Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Post Up...And One! ❯ Since You've Been Gone ( Chapter 5 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Tro-Tro makes his move...Dost contemplates Tekkan Tag.
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.10.2007 | Pages: 6 | Words: 7.3K | Visits: 197 | Status: Work In Progress
Tro-Tro makes his move...Dost contemplates Tekkan Tag.
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.10.2007 | Pages: 6 | Words: 7.3K | Visits: 197 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter Five:
“Since You’ve Been Gone” Kelly Clarkson
New Park University’s campus was an arrayed display of greenery, flowing hills, and red brick buildings, giving it a New England look. By the time Quatre had arrived (having found a parking spot three miles away), the campus was crawling with students. Many were carrying heavy backpacks, looking far more sophisticated than he imagined, and were already clustered into groups. There were a few that walked alone, but they were foreign students that didn’t seem to speak English very well. There were more than a few alien faces walking about, all of them in varying appearance, and Quatre found himself glad to be used to them already. He’d seen more than a few kids gaping openly at the alien forms, and he didn’t want to look so hickish.
Thanks to the week earlier, in which he had to situate himself with his living arrangements and job, he hadn’t had the time to buy his books yet. He was supposed to do that today, before classes started, but he had gone through that maddening period of looking for a parking space and was late enough as it was.
Having dressed in his work pants, with a casual open shirt look that he could transform into the pristine uniform he wore with Dost, Quatre felt pretty confident about himself as he strode through the walkways, looking for his first class. Already, he had several guys glancing at him in appreciation, and he felt mighty good about it. Maybe this year would be better for him.
When he finally located his first class, he was a little annoyed to see that he was one of the last to arrive, and the class was filled. Almost every desk was taken, and he found a spare at the very back, the professor already lecturing and outlining his expectations for this year. He settled into his seat and withdrew the classy new notebook he’d acquired at Target. Nearly similar to the one he had in high school, this one was situated for more, extensive programs and had more features. It enabled a user to record, both digitally and electronically, the lecture that took place, and took note of important key notes from the professor.
He turned it on, quickly running through the introductory programs, inputting his personal information that was required, and turned back to the professor. Each class was an hour and fifteen minutes long, and soon after he finished programming his notebook, he felt his eyelids drooping.
In an effort to stay awake, determined to start this year with a better outlook on class, he shook his head and focused intently on the professor. He was a balding black man, with a strong voice that easily carried throughout the classroom. There were a lot of students in attendance, and Quatre looked at them all, wondering who was going to stick around to complete the class. He’d heard that nearly fifty percent of students attending the first day of class usually dropped out a few days later. The parking lot would be filled continuously for the first two weeks of school, then dwindle as students dwindled. He wondered if that was true.
Several of his classmates were vaguely familiar–perhaps he’d played against them in high school, or something. They were mainly kids his age, all of them in clean clothes and hopeful expressions. He wondered if he looked as naive as they did, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
His morning classes passed by with little trouble–by the time one o’clock came around, he was feeling a little annoyed that college wasn’t what he expected. Perhaps he was just holding too high of expectations, but he was looking forward for some sort of similarity that one would expect in high school classes.
He had just bought his books and program requirements for his classes today (caught unprepared by the overwhelming prices and the required texts), and was heading toward the nearest cafeteria when a couple of guys walked up to him. He was startled by their jostling cheer, nearly dropping his books in the process.
“Hey, man!” one guy said, his handsome features lighting up with a bright smile. He towered over Quatre, standing at least seven foot seven, and was dressed in Fubu. His black skin was dark and almost shimmery in appearance as his partner, a rather husky boy that had FOOTBALL! written all over him, grinned in greeting. Both of them companionably swatted his arms.
“What’s up, man?” the husky one asked, his chins wobbling. “Hey, you frosh?”
“Y-yeah,” Quatre answered with some hesitation, frowning at them both as he kept hold on his book.
“You in from out of state?” the first one asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. If his pants were hanging any lower, they’d be clinging to his knees.
“Uh...yeah. But I lived here before,” Quatre answered.
“Hey, gotta question for ya’ll,” the black boy continued, rubbing his strong chin, and exchanging a look with his partner. The pair of them snickered and looked back at him. “You gay?”
“W-what?”
“You gay? Homo? Y’know?”
Quatre stared at them with some uncertainty. Something was telling him to say ‘no’, their waiting faces a lit with a grin characteristic of expectation. But why should he feel this way? This was college, and how different was college from high school? In high school, at least here in New Park, anything was accepted. What could be different?
“Um...yes?”
Both of them slapped hands, and the black one turned to him, holding out a flyer.
“Man, we organizing a meeting at five, near the bookstore? We’re gonna have a little get together, y’know, get ta know each other. Just...kinda help each other out. Oh, by the way, we’re juniors, so, it’s like, we’re in charge of things around here. Just follow these directions, be there by five, and it’ll all be cool.”
Quatre took the flyer with some uncertainty, noting the flaws in the writing, the sense of uneasiness he felt as he looked at the two once more. But he nodded, and the two walked off, hurrying to accost another lone male that was walking toward his own class. Quatre glanced after him, then looked at the flyer again. A ‘get-together’, huh? Why did he feel so uneasy about it?
He shrugged, awkwardly folding it up and putting it into his back pocket. His last class ended at five, and he barely had enough time to head to work. He figured on missing the meeting. Sure, he’d like to meet new people, especially other boys, but he didn’t have the time for it. With a sigh, he shifted his books to one arm and headed toward the cafeteria for some grub.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Dost stared sullenly at Trek, bouncing a rubber ball against the wall. Trek was clearly ignoring him, his arms firmly crossed and his head averted to another direction. The silence was nearly suffocating.
Quatre looked from one to the other, gulping as he glanced down at the pile of papers he had in both hands. Sitting in one of the overstuffed leather chairs before Dost’s massive desert aquarium desk, he had to get Dost’s signature on all of the papers before making single copies of them all, staple them to an accompanying copy of a financial report, and make copies of all of those together–before eight o’clock. It was currently seven-twenty one, and he was antsy, frightened that he wasn’t going to get it done in time. The board members were going to kill him because they couldn’t touch Dost.
“Say it,” Dost commanded, slapping his desk.
Trek sullenly lifted his chin and refused to look in his direction. Quatre tugged on his collar, wanting to wring the Chinese’s neck.
“SAY IT.”
Quatre glanced from one to another again, adjusting his short-sleeve button up shirt, then adjusting his tie.
“YOU HAD BETTER SAY IT!”
Trek examined his fingernails, and then found his boots very interesting. Quatre glanced at the clock, and began to sweat.
Dost hurled the rubber ball across the room, and Quatre had to duck to avoid being hit.
“Sir– !” he said, holding out his papers with a pleading expression.
Dost glanced at him, frowned, then gave Trek the raspberry before turning to face Quatre. “Yes, what is it, faithful underling?”
“I need your signature...”
“On all of THAT? What the hell? Am I signing away my life?”
“Uh...basically. It’s the Bed, Bath & Beyond contract for this year...”
“Shit. I don’t want that.”
“Well, uh, the board members–“
“FUCK THEM!”
Quatre winced, and tenderly ran his thumb along the top right hand corner of the pile of papers. Trek looked at Dost questioningly, then frowned. Dost looked at him suspiciously, and Trek looked away, a stubborn set of his chin indicating his refusal to acquiesce to Dost’s needs.
Dost threw up various papers from his desk, and kicked his desk. “Fuck you, Trek! Fuck you! Go to fucking hell, pigspawn! Fucking dick! Fucking chink! Goddamned homosexual animal! Chicken fucker!”
Trek laughed mockingly, and Quatre glanced at the clock again, wiping at his forehead. He could just see the board members, all their old, wrinkly faces set in maniacal design as they turned various weaponry at him.
Dost leaned over the desk, and signaled for the papers. Quatre handed them over, the alien signing all of them furiously, grumbling with each movement. When he was finally finished, Quatre took the mess that Dost left them in, and rose from his chair. Dost once again turned to Trek.
“SAY IT!”
Quatre rolled his eyes, and ran out of the office at break-neck speed. What was it between those two? What was so important about saying, “Dost Is God?”
Dost had been on Trek’s ass about it since Quatre had came in for work this afternoon, and it was giving the blond a clear example of how NOT to behave when one was a professional billionaire. IF he ever was that...
He made the required copies, then set to work; stapling the contract to the financial report, and began coping all of that. By the time he was finished, it was 8:05, and he was panicking once more as he ran out of the copy room and headed toward the board room, where the members were awaiting him. Sure enough, as soon as he walked in, the old men were roaring with displeasure, pointing at their watches and at the clock on the wall. He fumbled with his apologies, handed out the contracts, and hurried out from the room. He leaned against the wall, sighing with relief that that was over, and headed back to his boss’s office.
Before he could reach it, though, he heard his name called. He stopped, turned, and saw Hiiro Yuy standing down the hall, giving him a puzzled expression. Hiiro turned from his original destination, and walked over, looking surprised to see him. Quatre grinned, and walked over to meet him halfway.
“Hey! Long time, no see!” Quatre greeted cheerfully, whacking Hiiro’s arm. He winced at the feel of steel.
Hiiro gave him a long look, then shook his head. “What are you doing here?”
“I work for Dost. How about you?” Quatre took in the security guard uniform, and looked impressed. “How’d you get this job?”
“I entered the police academy, and work my required hours here, under a trained supervisor. I work over at Building C, across the way,” Hiiro answered, pointing out the window, toward the building that flashed with brilliant lights. Quatre had learned that Building C was used for Dost’s bank and financial archives, and was quite popular with robbers and cat-burglars, all of whom viewed the building as a challenge to try to break into. “I’m just here to...drop something off with another supervisor. I was just heading back.”
“So, you’re in the police academy? I thought...I thought you were transferring to New York State,” Quatre asked in confusion, crossing his arms. He wondered where Duo was.
“I did. It didn’t work out,” Hiiro said sourly, giving him a pointed look.
“Why not? School just started,” Quatre said, his expression displaying his puzzlement.
“I was in New York for a month. But...I did not like it there.”
Quatre lifted both eyebrows, and shrugged. “Oh. Well...uh...how’s Duo?”
“Good.”
Quatre waited for anything more, but Hiiro wasn’t volunteering any other info. He looked at the Japanese cautiously, seeing the solid stare that was being directed at him, challenging him. He shrugged again.
“Fine. He’s at Georgetown, isn’t he? That’s where he said he was going–”
“No. He’s at NPU.”
“But...I thought he was–”
“He changed his plans. I changed my plans.”
“Don’t have to snap my head off, I was just...uh...you’re wearing a ring.”
Hiiro lifted an eyebrow as Quatre stared, wide-eyed, at the ring on his left hand. Hiiro examined the plain band, and looked back at him.
“You’re not with Duo anymore?” Quatre asked, growing terribly embarrassed that he’d asked. He’d just automatically assumed that the braided wonder was with Hiiro. He felt his face redden with his faux pas. “Oh, geesh, I’m sorry. I just thought–”
“It’s not recognized in California, but we were married in Nevada after high school.”
Quatre blinked. “You...You and Duo–?”
“YES.”
Quatre stared at him in wide-eyed surprise, then slapped his shoulder. “WOW! Congratulations! But, don’t you think you’re too young? I mean...marriage is for life!”
Hiiro narrowed his eyes, and frowned at him, and Quatre retracted his hand, fumbling with the movement with an awkward shuffle of his feet.
“Fine, fine. Well, I...congratulations on you both,” he finally said, starting back toward Dost’s office. “It was nice seeing you again...considering...how fucking hypocritical you both are!”
“I was wondering when that was coming up,” Hiiro muttered with a roll of his eyes.
“Man, you guys suck! Suck!” Quatre grumbled as he turned and headed off toward Dost’s office.
Hiiro chuckled and turned to walk off, entirely surprised to see that Quatre Winner was working here. In a way, it was quite disturbing, and more than annoying. He hoped he didn’t have to see the guy again. It was bad enough they barely got along in high school...well, New Park was a massive city with plenty of places to escape to.
And the home he shared with Duo was one of them.
Chuckling once more, he headed back to work, having completed his ‘mission’.
Meanwhile, Dost was smoking a cigar and playing Tekkan Tag when Quatre came into the office. Trek was no where to be found, and Quatre gave a sneaking glance at the desert aquarium desk. Sometimes, he often wondered just how close the two were.
“Good work, slave,” Dost congratulated him, lifting his legs to prop his feet atop the desk. “My, you handle pressure so well. Ready for your next assignment?”
“Er...”
“Did you eat, yet?”
“No.”
“Great! Your next assignment is to head down to In-N-Out...on Seventh...”
“I thought you didn’t like the one on Seventh...”
“I don’t. But they make better burgers. I want you to pick up burgers from the one on Seventh, and buy the fries from the one on Third.”
“Didn’t you just eat?” Quatre then ventured cautiously, thinking of the Port-of-Subs sandwich that he’d seen the alien eat.
Dost hurled his controller across the room, and Quatre paled, wondering if he said the wrong thing. The alien slammed both palms on his desk, the snakes and lizards inside scurrying with mad frenzy for the nearest cover in which to hide themselves in.
The alien barked furiously at Quatre, “ARE YOU SAYING I’M FAT?”
Quatre grimaced, just knowing that he’d just lost his scholarship, and his job. He gulped, and adjusted his tie. Why was it so damn hot in here?
“Uh, no. I was just–I was just saying, you know, uh...you said you’re on a diet, and...eating from–from that place, after eight? Uh...it adds calories...”
Dost frowned, then flopped back into his chair with a gusty sigh. “You’re right. I shouldn’t. Ah, fuck it. You have an hour left. Play me a few rounds, then you could go home. How was school, anyway?”
Quatre felt his entire body wilt with relief, and he cautiously sat down in one of the chairs before the desk, picking up the extra controller. Dost resumed his comfortable position, gesturing for his controller. Right before Quatre’s eyes, a man appeared from out of no where and handed the alien the controller, sinking right back into the shadows once more. He blinked, then wiped at his eyes as Dost selected some commands from the game.
Then he remembered the alien’s question. “Oh! Uh, it was...different. I mean, classes seem a little hard. And it was hard finding a parking space.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” Dost said cheerily, dropping ashes into a nearby ashtray. “Most fuckers drop out or rearrange their schedules within the next two weeks, and you won’t have a problem with it. Did you buy a parking sticker so you can get a reserved space up front? It’s all the rage, these days. Lazy ass fuckers...”
“Uh...no. I didn’t know about that.”
“Never mind. You’re a kid in shape. Walk your ass to school.”
“Some guys approached me for a meeting. I didn’t go, though.”
“What kind of meeting?”
“I don’t know. Just...a get-together, or something...”
“Let me ask ya something, kid,” Dost said, leaning forward in his seat, cursing when Quatre’s character kept his character from getting up, “what’s your preference in things? You gay? Straight? Bi? I kind of have a bet going on, so, I’d appreciate an answer...”
Quatre glanced at him, and performed the winning move. Dost cursed and flung his controller across the room again. The same mysterious man appeared to pick up the controller and handed it back. Quatre sighed.
“What do you think?”
“I have fifty saying you’re straight. But Trek says you’re gay.”
“Fifty...bucks?”
“NO!” ; Dost said in disgust, looking at him. “Grand! GRAND! You wanna win big, you gotta throw in big! Fifty bucks...that’s barely enough to afford me some of my favorite silk boxers, kid!”
“Well...uh...your bodyguard’s right.”
“MOTHERFUCKER!” Dost screamed, leaping from his chair. But he sat back down again, and wrestled the controller, trying to beat Quatre’s character into submission. Dost then shrugged, and frowned as he lost this match once more. They started another one, and Quatre didn’t want to appear cocky, so he picked the player least likely to win against him. “Well, anyway, I was just wondering. Don’t listen to them kids at your school, kid. I heard they do a lot of shit to kids like you. Someone told me once that college isn’t the same as high school.”
“Why?”
“It just isn’t. High school, yeah, blah, blah, blah. Everyone’s just learning who they are, learning what they want, and it’s generally accepted that you’re either a freak, you’re a girl, you’re a Democrat, whatever. But in college, where everything’s already set–kid, don’t you read the newspaper? Watch the news? Hazing’s popular these days, especially on the homos on campus. Lesbian, gay, trans, bi–whatever. There’s always traps to pin you innocent sluts so the straights can beat on you. More than likely, those guys were trying to round up a bunch of frosh homos and perform a hazing guaranteed to mortify the lot of ya into hiding. See what I mean?”
“...Really?”
“Really-reall y. So, you might wanta watch those guys, kid. Don’t accept any offers on campus. I’m just saying this cuz I really need you at work. You keep Trek in line.”
Quatre gave him a bewildered expression. He barely talked to the Chinese. Dost cursed once more as he lost another round.
“Well...uh...thanks. I guess.”
“STOP KICKING ME!”
“I didn’t know...I wasn’t going to go, anyway.”
“USE ANOTHER FUCKING MOVE! Don’t listen to the bastards, kid. More than likely, those ones that did go are probably hanging from a flagpole right now,” Dost said, chewing on his cigar. “YES! EAT THIS!”
“How do you know all of this?” Quatre asked curiously, glancing at him.
“Eh. I have my connections...no, really, I have a few prostitutes that go to school there, and that’s what they said.”
Quatre stared at him. “...Hookers...?”
“No, prostitutes.” Dost lifted an eyebrow in his direction. “Are you even familiar with what businesses I run?”
“Er...”
“Turn that thing off, kid, and start taking notes. Someday, you might take over my business...how the hell ya gonna run my business if you don’t even know what the fuck’s going on? Sheesh...”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was walking about in a daze as he left his car, heading toward his apartment. Lugging all his school books with him, and hearing the reassuring lock of his car as it prepared itself for the night stay in the parking lot, he took out his keys from his pocket and went over what was said at the office. He’d really had no idea what he was getting into when he signed his name on the contract–how was he to know that he was basically working for a damned alien-Mafia-style Underlord that ran gangs in space and on Earth?
He worked on the lock of his door, and walked in, dropping his books where they lay. He surveyed his apartment as he worked the key from the lock, noting that George was still alive, and that everything was where it should be.
He shut the door, kicking aside his books as he tossed his keys onto the coffee table. There was a rapid knock on his door, and he whirled in surprise. He took one step toward the door, kicked his books and texts aside, and opened it, revealing Trowa.
“HEY!” he shouted in surprise, nearly bouncing in joy. Trowa smiled at him, and Quatre let him in, kicking his books aside so that they had room to walk.
Trowa walked in, taking in the living space, and the newly rearranged furniture and entertainment center that now held a tv, his movies, and some decorative pieces.
“Did you just get here?” Quatre asked him in delight, giving the goth’s outfit a skeptical glance. Today’s outfit was a pair of black cargo pants, knee high boots, studded belt, a shirt with the word DIE on it, and the usual array of bracelets and cuffs. Except that he was still wearing his glasses, and that put a twist on the outfit. He stifled a snicker, and loosened his tie.
“Yes, basically. You slammed the door on my face,” Trowa said, looking back at him.
“Oops. I’m sorry.”
“I was waiting outside. I figured you had to come home, sometime.”
“Man...Tro...sometimes, you’re just creepy,” Quatre said with a shudder, tripping over his coffee table, and upsetting George.
“You have a plant?”
“His name’s George! Treat him with respect.”
“You...named your plant?”
“Isn’t he awesome? He’s the persona of my bachelor-hood....Oh! You wouldn’t understand what that is, huh?”
Trowa gave him a sour glance, and shook his head. Quatre grinned at him, and flopped onto his couch with a tired sigh. He yelped in the same instance, and ripped out an array of pens and pencils that he’d bought the other day, but it appeared Mike had struck there as well. The erasers were bitten off of every pencil. He rolled his eyes and tossed those in the random direction of his coffee table, and Trowa looked distinctively uncomfortable.
“Take a load off...sit, sit! Well, what do you think?” Quatre asked, gesturing as Trowa took the chair.
“It’s nice. Still has that new apartment smell to it.”
“Yeah...I’ve been working practically all the time, man. It’s hard just to sit here and...relax. I got my driver’s license the other day.”
“Finally?”
“Yeah. Actually, it was yesterday....I can’t believe you’re still dressing like that.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually wearing a suit and tie. You’re already caught up with the rest of the sheep.”
“But my shepherd pays mad cash for me to look pretty, Trowa.”
Trowa snorted, rolling his eyes as he removed his glasses, and Quatre took off his tie, letting it lay where he dropped it.
“Guess who I saw, today? Hiiro,” Quatre said, without giving Trowa a chance to answer. “He’s at the police academy, now.”
“I thought he was heading to New York State...”
“He said it didn’t work out.”
“He and Duo got married, you know.”
“I saw that. I can’t believe they gave me so much crap in high school for being gay, man. I still wanna kick their asses,” Quatre complained, kicking off his shoes. Trowa ducked to avoid being hit.
“Duo’s at NPU. Have you seen him?”
“No.”
“How was school, anyway?”
“Eh. Dude, I narrowly missed getting hazed.”
“I wanted to tell you about that. Your preference in guys won’t be held so lightly like it was in high school. Don’t mess around with people over there. Catherine told me at least five gay students were hurt in the hazing.”
“Damn, man,” Quatre groaned, adjusting a throw pillow behind his head. “I thought Laramie was bad. I came back here, looking for freedom in being who I am, and I have to hide it or act differently. That fucking sucks.”
“It’s not the same as high school,” Trowa said, picking at his nails. He was trying not to notice how attractive his ex had grown. It was a little hard to not notice.
“No...but school’s school, I suppose,” Quatre grumbled, frowning at the ceiling. He could smell Trowa’s cologne from where he was laying, and was feeling a little uncomfortable.
“I came by yesterday, but you weren’t here.”
“No...I went out for my license. I was hanging out with Jake Trip. You remember him?”
“The straight that denies he has a thing for you?”
“You think so?”
Trowa snorted, shaking his head. “Whatever.”
“How’d you escape Sylvia?”
“...Told her I was visiting my boss. My boss is one of those guys that can’t escape college frat-life. He’s cool. We hang out, sometimes. So, what’s your job like?”
“Mad. I mean, the guy has me doing anything and everything. It’s...tiresome. But it pays great, so, it’s really no hassle. I mean, it is, it’s just...” Quatre shrugged, running his tongue over his teeth.
He looked over at Trowa again, noting the shortened hair, the matured features. The shorter hair revealed a straight, thin nose that ended in a soft point, and his eyes, emerald green and shadowed with auburn lashes that were a little lighter than his hair, were more visible than before. His eyebrows were curved with an almost delicate quality, defining his hooded eyes in a way that drew one’s attention to that saucy perfection. They moved as they always did with his words, as if punctuating what he was saying.
It was odd, seeing his ex in this light. He knew that Trowa was attractive, had always been, but with age came a maturity of features that made him practically perfect. His shoulders were broad, his limbs long and lean, his entire overall frame distinctively thin in a fashionable way. The short sleeves of his shirt revealed toned arms that were still wispy with hair, but it was as if the skin were pulled tightly, showing off various veins and tendons that were mesmerizing to look at.
The high angle of his cheekbones were broader, male, and showed off the striking hollows of his cheeks. His chin was sharply carved, with a vague cleft that was more visible in the shadows. His lips were still plump on the bottom, and curved on top, and Quatre remembered, with striking clarity, how they felt pressed against skin. He shifted uncomfortably, frowning at himself.
Bad, bad, bad! He thought to himself with an annoyed frown. He belongs to someone else, now. There’s no need for these kinds of thoughts...
“Well...are you hungry? I can...call for pizza, or something. Chinese?”
“Yeah. Sure. Fine.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t care.”
“Pizza, then. Let me find a number...”
“You don’t know any, yet?”
“Man! I just told you, I haven’t been here most of the time! Just working,” Quatre groused as he rose from the couch, and wondered where his phone went. He was sure he bought one for the apartment, but he didn’t know if it was set up, yet. He pulled out his cell, and dialed information, figuring he didn’t need one, anyway. Not when he had this baby.
Trowa watched him walk off, appreciating the ass in those dress slacks. Quatre had grown a little taller– he was definitely near the six foot mark, but his body had filled out in pleasing ways. His shoulders were broad and fitted with some muscle, most likely from working out, and his limbs were compactly fit with muscle that looked hard and fit. He moved about with a strong grace, wearing clothes that were obviously uncomfortable for him, but fitting them in a way that had Trowa’s eyes pinned on his backside. Quatre had a strong neck, the back of it covered with wavy hair that had been cut in an attempt to keep it controlled. It threatened to touch the collar of his shirt, a sharp contrast to his lightly tanned skin. He had a sharp jaw line, almost harsh, and it tucked neatly into the perfect lobes of his ears. Trowa really liked the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed when he spoke, distracting his attention and directing it to the visible lines of his neck. His blue/green eyes weren’t as big as they were back in high school, but they were defined enough to capture anyone’s approving gaze with their unique coloring and playful quality. Those lips of his, curled continuously at the corners in a sweet and teasing way, were light and firm, demanding attention in a provocative way.
Did others see Quatre the way that Trowa saw him? Did they see how his right eyebrow often lifted in a light inquiry with his words, his eyes taking on a sharp quality, looking for approval and security in those he looked at? Did they see how he often bit the inside of lip when he was uncertain and a bit hesitant? Would his next boyfriend appreciate, that whenever the squared corners of his eyebrows furrowed together, the lascivious thoughts that were running through the blond’s mind whenever he was feeling frisky? Trowa closed his eyes, and sighed, hearing the blond order an extra-large pie from a nearby pizza place, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He shouldn’t be thinking these sorts of things, anyway. He had a girlfriend, and...he didn’t have a chance, anyway.
“You can watch tv, or something! I didn’t order cable, yet, so pick out a movie! I’m going to go change!” Quatre said, hanging up his cell and moving through the kitchen to get to his bedroom.
Trowa waved to indicate that he heard, and frowned at the selection available. He rose from the chair, and scanned the titles, wondering why in the hell Quatre had Sex and the City as one of the choices. He picked out Kung Pow! , and turned it on. Steve Odekirk had something going with this dubbed over Asian movie, and he got a kick out of Betty.
When Quatre came back, he was wearing a Spurs jersey and a pair of basketball shorts, his exposed skin and arms catching Trowa’s attention for a few moments. His eyes lingered on the defined cuts of his biceps and shoulders, the way the muscle flexed with his movements. Wiping his lower lip, Trowa tried to look at something else, but ended up staring at the way Quatre’s neck flexed with his continuous turning and twisting, looking for something on the floor.
Shifting uncomfortably on the chair, Trowa wiped his eyes and acknowledged the bulge of his cellphone in his back pocket. He took that out, and set it aside, then stared at it as it sat quietly atop of the coffee table. He reached over and turned it off, anticipating Sylvia’s call.
“So...what exactly do you do?” he asked, trying very hard to keep the conversation going.
“Oh, just...whatever. I thought being a personal assistant meant that I got to do really neat things, but it turns out that I’m the fourth p.a. in a long line of p.a.’s, and I barely register as anything important. It’s cool, though. I really like the pay. Oh, are you thirsty? I have some beer in the fridge.”
“Bud?”
“No. Uh, Pale Ale.”
“That’s fine.”
Quatre went off to fetch it, humming happily about his independence, and Trowa wiped his forehead. It was hot in here. Didn’t he have air conditioning?
Quatre came back, and handed him a cold bottle of beer. Then he sat, and the pair of them watched the movie, continuously throwing out comments and questions about each other’s lives. When the delivery guy finally showed up, Trowa was really regretting coming out here without Sylvia. Combined with the alcohol, and for the fact that he found his ex very sexually attractive, he feared making some bad decision or comment.
They ate the pizza, Quatre picking at the onions while he talked about what features his new car had, and how he couldn’t figure out how to work the personal settings factor.
It was nearly eleven when they finished watching ‘Underworld’ (Quatre making fun of Trowa’s boots all the way, and comparing him to Selene). Trowa didn’t want to go home just yet–he was catching up on Quatre’s life, and...he just didn’t want to leave. It was a frustrating feeling for him. He knew Quatre was interested in him–he could tell from the glances and the too-long stares in his direction that he was. But it was just...wrong to wonder if Quatre was interested in a quick hook-up with no feelings involved.
That was stupid. If they were going to hook up, there were going to be feelings. His were going to be based on guilt and longing–sex with Quatre had been phenomenal, and for the fact that he was considering cheating on Sylvia...well, it just didn’t cut out well.
He wasn’t sure what Quatre’s would be, because he kept getting mixed messages. Whichever, he felt ridiculous for feeling this way.
“So, Trowa, how long does it take to get to where you live?” Quatre asked curiously, tossing aside a crust.
“Hour and a half. Counting on traffic, of course,” Trowa answered, wiping his hands on a napkin. He finished off his third Pale Ale, and tried not to belch too loudly. “There’s no other short cut there.”
“That must suck. Damn, Sylvia’s going to ground you when you get there,” Quatre laughed, folding his arms behind his head.
Trowa looked down at his boots, shrugging. “I’m sure she’ll live. She’s done the same thing to me a few times.”
“Is she mad?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Does she get mad about a lot of things?”
“She started taking the pill some time ago, and her moods have been just...” Trowa grimaced in answer.
Quatre chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with those sorts of things. In a way, I’m glad I’m not with someone. I mean, it would be hard. Living with someone, I mean. You’d have to compromise on a lot of things.”
“Yeah, but...it’s worth it when you have a warm body to come home to.”
Quatre snickered, and shrugged again. “Well, you got me there.”
Trowa knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t resist. The words were out before he could stop them. “How about you? Do you have anybody, yet?”
“No...but...I don’t know. I could be interested in somebody, but...I don’t think it’d work. Man, I’m still having trouble in that aspect! I met this guy in Laramie, and we...had a thing, but...he was like, ten years older, and he was...I don’t know. Just looking for fresh meat, though. The sex wasn’t that good. I’m still looking.”
Trowa snorted. He couldn’t help but feel good that Quatre hadn’t had any luck in that area. It made one desperate. Also, it was a boost to his ego. From what he gathered (without really asking), Quatre had only two partners since him–Triton Bloom and that guy. But anyway, it appeared that the only good sex Quatre had was with him. Trowa Barton. That was an ego boost, and a boost in confidence.
He was growing nervous. How was the evening going to end?
“Well...I better get going.”
“Yeah...sorry I kept you so late. You should have said something earlier,” Quatre scolded, rising from the couch, brushing off crumbs from his lap. Trowa rose from the couch, setting aside his empty bottle. “I’m glad you came out here, though, Trowa. It was good to see you again.”
“Yeah, same here. We should...get together again, sometime.”
“Will your master let you?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
Quatre lifted an eyebrow, and gave him a smug look. “And it’s with that mind-set that got you into trouble before...”
Trowa smiled sheepishly, and said nothing in defense. Really, what could he?
They walked over to the door, and Quatre turned to him, reaching out to punch his arm lightly.
“You aren’t wearing makeup,” he noticed.
“No. I can’t apply it in the car.”
“But it drives on its own.”
“...Never mind.”
“Well...you look good, Trowa. Even with that getup of yours.”
Trowa gave a half grin, then bent, kissing his cheek. He felt Quatre freeze at the contact, and he found himself closing his eyes in appreciation, inhaling the scent of the blond, and liking the feel of his skin against his lips. He basically had to force himself to straighten, finding that Quatre looked a little troubled from the kiss.
“I’m sorry. I just...did that without thinking,” Trowa apologized, feeling really bad about it.
“No...it’s...it’s all right. I just didn’t...expect it.”
Even in the darkness, Trowa could see the blond flushing with color, his voice trembling with nervousness. On impulse, he bent and kissed his cheek again, then brushed his nose against his cheek. Quatre wasn’t pushing him away, and wasn’t encouraging him either. On another impulse, Trowa maneuvered his lips from Quatre’s cheeks to his lips, touching them briefly with his. He felt a tingle of response as Quatre’s lips twitched against his, and instead of retracting them, Trowa kissed him more firmly, reaching up to touch his chin.
Quatre responded to the kiss with one of his own, but Trowa could feel his hesitation in the move. He pulled away, frowning at himself, then opened the door to walk out without saying anything.
Quatre, standing in a daze, barely registered closing the door behind him.
“Since You’ve Been Gone” Kelly Clarkson
New Park University’s campus was an arrayed display of greenery, flowing hills, and red brick buildings, giving it a New England look. By the time Quatre had arrived (having found a parking spot three miles away), the campus was crawling with students. Many were carrying heavy backpacks, looking far more sophisticated than he imagined, and were already clustered into groups. There were a few that walked alone, but they were foreign students that didn’t seem to speak English very well. There were more than a few alien faces walking about, all of them in varying appearance, and Quatre found himself glad to be used to them already. He’d seen more than a few kids gaping openly at the alien forms, and he didn’t want to look so hickish.
Thanks to the week earlier, in which he had to situate himself with his living arrangements and job, he hadn’t had the time to buy his books yet. He was supposed to do that today, before classes started, but he had gone through that maddening period of looking for a parking space and was late enough as it was.
Having dressed in his work pants, with a casual open shirt look that he could transform into the pristine uniform he wore with Dost, Quatre felt pretty confident about himself as he strode through the walkways, looking for his first class. Already, he had several guys glancing at him in appreciation, and he felt mighty good about it. Maybe this year would be better for him.
When he finally located his first class, he was a little annoyed to see that he was one of the last to arrive, and the class was filled. Almost every desk was taken, and he found a spare at the very back, the professor already lecturing and outlining his expectations for this year. He settled into his seat and withdrew the classy new notebook he’d acquired at Target. Nearly similar to the one he had in high school, this one was situated for more, extensive programs and had more features. It enabled a user to record, both digitally and electronically, the lecture that took place, and took note of important key notes from the professor.
He turned it on, quickly running through the introductory programs, inputting his personal information that was required, and turned back to the professor. Each class was an hour and fifteen minutes long, and soon after he finished programming his notebook, he felt his eyelids drooping.
In an effort to stay awake, determined to start this year with a better outlook on class, he shook his head and focused intently on the professor. He was a balding black man, with a strong voice that easily carried throughout the classroom. There were a lot of students in attendance, and Quatre looked at them all, wondering who was going to stick around to complete the class. He’d heard that nearly fifty percent of students attending the first day of class usually dropped out a few days later. The parking lot would be filled continuously for the first two weeks of school, then dwindle as students dwindled. He wondered if that was true.
Several of his classmates were vaguely familiar–perhaps he’d played against them in high school, or something. They were mainly kids his age, all of them in clean clothes and hopeful expressions. He wondered if he looked as naive as they did, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
His morning classes passed by with little trouble–by the time one o’clock came around, he was feeling a little annoyed that college wasn’t what he expected. Perhaps he was just holding too high of expectations, but he was looking forward for some sort of similarity that one would expect in high school classes.
He had just bought his books and program requirements for his classes today (caught unprepared by the overwhelming prices and the required texts), and was heading toward the nearest cafeteria when a couple of guys walked up to him. He was startled by their jostling cheer, nearly dropping his books in the process.
“Hey, man!” one guy said, his handsome features lighting up with a bright smile. He towered over Quatre, standing at least seven foot seven, and was dressed in Fubu. His black skin was dark and almost shimmery in appearance as his partner, a rather husky boy that had FOOTBALL! written all over him, grinned in greeting. Both of them companionably swatted his arms.
“What’s up, man?” the husky one asked, his chins wobbling. “Hey, you frosh?”
“Y-yeah,” Quatre answered with some hesitation, frowning at them both as he kept hold on his book.
“You in from out of state?” the first one asked, shoving his hands into his pockets. If his pants were hanging any lower, they’d be clinging to his knees.
“Uh...yeah. But I lived here before,” Quatre answered.
“Hey, gotta question for ya’ll,” the black boy continued, rubbing his strong chin, and exchanging a look with his partner. The pair of them snickered and looked back at him. “You gay?”
“W-what?”
“You gay? Homo? Y’know?”
Quatre stared at them with some uncertainty. Something was telling him to say ‘no’, their waiting faces a lit with a grin characteristic of expectation. But why should he feel this way? This was college, and how different was college from high school? In high school, at least here in New Park, anything was accepted. What could be different?
“Um...yes?”
Both of them slapped hands, and the black one turned to him, holding out a flyer.
“Man, we organizing a meeting at five, near the bookstore? We’re gonna have a little get together, y’know, get ta know each other. Just...kinda help each other out. Oh, by the way, we’re juniors, so, it’s like, we’re in charge of things around here. Just follow these directions, be there by five, and it’ll all be cool.”
Quatre took the flyer with some uncertainty, noting the flaws in the writing, the sense of uneasiness he felt as he looked at the two once more. But he nodded, and the two walked off, hurrying to accost another lone male that was walking toward his own class. Quatre glanced after him, then looked at the flyer again. A ‘get-together’, huh? Why did he feel so uneasy about it?
He shrugged, awkwardly folding it up and putting it into his back pocket. His last class ended at five, and he barely had enough time to head to work. He figured on missing the meeting. Sure, he’d like to meet new people, especially other boys, but he didn’t have the time for it. With a sigh, he shifted his books to one arm and headed toward the cafeteria for some grub.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Dost stared sullenly at Trek, bouncing a rubber ball against the wall. Trek was clearly ignoring him, his arms firmly crossed and his head averted to another direction. The silence was nearly suffocating.
Quatre looked from one to the other, gulping as he glanced down at the pile of papers he had in both hands. Sitting in one of the overstuffed leather chairs before Dost’s massive desert aquarium desk, he had to get Dost’s signature on all of the papers before making single copies of them all, staple them to an accompanying copy of a financial report, and make copies of all of those together–before eight o’clock. It was currently seven-twenty one, and he was antsy, frightened that he wasn’t going to get it done in time. The board members were going to kill him because they couldn’t touch Dost.
“Say it,” Dost commanded, slapping his desk.
Trek sullenly lifted his chin and refused to look in his direction. Quatre tugged on his collar, wanting to wring the Chinese’s neck.
“SAY IT.”
Quatre glanced from one to another again, adjusting his short-sleeve button up shirt, then adjusting his tie.
“YOU HAD BETTER SAY IT!”
Trek examined his fingernails, and then found his boots very interesting. Quatre glanced at the clock, and began to sweat.
Dost hurled the rubber ball across the room, and Quatre had to duck to avoid being hit.
“Sir– !” he said, holding out his papers with a pleading expression.
Dost glanced at him, frowned, then gave Trek the raspberry before turning to face Quatre. “Yes, what is it, faithful underling?”
“I need your signature...”
“On all of THAT? What the hell? Am I signing away my life?”
“Uh...basically. It’s the Bed, Bath & Beyond contract for this year...”
“Shit. I don’t want that.”
“Well, uh, the board members–“
“FUCK THEM!”
Quatre winced, and tenderly ran his thumb along the top right hand corner of the pile of papers. Trek looked at Dost questioningly, then frowned. Dost looked at him suspiciously, and Trek looked away, a stubborn set of his chin indicating his refusal to acquiesce to Dost’s needs.
Dost threw up various papers from his desk, and kicked his desk. “Fuck you, Trek! Fuck you! Go to fucking hell, pigspawn! Fucking dick! Fucking chink! Goddamned homosexual animal! Chicken fucker!”
Trek laughed mockingly, and Quatre glanced at the clock again, wiping at his forehead. He could just see the board members, all their old, wrinkly faces set in maniacal design as they turned various weaponry at him.
Dost leaned over the desk, and signaled for the papers. Quatre handed them over, the alien signing all of them furiously, grumbling with each movement. When he was finally finished, Quatre took the mess that Dost left them in, and rose from his chair. Dost once again turned to Trek.
“SAY IT!”
Quatre rolled his eyes, and ran out of the office at break-neck speed. What was it between those two? What was so important about saying, “Dost Is God?”
Dost had been on Trek’s ass about it since Quatre had came in for work this afternoon, and it was giving the blond a clear example of how NOT to behave when one was a professional billionaire. IF he ever was that...
He made the required copies, then set to work; stapling the contract to the financial report, and began coping all of that. By the time he was finished, it was 8:05, and he was panicking once more as he ran out of the copy room and headed toward the board room, where the members were awaiting him. Sure enough, as soon as he walked in, the old men were roaring with displeasure, pointing at their watches and at the clock on the wall. He fumbled with his apologies, handed out the contracts, and hurried out from the room. He leaned against the wall, sighing with relief that that was over, and headed back to his boss’s office.
Before he could reach it, though, he heard his name called. He stopped, turned, and saw Hiiro Yuy standing down the hall, giving him a puzzled expression. Hiiro turned from his original destination, and walked over, looking surprised to see him. Quatre grinned, and walked over to meet him halfway.
“Hey! Long time, no see!” Quatre greeted cheerfully, whacking Hiiro’s arm. He winced at the feel of steel.
Hiiro gave him a long look, then shook his head. “What are you doing here?”
“I work for Dost. How about you?” Quatre took in the security guard uniform, and looked impressed. “How’d you get this job?”
“I entered the police academy, and work my required hours here, under a trained supervisor. I work over at Building C, across the way,” Hiiro answered, pointing out the window, toward the building that flashed with brilliant lights. Quatre had learned that Building C was used for Dost’s bank and financial archives, and was quite popular with robbers and cat-burglars, all of whom viewed the building as a challenge to try to break into. “I’m just here to...drop something off with another supervisor. I was just heading back.”
“So, you’re in the police academy? I thought...I thought you were transferring to New York State,” Quatre asked in confusion, crossing his arms. He wondered where Duo was.
“I did. It didn’t work out,” Hiiro said sourly, giving him a pointed look.
“Why not? School just started,” Quatre said, his expression displaying his puzzlement.
“I was in New York for a month. But...I did not like it there.”
Quatre lifted both eyebrows, and shrugged. “Oh. Well...uh...how’s Duo?”
“Good.”
Quatre waited for anything more, but Hiiro wasn’t volunteering any other info. He looked at the Japanese cautiously, seeing the solid stare that was being directed at him, challenging him. He shrugged again.
“Fine. He’s at Georgetown, isn’t he? That’s where he said he was going–”
“No. He’s at NPU.”
“But...I thought he was–”
“He changed his plans. I changed my plans.”
“Don’t have to snap my head off, I was just...uh...you’re wearing a ring.”
Hiiro lifted an eyebrow as Quatre stared, wide-eyed, at the ring on his left hand. Hiiro examined the plain band, and looked back at him.
“You’re not with Duo anymore?” Quatre asked, growing terribly embarrassed that he’d asked. He’d just automatically assumed that the braided wonder was with Hiiro. He felt his face redden with his faux pas. “Oh, geesh, I’m sorry. I just thought–”
“It’s not recognized in California, but we were married in Nevada after high school.”
Quatre blinked. “You...You and Duo–?”
“YES.”
Quatre stared at him in wide-eyed surprise, then slapped his shoulder. “WOW! Congratulations! But, don’t you think you’re too young? I mean...marriage is for life!”
Hiiro narrowed his eyes, and frowned at him, and Quatre retracted his hand, fumbling with the movement with an awkward shuffle of his feet.
“Fine, fine. Well, I...congratulations on you both,” he finally said, starting back toward Dost’s office. “It was nice seeing you again...considering...how fucking hypocritical you both are!”
“I was wondering when that was coming up,” Hiiro muttered with a roll of his eyes.
“Man, you guys suck! Suck!” Quatre grumbled as he turned and headed off toward Dost’s office.
Hiiro chuckled and turned to walk off, entirely surprised to see that Quatre Winner was working here. In a way, it was quite disturbing, and more than annoying. He hoped he didn’t have to see the guy again. It was bad enough they barely got along in high school...well, New Park was a massive city with plenty of places to escape to.
And the home he shared with Duo was one of them.
Chuckling once more, he headed back to work, having completed his ‘mission’.
Meanwhile, Dost was smoking a cigar and playing Tekkan Tag when Quatre came into the office. Trek was no where to be found, and Quatre gave a sneaking glance at the desert aquarium desk. Sometimes, he often wondered just how close the two were.
“Good work, slave,” Dost congratulated him, lifting his legs to prop his feet atop the desk. “My, you handle pressure so well. Ready for your next assignment?”
“Er...”
“Did you eat, yet?”
“No.”
“Great! Your next assignment is to head down to In-N-Out...on Seventh...”
“I thought you didn’t like the one on Seventh...”
“I don’t. But they make better burgers. I want you to pick up burgers from the one on Seventh, and buy the fries from the one on Third.”
“Didn’t you just eat?” Quatre then ventured cautiously, thinking of the Port-of-Subs sandwich that he’d seen the alien eat.
Dost hurled his controller across the room, and Quatre paled, wondering if he said the wrong thing. The alien slammed both palms on his desk, the snakes and lizards inside scurrying with mad frenzy for the nearest cover in which to hide themselves in.
The alien barked furiously at Quatre, “ARE YOU SAYING I’M FAT?”
Quatre grimaced, just knowing that he’d just lost his scholarship, and his job. He gulped, and adjusted his tie. Why was it so damn hot in here?
“Uh, no. I was just–I was just saying, you know, uh...you said you’re on a diet, and...eating from–from that place, after eight? Uh...it adds calories...”
Dost frowned, then flopped back into his chair with a gusty sigh. “You’re right. I shouldn’t. Ah, fuck it. You have an hour left. Play me a few rounds, then you could go home. How was school, anyway?”
Quatre felt his entire body wilt with relief, and he cautiously sat down in one of the chairs before the desk, picking up the extra controller. Dost resumed his comfortable position, gesturing for his controller. Right before Quatre’s eyes, a man appeared from out of no where and handed the alien the controller, sinking right back into the shadows once more. He blinked, then wiped at his eyes as Dost selected some commands from the game.
Then he remembered the alien’s question. “Oh! Uh, it was...different. I mean, classes seem a little hard. And it was hard finding a parking space.”
“Don’t even worry about it,” Dost said cheerily, dropping ashes into a nearby ashtray. “Most fuckers drop out or rearrange their schedules within the next two weeks, and you won’t have a problem with it. Did you buy a parking sticker so you can get a reserved space up front? It’s all the rage, these days. Lazy ass fuckers...”
“Uh...no. I didn’t know about that.”
“Never mind. You’re a kid in shape. Walk your ass to school.”
“Some guys approached me for a meeting. I didn’t go, though.”
“What kind of meeting?”
“I don’t know. Just...a get-together, or something...”
“Let me ask ya something, kid,” Dost said, leaning forward in his seat, cursing when Quatre’s character kept his character from getting up, “what’s your preference in things? You gay? Straight? Bi? I kind of have a bet going on, so, I’d appreciate an answer...”
Quatre glanced at him, and performed the winning move. Dost cursed and flung his controller across the room again. The same mysterious man appeared to pick up the controller and handed it back. Quatre sighed.
“What do you think?”
“I have fifty saying you’re straight. But Trek says you’re gay.”
“Fifty...bucks?”
“NO!” ; Dost said in disgust, looking at him. “Grand! GRAND! You wanna win big, you gotta throw in big! Fifty bucks...that’s barely enough to afford me some of my favorite silk boxers, kid!”
“Well...uh...your bodyguard’s right.”
“MOTHERFUCKER!” Dost screamed, leaping from his chair. But he sat back down again, and wrestled the controller, trying to beat Quatre’s character into submission. Dost then shrugged, and frowned as he lost this match once more. They started another one, and Quatre didn’t want to appear cocky, so he picked the player least likely to win against him. “Well, anyway, I was just wondering. Don’t listen to them kids at your school, kid. I heard they do a lot of shit to kids like you. Someone told me once that college isn’t the same as high school.”
“Why?”
“It just isn’t. High school, yeah, blah, blah, blah. Everyone’s just learning who they are, learning what they want, and it’s generally accepted that you’re either a freak, you’re a girl, you’re a Democrat, whatever. But in college, where everything’s already set–kid, don’t you read the newspaper? Watch the news? Hazing’s popular these days, especially on the homos on campus. Lesbian, gay, trans, bi–whatever. There’s always traps to pin you innocent sluts so the straights can beat on you. More than likely, those guys were trying to round up a bunch of frosh homos and perform a hazing guaranteed to mortify the lot of ya into hiding. See what I mean?”
“...Really?”
“Really-reall y. So, you might wanta watch those guys, kid. Don’t accept any offers on campus. I’m just saying this cuz I really need you at work. You keep Trek in line.”
Quatre gave him a bewildered expression. He barely talked to the Chinese. Dost cursed once more as he lost another round.
“Well...uh...thanks. I guess.”
“STOP KICKING ME!”
“I didn’t know...I wasn’t going to go, anyway.”
“USE ANOTHER FUCKING MOVE! Don’t listen to the bastards, kid. More than likely, those ones that did go are probably hanging from a flagpole right now,” Dost said, chewing on his cigar. “YES! EAT THIS!”
“How do you know all of this?” Quatre asked curiously, glancing at him.
“Eh. I have my connections...no, really, I have a few prostitutes that go to school there, and that’s what they said.”
Quatre stared at him. “...Hookers...?”
“No, prostitutes.” Dost lifted an eyebrow in his direction. “Are you even familiar with what businesses I run?”
“Er...”
“Turn that thing off, kid, and start taking notes. Someday, you might take over my business...how the hell ya gonna run my business if you don’t even know what the fuck’s going on? Sheesh...”
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was walking about in a daze as he left his car, heading toward his apartment. Lugging all his school books with him, and hearing the reassuring lock of his car as it prepared itself for the night stay in the parking lot, he took out his keys from his pocket and went over what was said at the office. He’d really had no idea what he was getting into when he signed his name on the contract–how was he to know that he was basically working for a damned alien-Mafia-style Underlord that ran gangs in space and on Earth?
He worked on the lock of his door, and walked in, dropping his books where they lay. He surveyed his apartment as he worked the key from the lock, noting that George was still alive, and that everything was where it should be.
He shut the door, kicking aside his books as he tossed his keys onto the coffee table. There was a rapid knock on his door, and he whirled in surprise. He took one step toward the door, kicked his books and texts aside, and opened it, revealing Trowa.
“HEY!” he shouted in surprise, nearly bouncing in joy. Trowa smiled at him, and Quatre let him in, kicking his books aside so that they had room to walk.
Trowa walked in, taking in the living space, and the newly rearranged furniture and entertainment center that now held a tv, his movies, and some decorative pieces.
“Did you just get here?” Quatre asked him in delight, giving the goth’s outfit a skeptical glance. Today’s outfit was a pair of black cargo pants, knee high boots, studded belt, a shirt with the word DIE on it, and the usual array of bracelets and cuffs. Except that he was still wearing his glasses, and that put a twist on the outfit. He stifled a snicker, and loosened his tie.
“Yes, basically. You slammed the door on my face,” Trowa said, looking back at him.
“Oops. I’m sorry.”
“I was waiting outside. I figured you had to come home, sometime.”
“Man...Tro...sometimes, you’re just creepy,” Quatre said with a shudder, tripping over his coffee table, and upsetting George.
“You have a plant?”
“His name’s George! Treat him with respect.”
“You...named your plant?”
“Isn’t he awesome? He’s the persona of my bachelor-hood....Oh! You wouldn’t understand what that is, huh?”
Trowa gave him a sour glance, and shook his head. Quatre grinned at him, and flopped onto his couch with a tired sigh. He yelped in the same instance, and ripped out an array of pens and pencils that he’d bought the other day, but it appeared Mike had struck there as well. The erasers were bitten off of every pencil. He rolled his eyes and tossed those in the random direction of his coffee table, and Trowa looked distinctively uncomfortable.
“Take a load off...sit, sit! Well, what do you think?” Quatre asked, gesturing as Trowa took the chair.
“It’s nice. Still has that new apartment smell to it.”
“Yeah...I’ve been working practically all the time, man. It’s hard just to sit here and...relax. I got my driver’s license the other day.”
“Finally?”
“Yeah. Actually, it was yesterday....I can’t believe you’re still dressing like that.”
“I can’t believe you’re actually wearing a suit and tie. You’re already caught up with the rest of the sheep.”
“But my shepherd pays mad cash for me to look pretty, Trowa.”
Trowa snorted, rolling his eyes as he removed his glasses, and Quatre took off his tie, letting it lay where he dropped it.
“Guess who I saw, today? Hiiro,” Quatre said, without giving Trowa a chance to answer. “He’s at the police academy, now.”
“I thought he was heading to New York State...”
“He said it didn’t work out.”
“He and Duo got married, you know.”
“I saw that. I can’t believe they gave me so much crap in high school for being gay, man. I still wanna kick their asses,” Quatre complained, kicking off his shoes. Trowa ducked to avoid being hit.
“Duo’s at NPU. Have you seen him?”
“No.”
“How was school, anyway?”
“Eh. Dude, I narrowly missed getting hazed.”
“I wanted to tell you about that. Your preference in guys won’t be held so lightly like it was in high school. Don’t mess around with people over there. Catherine told me at least five gay students were hurt in the hazing.”
“Damn, man,” Quatre groaned, adjusting a throw pillow behind his head. “I thought Laramie was bad. I came back here, looking for freedom in being who I am, and I have to hide it or act differently. That fucking sucks.”
“It’s not the same as high school,” Trowa said, picking at his nails. He was trying not to notice how attractive his ex had grown. It was a little hard to not notice.
“No...but school’s school, I suppose,” Quatre grumbled, frowning at the ceiling. He could smell Trowa’s cologne from where he was laying, and was feeling a little uncomfortable.
“I came by yesterday, but you weren’t here.”
“No...I went out for my license. I was hanging out with Jake Trip. You remember him?”
“The straight that denies he has a thing for you?”
“You think so?”
Trowa snorted, shaking his head. “Whatever.”
“How’d you escape Sylvia?”
“...Told her I was visiting my boss. My boss is one of those guys that can’t escape college frat-life. He’s cool. We hang out, sometimes. So, what’s your job like?”
“Mad. I mean, the guy has me doing anything and everything. It’s...tiresome. But it pays great, so, it’s really no hassle. I mean, it is, it’s just...” Quatre shrugged, running his tongue over his teeth.
He looked over at Trowa again, noting the shortened hair, the matured features. The shorter hair revealed a straight, thin nose that ended in a soft point, and his eyes, emerald green and shadowed with auburn lashes that were a little lighter than his hair, were more visible than before. His eyebrows were curved with an almost delicate quality, defining his hooded eyes in a way that drew one’s attention to that saucy perfection. They moved as they always did with his words, as if punctuating what he was saying.
It was odd, seeing his ex in this light. He knew that Trowa was attractive, had always been, but with age came a maturity of features that made him practically perfect. His shoulders were broad, his limbs long and lean, his entire overall frame distinctively thin in a fashionable way. The short sleeves of his shirt revealed toned arms that were still wispy with hair, but it was as if the skin were pulled tightly, showing off various veins and tendons that were mesmerizing to look at.
The high angle of his cheekbones were broader, male, and showed off the striking hollows of his cheeks. His chin was sharply carved, with a vague cleft that was more visible in the shadows. His lips were still plump on the bottom, and curved on top, and Quatre remembered, with striking clarity, how they felt pressed against skin. He shifted uncomfortably, frowning at himself.
Bad, bad, bad! He thought to himself with an annoyed frown. He belongs to someone else, now. There’s no need for these kinds of thoughts...
“Well...are you hungry? I can...call for pizza, or something. Chinese?”
“Yeah. Sure. Fine.”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t care.”
“Pizza, then. Let me find a number...”
“You don’t know any, yet?”
“Man! I just told you, I haven’t been here most of the time! Just working,” Quatre groused as he rose from the couch, and wondered where his phone went. He was sure he bought one for the apartment, but he didn’t know if it was set up, yet. He pulled out his cell, and dialed information, figuring he didn’t need one, anyway. Not when he had this baby.
Trowa watched him walk off, appreciating the ass in those dress slacks. Quatre had grown a little taller– he was definitely near the six foot mark, but his body had filled out in pleasing ways. His shoulders were broad and fitted with some muscle, most likely from working out, and his limbs were compactly fit with muscle that looked hard and fit. He moved about with a strong grace, wearing clothes that were obviously uncomfortable for him, but fitting them in a way that had Trowa’s eyes pinned on his backside. Quatre had a strong neck, the back of it covered with wavy hair that had been cut in an attempt to keep it controlled. It threatened to touch the collar of his shirt, a sharp contrast to his lightly tanned skin. He had a sharp jaw line, almost harsh, and it tucked neatly into the perfect lobes of his ears. Trowa really liked the way his Adam’s Apple bobbed when he spoke, distracting his attention and directing it to the visible lines of his neck. His blue/green eyes weren’t as big as they were back in high school, but they were defined enough to capture anyone’s approving gaze with their unique coloring and playful quality. Those lips of his, curled continuously at the corners in a sweet and teasing way, were light and firm, demanding attention in a provocative way.
Did others see Quatre the way that Trowa saw him? Did they see how his right eyebrow often lifted in a light inquiry with his words, his eyes taking on a sharp quality, looking for approval and security in those he looked at? Did they see how he often bit the inside of lip when he was uncertain and a bit hesitant? Would his next boyfriend appreciate, that whenever the squared corners of his eyebrows furrowed together, the lascivious thoughts that were running through the blond’s mind whenever he was feeling frisky? Trowa closed his eyes, and sighed, hearing the blond order an extra-large pie from a nearby pizza place, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. He shouldn’t be thinking these sorts of things, anyway. He had a girlfriend, and...he didn’t have a chance, anyway.
“You can watch tv, or something! I didn’t order cable, yet, so pick out a movie! I’m going to go change!” Quatre said, hanging up his cell and moving through the kitchen to get to his bedroom.
Trowa waved to indicate that he heard, and frowned at the selection available. He rose from the chair, and scanned the titles, wondering why in the hell Quatre had Sex and the City as one of the choices. He picked out Kung Pow! , and turned it on. Steve Odekirk had something going with this dubbed over Asian movie, and he got a kick out of Betty.
When Quatre came back, he was wearing a Spurs jersey and a pair of basketball shorts, his exposed skin and arms catching Trowa’s attention for a few moments. His eyes lingered on the defined cuts of his biceps and shoulders, the way the muscle flexed with his movements. Wiping his lower lip, Trowa tried to look at something else, but ended up staring at the way Quatre’s neck flexed with his continuous turning and twisting, looking for something on the floor.
Shifting uncomfortably on the chair, Trowa wiped his eyes and acknowledged the bulge of his cellphone in his back pocket. He took that out, and set it aside, then stared at it as it sat quietly atop of the coffee table. He reached over and turned it off, anticipating Sylvia’s call.
“So...what exactly do you do?” he asked, trying very hard to keep the conversation going.
“Oh, just...whatever. I thought being a personal assistant meant that I got to do really neat things, but it turns out that I’m the fourth p.a. in a long line of p.a.’s, and I barely register as anything important. It’s cool, though. I really like the pay. Oh, are you thirsty? I have some beer in the fridge.”
“Bud?”
“No. Uh, Pale Ale.”
“That’s fine.”
Quatre went off to fetch it, humming happily about his independence, and Trowa wiped his forehead. It was hot in here. Didn’t he have air conditioning?
Quatre came back, and handed him a cold bottle of beer. Then he sat, and the pair of them watched the movie, continuously throwing out comments and questions about each other’s lives. When the delivery guy finally showed up, Trowa was really regretting coming out here without Sylvia. Combined with the alcohol, and for the fact that he found his ex very sexually attractive, he feared making some bad decision or comment.
They ate the pizza, Quatre picking at the onions while he talked about what features his new car had, and how he couldn’t figure out how to work the personal settings factor.
It was nearly eleven when they finished watching ‘Underworld’ (Quatre making fun of Trowa’s boots all the way, and comparing him to Selene). Trowa didn’t want to go home just yet–he was catching up on Quatre’s life, and...he just didn’t want to leave. It was a frustrating feeling for him. He knew Quatre was interested in him–he could tell from the glances and the too-long stares in his direction that he was. But it was just...wrong to wonder if Quatre was interested in a quick hook-up with no feelings involved.
That was stupid. If they were going to hook up, there were going to be feelings. His were going to be based on guilt and longing–sex with Quatre had been phenomenal, and for the fact that he was considering cheating on Sylvia...well, it just didn’t cut out well.
He wasn’t sure what Quatre’s would be, because he kept getting mixed messages. Whichever, he felt ridiculous for feeling this way.
“So, Trowa, how long does it take to get to where you live?” Quatre asked curiously, tossing aside a crust.
“Hour and a half. Counting on traffic, of course,” Trowa answered, wiping his hands on a napkin. He finished off his third Pale Ale, and tried not to belch too loudly. “There’s no other short cut there.”
“That must suck. Damn, Sylvia’s going to ground you when you get there,” Quatre laughed, folding his arms behind his head.
Trowa looked down at his boots, shrugging. “I’m sure she’ll live. She’s done the same thing to me a few times.”
“Is she mad?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know. Does she get mad about a lot of things?”
“She started taking the pill some time ago, and her moods have been just...” Trowa grimaced in answer.
Quatre chuckled, shrugging his shoulders. “I’m glad I don’t have to deal with those sorts of things. In a way, I’m glad I’m not with someone. I mean, it would be hard. Living with someone, I mean. You’d have to compromise on a lot of things.”
“Yeah, but...it’s worth it when you have a warm body to come home to.”
Quatre snickered, and shrugged again. “Well, you got me there.”
Trowa knew it was dangerous, but he couldn’t resist. The words were out before he could stop them. “How about you? Do you have anybody, yet?”
“No...but...I don’t know. I could be interested in somebody, but...I don’t think it’d work. Man, I’m still having trouble in that aspect! I met this guy in Laramie, and we...had a thing, but...he was like, ten years older, and he was...I don’t know. Just looking for fresh meat, though. The sex wasn’t that good. I’m still looking.”
Trowa snorted. He couldn’t help but feel good that Quatre hadn’t had any luck in that area. It made one desperate. Also, it was a boost to his ego. From what he gathered (without really asking), Quatre had only two partners since him–Triton Bloom and that guy. But anyway, it appeared that the only good sex Quatre had was with him. Trowa Barton. That was an ego boost, and a boost in confidence.
He was growing nervous. How was the evening going to end?
“Well...I better get going.”
“Yeah...sorry I kept you so late. You should have said something earlier,” Quatre scolded, rising from the couch, brushing off crumbs from his lap. Trowa rose from the couch, setting aside his empty bottle. “I’m glad you came out here, though, Trowa. It was good to see you again.”
“Yeah, same here. We should...get together again, sometime.”
“Will your master let you?”
“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
Quatre lifted an eyebrow, and gave him a smug look. “And it’s with that mind-set that got you into trouble before...”
Trowa smiled sheepishly, and said nothing in defense. Really, what could he?
They walked over to the door, and Quatre turned to him, reaching out to punch his arm lightly.
“You aren’t wearing makeup,” he noticed.
“No. I can’t apply it in the car.”
“But it drives on its own.”
“...Never mind.”
“Well...you look good, Trowa. Even with that getup of yours.”
Trowa gave a half grin, then bent, kissing his cheek. He felt Quatre freeze at the contact, and he found himself closing his eyes in appreciation, inhaling the scent of the blond, and liking the feel of his skin against his lips. He basically had to force himself to straighten, finding that Quatre looked a little troubled from the kiss.
“I’m sorry. I just...did that without thinking,” Trowa apologized, feeling really bad about it.
“No...it’s...it’s all right. I just didn’t...expect it.”
Even in the darkness, Trowa could see the blond flushing with color, his voice trembling with nervousness. On impulse, he bent and kissed his cheek again, then brushed his nose against his cheek. Quatre wasn’t pushing him away, and wasn’t encouraging him either. On another impulse, Trowa maneuvered his lips from Quatre’s cheeks to his lips, touching them briefly with his. He felt a tingle of response as Quatre’s lips twitched against his, and instead of retracting them, Trowa kissed him more firmly, reaching up to touch his chin.
Quatre responded to the kiss with one of his own, but Trowa could feel his hesitation in the move. He pulled away, frowning at himself, then opened the door to walk out without saying anything.
Quatre, standing in a daze, barely registered closing the door behind him.