Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Of Textbooks and Temptations ❯ Under the Old Oak Tree ( Chapter 3 )

Disclaimer: Don't own, blah blah blah.

Warnings: yaoi, yuri, Duo's POV, AU, language, humor, college angst

Pairings (so far): Walkerx2, 13x5, RxD, 4+3, 2+1

Beta: Harmonie Des Anges

A/N: Thanks to Shiji Fuuten, my resident whip cracker. Also, I wrote the first two chapters premarriage, and this (and the rest) after getting married. I've tried to retain the overall style and tone of the original. I hope it's enjoyed.


Of Textbooks and Temptations
By Solanum Dulcamara

Chapter 3: Under the Old Oak Tree

That was a fabulous waste of 50 minutes. The one thing I can tell you about Art History is that it's the most artfully boring class in the history of college. I mean, I think it could be interesting if we were able to study more slides, and if the book wasn't so dry... oh, and maybe if the teacher didn't suck. She's this bitter and crusty old wannabe dictator with a chip on her shoulder from God knows when. She didn't really have much to say about the art slides, which means that I'll have to rely on the book for anything remotely resembling useful information. And if I had to hear her say, "You can look up for inspiration, and down in desperation, but never side to side," one more time, I would not have been responsible for my actions. I stomp across campus on autopilot, fuming about my first, and hopefully last, ludicrous experience with the Gonzales monster. Honestly, who the fuck gives assessment tests in Art History?! There has got to be another class I can take for this damn gen ed credit.(1) To top it all off, throughout the "scintillating" lecture, my thoughts kept straying to the Walker issue, which lead me to thinking about Captain Mysterious from philosophy. I do not need added complications in my life.

Leaving the sidewalk to cut across the grass, I take a bit of malicious pleasure in listening to the angry crunch of the blades beneath my docs. Sadist? Me? Yeah, maybe.


I look across the grassy gnoll to "the tree," our usual lunching spot, and see a figure already leaning against the trunk and perusing a textbook. Oh thank God! Fei's here. I hurry the rest of the distance to the shade of the tree and flop down practically on the dear boy. "Hold me, Fei-kins," I beseech with heavy doses of melodrama.

He calmly sets aside his book and pulls me to sit between his outstretched legs, leaning against his reassuringly solid chest. He's very indulgent, that way. I can feel the reverberations of his voice as he asks, "Walker, frosh, or teachers?"

"All of the above... everything."

He sighs sympathetically and wraps his arms tightly around me. It's a simple gesture of comfort, but it sure as hell works. I love when he's like this; all peaceful, stalwart solace. Fei (that's WuFei for the laymen) is Chinese in genetics only. Sure, it gives him his compactly muscled body, gleaming shoulder length black hair, exotically bronzed skin, and dark smoldering almond eyes... but otherwise, he's just your average American college student. Did I mention that he's gorgeous? 'Cause he is. Yeah... yeah. I've got a boyfriend. This is different. This is Fei.

I take this serene moment to unload about the crap with Walker, or noncrap, or lack of anything whatsoever, and about stupid Art History and stupid Maria Gonzales, then onto my favorite rant about homophobia, bigotry, and ignorant freshmen. I do not tell him about Heero. WuFei just listens and holds me in that Fei way, until I finally run out of steam (which can take awhile). Then he brushes my bangs out of my face, like he always does, and gives me a simple, sweet kiss; a comfort kiss; a friend kiss.

Goddammit! How does he always know exactly how to deal with me? I can feel the frustration melting out of me and so, I melt against him. Yeah... yeah. I have a boyfriend. This is different. This is Fei. We're just friends... sort of. Fei and I are the great flame that never was... never the right time or right place. But we're close... really close. It drives Walker crazy, which only adds to the appeal. He'll never understand what we share, and I think that's what bothers him the most. It's about security, comfort, safety, and a kind of unconditional, understanding love, all wrapped up in a friend shaped package. There are no questions or expectations... sort of an intimacy that transcends sex. Time to once again lament that we never were. Sigh.

"Starting without me? I'm hurt," Quatre's playful, lilting voice stirs me from my Wu-centric contemplation. Fei just raises an eyebrow, it's up to me to respond, "I figured you could catch up."

He sets his "tote" (don't ever call it anything so mundane as a "bag" in his presence) next to mine and lays down with his head pillowed on our thighs. "So, what did I miss?" he questions in that Quatre way that says, "Tell me or don't, but my dish is gonna be way better than yours."

"Duo was bitching about... well, everything." That comment earned Wu an elbow jab in the stomach, which he manfully ignored.

"Again?" Quatre whined. "Look, Duo, just break up with Mr. dull-between-the-sheets, go to a meeting of the lesbigay association, and hook up with a couple of guys. I promise it'll cure you of that monogamy thing."

"It's not that easy, Q," I try, before he interrupts.

"I'm starting to wonder if we're going to have to get you surgically removed from that malignant relationship. It's positively cancerous."

"He's right," WuFei quietly adds.

"Both of you?!" I hate being cornered, and flanked is close enough. I don't need double teaming. I'm a responsible adult and decide to say as much, only it comes out more petulantly than I would've liked, "I'm a big boy, now. I can fucking well take care of myself."

They exchange a look, before Fei plays the diplomat, "We know. We're just worried about you."

"Yeah," Quatre chimes in, "We miss the happy Duo. It's been a long time since we hung out with him, and I damn well live with you."

They have a point. I'm not happy and I know it. I want to break up with Walker, but I don't know how. I'm not trying to be ungrateful, I'm just stubborn. Before I can work my way to an appropriate thanks, a shadow looms over our shady spot and a light airy voice spills over me like a cooler of slightly melted ice, "My... my... what have we here? Queers-R-Us?"

"Oh, hey Dorothy," Quatre responds with seasoned indifference, "How's the muff diving?"

Dorothy bristles... it's not so much a change you can see in her pristine platinum and alabaster, ice queen exterior... more like a sudden drop of the temperature in the air around you.

"Listen you little cock-su..."

Uh-oh. Time to mediate, "Easy, Brows. No need to get your panties in a bunch. What Quatre was saying, in his own eloquent way is, how's your fuck buddy?" (2) Not quite as nice as I could've been, but I can't help it. She's too fun to rile up.

"Relena's not anything so base as a "fuck buddy!" We share something deep and meaningful that you fags wouldn't understand!" This doesn't phase us. We're pretty used to these kinds of comments from the ice queen.

"Whatever gets your rocks off," Quatre returns with a chuckle.

"Where is your precious goddess, anyway," I'm actually curious because Rel is everything that Dorothy is not; warmth and kindness washed in honey tones.

Dorothy sniffs disdainfully, "She's in the student council office with my cousin."

That sparks Quat's interest in a different direction. He turns to my backrest to ask, "How is your polisci grad student doing, anyway?" (3)

Fei gets this shy, content smile on his face when Quat asks. WuFei always gets like this when his boyfriend comes up in conversation. I envy that smile. No one's ever made me smile like that. Finally, Wu answers, "Treize is... good." Well, that's vague... or vaguely good, I suppose.

The ice queen, once more, sniffs disdainfully. I can't take this. "Christ, Dorothy! Who pissed in your fruit loops?" I really don't have control of my mouth sometimes.

"I don't know what he sees in you," she spits in Fei's general direction. Again, this is typical Dorothy. We are saved from having to fend her off, though.

"Retract your claws, Dorothy, and remember that boys will be boys," Treize's smooth voice interjects, as he approaches with Relena. Rel offers her usual warm greetings before snagging Dorothy's arm, and beginning to drag her away. This is my cue to move... argh, my butt fell asleep. Fei tosses me a quick smile as he stands to join Treize and the blonde squad. "I'll see you two later," he intones lightly, taking his boyfriend's hand in his, before the four head off. Quatre and I watch them go quietly for a minute, before he bursts forth in true Q style, "Am I the only single person left among us?"

I think for a minute, "Well, yeah, since Hilde started seeing that blonde chick... what's her name... Sylvia?"

"Is it just me or is this campus turning blonde en masse?"(4)

"It is. How many of them do you think are natural?" This is something I've wondered about, being a proud brunette.

"Not many. I am. Rel is..."

"What about Dorothy?"

"I actually kinda asked her once."

Asked Dorothy? About her hair? In Q fashion? This has to be good. "And how exactly did you phrase the question?"

"Something like, 'So, Dorothy, do the drapes match the curtains?'"

Priceless. I wish I could've been there. "What did she say?"

He shrugs, "She got all indignant, of course, and asked if mine did. So, I told her," he pauses to smile, "I shave."

That's so Quatre that it defies follow up statement. We lapse into silence again. So much for lunch. Quat breaks the silence again, "I met someone interesting in music app, today."

This is not news coming from Quatre. He could meet someone interesting at a funeral, but I'll indulge him, "Did you hit on him?"

He looks affronted... Quatre does the "indignant queen" very well. "Of course I did! You expected any less?"

"Not really, but I had to ask. So, did you bag him?"

"Well, we've got a study date, of sorts, set up."

A study date?! How un-Quatre. Dinner at a fancy restaurant, definitely. A movie, maybe. A club, often. But a study date... this guy must actually be interesting. "You, of all people, set up a study date?"

"Yes," he deadpans, "With my teacher."

I am speechless. He's taking the art of being Quatre to new heights. "You are a piece of work."

"Thank you."

I should have known he'd take that as a compliment... but decide, since we're having a sharing moment, "I met someone, too... in philosophy."

This gives him pause. He looks at me wearily, "You're not thinking of leaping out of one relationship and into another, are you?"

What the fu-? Oh! I see where he's coming from. "No, I'm not. He was just so... interesting." That was a lame finish if ever I heard one.

Quatre eyes me skeptically, "Interesting in an un-Walker way?"

"Very un-Walker. This guy's sex on two legs. He's a tall, refreshing glass of Tang."(5)

At last, my roommate smiles at me, "Then you need to leave your excess baggage on the luggage rack and move on, 'cause we've got some conquests."

Right. Who needs lunch? I, apparently, have a conquest.

TBC

Notes:
(1)Gen ed: general education. The first two years of college, which include a bunch of varied classes, that have nothing to do with your major, that the university system thinks will help you be "well-rounded."
(2)Brows is my nickname (and, as follows, Duo's) for Dorothy... I mean, look at those eyebrows. Duo just calls her this to push her buttons.
(3)polisci: political science. These are the future presidents, senators, etc.
(4)Real event. My second year of college, I noticed that the student population had suddenly gone blonde. This was very odd to me, as a natural blonde. My response was to dye my hair red. ^_^
(5)Mmm... Tang. Refreshing and zesty. That's for you HDA and our rpg.