Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ My Happy Ending ( Chapter 4 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Warning: Heavy Lemon Scene. Details hetero action above the sheets...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 9.4K | Visits: 233 | Status: Completed
Warning: Heavy Lemon Scene. Details hetero action above the sheets...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 9.4K | Visits: 233 | Status: Completed
Warning: Heavy hetero LEMON scene! Caution...
Chapter Four~
“My Happy Ending” Avril Lavigne
Trowa looked at his watch, and figured that by the time the cruise was finished, it would be time to call Quatre. It was nearly the middle of August–he and Catherine would leave Spain on the twenty-fifth, giving him plenty of time to get settled in his new dorm room with a new roommate before school started on the twenty-seventh. He inhaled the salty air, then grimaced at the cold. Was it supposed to be this cold?! Everyone else was huddling within their ponchos and raincoats, and in his, he was shivering. He moved away from the railing and walked into the warmer inside of the ship’s first deck, and blew into his hands. He had taken a solo trip throughout the coast of Spain, sightseeing here and there, and was happy that he did it. He didn’t have all that time to spend on agonizing over things, and he certainly wasn’t going to be tempted by Amelie’s offer–which made him blush whenever he thought about it.
Almost a week after their dinner, Amelie had offered herself to him, as a way of... ‘exploring his options’. She wanted him to experiment, and was willing to be his first female. Boy, while the offer was really tempting–she looked very good in maroon, which was the color of her see-thru nightie–Trowa thought only of Quatre and how the boy would feel if he’d ever found out that Trowa cheated on him, and he removed himself from the situation. Even though, Amelie didn’t take his refusal that bad–she’d simply laughed and apologized for scaring him away. She may have been in her early forties, but that woman had a very finely kept body. Her breasts were still pert–they may have been fake–her stomach was flat, her legs thin and thighs hard. It was hard to imagine ever having this chance again, but... Trowa didn’t think he could do such a thing.
After that, Amelie had gone back to ‘being his friend’. Talking with him over his relationship, over his future, over his situation with his family...er, lack of. Trowa was disappointed that this trip, designated for both he and Catherine to meet long lost family members hadn’t turned up just that. He wanted to meet new family members, wanted to know that there was just a connection out there that he could look upon. He was jealous of Quatre–the boy had a family. A large one at that, but then again, when Trowa thought about it, his twenty-nine sisters never kept in touch with him, and the father was a rich druggie that despised his son because of his orientation.
But then again, Rashid and Lana were so loving and giving, that the pair more than made up for what Quatre was lacking. When he’d joined Quatre on a visit (which Trowa himself had paid for, because the blond was homesick), the pair were so caring and so gentle, that they represented all that Trowa had thought parents should be. Lingering on that thought, he wondered if it would be possible for him and Quat to visit Laramie once more. He’d enjoyed the home cooked food–Lana was a Native American (Lakota, having moved from South Dakota), and made these lovely pieces of fry bread that were extremely fattening and yet so entirely delectable that Trowa found his mouth watering at the thought of one golden piece covered with powdered sugar...
Shaking his head to dispel the temptation of what would be impossible to have at this point in time, Trowa walked on until he found a seat facing the somewhat calm sea of the Mediterranean. Sighing, he pulled his backpack across his lap and fiddled with the zipper that held his passport and things inside. Then, unable to take it anymore, he withdrew his cellphone from his back pocket and dialed up Quatre. He waited with a frown, picking at the zipper, and sighed when he heard only the answering service.
He tried again during the next half hour, but no matter how many times it rung and how many times he heard the chipper voice demanding that he leave a message, or he’d find himself disemboweled by the dull end of a spoon, Quatre wasn’t answering. Trowa put the phone away and looked at his watch. It was very early morning over in the States, and he figured Quatre was just sleeping in. But that irritated him because when he’d called no matter the time–whether it be 3 or 4 in the morning in Cali–Quatre was there to answer and talk.
He wondered what the other was doing. He felt a little guilty, because he’d turned off his cellphone whenever he was talking to Amelie–who’d considered such things to be the ‘devil’s work’–and Quatre had called him numerous of times. In a way, even though he knew he wasn’t cheating on his favorite blond, it felt like he was because he was making it hard for Quat to get a hold of him.
Trowa worked the inside of his bottom lip, then exhaled heavily. A friendly Spanish stranger offered him an unopened bottle of water, but he refused with a polite shake of his head, and even then, the man began talking to him. So he found himself in a conversation with a lonely divorcee that was missing his four children and ‘whore of a wife’. In a way, it was extremely uplifting–because while he thought that he had it bad, there was always someone somewhere that it worse.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“C’mon, Catherine,” he sighed in annoyance as his sister began speaking again. He was in his hotel room, getting ready to go to bed, and getting entirely annoyed that Quatre had not answered his phone this entire time. Now his older sister was letting him know that she was stuck in Madrid, and it didn’t look as if she was going to make it back with him to the States. While he was sure that she was capable of handling herself, it was still the matter of the fact that she was totally abandoning him.
“I’m serious, Tro,” she said. In the background, Trowa heard a guy speaking, but she was positive that it wasn’t the snag she’d left with. “I think we’re going to keep on going, until we get to–”
“Catherine, this is fucking messed up. First you drag me all the way over here for some bullshit story that you were aware of, then you fucking leave me while you go and decide to mess around with some guy you barely know!” Trowa said, his voice rising with annoyed anger.
“I’m SORRY! But I thought this was fun for you, little brother! I mean, it’s a far cry from staying in New Park for the entire summer, being pestered by your stupid boyfriend! I thought you would appreciate this trip and explore a little on your own. Sort of a...growing up experience.”
Trowa sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was a short knock at his door, and he frowned, shifting the phone to one ear from the other. He lifted from the bed to answer it, saying to Catherine, “Well, I gotta go. Someone’s at the door...”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you later,” Trowa said, unlocking the door.
“No, wait, Trowa–!”
Trowa hung up on her as he pulled the door open, then blinked in surprise at the sight of Amelie standing there, smiling. She was holding a plastic bag that held some dinner container of sort, along with his hooded sweater, the one Quatre had bought for him in Laramie, a joke concerning his old high school.
“May I come in?” Amelie asked, holding up the items. Trowa shrugged and let her in, shutting the door behind her as she walked in, surveying the room with a curious eye. Trowa was glad that he’d put all his things away and he wasn’t messy, like some people he knew. The clothes he was wanting to wear tomorrow were folded in a pile on the table in the far wall, and the tv show he was watching was the nightly news.
There was really nothing to indicate that he was...just a child. That part, the part that told him he wanted to seem more mature than his age and level in school was really bothering him. He wanted Amelie to think he was mature. He wanted her approval in that sense. It just felt intimidating that she was the older woman and was more experienced, and in a way, he wanted to meet her on a similar level.
She set her bag down on the edge of his bed, sniffing the air as she set his sweater down. She turned to him, flicking hair behind her ear, revealing a round ruby in the delicate lobe. “Have you already ate?”
Trowa shrugged again. “I had some takeout from that restaurant down the street,” he said, setting his phone aside. Amelie looked at it questioningly, and he quickly turned it off, so they wouldn’t be bothered by its persistent ringing. Amelie was dressed in a light cardigan over a muted peach dress, and she removed her cardigan, fully intending to stay. Trowa figured they would just eat whatever she brought over and took her cardigan from her when she held it out. He hung it up on the hanger that usually held his jacket, which hung on the bathroom door.
When he returned, she was pulling out the container, revealing Italian food. “From my favorite place,” she said with a cheery smile, making him a plate from the plastic utensils that he and Catherine had bought and stored in the room, underneath her bed.
Trowa took the plate and sat down at the edge of his bed, feeling a little more than nervous about her appearance, and for the fact that she didn’t come here for dinner and small talk. He could sense it in the air, in the way that she looked at him. Even then, as he really didn’t want to realize this fact, he couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in his gut. He glanced at her now, the woman flipping her lightly curled brown hair out of her face, the layers brushing against her face. She looked the same as she usually did, with muted and minimal colors painted on her face, the same thin gold chain around her neck, her strong body covered in a modest dress that fluttered around her knees.
She smiled at him, then, asking where the bathroom was. He let her know, pointing around the corner, and she left him and her full plate, walking over, kicking off her expensive Italian leather pumps. Trowa stared at the discarded heels, plastic fork stopped halfway to his mouth. When he heard the shutting of the bathroom door, he lowered his plate to his lap and eyed his cellphone.
Call him, his mind urged. Call him before you do something stupid! And you know you are!
But even as his mind urged him, he couldn’t get his body to get up and follow through. And another part of him quickly made up excuses on why he shouldn’t–He’s not there. He hasn’t answered his phone, anyway. His cell’s turned off. I’ll only get his answering service.
Trowa put his plate aside, feeling his stomach tie up in knots. He knew what was going to happen, but he wasn’t sure if he should stop it. He should, he definitely should–! But...Amelie was offering, and she was so far above him, giving him a chance to ‘explore and experiment’...! Would he ever have this chance again? Would he ever have the same connection to another woman as he did with this one? Damn Catherine! Leaving him all alone and vulnerable to such things, while she was off fucking around with the entire male population of Spain. Damn her! And damn Quat for not answering his calls, for abandoning him in his own time of need...
He rose from the bed, moving over to pull the curtains shut, his hands shaking as he did. Pausing at the curtains, he looked at the bedroom settings, eyeing the two beds, eyeing his small pile of clothes, at the way the pile seemed so childish, so...painfully childish.
He frowned and moved to set the pile somewhere else when Amelie emerged from the small hallway that led from the bathroom, and paused. She stared at him with a simple smile on her face, her hand in the process of smoothing through her hair. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Trowa wasn’t sure if he should leap out the window, or move forward to her. His eyes darted to his cell phone, urging Quatre to call, but then remembering that he’d turned it off. He was entirely nervous, entirely guilty, but then again, at the same time, he was very much excited at the thought of going through with it. He had no idea what was this was going to mean, because he hadn’t had experience with females, but he supposed that with Amelie’s experience she would help him through it. Oh, God, he was going to go through with it. With the finality of that thought, he closed his eyes in regretful guilt, but then opened them again to see Amelie walking forward, her cardigan in her hand, tossing it over the tv.
She turned the volume down on the television, but didn’t turn it off, letting the lights move over her as she then continued walking forward. She reached him then, her hands gripping his hips, leaning upward to kiss his chin. He felt entirely dirty then, knowing what was going to happen, but he couldn’t get himself to move.
She looked up at him, blinking with that same allure she’d used to remind him that she was indeed a woman and knew what she wanted. Her lips parted, and she smiled, breathing softly against his neck, her hands rising to rest on his chest. “Do you know what I want, Trowa?” she asked, almost on a whisper as her lips found his Adam’s Apple. He quivered at the feel of her hot breath against his neck, at the feel of her body pressed against his. “Even I get lonely once in a while...no one’s given me their time like you have...so attentive, so wonderfully gentle, such a gentleman...you treat me far better than any man would have...I want to thank you, Trowa Barton, for being such a wonderful friend...”
Couldn’t she just send me a card, or something? Trowa wondered absently as she kissed his earlobe, drawing the flesh within her teeth, making him shiver once more. She pulled him into her embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck, her lips meeting his. A soft kiss was exchanged, something entirely different from the ones he was used to with Quatre. She melded her lips against his, keeping her mouth shut, her fingers running through his hair, scratching his scalp in a tender, loving way. Cautiously, he put his hands on her hips, feeling her warmth through the dress, feeling her body respond to his touch with a simple nudge of belly against hips. She murmured something he didn’t catch, her arms tightening around his neck, pulling him with her to the bed–Catherine’s bed.
She didn’t drag him down on top of her, through–she moved so that he was lying on his back, with her straddling his hips, kissing with that same closed mouth style, moving slowly as she fitted herself against him. Despite himself, he felt very excited at this new thing, feeling himself respond to her slight movement of her crotch against his. Her hands held onto his shoulders, kneading, relaxing, and when she finally opened her mouth, she dipped her tongue against his lips, causing him to open his mouth. She tasted him, tasting of something minty, her taste unique and entirely different. She stroked his tongue with hers, explored his mouth, and he was glad that he definitely had the braces removed. She moved her crotch in undulating motions against him, pressing herself against him, feeling out his arousal with her movements.
She pulled her mouth from his, straightening, reaching behind her to unzip the top of her dress and then contort her body to fully unzip herself. When she pulled the shoulder part off of her body, Trowa watched as two bountiful, and somewhat suspiciously perky breasts spilled forward, almost stiffly in reaction.
Fake, he thought as she guided his hands to touch them, feeling how hard and yet how hot they were. They were definitely fake.
She made soft sounds as she guided his hands to caress the nubs of her nipples, her dress around her bare waist, her hips moving over his. The soft, warm flesh of her breasts were hot beneath his palms, and he felt himself blushing in spite of himself. She moved, keeping his hands on her breasts as she leaned over and kissed him again, tonguing him, allowing her spit to coat his chin and lips. And when he thought that was disgusting, she lapped up her own spit and kissed him again. From this position, she then shifted out of her dress, pushing that up and over her bottom, completely naked. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Trowa was surprised and completely out of his league. This woman, with so much experience and so much more talent in bed than he wanted him. It had to be some kick of hers. But...she was so attentive and so understanding when she was talking to him about his relationship with Quatre...! Maybe...maybe this is what naturally progressed from such a relationship. As confused as he was, he continued to knead the round breasts and stroke the wide brown nipples that were presented to them, reveling in the difference from a man’s. But the other difference in these breasts were the fact that they were hard–they looked nice, don’t get him wrong, just...they were so...hard! Weren’t they supposed to be soft and jiggly?
Amelie began shifting down his body, dropping kisses over his chest, shifting his shirt upward to kiss at his stomach and his hips as she quickly undid the belt that he wore and the buttons and zippers of his pants. Sucking in a quick breath of air, watching as she drew his pants down his legs, manipulating his boxer-briefs as well, Trowa waited for her attention on the most straining part of him, of which rose from the fit of his underwear and stood proudly before her smirking face. She shifted and moved, drawing both pieces of clothing from his body and tossing them aside. Then, sweeping her hair from her face, she knelt between his legs in the most provocative manner and pulled him into her mouth.
It was heaven. To be enveloped within that hot cavern, to feel her tongue sweeping against his length, to feel her other hand jostling and lightly kneading his balls was something entirely different from the stuff he did with Quatre. He moaned in response, rising up on his elbows to watch her, his legs spread to give her room between them. She removed her mouth from his hard cock and then began moving up his body, suckling at his hip bones, at his stomach, forcing him to remove his shirt, to bare all before her. After he was through tossing that garment aside, she straddled his hips, kissing him, letting him know how he taste.
The feel of her naked crotch surprised him, because even though he’d heard of women that went completely bare, he’d never thought he’d actually encounter one. She gyrated against him, reaching between them to adjust his cock at the entrance of her pussy, then impaled herself with a loud, moaning cry. It was absolutely different–his cock seemed to slide right in without any trouble at all, but it was enveloped with a tight twitch of her channel, her hips shifting so that she was sitting at an angle to accommodate the slight curve of his dick. He’d always hated how he was so different from the others–he was of pretty interesting length and width, but there was a curve in his length that caused the head to turn slightly upward, and he was rather self-conscious about it. But the woman adjusted herself to him, and began working her hips, sliding up and down, her hands on his hips. He reached out, breathing heavily, liking the feel of her channel, liking the way her own natural moisture lubed the way for easier movement. Her breasts bounced with each motion, the action capturing his attention, her head tilted backward as she rode him.
Her moans and soft cries filled the room, mingling with his, and he found himself getting into the rhythm of her movements, pushing against her with his own rises and falls, touching her deeply within, feeling that every movement he made made her cry louder.
He could feel himself growing sweaty with the persisting work, could feel an orgasm building deep within, could feel that hot burn that signaled his readiness to come. She shifted suddenly, lifting herself up and away from him, and shifted to envelope his cock, slick and wet from their combined juices, into her mouth. Was that possible? Clean? Sanitary? He didn’t care–the image of her sucking him after she was done fucking him was very carnal, very nice, and he pushed into her mouth as she deep throated him, swallowing him repeatedly.
He could feel himself at the very edge, and his moans began getting louder, longer, and he ached for release. Amelie shifted again, pressing her mouth against his, tonguing him, the smell of their sex entering his nostrils and touching his mouth. It was slightly gross, but very exciting because it was something he’d never done before. He tongued her with just as much enthusiasm as she adjusted herself over his body, her pussy enveloping him once more. Pushing into her with rough, quick lifts, he felt himself starting to come– it was a hard orgasm, caused by pent-up weeks of abstinence, of the fact that he was doing something entirely different, something forbidden. He cried aloud, pushing into her, feeling her shift over him, her body clenching and holding him with the press of her kegals against his jerking length.
He gave a low, guttural moan as he felt his seed pump into her, making him realize that they weren’t using any protection. But that fleeting thought was nestled away as she rode him until he’d gone soft, slipping out of her with a reluctant sigh. She smiled, chuckling lightly as she pressed her body against his, and he wondered what he had to do to make her come. What kind of mechanics would he have to go through to make her feel that kind of pleasure? Was she mad that she didn’t come? Was she upset? Did she want to do it again?
“You were absolutely wonderful,” she whispered against his ear, licking the delicate shell, shifting off of him. He blushed with the compliment, shifting, wondering what he had to do to make her feel the same way.
“Teach me...?” he trailed off, touching her body, fingering her nipples. She stared up at him with a light smile, then curled her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
“You really want to learn how to pleasure a woman?”
“I don’t want to leave you...hanging. I mean, that would be selfish,” he murmured against her lips, tasting himself, tasting her.
“Dear, wonderful boy...I’ll teach you...”
And she certainly did.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The next morning found him with his face in his hands, his cup of coffee steaming next to him. He wiped his face repeatedly, completely guilty of what had transpired at least four times last night. He felt entirely low and dirty, and no amount of showering and cleaning could get out of his mind what had been done to him and what he’d done to her. His wrists ached, a little reminder that women were entirely different from men and needed more stimulation, more attention. It was such work to make a woman orgasm, but when they did...boy, was it worth it. And Amelie was completely able to have several at a time, shocking him as her body revealed the telltale secrets of her orgasm, leaving behind ejaculated juices of her own, trembling around him, her body flushing with color–! Damn. He was getting another hard-on just thinking about it.
But the morning afterward...God, he felt so entirely dirty. Yes, it was damn well worth doing what he did with Amelie, but thinking about Quatre...how he got so angry when he thought that the blond was cheating on him....he just felt entirely bad. He didn’t want to tell Quatre what happened–he didn’t want to lose him. He didn’t want to lose him! But then again, he wasn’t sure if he could keep this incident secret, if he could...well, he couldn’t take it back. What was done was done.
But...damn. It was worth it. Entirely worth it. He straightened his shoulders, sitting up straight in his chair, exhaling slowly. He could still smell Amelie’s body scents on him if he concentrated. The room reeked of sex. He’d left the windows open when he left. The woman, after they were done, had gathered her things and left with a cheery goodbye, but he’d noted that she was walking funny as she did so. The woman was without inhibitions–she’d even allowed him to perform on her anally. It was very...very surreal. Very different. Very...God, if Quatre ever found out that he’d done this–! The blond would probably be so hurt...and Trowa didn’t want Quatre hurt. He hated it when he hurt the blond. There was just something so pitifully sad when he saw his love’s hurt expressions from something he’d said or done, and how Trowa felt so guilty whenever the blond cried–actually, he’d only seen Quatre cry maybe two times during their time together, but that was totally understandable. For one thing, Quatre had been so overwhelmed by things during their earlier aspect that he’d cried rather sheepishly, and then there was the time when he knew Quatre had cried when he had kissed Middie Une that one time. He knew because the blond’s eyes were puffy and red the next day, and he had felt so bad–!
Argh! But he wouldn’t take back what happened last night! Not that he could, anyway, but...the range of emotions whirling within him made him sick. He had so much going on inside that he just felt overwhelmed by it all While it was all so wrong, all so...so BAD, he couldn’t help but like what had happened. His first time with a woman was very spectacular. Very...very good.
He sighed, picking up his coffee cup and sipping the hot liquid. Really, in another way, he could never regret that experience. But he could regret what he did to Quatre.
He picked up his cellphone, licking his lips. He saw that Quatre hadn’t tried to call him back during the time he had it turned off, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to him right after what he’d done. So he put the phone back and resumed staring in shame at the table he sat at. If he talked to Quatre now, he’d probably confess all, and...if he was going to confess, he had to do it face to face. That was the only manly thing to do. Why be a chicken about it and do it over the phone? It was better face to face. Even though...who said Quatre had to know? This could be Trowa’s little secret. Dirty, guilty, shameful secret. No one knew he’d just had a fling with a forty-one year old woman. There was no one he knew here. There was absolutely no way Catherine knew, and even if she did, she wouldn’t tell Quatre anyway.
He sighed heavily, his stomach upset by his thoughts.
The waiter came back at his signal, and he ordered a light breakfast. The woman nodded and hurried off to put in his order to the cook, and Trowa lifted the cup to his lips and sipped again.
He had just resumed thinking about what had transpired last night when he felt a presence at his table. He looked up, kind of hoping that it wasn’t Amelie, but frowned at the woman that stared down at him in incredulous shock. He didn’t know her–she was around five foot five, around her forties, and had dark hair that was pulled into a long braid. Her features weren’t anything he’d remember–she had a double chin, was a little plump, with squinty blue eyes and too big lips.
But she was staring at him as if she knew him, and he was a little more than annoyed, so he asked in English if he could help her.
She stuttered then, and it was then that he noticed she was carrying an overnight bag with her, along with a small terrier on a leash. It was sniffing at his leg, and he resisted the urge to kick at it as it nipped at his shoelaces. “Are you–?” she trailed off in rapid Spanish, blinking repeatedly as she shifted her bag from one arm to the other. “Are you...? Anna’s son?”
Trowa blinked, then looked at her in question.
“Anna Bloom?”
He nodded even more slowly, unsure of where this was going, and the woman gave a startled laugh, covering her mouth with one hand. She set her things down and sat down opposite him as he stared at her in surprise. Reaching across the table, she set both her hands down on the one that rested next to his coffee cup.
“I am Sicily!” she exclaimed. “I had heard that you and your sister were staying here in Barcelona! I had wanted to meet you both!”
Oh. Trowa couldn’t find anything to say as she laughed again, pulling the terrier onto her lap and calming it with a hand over its snout, forcing it to lay still over her legs.
“What is your name? You have her features, that is why I recognized you! This is unbelievable!” she continued, smiling in delight. Trowa wondered what had made her hate his mother, and though that had happened before his time, he wondered what the woman would want. Surely she wasn’t after Catherine’s millions, or something of the sort, was she?
“Trowa,” he finally answered, slowly, wishing that Catherine was here.
“Trowa...really, did your father or mother name you?” she asked, raising her eyebrow.
He shrugged. He really had no idea. But the tone she used was a little condescending, and he didn’t want to talk to her anymore. He sipped at his coffee and wished that it had been Amelie that had met him here, rather than this ‘relative’.
“Never mind that,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “I had wanted to meet with the offspring of my cousin, and when I had heard that the pair of you were living in America, now, I felt...disappointed. I wanted to reconnect with the remaining members of my family, and there wasn’t a chance for me to head on over...I wouldn’t know where to look!”
Trowa wasn’t sure if he should supply the information, because he really wasn’t too sure about her. He fiddled with the silverware before him, wondering if she would leave if his food was brought before him. Sicily arranged herself comfortably in the chair before him, and called for a waiter. After making her order, she faced him once more. Her presence was commanding, a little dominating. She took in his features with nothing more than a curious stare, her terrier quiet and obedient in her lap. Trowa wasn’t sure what to say to her, unsure if he should let her in, so he fiddled with his coffee cup and hoped that his silence would eventually drive her away.
“You’re very quiet,” she finally said in disappointment, long after his dish was served. “Your father was the same way. Very quiet. Zack was the type of man that never said anything unless he was spoken to. His wife, Anna, my cousin, was much more inviting. But that was all right...sometimes, we women need their men quiet. Most of which are so talkative, so grossly mannered...they done good with you, though.”
Trowa was wondering if she was insulting him by any way as he picked through the bacon and eggs, chewing thoughtfully. Sicily sighed, adjusting the dog over her lap. She stared around her, then focused on him after a few silent minutes.
“I am going to be blunt, Trowa,” she finally said, her eyes lowering to the table. “I had hoped that I would have met with your sister...I am having trouble...financial trouble. I was hoping that family would pull through to help me. I have lost my house, my home of thirty years, and I...I need help. Your sister is an actress, right?”
Figures, Trowa thought with a faint nod.
“Do you know how to reach her?”
He shook his head, plowing through his toast.
“Is she not with you?” she continued to press, her voice tinging with some irritation at his wordless answers. He shook his head again “Do you not know how to talk?”
He looked up from his food, piercing her with a stare, and Sicily sighed, shaking her head as she rubbed her nose tiredly. The terrier barked, and her hand covered its snout once more. “I am sorry, I apologize,” she said, shoulders slumping. “I just...I just hoped that I could...receive some sort of help, and...”
“I can give you her phone number,” Trowa then said, sitting back from the table.
That’ll teach her for ditching me, he thought as he pulled his phone into his hand, and relayed the numbers to the eager woman. The woman, after writing the number, gave him a hasty goodbye and left, leaving him with her unpaid order. He sighed at the add-on to his bill, and figured what the hell? He paid for both their plates and left the restaurant before she could find him. Catherine had paid for their room under an alias, so he knew Sicily wasn’t going to be able to find him without knowing that particular name.
But once inside the room, he sighed heavily at the unmade bed. The stained sheets, the evidence of his and Amelie’s frantic sex reminding him of what transpired the night before. He turned to use the bathroom when his phone rang. Seeing that it was Quatre trying to reach him, Trowa felt his hand shake as his thumb flitted over the button to take the call. His phone continue to ring, the persistent flash of Quatre’s name and number urging him to answer, but his eyes lifted to the unmade bed and he gave a pained groan, thrusting the phone from him and ignoring the ringing as he moved into the bathroom.
After an hour, Quatre stopped trying to reach him.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre awoke slowly, aware that he was breathing funny, that he felt intensely warm and surprisingly good despite the fact he’d passed out from the alarming intake of alcohol from the night before. He blinked his eyes fuzzily, hearing the soft sounds of various people sleeping, and woke up completely in alarm, panicking at the brief notion that he’d accidently fucked up and had fucked around last night without knowing.
But upon examination of himself, he realized that the reason he felt so warm was because Felicia was using his chest as a pillow, her arms wrapped around his waist–Justin was lying at his side, face in his neck, one arm strewn across his chest above Felicia’s head, and two other girls were cuddled up at his other side, one using his arm as a pillow and the other using her friend’s side as a sort of body pillow. There was Go, passed out at the foot of the bed, his back to them, and another guy at their feet, snoring loudly and curled into a ball. The king sized bed was large enough to accommodate the lot of them, and there was even more people sleeping throughout the room; lying on the floor, on the chairs, in the tub in the nearby bathroom...
He had to chuckle. It wasn’t the first time he’d awoken in such a manner, and while it was definitely surprising to find himself in such a position with many others, it wasn’t all that shocking. Sometimes, people at the parties just passed out where they were and damned if it was next to someone that was partying with them the night before.
It felt good, actually, to have Justin this close to him. Almost...almost like having Trowa against him when he spent the night in his room. Missing Trowa with a sharp pang in his chest, Quatre realized he really had to piss and gently disentangled himself from Justin’s arm and Felicia’s body, the two adjusting to his movement by curling up on the bed, in the spot where he was just laying. He staggered over sleeping bodies on the floor and used the restroom, snorting at the guy passed out in the tub. He flushed the toilet then washed his hands, and pulled his cellphone out from his pocket. It was signaling that Trowa still hadn’t called, and it had been nearly three days. Frowning, Quatre dialed his number and let it ring for a while until he picked up the answering service. He repeated this several times as he walked over to the bed, then, when Trowa didn’t answer, he sighed and climbed back onto the bed, climbing between Felicia and Justin, and turning to snuggle his back against the other boy’s body, pulling his arms around him in a comforting embrace.
He could feel morning wood against his back, but that was all right. All guys had morning wood. It didn’t mean anything. Then, because he was feeling cold, he sleepily pulled Felicia against him and went back to sleep. He’d try calling Trowa again later on.
But as the day passed into night, he still couldn’t reach the other boy. Growing irritated at this, Quatre growled as he threw his phone on his bed, wondering what the point was in having the thing if the other boy wasn’t going to use it. He sighed heavily, dropping down into the desk chair and pulling up his notebook. It wasn’t made of paper–it was a ten by eleven piece of metal and glass, a portable computer if you will. It consisted of programs that contained full textbooks within, with an automatic calculator within, with a very small keyboard inserted at the very bottom of an eight by eleven screen. He flipped through the options, searching for his homework for his math class, and began working on it, using paper to calculate the answers rather than bothering with the calculator.
As the day passed into night, he examined his Nike watch, the one that recorded all sorts of bodily things in terms of relative motion, and found that it was nearly eight. He frowned, very bored on a Sunday night, and kicked his shoes off. He wished that Trowa would call him–he had a vague sense of unease when he wondered why the boy wasn’t answering his phone, and it bothered him when he wondered if Trowa had somehow found a fling over in Spain.
He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as he pondered this notion. Trowa wouldn’t cheat on him, would he? After all, Trowa knew first hand what it felt like to be cheated upon, and he figured that the former goth would think of that when tempted by some pretty Spanish flame. At wondering this, insecurity set it. He straightened in his chair, reaching to his middle, capturing flab. Yeah, he gained a few pounds (fifteen, now) and he was a little unkept than he usually was, but...but that shouldn’t give Trowa reason enough to cheat! He didn’t even know what Quatre looked like now...so it wasn’t like...Trowa was cheating on him just because his appearance changed.
Quatre hoped that because he changed that Trowa wouldn’t let it matter. Love meant loving a person despite physical appearance, right? And he could lose the weight if he stopped partying–alcohol added calories, and he had taken a certain liking to Budweiser and the like. Plus, he kind of stopped playing ball. Not that he lost his love for the sport, but because...well, it just wasn’t the same when Trowa was gone.
He did love basketball–if he could, he would play it twenty-four/seven and never tire of it! He loved the smell of the worn rubber in his hands, loved playing hard opponents, loved making points, loved passing–everything! It was his first love and passion, and would always be there for him, even if Trowa weren’t. He loved the sound the net made when the ball passed through, or the discouraging twang the rim made when he missed. He loved walking into the gym and laying eyes on the wide expanse of court, decorated with the school’s colors (yellow and blue) and the cartoonish mascot in the dead center (strike him down now, he really liked the Indian with the drooping feather at one large ear). Sophia Darken’s LVWarriors were a mainstay in high school sports, and every athlete participating gave a hundred and ten percent whenever they entered the arena of their choice. Sophia Darken was infamous for their athletes, and he was just one of many exceptional ones.
Quatre Winner had gross talent on the court–it was as if he and the ball were one. He knew when to pass, knew when to shoot, knew how to command the others into a defensive or offensive play. He played Point Guard, the position in which the shortest player led his team through various positions in order to gain a point or defend their basket. He was more than adept at handling the ball, dribbling easily with both hands, able to shot threes from half court, able to pass when he saw the chance. He didn’t consider himself stuck up and conceited–he knew he was good, and that was that. Because he was.
Because last year, before he’d fucked up his knee and was taken out of the game because of it, he’d led the team to at least four wins, and that was only because he had trouble with the coach, Randy Ramos. Ramos had wanted him to lose the attitude (which was a major problem both on and off the court), and had kept him out a few games. Of which Quatre bet he would have helped the team win if Ramos hadn’t been so concerned with his attitude. Really, it wasn’t just him that caused the trouble–Sally Po and Hilde Schbeiker, the only girls on the team (all teams were coed, no matter the league or district, due to fair advantages) hated him and caused trouble when they weren’t able to keep up with him. And he couldn’t resist a shouting match, so he ended up fighting with the girls constantly. And the guys were envious of his talent, but worked hard with him otherwise. They had their own complaints off court, but they cooperated with him on the court. Difference of opinion was that Quatre was good, but his personality was something to hate.
This year, he was looking forward to playing again. He loved basketball. Back in Wyoming, he was playing nearly every weekend, off and on season, and that’s what kept him in shape. Even through there were summer leagues out in the city, he hadn’t made a single one due to his summer school program, and because he really liked partying. That in itself was an activity he enjoyed, because he liked interacting with various people and besides...hanging out with Justin was fun.
On that subject, he grinned, fiddling with his notebook. Justin was getting a little more confident in his flirting and had started touching him. Touching, which meant lingering brushes of his hands against Quatre’s, which meant grazes of fingers against his arm after a friendly punch, which meant a lot of ‘accidental’ touches on his ass in a crowded room. Quatre had finally figured that if Trowa wasn’t going to find out about it, then where was the harm in casual flirting and hanging out with another boy? It wasn’t as if they were kissing, or having sex, or messing around in that sense...Justin wasn’t ready for it, but it seriously turned Quatre on whenever he thought about being the boy’s first in everything. Justin had told him that he wasn’t a virgin when it came to girls, but he definitely was a virgin if he hadn’t had a boy yet. Just the thought that he had much more experience than Justin did was a definite turn-on. Justin had a way of looking at him shyly whenever he was caught touching him in non-accident ways, and that in itself was a little more than exciting. Justin exuded confidence everywhere else but in this aspect, so it was definitely a lift in his own self-confidence.
Christ...he really shouldn’t be thinking this way when Trowa was coming home in a couple of weeks, but he couldn’t help but hope he and Justin did a little ‘experimenting’ before Quatre would have to drop him. It would just be...fun. Different. Totally different, because Trowa was his only partner, and while what they had in the physical aspect of their relationship was awesome (phenomenal, mind-blowing, lovely, hot), he couldn’t help but wonder about something different...a different partner would help. And though he was loathe to admit that he wanted to experiment in that sense, he couldn’t help but feel entirely guilty that he was hoping for this while Trowa was overseas.
Oh, well. Things would change once Trowa was back at his side. Because when Trowa was around, Quatre had definite blinders that kept him from noticing anyone else. He loved the guy. He loved his physical appearance, loved his voice, loved his personality, loved everything about Trowa Barton! But... but he was gone. And Justin was here. Justin liked him enough to apologize for his own animosity from previous, to become friends with him. Justin was a new turn-on, Justin was untried and shy, Justin was... was convenient.
He looked at his phone once more, climbing out from his chair and picking the phone up from the unmade mess of his bed. Resettling back into his chair, he began flipping through the various names of the friends he’d made and those of the familiar faces he knew since he arrived at Darken. Just as he was going to try Trowa’s number again, his phone rang, startling him into dropping the thing.
He laughed at himself as he picked the phone up and answered without looking at the window, figuring that it was Trowa. He immediately felt guilty for his earlier thoughts. “Yeah?”
“Quatre...”
Quatre winced, blinking in amazement as he wondered how in the hell Triton Bloom had managed to get a hold of his number. For one thing, the guy was incredibly creepy, and for another, he wasn’t someone Quatre would hang out with alone anymore. “Triton?”
“Hey, it’s me. I got your number from this guy, Stan.”
Stan, Stan, Stan...oh. The guy with the overbite that had wanted Quatre to talk to Felicia about hooking up with her. Quatre made a mental note to tell Felicia that Stan had said derogatory things about her person, that she’d better kick his ass because he was telling everyone that they’d slept together. Just to get back at the guy for giving Triton his number.
“Yeah? And...?”
“I was just wondering what you were doing. It’s been awhile.”
Quatre rolled his eyes and wondered what Triton would do if he hung up on the guy. But he fiddled with his notebook, idling drawing his name in Arabic characters across the screen with the pen. “School starts in August,” he said on a frown.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. So are you going to graduate? To being a junior?”
“Yeah. I’m passing.”
“That’s good. Anyway, just wanted to check up on you. That’s all. Nothing more.”
Quatre blinked, making a face. “All right...”
“Talk to you later. Bye.”
After Triton hung up, Quatre thought that phone call was rather odd. Abrupt, sudden, and more than annoying. It took less than two minutes to complete, and it was really quite...hmm. He continued looking up his various names, and settled on Justin’s. Hell. The guy lived on his own, somewhere in Sageville, more than two hours away from Marysville. It was down south, past Ferndale, which was an hour away. And it was nearly eight...the guy worked for UPS, so he had an early bedtime. Quatre had a fleeting image of what Justin looked in uniform, and had to grin at the thought.
He selected Justin’s name and number, and listened to the various rings on the other end, chewing thoughtfully on his thumbnail. Justin answered with a bored greeting, the sounds of music in the background making Quatre smile, because he would recognize Alan Montgomery anywhere.
“You listen to country?” he teased, hearing Justin curse and the music silenced. “Fag.”
“Shut the fuck up, you fairy. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I’m bored.”
“Bored? You?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
“So, what’s this call about? Are you that bored? You never call me.”
“I do, too! Last Friday I called you. And last Sunday.”
“Yeah, but that was only to accuse me of stealing your wallet, of which was found in your sweater the next day! Fucker...”
Quatre laughed. He loved messing around with Justin. Trowa wouldn’t have put up with that bullshit–he’d merely give Quatre a look and calmly let him know where he could find his missing wallet. While teasing Trowa was fun, Justin was much more fun.
“Well, did I apologize for that?” he asked with an annoyed expression.
“NO!”
He laughed again. “Oh, well, that’s what happens, then.”
“You aren’t going to apologize for that, are you? God, you stupid, mean shit.” Justin then laughed, and Quatre could hear the sounds of a television set being manipulated. He wondered if Justin had a television, or a holoset, where the holographic figures of a program were projected by a standard sized projector. Some people were unable to afford it, and thus the continuing use of tv. “So...what’s going on this week? Planning on doing anything Thursday?”
“No. What’s Thursday?”
“This guy that covered my shift about a month ago’s taking over that day again. Want to go out?”
“And do what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe watch a movie...go eat...I don’t know.”
“Is this a date?”
“....Er...I don’t know. I thought we would just hang out. Like we usually do.”
“But when we do, we’re at a party.”
“Then let’s find a party, or something. C’mon. What’s wrong with it?”
Quatre found himself shrugging, fiddling with his Nike No-Show socks. There really wasn’t if they were just...hanging out. But...what if, by some reason, it turned into a date? Was it considered a date? “Nothing, I suppose.”
“It’s not like you’re with anybody, Quat...”
Quatre grimaced, looking at the picture of Trowa that had been taken sometime after basketball season, the beautiful features of his boyfriend screwed into something annoyed. Reaching over, he slapped that photo face down and hugged a leg awkwardly to his chest. “Yeah. I guess. I guess we can do that. But you have to pay. I’m broke.”
“You’re always broke.”
“I know. My bad porn addiction takes up most of my time...”
“Whatever. You just don’t strike me as the type to watch porn,” Justin said in a scoffing tone, and Quatre smiled as he chewed at the nub of his index fingernail. “You’re the type to just dive right into whomever’s willing to give it up...”
“I am not a whore! Stop calling me that!” he complained.
“I’m not! I’m just saying...that’s what you strike me as....”
“I’ll ‘strike’ you across the face for keeping up that bullshit-talk,” Quatre muttered as Justin laughed again.
“Fine. Look. I’ll pick you up, all right?”
“How about we just meet? I can take the bus to...wherever we’re going.”
“No, I’ll come pick you up.”
“So, this is a date, huh?”
“Um...no? Shit, can’t two guys hang out without being gay?”
Quatre laughed because that sounded funny. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing. Two guys can hang out without being gay,” Quatre decided, chuckling.
“Fine. I’ll pick you up at seven. Is that all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t call me again, man. You just give me shit. See ya.”
Quatre hung up, still chuckling at those words. As he thought about it more, the funnier it got. Still laughing, he dialed up Trowa’s number, and waited until he reached the answering service. Deciding upon leaving a message, he growled, “IF you KEEP ignoring me, SOMEONE’S going to STEAL me away!”
Then he hung up and wondered what he was going to wear for his ‘date’ with Justin on Thursday.
Chapter Four~
“My Happy Ending” Avril Lavigne
Trowa looked at his watch, and figured that by the time the cruise was finished, it would be time to call Quatre. It was nearly the middle of August–he and Catherine would leave Spain on the twenty-fifth, giving him plenty of time to get settled in his new dorm room with a new roommate before school started on the twenty-seventh. He inhaled the salty air, then grimaced at the cold. Was it supposed to be this cold?! Everyone else was huddling within their ponchos and raincoats, and in his, he was shivering. He moved away from the railing and walked into the warmer inside of the ship’s first deck, and blew into his hands. He had taken a solo trip throughout the coast of Spain, sightseeing here and there, and was happy that he did it. He didn’t have all that time to spend on agonizing over things, and he certainly wasn’t going to be tempted by Amelie’s offer–which made him blush whenever he thought about it.
Almost a week after their dinner, Amelie had offered herself to him, as a way of... ‘exploring his options’. She wanted him to experiment, and was willing to be his first female. Boy, while the offer was really tempting–she looked very good in maroon, which was the color of her see-thru nightie–Trowa thought only of Quatre and how the boy would feel if he’d ever found out that Trowa cheated on him, and he removed himself from the situation. Even though, Amelie didn’t take his refusal that bad–she’d simply laughed and apologized for scaring him away. She may have been in her early forties, but that woman had a very finely kept body. Her breasts were still pert–they may have been fake–her stomach was flat, her legs thin and thighs hard. It was hard to imagine ever having this chance again, but... Trowa didn’t think he could do such a thing.
After that, Amelie had gone back to ‘being his friend’. Talking with him over his relationship, over his future, over his situation with his family...er, lack of. Trowa was disappointed that this trip, designated for both he and Catherine to meet long lost family members hadn’t turned up just that. He wanted to meet new family members, wanted to know that there was just a connection out there that he could look upon. He was jealous of Quatre–the boy had a family. A large one at that, but then again, when Trowa thought about it, his twenty-nine sisters never kept in touch with him, and the father was a rich druggie that despised his son because of his orientation.
But then again, Rashid and Lana were so loving and giving, that the pair more than made up for what Quatre was lacking. When he’d joined Quatre on a visit (which Trowa himself had paid for, because the blond was homesick), the pair were so caring and so gentle, that they represented all that Trowa had thought parents should be. Lingering on that thought, he wondered if it would be possible for him and Quat to visit Laramie once more. He’d enjoyed the home cooked food–Lana was a Native American (Lakota, having moved from South Dakota), and made these lovely pieces of fry bread that were extremely fattening and yet so entirely delectable that Trowa found his mouth watering at the thought of one golden piece covered with powdered sugar...
Shaking his head to dispel the temptation of what would be impossible to have at this point in time, Trowa walked on until he found a seat facing the somewhat calm sea of the Mediterranean. Sighing, he pulled his backpack across his lap and fiddled with the zipper that held his passport and things inside. Then, unable to take it anymore, he withdrew his cellphone from his back pocket and dialed up Quatre. He waited with a frown, picking at the zipper, and sighed when he heard only the answering service.
He tried again during the next half hour, but no matter how many times it rung and how many times he heard the chipper voice demanding that he leave a message, or he’d find himself disemboweled by the dull end of a spoon, Quatre wasn’t answering. Trowa put the phone away and looked at his watch. It was very early morning over in the States, and he figured Quatre was just sleeping in. But that irritated him because when he’d called no matter the time–whether it be 3 or 4 in the morning in Cali–Quatre was there to answer and talk.
He wondered what the other was doing. He felt a little guilty, because he’d turned off his cellphone whenever he was talking to Amelie–who’d considered such things to be the ‘devil’s work’–and Quatre had called him numerous of times. In a way, even though he knew he wasn’t cheating on his favorite blond, it felt like he was because he was making it hard for Quat to get a hold of him.
Trowa worked the inside of his bottom lip, then exhaled heavily. A friendly Spanish stranger offered him an unopened bottle of water, but he refused with a polite shake of his head, and even then, the man began talking to him. So he found himself in a conversation with a lonely divorcee that was missing his four children and ‘whore of a wife’. In a way, it was extremely uplifting–because while he thought that he had it bad, there was always someone somewhere that it worse.
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“C’mon, Catherine,” he sighed in annoyance as his sister began speaking again. He was in his hotel room, getting ready to go to bed, and getting entirely annoyed that Quatre had not answered his phone this entire time. Now his older sister was letting him know that she was stuck in Madrid, and it didn’t look as if she was going to make it back with him to the States. While he was sure that she was capable of handling herself, it was still the matter of the fact that she was totally abandoning him.
“I’m serious, Tro,” she said. In the background, Trowa heard a guy speaking, but she was positive that it wasn’t the snag she’d left with. “I think we’re going to keep on going, until we get to–”
“Catherine, this is fucking messed up. First you drag me all the way over here for some bullshit story that you were aware of, then you fucking leave me while you go and decide to mess around with some guy you barely know!” Trowa said, his voice rising with annoyed anger.
“I’m SORRY! But I thought this was fun for you, little brother! I mean, it’s a far cry from staying in New Park for the entire summer, being pestered by your stupid boyfriend! I thought you would appreciate this trip and explore a little on your own. Sort of a...growing up experience.”
Trowa sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was a short knock at his door, and he frowned, shifting the phone to one ear from the other. He lifted from the bed to answer it, saying to Catherine, “Well, I gotta go. Someone’s at the door...”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. I’ll call you later,” Trowa said, unlocking the door.
“No, wait, Trowa–!”
Trowa hung up on her as he pulled the door open, then blinked in surprise at the sight of Amelie standing there, smiling. She was holding a plastic bag that held some dinner container of sort, along with his hooded sweater, the one Quatre had bought for him in Laramie, a joke concerning his old high school.
“May I come in?” Amelie asked, holding up the items. Trowa shrugged and let her in, shutting the door behind her as she walked in, surveying the room with a curious eye. Trowa was glad that he’d put all his things away and he wasn’t messy, like some people he knew. The clothes he was wanting to wear tomorrow were folded in a pile on the table in the far wall, and the tv show he was watching was the nightly news.
There was really nothing to indicate that he was...just a child. That part, the part that told him he wanted to seem more mature than his age and level in school was really bothering him. He wanted Amelie to think he was mature. He wanted her approval in that sense. It just felt intimidating that she was the older woman and was more experienced, and in a way, he wanted to meet her on a similar level.
She set her bag down on the edge of his bed, sniffing the air as she set his sweater down. She turned to him, flicking hair behind her ear, revealing a round ruby in the delicate lobe. “Have you already ate?”
Trowa shrugged again. “I had some takeout from that restaurant down the street,” he said, setting his phone aside. Amelie looked at it questioningly, and he quickly turned it off, so they wouldn’t be bothered by its persistent ringing. Amelie was dressed in a light cardigan over a muted peach dress, and she removed her cardigan, fully intending to stay. Trowa figured they would just eat whatever she brought over and took her cardigan from her when she held it out. He hung it up on the hanger that usually held his jacket, which hung on the bathroom door.
When he returned, she was pulling out the container, revealing Italian food. “From my favorite place,” she said with a cheery smile, making him a plate from the plastic utensils that he and Catherine had bought and stored in the room, underneath her bed.
Trowa took the plate and sat down at the edge of his bed, feeling a little more than nervous about her appearance, and for the fact that she didn’t come here for dinner and small talk. He could sense it in the air, in the way that she looked at him. Even then, as he really didn’t want to realize this fact, he couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement in his gut. He glanced at her now, the woman flipping her lightly curled brown hair out of her face, the layers brushing against her face. She looked the same as she usually did, with muted and minimal colors painted on her face, the same thin gold chain around her neck, her strong body covered in a modest dress that fluttered around her knees.
She smiled at him, then, asking where the bathroom was. He let her know, pointing around the corner, and she left him and her full plate, walking over, kicking off her expensive Italian leather pumps. Trowa stared at the discarded heels, plastic fork stopped halfway to his mouth. When he heard the shutting of the bathroom door, he lowered his plate to his lap and eyed his cellphone.
Call him, his mind urged. Call him before you do something stupid! And you know you are!
But even as his mind urged him, he couldn’t get his body to get up and follow through. And another part of him quickly made up excuses on why he shouldn’t–He’s not there. He hasn’t answered his phone, anyway. His cell’s turned off. I’ll only get his answering service.
Trowa put his plate aside, feeling his stomach tie up in knots. He knew what was going to happen, but he wasn’t sure if he should stop it. He should, he definitely should–! But...Amelie was offering, and she was so far above him, giving him a chance to ‘explore and experiment’...! Would he ever have this chance again? Would he ever have the same connection to another woman as he did with this one? Damn Catherine! Leaving him all alone and vulnerable to such things, while she was off fucking around with the entire male population of Spain. Damn her! And damn Quat for not answering his calls, for abandoning him in his own time of need...
He rose from the bed, moving over to pull the curtains shut, his hands shaking as he did. Pausing at the curtains, he looked at the bedroom settings, eyeing the two beds, eyeing his small pile of clothes, at the way the pile seemed so childish, so...painfully childish.
He frowned and moved to set the pile somewhere else when Amelie emerged from the small hallway that led from the bathroom, and paused. She stared at him with a simple smile on her face, her hand in the process of smoothing through her hair. She knew exactly what she was doing, and Trowa wasn’t sure if he should leap out the window, or move forward to her. His eyes darted to his cell phone, urging Quatre to call, but then remembering that he’d turned it off. He was entirely nervous, entirely guilty, but then again, at the same time, he was very much excited at the thought of going through with it. He had no idea what was this was going to mean, because he hadn’t had experience with females, but he supposed that with Amelie’s experience she would help him through it. Oh, God, he was going to go through with it. With the finality of that thought, he closed his eyes in regretful guilt, but then opened them again to see Amelie walking forward, her cardigan in her hand, tossing it over the tv.
She turned the volume down on the television, but didn’t turn it off, letting the lights move over her as she then continued walking forward. She reached him then, her hands gripping his hips, leaning upward to kiss his chin. He felt entirely dirty then, knowing what was going to happen, but he couldn’t get himself to move.
She looked up at him, blinking with that same allure she’d used to remind him that she was indeed a woman and knew what she wanted. Her lips parted, and she smiled, breathing softly against his neck, her hands rising to rest on his chest. “Do you know what I want, Trowa?” she asked, almost on a whisper as her lips found his Adam’s Apple. He quivered at the feel of her hot breath against his neck, at the feel of her body pressed against his. “Even I get lonely once in a while...no one’s given me their time like you have...so attentive, so wonderfully gentle, such a gentleman...you treat me far better than any man would have...I want to thank you, Trowa Barton, for being such a wonderful friend...”
Couldn’t she just send me a card, or something? Trowa wondered absently as she kissed his earlobe, drawing the flesh within her teeth, making him shiver once more. She pulled him into her embrace, her arms wrapping around his neck, her lips meeting his. A soft kiss was exchanged, something entirely different from the ones he was used to with Quatre. She melded her lips against his, keeping her mouth shut, her fingers running through his hair, scratching his scalp in a tender, loving way. Cautiously, he put his hands on her hips, feeling her warmth through the dress, feeling her body respond to his touch with a simple nudge of belly against hips. She murmured something he didn’t catch, her arms tightening around his neck, pulling him with her to the bed–Catherine’s bed.
She didn’t drag him down on top of her, through–she moved so that he was lying on his back, with her straddling his hips, kissing with that same closed mouth style, moving slowly as she fitted herself against him. Despite himself, he felt very excited at this new thing, feeling himself respond to her slight movement of her crotch against his. Her hands held onto his shoulders, kneading, relaxing, and when she finally opened her mouth, she dipped her tongue against his lips, causing him to open his mouth. She tasted him, tasting of something minty, her taste unique and entirely different. She stroked his tongue with hers, explored his mouth, and he was glad that he definitely had the braces removed. She moved her crotch in undulating motions against him, pressing herself against him, feeling out his arousal with her movements.
She pulled her mouth from his, straightening, reaching behind her to unzip the top of her dress and then contort her body to fully unzip herself. When she pulled the shoulder part off of her body, Trowa watched as two bountiful, and somewhat suspiciously perky breasts spilled forward, almost stiffly in reaction.
Fake, he thought as she guided his hands to touch them, feeling how hard and yet how hot they were. They were definitely fake.
She made soft sounds as she guided his hands to caress the nubs of her nipples, her dress around her bare waist, her hips moving over his. The soft, warm flesh of her breasts were hot beneath his palms, and he felt himself blushing in spite of himself. She moved, keeping his hands on her breasts as she leaned over and kissed him again, tonguing him, allowing her spit to coat his chin and lips. And when he thought that was disgusting, she lapped up her own spit and kissed him again. From this position, she then shifted out of her dress, pushing that up and over her bottom, completely naked. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
Trowa was surprised and completely out of his league. This woman, with so much experience and so much more talent in bed than he wanted him. It had to be some kick of hers. But...she was so attentive and so understanding when she was talking to him about his relationship with Quatre...! Maybe...maybe this is what naturally progressed from such a relationship. As confused as he was, he continued to knead the round breasts and stroke the wide brown nipples that were presented to them, reveling in the difference from a man’s. But the other difference in these breasts were the fact that they were hard–they looked nice, don’t get him wrong, just...they were so...hard! Weren’t they supposed to be soft and jiggly?
Amelie began shifting down his body, dropping kisses over his chest, shifting his shirt upward to kiss at his stomach and his hips as she quickly undid the belt that he wore and the buttons and zippers of his pants. Sucking in a quick breath of air, watching as she drew his pants down his legs, manipulating his boxer-briefs as well, Trowa waited for her attention on the most straining part of him, of which rose from the fit of his underwear and stood proudly before her smirking face. She shifted and moved, drawing both pieces of clothing from his body and tossing them aside. Then, sweeping her hair from her face, she knelt between his legs in the most provocative manner and pulled him into her mouth.
It was heaven. To be enveloped within that hot cavern, to feel her tongue sweeping against his length, to feel her other hand jostling and lightly kneading his balls was something entirely different from the stuff he did with Quatre. He moaned in response, rising up on his elbows to watch her, his legs spread to give her room between them. She removed her mouth from his hard cock and then began moving up his body, suckling at his hip bones, at his stomach, forcing him to remove his shirt, to bare all before her. After he was through tossing that garment aside, she straddled his hips, kissing him, letting him know how he taste.
The feel of her naked crotch surprised him, because even though he’d heard of women that went completely bare, he’d never thought he’d actually encounter one. She gyrated against him, reaching between them to adjust his cock at the entrance of her pussy, then impaled herself with a loud, moaning cry. It was absolutely different–his cock seemed to slide right in without any trouble at all, but it was enveloped with a tight twitch of her channel, her hips shifting so that she was sitting at an angle to accommodate the slight curve of his dick. He’d always hated how he was so different from the others–he was of pretty interesting length and width, but there was a curve in his length that caused the head to turn slightly upward, and he was rather self-conscious about it. But the woman adjusted herself to him, and began working her hips, sliding up and down, her hands on his hips. He reached out, breathing heavily, liking the feel of her channel, liking the way her own natural moisture lubed the way for easier movement. Her breasts bounced with each motion, the action capturing his attention, her head tilted backward as she rode him.
Her moans and soft cries filled the room, mingling with his, and he found himself getting into the rhythm of her movements, pushing against her with his own rises and falls, touching her deeply within, feeling that every movement he made made her cry louder.
He could feel himself growing sweaty with the persisting work, could feel an orgasm building deep within, could feel that hot burn that signaled his readiness to come. She shifted suddenly, lifting herself up and away from him, and shifted to envelope his cock, slick and wet from their combined juices, into her mouth. Was that possible? Clean? Sanitary? He didn’t care–the image of her sucking him after she was done fucking him was very carnal, very nice, and he pushed into her mouth as she deep throated him, swallowing him repeatedly.
He could feel himself at the very edge, and his moans began getting louder, longer, and he ached for release. Amelie shifted again, pressing her mouth against his, tonguing him, the smell of their sex entering his nostrils and touching his mouth. It was slightly gross, but very exciting because it was something he’d never done before. He tongued her with just as much enthusiasm as she adjusted herself over his body, her pussy enveloping him once more. Pushing into her with rough, quick lifts, he felt himself starting to come– it was a hard orgasm, caused by pent-up weeks of abstinence, of the fact that he was doing something entirely different, something forbidden. He cried aloud, pushing into her, feeling her shift over him, her body clenching and holding him with the press of her kegals against his jerking length.
He gave a low, guttural moan as he felt his seed pump into her, making him realize that they weren’t using any protection. But that fleeting thought was nestled away as she rode him until he’d gone soft, slipping out of her with a reluctant sigh. She smiled, chuckling lightly as she pressed her body against his, and he wondered what he had to do to make her come. What kind of mechanics would he have to go through to make her feel that kind of pleasure? Was she mad that she didn’t come? Was she upset? Did she want to do it again?
“You were absolutely wonderful,” she whispered against his ear, licking the delicate shell, shifting off of him. He blushed with the compliment, shifting, wondering what he had to do to make her feel the same way.
“Teach me...?” he trailed off, touching her body, fingering her nipples. She stared up at him with a light smile, then curled her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
“You really want to learn how to pleasure a woman?”
“I don’t want to leave you...hanging. I mean, that would be selfish,” he murmured against her lips, tasting himself, tasting her.
“Dear, wonderful boy...I’ll teach you...”
And she certainly did.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
The next morning found him with his face in his hands, his cup of coffee steaming next to him. He wiped his face repeatedly, completely guilty of what had transpired at least four times last night. He felt entirely low and dirty, and no amount of showering and cleaning could get out of his mind what had been done to him and what he’d done to her. His wrists ached, a little reminder that women were entirely different from men and needed more stimulation, more attention. It was such work to make a woman orgasm, but when they did...boy, was it worth it. And Amelie was completely able to have several at a time, shocking him as her body revealed the telltale secrets of her orgasm, leaving behind ejaculated juices of her own, trembling around him, her body flushing with color–! Damn. He was getting another hard-on just thinking about it.
But the morning afterward...God, he felt so entirely dirty. Yes, it was damn well worth doing what he did with Amelie, but thinking about Quatre...how he got so angry when he thought that the blond was cheating on him....he just felt entirely bad. He didn’t want to tell Quatre what happened–he didn’t want to lose him. He didn’t want to lose him! But then again, he wasn’t sure if he could keep this incident secret, if he could...well, he couldn’t take it back. What was done was done.
But...damn. It was worth it. Entirely worth it. He straightened his shoulders, sitting up straight in his chair, exhaling slowly. He could still smell Amelie’s body scents on him if he concentrated. The room reeked of sex. He’d left the windows open when he left. The woman, after they were done, had gathered her things and left with a cheery goodbye, but he’d noted that she was walking funny as she did so. The woman was without inhibitions–she’d even allowed him to perform on her anally. It was very...very surreal. Very different. Very...God, if Quatre ever found out that he’d done this–! The blond would probably be so hurt...and Trowa didn’t want Quatre hurt. He hated it when he hurt the blond. There was just something so pitifully sad when he saw his love’s hurt expressions from something he’d said or done, and how Trowa felt so guilty whenever the blond cried–actually, he’d only seen Quatre cry maybe two times during their time together, but that was totally understandable. For one thing, Quatre had been so overwhelmed by things during their earlier aspect that he’d cried rather sheepishly, and then there was the time when he knew Quatre had cried when he had kissed Middie Une that one time. He knew because the blond’s eyes were puffy and red the next day, and he had felt so bad–!
Argh! But he wouldn’t take back what happened last night! Not that he could, anyway, but...the range of emotions whirling within him made him sick. He had so much going on inside that he just felt overwhelmed by it all While it was all so wrong, all so...so BAD, he couldn’t help but like what had happened. His first time with a woman was very spectacular. Very...very good.
He sighed, picking up his coffee cup and sipping the hot liquid. Really, in another way, he could never regret that experience. But he could regret what he did to Quatre.
He picked up his cellphone, licking his lips. He saw that Quatre hadn’t tried to call him back during the time he had it turned off, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to talk to him right after what he’d done. So he put the phone back and resumed staring in shame at the table he sat at. If he talked to Quatre now, he’d probably confess all, and...if he was going to confess, he had to do it face to face. That was the only manly thing to do. Why be a chicken about it and do it over the phone? It was better face to face. Even though...who said Quatre had to know? This could be Trowa’s little secret. Dirty, guilty, shameful secret. No one knew he’d just had a fling with a forty-one year old woman. There was no one he knew here. There was absolutely no way Catherine knew, and even if she did, she wouldn’t tell Quatre anyway.
He sighed heavily, his stomach upset by his thoughts.
The waiter came back at his signal, and he ordered a light breakfast. The woman nodded and hurried off to put in his order to the cook, and Trowa lifted the cup to his lips and sipped again.
He had just resumed thinking about what had transpired last night when he felt a presence at his table. He looked up, kind of hoping that it wasn’t Amelie, but frowned at the woman that stared down at him in incredulous shock. He didn’t know her–she was around five foot five, around her forties, and had dark hair that was pulled into a long braid. Her features weren’t anything he’d remember–she had a double chin, was a little plump, with squinty blue eyes and too big lips.
But she was staring at him as if she knew him, and he was a little more than annoyed, so he asked in English if he could help her.
She stuttered then, and it was then that he noticed she was carrying an overnight bag with her, along with a small terrier on a leash. It was sniffing at his leg, and he resisted the urge to kick at it as it nipped at his shoelaces. “Are you–?” she trailed off in rapid Spanish, blinking repeatedly as she shifted her bag from one arm to the other. “Are you...? Anna’s son?”
Trowa blinked, then looked at her in question.
“Anna Bloom?”
He nodded even more slowly, unsure of where this was going, and the woman gave a startled laugh, covering her mouth with one hand. She set her things down and sat down opposite him as he stared at her in surprise. Reaching across the table, she set both her hands down on the one that rested next to his coffee cup.
“I am Sicily!” she exclaimed. “I had heard that you and your sister were staying here in Barcelona! I had wanted to meet you both!”
Oh. Trowa couldn’t find anything to say as she laughed again, pulling the terrier onto her lap and calming it with a hand over its snout, forcing it to lay still over her legs.
“What is your name? You have her features, that is why I recognized you! This is unbelievable!” she continued, smiling in delight. Trowa wondered what had made her hate his mother, and though that had happened before his time, he wondered what the woman would want. Surely she wasn’t after Catherine’s millions, or something of the sort, was she?
“Trowa,” he finally answered, slowly, wishing that Catherine was here.
“Trowa...really, did your father or mother name you?” she asked, raising her eyebrow.
He shrugged. He really had no idea. But the tone she used was a little condescending, and he didn’t want to talk to her anymore. He sipped at his coffee and wished that it had been Amelie that had met him here, rather than this ‘relative’.
“Never mind that,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “I had wanted to meet with the offspring of my cousin, and when I had heard that the pair of you were living in America, now, I felt...disappointed. I wanted to reconnect with the remaining members of my family, and there wasn’t a chance for me to head on over...I wouldn’t know where to look!”
Trowa wasn’t sure if he should supply the information, because he really wasn’t too sure about her. He fiddled with the silverware before him, wondering if she would leave if his food was brought before him. Sicily arranged herself comfortably in the chair before him, and called for a waiter. After making her order, she faced him once more. Her presence was commanding, a little dominating. She took in his features with nothing more than a curious stare, her terrier quiet and obedient in her lap. Trowa wasn’t sure what to say to her, unsure if he should let her in, so he fiddled with his coffee cup and hoped that his silence would eventually drive her away.
“You’re very quiet,” she finally said in disappointment, long after his dish was served. “Your father was the same way. Very quiet. Zack was the type of man that never said anything unless he was spoken to. His wife, Anna, my cousin, was much more inviting. But that was all right...sometimes, we women need their men quiet. Most of which are so talkative, so grossly mannered...they done good with you, though.”
Trowa was wondering if she was insulting him by any way as he picked through the bacon and eggs, chewing thoughtfully. Sicily sighed, adjusting the dog over her lap. She stared around her, then focused on him after a few silent minutes.
“I am going to be blunt, Trowa,” she finally said, her eyes lowering to the table. “I had hoped that I would have met with your sister...I am having trouble...financial trouble. I was hoping that family would pull through to help me. I have lost my house, my home of thirty years, and I...I need help. Your sister is an actress, right?”
Figures, Trowa thought with a faint nod.
“Do you know how to reach her?”
He shook his head, plowing through his toast.
“Is she not with you?” she continued to press, her voice tinging with some irritation at his wordless answers. He shook his head again “Do you not know how to talk?”
He looked up from his food, piercing her with a stare, and Sicily sighed, shaking her head as she rubbed her nose tiredly. The terrier barked, and her hand covered its snout once more. “I am sorry, I apologize,” she said, shoulders slumping. “I just...I just hoped that I could...receive some sort of help, and...”
“I can give you her phone number,” Trowa then said, sitting back from the table.
That’ll teach her for ditching me, he thought as he pulled his phone into his hand, and relayed the numbers to the eager woman. The woman, after writing the number, gave him a hasty goodbye and left, leaving him with her unpaid order. He sighed at the add-on to his bill, and figured what the hell? He paid for both their plates and left the restaurant before she could find him. Catherine had paid for their room under an alias, so he knew Sicily wasn’t going to be able to find him without knowing that particular name.
But once inside the room, he sighed heavily at the unmade bed. The stained sheets, the evidence of his and Amelie’s frantic sex reminding him of what transpired the night before. He turned to use the bathroom when his phone rang. Seeing that it was Quatre trying to reach him, Trowa felt his hand shake as his thumb flitted over the button to take the call. His phone continue to ring, the persistent flash of Quatre’s name and number urging him to answer, but his eyes lifted to the unmade bed and he gave a pained groan, thrusting the phone from him and ignoring the ringing as he moved into the bathroom.
After an hour, Quatre stopped trying to reach him.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre awoke slowly, aware that he was breathing funny, that he felt intensely warm and surprisingly good despite the fact he’d passed out from the alarming intake of alcohol from the night before. He blinked his eyes fuzzily, hearing the soft sounds of various people sleeping, and woke up completely in alarm, panicking at the brief notion that he’d accidently fucked up and had fucked around last night without knowing.
But upon examination of himself, he realized that the reason he felt so warm was because Felicia was using his chest as a pillow, her arms wrapped around his waist–Justin was lying at his side, face in his neck, one arm strewn across his chest above Felicia’s head, and two other girls were cuddled up at his other side, one using his arm as a pillow and the other using her friend’s side as a sort of body pillow. There was Go, passed out at the foot of the bed, his back to them, and another guy at their feet, snoring loudly and curled into a ball. The king sized bed was large enough to accommodate the lot of them, and there was even more people sleeping throughout the room; lying on the floor, on the chairs, in the tub in the nearby bathroom...
He had to chuckle. It wasn’t the first time he’d awoken in such a manner, and while it was definitely surprising to find himself in such a position with many others, it wasn’t all that shocking. Sometimes, people at the parties just passed out where they were and damned if it was next to someone that was partying with them the night before.
It felt good, actually, to have Justin this close to him. Almost...almost like having Trowa against him when he spent the night in his room. Missing Trowa with a sharp pang in his chest, Quatre realized he really had to piss and gently disentangled himself from Justin’s arm and Felicia’s body, the two adjusting to his movement by curling up on the bed, in the spot where he was just laying. He staggered over sleeping bodies on the floor and used the restroom, snorting at the guy passed out in the tub. He flushed the toilet then washed his hands, and pulled his cellphone out from his pocket. It was signaling that Trowa still hadn’t called, and it had been nearly three days. Frowning, Quatre dialed his number and let it ring for a while until he picked up the answering service. He repeated this several times as he walked over to the bed, then, when Trowa didn’t answer, he sighed and climbed back onto the bed, climbing between Felicia and Justin, and turning to snuggle his back against the other boy’s body, pulling his arms around him in a comforting embrace.
He could feel morning wood against his back, but that was all right. All guys had morning wood. It didn’t mean anything. Then, because he was feeling cold, he sleepily pulled Felicia against him and went back to sleep. He’d try calling Trowa again later on.
But as the day passed into night, he still couldn’t reach the other boy. Growing irritated at this, Quatre growled as he threw his phone on his bed, wondering what the point was in having the thing if the other boy wasn’t going to use it. He sighed heavily, dropping down into the desk chair and pulling up his notebook. It wasn’t made of paper–it was a ten by eleven piece of metal and glass, a portable computer if you will. It consisted of programs that contained full textbooks within, with an automatic calculator within, with a very small keyboard inserted at the very bottom of an eight by eleven screen. He flipped through the options, searching for his homework for his math class, and began working on it, using paper to calculate the answers rather than bothering with the calculator.
As the day passed into night, he examined his Nike watch, the one that recorded all sorts of bodily things in terms of relative motion, and found that it was nearly eight. He frowned, very bored on a Sunday night, and kicked his shoes off. He wished that Trowa would call him–he had a vague sense of unease when he wondered why the boy wasn’t answering his phone, and it bothered him when he wondered if Trowa had somehow found a fling over in Spain.
He sighed heavily, shoulders slumping as he pondered this notion. Trowa wouldn’t cheat on him, would he? After all, Trowa knew first hand what it felt like to be cheated upon, and he figured that the former goth would think of that when tempted by some pretty Spanish flame. At wondering this, insecurity set it. He straightened in his chair, reaching to his middle, capturing flab. Yeah, he gained a few pounds (fifteen, now) and he was a little unkept than he usually was, but...but that shouldn’t give Trowa reason enough to cheat! He didn’t even know what Quatre looked like now...so it wasn’t like...Trowa was cheating on him just because his appearance changed.
Quatre hoped that because he changed that Trowa wouldn’t let it matter. Love meant loving a person despite physical appearance, right? And he could lose the weight if he stopped partying–alcohol added calories, and he had taken a certain liking to Budweiser and the like. Plus, he kind of stopped playing ball. Not that he lost his love for the sport, but because...well, it just wasn’t the same when Trowa was gone.
He did love basketball–if he could, he would play it twenty-four/seven and never tire of it! He loved the smell of the worn rubber in his hands, loved playing hard opponents, loved making points, loved passing–everything! It was his first love and passion, and would always be there for him, even if Trowa weren’t. He loved the sound the net made when the ball passed through, or the discouraging twang the rim made when he missed. He loved walking into the gym and laying eyes on the wide expanse of court, decorated with the school’s colors (yellow and blue) and the cartoonish mascot in the dead center (strike him down now, he really liked the Indian with the drooping feather at one large ear). Sophia Darken’s LVWarriors were a mainstay in high school sports, and every athlete participating gave a hundred and ten percent whenever they entered the arena of their choice. Sophia Darken was infamous for their athletes, and he was just one of many exceptional ones.
Quatre Winner had gross talent on the court–it was as if he and the ball were one. He knew when to pass, knew when to shoot, knew how to command the others into a defensive or offensive play. He played Point Guard, the position in which the shortest player led his team through various positions in order to gain a point or defend their basket. He was more than adept at handling the ball, dribbling easily with both hands, able to shot threes from half court, able to pass when he saw the chance. He didn’t consider himself stuck up and conceited–he knew he was good, and that was that. Because he was.
Because last year, before he’d fucked up his knee and was taken out of the game because of it, he’d led the team to at least four wins, and that was only because he had trouble with the coach, Randy Ramos. Ramos had wanted him to lose the attitude (which was a major problem both on and off the court), and had kept him out a few games. Of which Quatre bet he would have helped the team win if Ramos hadn’t been so concerned with his attitude. Really, it wasn’t just him that caused the trouble–Sally Po and Hilde Schbeiker, the only girls on the team (all teams were coed, no matter the league or district, due to fair advantages) hated him and caused trouble when they weren’t able to keep up with him. And he couldn’t resist a shouting match, so he ended up fighting with the girls constantly. And the guys were envious of his talent, but worked hard with him otherwise. They had their own complaints off court, but they cooperated with him on the court. Difference of opinion was that Quatre was good, but his personality was something to hate.
This year, he was looking forward to playing again. He loved basketball. Back in Wyoming, he was playing nearly every weekend, off and on season, and that’s what kept him in shape. Even through there were summer leagues out in the city, he hadn’t made a single one due to his summer school program, and because he really liked partying. That in itself was an activity he enjoyed, because he liked interacting with various people and besides...hanging out with Justin was fun.
On that subject, he grinned, fiddling with his notebook. Justin was getting a little more confident in his flirting and had started touching him. Touching, which meant lingering brushes of his hands against Quatre’s, which meant grazes of fingers against his arm after a friendly punch, which meant a lot of ‘accidental’ touches on his ass in a crowded room. Quatre had finally figured that if Trowa wasn’t going to find out about it, then where was the harm in casual flirting and hanging out with another boy? It wasn’t as if they were kissing, or having sex, or messing around in that sense...Justin wasn’t ready for it, but it seriously turned Quatre on whenever he thought about being the boy’s first in everything. Justin had told him that he wasn’t a virgin when it came to girls, but he definitely was a virgin if he hadn’t had a boy yet. Just the thought that he had much more experience than Justin did was a definite turn-on. Justin had a way of looking at him shyly whenever he was caught touching him in non-accident ways, and that in itself was a little more than exciting. Justin exuded confidence everywhere else but in this aspect, so it was definitely a lift in his own self-confidence.
Christ...he really shouldn’t be thinking this way when Trowa was coming home in a couple of weeks, but he couldn’t help but hope he and Justin did a little ‘experimenting’ before Quatre would have to drop him. It would just be...fun. Different. Totally different, because Trowa was his only partner, and while what they had in the physical aspect of their relationship was awesome (phenomenal, mind-blowing, lovely, hot), he couldn’t help but wonder about something different...a different partner would help. And though he was loathe to admit that he wanted to experiment in that sense, he couldn’t help but feel entirely guilty that he was hoping for this while Trowa was overseas.
Oh, well. Things would change once Trowa was back at his side. Because when Trowa was around, Quatre had definite blinders that kept him from noticing anyone else. He loved the guy. He loved his physical appearance, loved his voice, loved his personality, loved everything about Trowa Barton! But... but he was gone. And Justin was here. Justin liked him enough to apologize for his own animosity from previous, to become friends with him. Justin was a new turn-on, Justin was untried and shy, Justin was... was convenient.
He looked at his phone once more, climbing out from his chair and picking the phone up from the unmade mess of his bed. Resettling back into his chair, he began flipping through the various names of the friends he’d made and those of the familiar faces he knew since he arrived at Darken. Just as he was going to try Trowa’s number again, his phone rang, startling him into dropping the thing.
He laughed at himself as he picked the phone up and answered without looking at the window, figuring that it was Trowa. He immediately felt guilty for his earlier thoughts. “Yeah?”
“Quatre...”
Quatre winced, blinking in amazement as he wondered how in the hell Triton Bloom had managed to get a hold of his number. For one thing, the guy was incredibly creepy, and for another, he wasn’t someone Quatre would hang out with alone anymore. “Triton?”
“Hey, it’s me. I got your number from this guy, Stan.”
Stan, Stan, Stan...oh. The guy with the overbite that had wanted Quatre to talk to Felicia about hooking up with her. Quatre made a mental note to tell Felicia that Stan had said derogatory things about her person, that she’d better kick his ass because he was telling everyone that they’d slept together. Just to get back at the guy for giving Triton his number.
“Yeah? And...?”
“I was just wondering what you were doing. It’s been awhile.”
Quatre rolled his eyes and wondered what Triton would do if he hung up on the guy. But he fiddled with his notebook, idling drawing his name in Arabic characters across the screen with the pen. “School starts in August,” he said on a frown.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. So are you going to graduate? To being a junior?”
“Yeah. I’m passing.”
“That’s good. Anyway, just wanted to check up on you. That’s all. Nothing more.”
Quatre blinked, making a face. “All right...”
“Talk to you later. Bye.”
After Triton hung up, Quatre thought that phone call was rather odd. Abrupt, sudden, and more than annoying. It took less than two minutes to complete, and it was really quite...hmm. He continued looking up his various names, and settled on Justin’s. Hell. The guy lived on his own, somewhere in Sageville, more than two hours away from Marysville. It was down south, past Ferndale, which was an hour away. And it was nearly eight...the guy worked for UPS, so he had an early bedtime. Quatre had a fleeting image of what Justin looked in uniform, and had to grin at the thought.
He selected Justin’s name and number, and listened to the various rings on the other end, chewing thoughtfully on his thumbnail. Justin answered with a bored greeting, the sounds of music in the background making Quatre smile, because he would recognize Alan Montgomery anywhere.
“You listen to country?” he teased, hearing Justin curse and the music silenced. “Fag.”
“Shut the fuck up, you fairy. What are you doing?”
“Nothing. I’m bored.”
“Bored? You?”
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
“So, what’s this call about? Are you that bored? You never call me.”
“I do, too! Last Friday I called you. And last Sunday.”
“Yeah, but that was only to accuse me of stealing your wallet, of which was found in your sweater the next day! Fucker...”
Quatre laughed. He loved messing around with Justin. Trowa wouldn’t have put up with that bullshit–he’d merely give Quatre a look and calmly let him know where he could find his missing wallet. While teasing Trowa was fun, Justin was much more fun.
“Well, did I apologize for that?” he asked with an annoyed expression.
“NO!”
He laughed again. “Oh, well, that’s what happens, then.”
“You aren’t going to apologize for that, are you? God, you stupid, mean shit.” Justin then laughed, and Quatre could hear the sounds of a television set being manipulated. He wondered if Justin had a television, or a holoset, where the holographic figures of a program were projected by a standard sized projector. Some people were unable to afford it, and thus the continuing use of tv. “So...what’s going on this week? Planning on doing anything Thursday?”
“No. What’s Thursday?”
“This guy that covered my shift about a month ago’s taking over that day again. Want to go out?”
“And do what?”
“I don’t know. Maybe watch a movie...go eat...I don’t know.”
“Is this a date?”
“....Er...I don’t know. I thought we would just hang out. Like we usually do.”
“But when we do, we’re at a party.”
“Then let’s find a party, or something. C’mon. What’s wrong with it?”
Quatre found himself shrugging, fiddling with his Nike No-Show socks. There really wasn’t if they were just...hanging out. But...what if, by some reason, it turned into a date? Was it considered a date? “Nothing, I suppose.”
“It’s not like you’re with anybody, Quat...”
Quatre grimaced, looking at the picture of Trowa that had been taken sometime after basketball season, the beautiful features of his boyfriend screwed into something annoyed. Reaching over, he slapped that photo face down and hugged a leg awkwardly to his chest. “Yeah. I guess. I guess we can do that. But you have to pay. I’m broke.”
“You’re always broke.”
“I know. My bad porn addiction takes up most of my time...”
“Whatever. You just don’t strike me as the type to watch porn,” Justin said in a scoffing tone, and Quatre smiled as he chewed at the nub of his index fingernail. “You’re the type to just dive right into whomever’s willing to give it up...”
“I am not a whore! Stop calling me that!” he complained.
“I’m not! I’m just saying...that’s what you strike me as....”
“I’ll ‘strike’ you across the face for keeping up that bullshit-talk,” Quatre muttered as Justin laughed again.
“Fine. Look. I’ll pick you up, all right?”
“How about we just meet? I can take the bus to...wherever we’re going.”
“No, I’ll come pick you up.”
“So, this is a date, huh?”
“Um...no? Shit, can’t two guys hang out without being gay?”
Quatre laughed because that sounded funny. “Yeah, I guess.”
“What’s so funny about that?”
“Nothing. Two guys can hang out without being gay,” Quatre decided, chuckling.
“Fine. I’ll pick you up at seven. Is that all right?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t call me again, man. You just give me shit. See ya.”
Quatre hung up, still chuckling at those words. As he thought about it more, the funnier it got. Still laughing, he dialed up Trowa’s number, and waited until he reached the answering service. Deciding upon leaving a message, he growled, “IF you KEEP ignoring me, SOMEONE’S going to STEAL me away!”
Then he hung up and wondered what he was going to wear for his ‘date’ with Justin on Thursday.