Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Post Up...And One! ❯ Hate It Or Love It ( Chapter 11 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Chapter Eleven:
“Hate It Or Love It” The Game and Fifty Cent



Dost removed his sunglasses, exhaling loudly as he leaned back against his seat. Quatre glanced at him from over the clipboard he held in one hand, checking off names that had been entered twice for an upcoming soiree. The alien seemed a little tense lately, and he hadn’t said anything pertaining to such things. Trek looked a little irritated, more so than usual, and seemed constantly tense–as if he were waiting for something to happen.

Sitting next to Quatre was an older man by the name of Thomas. He was Dost’s head personal assistant, and was on the cellphone, talking a mile away in Russian to someone he didn’t know. The limo ride was quite uneventful, and they were headed out to a meeting with some of Dost’s employees at a Italian restaurant. Ever since he’d started his shift this Monday night, it seemed as if the alien’s head was a mile away.

Someone’s cell rang loudly within the confinement of the limo. Dost jerked his head up from the seat, and lightly kicked Thomas’s knee, causing the man to drop his conversation. He was fumbling with another cell phone, and looked at his employer questionably before making a move to answer it.

“Seeing as we’re going out to dinner, make sure that it’s made clear I don’t want any interruptions.”

“Sir.” Thomas turned the cell off, sliding it back into his inside blazer pocket, and continued his discussion with his other cell.

“And you,” Dost continued, using his foot to nudge Quatre’s knee, “any questions or concerns regarding the meeting? I’m sure you’re curious as to why we’re having it.”

“Uh, well...I don’t really know this...um, George Ford. I know that he runs your casino over in Stanton, but other than that...”

“This meeting’s about some embezzling charges. George is also in charge of managing a couple of my brothels in that section. Things are going to get messy–but I assure you, no one will be in danger. Civilians won’t be harmed in our meeting.”

‘Civilians’? Quatre thought with a puzzled frown, pushing his hair from his face. “You make it sound like there’s going to be a shoot-out, or something. Something dangerous.”

Dost gave a tired sigh, rubbing his eyes. “It can get that way, kid. Just...if you hear gunshots, hit the ground. The guys usually never hit those that are on the ground, ‘case they’re civvies...”

At Quatre’s horrified expression, Trek snorted and sent one elbow into Dost’s face. The alien’s head snapped back, and he cursed fluidly.

“He’s just playing with you, kid,” Trek said, flicking his long bangs from his face. “He’s bored. He has nothing else to do, so he’s going to pick on you. Don’t encourage him.”

“Oh...er...all right. I was worried there, for a second,” Quatre said on a nervous laugh, glancing at Dost, then returning to his job.

Rubbing his nose, Dost glared at Trek and kicked Thomas again. The older man cursed, hung up his phone, and gave his employer an irritated expression. “Sir?”

“What’s the deal with Tower Records?” Dost asked. “I’m pretty sure I had it in the bag...”

“I regret to inform you that Merrick landed the deal once more, sir.”

“FUCKING HOMOSEXUAL BASTARD!” Dost howled, hitting the door. “He always one-ups me in that biz...ah, fuck it. How about the one with Johnson & Johnson?”

“I’m sorry, sir. They signed on for four more years with Capricorn...”

“Ah, hell. Still, no matter. I’ve got my greedy lil’ paws on Anderson Meds and Best Buy... no big deal. Hey, has anybody seen the new episode of ‘Meet the Barkers’? Cute show. That Shanna’s pretty hot, isn’t she?”

Trek snorted, shaking his head as he glared out the tinted windows. Quatre had no idea what he was talking about, and Thomas tried to look interested. Dost threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Never mind...c’mon, people! What the fuck? How the hell are we supposed to capture the youth of this planet if we aren’t up to times with their tastes and interests? Does anybody care what kind of pain I’m in, right now? YOU!”

Quatre jolted as Dost pointed at him.

With a pleasant smile, Dost leaned back into his seat, his fingers forming a steeple. “Did you know I own MTV? As well as Nickelodeon? And every other kiddie network currently running in our grand, fine country?”

“Ah...no. I didn’t, sir.”

“Well, I do. Now...being a young person yourself, what do you think of the entertainment field today? Is it keeping your interest in buying new things? Such as clothing, electronics...? What about video games, kid? Do you play them?”

“...Sometimes. Um...regarding entertainment, I really don’t watch tv. And as for clothes? I just wear jeans and a tee...”

“Do you listen to music?”

“Uh...yeah. I do.”

“Which kind? I take it you’re one of those hard-rap people. Y’know?” Dost put his hands to his mouth and began beat-boxing. Trek looked terrorized while Thomas stared at his employer with an expression of shock on his elderly face. “That kind of stuff?”

“Um...no. I...uh, well, I listen to country. I like country music.”

All three adults looked at him in silence, and Quatre felt his face redden slightly. He returned his attention to the clipboard, and Dost reached over, lowering the clipboard.

“You’re serious...?”

“Yes, sir. I’m more particular to Tim McGraw than Garth Brooks...and, uh, I really enjoy Keith Urban...”

“Kid...you’re killing me. You’ve got to be the most boring person I know. Seriously, are you twenty? Or fucking forty-five?”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Thomas muttered, reaching up to fiddle with the streaks of gray in his hair.

“Seriously!” Dost exclaimed, arms out. “What kid listens to country? All this bullshit about, Aw, my dog done runned away, and my girl finally found out I am gay, and here I am, suckin’ on a whiskey bottle, about ready to dump myself into the hay...who in their right, un-depressed sorta mind wants to HEAR that shit? Seriously!”

“It’s not all that way, sir,” Quatre said with a frown, having heard the very same words from Trowa when he found out his music of choice. “It’s certainly more uplifting than finding out how many bitches some guy owns, and what sort of jewelry’s hanging from his neck, and what their bank account says...”

“Whatever you’re talkin’ about, spunky, it ain’t true.”

“And as for metal? Who wants to hear SHIIIIIIITTTTTT, FUUUUCCCKKKK-YYYOOUUU and freaky guitar music played by fugly looking men?”

“Ha, ha...ha.”

“And pop? Pop away, sir, you and those ugly straights with synchronized dance routines.”

“You know kid...I’m about ready to kick you out of my car for being so mouthy.”

Quatre sighed, but Trek laughed. “He’s right, boss. Frankly, American music sucks.”

“OH, don’t get me started on yours, you Chinese pop-tart!” Dost exclaimed, glaring at his bodyguard. He formed a rigid ‘O’ with his lips and let loose with a bunch of high-pitched wails and shouts, mocking Trek’s language. Trek frowned at him, and whacked him across the head.

“As a bodyguard...aren’t you supposed to PROTECTING my body?”

“Sir...we’re almost there,” Thomas said, and Quatre could swear he heard some relief in the elder man’s tone.

At the restaurant, which was a small hole in the wall that had been closed specifically for Dost, Quatre could immediately sense the tension in the air. He was walking behind Thomas, but from what he could see, there was one table set within the center of the restaurant, set with fine dining pieces and appetizers. The waiters were standing nearby, a couple of them looking a little nervous as Dost took his seat opposite an older man with a set frown. That table was occupied by the older man, a younger one, and four other men that were dressed in stiff suits and even stiffer expressions.

Dost’s own entourage, a bunch of men in black that followed in separate vehicles, were taking various places throughout the restaurant, at their own tables. Several seated themselves at the same table, as well as two of Dost’s senior account executives.

Quatre and Thomas took respective chairs outside the table, the blond glancing around nervously as more of Dost’s men took tables near the door, kitchen, and restrooms. It was pretty odd, really–this was the sort of things he expected in movies, not real-life. He found himself hoping for something exciting to happen tonight as he picked up a menu and glanced through it, finding that he did not understand what was written.

As Thomas helped him out, Dost began his meeting. It was nothing more than a discussion over lost funds, and George’s apologies and promises to find out what was happening. Truth to tell, it was so utterly normal and boring.

Over a plateful of filling fettuccine, Quatre listened with one ear to the conversation Thomas was having with a waitress, and another between two of the armed men. There was no one his age to talk to, and he felt uncomfortable with the setting. Sighing, he fiddled with the rest of his food, then reached for his cell phone, checking the messages that had been left. A classmate in his English class had left a message concerning a meeting over a group assignment; Trowa’s voice informed him that he wanted to talk; one from Felicia, demanding to know what he was doing Friday night; one from Justin, demanding to know what he said to Jay; and another from Michael, who informed him that he was bored.

Chuckling over the last message, Quatre fiddled with his phone. He really liked the little guy. In a way, he felt he could identify with him. Hanging out with him felt uncomfortably good, and he made a face, not wanting to delve into that. He saved all the messages, and put his phone down, getting up from the table. He made his way to the bathroom, and used it. While washing his hands, he heard the door open behind him, admitting someone else.

When he realized that this person wasn’t moving from where he was standing, Quatre turned, grabbing paper towels to dry his hands. Standing there was the younger man from George’s table. Up close, he was rather intimidating. Standing high at six foot three, and built in a muscular way, the man was more than a few years older than him, and obviously well-off. The suit he wore was obviously tailored to show off his broad shoulders and chest, as well as the chiseled cuts of his legs. He had dark brown, wavy hair that was highlighted so that it appeared almost reflective. It almost touched the chiseled cuts of his shoulders, and looked somewhat...inviting.
His face was a masculine shape; square-shaped jaw, strong cheekbones, strong brow. He had thick eyebrows that seemed constantly furrowed with a scowl, and deep set eyes that were hooded and droopy, almost sloe-like. His nose would have been straight and almost hawkish, but it had been broken rather violently at one point–as a result, it formed a crooked misalignment at the center of his face. There was something rather unattractive about him, but then again, there was also something rakish about his overall appearance.

Also, Quatre could not ignore the way his entire body seemed to curl inward with the instinct to flee. One could not ignore that sensation.

“Aren’t you a little young to be workin’ for that creature?” the man asked, his Southern drawl deep and almost musical. It was tinged with curiosity and interest.

“I’m...ah, his personal assistant. To...work off my scholarship, I guess,” Quatre answered, throwing away used towels. He started toward the door, but he noticed that the man didn’t move. If he continued forward, he would literally have to push him aside in order to grasp the handle. Hesitating, unsure, Quatre stopped and stared up at him in question.

The man’s dark eyes raked over his form, and Quatre couldn’t help but feel molested. It was a wholly unpleasant feeling.

“What’s your name?”

“Um...Quatre. Winner.”

The man gave an interested tilt of his head. “Ramid’s boy? I didn’t know he had one. Thought all he had was girls.”

“Uh...estranged. We don’t get along very well.”

“Well...that goes it. Many daddies don’t get along with their boys, no matter what the relationship. You go to college, then, huh? Let me guess–NPU. You don’t look like an artist, or a techie.”

“Yeah...I do. I mean, that’s where I go.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, and then traveled slowly over Quatre’s form. The blond felt himself shiver, goosebumps traveling up and down his arms. Before anything else could be said, the door opened, bumping against the man’s arm. He moved out of the way, and Thomas walked in, stiffly.

“Dost would like to see you,” he said to Quatre, frowning at the other man. “Burke...”

“Evenin’, old man.”

Quatre followed Thomas out, casting the other man a wary expression. Thomas reached out, grabbed his arm, and hissed in his ear, “Don’t you EVER get yourself alone with that man again. Don’t provide him with information about yourself, and don’t EVER get yourself into a situation with him. You don’t get involved with that one. Read the newspapers–I can’t say anything here. But do you understand me?”

“Uh...yes sir. Thanks.”

“Just remember that, Winner. Bad things happen to people around that guy.” Thomas let go of him, and walked off to talk with one of the men sitting nearby. Quatre continued back to his table, feeling more than unnerved by what had happened.

The rest of the night happened without anything really interesting. Dost loaded up himself and his entourage, and demanded a stop at a nearby Dairy Queen.

#20#20#20#20#20#20#20

“So...have you talked with Quatre yet?”

The simple question had Trowa startled. He looked up from his spaghetti, across the table at Sylvia. She bit into her garlic bread and gave him a questioning expression.

“A few times,” he admitted with a shrug, pushing around a meatball. She made them too spicy, sometimes.

“Well...? How was he?”

Whoa. Trowa looked up from his plate, staring at her once more. But her face was pointed at the spaghetti, and he knew, just from the icy tone in her words, that she wasn’t talking about general formalities. He blinked, wondering how she knew.

Quietly, he answered, “He’s doing good. Busy with his new job...and school...it’s hard to get a hold of him.”

“It probably is, considering that you’ve seen him a few times, hmm?”

He dropped his fork, licking his lips as he stared at her with an unwavering expression. When she glanced up at him, seeing the expression, she lifted an eyebrow.
“What?”

“What are you implying?” Trowa asked smoothly. If Sylvia was confronting him about it...he was going to lie. Above all else, he was going to lie before admitting the truth. Maybe she’d buy it and leave it at that. He did not want a scene.

“I’m...not implying anything, Trowa,” she denied, giving him a frown. “Why are you getting so hard-up?”

“I’m not. It’s just...your tone...you’re implying something, and it’s really...I don’t know. Shitty.”

“Let’s hear it, Trowa. I know you’ve seen him a couple of times. I know you’re not telling me something,” she said, feeling furious that he was going to lie to her. Even after she’d heard those messages, knowing that something did happen–and he was going to lie about it!

“What, that we barely connected as friends?”

“Did you connect as something else?”

“Sylvia...why is it you’re bitchiest before your period?”

Ten minutes later, Trowa found himself standing on the sidewalk, his dinner plate and meal dripping from his head. A few people walking by snickered, and he gave them an exasperated look as he picked up the car keys from the ground. Along with his wallet, cell phone, and some wet clothing from the washing machine.

Grumbling, he wiped himself off and made his way to their car. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but..it definitely wasn’t going to be here. Sylvia somehow knew about his brief affair with Quatre, and the woman was on a rampage...it was better to find cover rather than brave the storm.

Almost two hours later, he stared at Quatre’s door, shifting from foot to foot. The blond’s car was in the parking lot, and his clothes had left a wet spot against his shirt...he knew Quatre definitely had some hesitation concerning him, but Trowa couldn’t bring himself to go anywhere else. He had other friends and places he knew he could crash–but this...this was the only place he felt driven to.

He lifted his hand, and knocked on the door, working the inside of his cheek. He wondered if Quatre would even let him in.

When the door opened, it wasn’t Quatre that was standing there.

Yoshida stared at him with a sort of indifference, her blue eyes raking in his form, then giving him a dismissive expression. She didn’t bother with opening the door to let him know if he were in there, and she didn’t say anything. Her eyes just stared up at him.

Trowa found himself frowning as she didn’t move, nor speak. He couldn’t hear Quatre anywhere inside, and the more this chick stared at him, the more he felt as if he had to somehow protect his manhood. She felt like she was the type to castrate first and ask questions later.

Finally, he got tired of her silence. “Is Quatre here?” he asked, giving her an annoyed look.

She continued staring at him, then made a lazy glance over her shoulder. “No. He’s not. You’ve got the wrong apartment.”

Trowa looked at the name and number beside the door, and lifted his eyebrow. “This is his apartment.”

“You’re on crack. Because it isn’t.”

“Listen, whoever you are, I just need to talk to him. Can you get him, please?”

“I’m not a maid. I don’t do answering services.”

Trowa stared at her, growing slowly angry as her eyes settled onto his, her thin frame refusing any sort of admittance into the apartment. She clutched the doorknob, flicking her fire-engine red hair from her face before she cracked a slight half smile.

“You know...before she found out....? She was going to blame him for your infidelity,” she informed him, her teeth snapping shut with a smile. “She was going to confront him. But all the time...it was you. You bad boy, you. I think you need to be spanked.”

Trowa looked at her, all words leaving him, wondering if this character was real. Yoshida stared at him with a sense of satisfaction, one shoulder dropping as she rested her hand on her hip. Before he could ask what the hell she was doing, he heard voices in the apartment, and he leaned over to look over the woman’s head, but she moved with him, standing on her tiptoes, grinning.

The door was jerked open, and Felicia and Quatre stared at Trowa with a sort of surprised silence. Felicia frowned at him, then looked at Yoshida. Trowa stepped aside, noticing that the girl was dressed in a crisp two piece, looking somewhat professional. Yoshida was dressed as if she’d just stepped out of a nearby brothel, with ripped panty hose, a mini skirt that barely covered what it was supposed to, a camisole that revealed a bony chest and pert nipples, and high heels that looked impossible to walk in.

“Thanks, Q!” Felicia called over her shoulder as she walked out from the apartment, Yoshida following after her with a low giggle and a whisper. Felicia whipped her head around to look back at Trowa, but Yoshida gripped her hair with one hand and yanked at her.

Both girls were arguing as they made their way to a rather flashy Mercedes that was doubled parked nearby. Trowa looked back at Quatre, who was giving him an uncertain expression. Then his eyes fell onto his wet clothes, and he blinked in question.

“I...was kicked out for the night,” Trowa explained quietly. “Can...can I talk to you?”

“Trowa...I don’t know...”

“I promise, Quat, that I won’t do anything. I won’t...I won’t force you to do something you don’t want to. I’m sorry.”

Quatre stared at him with a slight frown, but shrugged a shoulder, admitting him in. Trowa walked in, and softly closed the door behind him.

Trowa looked around the apartment, smelling Windex and Comet, and frowned. He couldn’t imagine Quatre cleaning. He set his wet clothes onto the kitchen counter, Quatre looking awkward as he shifted from foot to foot. He looked at Trowa with a slightly curious expression, still decked out in his work uniform. Trowa had the urge to reach out, grip that blue tie of his, and pull him against him for some more re-acquainting. But he restrained himself, forcing himself to look at his cell. Sylvia had called at least four times, letting him know that she was checking up on him.

He had to shake his head. First, she dumps his plate onto his head, kicks him out of their home, and throws out what clothing was being washed–and she tries to call him? Females were so finicky. At least, being with a male (re: Quatre), he knew where he stood.

He looked at the blond, who was taking a slow seat on his chair nearby, his eyes not leaving his. Trowa stared back, unsure of what to say or do.

He ducked his head briefly, swallowing, then set his phone aside.

“It was a small fight,” he explained of himself. “Females. They get so irritated at the stupidest things. Especially when they’re bleeding all over you.”

Quatre made a face. “Ugh.”

“Yeah. So...I...didn’t know where to go.”

“Your boss...”

“At some festival in San Francisco. And...well, as for the others–? I’m trying to stay clean. Being around them doesn’t help very much.” Trowa shrugged. “I just..I guess, I had to just come out here. Y’know?”

“Did you have dinner?”

“I’m still wearing mine, thanks.”

“...She kicked your ass?”

“And shoved me out the door. Yeah. My shirt still has the stains,” Trowa murmured, lifting up the collar and peering at it thoughtfully. “Spaghetti...”

“What’d she get mad about?”

Trowa shrugged, dropping his shirt. Uncomfortably, he leaned against the kitchen counter. “I don’t know. She’s...been in a jealous mood since you’ve arrived.”

Quatre shifted uncomfortably as he dropped his head. His face burned at the thought of what had transpired between them as he stared at the floor. “Well...perhaps she has the right to...”

“She doesn’t know, Quat.”

“Did you even tell her?”

“Why would I tell her?” Trowa asked him incredulously.

“Because it would be right,” Quatre snapped back. “What happened–! It shouldn’t have! We were wrong, Trowa, to do that sort of thing.”

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.”

“Jesus!” Quatre exclaimed, rising from his chair. “Listen to yourself! This is what got you into trouble, Trowa! Do you even feel guilty for what you did to her?”

Trowa stared at him silently, unable to take his eyes from the blond. He shook his head, never taking his eyes from Quatre. “No. I don’t.”

Incredulously, Quatre stared back. Trowa continued with, “I don’t regret what I did with you. But I regret that it made you feel bad.”

Quatre shook his head silently, stepping back. “You’re...you’re fucked up, Trowa. Definitely. That’s just... that’s just wrong. I...Trowa...I feel like I don’t know you anymore...”

“You don’t. It’s the same, here. We grew up, Quatre. We’re not in high school, anymore. We...have different lives...different perspectives... things are just...different. Once upon a time, I guess I would have felt guilty. I did...I did with you. But with her...maybe I didn’t love her the way that I thought I did, if this was easy to do. It’s just...Quatre...I’ve been chasing you since you came to New Park City. You were my obsession from the moment I saw you.”

“You’re so fucking psycho...”

“Just listen to me, all right? Yes, I did fuck things up our junior year! I still feel fucking bad for what I did–!”

“That was HIGH school!”

“But it tore US apart, Quatre! There have been so many days in which I just...where I just need you again. And...and I thought I was over it. But...there is a part of me that refuses to let you go. I can’t really let you go. I can put my feelings aside, ignore them for someone else, but I can’t...I can’t let you go. I have this...lingering attachment to you, Quatre. Something that just CAN’T let go. I don’t know how.”

“That’s just...Trowa...that’s just creepy obsession,” Quatre muttered, rubbing his arms.

“I’m sorry if I feel this way about you, Quatre. But...people can’t really forget their first loves. And you were my first,” Trowa said quietly, staring at him intently.
“But...we moved on. You moved on! You never–! Trowa, you treated me like crap–!”

“And you treated me like gold? Fuck that! You treated me just the same! All you did was take!”

“You did too!”

“And do I have to remind you of the abuse?”

“YOU LIKED IT! YOU NEVER COMPLAINED!”

“Yeah,” Trowa chuckled, grinning at the memories, “I did. It was just a big turn-on to see you all riled up. You showed that very same passion in bed.”

“Shut up, Trowa.”

“Quatre...please...don’t look at me that way,” Trowa said quietly, taking in the current expression that was being tossed his way. One that told him what Quatre was feeling about him–something that wasn’t good. “I’m telling you now what I feel.”

“I didn’t want to hear it! I didn’t ask...”

“No. And I don’t think you would have. I can’t...I can’t be the same person I was when we met, Quatre.”

“Thank God...”

“...But I...can only offer myself as I am right now.”

Quatre snapped his head up with a start, staring at him with confused eyes. Trowa shrugged, hands slapping onto his thighs, his eyes never leaving Quatre’s. The silence was uncomfortable as Quatre shifted from foot to foot.

“...What?”

“I...I want to be with you again, Quat. Ever since you came back, I just can’t...allow myself to move on without some sort of...I don’t know.”

“I...I can’t believe this. You...you want to...?”

“Quatre,” Trowa started, moving over to him. His hands settled on Quatre’s shoulders, and he focused on the confused blue/green combination that was focused on him. “I still have feelings for you. More than what I should. I just...I can’t be with someone else knowing that I do. And after making love with you, I can’t–!”

“It wasn’t that! Trowa, we had SEX, and nothing else,” Quatre snapped, pushing his hands off his shoulders. “I can’t believe you’re doing this! You’re psycho! Why do you have to be this way?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know why! I just...I want to be close to you. I don’t want you...being with anybody else. I don’t...” Trowa shrugged again, helplessly.

“Why are you like this?”

“I don’t...”

“Why?!”

“I...I don’t know,” Trowa then confessed, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know. Just...knowing that you could be taken by someone else...I...”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Quatre cried, hands reaching up to swipe his hair from his face. “I don’t have anybody!”

“No...but...who could refuse you if you wanted him? I don’t think anybody would refuse you, Quatre. And I...I just feel that if you’re with this person...he won’t let you go. I’ll never have this chance again.”

“You don’t have any chances,” Quatre said on a weary breath, sinking to his knees. Trowa’s words were pulling him down, leaving his brain spinning at the complexity of his words and wants.

Trowa knelt before him, resting his hands on his knees. They then buried themselves into the bright strands of Quatre’s hair, sweeping his bangs from his face, curling over his ears. All his touches were caresses, and he noticed, with some sliver of hope, that Quatre didn’t pull away or push him away. “I’m sorry, Quatre. I’m sorry I feel this way for you. I can’t stop it. I can’t–!”

“Just...STOP. Stop it! You...this is ridiculous. This is...so totally stupid–!”

“I may have stupid feelings, Quatre, but they are my feelings! And they’re tearing me apart! I can’t live this way anymore, knowing that I still feel for you, but I’m living with someone else–!”

“Then break up with her!” Quatre roared, tossing his hands away from him.

“It isn’t that simple!”

“STOP BEING SO DAMN CREEPY!”

“Quatre, listen to me,” Trowa then growled, reaching forward, trapping the blond’s face in between his hands. Quatre started to struggle, but stiffened when Trowa applied a nearly painful force to his face, keeping him in place. ‘If you feel nothing for me, absolutely nothing at all–then say it now. Say it now, and –and–I can...I can move on.”

“Trowa...this is...”

“Say it! Say you feel nothing for me!”

“I...you’re my friend, Trowa...a creepy one at that, but–”

“But you can’t move on, either, can you?” Trowa realized, blinking.

“NO! I mean, I can–I have! I just–you’re pulling something really ultra psychotic, and I can’t help but see you as that Glenn Close lady–!” Quatre whimpered.

“Then say it to me, Quatre. Tell me you’ve moved on!”

“You know I have!” Quatre shouted, but his words were muffled as Trowa pressed his lips against his, kissing him forcefully.

Quatre pulled his head back, only to have Trowa pull him forward once more, kissing him with an almost savage force. Keeping his mouth shut, wiggling his head from side to side, Quatre fell back, struggling to either kick or punch at him.

He managed to pull his mouth from the insistent goth, breathing heavily as he felt Trowa’s lips move onto his neck. His body was reacting to this familiar texture and sensation, and he was trying to remember why he thought Trowa was psychotic–but his brain wasn’t working!

When he found himself relaxing, giving in to the insistent demands, he heard himself give a sound of despair, trying hard to remember why he shouldn’t be doing this. His fingers curled through Trowa’s hair, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away. Instead of removing them at this realization, he encouraged the goth rather than discouraging him. This strange situation had him thrown completely off-balance, his face screwing up with defeat as he felt Trowa’s hands at his belt, undoing it with a quick satisfaction.

His hormones, damn them, were rapidly taking over as he felt his slacks being opened, the scratch of his zipper slicing through the silence of his apartment.

Suddenly, a sound at the door jolted them both, rendering them paralyzed as a knock was then administered. Catching his breath, Quatre looked over at the door, then up at Trowa, who looked at him with a frown.

Senses returning, Quatre used his knee to kick Trowa off of him, quickly re-buttoning his pants and zipping up. He adjusted his shirt so that it was untucked, hiding the evidence, and glanced over his shoulder at Trowa, who looked pissed that they were interrupted. He signaled at the other guy to straighten his clothes, then unlocked the door.

Jake looked at him with a questioning expression, then a curious frown as he then looked over his shoulder at Trowa. There was an uncomfortable silence between them all as Quatre felt his face flame with both shame and guilt, just knowing that Jake knew what was going on a few moments ago. The older male walked in, looking at Trowa with a calculating stare as Quatre hunched his shoulders, unable to face either of them. He felt like one of those women caught in a love triangle on tv. It was ridiculous. He shut the door, his fingers clutching the knob tightly.

“So,” Jake began, looking back at him after giving Trowa a dismissive glance, “I was going to go out Sunday. I get off at six to pick Mike up at seven. Is it all right if you’re there by eight?”

“Um...yeah,” Quatre said, aware that his voice was shaking. He cleared his throat, unable to meet anyone’s eyes.

Jake frowned at him, then looked at Trowa again. Deliberately, he took in the black pants, the black shirt, and for the fact that his hair was rumpled. At Trowa’s somewhat angry expression, it was very clear as to what was going on before he came in.

He felt an odd satisfaction at interrupting something. He looked at his watch, noting the time.

“Uh...will I be staying the night?” Quatre asked, desperate for the older male to stay, to keep him from making another mistake.

“I shouldn’t be out that long. But you can, if you want,” Jake added, glancing at Trowa once more. His expression took on something smug, and Trowa scowled at him. “Aren’t you a little old to be dressing that way?”

“I see you work at a garage...all that grease fits your personality,” Trowa shot back.

“You want to go that route? Fine, let’s go that route, you–”

“Man! Is it way past my bedtime!” Quatre shouted, looking at his watch deliberately, opening the door. “Jake, I’ll meet you at eight at your apartment–”

“I’m surprised you still have your child. Obviously, you aren’t do a very good job parenting if you’re out all hours at night.”

“What occurs in my personal business is none of your business, freak.”

“So you decide to molest guys that are barely older than your son? What would social services say about that interesting tidbit? I’m sure the state of California forbids any homosexuals adopting children or approving civil unions involving children.”

“If you’re implying what I think you’re implying, you’d better be ready to back your words up,” Jake snarled back.

Quatre noted, with some horrified mortification, that the two were inching closer to each other, and the tension level had risen several degrees. He slammed the door shut and pushed himself between them both, but neither was budging.

“This is ridiculous!” he shouted, pushing on Trowa, then on Jake. He ended up pushing them apart slightly, but they merely took steps back toward each other. “Knock it off! You two are acting fucking stupid! Grow up!”

“Why don’t you just go back home to Shitsville and stay out of our business?”

“Guys! C’mon–!”

“If you thought, for one moment, that I’d back down from your freakish ways, then you’re wrong, you crack-whore. You wanna talk shit? You just keep talking and find out what happens...”

“Stop it! Fucking stop it!”

“You’re all talk and no action. That’s why you’re single with a kid that keeps getting shuttled from place to place–”

Quatre gave a startled yelp as Trowa’s face snapped back from Jake’s fist, and he found himself tumbling to the floor when Trowa retaliated with a savage kick to Jake’s shin. Both guys began wailing on each other, and things went crashing to the floor.

“This is so FUCKING GAY!” Quatre shrieked, hands flying to his hair. “STOP! KNOCK IT OFF! Stop killing each other!”

Giving a startled yelp as George went flying, Quatre dove after his precious spider plant, barely catching it before horrid impact onto the floor. Glancing over his shoulder with an annoyed and seriously humiliated huff, he saw that Trowa was using his lamp to slam over Jake’s head, and the older male was connecting another fist into the goth’s gut.

Quatre, face burning, grabbed his keys and wallet, and hurriedly left the apartment, hearing the sounds of the fight inside. He raced to his car with George, climbed in, and sped out from the complex, gripping the wheel with a humiliated burn on his face.