never mind they were talking about basketball-but the fact that Quatre was cheating on her favorite artist was severely annoying. Annoying because she'd set them up together, that she went through all this trouble thrusting them into a match made in heaven because they were so totally needing each other...She contemplated throwing Triton over the second story railing as soon as she got the chance, then blackmailing Quatre with digitally remade photos of him with boobs and underneath the school principal, but when the pair separated and went their different ways, Triton walking in her direction, she relaxed and decided on the next best thing.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

In World History, Quatre thought about Triton's words:

"You need to calm down your play, man," the black-haired young man said, frowning down at him. He really was a looker, Quatre had to admit. With his glossy black hair, violet eyes that were NOT rimmed with smudged eyeliner, pointy chin and straight, slim nose, Triton resembled a more masculine version of Orlando Bloom. Quatre was aware that thinking about his teammates in this manner was dangerous-look at what happened between himself and Jamie...but now that he thought about it, Triton and Jamie did look a tad bit alike...only Jamie was shorter, with shorter hair, shorter legs, paler skin...

"I know what I need to do, Triton, and I'm doing it," Quatre insisted with a frown. "It's just that I can't play with girls. I can't play with people that are more into defense than offense! I mean, I can do both well, it's just...I'm used to playing so that we were constantly scoring, not giving the other team a chance to run us through a defense play. That's all. And we were much faster..."

"Now you're just insulting us, kid."

"Please don't address me as a 'kid'," Quatre snapped. "Just because you're a grade level above me doesn't mean that you can look down at me."

Triton laughed, and he really did have a nice laugh. Quatre hated knowing that he was looking at the other boy with somewhat of an admiring interest. Well, what could he do?! He really liked Trowa-despite his fanatical need to hurt and hate him-but Triton was more...well, manly. Trowa, standing next to Triton, was skinnier, lurpier, and certainly goofier with his eyeliner and black clothing. Triton looked more his type-athletic, tall, lacking in suicidal needs to be constantly battered...

Quatre felt his cheeks pink slightly with the embarrassment of seeing his teammate in this new light. Well, didn't this make things more awkward? As Triton continued to talk to him about what he needed to do to tone down his playing-Quatre had deliberately stopped paying attention because he KNEW what he needed to do, he didn't need another person TELLING him-Quatre could sense an underlying feeling in the other teen that made him suddenly embarrassed-Triton was looking at him closely, standing too closely, being too damn FREE with him...and Quatre didn't really care. Was this good? Or bad?

And for whom?

When Triton nodded the end of his speech, Quatre sighed, shrugged, and agreed that he'd tone it down a little. When Triton was convinced, he gave his customary whack over the ass and walked off. And looking after him, Quatre found that he wished Triton would linger a little longer on the ass-whacking part. Because it wasn't bad at all...

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

Trowa finished his Snickers bar and stuffed the wrapper into Quatre's opened backpack. The blond was performing his share of work on the engine before them, and was having a hard time doing it. Seriously, why do they make us do this sort of thing when everyone knows how to drive to Jiffy Lube? he thought tiredly, rolling his eyes to the joist ceiling of the garage their class was holed up in, as it was currently snowing. As Quatre cursed over jamming his finger once more in the tiny, disabled starter bit frame that they were assigned to remove and replace, Trowa shifted from one foot to the other, glancing at their classmates as they went through their assignments with all the careless ease of people who knew what they were doing.

"Quatre," he started, Quatre cursing once more as his finger was once again jammed within the tiny frame, "love, you're going about it the wrong way-"

"Ragh!!! I'm never fixing my car anyway! I'm going to have people do it for me!!!"

Trowa took a deep breath.

"I need to ask you about something...."

"WHAT, Trowa?"

"Why did Felicia feel the need to give Triton Bloom a swirly this morning?"

"FUCK!!!"

"That's it, son. Let the women know how hard you're workin' over there, trying to fix their problems," the teacher boomed from his position near the back of the garage. "We men must let the world know how much it pains us to fix what others broke. Let me hear some cussing, men! No, Felicia, just because you're a female in body does not count you as a 'lady'...I know fairy men that are more feminine than you..."

"What, Trowa?!" Quatre asked, looking up from the engine and furiously swiping at the hair in his eyes. He could have sworn...

"Triton? Swirly? Felicia? Why?"

"Fuck if I know, Trowa!" Quatre whined, tossing the screwdriver to the floor. He rose from his crouch, brushing his pants off and succeeding only in drawing oil streaks down the pressed lines. The fact that long, black lines stained his clean pants made him forget what had just been said. "FUCK!"

"Well...hmm." Trowa contemplated this, then frowned. "You two are getting awfully close..."

"He's my teammate, Trowa, and they keep bothering me about my way of playing. Yadda, yadda, yadda, you know how it goes! You never like it when I want to discuss this sort of thing with you!" Quatre growled, running his hands through his hair in frustration. Then his face pinched into a grimace, his blond hair sticking up in oil blackened tufts. "FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!"

Trowa winced.

Felicia hopped over as Quatre paced in a small, tormented circle over his plight, then launched herself at Trowa with a merry laugh. The pair went down onto the hard floor with a loud crash. Quatre removed his fingers from his hair, cursing profoundly as he went searching for the hand cleaner and towels.

"So...am I to be happy that I was so radically embraced?" Trowa muttered from the hard, concrete floor, feeling somewhat crushed by the female that sat on his back. His face was mashed into the surface, his eyes squinting at the feel of his chin trying to dig its way to China through the concrete.

"Trowa...and be open about this," Felicia began, crossing her legs and getting comfortable, Trowa wincing once more at the feel of a very bony tailbone digging into his spine. He grunted and groaned, pushing himself into a half push-up position, Felicia flopping back flat against the floor without reaction. "How do you feel about Triton Bloom and your boytoy gettin' it on?"

Trowa picked himself up from the floor, dusting himself off casually. He bent to pick up the tools that laid about their class project, positioned a screwdriver within both hands, and bent the long object in middle.

Felicia held up a finger. "I thought so. I tried to intervene, but he wasn't so easily persuaded like the other guys were. I think you'd better up the bedroom bit."

"Like I would take sex advice from you," Trowa muttered as he tossed the bent screwdriver over his shoulder. He heard a guy yelp with pain, but didn't bother to acknowledge it.

"Seriously. I heard from the grapevine that you two, despite having sex since day one, have not yet achieved satisfaction, per se." Felicia wiped away the drool at imagining both Trowa and Quatre going at it like rabid dogs, both fleshy and naked, sweaty and blushing with anime goodness as they had good, satisfying animal sex in various positions. Ahh...gay sex...She made an imaginary note on her To-Do list to try and catch the goth and the athlete going at it for future reference.

"What do they know?" Trowa went to work on the engine, settling into a crouch. "They weren't the ones who've been having sex with him...."

"Is he good?"

"Like I'd let you know...You would try to steal him from me... Knowing how manly you are, you'd want a gay relationship like ours. Go find a dyke to play homemaker with and leave my boyfriend alone..."

"I don't like blonds...they're icky and really pale. So, tell me," Felicia said, rolling onto her stomach, propping her chin atop her hands. "Is he really pink like those guys in our favorite porn-bits on HBO? Ya know? Neon pink dick an' all? I heard real pale guys are like that..."

"Pinker than a girl's clit..."

"Ew. I take effeminate offense at that description..."

"Whatever, you closet dyke."

"So, what's it like having sex with him?"

"Absolutely fantastic. I think he's had a lot of experience from where he came from..." Trowa grunted as he finished popping out the starter bit frame, and replacing it with a newer one. As easily as he spoke, he completed the project easily. "Whatever rumors you heard about him in bed are true, you know..."

"Really? Because you were the one that started all these rumors?"

"Really. Because these rumors are true."

"Like when Quat blew you in the locker room after school the first day of his arrival? That you and he were caught by the principal fucking in one of the Art classes, an' the principal paid ya two to film a video for his private collection? That good? And that you an' he an' some girl named Sally were fooling around in the gym, an' the reason why she had to have an abortion was because you two were intensely jealous and were going to kill each other in a Romeo and Juliet-style scenario just so the other won't be the father of yer love child?"

"Yes. And I'll have you know, you jealous wannabe man, that despite his good cock sucking techniques and quite excellent docile submission in bed, he's really quite horrible with physical expression. I think he just does that to turn himself on. He likes being a victim."

"Oh, yeah? Kinky."

"What else have you heard?" Trowa asked, rising from the floor and looking down at her. Felicia's feet rose into the air, her legs bent at the knees as she propped her chin up with her palm. She smiled rather innocently.

"Oh, nothing else...just that Quatre's right behind you, looking to whack your head off with a monster-sized wrench that sailors use on Disneyland cruiseships...But other than that, nothing."