Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Post Up...And One! ❯ Dirty Little Thing ( Chapter 10 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Jigga finally reveals his secret! Can Mr. Ogre handle it?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.10.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.4K | Visits: 196 | Status: Completed
Jigga finally reveals his secret! Can Mr. Ogre handle it?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Hentai / Drama / Comedy | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.10.2007 | Pages: 4 | Words: 6.4K | Visits: 196 | Status: Completed
Chapter Ten:
“Dirty Little Thing” Velvet Revolver
Trowa was accustomed to brooding. He had done a lot of it in high school, had thought he matured beyond it when he left high school, but now...he was doing it all over again. It was a second nature to him, this brooding. He could sit in one position for almost hours, thinking and obsessing over something, brooding... and rather than acting on his thoughts, he just...thought about things.
The brownstone was quiet, save for the downstairs tv, in which Sylvia was watching her favored Sex and the City...which was highly popular for some odd reason. Every second person he knew watched that particular show...which, of course, made him think of Quatre, for the blond had some stacked away in his apartment.
Thinking of Quatre, Trowa sighed, hanging his head. Since their last parting, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow fouled things up once more. Of course, he realized that perhaps having sex with the guy was a bad thing...well, he KNEW that it was. He had a girlfriend, and Quatre had expressed that he didn’t feel comfortable with what they were doing. But he just couldn’t help it! He couldn’t resist the sinful call of ex-sex.
His body had felt sated with the entire thing, but that was a physical fulfillment...now, all that was left was this guilt and regret and remorse...what could he do with this, now?
Of course, this was what was causing him to brood. How was he going to fix this? Was it meant to be fixed? Should he just chalk it up to good memories, and move on?
But the thing was, how could he? He was tied in so many ways to Quatre Winner, that it was impossible to discern one tie from another. He wondered if they truly could be friends, when all he wanted was more.
Well, on that note...did he truly want more? He was satisfied, in that aspect, with Sylvia...and the physical had been more than satisfied with Quatre...
Shit. He was confused.
He had to talk to the guy, but he had a definite feeling that Quatre was avoiding him. Well, for obviously good reasons...he could understand. But he needed to talk to him, and get things out into the open...or settled back into the closet. Whichever, it was obvious they both had unresolved issues concerning each other.
He reached up to squeeze handfuls of hair within both hands. Why couldn’t high school relationships just stay there?
That Saturday morning, during Sylvia’s work shift at the mall, he resolved himself to take a long drive...and, of course, found himself at Quatre’s apartment. But he didn’t move from the parking lot...he sat inside his car, staring thoughtfully at the single dwelling that was Quatre’s. The blond’s car was parked nearby, and it was a relatively beautiful afternoon...
He could imagine the blond was either sleeping the day away, or shooting some hoops...wherever the hoops may be. Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his arms over his chest and ignored the vibration of his phone hidden away in the middle console of the car.
Meanwhile, Sylvia frowned at her cell phone, wondering where Trowa was. She had an aching suspicion that Trowa was sneaking around places he shouldn’t be, and her heart was pounding nervously in her chest. She had the feeling she should check up on the guy, just to be sure he was doing things he should be doing, and not what he shouldn’t be...
Those messages from Quatre had her on edge, and while she knew she could beg and plead with Trowa to stay away from the blond, she knew that would only push the goth away. Encourage him to chase after Quatre. She didn’t want that...but she didn’t want to appear as a doormat, either. She couldn’t quite take having Trowa go out on her with Quatre, then coming home with her and acting normal about it. Acting as if he weren’t cheating on her.
She frowned as she turned off her phone, and sighed dejectedly, feeling her heart breaking. She knew what Trowa was doing...she just didn’t know what to do about it.
So, while ringing up customers and hearing her coworkers bitch about their personal lives, she resolved to go around the conflict, rather than confront it directly. During her lunch break, chowing down on McDonald’s and ignoring the chaos that was the mall, she stared at her hot pink cell phone and willed Trowa to call her, and reassure her that he was actually with his boss and friends, rather than with Quatre. On that note...Quatre was the type to brood about doing the wrong thing...if Trowa made an advance on him, would he take it?
Was Trowa even really cheating on her? Or...was he trying to initiate it? Or...was it even his fault to begin with? Was Quatre the one encouraging Trowa’s behavior? Was she even thinking the right thing?
She groaned, staring up at the level above her, trying to arrange her thoughts.
It could be that Trowa was just visiting with Quatre...a totally platonic thing between guys...just catching up on things...but why that last message from Quatre? Why that tone? Why those words? Why that subject? What was ‘this’ that he didn’t want to do anymore? It was driving her absolutely nuts, and the only thing she could do was smile and continue as if she didn’t know a thing.
She picked up her cell, and took a deep breath. With a shaking finger, she dialed information, and asked for Quatre Winner’s number. It was surprisingly easy to obtain. After taking it down, she stared at the number for a long while, trying to arrange her thoughts in order. If she called him...just...as a social call, how would he take it? Would he grow suspicious? Would he tell Trowa, if he saw him? What? What would Quatre do?
Really, she didn’t want to take this route, but she didn’t want to be left in the dark, either. She felt she had to. She was forced to, because Trowa’s sneaking around was bothering her. Everyone had the right to know if their other was cheating on them, right? And if they were given even a sneaking suspicion, they had the right to investigate, right? Quatre had done the same thing to Trowa...she was sure of it...
And on THAT note, what the hell? Would Quatre give in to Trowa’s advances, KNOWING that Trowa had cheated on HIM in a similar situation? She was sure Quatre had morals better than that...if Trowa tried to advance on him, she hoped that Quatre smacked him around. In that light, hope flared briefly within her ample chest, and she gave a tight smile.
Quatre was smarter than that.
Anyway...she shouldn’t blame things on Trowa. Quatre was just as at fault as he.
On THAT note, she lifted her phone, dialed star 67 and dialed his number, breathing in a controlled fashion. If he answered, she’d ask him straight out if Trowa was with him. If he were...well...she didn’t know. OH! She’d just say she was looking for Trowa, and ask to speak to him. If Quatre didn’t answer...she’d just hang up and pretend she hadn’t called.
But...he answered.
“Hello?”
His voice was deeper than she remember, and a little out of breath. What the hell–? What was he doing? She hoped, with a grit of her teeth, that he was just doing...jumping jacks. Or whatever it was that he did to keep him in shape.
“Er...hi!” she forced herself to say, sounding cheerful. “Hi, how are you?”
“Uh....good...who is this?”
GOOD! He didn’t know!
“I was just wondering...is Trowa with you?”
“Huh? Trowa?...Uh, no...God, I hope not...who is this?”
“No one! Bye!”
She hung up quickly, breathing a quick sigh of relief. So, he wasn’t there...but what was with that tone with those words...’God, I hope not...’? What did THAT mean?
More confused than ever, she grit her teeth and tried to think happy thoughts...but she was failing miserably...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was puzzled at the call, and tried to access the person calling, but it showed up as a private number, private name. Shrugging, he tossed his cell over his shoulder, and went on trying to finish up his push-ups and sit-ups. He was planning on heading over to the gym to do some real working out, but was stalling. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and he really didn’t have anything to do...he didn’t have any plans with anyone, he didn’t make any to meet with anyone, and he was just daydreaming about various things to pass the time.
It was funny, being somewhere in a big place with nothing to do.
Moving into position, he resumed where he left off, and wondered what Jake was doing. Really, the older male was growing more and more solid in his thoughts. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to turn into one of those big, unrequited things that always turned so badly in the end. Jake was definitely confusing him at every turn, and Felicia, while helpful, wasn’t helping any. He wished that he knew what was going on in the guy’s head. While on some level, Quatre knew he could really like the guy in every aspect, he knew that nothing could become of them if Jake was straight and had only platonic feelings for him.
Sighing with disappointment, he stopped his pushups, and laid stomach flat on the floor.
That would be a very big disappointment, because he really admired and respected the guy. Jake obviously learned how to handle himself and his son in this great big confusing world of adulthood, and while he struggled with some things, it was obvious he knew how to keep his head above water. Quatre often wondered if he were able to do the same thing if he were in that position.
Of course, if he were in Jake’s position, this would be a completely different story.
Finished with his routine, he got up from the floor, retrieved his basketball, cell, wallet and keys (so much junk!), and left his apartment. The gym was just a few blocks down the road, and walking would do some good for him. He felt as if he hadn’t had any exercise in months...that day with Michael and Jake had been his only form...well...if sex was considered exercise, then he had more than his share with Trowa.
He sighed, dribbling the ball as he walked.
Trowa, Trowa, Trowa...
It was a definite mistake sleeping with the guy. He felt so much guilt...and he already resolved himself to chalk it up to good mistake ex-sex, so he wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Just move on! He thought himself with a determined expression, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. Think about other things...think about how Jake’s hair looks so nice when he wakes up...and the way his eyes droop with he’s tired...or the way he hugs Michael and looks so damn comfortable with physical contact...
Unfortunately, these weren’t very good thoughts.
He chuckled to himself and wondered how Jake looked in his uniform at work. All manly, with grease covered hands, hair tucked underneath a worn cap...a cocky grin spreading his lips as he accomplished something...uh...manly...
He laughed aloud to himself, trying to remember everything he’d been taught in auto-mechanics his sophomore year. This was why he resolved himself to be near a Jiffy Lube, or something of the sort, because his brain couldn’t handle such things.
He came to a stop at the intersection, flicking his ball from one hand to the other. There were a group of girls nearby, and they glanced at him, giggling as one flashed him a bright smile. He grew embarrassed with the attention, and ducked his head. There were definitely points in time when he wished it were obvious that he were gay, and not have to lead these poor girls on a chase.
The light turned, and he hurried across, despite the No Walking sign. Making it to the other side, he wondered if he were hungry and stared thoughtfully at the Carl’s Junior sign. But he decided he didn’t want Carl’s, and headed across the parking lot to nearby Burger King. It would destroy his guts, but, hell, his apartment was nearby...
He reached out to open the door when the reflection in the glass caused him to turn around with a fearful jump of his heart. He could have sworn Trowa was there behind him...pulse pounding, he scanned the parking lot and the vehicles that were parked nearby, and shook his head. He was treating the guy like some bad B-movie stalker...
Trowa couldn’t stalk anybody...could he? Sure, he sometimes made Quatre look twice over his shoulder, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling...just startling.
Chuckling, figuring himself crazy, he walked inside.
Trowa frowned as he leaned against the back of the car, shaking his own head. He’d nearly been caught... apparently, he had been out of the stalking game for far too long if Quatre had almost seen him. He had to be careful of reflective glass surfaces...
Later on that day, Quatre had finished playing a round of ball with some guys when he headed home. He had worked up a pleasant sweat, and had a good time.
Those high schoolers had to be taught a lesson, though, and he felt a little embarrassed that they had given him a run for his money. He would have to train a little bit more to keep himself above that level. Flicking his ball from hand to hand, he started back home, wondering what time it was. He wanted to call Jake and see what the guy was doing...but more than likely, the guy was putting in overtime at work and didn’t want to be bothered.
Quatre found himself thinking more and more of the guy as the day passed. He really wanted the guy’s affections–and he truly seemed affectionate, given the indications with physical expression with Mike, and for the fact that he felt no qualms in displaying his emotions with those closest to him–and he wondered if it were healthy to crush on someone that wouldn’t return his affections.
Sighing, he ducked his head and dribbled his ball while waiting for the light to turn. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he looked behind him, searching for whatever source was making him feel that way. There was nothing out of the ordinary...he shrugged and continued toward home.
Later that night, after he showered and got ready for bed, there was a knock at his door. He froze in the process of drying his hair, and stared in the direction of the door. Should he answer it? Or...ignore it? Was it Trowa?
At that, his heart was racing fiercely, and he took inventory of himself, unconsciously unaware that he was doing it. Swallowing hard, he looked at the floor. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t home...his lights were on. He chewed nervously at his bottom lip, and was startled when the bell rang. Should he answer it? What if it were Trowa...? And...despite his feelings...would he turn the guy away? He hadn’t been able to, before...
He took several steps back when he realized that he could be taking things out of proportion, and then strode, with some resolve, to answer the door. It wasn’t Trowa–merely Justin, who looked totally smashed. And smelled like it, too.
“Hey,” Justin said, stumbling in, looking rather sleepy. “Can I crash here for the night?”
“Uh...sure...stupid ass,” Quatre then laughed, kicking at his friend. He closed the door, but it stopped halfway, prompting his curiosity. Another guy was there, looking rather timid and embarrassed as he walked in. Quatre blinked in curiosity at him, noting the slight frame, the light hair, the scared expression on his face. “Who are you?”
“Um...my name’s Jay,” he said nervously, and Quatre wondered his age. He shrugged, gesturing for him to come in as well. The name rang a bell somewhere–but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it. He shut and locked the door, turning to see that Justin had completely passed out on the couch. Jay stood nearby, looking obviously lost.
“You’re with him?” Quatre asked. The guy was, in a word, tiny. Probably no bigger than five foot three and ninety pounds, he had hair that nearly hid his eyes, wore thin frame glasses, and was dressed in a simple polo shirt and tight jeans. Quatre wanted to poke his arm to see if there was even any meat packed on that frame of his.
“Um...yes. But...he’s drunk. I made him pull over.”
“Are you even old enough to drive?”
“Uh...I have my learner’s permit...”
Quatre cackled evilly, and walked over to the couch, where Justin had passed out. He kicked the other guy with his heel. “You cradle robber you! Get off your ass and take him back to his mommy!”
Justin uttered a few words that didn’t make any sense, and turned his head the other way. Quatre laughed again and turned to the boy. “Does your mom know you’re out?”
Jay dropped his head, turning red once more. “No...I kind of...snuck out. Um...is it all right if I use your phone?”
“Yeah. Here.”
Jay took his cell, and dialed his number while Quatre walked back to his bedroom, chuckling over this new thing. He dressed in a sleeveless tee and jersey shorts, and walked back out. Jay was shrugging as he hung up the phone. When he saw Quatre, he grew red once more, wiping his hair from his eyes and looking rather helpless.
“I don’t have cab fare to get home,” he confessed. “Is it all right if I sleep out here?”
“Yeah...just as long as your mother doesn’t send in the police,” Quatre joked, checking out his fridge. “Are you seriously with him?”
“Um...yes...is it really that funny?”
Quatre just laughed, thinking of Mr. Ogre. Mr. Ogre would definitely break this toothpick of a boy.
“How old are you, anyway?”
“I just turned fifteen in May...”
Quatre spit out his tomato juice and laughed again. Jay was starting to look irritated as he sat down uncomfortably at the edge of his chair, hands shoved in his pockets.
“I’m sorry...I’m sorry. I just...never knew. Where do you live?”
“Um...Grand Junction...”
“That’s not even far from here!”
Jay shot a nervous look in Justin’s direction, then shrugged. “I don’t want to leave him alone...”
“He’s fine. Dude, we’ve known each other since high school.”
“I kind of figured. He said you would let him crash here.”
“Did he...say anything else?”
“No...um...were you two involved at some point?” Jay then asked suspiciously.
Quatre shook his head and took out something to eat. “Nah. We’re just friends. You want a pillow, or anything?”
“No...I’ll just sleep with him.”
“You guys are...uh...intimate?”
“No.” Jay blushed furiously, hunching his shoulders. Quatre had the thought of, Aw, what a sweet kid, run through his mind, but snickered at the thought of little Jay meeting up with Mr. Ogre. Hell, Mr. Ogre was probably the same size as him.“But I really like him.”
“Fine. Whatever. Just...don’t panic. Take things slow. Don’t take things all at once,” Quatre consoled, then laughed as he shut off the kitchen light and headed back to his bedroom. He shut the door and hoped they didn’t make too much noise. The only person that should be having sex in this apartment was going to be him.
Besides, if Justin made a mess on his couch, the fucker was going to buy it from him. No questions asked. No bullshit taken.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The apartment was empty when he came home after work. It was funny–the quieter the apartment was, the more he realized how often it occurred. Normally, Max appreciated silence, because one couldn’t get away from it all from living deep within the city. Their apartment, the one he shared with Felicia, was located on the corner of Weston and Third, which was just as big as Fifth Avenue in New York...and Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles, and received just as much activity as the streets below.
He hadn’t realized how truly quiet it was when she was away.
Normally, he would come in from school or work, he’d finish off whatever homework he had, fix himself a snack, and watch some tv until Felicia came home. When she did, they made decisions on dinner and did other things. But lately...she either didn’t come home early enough for them to share dinner together, or she didn’t come home at all.
“I’m staying at Yoshida’s,” she’d say tiredly, and hang up before he could ask why. She was doing a lot of overtime at work, and it wasn’t as if she were taking classes...no, she’d agreed on taking two early in the summer, but had dropped those plans, opting to dedicate herself to work. He was seeing less and less of her, and when he did see her, they only ended up arguing and fighting.
He sighed heavily as he sat down at the dining table, the glossy finish of maple reflecting the night lights of the city from the nearby open window. He could hear sirens moving steadily downtown, and the sounds of the street below was audible in a clatter of sound that was comforting. But the apartment in which he lived was so quiet..
He drummed his fingers along the tabletop, glancing at the lotus centerpiece that he didn’t remember buying, and the obscenely clean counters of the kitchen nearby. There was the lingering scent of Felicia’s lotion and perfume, and the fresh, clean smell of lavender, which told him that a candle had been burned recently. The apartment was suddenly too large and useless, and he wondered why they agreed on such a big size.
Eager for some noise in the apartment, he left the table and switched on the holoset. Something on MTV blared, and he turned it down, wincing at 50-Cent and his lyrics, and turned to sit down on the couch. He wanted to talk to her...when did they last have a conversation? He remembered seeing her yesterday, and they talked briefly about each other’s day, but...nothing more. She left for an outing with some friends of hers, and he left shortly after with some friends of his.
They hadn’t yet addressed the troubles in their relationship, and he wasn’t sure how to bring it up without sounding like a nag. He didn’t want to sound like a nag...
Sighing yet again, he slumped his shoulders and sank into the couch. When she came home, they’ll talk.
She came home around eleven, dragging her Prada purse behind her as if it were a sack of trash. He had just finished washing the dishes when he heard the telltale sounds of her heels on the wooden floor. Wiping his hands on a paper towel and disposing of it, he walked into the living room where she was, and silently took in her rumpled Christian Dior three piece and for the fact that she had something in her hair that looked suspiciously like gum.
She gave him a tired expression, and flopped face first into the couch.
“Long day?” he asked quietly, walking over to sit on the armrest. He really had no idea what she did–whenever he asked, she mentioned human relations activities, such as meeting with her uncle’s competitors and performing routine negotiations with various forces. She was training to become part of his security personnel, something that Max didn’t like at all, and put in various hours with gun handling, and common security measures that were similar to that of a police academy. But she also pulled in paper work and various other related bits. It never seemed to make sense, but she knew what she was doing and got irritated when he persisted.
“Yeah,” she sighed into the cushions, kicking off her shoes. “You?”
“Nondescript. You’ve got something in your hair...” he commented, gently disentangling the bright neon wad of gum from her hair. After removing it, he tossed it onto the coffee table, then gently began kneading her back. He noticed her wincing, and removed his hand. “You know, we’ve...got to talk. About...things. About us.”
“Now?”
“Preferably... Felicia, something’s not right between us, and in order to fix things, we need to address the issues that are keeping us apart.”
“It’s simple,” she said, sitting up, frowning at him. “It’s your parents. And for the fact that we ain’t doin’ the same things, anymore.”
Max stared at her, then frowned. “I know my parents are rather...dominating–”
“They’re pricks! And I hate ‘em! Both of them! Especially your mother, who never seems to do anything wrong,” she snarled, rising from the couch and walking into the kitchen.
Max blinked as he sat there. Well, Felicia could be quite blunt, sometimes. At least he could count on her for never beating around the bush. He rose from the armrest and hurried after her.
“I know my mother can be especially trying, Felicia, but...they can’t be the only reasons,” he said, watching as she removed her blazer. “There’s something more to it then just that...”
“Like the fact that I’m cheating on you?”
Max felt like his heart had just stopped, but she turned to give him a frown, drinking out of the juice container.
“As per your words the other day?” she added with a lifted eyebrow.
“I...wasn’t thinking clearly. What would you think if I were gone as much as you are?” he exclaimed, gesturing. “Of course I would come to that conclusion!”
“There isn’t any reason for me to do so!” she snapped, setting the container down. She felt her cheeks warm at that admission, but facing him now, seeing the way his handsome face reflected his confused but somewhat pleased expression, she realized that it was true. She wouldn’t cheat on him.
“Well...that’s good, then...I suppose.”
“Max, let’s get things straight, okay? We’ve got separate things going on, here. Here’s me...” She plucked out yesterday’s roast beef from the fridge, and plopped that onto the counter. She then pulled out a container of potato salad, one of Janice’s creations from a recent eat-over, “and here’s you. Both are relatively different...coming from different families...comin’ from different perspectives...and yet, we come together with a common cause. Cuz we like each other. More than ‘like’...BUT the thing that keeps us apart, is the fact that, kept together for a long time, we tend to rot. Observe the mold.”
Max gave an exasperated expression, and reached out to sweep the two items out of her reach. “That is utterly ridiculous.”
“But it makes sense.”
“It does not!”
“Don’t take that tone with me, mister!”
“DON’T START WITH THE TONES, AGAIN!” he roared in frustration.
She snickered, and proceeded to start making a roast beef sandwich. “Whichever, Maxie, all I’m tryin’ to say is, we should just go our different ways. You can keep the apartment–your mom likes it more.”
“What?” Max asked, staring at her in stunned shock. “You...You want to break up?”
“It’s a comfortable decision. After all, you’ve got parents that don’t like me, an’ I got my own thing goin’ on with my job,” she said, avoiding his stare as she made her sandwich. “I know you’re going to get tired of it all...constantly talkin’ back to Babs–I mean, your mother–as she constantly tears down my person because I ain’t the right color, or the right gal–!”
“I don’t care what she thinks!” Max cried, hitting the counter in frustration. “You can’t base a break-up on this! We’ve got too much to just drop things, now!”
“Aw, stuff it.” She turned to give him a sour look, lifting an eyebrow. “Besides. I have no more feelings for you. I hate comin’ home. I hate havin’ to come home, an’ you ain’t here, or you are here, an’ all we do is fight. I’m tired of it.”
“We fight because we aren’t talking to each other! How can I identify with what you’re doing if you aren’t talking to me?” Max asked, not liking where this was going. He expected another fight, but nothing of this proportion. Surely she was making an awful joke...sure, they had problems, but he didn’t want to break up with her...!
“I do talk to you!” she growled, slapping her sandwich down. She looked a little green, but he didn’t pay too much attention to it as she stepped into his personal space to say, “I do talk to you, but it’s like, you don’t want to hear what I have to say! And, plus, add to it all, you got all jealous since Quat came back.”
“Why is he coming back into the conversation? This has nothing to do with him!” he said in exasperation. He then reached out, holding onto her shoulders, looking into her eyes. He’d grown a little, standing at five feet and nine inches, and it seemed unfair that he was using his height against her. But he just wanted her to look at him, to realize what kind of decision she was making.
“Okay...okay, I’ll admit it, Felicia. I am jealous. I am jealous of him, because he gets your attention all the time. He calls, you’re there. When I call, I get the answering service and an excuse in that you’re not coming home until late. I don’t get the same time as he does. You put your friend first, rather than your boyfriend. All right? I want you to know that. I should have discussed this with you earlier, but I was afraid that I would sound stupid and uncommonly bitchy about it...”
“I don’t see why you would,” she grumbled, looking away from the intent gaze he had her pinned with. “He’s only a friend...I haven’t seen him in such a long time, and...I dunno. Maybe I do put him first. Mainly cuz...I dunno.”
“See? See...but...I...Felicia, I love you. I really do. You make me happy, and you have shown me time and time again that you aren’t like a lot of girls. I like the way you are. I like your attitude, and the way you bully people. I like the way you get a kick out of stupid things, and for the way you’re so protective of the ones you love. I love everything about you, and there hasn’t been a moment when a thought that I should leave you has ever crossed my mind...yeah, I do play around with other people, but I would never push things. If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”
“...doesn’t bother me...”
“But I don’t want to lose you,” he finished, wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her close. He smelled cigarettes, perfume and the musky scent of her own body odor, and inhaled deeply. Nuzzling her hair, he squeezed harder, wanting her to feel what he felt for her. He didn’t want to break up with her, and was truly stunned that she would bring it up.
Uncomfortably, Felicia felt herself relaxing against him, frowning. She couldn’t think clearly.
Damn it...why did she want to break up with him again?
All her thoughts and reasons that she had discussed with Quatre the other day had taken a dive-bomb out the balcony door, and rendered her utterly useless. Damn Max and his comforting smells and arms. Her brain temporarily malfunctioned whenever he pulled this bit on her.
His lips touched her forehead, then found her lips, and she forgot all else, losing herself in his kiss. His hands moved over her back, then to her sides, holding her close. She always forgot her superhuman abilities whenever he touched her, because he had a way of making her forget their differences. When they shifted up to softly knead her breasts, this only increased her forgetfulness, and she lost herself in the action. Sex–no, making love–with Max had always been the best. There were literally hours in which he used to play and pleasure her, and she never had any complaints in that area. She never protested when he was ready for some action, no matter where, what time it was, or if she were tired. Frankly, she wondered if she’d ever find this act as enjoyable with someone else.
When he pulled back from her, he had a slight frown, and she wondered what that face was for.
“You...you’ve got boobs,” he said, in a bewildered tone. He looked down at his hand, which was currently full with mentioned anatomy.
She resisted the urge to slap him, but laughed. “Thanks to Victoria’s Secret, asshole. Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”
“But...you’ve...never mind. That was rude, wasn’t it?”
“It’s the same as sayin’, Wow, you’ve got a dick I can actually feel...”
He stared at her for a few moments, then laughed, kissing her again. “Please don’t break up with me, Felicia Ann. I don’t think I could bear it if you did.”
“Don’t give me that English drama, you half-breed,” she muttered, using her foot to pry him off of her.
“I’m serious, Felicia. I don’t want to part with you. I love you. You know that. I’m sorry for getting angry with you. Now that I know what’s bothering you, I’ll try and fix things. All right?”
“Max, I...” It was so awkward saying things like this, but they felt natural as they fell from her lips, “I’m sorry for being a bitch. I don’t wanna break up either...sometimes...I just get...so stressed out. With work, with things...I...can’t remember why I wanted to.”
“Well, in that case, I know of a few very good stress-relievers that I can use to help you...” Max kissed her again, using his tongue to open her lips. Relinquishing herself once more in the action, Felicia wrapped her arms around his shoulders and enjoyed the action, forgetting everything she was going to say earlier.
“Dirty Little Thing” Velvet Revolver
Trowa was accustomed to brooding. He had done a lot of it in high school, had thought he matured beyond it when he left high school, but now...he was doing it all over again. It was a second nature to him, this brooding. He could sit in one position for almost hours, thinking and obsessing over something, brooding... and rather than acting on his thoughts, he just...thought about things.
The brownstone was quiet, save for the downstairs tv, in which Sylvia was watching her favored Sex and the City...which was highly popular for some odd reason. Every second person he knew watched that particular show...which, of course, made him think of Quatre, for the blond had some stacked away in his apartment.
Thinking of Quatre, Trowa sighed, hanging his head. Since their last parting, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow fouled things up once more. Of course, he realized that perhaps having sex with the guy was a bad thing...well, he KNEW that it was. He had a girlfriend, and Quatre had expressed that he didn’t feel comfortable with what they were doing. But he just couldn’t help it! He couldn’t resist the sinful call of ex-sex.
His body had felt sated with the entire thing, but that was a physical fulfillment...now, all that was left was this guilt and regret and remorse...what could he do with this, now?
Of course, this was what was causing him to brood. How was he going to fix this? Was it meant to be fixed? Should he just chalk it up to good memories, and move on?
But the thing was, how could he? He was tied in so many ways to Quatre Winner, that it was impossible to discern one tie from another. He wondered if they truly could be friends, when all he wanted was more.
Well, on that note...did he truly want more? He was satisfied, in that aspect, with Sylvia...and the physical had been more than satisfied with Quatre...
Shit. He was confused.
He had to talk to the guy, but he had a definite feeling that Quatre was avoiding him. Well, for obviously good reasons...he could understand. But he needed to talk to him, and get things out into the open...or settled back into the closet. Whichever, it was obvious they both had unresolved issues concerning each other.
He reached up to squeeze handfuls of hair within both hands. Why couldn’t high school relationships just stay there?
That Saturday morning, during Sylvia’s work shift at the mall, he resolved himself to take a long drive...and, of course, found himself at Quatre’s apartment. But he didn’t move from the parking lot...he sat inside his car, staring thoughtfully at the single dwelling that was Quatre’s. The blond’s car was parked nearby, and it was a relatively beautiful afternoon...
He could imagine the blond was either sleeping the day away, or shooting some hoops...wherever the hoops may be. Leaning back in his seat, he crossed his arms over his chest and ignored the vibration of his phone hidden away in the middle console of the car.
Meanwhile, Sylvia frowned at her cell phone, wondering where Trowa was. She had an aching suspicion that Trowa was sneaking around places he shouldn’t be, and her heart was pounding nervously in her chest. She had the feeling she should check up on the guy, just to be sure he was doing things he should be doing, and not what he shouldn’t be...
Those messages from Quatre had her on edge, and while she knew she could beg and plead with Trowa to stay away from the blond, she knew that would only push the goth away. Encourage him to chase after Quatre. She didn’t want that...but she didn’t want to appear as a doormat, either. She couldn’t quite take having Trowa go out on her with Quatre, then coming home with her and acting normal about it. Acting as if he weren’t cheating on her.
She frowned as she turned off her phone, and sighed dejectedly, feeling her heart breaking. She knew what Trowa was doing...she just didn’t know what to do about it.
So, while ringing up customers and hearing her coworkers bitch about their personal lives, she resolved to go around the conflict, rather than confront it directly. During her lunch break, chowing down on McDonald’s and ignoring the chaos that was the mall, she stared at her hot pink cell phone and willed Trowa to call her, and reassure her that he was actually with his boss and friends, rather than with Quatre. On that note...Quatre was the type to brood about doing the wrong thing...if Trowa made an advance on him, would he take it?
Was Trowa even really cheating on her? Or...was he trying to initiate it? Or...was it even his fault to begin with? Was Quatre the one encouraging Trowa’s behavior? Was she even thinking the right thing?
She groaned, staring up at the level above her, trying to arrange her thoughts.
It could be that Trowa was just visiting with Quatre...a totally platonic thing between guys...just catching up on things...but why that last message from Quatre? Why that tone? Why those words? Why that subject? What was ‘this’ that he didn’t want to do anymore? It was driving her absolutely nuts, and the only thing she could do was smile and continue as if she didn’t know a thing.
She picked up her cell, and took a deep breath. With a shaking finger, she dialed information, and asked for Quatre Winner’s number. It was surprisingly easy to obtain. After taking it down, she stared at the number for a long while, trying to arrange her thoughts in order. If she called him...just...as a social call, how would he take it? Would he grow suspicious? Would he tell Trowa, if he saw him? What? What would Quatre do?
Really, she didn’t want to take this route, but she didn’t want to be left in the dark, either. She felt she had to. She was forced to, because Trowa’s sneaking around was bothering her. Everyone had the right to know if their other was cheating on them, right? And if they were given even a sneaking suspicion, they had the right to investigate, right? Quatre had done the same thing to Trowa...she was sure of it...
And on THAT note, what the hell? Would Quatre give in to Trowa’s advances, KNOWING that Trowa had cheated on HIM in a similar situation? She was sure Quatre had morals better than that...if Trowa tried to advance on him, she hoped that Quatre smacked him around. In that light, hope flared briefly within her ample chest, and she gave a tight smile.
Quatre was smarter than that.
Anyway...she shouldn’t blame things on Trowa. Quatre was just as at fault as he.
On THAT note, she lifted her phone, dialed star 67 and dialed his number, breathing in a controlled fashion. If he answered, she’d ask him straight out if Trowa was with him. If he were...well...she didn’t know. OH! She’d just say she was looking for Trowa, and ask to speak to him. If Quatre didn’t answer...she’d just hang up and pretend she hadn’t called.
But...he answered.
“Hello?”
His voice was deeper than she remember, and a little out of breath. What the hell–? What was he doing? She hoped, with a grit of her teeth, that he was just doing...jumping jacks. Or whatever it was that he did to keep him in shape.
“Er...hi!” she forced herself to say, sounding cheerful. “Hi, how are you?”
“Uh....good...who is this?”
GOOD! He didn’t know!
“I was just wondering...is Trowa with you?”
“Huh? Trowa?...Uh, no...God, I hope not...who is this?”
“No one! Bye!”
She hung up quickly, breathing a quick sigh of relief. So, he wasn’t there...but what was with that tone with those words...’God, I hope not...’? What did THAT mean?
More confused than ever, she grit her teeth and tried to think happy thoughts...but she was failing miserably...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre was puzzled at the call, and tried to access the person calling, but it showed up as a private number, private name. Shrugging, he tossed his cell over his shoulder, and went on trying to finish up his push-ups and sit-ups. He was planning on heading over to the gym to do some real working out, but was stalling. It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and he really didn’t have anything to do...he didn’t have any plans with anyone, he didn’t make any to meet with anyone, and he was just daydreaming about various things to pass the time.
It was funny, being somewhere in a big place with nothing to do.
Moving into position, he resumed where he left off, and wondered what Jake was doing. Really, the older male was growing more and more solid in his thoughts. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was going to turn into one of those big, unrequited things that always turned so badly in the end. Jake was definitely confusing him at every turn, and Felicia, while helpful, wasn’t helping any. He wished that he knew what was going on in the guy’s head. While on some level, Quatre knew he could really like the guy in every aspect, he knew that nothing could become of them if Jake was straight and had only platonic feelings for him.
Sighing with disappointment, he stopped his pushups, and laid stomach flat on the floor.
That would be a very big disappointment, because he really admired and respected the guy. Jake obviously learned how to handle himself and his son in this great big confusing world of adulthood, and while he struggled with some things, it was obvious he knew how to keep his head above water. Quatre often wondered if he were able to do the same thing if he were in that position.
Of course, if he were in Jake’s position, this would be a completely different story.
Finished with his routine, he got up from the floor, retrieved his basketball, cell, wallet and keys (so much junk!), and left his apartment. The gym was just a few blocks down the road, and walking would do some good for him. He felt as if he hadn’t had any exercise in months...that day with Michael and Jake had been his only form...well...if sex was considered exercise, then he had more than his share with Trowa.
He sighed, dribbling the ball as he walked.
Trowa, Trowa, Trowa...
It was a definite mistake sleeping with the guy. He felt so much guilt...and he already resolved himself to chalk it up to good mistake ex-sex, so he wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Just move on! He thought himself with a determined expression, shielding his eyes from the bright sun. Think about other things...think about how Jake’s hair looks so nice when he wakes up...and the way his eyes droop with he’s tired...or the way he hugs Michael and looks so damn comfortable with physical contact...
Unfortunately, these weren’t very good thoughts.
He chuckled to himself and wondered how Jake looked in his uniform at work. All manly, with grease covered hands, hair tucked underneath a worn cap...a cocky grin spreading his lips as he accomplished something...uh...manly...
He laughed aloud to himself, trying to remember everything he’d been taught in auto-mechanics his sophomore year. This was why he resolved himself to be near a Jiffy Lube, or something of the sort, because his brain couldn’t handle such things.
He came to a stop at the intersection, flicking his ball from one hand to the other. There were a group of girls nearby, and they glanced at him, giggling as one flashed him a bright smile. He grew embarrassed with the attention, and ducked his head. There were definitely points in time when he wished it were obvious that he were gay, and not have to lead these poor girls on a chase.
The light turned, and he hurried across, despite the No Walking sign. Making it to the other side, he wondered if he were hungry and stared thoughtfully at the Carl’s Junior sign. But he decided he didn’t want Carl’s, and headed across the parking lot to nearby Burger King. It would destroy his guts, but, hell, his apartment was nearby...
He reached out to open the door when the reflection in the glass caused him to turn around with a fearful jump of his heart. He could have sworn Trowa was there behind him...pulse pounding, he scanned the parking lot and the vehicles that were parked nearby, and shook his head. He was treating the guy like some bad B-movie stalker...
Trowa couldn’t stalk anybody...could he? Sure, he sometimes made Quatre look twice over his shoulder, but it wasn’t an unpleasant feeling...just startling.
Chuckling, figuring himself crazy, he walked inside.
Trowa frowned as he leaned against the back of the car, shaking his own head. He’d nearly been caught... apparently, he had been out of the stalking game for far too long if Quatre had almost seen him. He had to be careful of reflective glass surfaces...
Later on that day, Quatre had finished playing a round of ball with some guys when he headed home. He had worked up a pleasant sweat, and had a good time.
Those high schoolers had to be taught a lesson, though, and he felt a little embarrassed that they had given him a run for his money. He would have to train a little bit more to keep himself above that level. Flicking his ball from hand to hand, he started back home, wondering what time it was. He wanted to call Jake and see what the guy was doing...but more than likely, the guy was putting in overtime at work and didn’t want to be bothered.
Quatre found himself thinking more and more of the guy as the day passed. He really wanted the guy’s affections–and he truly seemed affectionate, given the indications with physical expression with Mike, and for the fact that he felt no qualms in displaying his emotions with those closest to him–and he wondered if it were healthy to crush on someone that wouldn’t return his affections.
Sighing, he ducked his head and dribbled his ball while waiting for the light to turn. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he looked behind him, searching for whatever source was making him feel that way. There was nothing out of the ordinary...he shrugged and continued toward home.
Later that night, after he showered and got ready for bed, there was a knock at his door. He froze in the process of drying his hair, and stared in the direction of the door. Should he answer it? Or...ignore it? Was it Trowa?
At that, his heart was racing fiercely, and he took inventory of himself, unconsciously unaware that he was doing it. Swallowing hard, he looked at the floor. He couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t home...his lights were on. He chewed nervously at his bottom lip, and was startled when the bell rang. Should he answer it? What if it were Trowa...? And...despite his feelings...would he turn the guy away? He hadn’t been able to, before...
He took several steps back when he realized that he could be taking things out of proportion, and then strode, with some resolve, to answer the door. It wasn’t Trowa–merely Justin, who looked totally smashed. And smelled like it, too.
“Hey,” Justin said, stumbling in, looking rather sleepy. “Can I crash here for the night?”
“Uh...sure...stupid ass,” Quatre then laughed, kicking at his friend. He closed the door, but it stopped halfway, prompting his curiosity. Another guy was there, looking rather timid and embarrassed as he walked in. Quatre blinked in curiosity at him, noting the slight frame, the light hair, the scared expression on his face. “Who are you?”
“Um...my name’s Jay,” he said nervously, and Quatre wondered his age. He shrugged, gesturing for him to come in as well. The name rang a bell somewhere–but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it. He shut and locked the door, turning to see that Justin had completely passed out on the couch. Jay stood nearby, looking obviously lost.
“You’re with him?” Quatre asked. The guy was, in a word, tiny. Probably no bigger than five foot three and ninety pounds, he had hair that nearly hid his eyes, wore thin frame glasses, and was dressed in a simple polo shirt and tight jeans. Quatre wanted to poke his arm to see if there was even any meat packed on that frame of his.
“Um...yes. But...he’s drunk. I made him pull over.”
“Are you even old enough to drive?”
“Uh...I have my learner’s permit...”
Quatre cackled evilly, and walked over to the couch, where Justin had passed out. He kicked the other guy with his heel. “You cradle robber you! Get off your ass and take him back to his mommy!”
Justin uttered a few words that didn’t make any sense, and turned his head the other way. Quatre laughed again and turned to the boy. “Does your mom know you’re out?”
Jay dropped his head, turning red once more. “No...I kind of...snuck out. Um...is it all right if I use your phone?”
“Yeah. Here.”
Jay took his cell, and dialed his number while Quatre walked back to his bedroom, chuckling over this new thing. He dressed in a sleeveless tee and jersey shorts, and walked back out. Jay was shrugging as he hung up the phone. When he saw Quatre, he grew red once more, wiping his hair from his eyes and looking rather helpless.
“I don’t have cab fare to get home,” he confessed. “Is it all right if I sleep out here?”
“Yeah...just as long as your mother doesn’t send in the police,” Quatre joked, checking out his fridge. “Are you seriously with him?”
“Um...yes...is it really that funny?”
Quatre just laughed, thinking of Mr. Ogre. Mr. Ogre would definitely break this toothpick of a boy.
“How old are you, anyway?”
“I just turned fifteen in May...”
Quatre spit out his tomato juice and laughed again. Jay was starting to look irritated as he sat down uncomfortably at the edge of his chair, hands shoved in his pockets.
“I’m sorry...I’m sorry. I just...never knew. Where do you live?”
“Um...Grand Junction...”
“That’s not even far from here!”
Jay shot a nervous look in Justin’s direction, then shrugged. “I don’t want to leave him alone...”
“He’s fine. Dude, we’ve known each other since high school.”
“I kind of figured. He said you would let him crash here.”
“Did he...say anything else?”
“No...um...were you two involved at some point?” Jay then asked suspiciously.
Quatre shook his head and took out something to eat. “Nah. We’re just friends. You want a pillow, or anything?”
“No...I’ll just sleep with him.”
“You guys are...uh...intimate?”
“No.” Jay blushed furiously, hunching his shoulders. Quatre had the thought of, Aw, what a sweet kid, run through his mind, but snickered at the thought of little Jay meeting up with Mr. Ogre. Hell, Mr. Ogre was probably the same size as him.“But I really like him.”
“Fine. Whatever. Just...don’t panic. Take things slow. Don’t take things all at once,” Quatre consoled, then laughed as he shut off the kitchen light and headed back to his bedroom. He shut the door and hoped they didn’t make too much noise. The only person that should be having sex in this apartment was going to be him.
Besides, if Justin made a mess on his couch, the fucker was going to buy it from him. No questions asked. No bullshit taken.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The apartment was empty when he came home after work. It was funny–the quieter the apartment was, the more he realized how often it occurred. Normally, Max appreciated silence, because one couldn’t get away from it all from living deep within the city. Their apartment, the one he shared with Felicia, was located on the corner of Weston and Third, which was just as big as Fifth Avenue in New York...and Rodeo Drive in Los Angeles, and received just as much activity as the streets below.
He hadn’t realized how truly quiet it was when she was away.
Normally, he would come in from school or work, he’d finish off whatever homework he had, fix himself a snack, and watch some tv until Felicia came home. When she did, they made decisions on dinner and did other things. But lately...she either didn’t come home early enough for them to share dinner together, or she didn’t come home at all.
“I’m staying at Yoshida’s,” she’d say tiredly, and hang up before he could ask why. She was doing a lot of overtime at work, and it wasn’t as if she were taking classes...no, she’d agreed on taking two early in the summer, but had dropped those plans, opting to dedicate herself to work. He was seeing less and less of her, and when he did see her, they only ended up arguing and fighting.
He sighed heavily as he sat down at the dining table, the glossy finish of maple reflecting the night lights of the city from the nearby open window. He could hear sirens moving steadily downtown, and the sounds of the street below was audible in a clatter of sound that was comforting. But the apartment in which he lived was so quiet..
He drummed his fingers along the tabletop, glancing at the lotus centerpiece that he didn’t remember buying, and the obscenely clean counters of the kitchen nearby. There was the lingering scent of Felicia’s lotion and perfume, and the fresh, clean smell of lavender, which told him that a candle had been burned recently. The apartment was suddenly too large and useless, and he wondered why they agreed on such a big size.
Eager for some noise in the apartment, he left the table and switched on the holoset. Something on MTV blared, and he turned it down, wincing at 50-Cent and his lyrics, and turned to sit down on the couch. He wanted to talk to her...when did they last have a conversation? He remembered seeing her yesterday, and they talked briefly about each other’s day, but...nothing more. She left for an outing with some friends of hers, and he left shortly after with some friends of his.
They hadn’t yet addressed the troubles in their relationship, and he wasn’t sure how to bring it up without sounding like a nag. He didn’t want to sound like a nag...
Sighing yet again, he slumped his shoulders and sank into the couch. When she came home, they’ll talk.
She came home around eleven, dragging her Prada purse behind her as if it were a sack of trash. He had just finished washing the dishes when he heard the telltale sounds of her heels on the wooden floor. Wiping his hands on a paper towel and disposing of it, he walked into the living room where she was, and silently took in her rumpled Christian Dior three piece and for the fact that she had something in her hair that looked suspiciously like gum.
She gave him a tired expression, and flopped face first into the couch.
“Long day?” he asked quietly, walking over to sit on the armrest. He really had no idea what she did–whenever he asked, she mentioned human relations activities, such as meeting with her uncle’s competitors and performing routine negotiations with various forces. She was training to become part of his security personnel, something that Max didn’t like at all, and put in various hours with gun handling, and common security measures that were similar to that of a police academy. But she also pulled in paper work and various other related bits. It never seemed to make sense, but she knew what she was doing and got irritated when he persisted.
“Yeah,” she sighed into the cushions, kicking off her shoes. “You?”
“Nondescript. You’ve got something in your hair...” he commented, gently disentangling the bright neon wad of gum from her hair. After removing it, he tossed it onto the coffee table, then gently began kneading her back. He noticed her wincing, and removed his hand. “You know, we’ve...got to talk. About...things. About us.”
“Now?”
“Preferably... Felicia, something’s not right between us, and in order to fix things, we need to address the issues that are keeping us apart.”
“It’s simple,” she said, sitting up, frowning at him. “It’s your parents. And for the fact that we ain’t doin’ the same things, anymore.”
Max stared at her, then frowned. “I know my parents are rather...dominating–”
“They’re pricks! And I hate ‘em! Both of them! Especially your mother, who never seems to do anything wrong,” she snarled, rising from the couch and walking into the kitchen.
Max blinked as he sat there. Well, Felicia could be quite blunt, sometimes. At least he could count on her for never beating around the bush. He rose from the armrest and hurried after her.
“I know my mother can be especially trying, Felicia, but...they can’t be the only reasons,” he said, watching as she removed her blazer. “There’s something more to it then just that...”
“Like the fact that I’m cheating on you?”
Max felt like his heart had just stopped, but she turned to give him a frown, drinking out of the juice container.
“As per your words the other day?” she added with a lifted eyebrow.
“I...wasn’t thinking clearly. What would you think if I were gone as much as you are?” he exclaimed, gesturing. “Of course I would come to that conclusion!”
“There isn’t any reason for me to do so!” she snapped, setting the container down. She felt her cheeks warm at that admission, but facing him now, seeing the way his handsome face reflected his confused but somewhat pleased expression, she realized that it was true. She wouldn’t cheat on him.
“Well...that’s good, then...I suppose.”
“Max, let’s get things straight, okay? We’ve got separate things going on, here. Here’s me...” She plucked out yesterday’s roast beef from the fridge, and plopped that onto the counter. She then pulled out a container of potato salad, one of Janice’s creations from a recent eat-over, “and here’s you. Both are relatively different...coming from different families...comin’ from different perspectives...and yet, we come together with a common cause. Cuz we like each other. More than ‘like’...BUT the thing that keeps us apart, is the fact that, kept together for a long time, we tend to rot. Observe the mold.”
Max gave an exasperated expression, and reached out to sweep the two items out of her reach. “That is utterly ridiculous.”
“But it makes sense.”
“It does not!”
“Don’t take that tone with me, mister!”
“DON’T START WITH THE TONES, AGAIN!” he roared in frustration.
She snickered, and proceeded to start making a roast beef sandwich. “Whichever, Maxie, all I’m tryin’ to say is, we should just go our different ways. You can keep the apartment–your mom likes it more.”
“What?” Max asked, staring at her in stunned shock. “You...You want to break up?”
“It’s a comfortable decision. After all, you’ve got parents that don’t like me, an’ I got my own thing goin’ on with my job,” she said, avoiding his stare as she made her sandwich. “I know you’re going to get tired of it all...constantly talkin’ back to Babs–I mean, your mother–as she constantly tears down my person because I ain’t the right color, or the right gal–!”
“I don’t care what she thinks!” Max cried, hitting the counter in frustration. “You can’t base a break-up on this! We’ve got too much to just drop things, now!”
“Aw, stuff it.” She turned to give him a sour look, lifting an eyebrow. “Besides. I have no more feelings for you. I hate comin’ home. I hate havin’ to come home, an’ you ain’t here, or you are here, an’ all we do is fight. I’m tired of it.”
“We fight because we aren’t talking to each other! How can I identify with what you’re doing if you aren’t talking to me?” Max asked, not liking where this was going. He expected another fight, but nothing of this proportion. Surely she was making an awful joke...sure, they had problems, but he didn’t want to break up with her...!
“I do talk to you!” she growled, slapping her sandwich down. She looked a little green, but he didn’t pay too much attention to it as she stepped into his personal space to say, “I do talk to you, but it’s like, you don’t want to hear what I have to say! And, plus, add to it all, you got all jealous since Quat came back.”
“Why is he coming back into the conversation? This has nothing to do with him!” he said in exasperation. He then reached out, holding onto her shoulders, looking into her eyes. He’d grown a little, standing at five feet and nine inches, and it seemed unfair that he was using his height against her. But he just wanted her to look at him, to realize what kind of decision she was making.
“Okay...okay, I’ll admit it, Felicia. I am jealous. I am jealous of him, because he gets your attention all the time. He calls, you’re there. When I call, I get the answering service and an excuse in that you’re not coming home until late. I don’t get the same time as he does. You put your friend first, rather than your boyfriend. All right? I want you to know that. I should have discussed this with you earlier, but I was afraid that I would sound stupid and uncommonly bitchy about it...”
“I don’t see why you would,” she grumbled, looking away from the intent gaze he had her pinned with. “He’s only a friend...I haven’t seen him in such a long time, and...I dunno. Maybe I do put him first. Mainly cuz...I dunno.”
“See? See...but...I...Felicia, I love you. I really do. You make me happy, and you have shown me time and time again that you aren’t like a lot of girls. I like the way you are. I like your attitude, and the way you bully people. I like the way you get a kick out of stupid things, and for the way you’re so protective of the ones you love. I love everything about you, and there hasn’t been a moment when a thought that I should leave you has ever crossed my mind...yeah, I do play around with other people, but I would never push things. If it bothers you, I’ll stop.”
“...doesn’t bother me...”
“But I don’t want to lose you,” he finished, wrapping his arms around her, and pulling her close. He smelled cigarettes, perfume and the musky scent of her own body odor, and inhaled deeply. Nuzzling her hair, he squeezed harder, wanting her to feel what he felt for her. He didn’t want to break up with her, and was truly stunned that she would bring it up.
Uncomfortably, Felicia felt herself relaxing against him, frowning. She couldn’t think clearly.
Damn it...why did she want to break up with him again?
All her thoughts and reasons that she had discussed with Quatre the other day had taken a dive-bomb out the balcony door, and rendered her utterly useless. Damn Max and his comforting smells and arms. Her brain temporarily malfunctioned whenever he pulled this bit on her.
His lips touched her forehead, then found her lips, and she forgot all else, losing herself in his kiss. His hands moved over her back, then to her sides, holding her close. She always forgot her superhuman abilities whenever he touched her, because he had a way of making her forget their differences. When they shifted up to softly knead her breasts, this only increased her forgetfulness, and she lost herself in the action. Sex–no, making love–with Max had always been the best. There were literally hours in which he used to play and pleasure her, and she never had any complaints in that area. She never protested when he was ready for some action, no matter where, what time it was, or if she were tired. Frankly, she wondered if she’d ever find this act as enjoyable with someone else.
When he pulled back from her, he had a slight frown, and she wondered what that face was for.
“You...you’ve got boobs,” he said, in a bewildered tone. He looked down at his hand, which was currently full with mentioned anatomy.
She resisted the urge to slap him, but laughed. “Thanks to Victoria’s Secret, asshole. Thanks for pointing out the obvious.”
“But...you’ve...never mind. That was rude, wasn’t it?”
“It’s the same as sayin’, Wow, you’ve got a dick I can actually feel...”
He stared at her for a few moments, then laughed, kissing her again. “Please don’t break up with me, Felicia Ann. I don’t think I could bear it if you did.”
“Don’t give me that English drama, you half-breed,” she muttered, using her foot to pry him off of her.
“I’m serious, Felicia. I don’t want to part with you. I love you. You know that. I’m sorry for getting angry with you. Now that I know what’s bothering you, I’ll try and fix things. All right?”
“Max, I...” It was so awkward saying things like this, but they felt natural as they fell from her lips, “I’m sorry for being a bitch. I don’t wanna break up either...sometimes...I just get...so stressed out. With work, with things...I...can’t remember why I wanted to.”
“Well, in that case, I know of a few very good stress-relievers that I can use to help you...” Max kissed her again, using his tongue to open her lips. Relinquishing herself once more in the action, Felicia wrapped her arms around his shoulders and enjoyed the action, forgetting everything she was going to say earlier.