Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Mistress ( Chapter 5 )

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

Chapter Five~
“Mistress” Disturbed


Quatre pulled at his shirt, adjusting it comfortably over his shoulders. It was pretty hot today, so he chose a simple button-up short sleeve, his favorite blue jean shorts and some old school Jordans with blue strips. Examining himself in the bathroom mirror, he winced at the state of his hair, trying to finger comb it into some state of neatness. It was shaggy, and he needed a haircut before Trowa showed up. He tucked what he could behind his ears, then licked his thumb, smoothing his eyebrows into some state of neatness. It wasn’t as if he were simply messy and ragged–just that some things were out of place. Staring at himself in the mirror, he winced as he jiggled the slight double chin, and palmed the fullness of his cheeks.
“Gotta lay off the alkie,” he muttered to himself, trying to imagine Trowa’s reaction to seeing his new appearance when he got back. But he figured nothing could be done for it now, and exhaled slowly, smoothing his clothes before reaching for the small bottle of cologne that Trowa had bought for him for his birthday in May. It was ‘Cool Water’, and it smelled really good, and so he spritzed just a tiny bit on the collar of his shirt and set the bottle aside. Not that he had to bathe in it, just enough to mix with his skin and make it subtle enough to make a certain someone move in closer to smell it.
He grinned at that thought, then frowned in the same instant.
Bad, bad, bad Quatre! He mentally scolded himself, glaring at his reflection. Then he paused, pulling at the puka shell necklace that hugged his thicker neck, a gift from Trowa.
“Cheating sonofabitch!” he then yelled at his reflection. He pointed at his guilty self in the mirror. “You’re going to hell, damn you! I hope your balls get cut off and shoved down your throat for doing this to the love of your life! Fucking asshole! Incompetent dick! Impotent nymphomaniac!”
Then he turned to his left, pleading, hands in prayer form, “But he won’t know! No one would tell him! I’m not doing anything but just hanging out with a guy that isn’t my boyfriend! There isn’t any harm in that!”
He turned to his right, and growled menacingly, shaking his fists and then flipping himself off in a wild rage. “Still! You deserved to be punished! Hopefully he fucks you over in the same way, you lying bastard!”
He swung around to the left, and cried hopelessly, wiping at ‘tears’ with shaking hands. “Wah! Have mercy on me!”
Then he relaxed, smoothing his clothes as a terrified boy ran from the bathroom, clutching a towel around his waist, shampoo still in his hair. Quatre looked after him in surprise, then laughed as he bent to retie his shoelaces. Then he cleared his throat, gathered his things, and left the bathroom. After putting his things away (tossing them carelessly within the open door and shutting it behind him), he descended the stairway that linked all five levels of the dormitory to the lobby below.
He walked out the doors, sighing at the heat that assaulted him as soon as he stepped out into the blazing sun’s power. He began walking toward the parking lot, whistling, figuring that there was no harm in tonight’s...er, outing. It wasn’t a date. It was just...two guys hanging out, not being gay.
He laughed uproariously at that. He didn’t know why it struck him so funny, but it sure did.
He didn’t have to wait long–Justin pulled up in his extended Mazda truck in five minutes, so Quatre climbed in and refused to listen to the angry, raging voice in his head that let him know he was being an unfaithful bastard to the guy he loved and adored. He merely grinned at Justin, who looked cautiously away from him, suspecting foul play, and allowed himself to be pulled into the spur of things.

>*<>*<>*<>*<>*<

He didn’t know how they ended up at the party. One minute, they were driving around New Park, eating what they could from Jimboy’s, and the next, they were pulling up to a Victorian-style house that had many vehicles parked in a semi-circle around it. It wasn’t the ritzy district this time–more rather, a ghetto-style area that looked rather down-beat. Quatre wasn’t sure, but Justin knew a few guys that had suggested the place, so here he was. As they got out, he noticed that there were a lot of minorities, and that comforted him a little. In this day and age, there were very rarely any minorities about, due to the Race Wars in 2075. Felicia and Drake, as well as both Changs (Wufei and Meiran), Hiiro Yuy, and Hautta James were the only minorities that he knew upon his arrival in New Park City. He was quite comfortable with them, having grown up in Laramie with more than a few Mexicans, Native Americans, blacks and South Pacific Islanders.
When he saw that Justin was quite comfortable with a group of blacks, Quatre was a little more than impressed. The racial tension was so strong and so overbearing at times that he often felt a little down whenever his friends were cast-out due to their colors. He was introduced, and a couple of the guys suggested a little three on three in the nearby park. Quatre was more than up for it–he hadn’t played against anyone in a while, and since this was his second skin–well, he would not pass it up. He recognized a few of the guys as players for Sageville, and they recognized him as well, giving Justin a hard time for hanging out with the ‘enemy’. Quatre fit in easily with his own comments and rude slang, and more than made up for his ‘whiteness’ by racking up points and showing the others up with his ‘circus shots’. Justin was annoyed, playing against him, and brought out that little rough side of him, playing almost the same way he’d done on the court last year, but without the insults.
Quatre didn’t care–this was his element, and whoever played against him was going to be schooled. They had quite a crowd by the time they finished their game, and he was a little surprised that he played well, despite his acquired bulk. His shots were faster and harder, his dribbling much more strong, and he discovered that despite his weight gain, he was actually more powerful than he was quick. Last year, he was lithe and agile–this year, he felt more intensified. His threes were effortless, his jumpshots easier and he could plow quicker through the taller, more stronger center players that played under the rim.
It could come in handy, he supposed. It did up his game a little. He wasn’t that discouraged, though. He may have lost some of the speed, but he more than made up for it in power.
After the game, they all ventured back to the house, where kegs were overflowing, girls were plentiful, and the music was hard-core rap. Not exactly his cup of tea, but hell, he was having fun. Justin was very easy to get along with, easy to rile, easy to have fun with. He missed this sort of thing. Going out and having fun. Sure, he was happy with Trowa and their dealings, but this sort of fun was what he’d left behind in Laramie. Joking, laughing, getting into mischief, general teenage wildness...he missed it. Trowa was more serious, more focused, and when they did go out (don’t get him wrong, he loved being with Trowa no matter what they were doing), it was a short affair with the general exchange of happy coupledom.
It was a little after twelve when he heard his cellphone ringing, so he ventured out from the kitchen, where he was watching a couple of Mexicans play a hot game of quarters.
“Yeah?” he asked, belching then asking the caller to ‘Bless him’.
“That is sooooo wrong,” he heard Felicia’s annoyed voice. “Hey, what are you doing?!”
“Getting drunk.”
“Dude, it’s like, Thursday!”
“So? Every day that ends with a ‘y’ is beer day!”
“Fuckin’ wino-loser...hey! I wanted to come pick you up. I had a surprise for you!”
Quatre was interested, looking back at a group of boys that were break dancing on the concrete setting of the backyard. Amid all the shouts and impressed ‘O’s!’ he heard Justin cussing out some hapless guy for spilling his beer all over him. Chuckling, he turned his back to all the action and asked, “What is it?”
“I just bought this killer Remington! Complete with laser and silencer...so...I was wondering...are you up for some spotlighting?”
He laughed, tossing his beer into the air. “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
“Seriously! I know a place...around the West end of the city that’s perfect...”
“You mean...like a animal refuge, or something?”
“Er...something like that...hey, are you with Justin?”
“Yeah...”
“EEKS! Bring him along! He can hold the spotlight! Drake doesn’t want to come with me. Thinks we’re going to get into trouble...I set this up juuuusssttt for my favoritest gay guy in the entire universe!”
“Felicia, I need to ask you a very serious question,” Quatre said, lowering his voice to the utmost seriousness, glancing back to see Justin looking for him. “And you have to be truthful, all right?”
“Um...okaaay?”
“Are you a boy posing as a girl? Like...one of them transsexuals? Transvestites? Seriously, I won’t tell anyone that you are, if you are,” he said, ending his promise on a whisper.
He heard a few moments of silence, then Felicia began laughing. “You fuckin’ dick! When I find you, I’ll lift my skirt, all right?”
“Ew. You might have tucked it in by then!”
“Wa-ha-ha-ha! Fuck you! You’d only be jealous by my length. That’s why I keep it hidden!”
Quatre laughed then, and told her where to meet them, figuring that he could get Justin to drive and park his truck at a gas station, or something. Due to the distance she had in Marysville and them being in Sageville, they had a few hours to knock around. Justin walked over, looking curiously at him. Half of his shirt was drenched in liquor, and Quatre sniffed him like a rabid dog, crowding him, nose pressed against his chest and stomach. Justin roared with annoyance and shoved him away. Laughing, Quatre told him what they were going to do, and even Justin was curious as to what ‘spotlighting’ had entailed.
It had been something he’d done in Laramie with his best friend, Jamie Anderson. They would usually have a .22 and a spotlight, and would drive around the hills around Laramie, shooting small animals and rodents. It really wasn’t all that interesting when he thought about it now, but it had been fun at the time–trying to perfect one’s shot while bouncing in the back of a pickup. He was constantly accused of being a redneck hick by the friends he’d made around here, but that was all right. It was all good.
He was more than a little buzzed–he was absolutely drunk, but that was all right. He knew what he was doing, and he was looking for some fun. He felt hyperactive and out of control, and didn’t want the night to end just yet. They left the party, Justin giving him a ‘free tour’ of Sageville. It was nothing interesting–a large area filled with ho-hum houses, a few scattering of stores and churches, a few parks...nothing that quite impressive. Quatre said as much as they pulled up to Sageville High, a two story brick building that looked like something his father would own as a play house. Justin pointed out the various hotspots around campus, including one where he’d gotten in a fight with a senior over a girl, where he’d lost his virginity during some homecoming dance, and where he’d been busted once for smoking marijuana.
After that, they went cruising through the various streets of Sageville, and Quatre wanted to see Justin’s parents’ home, so Justin unwittedly drove in that direction. Not letting the other know what he was going to do, Quatre waited until Justin had parked in the driveway, quietly explaining that his parents were Catholics that refused to believe Jesus had been an early century con-man and that religion was actually a scare tactic generated by the Illuminati. Before Justin could stop him, he was up and out of the truck, screaming that he wanted to meet his parents. Justin howled at him to stop, but Quatre rang the doorbell repeatedly, knocked once, and walked right in, Justin running after him.
“Hi!” Quatre greeted the two startled, middle-aged people that walked out from the stairway to answer the door. He sniffed the air deeply–he caught the greasy smell of Chinese takeout, cinnamon and sandalwood–funny. Justin smelled just like that without his cologne. In a way, it was quite nice. He tried to check out the settings within the house, but it was too dark and the two stunned parents were blocking his view.
Justin appeared behind him, looking rather dazed. He looked at his parents in a stupor, blinking repeatedly at the bewildered expressions of his parents, both of whom were in their nightwear and looking like they had just woken up–which was the truth, because they had been roused by the repeated ringing of their doorbell.
“My name’s Quatre! How are you folks this fine evening?! I’m sorry! Did I wake you up?!”
“Er...hello,” the Mr. greeted cautiously, looking in confusion from Quatre to Justin. “Travis? What’s going on?”
“It’s nearly one in the morning,” the Mrs. complained, her sleepy eyes squinting at Quatre, trying to determine his meaning in this Godawful situation. She looked at Justin in surprise, demanding an explanation.
“Uh, er...just...I...we...I was in the neighborhood, and–and–”
“Have you been drinking?” The Mr. demanded in shock, the Mrs. sniffing the air as Quatre squirmed around them and went in search of the restroom. Justin was trapped with his bewildered parents as he located one and pissed with satisfaction, chuckling to himself. After flushing and washing his hands, Quatre ventured right back out, Justin sputtering with his late-night explanation to his two angry parents.
Quatre said his “Good-nights” and walked out, laughing as he headed back to Justin’s truck.
“Oh, next time, lock your door! Strange people walk the streets at night!” he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth, warning the two what should have happened to prevent such late night interruptions. Then he laughed uproariously, climbing back into the truck and pulling on his seatbelt. Safety first.
Twenty minutes of excuses and apologies later, Justin hurried back to the truck, and immediately launched himself at Quatre after he’d climbed into the truck, swinging. Quatre, laughing hysterically, was unable to defend himself within the small, cramped space of the truck’s front seat.
“MOTHERFUCKER!” Justin screamed as he started the truck, and backed out from the driveway, screeching off into the night. But even as he ranted and raved, he laughed. “You fuckin’ suck, man! Doing that to my parents! They’re going to so fucking hate me, now! I’ll be disowned! Disinherited from the Sharp hundreds! Wah!!”
Quatre was still laughing as they pulled up to the gas station where they would meet with Felicia, and was thirsty. Turning in his seat, he kicked at Justin, howling at him to get him something to drink. Just like a whipped dog, Justin gave him a dead leg and left the truck to do just that.
“You’d better buy me a Pepsi, and not Coke, Goddamnit!” Quatre then shouted after Justin, laughing when the other flipped him off in response.
Chuckling to himself, he pulled his cell phone out and quickly dialed Trowa’s number. He waited for five rings, figuring that the boy wasn’t going to answer and moved to hang up with some disappointment when Trowa answered.
“TROWA!” he screamed in pure joy, practically bouncing in his seat. “You answered me!!”
“Quat?! Wow...you’re wide awake,” Trowa’s voice had a nervous twitch to it, but Quatre was much too buzzed to notice. He was just joyous that Trowa had answered him, and the sound of his comforting baritone was somewhat of a church choir to him, screaming “Hallujenah!”
“Aw! I miss you so MUCH! Why haven’t you been answering your damn phone?!” he demanded, seeing Justin move about in the store through the windows. He didn’t give Trowa time to answer, wanting to talk quick without any of them knowing what he was doing and who he was with. He wasn’t thinking quite clearly at the moment, his brain fuzzed with alcohol, but he thought this was a very opportune time to let Trowa Barton know he loved him very much. Despite the fact that he was hanging out with another boy. “Wait, don’t tell me–you met up with some of Catherine’s co-stars and are having tons of sex without me!”
“Er...Quatre, I need to–!”
“NO! Don’t tell me! Don’t ruin it all for me, Goddammit!” Justin moved over to the cashier’s counter, and Quatre had to wrap it up fast. “Listen, I love you, all right? Love you, love you, love you! I can’t wait to see you when you get back, and the first thing we’re going to do is dirty the nearest men’s room closest to the baggage claim area, got it?!”
“Quat–! Seriously–!”
“NO! Trowa! Anyway, gotta go, bye!” Quatre hung up as he watched Felicia’s Nissian Maxima screech into the parking lot of the gas station, sideswiping Justin as he walked out from the store. Quatre locked his door and jumped out, ignoring his ringing phone as he hurried over to them. Justin held out a bottle of Pepsi, which he took with a grateful “Hutzah!”
Felicia popped out from the driver’s side door, bouncing in place. She was wearing a black flutter skirt with a light sweater, and was intending to show Quatre that she was indeed a girl when Justin attacked her car with impressed gusto, exclaiming over her silver twenty-four inch rims. And thus, she was distracted as she let him check out the engine, the dual exhaust system, the gaming system installed in the back seat, the small holographic set in the passenger-side visor, and the rocking stereo within. Quatre grew bored as they talked mechanics, and finished his Pepsi, feeling that hangover feeling that was consistent with so much drinking.
He held his head and wished for more alcohol to make the pain go away. The night was entirely too young to turn in just yet, and he wanted to get as much fun as he possibly could before Trowa came back, and he couldn’t do this sort of thing anymore. He would sacrifice all that he could to make Trowa happy.
Felicia then gestured at them to get in, and as he climbed into the backseat, he came into contact with her Remington–in glee, he examined it with as much interest and impressed wit as Justin had with her car, and shouted his approval as she maneuvered the car out of the parking lot and into the street, heading to the freeway. She gestured at the carton of beer in the front passenger seat, of which Justin was already helping himself to, and Quatre figured he may as well begin again. Not like he had to stop any time soon...
As he rode in the backseat of Felicia’s car, he wondered what Trowa was trying to tell him. Now that he thought about it, Trowa sounded a little...well...bothered. By what? Quatre was curious, but he kept forgetting why whenever the other two caught his attention by asking him something.
Oh, well. He’d stress about it later. When he was more sober.

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

The next morning, when he woke up, he knew he wasn’t in his bed back at the Academy. Rather, he was in someone else’s bed. With someone laying beside him. Snoring. Quatre froze, trying to remember all that had occurred the night before, and coming up blank. He remembered asking Felicia about being a transvestite, but that was about it. After that...nothing. Nothing at all. Groaning, holding his pounding head and smacking his lips because his mouth tasted as if someone had stuffed a roll of cotton in there, he lifted his head from the pillow and blinked wearily. He was in someone’s room–it was very sparse, very large, and from the looks of things, it was Justin’s room. He remembered those shoes because they had been on sale one time about three years ago and he could never get a pair because they were never in his size–Justin’s room?!
With a horrified gasp, he rose, looking at the other in panic, trying to feel for certain oddities in his body that would give him a clue of his infidelity. But his ass wasn’t sore, and his groin didn’t have that familiar stretch of exertion, so...they must have not did anything. With a somewhat relieved sigh, he flopped back down onto the king sized bed and made himself comfortable once more. He looked over at his partner, finding that Justin was passed out rather hard against the wall, his back to him. Quatre then shifted as a very full bladder registered then, kicking the light blanket off of him and climbed up to his feet. The mattress lay on the bare floor with nothing more than a box spring, and it took some effort to get up, due to his suddenly raging headache and disorientation. He staggered over to the bathroom, yawning and scratching his head.
He made his morning business, washed his hands, and brushed his teeth simply because Justin had a very awesome He-Man toothbrush. After all that was finished, he decided to explore while the other one slept. He walked out from the bedroom, emerging into a slight hall that opened up to a living room/dining room area, the kitchen off to his far right and the apartment door indicating that it was not even shut.
He walked over and shut it, startling the lone occupant of the couch nearby with the noise. He laughed when he saw that it was Felicia, looking as dead as he did. She groaned something unintelligible, and pulled the blanket and pillow over her head to resume sleeping. The living room area was stocked with such goodies as a fifty-two inch television set, a multitude of movies, a really expensive entertainment center, and a coffee table piled with various magazines–of which closer inspection let him know Justin really enjoyed the articles of Maxim and Wizard. God, the kid was a comic book geek. He grimaced at this knowledge, picking up a Wizard copy to stare at Wolverine’s manly bulge...or lack thereof. Bub.
With an annoyed roll of his eyes, Quatre tossed the magazine aside and crossed from the living room to the kitchen to see what he could find to drink and eat. He found that the fridge was stockpiled for winter–the guy had jugs of milk, apple juice, soda and bottles of water. Also a harvest’s worth of mixed fruit, bread and cheeses. The cupboards revealed cans of beans, flour, sugar, chips and pasta materials.
“Atkins?” he wondered aloud as he grabbed a Coke and a piece of bread to eat cold. He heard the toilet flush in the other room, so he ventured off in that area, shutting the bedroom door behind him, seeing that Justin must have woken up when he left. Chewing on the cold piece of bread, he waited for Justin to come out from the bathroom, brushing his teeth.
“So?” he asked as he opened his can of Coke. “What happened last night?”
Justin stopped brushing to hear better, and blinked at him. His dark hair stuck up all over, untamed and mussy. It looked rather endearing, and Quatre had to hide his appreciative grin behind his can as he lifted it to drink. “You don’t remember?” Justin asked in incredulousness, blinking dark eyes.
“No...nothing.”
“Dude, you were fucked up.”
“I now realize that.”
“And you’re fucked up even now!” Justin roared, toothbrush shoved to the side of his teeth. He pointed at him furiously, practically hopping in place. As he spoke, foam spurt out with his every word. “You don’t even remember what happened last night?! Nothing at all?!”
Quatre started to get worried and blinked. “Uh...no....nothing...”
“Motherfucker! You ass fuck! You think this was all a goddamned game?! Is this funny to you?!” Justin raged, stomping closer to him, raising a hand and pointing at his left ring finger, where there was a simple silver band around it.
Quatre’s mouth fell open, and he tried to search the haze of his lost memories for ever agreeing to marrying the guy. He was filled with horror, shock and stunned bewilderment as he stared at the simple silver band, his life falling away from him in one clean swoop. No more Trowa? No more freedom? No–no, wait! He couldn’t have married the guy! He just couldn’t have! It wasn’t right! He didn’t love or think of Justin in that sense! They were only supposed to be two guys hanging out, not being gay! This was gay! GAY!!! What was he going to tell Trowa now?! He didn’t even have feelings for Justin in that way!
Then Justin laughed hysterically, throwing his head back. He recovered, slapping Quatre’s head, snapping him out of his paralysis.
“No, man, I was just kidding,” he laughed, pulling off the band, which was nothing more than a twenty-five cent ring one would get in one of those kiddie vendor things. He tossed it somewhere across his room, laughing again.
Quatre exhaled a whoosh of air, completely relieved, but annoyed at Justin’s humor. “You fucking dick,” he muttered as he took a drink of his Coke.
“Fucker...I had to do something to get you back for pissing off my parents,” Justin said, still laughing as he went and completed brushing his teeth.
Quatre remembered that, and spit out his Coke as he laughed. In annoyance, Justin stomped back into his room and used a discarded shirt to clean up the mess. “Stop fucking up my shit,” he complained, heaving the dirty shirt into the open hamper near the bathroom. “I need my security deposit back...”
“That I remember,” Quatre laughed. “That was fucking hilarious...Now they’re always remember me no matter what other friends you have. They’ll always think of me. They’ll always want me. They–”
“They’re going to hope that you rot in hell, fucker! Motherfucker! I can’t believe you did that fuckin’ shit,” Justin muttered as he stomped back to his bathroom to finish making himself presentable. With a growl of outrage and annoyance, he stomped out of his room and into the other room, growling at Felicia to wake up and make them breakfast since she was the only female there.
Justin then came running back into the room with his cell phone clutched in one hand, slamming the door behind him. There was a massive thud that startled Quatre as Justin winced, running a hand through his messy hair. “Damn...gotta remember she can actually lift that shit,” he muttered as he dialed a number on his cell, flipping Quatre off.
Quatre chuckled and finished his Coke and bread, listening as Justin make his lame excuses to his boss on why he wasn’t coming into work that day. He snorted and chuckled as Justin made the fake cough and sick throat noises, complete with sorrowful expression. All the while, Justin picked up whatever he could find and threw it at the blond with annoyance, trying to make him shut up.
After he hung up, he tossed the phone carelessly within a pile of clothes he’d discarded last night in favor of his pj’s–which consisted of a Megadeath shirt and striped lounge pants. “So...what are we doing, today?”
“I gotta go to school,” Quatre said matter-of-factly, leaning back on the bed on his elbows.
Justin snorted, rubbing his nose as he gestured at the clock. Quatre read the numbers, blinked, then faced Justin again, saying in the same tone, “But then again, never mind. I was lying.”
Justin laughed lightly, and dropped onto the bed next to him, lying back so that he was facing the ceiling, arms behind his head. Quatre leaned down on his left arm to face him, laying at his side, idly plucking at the old, worn shirt. There was a few moments of uncomfortable silence, as Quatre pondered what to do now, when there wasn’t beer present and they could actually sit in silence and actually talk without the distraction of a party.
He licked his lips nervously, looking at Justin, who was looking him with a rather studious expression. He could feel the air suddenly shift, moving from casualness to the sharp tense awareness two people had for each other when they realized how attracted they were to the other. Justin reached out with one hand, pulling at his collar, pulling him down to his face. To keep himself from losing his balance, Quatre reached out to press his hand against his chest, and their lips met, briefly. There was a spark of interest as two pairs of lips melded for the first time, examining and testing as the room fell entirely silent.
Then Quatre pulled up, Trowa’s name racing through his mind, feeling panicked that he’d just gone and ‘cheated’ on his boyfriend. Justin looked a little surprised as well, blinking, as he let go of Quatre’s shirt, allowing the boy to pull himself back up. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Quatre turned away from him and picked at the hems of his jeans shorts, hearing Justin shift beside him. The other’s hand closed over his chin, and forced his head back to meet Justin’s lips once more, and this kiss lasted longer, lips pressing and teasing, noses bumping, breath exchanged when mouths opened.
Feeling entirely self-conscious about the whole thing, kissing someone he didn’t even have real feelings for, feeling as if he were kissing someone as close to him as Felicia or even Go, Quatre found that he couldn’t even pull himself away. Justin’s tongue entered his mouth, pressing against his, stroking and exploring his teeth, their saliva making it sloppy. He was a sloppy kisser, but then again, it was kind of a turn-on. Maybe it was just because he hadn’t gotten any since his and Trowa’s last sexual encounter in June, or just because he figured that he’d done and fucked up, Quatre moved into the kiss, holding onto the other boy’s shoulder and exploring the other’s mouth with his tongue as well.
He sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Trowa what happened–Trowa would break up with him, hate him, completely despise him for cheating on him. Well, since it was happening, he may as well as keep it secret. Because he didn’t want to lose Trowa–but then again, he didn’t want to stop this, either. Justin’s hands reached up, fingers in his hair, moving in a rhythmic motion that seemed to ease his current mental debate, and he found himself dropping his hands, stroking the muscled chest, feeling out the hardening nubs of nipples.
A few minutes passed–maybe a few hours. Maybe just a few seconds. But when this kiss finally ended, his chin felt thoroughly moisturized and he reached up to wipe it off, self-consciously dropping his eyes to watch his hand play with one nipple through the shirt. Justin wiped his chin as well, licking his lips, his own hands dropping to hold onto Quatre’s arms. He let his forehead bump against the blond’s, of who managed to drag his lowered eyes from his chest and focus on him.
After a few seconds, they both broke into widened grins, looking cross-eyed at each other until they pulled away. Feeling as if he had to say something, Quatre quickly asked, “So? Am I amazing, or what?”
Justin laughed, tension gone, stroking the soft skin with his thumbs. “Fucker. Stop with that bullshit. Try and be serious...”
“If I was, do you think we’d even get this far?” Quatre asked, shivering slightly with the knowledge that he’d gone and done it, that Trowa would somehow know what he did without him even saying anything.
“No...I don’t think I would like it when you’re serious,” Justin admitted, dropping his hands from Quatre’s arms, resting them in his lap. He shrugged. “I’ve only known you to be...this way. Joking, laughing, being dumb...I can’t imagine you ever being serious. Except for on the court...”
Quatre pulled his own hands to his lap, then reached up to rub the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture. Unable to think of anything else to say, shivering again with the ugly roil he felt in his stomach, he looked away from Justin to stare at the tan colored carpet under foot.
Justin caught the look, and began to worry. “What?”
Quatre looked back quickly. “Huh?”
“What? Why do you look like that?”
“Like...what?”
“Like...like...I don’t know. What are you thinking?”
“Dude, what guy asks another guy what they’re thinking?” Quatre asked with a roll of his eyes.
Justin pushed at him. “I’m serious!”
“What I’m thinking?”
“Yeah...”
“Um...” Quatre shrugged, fiddling with the hem of his shorts. “I don’t know...”
“You know...just tell me. C’mon. I hate when you like, pull away. Like, one minute you’re all cool with things, then the next, you like, clam up. C’mon. Just let me know.”
Quatre shrugged again. “I really don’t know.”
“Cut it out. Just tell me.”
“I don’t know what to say!”
“Quatre...”
“J...”
Justin smiled, leaning forward to capture the blond’s lips with his own. Because he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, Quatre kissed him back, steadying himself by holding onto Justin’s waist, feeling the other shift on the mattress to face him. Large hands were placed on his hips, stroking upward, moving over his shirt in a firm press, massaging the softness he’d come to acquire during this summer months. A little self conscious over it, he pulled his face away, reaching down to push Justin’s hands away from his middle. Justin instead used that break to move further forward, forcing Quatre to either lay down or let the other push him. Quatre reached up, curling his arms around the other’s neck and pulled him down on top, kissing him, tonguing the insistent tongue that met his. Justin adjusted himself over his body, pressing his body against his, breathing a little heavily at this position.
Breaking the kiss, Quatre turned his attention to his ears, licking and teething just slightly, pulling the earlobes within his lips and sponging the backs with his tongue. Justin was breathing heavier now, kissing his neck, sucking gently, his body firmly pressing against Quatre’s. Liking the way this felt, liking that his body was receiving such attention when deprived for weeks from it, Quatre forgot all about Trowa and their commitment, wanting more of what Justin was giving.
The other boy was getting into it, sliding his hand up Quatre’s shirt and gently palming his stomach, his chest, his kisses growing fierce and hard. Losing all his self-consciousness about his changed body and reveling in the feel of being appreciated in such a way, Quatre let out a soft sigh, his hands stroking the muscled back, pulling urgently at the form on top of him, knowing that the other could feel his rising erection through his shorts. Justin hesitated slightly, but continued what he was doing, kissing his neck, stroking his body, giving a soft sound when Quatre continued kneading his back, urging him closer, pressing against him.
Their mouths met again, and Quatre found himself completely shifted onto the bed with ease, Justin taking the lead by reaching between them, palming his erection. Sucking in a deep breath, completely losing himself to sensation, Quatre yearned for more touch and more action, lifting his hips upward into the welcoming hand. He could feel himself wanting much more, wanting it now, but he was supposed to be the one in control here. He was the established gay guy–not Justin. Justin was the guy that was supposed to be all eager and shy, unable to venture into such territory, so Quatre had to remedy that. He slid his hands from the muscular back, and rubbed across the lounge pants, searching, questing...and finding.
And boy, did he find.
“Whoa!” he exclaimed, jerking upward in surprise, startling Justin from giving him a hickie on his collarbone.
Blinking, Justin looked at him in a dazed stupor, and just to make sure that Quatre had felt right, he reached between them to palm the erection that had startled him. His mouth fell open as he stared up at Justin in shock, finding that his fingers couldn’t even touch when wrapped around it. He drew his hand away, completely overwhelmed.
“OHMYGOD!” he exclaimed, climbing on his elbows, all traces of excitement gone. He was NOT letting that monstrous rise of flesh anywhere near his asshole. Hell no!
Justin grinned, but just slightly as he rose onto his knees, staring down at the rather intimidating tent his arousal had made against his lounge pants. Quatre stared in a rising wall of panic, feeling rather insignificant and somewhat timid as he looked at his hand, measuring the width with his curled fingers. He then looked at Justin, who looked at him in question.
“Please tell me that’s, like, a rolled sock, or something!” Quatre pleaded, then felt rather down when Justin shook his head, reaching to his pants, proudly rolling them down to let the monster spring forth. Quatre stared in incredulous shock at the thing, the large rod of muscle and flesh of which protruded forth like some venomous snake. It quivered with Justin’s movements as the boy fondled it, stroking it rather lovingly. It was huge, extremely red, almost purplish in color, nestled within a dense, wiry forest of black pubic hair. The accompanying boys were in proportion to the monstrous thing, dangling low, swinging heavy with movement, and Quatre felt as if his asshole had just retreated into the further reaches of his body, eager to escape any sort of contact with the gigantic thing.
Panicked at the sheer size and the fact that this thing was in use previously by girls, Quatre wanted to know how on Earth they let that thing inside of them. “OhmyGod,” he muttered, rising to his elbows, unable to look away. The raspy sounds of Justin stroking it was the only sound in the room for now, and Quatre watched as a bead of pre-cum drew at the purplish helmet-head, wiped lovingly away by careful fingers. He started to shake his head, drawing out from the vee made by Justin’s spread legs over his, and refused to go near that thing.
Justin looked at him in concern, and Quatre wondered how in hell he managed to miss that anaconda during all the times they’d slept together at various parties. He must have kept it on some sort of leash! He thought, frowning.
“What’s wrong?” Justin asked, wiping his hand on his lowered pants, the monstrosity losing some of its strength and lowering slowly. The tension he felt from Quatre caused him to lose his staying power, the monstrous cock softening and returning to a semi-normal size. Even then, Quatre wondered how in the hell the boy kept that thing supported when he played ball. “Quat? What’s wrong?”
“Er...nothing! Nothing–! Just...just...it’s so fucking huge!”
Justin shrugged, suddenly very self-conscious, pulling his pants and underwear back up. Quatre felt bad, thinking he’d hurt his feelings when all he was was just startled over the size. “I know...the other girls were like...really scared, too. It’s just–”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, J,” Quatre said, feeling sheepish. “It’s just...it was...”
“I KNOW, all right? I know how big it is. Christ. Get over it,” Justin muttered, mood broken as he got off the bed and walked away, hiding himself in the bathroom.
Quatre sighed, his entire frame deflating when Justin slammed the door shut. Putting his head into his hands, he tried to come to terms with the fact that the boy was hiding a monster in those baggy shorts he wore (Justin had such small feet, too!), and wiped both hands over his eyes, his mouth, exhaling slowly. He felt really bad that he’d just made some sort of faux-pas over making a big (mental snicker) fuss over the entire thing, and rose from the bed, straightening his clothes. He walked over to the bathroom door and leaned against it, knocking.
“Justin?” Listening for any sound within, feeling really bad, Quatre frowned and knocked against it again. “Justin? C’mon, man. Come back out. I’m really sorry. I was just surprised...”
He heard the shower come on then, the other boy ignoring him in his embarrassment, and Quatre slunk away from the door, sheepishly rubbing his hands together. Seeing that Justin was now ignoring him, he opened the door to the bedroom, stumbling back when a large, five foot speaker tumbled to the floor into the bedroom. Grunting with the effort of lifting the heavy thing and setting it out of his way, he ventured out from the bedroom and made his way to the kitchen. Felicia had fallen back asleep, the pillow over her head, so Quatre made a quiet breakfast of an apple and another piece of bread, waiting for Justin to finish with his shower so that he could talk to him.
He ended up flipping through one of the Maxim magazines in his wait, and during that time, he heard his cell phone ring, but he didn’t want to answer it because he wanted to focus on the here and now. He waited patiently for Justin to finish his shower, and when the other boy was finally done, he hurried away from the dining room and entered the bedroom, Justin dressing quickly into a pair of casual Gap slacks and a loose white tee. Quatre walked over, wanting to make peace, but Justin ignored him as he slipped on some socks and shoes, Quatre standing helplessly by.
When the other boy was finally finished dressing, he ran his hands through his damp hair and looked at Quatre expectantly. “I can take you back to school,” he finally said.
Quatre sighed, reaching out to hold onto his arm. “Don’t be like that...”
“Like what?”
“C’mon...don’t do this...I know I upset you...I’m really sorry...”
“No. It’s fine. It happens all the time.”
“J...”
“C’mon. I can get you back to Darken by four if we leave now.”
“J...”
“Quatre, just get your stuff.”
“Quit it...”
“No, I’m serious. Just get your shit. Go wake your friend up and get her out of here.”
Quatre sighed again as Justin threw off his hand and left the room to go do just that. But before he could, Quatre grabbed his arm and pulled him roughly back, shutting the door. When Justin turned to angrily protest, Quatre kissed him fiercely, ignoring the annoyed shoves that were being subject to his chest, the other boy trying to throw him off.
Wrestling determinedly to convince Justin otherwise, he managed to steer the other boy toward the bed, and tripped him, settling over him when he tried to get up. Eventually, Justin relaxed, kissing him back, drawing him against him. Settling easily over the hard body beneath him, Quatre pulled his tongue back into his mouth and gently sucked on his lower lip, rubbing at tense pectorals with his free hands.
After he was convinced that Justin had settled back on the bed, Quatre pushed himself up, looking down at him, lifting an eyebrow. “Now,” he started, easing back onto his knees. “Just because you’re...um, largely endowed doesn’t mean that I can’t at least try...right?”
“Look, it’s just–!”
“Shut the fuck up, all right? Yeah, I was scared. But...I don’t have to be. I mean...it’s like that for a reason, right?”
“Quatre, don’t even–!”
“Shut up, Justin! Just let me talk.” Quatre frowned at him, then exhaled noisily, reaching over to rub hipbones covered by the Gap slacks. “Let me take control, all right? Just...just lay back and let me do this. And...and things will be okay...”
Justin shook his head. “You don’t have to do this...I know what it looks like, and–”
“No. I can try. Just...lay back and relax. We can do this together. Experiment. You know?”
Justin was getting the gist of Quatre’s idea, feeling his breath quicken in excitement as Quatre looked nervously at the telltale bulge in his pants. Justin began feeling somewhat hopeful when Quatre took a deep breath, and moved closer to him. His fingers gently massaging the deep vee of Justin’s hips, skillfully caressing and stroking the line of muscle set over hip, Quatre took a few deep breaths and proceeded the unveil the monster. No. The ogre. That was Justin’s name, now. Mr. Ogre. Actually, that was going to be Justin’s member’s nickname. With something that huge, it just screamed for an identity. Though he wouldn’t let the other know what he’d named it, he would forever remember it, that was for damn sure. Mr. Ogre...

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

On the long ride back to Darken, Felicia glanced at him in irritation, fully annoyed that she missed out on spying on two boys playing doctor fifty feet away from her. Quatre was working his jaw, looking entirely pained and overworked, moving his very sore tongue and mandible and wincing with every movement.
“Will you stop moving your mouth like that?! It’s fucking annoying me! Next time, stretch before doing something like that. Shit...”

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

Two weeks later, when Trowa began to walk up the terminal away from the airplane and into the airport, he felt his heart race with a mixture of fear, guilt and foreboding. He didn’t want to see Quatre just yet, but he knew the blond was out there, waiting for him as he said he would a couple of days ago. He sucked in a deep breath, glad that Catherine had indeed decided to stay (with Sicily on her tail, asking for money), because he wanted to confront Quatre without the menacing presence of his older sister at his side. He clutched his travel bag tighter, swallowing the lump in his throat as he and the other first class passengers walked out from the long hallway and into the busyness of Aprexal International.
He shook within his clothes, shaking with the roiling sickness of his deceiving ways. His body felt unwashed and dirty despite his countless showers, and his mind was surely mottled with fungi, because he couldn’t get the scent or feel of Amelie Une off of him. After that first night, which should have been his last, he’d found himself in her arms at least five more times. And after every time, hating himself even more and completely unable to stop himself for going back for more, Trowa was sure that he should have been struck down at any moment. Quatre had called him and let him know how much he missed him, how much he loved him, how much he couldn’t wait to see him, and Trowa felt himself die every time. Quatre sounded so damn happy, so cheered by his mere voice that he felt like a knife was embedded in his heart, twisting and turning every time he recognized Quatre’s cheer whenever he chose to answer his phone.
His guilt overtaking him like an unrecognizable plague, he had found himself practically sleepless and lacking in appetite for anything else but dirty sex for Amelie Une. He knew he looked rather grungy and unkempt, but he couldn’t make himself any other way when he knew what he’d done. What he was bringing home to the States, to his lover. He was bringing home the ultimate guilt, the scarlet ‘A’. Only, he and Quatre weren’t married, but they damn well should have been. That’s how his relationship felt like. Marriage. Compromise and give-and-take. Love and trust. Loyalty and praise. All that which entailed eternal flame. And he was carrying back with him a mountain of guilt and shame, of horror and loss.
He scanned the crowd of Aprexal with much hesitation, unsure if he should blurt out his sin now, or wait until they got to the school. He didn’t even have the chance to decide as a very heavy weight, followed by his name shouted aloud in immense joy, slammed into him with enough force to have him stumbling and falling onto the floor, startling those walking around him when he paused. He lost hold of his travel bag, his wind lost as Quatre hugged him tightly, laughing aloud with joy as he exclaimed Trowa’s name over and over, clinging to him like some grateful animal.
“GET OFF!” Trowa roared over the boy’s immense joy, but despite his mounting feelings of shame, couldn’t help but feel entirely welcomed back into the States by such cheer.
Quatre hugged him tightly once more, then got off of him, pulling him off the floor. Trowa performed a double take as he picked up his traveling bag, unsure if he saw right the first time. For one thing, Quatre had not grown yet–he was still the same size he’d left him in June. No, his height was still the same as when he left–the boy obviously gained weight, and Trowa wasn’t sure what to do with that aspect. He took in the full face, the slight double chin, the somewhat shaggy hair, the obviousness of a soft middle underneath a t-shirt that would fit him comfortably. Stunned at this different sight, so entirely used of his lover being trim and muscular, Trowa momentarily lost his guilty thoughts and forgot all else.
Before he could really decide an opinion on this weight gain, Quatre was hugging him tightly once more, letting him know just how happy he was and how much he’d missed the former goth. His voice was a little deeper, his features more pronounced by a very light tan, the evidence of his blooming man-features tampering with the once overly large eyes and slight body. There was more of him to touch and hug, and Trowa wasn’t sure what to think about that.
Awkwardly, glancing around to see how many people were staring at the spectacle, Trowa hugged him back, kissing his familiar blond hair. Really, on one level, he was so entirely happy that he was back in the States, on familiar ground, in a familiar embrace. Though he felt entirely dirty while touching Quatre with the same arms and hands that had touched Amelie in a different manner, he couldn’t help himself. He had to hug him back, had to touch him, had to draw him close as they walked away from the terminal and headed toward the baggage claim area.
Meanwhile, Quatre was stuck in such a state of joy at having Trowa back that he didn’t notice the hesitation and the grimaces that Trowa was emitting whenever he hugged him. He was so happy that Trowa was once again at his side that he refused to acknowledge such things. He felt somewhat sick about doing it–he still had some things to overcome if his manic thoughts kept drifting back to ‘Mr. Ogre’.
But now that Trowa was here, he could say “Goodbye!” to Travis Justin Sharp and Mr. Ogre. Because they were no longer on top of his list–Trowa was. His blinders had been set the instant he saw that familiar six foot plus frame walking into the waiting area.
And what a nice frame it was! He didn’t know whether it had been the food he’d eaten, or what, but Trowa had come back to the States as something you would expect from GQ! There was a certain confidence that he walked with, and something different about the way he carried himself with that had many eyes roving in his direction. No longer did he have slumped shoulders, or a lurpiness to his step, or a self conscious drop of his chin–the guy walked as if he’d owned the damn place, and Quatre felt he was so entirely lucky to have such a hot, gorgeous guy holding his hand as they moved to the baggage claim area. He could just feel the envious stares from both men and women, and suddenly began growing rather self-conscious about it. For one thing, he knew he’d gained weight and didn’t look the same. For another... who was he to have such a beautiful boyfriend when he committed an act of crime (rather small one at that, but a crime nonetheless)over two weeks ago? Well, it wasn’t like they were married...and he didn’t go that far...Mr. Ogre had stopped him from doing just that, discouraging him from wanting anything else after it had belched a happy load of warm cum into his very strained, very tired mouth.
Thank you very much, Mr. Ogre, he thought in silent praise. After the small hickie had left his collarbone, he’d stopped taking Justin’s calls. Stopped calling him. Let the other boy figure that he was scared off by Mr. Ogre. He would miss the other boy’s companionship, but it was Trowa’s he valued most.
He pushed those thoughts out of his head and snuggled close against the taller boy’s side, entirely content. He didn’t notice the way Trowa tried to inch away from him, or the abruptness that he used to pull his arm out from Quatre’s grasp, but he did notice that Trowa had his familiar smells and was wearing his Laramie High hooded sweater...in this damned heat?
“So?!” he demanded as he helped him with his baggage. “How was everything?!”
Trowa shrugged a shoulder as they waited to spy his things, roving around the metal carrier before them. “The reason why we ended up there was totally bunk, like I said,” he explained, raising his voice a little to be heard over the loud noises of the other patrons. “I met the lady, like, a few weeks ago. She was after money. She knew Catherine had money.”
“Yeah, you told me that,” Quatre said, frowning, staring up at shifting green eyes. They didn’t focus on him for that same amount of time they had before, and he knew it wasn’t because of his weight gain. He had a feeling that something wasn’t right, but he didn’t want to delve into it. After all, he’d been waiting for Trowa to come back home for so long–! He was not going to let this kind of thing bother him! Even if Trowa did what he was suspecting, it wouldn’t matter because he’d fucked up as well. He was just as guilty.
But he had to wait for Trowa to confess before he was going to. Because if what Trowa did was something that the boy wanted to keep secret, then who said Quatre had to care? He’d keep his secret if Trowa kept his own.
Feeling much better about that, he hugged Trowa to him, inhaling the comforting scents of Eternity and of his own body scent. Such things put him immediately at peace, and he felt Trowa’s awkward, one-armed hug against his back, then a gentle nudge to let him know that his baggage was in sight. Quatre pulled away and helped him draw out the heavy duffle bag and three suitcases–about two more pieces of luggage that Trowa had left with.
“Geez, what’d you pack in here?” he complained as he hauled the duffle over one shoulder and carried the medium sized suitcase, letting Trowa take the bigger pieces simply because the guy had greater height than he. “Some Spanish lovely?”
“NO!”
Quatre started, blinking up at Trowa after the hideously shouted outburst. Everyone looked in their direction, and Trowa ducked his head, embarrassed at the sudden attention. Quatre had to laugh, though, his heart making a double beat, just knowing instinctively that Trowa had not been faithful while he was away. And in a way, that made him feel better. Now things were even, and he didn’t have to worry about Justin. He felt intensely relieved, rather. And though he was curious as to whom Trowa had cheated on him with, he figured that would be given in due time. Right now, he was just happy to have the European back.
“Don’t have to spray it all over the place,” he muttered, wiping his face of Trowa’s spit, sort of wishing that it were something else, in an entirely different setting. Then he grinned again, practically bouncing with cheer as they left the baggage claim area, Trowa’s face still red with his outburst. “Are you excited and happy to be back?”
“Uh...I guess...” Trowa muttered, staring at the floor as he hauled his larger pieces of luggage awkwardly against him as he walked.
“You ‘guess’?! Trowa, I’m so happy you’re back. So happy, happy, happy! I missed you so much!” Quatre exclaimed, laughing with joy that they were once again together. The things he had to tell him! Had to show him! Had to share with him!
And...oh God, the sex. The sex he wanted so bad–! He wanted Trowa so bad that it was a fierce ache deep within his gut, his skin pimpling with the need to have the other’s hands on him, his insides curling with frustration. But he had to control himself–no one wanted to see a couple of guys going at it in a very public place, and he figured that if he had to wait over three months, then it was completely all right to wait for a few more days. But even so, he hoped anxiously for that day to come quick.
Meanwhile, Trowa was studying his lover and hoping that he at least lost ten pounds before they stripped down. Because, really...he wasn’t into that soft stuff. He’d loved Quatre’s body when it was hard and firm, and this one was...was not doing it for him. He sighed, hanging his head, and followed his excited boyfriend out from the airport. Hell. Why can’t it ever be easy to love someone? Was that so hard to ask for? Damn it all...