Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Post Up...And One! ❯ Twenty-One Questions ( Chapter 7 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Warning! Ex Sex! Lemon!
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.10.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.6K | Visits: 193 | Status: Work In Progress
Warning! Ex Sex! Lemon!
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.10.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.6K | Visits: 193 | Status: Work In Progress
Chapter Seven:
“Twenty-One Questions” 50-Cent
Trowa stared sightlessly ahead of him, drumming his fingers along his chin. He kept thinking about that Monday, when he’d kissed Quatre. It was a daily thought, and his thoughts were a mixture of shame, regret, and mostly, longing. He knew he shouldn’t be delving into that area–after all, wasn’t he supposed to be over him? It had been so final in high school–he’d merely concentrated on Sylvia and his recovery from the drugs. Only now that Quatre was back, over a year later, he found his interest piqued in him. And why?
Well, that question was simple. Quatre R. Winner had grown into a rather attractive piece of ass. Same attitude and mentality, through, which was a little annoying in the way of things. It felt as if Trowa had grown up without the guy, making him seem ages older. He felt bad for thinking it, but it was true.
He also felt bad for thinking Quatre so sexually attractive, and for the fact that he’d definitely go behind Sylvia’s back if Quatre made the offer. He wasn’t looking for a relationship–that much was clear. He just wanted...ass. Trowa felt uncommonly evil, the grand-master of bad things to come.
He didn’t know why he felt so suddenly villainous. But he knew he could get away with the cheating thing, and he knew Quatre, once provoked in the right direction, would go with it as well. The guy had a libido factor that seemed to make up his mind in the wrong run, and Trowa knew he could use that to his advantage.
Which...all in all...made him feel bad about it.
He scowled at the gallery insides, not really paying attention to the customers that were viewing the paintings and pieces of art that made the place so popular.
He kept thinking about that kiss...while uncertainty and doubt had him wondering if he imagined Quatre kissing him back, the feel of the blond’s lips against his managed to make things fuzzy. In another way, he was pretty sure Quatre had kissed him back, because the moment he had, Trowa remembered thinking, Damn, this feels good!
There was something about familiarity that brought comfort to a person, and this familiarity brought comfort to him in the worst of ways. He knew Quatre’s body like his own, and knew the exact spot to touch to make the blond whimper for more, but since they hadn’t seen each other in a long ass while, it was such a turn-on to see the blond in a wholly different body that was both familiar and new. Just thinking about it made his fingers itch, curling and in need of contact.
He curled his fingers into fists, and scowled down at them. What he wanted was wrong in a lot of ways. But he couldn’t stop himself from wanting.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
So, Thursday night, he made up an excuse to escape Sylvia’s spying eyes, and took the hour and a half drive to Quatre’s apartment. He’d forgotten what the blond had said about his working and school hours, and was just taking a chance on catching him there. Quatre wasn’t going to turn him away–he knew that for sure. He parked in the lot nearby, and decided to wait, as he had before, near the laundry building. It was nearing ten, and he settled against the back of the building, staring up at the light polluted sky. Sylvia had been suspicious that other night, when he’d come home after one, and he merely replied that he’d stayed too long at Carl’s.
though she gave him a suspicious look, and he could swear that she could smell Quatre’s scent on her, she dropped the subject. She’d stopped being angry then, and had taken him to their bedroom for some frantic, almost desperate sex. That was just what it was–sex. Not ‘making love’, or anything as sappy as that. It was as if she were trying to brand him with her essence, or something of the sort.
But all that time, he thought about Quatre, and cursed himself for feeling this way.
As he waited, he valiantly fought the urge for cigs while he waited. By the time Quatre finally stumbled in, he was grumbling about bosses with fetishes for dirty underwear and In-N-Out burgers. Trowa walked over as Quatre was fumbling with his keys, and startled the boy with a quiet greeting.
Quatre freaked out, throwing his books everywhere and whacking him in the gut.
Trowa hunched over with a groan, and Quatre caught his breath, then growled, “What the FUCK are you doing, creeping up on me like that? You TRYING to get me fucking KILLED? What the fuck’s WRONG with you?”
Trowa winced in answer, and Quatre found his keys, and let them into his apartment. It was completely dark and cool, and Quatre dropped his things where he stood, walking off to turn on a light. Trowa walked in, stumbled over Quatre’s things, and straightened himself just as the blond turned on the light. Quatre indicated for him to shut the door, and as Trowa did so, the blond flopped onto the couch with a loud sigh.
Trowa walked over and took the chair once more, carefully setting his glasses aside, and focusing on the tired expression on his ex’s face. His lips tingled at the remembrance of skin he’d touched the other night, and he leaned back in his chair, exhaling at the ceiling. His willed his hormones to take a hike as he studied the various patterns he found in the plaster above.
“So...what brings you here?” Quatre asked from behind his arm, which had been thrust over his face. Trowa decided that he liked seeing his ex in a tie and classy dress shirts. It gave him an air of maturity and class that made him even more appealing. And those dress slacks...his mouth watered just at the remembrance of his ass.
“Nothing...I was bored. Sylvia was being bitchy, so I left,” he answered in quiet reply, even though it wasn’t true. She was probably getting ready for bed, wondering with irritation where he was.
“That isn’t how you solve problems, fucker...”
“Females are different from males, Quatre. I suggest you try it.”
“No...I’ve hung out with my sisters enough to know that it’s not fun when they’re moody.”
“Which is why I’ve escaped.”
“Does she know you came here?”
“No,” Trowa answered, picking at his nails. Because of his job, he no longer wore nail polish. “If I told her I was coming here, I’d come back to the house with all my shit on the street.”
“Ha, ha!”
“It’s not ‘ha, ha’, you. I’m sure she’s capable of doing it...”
“Tro?”
“Yes?”
“Do you love her?”
Trowa stared at his nails, and held his hand out, studying them with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve come to believe that I have. Why?”
Quatre shrugged, and the action was caught from the corner of Trowa’s eye. He shifted his sight from his nails to the blond on the couch. The apartment was wholly silent and unnaturally heavy all of a sudden, the subject more than raising a few questions of his own. He lowered his hand to his knee, and frowned again at Quatre.
“It’s a different sort of love, I think,” he began, his voice quiet as he thought about it. “Much different from ours.”
“Why?”
“What?”
< br> “Why’s it so different?”
Trowa shrugged, looking down at his shoes. He was wearing plain black Dickies and low-top Converses. His shirt had Jesus on the front, declaring him as his ‘homie’. “I don’t know. Because Sylvia’s not you? And people love each other differently?”
Quatre made an answering noise, removing his arm from his face. He studied the ceiling for a few moments, then kicked his shoes off. He exhaled loudly, and shifted onto the couch, into a more comfortable position on his side. Curling his arms underneath his head, he stared at the silent tv, and drummed his fingers awkwardly against the throw pillow. They listened to each other’s breathing, and for the slight thump-thump-thump of the bass coming from an apartment nearby. Finally, Trowa sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair.
“This is awkward.”
“...Yeah. It is.”
“So...did you find out what happened to those students on campus?”
“Nah,” Quatre said, wrestling with his tie. He threw that aside, and yawned noisily. “I didn’t hear anything, and I didn’t ask. I doubt it was mentioned in the news?”
“No...even then, it’s probably covered up. When Catherine was attending, she said that a lot of students were hurt in that hazing. That five I mentioned were from last year. Some seniors gave them swirlies in the girls’ locker rooms, and forced them into cheer leading outfits. Some didn’t like it, and fought back. Of course, the officials turned their noses the other way. That university’s skanky, you know.”
“I just wanted to play ball,” Quatre murmured, closing his eyes. Just for a moment, he told himself.. “And come back here. I like it better here. I hated going back to Laramie...it really, really, really sucked...”
Trowa picked at his nails, and felt his gut ache at the sleepy croak that tinged the blond’s words. He continued to pick, but he stared across the space at Quatre, who looked ready to pass out at any moment. For awhile, silence fell heavily on them both, and Trowa contented himself with staring at the blond’s facial features, debating on whether or not to bring up a torrid subject.
He glanced at the clock on the VCR, and saw that it was nearly twelve forty-five. He began chewing on his thumb nail, and clutched the armrest with his other hand. Quatre was starting to snore now, and Trowa smiled grimly from behind his hand.
He rose from the chair, and started toward the door, intending to just lock it behind him and leave. But he turned back, and watched the blond for a few seconds more. Knowing that it was dangerous, and he shouldn’t, he walked away from the door, and carefully crouched down between the couch and the coffee table.
He smoothed Quatre’s hair from his face, his fingertips trailing through the white-blond strands, creating a stark contrast that he found utterly interesting. He could feel Quatre’s breath on his arm, and could smell the combination of his cologne and his own natural scent. His skin was prickling with awareness at the blond’s proximity to him, and he sighed quietly, leaning his head against his shoulder. He shouldn’t be feeling this way...but he did, and he felt too weak to just walk away. He knew what he wanted, and he knew it wasn’t right...but nothing stopped him as he reached out, gently rubbing Quatre’s back in a smoothing caress.
Trowa stared at the way gold lashes fluttered uneasily at the contact, but something deep inside of him was too stubborn to stop what he was doing, and what he was thinking. His hand moved from between shoulder blades to the back of his neck, massaging the muscle he found there. Quatre shifted slightly, grumbling lightly in protest to being touched, but didn’t move out of his contact.
Trowa leaned over, feeling his breath hit Quatre’s ear, touching his lips to the shell. When skin touched skin, he closed his eyes in silent appreciation. He inhaled the scent of Quatre’s shampoo, his lips moving ever so lightly against his ear, wetting the shell with his breath.
Quatre shifted slightly again, his eyebrows furrowing together, and when he opened his eyes, they didn’t focus on Trowa. Trowa could see from his angle the expression of confusion and doubt, but this didn’t stop him either. He continued with the massage, and shifted so that he was on his knees, running his hand down Quatre’s back, down to the waistband of his pants. He could feel the heat emanating from the blond’s body as his contact increased, but he could also sense the uncertainty, the confusion. His fingers pressed and rubbed at the muscle there, and he saw the way Quatre stiffened, his expression clear with his doubt. Trowa leaned over, and kissed his ear, lingering just slightly enough to sent a gentle puff of air against the sensitive skin. He felt the shiver course through Quatre’s body, and used his other hand to wipe hair from his forehead, revealing his eyebrows and eyes.
“Quat...look at me,” he whispered, drawing his fingertips down, curling over Quatre’s cheek and forcing the blond to look at him. Trowa took his mouth in a firm kiss, halting his rubbing. He could feel Quatre stiffen once more, his lips parting with surprise, and Trowa took that involuntary movement as an opportunity to flick his tongue over the blond’s open mouth. He felt Quatre weaken slightly, relaxing against the couch, and leaned more into the kiss.
Hot, stale and familiar...he felt his hunger grow as he lost himself in the familiarity of the mouth he was taking advantage of, his tongue reacquainting itself with the recesses of Quatre’s mouth. The blond responded in kind, kissing back with some hesitation, but not pushing him away. This was encouraging, as Trowa shifted position to swipe his fingers through the blond’s hair, clutching briefly before trailing down to the buttons of his shirt.
He felt the startled firmness of lips as they closed with a hesitating manner, and he stopped the action of unbuttoning Quatre’s shirt and spread his fingers over the blond’s cheek, stroking and silently comforting as he deepened his kiss once more. He chose to forget about Sylvia, focusing on getting himself reacquainted with his ex in this manner. Since Quatre wasn’t pushing him away, or protesting, he continued with some confidence.
Quatre was kissing him back, turning to face him better, and Trowa took this moment to once again fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. When his neck was exposed, he left the comfort of Quatre’s lips and nuzzled the hot skin that smelled both familiar and new. He licked at the nervously bobbing Adam’s Apple, and tasted stubble as he familiarized himself with Quatre’s neck. The blond responded to this in a positive manner, tilting back to give him better access, his hands resting on Trowa’s upper arms.
Trowa nuzzled the strong jawline, tasting skin and stubble, and ran his fingers over the exposed area of his skin. He continued with the buttons, jerking the stiff material out of Quatre’s pants and splaying his fingers over the light undershirt. He could feel Quatre’s nervousness as his stomach fluttered, his body shivering with his own thoughts and confusion. Trowa wanted to eliminate that, and continued his seduction, murmuring comforting words against firm lips. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying–his mind was purely focused on what he wanted, and he was just working on action rather than common sense.
Quatre was letting him, too, damn it, so there was no cause to stop. Even if the blond was hesitating, it was obvious from his lack of negative response that kept Trowa from stopping. He slipped his hand underneath his undershirt, touching warm skin. He heard Quatre’s soft sigh, felt the hardening of his abs as his stomach tightened. Trowa moved away from his mouth, kissing his collarbone, nipping lightly at the bone. He felt Quatre’s hand snake through his hair, curl around his neck, pressing closer.
Encouraged, Trowa rose from the floor and climbed onto the couch with him, straddling his hips. He leaned forward, kissing Quatre with a calm sense of ease. His mind was focused on this, and nothing else.
He pulled Quatre’s shirt open, displaying his undershirt, and mouthed the hardened peaks of his nipples through his shirt. Quatre was giving soft moans, his fingers curling into his thighs, giving in to the sensation of feeling. Completely confident, Trowa tugged his undershirt up, and connected lips to nipple, tasting and sucking, watching the reactions of his ex as he displayed his appreciation for the contact. He shifted his lips to the other nipple, lavishing that one as well, lightly running the tip of his tongue over the encircling areola. He moved back to Quatre’s lips, drinking in the sounds and the responsive tongue that met his. Uncomfortably, Trowa shifted his position so that he was able to reach between them, coming into contact with Quatre’s erection. The blond moaned, thrusting into the touch, Trowa watching his face curiously as he gently palmed and stroked outside his slacks.
Breaking contact, he reached up, tugging off his own shirt, and thrusting that aside. Quatre was ready to give his own form of exploration, and shifted up eagerly to kiss his neck, his hands holding onto his sides. Trowa lost himself to the sensation of lips against his neck, at the way Quatre’s hair brushed against his face. He held onto his shoulders, his naked chest pressing against the blond’s covered upper body. He tilted his head back so that Quatre could have more access to his neck, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the feel of tongue and lips against his skin. He shifted once more so that Quatre could sit up better, the blond’s hands roving over his exposed stomach and chest. Experienced fingers touched and gently circled his nipples, prompting them to hardened peaks.
Quatre’s mouth left his neck, and fell onto one of those peaks, gently sucking at the darkened pebble. Trowa encouraged this contact with insistent rubs on his back, pulling him close, not at all feeling guilty for what he was doing. This felt good, this felt right, and he wasn’t about to feel wrong about what he was doing. He was reunited with his ex in this way, and it felt so good...
He felt Quatre picking at his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping with alarming quickness that had him chuckling as he leaned back, giving him that option. When the flaps of his pants were opened, and the window of his boxers located, he anticipated the familiar touch on his cock with a light shiver of his body. Quatre’s talented fingers found it, drawing his cock out with a low murmur of sound. Stroking in the way that Trowa had liked before, Quatre looked up into his face, watching as Trowa grimaced with pleasure, with that achingly familiar expression he had when things felt entirely too good. With an overeagerness to get to better things, Quatre ran his thumb over the darkened head, smearing the light pearl of pre-cum that he found.
He could smell the musky waft of Trowa’s privates, a heady scent that caused his grip to tighten, and his blood to race. He shifted in his awkward position, wanting to encircle that curved member with his mouth, but Trowa suddenly shifted out of his lap, standing beside the couch. He held out his hand, signaling for him to get up.
Quatre hesitated as his head cleared, and he started to look around himself in consternation, realizing what he was doing. Trowa, sensing this, quickly bent, kissing him fiercely enough to have them both flopping onto the couch, making sure the more obvious part of his body brushed against Quatre’s stomach. In this position, he maneuvered out of his underwear and pants, kicking off his shoes last. Naked, except for his socks, Trowa climbed onto his lap, trying to get the blond to re-focus on what was going on between them, and to not think about why they shouldn’t be.
Quatre was easily distracted in this manner, clutching his hips as Trowa’s tongue swept into his mouth, connecting with his, running over his teeth. His fingers moved, seemingly of their own accord, and kneaded the sensitive areas of Trowa’s hips, knowing exactly where to press and where to go to have the male moaning softly into his mouth.
That was the thing with ex-sex; their bodies were already familiar to each other, and they knew what and where to touch to evoke an excited reaction. Things moved in automatic, and pleasure, familiar and exciting, was easily reached when one didn’t have to fumble about.
Still kissing him, Trowa pulled Quatre off the couch, forcing him to follow him onto the floor, where they had more room. Quatre left his lips, trailing kisses down Trowa’s neck and chest, his hands steadying themselves on the taller male’s sides. His fingers kneaded gently, and he moved awkwardly down until he came to the insistent member of Trowa’s anatomy. He immediately swallowed half the length when he came to it, causing Trowa to moan loudly, reaching down to grip tufts of his hair.
Quatre sucked on the oddly curved member, running his tongue over the head, drinking in the taste of his pre-cum as it started to leak in pleasure. He braced his hands on Trowa’s hips, bobbing his head slightly as he sought to bring the male to orgasm in this action. Trowa’s insistent sighs and murmurs of sexually charged encouragement prompted him to continue. His own erection was straining against his pants, demanding attention as Trowa’s knees rose, then relaxed against his sides.
He knew Trowa was going to orgasm, and prepared himself for it, sucking hard in the way he knew Trowa liked. There was a loud groan from the taller male, and Quatre felt the warm spray of his semen hit the top of his mouth. Instead of swallowing, he braved the bitter taste and hot wetness, and waited until he was sure he’d taken all of what Trowa had to give to him.
With a grimace, he spit what he’d taken into one hand, and felt Trowa’s knees shake as he shifted his legs further apart. He found the taller male’s entrance with his wet fingers, and watched Trowa’s face as his fingers delved there. Carefully, he nudged a finger into his body, feeling the tightness that clenched at him from the intrusion. He lowered his head, concentrating on this mission, feeling Trowa trying to relax those particular muscles. His finger was slippery with Trowa’s cum, and when he felt it was right, he carefully forced in another. Trowa’s face grimaced with discomfort, but he encouraged Quatre to continue with a lift of his hips.
Quatre retracted his fingers, and fumbled with his pants and underwear, shoving them awkwardly down to his knees. He crawled over Trowa, to kiss him as he stroked himself a couple of times, to ensure that he was still hard. He felt Trowa’s hand creep from his hip down to his cock, helping him harden. Reaching down with one hand, he positioned himself against Trowa’s entrance, and started to push himself in. It was a little hard, more than clenching, and it was a slow process. Trowa gripped his shoulders, wincing as he tried forcing himself to relax, to admit the intrusion. He was filled with discomfort and the awkward sensation of fullness, and he tilted his head back, trying to relax. Quatre was propped over him, holding himself up with one arm, the other moving away from his own cock and settling onto Trowa’s hip to keep him steady. With the slow invasion, he was breathing slightly heavy, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to ignore the almost painful clench Trowa’s ass held onto his dick. Trowa’s semen aided in the insertion, but he would have preferred a little more lubrication to help things along.
Trowa breathed slowly, focusing on the ceiling as he adjusted his hips in order to aid Quatre. Soon, the blond held himself still, breathing in a controlled manner, droplets of sweat gathered on his forehead. Trowa looked away from the ceiling and looked at him, brushing his moistened hair from his face. He pulled Quatre’s face to his, kissing him gently, wiggling his hips to test the depth Quatre had taken and the awkward sensation of having his dick in his ass.
It was still uncomfortable, but he simply figured it had been awhile since he’d had something there. It wasn’t as if Sylvia did this to him...
Quatre kissed him back, moving experimentally to see if things were okay. Trowa clutched his shoulders as an indication to hold him in place, and adjust his hips again. At this angle, it felt less full, but the discomfort was still there. Quatre moved again, and this was a little better, so Trowa encouraged the movement with a twitch of his hips.
Soon enough, the blond was pulling out of him, his breath hot and stale against Trowa’s chin. Trowa reached up to hold onto his shoulders once more, keeping his legs spread as the blond began to pump his hips. There were the familiar sounds of sex and heavy breathing as Trowa sought to pleasure his ex in this manner, moving his hips in rhythm with him. He watched Quatre’s face, watching the concentration and the flashes of pleasure that flit across his features, and curled his fingers against the hardened muscles of his shoulders. He reveled in the feel of the blond’s body against his, the obvious changes.
He felt stronger, firmer, harder, as if he’d lost all of his baby fat and had replaced it with muscled angles. He wasn’t as skinny as he was before, but was a comfortable mesh of muscle and weight that made him very appealing. Trowa ran his hands over his back, over his shirt, wishing that he’d taken those off so that he could feel his skin.
He could smell the sweat coming from the blond, along with the smells of sex, and tipped his head back, groaning aloud at the pleasure he felt from this. He wasn’t ready to come again, but it all felt very good, so he reveled in that. Quatre was moving easier, his dick moving in all the right places, all the places that Trowa had enjoyed before.
Soon, though, Trowa recognized the strengthened pants and whimpers, and encouraged his orgasm with clenches of his ass. Quatre came then, moaning aloud, his hot cum spraying against Trowa’s insides. Trowa brushed aside the sweat matted hair, cupping his face so that he could take in the pleasure-filled expression on the blond’s face, and was annoyed when Quatre shifted out of the hold to lay, in a panting mass, against his chest. Trowa lay there in silent comfort, feeling Quatre’s dick throb within him, with a sense of familiarity that brought him back to the blond’s dorm room back at Sophia Darken, where they couldn’t get enough of each other after their first times together.
He swept his fingers through Quatre’s hair, and muttered that he couldn’t breathe. With a reluctant groan, Quatre lifted off of him, his arms shaking as he bowed his head. Trowa winced as he felt his half-hardened member slowly pull out from his body, and they both chuckled lightly at the occurring noise that passed when Quatre pulled completely out. Trowa reached out and pulled him back for a kiss, feeling sweat moistened skin and trembling lips that were as familiar to him as his own.
He didn’t care that what he’d done was wrong–it had just felt too right to continue to deny any more. Sated, for now, he hoped that Quatre didn’t bring up Sylvia or anything else.
To his relief, Quatre said nothing at all the rest of the night.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Saturday evening, Jake had just finished taking a shower and was prepared to go to bed when someone knocked on the door. It was pretty late at night, and he was too tired to keep late company, so he resolved to ignore the unwelcome visitor. He had a long day at work, and he was really depressed over the recent arguments he’d had with his boss at the garage, wondering if he would have to look for another job. So he really wasn’t feeling companionable when the knocking persisted.
Growling in irritation, he pulled on a plain tee and put on the most blackest expression he could muster– which really wasn’t that hard, considering his mood. He crossed through the darkness of his apartment (so empty and dark without Michael) and unlocked the door, jerking it open enough to see outside without removing the security chain.
He then shut the door and undid the chain, jerking the door open again. Quatre looked at him with a frown, and noted the expression on his face.
“Can I spend the night?” the blond asked, and Jake’s face registered complete and utter surprise.
“Wh–? Why?” he asked in confusion.
“I...don’t want to be...at my place. I’m trying to avoid someone,” Quatre said in a sheepish tone.
“Oh yeah? Rent a hotel room.”
“C’MON! Please?”
“Fuck it. Come in, lock the door, and take the fuckin’ couch,” Jake muttered, turning away from him and moving over to the touch lamp just beside the couch.
Quatre did as he said with a murmur of ‘thanks’, and walked over to the couch with a nervous expression. Jake glanced at him, and noted the look. While he was curious, on one hand, why the blond was suddenly on the run, he was really too tired to deal with it right now. He gestured at the couch, and Quatre took it with a grateful ‘thanks’, kicking off his shoes and taking the worn cushions with a gusty sigh. Jake frowned down at him for a couple of moments, then walked down the hall to his bedroom. He picked up a pillow, figuring that he didn’t need a blanket. It was just too hot for that sort of thing.
He walked back into the living room, and handed Quatre the pillow.
“We’ll talk in the mornin’,” he said gruffly, heading back to his room. He slammed the door shut, and flopped onto his bed. Without really making any movement to get comfortable, he simply closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The next morning when he awoke, he slapped off his alarm, and figured he’d call in. Sundays and Mondays were his days off, anyway. Forcing himself up from the bed, he staggered to the bathroom, performed his morning business, and walked out into the front. Quatre was awake, staring out the front windows with a frown. Jake lifted an eyebrow, but walked into the kitchen to call his work. After leaving a message in that he wasn’t coming in today, he walked out from the kitchen and looked at the blond questioningly.
“Now...what the fuck?”
Quatre shrugged, and Jake noticed that the blond was having trouble sleeping. When blue/green eyes turned back to him, he felt mighty uncomfortable in that he was actually concerned with what was going on.
“Someone threatenin’ you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“...I’m stupid. And I made the wrong choice.”
Jake blinked, and frowned at him. “Does this choice happen to deal with drug dealers?”
“What–? No!”
“The Underworld?”
“What’s that?”
“Jehovah’s Witnesses?”
“No. Just...I don’t know. I just want to avoid someone.”
Jake wasn’t sure what all that meant, but shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “What made you come out here, anyway?”
“Felicia wasn’t home. And Max looked pissed about it. I didn’t want to get involved in that.”
“Huh. So...I was last resort?”
Quatre shrugged sheepishly.
Jake frowned at him for several seconds, then looked around. “They ain’t comin’ over here, are they? I don’t want no bullshit in my place.”
“No. He–they don’t know you.”
“What the fuck, then?”
“I just made the wrong choice! And...I...don’t know how to fix it.”
Jake shook his head, and gave him an irritated expression. “Stop actin’ like a girl. Man up. Whatever the fuck you did couldn’t have been that bad. What, you slept with someone’s boy?”
Quatre reddened but didn’t answer, and Jake decided he didn’t want to know. He turned and walked off to his bedroom, and got ready for the day. All through, he was decidedly curious as to what Quatre was doing, running away from home. And, he was curious as to what Felicia was up to. He’d known the girl longer, having been brought into this mad world with meeting her and her ex, so he had a certain sort of fondness reserved for her. He treated her as a younger sibling he never had, so he was always concerned when he heard something was going on with her.
He dressed, brushed his teeth, and walked back out into the living room. Quatre was gone, and Jake wondered when he left. He hadn’t even heard the door open and close. He picked up the pillow that the blond had used, and took it back to his bedroom.
He had just finished making breakfast and was set to watch Sunday drivel when his phone rang. He answered it tiredly, hoping it wasn’t the garage. Now that he was set to stay home, he really didn’t want to go to work, even with the promise of extra money.
“Dad?”
Jake immediately grew alert at the sound of his son’s voice. “What’s wrong, Michael? Where are you?”
“At Nana’s. I don’t want to be here, anymore.”
“I...I’m sorry, son. But I can’t pick you up until six thirty.”
“...Not even today?”
“No. Not even today.”
“...I don’t want to be here, anymore.”
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“I don’t like it here, anymore. I don’t want to do this, anymore. I want to go home with you.”
“I know, son,” Jake said, gripping the phone tight. He felt that deep, visceral ache that he normally felt when Michael needed him. This was a feeling of helplessness and frustration that just burned into something bitter and angry, leaving him insecure and despondent.
So many different things, but it all ended up resulting in the same thing–frustrated fury in that he had no say in his son’s life. The courts decided what was best, and they weren’t the same ideals that he had. All thanks to grandparents that thought they knew better.
There were times when he wished he could just turn back time, and never have met Celia Parker. But then again, if he hadn’t, he would never have Michael. It was all a frustrating cycle, something that he just had to deal with.
“Dad, is Quatre going to be there when I get there?”
“Ah...no.”
“He was last time.”
“He...probably has other plans, son.”
“...He probably doesn’t want to hang out with us all the time, huh?”
Jake scowled, hating the way Michael was beginning to depend on Quatre. All for a mixture of reasons. He then swallowed, shrugging. “I’m sure he does, Mike. But sometimes...people have plans. They can’t be there all the time.”
“I wish he was gonna be there. He makes me forget things. I don’t like Paul, daddy. He yelled at me.”
Jake ground his teeth, feeling that familiar flare of hate that he felt for Celia’s father. “I know, son. I know you do. Listen, when I go pick you up, we can go get pizza, all right? And rent some movies. How does that sound?”
“Can I get a game?”
“Yup. Any kind you want.”
“Even, even the ones with guns?”
“Uh...Yeah. Sure. Why not? It’s not like you’ll be using them, right?”
“Okay. Okay, well, I’ll wait for you, all right?”
“All right. I’ll see you then. In the meantime, be good.”
“I always am, daddy! Bye-bye!”
When Jake hung up, he was barely able to control the rage that threatened to rear its ugly head. He clenched his fists and hit the phone in frustration. While he really wanted to tear up the entire place with his fists, his hard-earned patience came into play, overcoming the rage with a wisp of commitment. He could always take his frustration out on other things, and he was going to do so in a healthy manner. So, in this mentality, he was going to go and find out what the hell Felicia was up to at one o’clock in the morning. It was always better to lose himself in other people’s problems rather than focusing in on his own.
“Twenty-One Questions” 50-Cent
Trowa stared sightlessly ahead of him, drumming his fingers along his chin. He kept thinking about that Monday, when he’d kissed Quatre. It was a daily thought, and his thoughts were a mixture of shame, regret, and mostly, longing. He knew he shouldn’t be delving into that area–after all, wasn’t he supposed to be over him? It had been so final in high school–he’d merely concentrated on Sylvia and his recovery from the drugs. Only now that Quatre was back, over a year later, he found his interest piqued in him. And why?
Well, that question was simple. Quatre R. Winner had grown into a rather attractive piece of ass. Same attitude and mentality, through, which was a little annoying in the way of things. It felt as if Trowa had grown up without the guy, making him seem ages older. He felt bad for thinking it, but it was true.
He also felt bad for thinking Quatre so sexually attractive, and for the fact that he’d definitely go behind Sylvia’s back if Quatre made the offer. He wasn’t looking for a relationship–that much was clear. He just wanted...ass. Trowa felt uncommonly evil, the grand-master of bad things to come.
He didn’t know why he felt so suddenly villainous. But he knew he could get away with the cheating thing, and he knew Quatre, once provoked in the right direction, would go with it as well. The guy had a libido factor that seemed to make up his mind in the wrong run, and Trowa knew he could use that to his advantage.
Which...all in all...made him feel bad about it.
He scowled at the gallery insides, not really paying attention to the customers that were viewing the paintings and pieces of art that made the place so popular.
He kept thinking about that kiss...while uncertainty and doubt had him wondering if he imagined Quatre kissing him back, the feel of the blond’s lips against his managed to make things fuzzy. In another way, he was pretty sure Quatre had kissed him back, because the moment he had, Trowa remembered thinking, Damn, this feels good!
There was something about familiarity that brought comfort to a person, and this familiarity brought comfort to him in the worst of ways. He knew Quatre’s body like his own, and knew the exact spot to touch to make the blond whimper for more, but since they hadn’t seen each other in a long ass while, it was such a turn-on to see the blond in a wholly different body that was both familiar and new. Just thinking about it made his fingers itch, curling and in need of contact.
He curled his fingers into fists, and scowled down at them. What he wanted was wrong in a lot of ways. But he couldn’t stop himself from wanting.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
So, Thursday night, he made up an excuse to escape Sylvia’s spying eyes, and took the hour and a half drive to Quatre’s apartment. He’d forgotten what the blond had said about his working and school hours, and was just taking a chance on catching him there. Quatre wasn’t going to turn him away–he knew that for sure. He parked in the lot nearby, and decided to wait, as he had before, near the laundry building. It was nearing ten, and he settled against the back of the building, staring up at the light polluted sky. Sylvia had been suspicious that other night, when he’d come home after one, and he merely replied that he’d stayed too long at Carl’s.
though she gave him a suspicious look, and he could swear that she could smell Quatre’s scent on her, she dropped the subject. She’d stopped being angry then, and had taken him to their bedroom for some frantic, almost desperate sex. That was just what it was–sex. Not ‘making love’, or anything as sappy as that. It was as if she were trying to brand him with her essence, or something of the sort.
But all that time, he thought about Quatre, and cursed himself for feeling this way.
As he waited, he valiantly fought the urge for cigs while he waited. By the time Quatre finally stumbled in, he was grumbling about bosses with fetishes for dirty underwear and In-N-Out burgers. Trowa walked over as Quatre was fumbling with his keys, and startled the boy with a quiet greeting.
Quatre freaked out, throwing his books everywhere and whacking him in the gut.
Trowa hunched over with a groan, and Quatre caught his breath, then growled, “What the FUCK are you doing, creeping up on me like that? You TRYING to get me fucking KILLED? What the fuck’s WRONG with you?”
Trowa winced in answer, and Quatre found his keys, and let them into his apartment. It was completely dark and cool, and Quatre dropped his things where he stood, walking off to turn on a light. Trowa walked in, stumbled over Quatre’s things, and straightened himself just as the blond turned on the light. Quatre indicated for him to shut the door, and as Trowa did so, the blond flopped onto the couch with a loud sigh.
Trowa walked over and took the chair once more, carefully setting his glasses aside, and focusing on the tired expression on his ex’s face. His lips tingled at the remembrance of skin he’d touched the other night, and he leaned back in his chair, exhaling at the ceiling. His willed his hormones to take a hike as he studied the various patterns he found in the plaster above.
“So...what brings you here?” Quatre asked from behind his arm, which had been thrust over his face. Trowa decided that he liked seeing his ex in a tie and classy dress shirts. It gave him an air of maturity and class that made him even more appealing. And those dress slacks...his mouth watered just at the remembrance of his ass.
“Nothing...I was bored. Sylvia was being bitchy, so I left,” he answered in quiet reply, even though it wasn’t true. She was probably getting ready for bed, wondering with irritation where he was.
“That isn’t how you solve problems, fucker...”
“Females are different from males, Quatre. I suggest you try it.”
“No...I’ve hung out with my sisters enough to know that it’s not fun when they’re moody.”
“Which is why I’ve escaped.”
“Does she know you came here?”
“No,” Trowa answered, picking at his nails. Because of his job, he no longer wore nail polish. “If I told her I was coming here, I’d come back to the house with all my shit on the street.”
“Ha, ha!”
“It’s not ‘ha, ha’, you. I’m sure she’s capable of doing it...”
“Tro?”
“Yes?”
“Do you love her?”
Trowa stared at his nails, and held his hand out, studying them with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve come to believe that I have. Why?”
Quatre shrugged, and the action was caught from the corner of Trowa’s eye. He shifted his sight from his nails to the blond on the couch. The apartment was wholly silent and unnaturally heavy all of a sudden, the subject more than raising a few questions of his own. He lowered his hand to his knee, and frowned again at Quatre.
“It’s a different sort of love, I think,” he began, his voice quiet as he thought about it. “Much different from ours.”
“Why?”
“What?”
< br> “Why’s it so different?”
Trowa shrugged, looking down at his shoes. He was wearing plain black Dickies and low-top Converses. His shirt had Jesus on the front, declaring him as his ‘homie’. “I don’t know. Because Sylvia’s not you? And people love each other differently?”
Quatre made an answering noise, removing his arm from his face. He studied the ceiling for a few moments, then kicked his shoes off. He exhaled loudly, and shifted onto the couch, into a more comfortable position on his side. Curling his arms underneath his head, he stared at the silent tv, and drummed his fingers awkwardly against the throw pillow. They listened to each other’s breathing, and for the slight thump-thump-thump of the bass coming from an apartment nearby. Finally, Trowa sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair.
“This is awkward.”
“...Yeah. It is.”
“So...did you find out what happened to those students on campus?”
“Nah,” Quatre said, wrestling with his tie. He threw that aside, and yawned noisily. “I didn’t hear anything, and I didn’t ask. I doubt it was mentioned in the news?”
“No...even then, it’s probably covered up. When Catherine was attending, she said that a lot of students were hurt in that hazing. That five I mentioned were from last year. Some seniors gave them swirlies in the girls’ locker rooms, and forced them into cheer leading outfits. Some didn’t like it, and fought back. Of course, the officials turned their noses the other way. That university’s skanky, you know.”
“I just wanted to play ball,” Quatre murmured, closing his eyes. Just for a moment, he told himself.. “And come back here. I like it better here. I hated going back to Laramie...it really, really, really sucked...”
Trowa picked at his nails, and felt his gut ache at the sleepy croak that tinged the blond’s words. He continued to pick, but he stared across the space at Quatre, who looked ready to pass out at any moment. For awhile, silence fell heavily on them both, and Trowa contented himself with staring at the blond’s facial features, debating on whether or not to bring up a torrid subject.
He glanced at the clock on the VCR, and saw that it was nearly twelve forty-five. He began chewing on his thumb nail, and clutched the armrest with his other hand. Quatre was starting to snore now, and Trowa smiled grimly from behind his hand.
He rose from the chair, and started toward the door, intending to just lock it behind him and leave. But he turned back, and watched the blond for a few seconds more. Knowing that it was dangerous, and he shouldn’t, he walked away from the door, and carefully crouched down between the couch and the coffee table.
He smoothed Quatre’s hair from his face, his fingertips trailing through the white-blond strands, creating a stark contrast that he found utterly interesting. He could feel Quatre’s breath on his arm, and could smell the combination of his cologne and his own natural scent. His skin was prickling with awareness at the blond’s proximity to him, and he sighed quietly, leaning his head against his shoulder. He shouldn’t be feeling this way...but he did, and he felt too weak to just walk away. He knew what he wanted, and he knew it wasn’t right...but nothing stopped him as he reached out, gently rubbing Quatre’s back in a smoothing caress.
Trowa stared at the way gold lashes fluttered uneasily at the contact, but something deep inside of him was too stubborn to stop what he was doing, and what he was thinking. His hand moved from between shoulder blades to the back of his neck, massaging the muscle he found there. Quatre shifted slightly, grumbling lightly in protest to being touched, but didn’t move out of his contact.
Trowa leaned over, feeling his breath hit Quatre’s ear, touching his lips to the shell. When skin touched skin, he closed his eyes in silent appreciation. He inhaled the scent of Quatre’s shampoo, his lips moving ever so lightly against his ear, wetting the shell with his breath.
Quatre shifted slightly again, his eyebrows furrowing together, and when he opened his eyes, they didn’t focus on Trowa. Trowa could see from his angle the expression of confusion and doubt, but this didn’t stop him either. He continued with the massage, and shifted so that he was on his knees, running his hand down Quatre’s back, down to the waistband of his pants. He could feel the heat emanating from the blond’s body as his contact increased, but he could also sense the uncertainty, the confusion. His fingers pressed and rubbed at the muscle there, and he saw the way Quatre stiffened, his expression clear with his doubt. Trowa leaned over, and kissed his ear, lingering just slightly enough to sent a gentle puff of air against the sensitive skin. He felt the shiver course through Quatre’s body, and used his other hand to wipe hair from his forehead, revealing his eyebrows and eyes.
“Quat...look at me,” he whispered, drawing his fingertips down, curling over Quatre’s cheek and forcing the blond to look at him. Trowa took his mouth in a firm kiss, halting his rubbing. He could feel Quatre stiffen once more, his lips parting with surprise, and Trowa took that involuntary movement as an opportunity to flick his tongue over the blond’s open mouth. He felt Quatre weaken slightly, relaxing against the couch, and leaned more into the kiss.
Hot, stale and familiar...he felt his hunger grow as he lost himself in the familiarity of the mouth he was taking advantage of, his tongue reacquainting itself with the recesses of Quatre’s mouth. The blond responded in kind, kissing back with some hesitation, but not pushing him away. This was encouraging, as Trowa shifted position to swipe his fingers through the blond’s hair, clutching briefly before trailing down to the buttons of his shirt.
He felt the startled firmness of lips as they closed with a hesitating manner, and he stopped the action of unbuttoning Quatre’s shirt and spread his fingers over the blond’s cheek, stroking and silently comforting as he deepened his kiss once more. He chose to forget about Sylvia, focusing on getting himself reacquainted with his ex in this manner. Since Quatre wasn’t pushing him away, or protesting, he continued with some confidence.
Quatre was kissing him back, turning to face him better, and Trowa took this moment to once again fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. When his neck was exposed, he left the comfort of Quatre’s lips and nuzzled the hot skin that smelled both familiar and new. He licked at the nervously bobbing Adam’s Apple, and tasted stubble as he familiarized himself with Quatre’s neck. The blond responded to this in a positive manner, tilting back to give him better access, his hands resting on Trowa’s upper arms.
Trowa nuzzled the strong jawline, tasting skin and stubble, and ran his fingers over the exposed area of his skin. He continued with the buttons, jerking the stiff material out of Quatre’s pants and splaying his fingers over the light undershirt. He could feel Quatre’s nervousness as his stomach fluttered, his body shivering with his own thoughts and confusion. Trowa wanted to eliminate that, and continued his seduction, murmuring comforting words against firm lips. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying–his mind was purely focused on what he wanted, and he was just working on action rather than common sense.
Quatre was letting him, too, damn it, so there was no cause to stop. Even if the blond was hesitating, it was obvious from his lack of negative response that kept Trowa from stopping. He slipped his hand underneath his undershirt, touching warm skin. He heard Quatre’s soft sigh, felt the hardening of his abs as his stomach tightened. Trowa moved away from his mouth, kissing his collarbone, nipping lightly at the bone. He felt Quatre’s hand snake through his hair, curl around his neck, pressing closer.
Encouraged, Trowa rose from the floor and climbed onto the couch with him, straddling his hips. He leaned forward, kissing Quatre with a calm sense of ease. His mind was focused on this, and nothing else.
He pulled Quatre’s shirt open, displaying his undershirt, and mouthed the hardened peaks of his nipples through his shirt. Quatre was giving soft moans, his fingers curling into his thighs, giving in to the sensation of feeling. Completely confident, Trowa tugged his undershirt up, and connected lips to nipple, tasting and sucking, watching the reactions of his ex as he displayed his appreciation for the contact. He shifted his lips to the other nipple, lavishing that one as well, lightly running the tip of his tongue over the encircling areola. He moved back to Quatre’s lips, drinking in the sounds and the responsive tongue that met his. Uncomfortably, Trowa shifted his position so that he was able to reach between them, coming into contact with Quatre’s erection. The blond moaned, thrusting into the touch, Trowa watching his face curiously as he gently palmed and stroked outside his slacks.
Breaking contact, he reached up, tugging off his own shirt, and thrusting that aside. Quatre was ready to give his own form of exploration, and shifted up eagerly to kiss his neck, his hands holding onto his sides. Trowa lost himself to the sensation of lips against his neck, at the way Quatre’s hair brushed against his face. He held onto his shoulders, his naked chest pressing against the blond’s covered upper body. He tilted his head back so that Quatre could have more access to his neck, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the feel of tongue and lips against his skin. He shifted once more so that Quatre could sit up better, the blond’s hands roving over his exposed stomach and chest. Experienced fingers touched and gently circled his nipples, prompting them to hardened peaks.
Quatre’s mouth left his neck, and fell onto one of those peaks, gently sucking at the darkened pebble. Trowa encouraged this contact with insistent rubs on his back, pulling him close, not at all feeling guilty for what he was doing. This felt good, this felt right, and he wasn’t about to feel wrong about what he was doing. He was reunited with his ex in this way, and it felt so good...
He felt Quatre picking at his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping with alarming quickness that had him chuckling as he leaned back, giving him that option. When the flaps of his pants were opened, and the window of his boxers located, he anticipated the familiar touch on his cock with a light shiver of his body. Quatre’s talented fingers found it, drawing his cock out with a low murmur of sound. Stroking in the way that Trowa had liked before, Quatre looked up into his face, watching as Trowa grimaced with pleasure, with that achingly familiar expression he had when things felt entirely too good. With an overeagerness to get to better things, Quatre ran his thumb over the darkened head, smearing the light pearl of pre-cum that he found.
He could smell the musky waft of Trowa’s privates, a heady scent that caused his grip to tighten, and his blood to race. He shifted in his awkward position, wanting to encircle that curved member with his mouth, but Trowa suddenly shifted out of his lap, standing beside the couch. He held out his hand, signaling for him to get up.
Quatre hesitated as his head cleared, and he started to look around himself in consternation, realizing what he was doing. Trowa, sensing this, quickly bent, kissing him fiercely enough to have them both flopping onto the couch, making sure the more obvious part of his body brushed against Quatre’s stomach. In this position, he maneuvered out of his underwear and pants, kicking off his shoes last. Naked, except for his socks, Trowa climbed onto his lap, trying to get the blond to re-focus on what was going on between them, and to not think about why they shouldn’t be.
Quatre was easily distracted in this manner, clutching his hips as Trowa’s tongue swept into his mouth, connecting with his, running over his teeth. His fingers moved, seemingly of their own accord, and kneaded the sensitive areas of Trowa’s hips, knowing exactly where to press and where to go to have the male moaning softly into his mouth.
That was the thing with ex-sex; their bodies were already familiar to each other, and they knew what and where to touch to evoke an excited reaction. Things moved in automatic, and pleasure, familiar and exciting, was easily reached when one didn’t have to fumble about.
Still kissing him, Trowa pulled Quatre off the couch, forcing him to follow him onto the floor, where they had more room. Quatre left his lips, trailing kisses down Trowa’s neck and chest, his hands steadying themselves on the taller male’s sides. His fingers kneaded gently, and he moved awkwardly down until he came to the insistent member of Trowa’s anatomy. He immediately swallowed half the length when he came to it, causing Trowa to moan loudly, reaching down to grip tufts of his hair.
Quatre sucked on the oddly curved member, running his tongue over the head, drinking in the taste of his pre-cum as it started to leak in pleasure. He braced his hands on Trowa’s hips, bobbing his head slightly as he sought to bring the male to orgasm in this action. Trowa’s insistent sighs and murmurs of sexually charged encouragement prompted him to continue. His own erection was straining against his pants, demanding attention as Trowa’s knees rose, then relaxed against his sides.
He knew Trowa was going to orgasm, and prepared himself for it, sucking hard in the way he knew Trowa liked. There was a loud groan from the taller male, and Quatre felt the warm spray of his semen hit the top of his mouth. Instead of swallowing, he braved the bitter taste and hot wetness, and waited until he was sure he’d taken all of what Trowa had to give to him.
With a grimace, he spit what he’d taken into one hand, and felt Trowa’s knees shake as he shifted his legs further apart. He found the taller male’s entrance with his wet fingers, and watched Trowa’s face as his fingers delved there. Carefully, he nudged a finger into his body, feeling the tightness that clenched at him from the intrusion. He lowered his head, concentrating on this mission, feeling Trowa trying to relax those particular muscles. His finger was slippery with Trowa’s cum, and when he felt it was right, he carefully forced in another. Trowa’s face grimaced with discomfort, but he encouraged Quatre to continue with a lift of his hips.
Quatre retracted his fingers, and fumbled with his pants and underwear, shoving them awkwardly down to his knees. He crawled over Trowa, to kiss him as he stroked himself a couple of times, to ensure that he was still hard. He felt Trowa’s hand creep from his hip down to his cock, helping him harden. Reaching down with one hand, he positioned himself against Trowa’s entrance, and started to push himself in. It was a little hard, more than clenching, and it was a slow process. Trowa gripped his shoulders, wincing as he tried forcing himself to relax, to admit the intrusion. He was filled with discomfort and the awkward sensation of fullness, and he tilted his head back, trying to relax. Quatre was propped over him, holding himself up with one arm, the other moving away from his own cock and settling onto Trowa’s hip to keep him steady. With the slow invasion, he was breathing slightly heavy, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to ignore the almost painful clench Trowa’s ass held onto his dick. Trowa’s semen aided in the insertion, but he would have preferred a little more lubrication to help things along.
Trowa breathed slowly, focusing on the ceiling as he adjusted his hips in order to aid Quatre. Soon, the blond held himself still, breathing in a controlled manner, droplets of sweat gathered on his forehead. Trowa looked away from the ceiling and looked at him, brushing his moistened hair from his face. He pulled Quatre’s face to his, kissing him gently, wiggling his hips to test the depth Quatre had taken and the awkward sensation of having his dick in his ass.
It was still uncomfortable, but he simply figured it had been awhile since he’d had something there. It wasn’t as if Sylvia did this to him...
Quatre kissed him back, moving experimentally to see if things were okay. Trowa clutched his shoulders as an indication to hold him in place, and adjust his hips again. At this angle, it felt less full, but the discomfort was still there. Quatre moved again, and this was a little better, so Trowa encouraged the movement with a twitch of his hips.
Soon enough, the blond was pulling out of him, his breath hot and stale against Trowa’s chin. Trowa reached up to hold onto his shoulders once more, keeping his legs spread as the blond began to pump his hips. There were the familiar sounds of sex and heavy breathing as Trowa sought to pleasure his ex in this manner, moving his hips in rhythm with him. He watched Quatre’s face, watching the concentration and the flashes of pleasure that flit across his features, and curled his fingers against the hardened muscles of his shoulders. He reveled in the feel of the blond’s body against his, the obvious changes.
He felt stronger, firmer, harder, as if he’d lost all of his baby fat and had replaced it with muscled angles. He wasn’t as skinny as he was before, but was a comfortable mesh of muscle and weight that made him very appealing. Trowa ran his hands over his back, over his shirt, wishing that he’d taken those off so that he could feel his skin.
He could smell the sweat coming from the blond, along with the smells of sex, and tipped his head back, groaning aloud at the pleasure he felt from this. He wasn’t ready to come again, but it all felt very good, so he reveled in that. Quatre was moving easier, his dick moving in all the right places, all the places that Trowa had enjoyed before.
Soon, though, Trowa recognized the strengthened pants and whimpers, and encouraged his orgasm with clenches of his ass. Quatre came then, moaning aloud, his hot cum spraying against Trowa’s insides. Trowa brushed aside the sweat matted hair, cupping his face so that he could take in the pleasure-filled expression on the blond’s face, and was annoyed when Quatre shifted out of the hold to lay, in a panting mass, against his chest. Trowa lay there in silent comfort, feeling Quatre’s dick throb within him, with a sense of familiarity that brought him back to the blond’s dorm room back at Sophia Darken, where they couldn’t get enough of each other after their first times together.
He swept his fingers through Quatre’s hair, and muttered that he couldn’t breathe. With a reluctant groan, Quatre lifted off of him, his arms shaking as he bowed his head. Trowa winced as he felt his half-hardened member slowly pull out from his body, and they both chuckled lightly at the occurring noise that passed when Quatre pulled completely out. Trowa reached out and pulled him back for a kiss, feeling sweat moistened skin and trembling lips that were as familiar to him as his own.
He didn’t care that what he’d done was wrong–it had just felt too right to continue to deny any more. Sated, for now, he hoped that Quatre didn’t bring up Sylvia or anything else.
To his relief, Quatre said nothing at all the rest of the night.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Saturday evening, Jake had just finished taking a shower and was prepared to go to bed when someone knocked on the door. It was pretty late at night, and he was too tired to keep late company, so he resolved to ignore the unwelcome visitor. He had a long day at work, and he was really depressed over the recent arguments he’d had with his boss at the garage, wondering if he would have to look for another job. So he really wasn’t feeling companionable when the knocking persisted.
Growling in irritation, he pulled on a plain tee and put on the most blackest expression he could muster– which really wasn’t that hard, considering his mood. He crossed through the darkness of his apartment (so empty and dark without Michael) and unlocked the door, jerking it open enough to see outside without removing the security chain.
He then shut the door and undid the chain, jerking the door open again. Quatre looked at him with a frown, and noted the expression on his face.
“Can I spend the night?” the blond asked, and Jake’s face registered complete and utter surprise.
“Wh–? Why?” he asked in confusion.
“I...don’t want to be...at my place. I’m trying to avoid someone,” Quatre said in a sheepish tone.
“Oh yeah? Rent a hotel room.”
“C’MON! Please?”
“Fuck it. Come in, lock the door, and take the fuckin’ couch,” Jake muttered, turning away from him and moving over to the touch lamp just beside the couch.
Quatre did as he said with a murmur of ‘thanks’, and walked over to the couch with a nervous expression. Jake glanced at him, and noted the look. While he was curious, on one hand, why the blond was suddenly on the run, he was really too tired to deal with it right now. He gestured at the couch, and Quatre took it with a grateful ‘thanks’, kicking off his shoes and taking the worn cushions with a gusty sigh. Jake frowned down at him for a couple of moments, then walked down the hall to his bedroom. He picked up a pillow, figuring that he didn’t need a blanket. It was just too hot for that sort of thing.
He walked back into the living room, and handed Quatre the pillow.
“We’ll talk in the mornin’,” he said gruffly, heading back to his room. He slammed the door shut, and flopped onto his bed. Without really making any movement to get comfortable, he simply closed his eyes and fell asleep.
The next morning when he awoke, he slapped off his alarm, and figured he’d call in. Sundays and Mondays were his days off, anyway. Forcing himself up from the bed, he staggered to the bathroom, performed his morning business, and walked out into the front. Quatre was awake, staring out the front windows with a frown. Jake lifted an eyebrow, but walked into the kitchen to call his work. After leaving a message in that he wasn’t coming in today, he walked out from the kitchen and looked at the blond questioningly.
“Now...what the fuck?”
Quatre shrugged, and Jake noticed that the blond was having trouble sleeping. When blue/green eyes turned back to him, he felt mighty uncomfortable in that he was actually concerned with what was going on.
“Someone threatenin’ you?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“...I’m stupid. And I made the wrong choice.”
Jake blinked, and frowned at him. “Does this choice happen to deal with drug dealers?”
“What–? No!”
“The Underworld?”
“What’s that?”
“Jehovah’s Witnesses?”
“No. Just...I don’t know. I just want to avoid someone.”
Jake wasn’t sure what all that meant, but shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “What made you come out here, anyway?”
“Felicia wasn’t home. And Max looked pissed about it. I didn’t want to get involved in that.”
“Huh. So...I was last resort?”
Quatre shrugged sheepishly.
Jake frowned at him for several seconds, then looked around. “They ain’t comin’ over here, are they? I don’t want no bullshit in my place.”
“No. He–they don’t know you.”
“What the fuck, then?”
“I just made the wrong choice! And...I...don’t know how to fix it.”
Jake shook his head, and gave him an irritated expression. “Stop actin’ like a girl. Man up. Whatever the fuck you did couldn’t have been that bad. What, you slept with someone’s boy?”
Quatre reddened but didn’t answer, and Jake decided he didn’t want to know. He turned and walked off to his bedroom, and got ready for the day. All through, he was decidedly curious as to what Quatre was doing, running away from home. And, he was curious as to what Felicia was up to. He’d known the girl longer, having been brought into this mad world with meeting her and her ex, so he had a certain sort of fondness reserved for her. He treated her as a younger sibling he never had, so he was always concerned when he heard something was going on with her.
He dressed, brushed his teeth, and walked back out into the living room. Quatre was gone, and Jake wondered when he left. He hadn’t even heard the door open and close. He picked up the pillow that the blond had used, and took it back to his bedroom.
He had just finished making breakfast and was set to watch Sunday drivel when his phone rang. He answered it tiredly, hoping it wasn’t the garage. Now that he was set to stay home, he really didn’t want to go to work, even with the promise of extra money.
“Dad?”
Jake immediately grew alert at the sound of his son’s voice. “What’s wrong, Michael? Where are you?”
“At Nana’s. I don’t want to be here, anymore.”
“I...I’m sorry, son. But I can’t pick you up until six thirty.”
“...Not even today?”
“No. Not even today.”
“...I don’t want to be here, anymore.”
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“I don’t like it here, anymore. I don’t want to do this, anymore. I want to go home with you.”
“I know, son,” Jake said, gripping the phone tight. He felt that deep, visceral ache that he normally felt when Michael needed him. This was a feeling of helplessness and frustration that just burned into something bitter and angry, leaving him insecure and despondent.
So many different things, but it all ended up resulting in the same thing–frustrated fury in that he had no say in his son’s life. The courts decided what was best, and they weren’t the same ideals that he had. All thanks to grandparents that thought they knew better.
There were times when he wished he could just turn back time, and never have met Celia Parker. But then again, if he hadn’t, he would never have Michael. It was all a frustrating cycle, something that he just had to deal with.
“Dad, is Quatre going to be there when I get there?”
“Ah...no.”
“He was last time.”
“He...probably has other plans, son.”
“...He probably doesn’t want to hang out with us all the time, huh?”
Jake scowled, hating the way Michael was beginning to depend on Quatre. All for a mixture of reasons. He then swallowed, shrugging. “I’m sure he does, Mike. But sometimes...people have plans. They can’t be there all the time.”
“I wish he was gonna be there. He makes me forget things. I don’t like Paul, daddy. He yelled at me.”
Jake ground his teeth, feeling that familiar flare of hate that he felt for Celia’s father. “I know, son. I know you do. Listen, when I go pick you up, we can go get pizza, all right? And rent some movies. How does that sound?”
“Can I get a game?”
“Yup. Any kind you want.”
“Even, even the ones with guns?”
“Uh...Yeah. Sure. Why not? It’s not like you’ll be using them, right?”
“Okay. Okay, well, I’ll wait for you, all right?”
“All right. I’ll see you then. In the meantime, be good.”
“I always am, daddy! Bye-bye!”
When Jake hung up, he was barely able to control the rage that threatened to rear its ugly head. He clenched his fists and hit the phone in frustration. While he really wanted to tear up the entire place with his fists, his hard-earned patience came into play, overcoming the rage with a wisp of commitment. He could always take his frustration out on other things, and he was going to do so in a healthy manner. So, in this mentality, he was going to go and find out what the hell Felicia was up to at one o’clock in the morning. It was always better to lose himself in other people’s problems rather than focusing in on his own.