Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ 3 Libras ( Chapter 3 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
FREE PORN! And one should always know that older ladies have different intentions...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.5K | Visits: 233 | Status: Completed
FREE PORN! And one should always know that older ladies have different intentions...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 7.5K | Visits: 233 | Status: Completed
Chapter Three~
“3 Libras” Perfect Circle
”Do you love him?”
“Yes, I really love him,” Trowa answered Amelie’s question. The restaurant was rather intimate, with small tables and delicate settings, the place lit only by thousands of candles, the music created by the soft strings of various instruments set up in the far corner. Their dinner was served on large, delicate porcelain plates, and the single red rose in the center of the table bloomed frailly. He felt a little uncomfortable with the settings, being as they were. It was a big kick in the ass what he was venturing into, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He and Amelie had met up several times before he finally decided to talk to the woman. The woman was a little more persistent than Middie, through. But she definitely wasn’t a teenager, and she wasn’t trying to jump down his throat, or his pants for that matter. She was actually listening to him, asking him questions, helping him solve questions he himself couldn’t answer. The woman was highly more experienced with such matters, and he really was appreciative of it.
Catherine had found herself a Spanish snag, and had left him alone for the last few days while she went backpacking across Spain. Trowa had elected to stay at the hotel because he wasn’t quite ready to venture out in that manner, and simply, Amelie intrigued him. He didn’t feel threatened by her, nor at times, did he feel molested, as he would with anyone else.
The woman did let him know that she was very much interested in him with her lingering stares and somewhat obvious manner whenever she touched him, but...the older woman allure, doubled by the fact that he was feeling somewhat insecure the more she questioned his relationship with Quatre, had him eliminating his cautious side and allowed himself to be pulled along with the woman’s intrigue.
Amelie stared at him from over her wine glass, swirling the liquid languorously within the flute. She was dressed in a simple black strapless dress, her shoulders finely dusted with some sort of shimmer, her clavicle delicate and pronounced. She wore a thin gold necklace that caught the glitter of the candlelight, catching his attention whenever he looked in her direction. She was pretty in the candlelight, but he knew that once he ventured out into the daylight with her, he would see the fine lines at her eyes, the small sag in the corners of her mouth. She wore minimal makeup, and looked so...well, confident of herself that she came off more beautiful than she actually was.
“I mean, he’s...well, he makes me feel good, and then there are times that he just...well...I don’t know. He’s selfish at times, and he always expects to be...well, he wants to take and never gives. But–”
“Then how is this relationship benefitting you?” Amelie asked, blinking serious brown eyes. She paused to give him time to reflect as she picked apart her fish dinner. “From what it sounds, it’s merely benefitting him. How does this make you feel good?”
“I–I don’t know. I like taking care of him, I suppose. I like it when he takes charge. I like it when he makes me feel...like I’m supposed to be doing something.” At this, Trowa frowned, reaching out to pick up his own glass of wine, staring at the half-eaten food before him. “I really enjoy being with him. He makes me laugh. And he makes me feel wanted.”
“What do you think he would say of you?”
“I...I don’t know. I know he loves me. He’s...he’s very expressive of that, verbally and physically. I mean, he may be a little selfish, but...he’s always there.”
Amelie chuckled slightly, wiping her mouth with the corner of her napkin. “He sounds like a really nice kid.”
“Yeah.”
“Does he identify with what you think? For example, do you have the same opinions? Same interests?”
“I...well, sort of. He’s really into basketball.” Trowa shrugged. “I’m not too into sports.”
“An artist...”
“Yes. Um...we had this debate earlier this year in one of our classes, and I found out that he’s Pro-Life, and I’m Pro-Choice...actually, sometimes we don’t agree on some of those things. I mean...but it doesn’t really make much of a difference. We still get along on other levels, so...”
“How long have you two been together?”
“Since the end of September...”
“Do you celebrate anniversaries?”
Trowa snorted, shaking his head. “No. He thinks that’s a girl’s thing. And I really don’t care.”
Amelia smiled, flute to her lips. After taking a measured sip, she set the glass down and fiddled with the fish before her. “It would seem, that no matter the couple, that some dates would be important...”
“Well, I figured we’d do something...I don’t know. Special or something when the year came up, but I don’t know.”
“Do you see yourself with him after high school?”
“Yeah. I mean, I would like to be. I was thinking of...well, marrying him. I mean, it’s legal there in America, now...”
Amelie nodded, pushing brown tendrils from her face. “That’s really beautiful, Trowa. To know someone as young as you would foresee such romance beyond the boundaries of high school.”
Trowa shrugged a shoulder, picking at the remnants of his spaghetti. “Well...I don’t know. I mean, I really do see myself with him after then, but...I figure it’s unrealistic. I mean, this is high school. And things don’t last that long. I know no one that’s married their high school sweetheart, you know? But...I really think we can change things.”
“May I give my opinion on this matter?”
Trowa nodded, setting his fork aside. Amelia cleared her throat, her hands in her lap as she leaned slightly forward. Her voice was low, melodic, and it didn’t carry the allure of a sexy-siren–rather, she spoke true and cautious, as if trying to lower herself to his level. He’d found out that she was forty-one–she let him know straight on, with a laugh. Even though it was kind of weird, him being eighteen and in the company of the older woman, it was really flattering. To think that a woman would figure him mature enough to hang out in her company.
“I think that the both of you are much too young to think that you are in love,” Amelie began gently. “Rather, this relationship of yours may be a case of...infatuation. You are fascinated by him because his personality is so much different than yours. He makes you happy because he expresses himself in ways you cannot. You want to take care of him because he seems clumsy and awkward, almost helpless. You want someone to feel that you are competent enough to carry your own values and traditions without losing faith of yourself in a country that screams for diversity and attention. You don’t want to get sucked up into the usual complications of American High School, and have found someone to... ‘save’ without having to lose yourself. I think that perhaps, before the both of you are burned, you should...experiment.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but it’s not like that–”
“Please, may I continue?”
“Uh...okay.”
“High schoolers tend to romanticize what they have as something bigger than anybody else could ever hope to have. Your relationship is no different. You’re both children, Trowa, trying your shoes out in something bigger than anybody could ever hope to understand. Your feelings are legitimate and pure, and what trouble you both had gone through to be together, what frustrations and what strengths you’ve overcome and discovered, are absolutely real. But don’t you think you’re taking this situation on a far higher level than you yourself can ever hope to carry on through the tougher world of adulthood? There are many married couples out there that feel that they are in love with both each other and their marriage, but the thing is, they’ve had more experience. They’ve had more practice. They understood what their relationship and their marriage means. You’re high schoolers. You’re young. Inexperienced. Why take yourselves out of the game in chance and life, foregoing all that one must explore before becoming an adult?
“Learn yourself before committing to another. You’re not going to stay in New Park forever, are you?”
Trowa blinked, then shrugged, her words striking a cord within him. In self-conscious realization, he leaned forward on the table with an elbow, reaching up to fiddle with his hair with his other hand.
“Realize that high school love isn’t the same as real world love. It’s far different. Once you both leave high school, things will change! College...living on your own...jobs...career focus...everything is different once you leave the comforting grounds of your high school.” Amelie leaned back in her chair, and reached out with one delicate hand, placing it over Trowa’s as it rested near his dinner plate. He felt his skin jump at contact, but the comforting warmth of her hand was very soothing. It was soft and gentle, stroking his knuckles with an almost motherly gesture. He clung to that small gesture, receiving words from a stranger rather than a mother. In a way, she was like a mother–listening, giving advice, being there for him. Catherine tried, but it wasn’t the same–she was just his sister. She couldn’t provide that warmth and love one could expect from their mother. And he felt himself slipping into dangerous territory without second thought as she clenched his fingers within hers, her lips curling into a friendly smile.
“Think about that. Take this vacation to think over your priorities and your values, your future. Do you want to stay at the side of someone who makes you feel happy, but doesn’t grow as you do? Think about it, Trowa Barton.”
She let go of his hand, and resumed eating, and he thought about it as he leaned back in his chair, hands moving away from the table, the scent of her skin and perfume lingering on his knuckles.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“...and it was really boring. I hate going through everyday, not doing a thing, and–oh, guess what? I got an ‘A’ in my science mid-term,” Quatre was saying, his voice a little deeper than it was when Trowa left, the sounds in the other end telling Trowa that the boy was absently dribbling a basketball. The continuous sounds of the ball meeting the pavement was a sort of soothing sound, reminding him of what he was missing while he vacationed here in Spain. Trowa was sitting in his hotel bed, flipping through the late night flicks of Spanish drama and sports shows, and he was thinking about Amelie’s words while talking to his lover.
“What about your other classes?” Trowa asked, frowning as he paused on a futbol match.
“Oh? They’re all right. I don’t have anything lower than a ‘B’...”
“See? I knew if all obstacles were eliminated, you would do good.”
“Yeah, I know, but...it’s so fucking boring. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“All the time?”
Trowa rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. “Even while I’m taking a dump.”
“Ooh. You know I miss sitting in on that.”
“Fucking sicko.”
“Don’t I know it? Oh, it’s really hot out here...I’m burning up. Yesterday was over a hundred degrees...”
“No way! It’s never gotten that hot while I lived there!” Trowa said, pushing his hair out of his face, tucking the bunch behind his left ear.
“I hate this fuckin’ weather...one minute, it’s cold. The next it’s hot. At least in Wyoming it was consistent!”
“Consistently cold...”
“But consistent...”
Trowa chuckled, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “You know what? Catherine’s not here. She’s somewhere on the coast with some guy she met. She totally abandoned me.”
“I could have been there, Trowa, and we could have been doing it right now.”
“Yeah, but I doubt I would have seen Catherine at all. She totally hates you.”
“Tell me about it. What is it that makes chicks hate me?! I don’t even do anything to them! They get all pissy because they’re the weaker sex...”
Trowa laughed, folding his hand behind his head. “God, you’re just asking for a feminist group to come over and kick your stupid ass...”
“Hey, say something to me in Spanish! Something nasty.”
“Are you masturbating?”
“NO! In public?! Gross...which reminds me, I went to the mall the other day? And there was this guy running through the parking lot, flashing everyone. It was funny, because when he flashed me, I kicked him in the nuts. Dude, he had a huge motherfuckin’ ring at the tip. It was absolutely...disgusting...”
“Great. Totally ruin my surprise,” Trowa said on a sigh, rolling back onto his stomach, feet in the air.
“Ew...did you really?”
“NO!”
“Oh. Ha! Ha! You’re real funny, Trowa. I miss you so much, it’s not even funny. I’m so totally bored...have to keep my hands to myself...unable to molest anybody...”
“You better not,” Trowa warned, studying his fingernails. He’d stopped painting them awhile back, when he stopped being a goth. He’d gotten rid of his all black wardrobe and replaced his Dickies with Anchor Blue. His shirts were casual, blank tees, his jeans blue, and for decoration, he wore only his cuff watch and Quatre’s wrist guards, because the blond still hadn’t noticed that Trowa snatched them whenever he was in his room. Since he lost that eyeliner and all black, red or white manner, he’d noticed that a lot more people approached him and took him more seriously. It wasn’t that he’d planned such a change–just that it had shown up unexpectedly, without warning. Just as well.
“I won’t, Trowa. Only you. When you get back, let’s rent a motel room and have sex all damn day.”
“Quat, I doubt it. You have to be...wow. I’m eighteen, aren’t I?”
“Trowa! You know you are!”
“Where’s my birthday song, bitch?”
“I’m not singing to you. I plan on giving you something when you get back...”
“A hummer?”
“Mmm...no. Stop distracting me. I don’t know why you wanted to do this to us, Trowa. I hate abstinence.”
“Then rent a hooker. A clean one. And you’d better make sure that he’s a dead ringer for me, Goddamn it. If I hear you got with a hooker that didn’t have my looks, I’ll fucking kick your stupid ass.”
“That’s so nasty, man. Don’t ever bring that up again. Oh. Hey, school’s starting. I’d better go.”
“I love you.”
“Ditto.”
“You’re such a romantic, Quat.”
“And you love it! Bye, Trowa.”
Trowa hung up with a sigh, folding his arms before him and resting his head within. He hated that moment, when he knew he had to hang up on Quatre. That momentary spell of romance and intense love for the other was broken by the clean smell of the hotel room, the fact that he was here all alone. He stared at the tv for several moments, then picked up the remote and turned it off. It was nearly twelve, and he knew he didn’t have to do anything tomorrow. He planned on heading back out to Zaragoza, to check out his parents’ home when they were younger, but the idea wasn’t as appealing anymore.
He missed Quatre, and he hated that Amelie had made him rethink their relationship. In a way, she was right. He was far too young and inexperienced for the kind of love he’d imagined having with Quat once they graduated. He was far too young to be with someone when he should be out, exploring his options. He knew what he wanted–and right now, Quat was all that he knew. But...should he do this? Should this continue?
And, in another way, Amelie struck him as the type of person that he would like to be with. Strong, experienced, capable of handling matters in ways that he couldn’t...but that was only because she was so... well, intriguing. He really couldn’t stop thinking about her. She knew what she wanted, what to look for, and how to go about getting it. So why the interest in him? He knew he was a very attractive guy–the stares from various men and women let him know that they really liked what they saw. He was a little self-conscious about it, through. Having all those eyes on you, molesting you, feeling your body touched in ways that it shouldn’t be...and it made him feel guilty when he thought about what Amelie must think when she stared at him in that way. Guilty because he felt that he would like it. He’d never messed around with a female, before, and he was equally attracted to them as well as males. It wasn’t as if he weren’t satisfied with Quatre–no, that aspect of their relationship was very good and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
Sure, they were young, and their only experience was with each other (whatever Quatre did with his best friend DID NOT count in Trowa’s book), but they knew what the other liked and weren’t afraid to let the other know what they wanted. Trowa was very content in that aspect, but Amelie...
Amelie made him wonder what else was out there. What else he could experience, what else he could learn.
Granted, he was in another country, where Quatre would never know what happened unless Trowa himself let him know. And if he did agree to something on Amelie’s part, he definitely would feel guilty and a little dirty...but it was so interesting to know what could happen! And he couldn’t let this chance slide by! He was young. And Quatre wouldn’t know–
He shook his head furiously, rising from the bed to venture into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Listen to him...trying to argue with himself to have some European fun while he was far away from the love of his life. But...the allure of trying something entirely new, something entirely different, and getting away with it simply because he could was strong. He was male. Males were interested in such things and regretted missing the chance when they got it. While he definitely loved Quatre, he didn’t want to be bogged down with that nagging question of, ‘What if?’
With that lingering thought in mind, he finished brushing his teeth and went to bed.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre stared absently at the growing crowd before him. Everyone was piling into the humongous living room of some girl’s mansion, and it appeared that more people were trying to fit themselves into the quickly shrinking space. Justin muttered under his breath as his beer was spilt by someone’s thrown elbow, and Quatre growled when droplets hit his face. Wiping away the moisture, he watched as several girls were hoisted onto various guy’s shoulders, and the band continued to play, rocking to their own tunes in a space set up with the usual instruments required for rock. He took in the sight of the bass player, the guitar that was being manipulated with skillful fingers, the lackluster drummer, the singer that had a great pair of lungs but stupid lyrics, and the kid that played DJ on the computer system that was hastily set up in the back corner of the group, mixing in cheery beats and background noises that would accompany the song.
The pair were sitting on a hall table that they’d pulled from the foyer, and were sitting close enough to brush against each other whenever one moved. It was kind of odd, to be with another person in this way when he was only this close to Trowa, but the feeling that it was wrong and the feeling that it was nice at the same time kept him from completely removing himself from the situation.
“These guys suck!” Justin announced, several others agreeing.
It was nearly two weeks after the two boys decided on a casual friendship, and a week after Quatre had talked to Trowa. The summer was slowly easing into a trickle towards fall, and Quatre had found himself out nearly every weekend, partying at every party Drake or Felicia found. Which was nearly six parties a day in the weekend. New Park and its surrounding suburbia was huge, and the parties were endless. His grades were still up, so no one had anything to complain about. As well, the school’s security was lax since there wasn’t that many students left, and he’d merely explained that he was spending the night at a trusted friend’s house, and after some computer voice magic, Drake had convinced the admin that Quatre was safe with said family. And thus, his worries about making ten o’clock curfew were abolished.
All throughout the last two weeks, Quatre found himself hanging out more and more with Travis Justin Sharp, the boy from Sageville. Justin was actually quite enjoyable, and his confrontational manner more than made up for Quatre’s own. The two were actually quite reckless, and it was almost hanging out with another version of himself. Even Drake had commented that it was rather eerie, but because the Seminole felt a little odd around homosexuals, stayed away from them. Felicia, though, instigated things between them, and Quatre couldn’t help but feel the girl was trying to get them together.
In a way, he did feel attracted to Justin. The boy was fun to hang out with, he was rather cute when Quatre looked twice, and he did have a way of making Quatre feel...experienced. Today, Justin was wearing a pair of camouflage cargo shorts and a plain white tee, offsetting his natural tan and the cuts of his clothing revealing muscles of both arms and legs. It helped that he smelled really good, too. Of a cologne that Quatre couldn’t quite place, but liked because of its similarity to Trowa’s own Eternity.
Felicia and Drake were preparing to set up their own band after this one was finished, and that must have been the reason why more and more people were trying to cram themselves into every available inch this mansion had surrounding the living room. The stairways were crowded, the halls, the kitchen, the den nearby–everywhere. Quatre wondered what the big hype was–he never knew the two were capable of handling instruments, and he couldn’t imagine them having any sort of talent. That would just be too freaky. Go was even part of that, and that made it even more unbelievable. The guy couldn’t concentrate on a sentence, let alone play or do something in a band.
“So, how good are these guys?!” Justin had to shout over the noise of the band.
Quatre shrugged. “I dunno! I never knew they played!”
“I think they’re just bullshittin’ you and ditched you, man,” Justin said, nudging him with an elbow.
“No way! I’ll kick their ass!”
“Whatever. That girl would slam you before you even tried anything. She’s so fuckin’ manly! Hey, is she lez?”
“I really don’t know! I’ve honestly never seen her with anybody! She had a boyfriend when I first moved here, but I never saw them together!” Quatre shouted back. “She probably is!”
“That’s cool. Nothing wrong with lesbians...”
Quatre chuckled, shrugging, unsure if he felt the same way.
The band finally finished the song, and the members began leaving the ‘stage’. Drake and the others emerged from within the crowd, and as he took the mic, three others joined them on their stage, one of the boys pulling on a strap that held marching drums in front of him. Quatre raised an eyebrow as Justin wondered aloud if they were going to hear something from a pep rally. The other boy, who looked like a freshman, rolled an empty keg near the drums, of which Felicia was climbing into. He rolled his eyes. Figures she’d be so butch...The other boy pulled on the bass, looking entirely cocky as he handled the instrument.
Drake cleared his throat as shouts were thrown his way. Tonight he was wearing a Jimi Hendrex ring shirt and his usual baggy jeans, a smoking cig in one hand.
“How are ya’ll doin’ tonight?!” he bellowed, the crowd cheering their response.
“They better be good,” Justin muttered, leaning back against the wall as Quatre yawned, wondering where else they were going tonight.
He watched as Go slid and adjusted the guitar over his lanky frame, strumming a light ditty with just the tips of his nails. The other boy on the bass quickly strummed another ditty that coincided with Go’s, the brief warm-up interrupted when Felicia experimented with the drum settings, Marching Boy yawning. Drake looked back at them, swinging the mic lazily within one hand as he took a quick inhale of his cig, then flicked that off into the crowd. He took a bottle of water from Go, took a drink as the others placed themselves in various positions, the same DJ hurriedly running his fingers over the keyboard of the laptop, then adjusting himself at the small set up of a synthesizer and a portable audio figuration desk.
Drake took a deep breath as the others waited for some signal for him, and Quatre waited, rather impatient.
Drake looked back at the others, said something that Quatre couldn’t hear. Felicia stretched her arms, then worked her shoulders as she held the drumsticks within both hands, grinning at someone Quatre couldn’t see. Drake turned back to the audience, pointing over his shoulder. “For alla ya’ll that don’t know who’s who–I’m Drake. That’s Go. That bitch is Felicia. That guy with the keg is some dude named Cody. That guy over there’s Aaron. The guy other there’s Taylor. The guy back there is Winston, or something.”
“ADAM!”
“Oh, Adam. Sorry, guy,” Drake apologized, waving at him as he unhooked the mic from the stand and kicked the stand off their ‘stage’.
He took another deep breath, then counted down from four in a powerfully gravel, the others moving into a very fast pace beat that made the crowd scream with approval. Quatre was startled–for one thing, the volume of the speakers had been turned up rather loud, and for another–the six were actually very good. Every beat, every strum, every word, everything was in perfect rendition of Pantera’s “Fucking Hostile”. Drake even had Philip Anselmo’s voice down to a perfect gravel pitch, throwing his arms about and leaping around with volatile energy.
Quatre was stunned, blinking every so often as the crowd began to move, a pit forming in the very front. He and Justin exchanged incredulous gazes as Drake cursed and ranted in beat with the song, Go strumming out a perfectly capable accompanying rift, Felicia banging away at the drums, Adam rushing to keep up with the mix, Taylor strumming a perfect bass accompaniment, and the other two drummers occasionally melting in with assisting beats, the keg only adding a different kind of sound to it all.
The surging crowd, approving of what they heard, added to the chaos by screaming their cheers, rocking hard, slamming into each other in brutal meeting in appreciation to the hard rock.
“Oh my fucking God!” Justin exclaimed. “That’s fucking sick! SICK!”
“Good? Or bad?”
“Both!”
Quatre wondered why they would use the word ‘sick’–obviously it was good music. Metal wasn’t his thing (he wouldn’t let them know that it was really country, though–think of the ass-kicking that would come of it) but he had to admit that the group was definitely far and beyond what they should have possessed.
After “Fucking Hostile” was a fast paced beat that belonged entirely to Slipknot, something involving Marlon Brando, of which drove the crowd absolutely nuts. Quatre had to kick moving bodies away from him as the pit threatened to envelope him, and Justin had to move to avoid being pummeled accidently. Moving out of the line of fire, Quatre edged around the moving crowd, barely avoiding a severe concussion by a head banger intent on causing damage by her swishing head. He moved so that he was at Felicia’s left, and watched as she pound away at the drums, intent on driving the beat home with the sway of moving bodies. Aaron and Cody were pounding away on their respective instruments, and Justin managed to catch up with him, panting with the effort of keeping himself from being sucked into the madness.
“Man, they have, like, a thousand drummers,” Justin said, pushing Quatre further from the action so that they could lean against the wall of the nearby den.
“Who?!”
“Slipknot. You ever hear them?”
“No.”
“Man, what the fuck do you listen to?”
“I am not saying,” Quatre said on a haughty sniff.
Justin laughed and pushed his head. Seeing them from the corner of her eye, Felicia cast them a grin, but resumed her attention on racking the cymbals and keeping in beat with the bass, slamming the sticks repeatedly on the abused skins of the drums. Aaron was trying to keep in pace with her, working up a sweat as he worked his own set of drums, Cody keeping beat on the keg with his own worn ‘sticks.
The night drifted rather noisily along, and as they neared their last set of songs, all of which were pulled straight from the creative geniuses of Pantera, Metallica, Slipknot and Rage Against The Machine, Drake decided to ‘slow it down’ a bit with Korn’s “Somebody Someone”. At the end of the set, the crowd still wild and yet pleasingly exhausted with their efforts of appreciating the band with their shows of surfing, banging and pummeling, Drake topped it off with Slipknot’s “People = Shit”. When they finally finished, the crowd showed their love by screaming and throwing various things onto the ‘stage’.
Quatre clapped politely as the various partiers went in search of rest, refreshments, and other various activity. He whooped and yelled out a request for something done by Garth Brooks. Then he ducked behind Justin when various drumsticks, sweaty shirts and loogies were shot his way. Laughing, he emerged from an entirely disgusted Justin as the boy exclaimed at the gross matter on his person.
“You guys suck!” Quatre exclaimed as Felicia moved his way, wiping her sweat on the hem of his shirt. He pushed her away as Go ventured forward, looking decidedly exhausted.
“Do we really?” he asked in worry, making Quatre roll his eyes.
Felicia hit the tall giant’s hip–the only place she could really reach, as she stood only at five foot two. Go was tall, standing around six foot nine, but Quatre had noticed a lot of the college guys that were even taller. “He was just saying, numbnoid,” she said. “We fuckin’ rock. Did we rock your ass?!”
“YES!” Quatre shouted.
“I repeat–DID WE ROCK YOUR ASS?!”
“YES!” Justin, Quatre, and several other guys shouted.
Felicia grinned, hands on her hips as she looked up at a still worried Go. “See? We don’t suck, man. We’re awesome. Quat’s just jealous because he’s just a whore.”
“Hey!” he complained. “Whores have feelings, too!”
She laughed and walked off, screaming for some tequila shots. Go took off after her, trying to remind her that she shouldn’t, that she’d almost died on alcohol poisoning the last time.
Quatre looked at Justin to see what he wanted to do, and the other boy shrugged. They walked outside, into the cooler, fresh air, where many people were taking a break to either smoke or make-out. They took seats near the front ‘parking lot’ and relaxed. Staring up at the light polluted sky above, Quatre wondered what Trowa was doing, and removed his cell phone from his pocket to see if he’d even called. But there were no messages, nothing registering that the other boy had even tried. Frowning, he put his phone back into his pocket and reclined in the seat.
Then, because Justin was sitting right there next to him, he reached out, hitting his arm with the back of his hand to catch his attention.
“So?” he asked. “Are you a homo, or what?”
Justin shrugged, gripping the armrests of his seat. “I really ain’t attracted to girls...I mean, I’ve been in a relationship with a few, and I’m not a virgin, but...there’s just nothin’ there for me, you know?”
Quatre ‘hmm-mmed’ and stared up at the sky, thinking about Justin’s own experience. Then he grinned, setting his chair down. “What made you decide to become fag?”
“God,” Justin muttered, giving him a withering expression. “You make it sound so damn...I don’t know.”
“Hey, I’m just saying... You should know by now that I’m not exactly...PC.”
Justin laughed. “That’s an understatement! You are just...just...I don’t know. I want to hate you because you’re just a dick, but then again, you’re just stupid.”
Quatre sighed, hands over his head. “Mission accomplished, then. My goal is to have as much people as I can hate my guts.”
“Well, you’re getting there.”
“So why don’t you hate me?”
Justin shrugged, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. He picked at the armrest of his chair, as if it were the most fascinating thing he could see. “I don’t know. You’re fun.”
“Like Chuckie Cheese fun? Or, Damn-I-gotta-hang-out-with-my-parents fun?” Quatre asked, leaning forward in his seat to study Justin’s muscular calves. The dude must work out, because they were rock hard and clearly defined. And suspiciously smooth, which made Quatre wonder if he shaved his legs. Without saying anything, he reached out and scraped a couple of fingers against the tanned skin, startling the other boy into pulling his legs out of reach.
“Do you shave?” Quatre asked.
“No. Why do you have to touch me?”
“I was just wondering...”
“Why? Were you checking me out?”
Quatre grinned at him, Justin grinning back just as cheekily. “I’ll bet you would want that, huh?” Quatre asked, feeling a little weird that he was actually...well, flirting with another guy. Another guy that wasn’t Trowa. And while on some level he felt guilty about it, he couldn’t stop.
“No...”
“Liar.”
“Fine. I was lying.”
Quatre chewed at his bottom lip as he looked at Justin, who looked unsteadily back at him, fiddling with his thumbs. In a way, Quatre felt levels above Justin. Justin hadn’t yet accepted himself, but he was learning how to, and in the process, spending time with Quatre, getting a little more comfortable with himself being the way that he was. And because Quatre himself was already sure of what he had, of what he wanted and could do, he was much more confident than Justin was. And because he was, he felt more in control, more powerful, and somewhat drunk on the attention that Justin gave him.
Trowa wasn’t here, wasn’t the one giving him the attention that he needed, but it was wrong to look for it in other places while his boyfriend was off in another country, discovering his background. But then again...Trowa wouldn’t know. Not unless someone told him, and he trusted the others enough not to gossip. Felicia wouldn’t say anything, Drake wasn’t interested, and Go...well, no one had to worry about Go blabbing about anything because the boy never paid enough attention to notice such things.
But it was WRONG! What was he just telling Felicia the other day? That he wouldn’t because he didn’t want Trowa to do it to him...but what harm could come out of it? He wasn’t looking for anything permanent–he had that in Trowa. And Trowa wasn’t even in the same country as he. And when he came back, Quatre wasn’t about to delve into the partying scene anymore, so if it wasn’t as if he were going to bump into Justin all the time...
Feeling rather uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts were taking, Quatre sighed, leaning his chin upon his palm and staring out at the various people that were mingling with each other. Justin shifted in his seat, reaching out to touch his arm cautiously, retracting his arm when Quatre faced him.
“I really like you,” Justin said, slowly, his cheeks turning color. “I mean, when I first saw you, yeah, I was pissed because I felt that I shouldn’t be feeling that way, and then it was like...you were messing with me anyway...”
“Yeah...and threw off your game,” Quatre added with a smug smile.
Justin grinned. “Yeah. Totally. But...I don’t know. Hanging out with you has been...really fun. I mean, I don’t mind what the circumstances are...you don’t have a boyfriend or anything, do you? Because I don’t do that cheating bullshit.”
All right, just tell him about Trowa now, Quatre thought to himself, settling back in his chair. Tell him and let him know just how happy you are when you’re with him...
“No. I don’t have anyone...”
LIAR! His mind screamed at him.
Justin grinned again. “You wouldn’t. You’re too damn mouthy to have someone...even if you did, I doubt they would stay.”
“And what makes you think you have a chance?” Quatre shot back, frowning at him, even as his mind continued to berate him for not mentioning Trowa.
“Because...you’re like me...I’m like you...” Justin chewed at the inside of his cheek, thinking about this. “And besides, it’s like...talking to you, we’re like, on the same level about things.”
“SOME things.”
“Some things,” Justin agreed, running a hand through his hair with the hastened motion of someone that was nervous about confessing his own feelings. He shrugged a shoulder, picking at the sleeve of his t-shirt. “I don’t know. But I really like you. Not enough to really...I don’t know. Want a relationship or anything, just to...hang out. Be friends. Even if...that might change, you know?”
Quatre smiled, looking at his shoes. Justin was saying he wasn’t looking for a relationship–just looking for a way to experiment without really delving into things. And hey, that was fine. It was understood that one was attracted to the other, but there wasn’t that overhanging fear that someone might pull a move on the other. In a way, that was very fine. Who knows? It might not develop into something deeper. They might not even venture further into kissing. Justin wasn’t too much into that aspect, and Quatre was fine with it. There was nothing wrong with two boys hanging out together, flirting on instance.
On that chance, Quatre figured he would still keep quiet about Trowa.
Later on, after Justin went in search for some beer, Quatre went and located Felicia, who was busily trying to out-drink a frat boy in a guzzling match. After she practically barfed everything she’d consumed in the past two weeks on a couple of unsuspecting guys sitting nearby, the crowd that was watching them cheered the frat boy, who dented a full keg with his forehead. Quatre didn’t give the girl a chance to recover–as soon as she wiped her lips and dry heaved, he pulled on her arm and drug her away from the scene.
Shoving her into a bathroom, he let her puke a few more times into the tub, waiting impatiently as she finished emptying her insides into the porcelain. He filled the little sink cup with water and passed it over to her as she recovered, hanging onto the edge with both arms. She took the cup with a grateful ‘thanks’.
“I need you to do something,” Quatre started, moving from the sink to sit on the closed toilet while she washed her mouth out.
“What?” she croaked.
“I don’t want Justin to know about Trowa.”
Her eyes widened considerably, and she ran the water to drain her watery vomit down the drain. “Holy shit, are you serious?” she asked, blinking up at him.
He nodded. “It’s not like...I’m going to do anything. I just...don’t want him knowing.”
“Are you going to mess around with him?”
“No...Well...I don’t know. He’s not into that just yet, and...we kinda agreed on just hanging out. But...who knows from there?”
She held her lips in an ‘o’, searching his face for anything else. Quatre felt bad about it, but if he could keep this secret from Trowa, then things would be fine. Felicia rose from the floor, chuckling slightly. She shut the water off. “All right, then,” she said. “I don’t think anyone would tell Trowa, anyway.”
“Talk to Drake.”
“I will. Besides...I don’t know. I won’t say anything to J about Tro, anyway. It’s not like Trowa likes me anyway,” she finished in a mutter, stopping at the sink to wash her face. “After the guy figured that we were fuckin’, it kinda went down hill from there.”
“But you still gave him and his bitch of a sister tickets...”
“Dude! Free porn!” she exclaimed, looking at him in incredulous shock. “FREE PORN!”
He laughed. “C’mon! What’s it worth to the real thing?”
“I’ll have you know, asshole, that the only person I’d ever slept with is now hugging up with a fat cow!” Felicia exclaimed, then looked pissed about the entire thing. Quatre snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Whatever. You’re a whore. You’ve slept with everybody,” he said as they walked out from the bathroom. She kissed his cheek with her smelly vomit breath, making him gag.
“And that’s what I like people to think, white-boy,” she laughed, dancing off as Quatre wiped his face, wondering, for a moment, if she was telling the truth. In a way, she and Trowa were alike–they liked it when people thought what they will, and didn’t bother with corrections. Felicia did act promiscuous, but now that he thought about it...who did she mess around with? And why hadn’t he heard about such things from anyone else?
He shrugged and walked off to find Justin. Just another concern that he really wasn’t going to waste his time on. Just as long as Felicia kept his secret, things were going to be fine.
“3 Libras” Perfect Circle
”Do you love him?”
“Yes, I really love him,” Trowa answered Amelie’s question. The restaurant was rather intimate, with small tables and delicate settings, the place lit only by thousands of candles, the music created by the soft strings of various instruments set up in the far corner. Their dinner was served on large, delicate porcelain plates, and the single red rose in the center of the table bloomed frailly. He felt a little uncomfortable with the settings, being as they were. It was a big kick in the ass what he was venturing into, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He and Amelie had met up several times before he finally decided to talk to the woman. The woman was a little more persistent than Middie, through. But she definitely wasn’t a teenager, and she wasn’t trying to jump down his throat, or his pants for that matter. She was actually listening to him, asking him questions, helping him solve questions he himself couldn’t answer. The woman was highly more experienced with such matters, and he really was appreciative of it.
Catherine had found herself a Spanish snag, and had left him alone for the last few days while she went backpacking across Spain. Trowa had elected to stay at the hotel because he wasn’t quite ready to venture out in that manner, and simply, Amelie intrigued him. He didn’t feel threatened by her, nor at times, did he feel molested, as he would with anyone else.
The woman did let him know that she was very much interested in him with her lingering stares and somewhat obvious manner whenever she touched him, but...the older woman allure, doubled by the fact that he was feeling somewhat insecure the more she questioned his relationship with Quatre, had him eliminating his cautious side and allowed himself to be pulled along with the woman’s intrigue.
Amelie stared at him from over her wine glass, swirling the liquid languorously within the flute. She was dressed in a simple black strapless dress, her shoulders finely dusted with some sort of shimmer, her clavicle delicate and pronounced. She wore a thin gold necklace that caught the glitter of the candlelight, catching his attention whenever he looked in her direction. She was pretty in the candlelight, but he knew that once he ventured out into the daylight with her, he would see the fine lines at her eyes, the small sag in the corners of her mouth. She wore minimal makeup, and looked so...well, confident of herself that she came off more beautiful than she actually was.
“I mean, he’s...well, he makes me feel good, and then there are times that he just...well...I don’t know. He’s selfish at times, and he always expects to be...well, he wants to take and never gives. But–”
“Then how is this relationship benefitting you?” Amelie asked, blinking serious brown eyes. She paused to give him time to reflect as she picked apart her fish dinner. “From what it sounds, it’s merely benefitting him. How does this make you feel good?”
“I–I don’t know. I like taking care of him, I suppose. I like it when he takes charge. I like it when he makes me feel...like I’m supposed to be doing something.” At this, Trowa frowned, reaching out to pick up his own glass of wine, staring at the half-eaten food before him. “I really enjoy being with him. He makes me laugh. And he makes me feel wanted.”
“What do you think he would say of you?”
“I...I don’t know. I know he loves me. He’s...he’s very expressive of that, verbally and physically. I mean, he may be a little selfish, but...he’s always there.”
Amelie chuckled slightly, wiping her mouth with the corner of her napkin. “He sounds like a really nice kid.”
“Yeah.”
“Does he identify with what you think? For example, do you have the same opinions? Same interests?”
“I...well, sort of. He’s really into basketball.” Trowa shrugged. “I’m not too into sports.”
“An artist...”
“Yes. Um...we had this debate earlier this year in one of our classes, and I found out that he’s Pro-Life, and I’m Pro-Choice...actually, sometimes we don’t agree on some of those things. I mean...but it doesn’t really make much of a difference. We still get along on other levels, so...”
“How long have you two been together?”
“Since the end of September...”
“Do you celebrate anniversaries?”
Trowa snorted, shaking his head. “No. He thinks that’s a girl’s thing. And I really don’t care.”
Amelia smiled, flute to her lips. After taking a measured sip, she set the glass down and fiddled with the fish before her. “It would seem, that no matter the couple, that some dates would be important...”
“Well, I figured we’d do something...I don’t know. Special or something when the year came up, but I don’t know.”
“Do you see yourself with him after high school?”
“Yeah. I mean, I would like to be. I was thinking of...well, marrying him. I mean, it’s legal there in America, now...”
Amelie nodded, pushing brown tendrils from her face. “That’s really beautiful, Trowa. To know someone as young as you would foresee such romance beyond the boundaries of high school.”
Trowa shrugged a shoulder, picking at the remnants of his spaghetti. “Well...I don’t know. I mean, I really do see myself with him after then, but...I figure it’s unrealistic. I mean, this is high school. And things don’t last that long. I know no one that’s married their high school sweetheart, you know? But...I really think we can change things.”
“May I give my opinion on this matter?”
Trowa nodded, setting his fork aside. Amelia cleared her throat, her hands in her lap as she leaned slightly forward. Her voice was low, melodic, and it didn’t carry the allure of a sexy-siren–rather, she spoke true and cautious, as if trying to lower herself to his level. He’d found out that she was forty-one–she let him know straight on, with a laugh. Even though it was kind of weird, him being eighteen and in the company of the older woman, it was really flattering. To think that a woman would figure him mature enough to hang out in her company.
“I think that the both of you are much too young to think that you are in love,” Amelie began gently. “Rather, this relationship of yours may be a case of...infatuation. You are fascinated by him because his personality is so much different than yours. He makes you happy because he expresses himself in ways you cannot. You want to take care of him because he seems clumsy and awkward, almost helpless. You want someone to feel that you are competent enough to carry your own values and traditions without losing faith of yourself in a country that screams for diversity and attention. You don’t want to get sucked up into the usual complications of American High School, and have found someone to... ‘save’ without having to lose yourself. I think that perhaps, before the both of you are burned, you should...experiment.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but it’s not like that–”
“Please, may I continue?”
“Uh...okay.”
“High schoolers tend to romanticize what they have as something bigger than anybody else could ever hope to have. Your relationship is no different. You’re both children, Trowa, trying your shoes out in something bigger than anybody could ever hope to understand. Your feelings are legitimate and pure, and what trouble you both had gone through to be together, what frustrations and what strengths you’ve overcome and discovered, are absolutely real. But don’t you think you’re taking this situation on a far higher level than you yourself can ever hope to carry on through the tougher world of adulthood? There are many married couples out there that feel that they are in love with both each other and their marriage, but the thing is, they’ve had more experience. They’ve had more practice. They understood what their relationship and their marriage means. You’re high schoolers. You’re young. Inexperienced. Why take yourselves out of the game in chance and life, foregoing all that one must explore before becoming an adult?
“Learn yourself before committing to another. You’re not going to stay in New Park forever, are you?”
Trowa blinked, then shrugged, her words striking a cord within him. In self-conscious realization, he leaned forward on the table with an elbow, reaching up to fiddle with his hair with his other hand.
“Realize that high school love isn’t the same as real world love. It’s far different. Once you both leave high school, things will change! College...living on your own...jobs...career focus...everything is different once you leave the comforting grounds of your high school.” Amelie leaned back in her chair, and reached out with one delicate hand, placing it over Trowa’s as it rested near his dinner plate. He felt his skin jump at contact, but the comforting warmth of her hand was very soothing. It was soft and gentle, stroking his knuckles with an almost motherly gesture. He clung to that small gesture, receiving words from a stranger rather than a mother. In a way, she was like a mother–listening, giving advice, being there for him. Catherine tried, but it wasn’t the same–she was just his sister. She couldn’t provide that warmth and love one could expect from their mother. And he felt himself slipping into dangerous territory without second thought as she clenched his fingers within hers, her lips curling into a friendly smile.
“Think about that. Take this vacation to think over your priorities and your values, your future. Do you want to stay at the side of someone who makes you feel happy, but doesn’t grow as you do? Think about it, Trowa Barton.”
She let go of his hand, and resumed eating, and he thought about it as he leaned back in his chair, hands moving away from the table, the scent of her skin and perfume lingering on his knuckles.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“...and it was really boring. I hate going through everyday, not doing a thing, and–oh, guess what? I got an ‘A’ in my science mid-term,” Quatre was saying, his voice a little deeper than it was when Trowa left, the sounds in the other end telling Trowa that the boy was absently dribbling a basketball. The continuous sounds of the ball meeting the pavement was a sort of soothing sound, reminding him of what he was missing while he vacationed here in Spain. Trowa was sitting in his hotel bed, flipping through the late night flicks of Spanish drama and sports shows, and he was thinking about Amelie’s words while talking to his lover.
“What about your other classes?” Trowa asked, frowning as he paused on a futbol match.
“Oh? They’re all right. I don’t have anything lower than a ‘B’...”
“See? I knew if all obstacles were eliminated, you would do good.”
“Yeah, I know, but...it’s so fucking boring. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“All the time?”
Trowa rolled his eyes, smiling slightly. “Even while I’m taking a dump.”
“Ooh. You know I miss sitting in on that.”
“Fucking sicko.”
“Don’t I know it? Oh, it’s really hot out here...I’m burning up. Yesterday was over a hundred degrees...”
“No way! It’s never gotten that hot while I lived there!” Trowa said, pushing his hair out of his face, tucking the bunch behind his left ear.
“I hate this fuckin’ weather...one minute, it’s cold. The next it’s hot. At least in Wyoming it was consistent!”
“Consistently cold...”
“But consistent...”
Trowa chuckled, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “You know what? Catherine’s not here. She’s somewhere on the coast with some guy she met. She totally abandoned me.”
“I could have been there, Trowa, and we could have been doing it right now.”
“Yeah, but I doubt I would have seen Catherine at all. She totally hates you.”
“Tell me about it. What is it that makes chicks hate me?! I don’t even do anything to them! They get all pissy because they’re the weaker sex...”
Trowa laughed, folding his hand behind his head. “God, you’re just asking for a feminist group to come over and kick your stupid ass...”
“Hey, say something to me in Spanish! Something nasty.”
“Are you masturbating?”
“NO! In public?! Gross...which reminds me, I went to the mall the other day? And there was this guy running through the parking lot, flashing everyone. It was funny, because when he flashed me, I kicked him in the nuts. Dude, he had a huge motherfuckin’ ring at the tip. It was absolutely...disgusting...”
“Great. Totally ruin my surprise,” Trowa said on a sigh, rolling back onto his stomach, feet in the air.
“Ew...did you really?”
“NO!”
“Oh. Ha! Ha! You’re real funny, Trowa. I miss you so much, it’s not even funny. I’m so totally bored...have to keep my hands to myself...unable to molest anybody...”
“You better not,” Trowa warned, studying his fingernails. He’d stopped painting them awhile back, when he stopped being a goth. He’d gotten rid of his all black wardrobe and replaced his Dickies with Anchor Blue. His shirts were casual, blank tees, his jeans blue, and for decoration, he wore only his cuff watch and Quatre’s wrist guards, because the blond still hadn’t noticed that Trowa snatched them whenever he was in his room. Since he lost that eyeliner and all black, red or white manner, he’d noticed that a lot more people approached him and took him more seriously. It wasn’t that he’d planned such a change–just that it had shown up unexpectedly, without warning. Just as well.
“I won’t, Trowa. Only you. When you get back, let’s rent a motel room and have sex all damn day.”
“Quat, I doubt it. You have to be...wow. I’m eighteen, aren’t I?”
“Trowa! You know you are!”
“Where’s my birthday song, bitch?”
“I’m not singing to you. I plan on giving you something when you get back...”
“A hummer?”
“Mmm...no. Stop distracting me. I don’t know why you wanted to do this to us, Trowa. I hate abstinence.”
“Then rent a hooker. A clean one. And you’d better make sure that he’s a dead ringer for me, Goddamn it. If I hear you got with a hooker that didn’t have my looks, I’ll fucking kick your stupid ass.”
“That’s so nasty, man. Don’t ever bring that up again. Oh. Hey, school’s starting. I’d better go.”
“I love you.”
“Ditto.”
“You’re such a romantic, Quat.”
“And you love it! Bye, Trowa.”
Trowa hung up with a sigh, folding his arms before him and resting his head within. He hated that moment, when he knew he had to hang up on Quatre. That momentary spell of romance and intense love for the other was broken by the clean smell of the hotel room, the fact that he was here all alone. He stared at the tv for several moments, then picked up the remote and turned it off. It was nearly twelve, and he knew he didn’t have to do anything tomorrow. He planned on heading back out to Zaragoza, to check out his parents’ home when they were younger, but the idea wasn’t as appealing anymore.
He missed Quatre, and he hated that Amelie had made him rethink their relationship. In a way, she was right. He was far too young and inexperienced for the kind of love he’d imagined having with Quat once they graduated. He was far too young to be with someone when he should be out, exploring his options. He knew what he wanted–and right now, Quat was all that he knew. But...should he do this? Should this continue?
And, in another way, Amelie struck him as the type of person that he would like to be with. Strong, experienced, capable of handling matters in ways that he couldn’t...but that was only because she was so... well, intriguing. He really couldn’t stop thinking about her. She knew what she wanted, what to look for, and how to go about getting it. So why the interest in him? He knew he was a very attractive guy–the stares from various men and women let him know that they really liked what they saw. He was a little self-conscious about it, through. Having all those eyes on you, molesting you, feeling your body touched in ways that it shouldn’t be...and it made him feel guilty when he thought about what Amelie must think when she stared at him in that way. Guilty because he felt that he would like it. He’d never messed around with a female, before, and he was equally attracted to them as well as males. It wasn’t as if he weren’t satisfied with Quatre–no, that aspect of their relationship was very good and he wouldn’t want it any other way.
Sure, they were young, and their only experience was with each other (whatever Quatre did with his best friend DID NOT count in Trowa’s book), but they knew what the other liked and weren’t afraid to let the other know what they wanted. Trowa was very content in that aspect, but Amelie...
Amelie made him wonder what else was out there. What else he could experience, what else he could learn.
Granted, he was in another country, where Quatre would never know what happened unless Trowa himself let him know. And if he did agree to something on Amelie’s part, he definitely would feel guilty and a little dirty...but it was so interesting to know what could happen! And he couldn’t let this chance slide by! He was young. And Quatre wouldn’t know–
He shook his head furiously, rising from the bed to venture into the bathroom to brush his teeth. Listen to him...trying to argue with himself to have some European fun while he was far away from the love of his life. But...the allure of trying something entirely new, something entirely different, and getting away with it simply because he could was strong. He was male. Males were interested in such things and regretted missing the chance when they got it. While he definitely loved Quatre, he didn’t want to be bogged down with that nagging question of, ‘What if?’
With that lingering thought in mind, he finished brushing his teeth and went to bed.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre stared absently at the growing crowd before him. Everyone was piling into the humongous living room of some girl’s mansion, and it appeared that more people were trying to fit themselves into the quickly shrinking space. Justin muttered under his breath as his beer was spilt by someone’s thrown elbow, and Quatre growled when droplets hit his face. Wiping away the moisture, he watched as several girls were hoisted onto various guy’s shoulders, and the band continued to play, rocking to their own tunes in a space set up with the usual instruments required for rock. He took in the sight of the bass player, the guitar that was being manipulated with skillful fingers, the lackluster drummer, the singer that had a great pair of lungs but stupid lyrics, and the kid that played DJ on the computer system that was hastily set up in the back corner of the group, mixing in cheery beats and background noises that would accompany the song.
The pair were sitting on a hall table that they’d pulled from the foyer, and were sitting close enough to brush against each other whenever one moved. It was kind of odd, to be with another person in this way when he was only this close to Trowa, but the feeling that it was wrong and the feeling that it was nice at the same time kept him from completely removing himself from the situation.
“These guys suck!” Justin announced, several others agreeing.
It was nearly two weeks after the two boys decided on a casual friendship, and a week after Quatre had talked to Trowa. The summer was slowly easing into a trickle towards fall, and Quatre had found himself out nearly every weekend, partying at every party Drake or Felicia found. Which was nearly six parties a day in the weekend. New Park and its surrounding suburbia was huge, and the parties were endless. His grades were still up, so no one had anything to complain about. As well, the school’s security was lax since there wasn’t that many students left, and he’d merely explained that he was spending the night at a trusted friend’s house, and after some computer voice magic, Drake had convinced the admin that Quatre was safe with said family. And thus, his worries about making ten o’clock curfew were abolished.
All throughout the last two weeks, Quatre found himself hanging out more and more with Travis Justin Sharp, the boy from Sageville. Justin was actually quite enjoyable, and his confrontational manner more than made up for Quatre’s own. The two were actually quite reckless, and it was almost hanging out with another version of himself. Even Drake had commented that it was rather eerie, but because the Seminole felt a little odd around homosexuals, stayed away from them. Felicia, though, instigated things between them, and Quatre couldn’t help but feel the girl was trying to get them together.
In a way, he did feel attracted to Justin. The boy was fun to hang out with, he was rather cute when Quatre looked twice, and he did have a way of making Quatre feel...experienced. Today, Justin was wearing a pair of camouflage cargo shorts and a plain white tee, offsetting his natural tan and the cuts of his clothing revealing muscles of both arms and legs. It helped that he smelled really good, too. Of a cologne that Quatre couldn’t quite place, but liked because of its similarity to Trowa’s own Eternity.
Felicia and Drake were preparing to set up their own band after this one was finished, and that must have been the reason why more and more people were trying to cram themselves into every available inch this mansion had surrounding the living room. The stairways were crowded, the halls, the kitchen, the den nearby–everywhere. Quatre wondered what the big hype was–he never knew the two were capable of handling instruments, and he couldn’t imagine them having any sort of talent. That would just be too freaky. Go was even part of that, and that made it even more unbelievable. The guy couldn’t concentrate on a sentence, let alone play or do something in a band.
“So, how good are these guys?!” Justin had to shout over the noise of the band.
Quatre shrugged. “I dunno! I never knew they played!”
“I think they’re just bullshittin’ you and ditched you, man,” Justin said, nudging him with an elbow.
“No way! I’ll kick their ass!”
“Whatever. That girl would slam you before you even tried anything. She’s so fuckin’ manly! Hey, is she lez?”
“I really don’t know! I’ve honestly never seen her with anybody! She had a boyfriend when I first moved here, but I never saw them together!” Quatre shouted back. “She probably is!”
“That’s cool. Nothing wrong with lesbians...”
Quatre chuckled, shrugging, unsure if he felt the same way.
The band finally finished the song, and the members began leaving the ‘stage’. Drake and the others emerged from within the crowd, and as he took the mic, three others joined them on their stage, one of the boys pulling on a strap that held marching drums in front of him. Quatre raised an eyebrow as Justin wondered aloud if they were going to hear something from a pep rally. The other boy, who looked like a freshman, rolled an empty keg near the drums, of which Felicia was climbing into. He rolled his eyes. Figures she’d be so butch...The other boy pulled on the bass, looking entirely cocky as he handled the instrument.
Drake cleared his throat as shouts were thrown his way. Tonight he was wearing a Jimi Hendrex ring shirt and his usual baggy jeans, a smoking cig in one hand.
“How are ya’ll doin’ tonight?!” he bellowed, the crowd cheering their response.
“They better be good,” Justin muttered, leaning back against the wall as Quatre yawned, wondering where else they were going tonight.
He watched as Go slid and adjusted the guitar over his lanky frame, strumming a light ditty with just the tips of his nails. The other boy on the bass quickly strummed another ditty that coincided with Go’s, the brief warm-up interrupted when Felicia experimented with the drum settings, Marching Boy yawning. Drake looked back at them, swinging the mic lazily within one hand as he took a quick inhale of his cig, then flicked that off into the crowd. He took a bottle of water from Go, took a drink as the others placed themselves in various positions, the same DJ hurriedly running his fingers over the keyboard of the laptop, then adjusting himself at the small set up of a synthesizer and a portable audio figuration desk.
Drake took a deep breath as the others waited for some signal for him, and Quatre waited, rather impatient.
Drake looked back at the others, said something that Quatre couldn’t hear. Felicia stretched her arms, then worked her shoulders as she held the drumsticks within both hands, grinning at someone Quatre couldn’t see. Drake turned back to the audience, pointing over his shoulder. “For alla ya’ll that don’t know who’s who–I’m Drake. That’s Go. That bitch is Felicia. That guy with the keg is some dude named Cody. That guy over there’s Aaron. The guy other there’s Taylor. The guy back there is Winston, or something.”
“ADAM!”
“Oh, Adam. Sorry, guy,” Drake apologized, waving at him as he unhooked the mic from the stand and kicked the stand off their ‘stage’.
He took another deep breath, then counted down from four in a powerfully gravel, the others moving into a very fast pace beat that made the crowd scream with approval. Quatre was startled–for one thing, the volume of the speakers had been turned up rather loud, and for another–the six were actually very good. Every beat, every strum, every word, everything was in perfect rendition of Pantera’s “Fucking Hostile”. Drake even had Philip Anselmo’s voice down to a perfect gravel pitch, throwing his arms about and leaping around with volatile energy.
Quatre was stunned, blinking every so often as the crowd began to move, a pit forming in the very front. He and Justin exchanged incredulous gazes as Drake cursed and ranted in beat with the song, Go strumming out a perfectly capable accompanying rift, Felicia banging away at the drums, Adam rushing to keep up with the mix, Taylor strumming a perfect bass accompaniment, and the other two drummers occasionally melting in with assisting beats, the keg only adding a different kind of sound to it all.
The surging crowd, approving of what they heard, added to the chaos by screaming their cheers, rocking hard, slamming into each other in brutal meeting in appreciation to the hard rock.
“Oh my fucking God!” Justin exclaimed. “That’s fucking sick! SICK!”
“Good? Or bad?”
“Both!”
Quatre wondered why they would use the word ‘sick’–obviously it was good music. Metal wasn’t his thing (he wouldn’t let them know that it was really country, though–think of the ass-kicking that would come of it) but he had to admit that the group was definitely far and beyond what they should have possessed.
After “Fucking Hostile” was a fast paced beat that belonged entirely to Slipknot, something involving Marlon Brando, of which drove the crowd absolutely nuts. Quatre had to kick moving bodies away from him as the pit threatened to envelope him, and Justin had to move to avoid being pummeled accidently. Moving out of the line of fire, Quatre edged around the moving crowd, barely avoiding a severe concussion by a head banger intent on causing damage by her swishing head. He moved so that he was at Felicia’s left, and watched as she pound away at the drums, intent on driving the beat home with the sway of moving bodies. Aaron and Cody were pounding away on their respective instruments, and Justin managed to catch up with him, panting with the effort of keeping himself from being sucked into the madness.
“Man, they have, like, a thousand drummers,” Justin said, pushing Quatre further from the action so that they could lean against the wall of the nearby den.
“Who?!”
“Slipknot. You ever hear them?”
“No.”
“Man, what the fuck do you listen to?”
“I am not saying,” Quatre said on a haughty sniff.
Justin laughed and pushed his head. Seeing them from the corner of her eye, Felicia cast them a grin, but resumed her attention on racking the cymbals and keeping in beat with the bass, slamming the sticks repeatedly on the abused skins of the drums. Aaron was trying to keep in pace with her, working up a sweat as he worked his own set of drums, Cody keeping beat on the keg with his own worn ‘sticks.
The night drifted rather noisily along, and as they neared their last set of songs, all of which were pulled straight from the creative geniuses of Pantera, Metallica, Slipknot and Rage Against The Machine, Drake decided to ‘slow it down’ a bit with Korn’s “Somebody Someone”. At the end of the set, the crowd still wild and yet pleasingly exhausted with their efforts of appreciating the band with their shows of surfing, banging and pummeling, Drake topped it off with Slipknot’s “People = Shit”. When they finally finished, the crowd showed their love by screaming and throwing various things onto the ‘stage’.
Quatre clapped politely as the various partiers went in search of rest, refreshments, and other various activity. He whooped and yelled out a request for something done by Garth Brooks. Then he ducked behind Justin when various drumsticks, sweaty shirts and loogies were shot his way. Laughing, he emerged from an entirely disgusted Justin as the boy exclaimed at the gross matter on his person.
“You guys suck!” Quatre exclaimed as Felicia moved his way, wiping her sweat on the hem of his shirt. He pushed her away as Go ventured forward, looking decidedly exhausted.
“Do we really?” he asked in worry, making Quatre roll his eyes.
Felicia hit the tall giant’s hip–the only place she could really reach, as she stood only at five foot two. Go was tall, standing around six foot nine, but Quatre had noticed a lot of the college guys that were even taller. “He was just saying, numbnoid,” she said. “We fuckin’ rock. Did we rock your ass?!”
“YES!” Quatre shouted.
“I repeat–DID WE ROCK YOUR ASS?!”
“YES!” Justin, Quatre, and several other guys shouted.
Felicia grinned, hands on her hips as she looked up at a still worried Go. “See? We don’t suck, man. We’re awesome. Quat’s just jealous because he’s just a whore.”
“Hey!” he complained. “Whores have feelings, too!”
She laughed and walked off, screaming for some tequila shots. Go took off after her, trying to remind her that she shouldn’t, that she’d almost died on alcohol poisoning the last time.
Quatre looked at Justin to see what he wanted to do, and the other boy shrugged. They walked outside, into the cooler, fresh air, where many people were taking a break to either smoke or make-out. They took seats near the front ‘parking lot’ and relaxed. Staring up at the light polluted sky above, Quatre wondered what Trowa was doing, and removed his cell phone from his pocket to see if he’d even called. But there were no messages, nothing registering that the other boy had even tried. Frowning, he put his phone back into his pocket and reclined in the seat.
Then, because Justin was sitting right there next to him, he reached out, hitting his arm with the back of his hand to catch his attention.
“So?” he asked. “Are you a homo, or what?”
Justin shrugged, gripping the armrests of his seat. “I really ain’t attracted to girls...I mean, I’ve been in a relationship with a few, and I’m not a virgin, but...there’s just nothin’ there for me, you know?”
Quatre ‘hmm-mmed’ and stared up at the sky, thinking about Justin’s own experience. Then he grinned, setting his chair down. “What made you decide to become fag?”
“God,” Justin muttered, giving him a withering expression. “You make it sound so damn...I don’t know.”
“Hey, I’m just saying... You should know by now that I’m not exactly...PC.”
Justin laughed. “That’s an understatement! You are just...just...I don’t know. I want to hate you because you’re just a dick, but then again, you’re just stupid.”
Quatre sighed, hands over his head. “Mission accomplished, then. My goal is to have as much people as I can hate my guts.”
“Well, you’re getting there.”
“So why don’t you hate me?”
Justin shrugged, a faint blush tinging his cheeks. He picked at the armrest of his chair, as if it were the most fascinating thing he could see. “I don’t know. You’re fun.”
“Like Chuckie Cheese fun? Or, Damn-I-gotta-hang-out-with-my-parents fun?” Quatre asked, leaning forward in his seat to study Justin’s muscular calves. The dude must work out, because they were rock hard and clearly defined. And suspiciously smooth, which made Quatre wonder if he shaved his legs. Without saying anything, he reached out and scraped a couple of fingers against the tanned skin, startling the other boy into pulling his legs out of reach.
“Do you shave?” Quatre asked.
“No. Why do you have to touch me?”
“I was just wondering...”
“Why? Were you checking me out?”
Quatre grinned at him, Justin grinning back just as cheekily. “I’ll bet you would want that, huh?” Quatre asked, feeling a little weird that he was actually...well, flirting with another guy. Another guy that wasn’t Trowa. And while on some level he felt guilty about it, he couldn’t stop.
“No...”
“Liar.”
“Fine. I was lying.”
Quatre chewed at his bottom lip as he looked at Justin, who looked unsteadily back at him, fiddling with his thumbs. In a way, Quatre felt levels above Justin. Justin hadn’t yet accepted himself, but he was learning how to, and in the process, spending time with Quatre, getting a little more comfortable with himself being the way that he was. And because Quatre himself was already sure of what he had, of what he wanted and could do, he was much more confident than Justin was. And because he was, he felt more in control, more powerful, and somewhat drunk on the attention that Justin gave him.
Trowa wasn’t here, wasn’t the one giving him the attention that he needed, but it was wrong to look for it in other places while his boyfriend was off in another country, discovering his background. But then again...Trowa wouldn’t know. Not unless someone told him, and he trusted the others enough not to gossip. Felicia wouldn’t say anything, Drake wasn’t interested, and Go...well, no one had to worry about Go blabbing about anything because the boy never paid enough attention to notice such things.
But it was WRONG! What was he just telling Felicia the other day? That he wouldn’t because he didn’t want Trowa to do it to him...but what harm could come out of it? He wasn’t looking for anything permanent–he had that in Trowa. And Trowa wasn’t even in the same country as he. And when he came back, Quatre wasn’t about to delve into the partying scene anymore, so if it wasn’t as if he were going to bump into Justin all the time...
Feeling rather uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts were taking, Quatre sighed, leaning his chin upon his palm and staring out at the various people that were mingling with each other. Justin shifted in his seat, reaching out to touch his arm cautiously, retracting his arm when Quatre faced him.
“I really like you,” Justin said, slowly, his cheeks turning color. “I mean, when I first saw you, yeah, I was pissed because I felt that I shouldn’t be feeling that way, and then it was like...you were messing with me anyway...”
“Yeah...and threw off your game,” Quatre added with a smug smile.
Justin grinned. “Yeah. Totally. But...I don’t know. Hanging out with you has been...really fun. I mean, I don’t mind what the circumstances are...you don’t have a boyfriend or anything, do you? Because I don’t do that cheating bullshit.”
All right, just tell him about Trowa now, Quatre thought to himself, settling back in his chair. Tell him and let him know just how happy you are when you’re with him...
“No. I don’t have anyone...”
LIAR! His mind screamed at him.
Justin grinned again. “You wouldn’t. You’re too damn mouthy to have someone...even if you did, I doubt they would stay.”
“And what makes you think you have a chance?” Quatre shot back, frowning at him, even as his mind continued to berate him for not mentioning Trowa.
“Because...you’re like me...I’m like you...” Justin chewed at the inside of his cheek, thinking about this. “And besides, it’s like...talking to you, we’re like, on the same level about things.”
“SOME things.”
“Some things,” Justin agreed, running a hand through his hair with the hastened motion of someone that was nervous about confessing his own feelings. He shrugged a shoulder, picking at the sleeve of his t-shirt. “I don’t know. But I really like you. Not enough to really...I don’t know. Want a relationship or anything, just to...hang out. Be friends. Even if...that might change, you know?”
Quatre smiled, looking at his shoes. Justin was saying he wasn’t looking for a relationship–just looking for a way to experiment without really delving into things. And hey, that was fine. It was understood that one was attracted to the other, but there wasn’t that overhanging fear that someone might pull a move on the other. In a way, that was very fine. Who knows? It might not develop into something deeper. They might not even venture further into kissing. Justin wasn’t too much into that aspect, and Quatre was fine with it. There was nothing wrong with two boys hanging out together, flirting on instance.
On that chance, Quatre figured he would still keep quiet about Trowa.
Later on, after Justin went in search for some beer, Quatre went and located Felicia, who was busily trying to out-drink a frat boy in a guzzling match. After she practically barfed everything she’d consumed in the past two weeks on a couple of unsuspecting guys sitting nearby, the crowd that was watching them cheered the frat boy, who dented a full keg with his forehead. Quatre didn’t give the girl a chance to recover–as soon as she wiped her lips and dry heaved, he pulled on her arm and drug her away from the scene.
Shoving her into a bathroom, he let her puke a few more times into the tub, waiting impatiently as she finished emptying her insides into the porcelain. He filled the little sink cup with water and passed it over to her as she recovered, hanging onto the edge with both arms. She took the cup with a grateful ‘thanks’.
“I need you to do something,” Quatre started, moving from the sink to sit on the closed toilet while she washed her mouth out.
“What?” she croaked.
“I don’t want Justin to know about Trowa.”
Her eyes widened considerably, and she ran the water to drain her watery vomit down the drain. “Holy shit, are you serious?” she asked, blinking up at him.
He nodded. “It’s not like...I’m going to do anything. I just...don’t want him knowing.”
“Are you going to mess around with him?”
“No...Well...I don’t know. He’s not into that just yet, and...we kinda agreed on just hanging out. But...who knows from there?”
She held her lips in an ‘o’, searching his face for anything else. Quatre felt bad about it, but if he could keep this secret from Trowa, then things would be fine. Felicia rose from the floor, chuckling slightly. She shut the water off. “All right, then,” she said. “I don’t think anyone would tell Trowa, anyway.”
“Talk to Drake.”
“I will. Besides...I don’t know. I won’t say anything to J about Tro, anyway. It’s not like Trowa likes me anyway,” she finished in a mutter, stopping at the sink to wash her face. “After the guy figured that we were fuckin’, it kinda went down hill from there.”
“But you still gave him and his bitch of a sister tickets...”
“Dude! Free porn!” she exclaimed, looking at him in incredulous shock. “FREE PORN!”
He laughed. “C’mon! What’s it worth to the real thing?”
“I’ll have you know, asshole, that the only person I’d ever slept with is now hugging up with a fat cow!” Felicia exclaimed, then looked pissed about the entire thing. Quatre snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Whatever. You’re a whore. You’ve slept with everybody,” he said as they walked out from the bathroom. She kissed his cheek with her smelly vomit breath, making him gag.
“And that’s what I like people to think, white-boy,” she laughed, dancing off as Quatre wiped his face, wondering, for a moment, if she was telling the truth. In a way, she and Trowa were alike–they liked it when people thought what they will, and didn’t bother with corrections. Felicia did act promiscuous, but now that he thought about it...who did she mess around with? And why hadn’t he heard about such things from anyone else?
He shrugged and walked off to find Justin. Just another concern that he really wasn’t going to waste his time on. Just as long as Felicia kept his secret, things were going to be fine.