Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ In Time ( Chapter 6 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
It's just a few pounds!! And School is in session...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 7.2K | Visits: 202 | Status: Completed
It's just a few pounds!! And School is in session...
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 2 | Words: 7.2K | Visits: 202 | Status: Completed
Chapter Six~
“In Time” = Mark Collie
Sophia Darken Academy loomed like some foreboding work of designer structure from the pages of Vogue. Sitting in the midst of an immaculately groomed campus, the stylish structures, created with a mixture of beige stone and marble, were the epitome of class. The main school building, a three story setting that housed the main administrative offices, cafeteria/food court, auditorium, and all four levels worth of classrooms, stood at the very center with a proud, aristocratic bearing. The front doors faced the opening driveway that emerged from Maryville’s Sixth Street, the gates manned by high level security officers, due to the personas that were attending the private institute. The surrounding hedges, flower beds and trees with over two decades worth of growth on their proud statues, added to the crispiness of nobility.
To the left was the school’s parking lot, a four story garage for both students that owned their own vehicles (juniors and seniors only, due to jobs off campus), and teachers. There was a small, open area for an open parking lot, but that was used mainly by guests.
To the right of the main building was the dormitory, a five story structure for all Residents. It was divided into class levels, with the boys on the left, girls on the right. The linking stairway was the main access route all Residents used to access other levels, but there was an elevator for sporadic use to the right of the security head’s desk in the lobby of the first floor. The levels of the dormitory held all four levels of class, but the last level, the fifth floor, was reserved for those students that were paid for by gratuitous parents who desired privacy for their little bumpkin. The others had to share rooms with various classmates. All rooms were spacious, designed to hold in comfort twin beds, two sets of dressers, desks, and extra large closet space for the roommates. All rooms were accessed via private keycode input on the keypad outside the electronically locked doors.
Behind the main school building was the gym–a two level structure that held two Olympic sized swimming pools (complete with bleachers on each section, plenty of walkway space, and spacious locker rooms) and the top level holding a massive basketball court that could easily house the entire population of Darken and their faithful fans. Consisting of a wide basketball court of regulation standard, with blue colored bleachers that fit snugly alongside the rubber mats outlining the court, two entrances into locker rooms for both home and guest teams, this was the place where the prestigious basketball teams played for dominance in those in their district and region.
Away from the gym were the various outdoor fields for Football, soccer, tennis, track, and some outside basketball courts. The campus was widely regarded as high class, and it certainly was. Decorating the wide expanse of ground were various trees, immaculate lawns, groomed flowerbeds and pots and small gardens that bloomed all year long. Seemingly straight out of some Home and Gardens magazine, Sophia Darken made all other schools look uncommonly ridiculous.
Thus, when Duo Maxwell arrived via taxi with his things, he took one look at the groomed campus and emitted a long, tired sigh. The driver helped him unload his things, all of which he was able to take with him from New York City. Seven pieces of luggage and one carrying case for his electronics. After Duo paid him, the driver left with a murmur, and Duo waited for one of the security guards to come along with a luggage pushcart and help him carry his things. He’d received his class schedule and rooming number over the summer, along with all access numbers that he needed to get into his room and computer system in the main building, and although he was reluctant to admit it, he was looking forward to spending the year with a guy named Cyrus Davis. The guy wasn’t that unknown, because Duo was the class social rat, and he liked CJ. It would be better than last year, when he was roomed with the class goth, Trowa Barton.
What a disaster that had turned out to be. The boys had been roommates before, during their freshmen year, and Trowa had been somewhat normal then. But last year, after a bad breakup with his junior boyfriend, Ralph Curt, Trowa had turned to black eyeliner and gothic things, all of which had freaked Duo out because that was just...gross. He and Trowa had talked little before, but at least they were conversations. Last year, Trowa barely talked to him and regarded him with as much attention as one would with a pesty fly.
Duo liked him okay, it was just...Trowa was just so weird...then the guy got with a social loser, newbie Quatre R. Winner, and it just turned weirder from there. If they weren’t picking on each other with dead legs and purple nurples, they were screwing each other silly, or bringing the smackdown on the other with ultra-dramatic situations....of which brought to mind, Middie Une.
Middie Une was a tenacious girl from Seattle, Washington (and Oklahoma), and had expressed much interest in Trowa despite his appearance. Duo had thought that those two getting together would be the very best situation for Trowa Barton, to get him away from that instigating prick, Quatre. Only, it didn’t work that way–it only brought those two closer together, and from what he’d last heard, Middie was only more determined to break them up. She was only in it purely for the chase–she’d admitted to both he and Hiiro Yuy that that’s what she liked. It was pretty psychotic, but hey–it may get things done, right?
Well, Duo wouldn’t have to worry about that, now. He wasn’t rooming with Trowa–he was rooming with CJ. That was cool.
He had graduated to the third level of the dormitory since he graduated from sophomore year, and as he reached his room, there were many other new juniors out and about, laughing and talking, getting to know each other, and he greeted several of his classmates as he accessed his new room. It was still empty, his roommate no where in sight, so Duo chose the far left of the room and the security guard politely left his things in the cart. Duo began to unpack, figuring that he get that out of the way before he did anything else.
It was nearly an hour and a half later when he finally finished hooking up his stereo system and put his school things neatly away on his desk. The other side of the room was still empty, so Duo put all his suitcases away on his side of the closet, and ventured outside, to visit with those he’d had to leave behind last year. As he caught up with his friends, on their social and personal issues, the day passed by with barely a flicker of excitement.
It was only Saturday night, though. Monday, they started school, and while he was looking forward for another year of academics and sport–he played only basketball, but he was thinking of trying out for Track and Field in spring–he was looking forward for a totally new thing as well.
All these years, he thought he was straight–he loved women. He loved girls. He loved females, period. Their laughs, their bodies, their voices, their unpredictable manner. He’d had his share of girlfriends and definitely wasn’t a virgin, but that was different. Since he’d started Darken, he come across a rather enigmatic boy...Hiiro. Hiiro was a transfer from Japan, his parents wanting him to explore the American way of life in the city most likely to drown him upon first glance. Duo hated minorities–they were just... wrong. Unclean. Different. But when Hiiro came along, Duo found himself attracted instantly. It wasn’t the type of attraction that had him panting after the Asian, but an attraction that demanded respect and tolerance. First of all, Hiiro was a tough Point Guard for the team, and he knew his stuff when it came to academics. Second, the guy was handsome. Messy, thick, dark brown hair...slanted, intensely enigmatic cobalt eyes that looked capable of drilling through even the toughest of steel...hard, muscled body, overworked from various weight lifting, cross-country running and general workouts on the court...man.
Duo loved peeking at him in the locker room and showers, that was for sure. That bubble-butt, those lean, muscular legs, the way his back flexed and flinched with the very simple movement such as pulling on a shirt...wow. A girl’s body hadn’t prompted such a reaction from him in that way before, so he was kind of new to it all. He knew he wasn’t gay–he didn’t appreciate any other guy and their body in the same way he’d regarded Hiiro’s...no, this was an entirely different matter. And Duo, when he got to know Hiiro their freshman year, had harbored an intense crush on him for so long, that it seemed practically traumatizing whenever he had to go long lengths of time without seeing or hearing from him.
But the thing with the situation was–Duo wasn’t gay. Hiiro wasn’t gay. Hiiro Yuy, was in fact, in a relationship with one of the school’s cheerleaders/dance team members, Relena Peacecraft. Don’t get Duo wrong, he liked Relena well enough, just...just not for Hiiro. He didn’t like them together. There was just something wrong about seeing the honey-blonde girl with the dark-haired boy...something didn’t quite meet when their hands, one soft and shapely, the other thin and veiny, connected. There just wasn’t something right when the pair were together, and for Duo, the most pain he received from seeing them together was that Relena wasn’t faithful. He knew this, he knew because he’d heard throughout the grapevine that Relena and Dorothy Catalonia were an item. Not entirely, but enough that constituted cheating.
Hiiro, no matter how many times he was confronted with this interesting tidbit, either ignored it or denied it, and Duo could tell that there were no real feelings lost, but...why stay with her if he wasn’t happy? Couldn’t they just break up and be done with it? So that...so that perhaps they could–but no. that would just be weird for the both of them. Simply because they weren’t gay, and Duo’s admiration of the boy was purely...hmm.
Was purely...well...not physical, because he was definitely hesitant about that aspect, but he really liked the boy...he was fun to hang out with, he was tough, smart, and incredibly hot. Duo shivered at the thought of that fierce face directed at him, cobalt eyes glaring with enough intensity to melt metal, dark hair threatening to hide those strongly beautiful features, and wondered what this year would hold for the possibilities of them both.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Triton Bloom was looking forward to this year–it was his senior year, last year at high school and the year when he’d really have to work hard to get into either Harvard or Brown. It wasn’t as if he were some strict, grade-point average stickler, but he got by with good enough grades to be noticed. He wasn’t sure what his future was going to hold for him, and hadn’t yet decided on what he wanted to focus on in terms of career, but he was interested in medical science and had even sat in on a few ambulance rides in his Dallas, Texas hometown, before...well, before he fucked up. So he may even try his hand out in being an Emergency Medical Technician, or Paramedic, whichever promised more satisfaction.
Having already put his things away, the seniors of Darken having the special privilege of either rooming with someone of their choice or on their own, Triton was happy that he’d chosen to room in his own, private room. It was wide enough to accommodate all of his accumulated junk throughout the year, and it was decorated in his own fashion–black curtains, NBA throw rug, lovely goosedown bedding, new change of clothes (he was a horrible fashion disaster, and if he’d had it his way and didn’t care about what he looked like in plaid pants and spotted shirts, that’s exactly what he would be wearing), and a new outlook for the year.
His medication had been changed over the summer, and he was looking forward to the long term experimental effects of TriDeltrineyorel, a drug imported from Sweden on the managing effects of neutralizing his bipolar disorder. It guaranteed less side effects, more productive balances, and long term relief. He was on his second month of ingesting it, and it had certainly made him feel... more free. Less frustrated with having to take nearly three different things and experiencing the less than lovely side effects. He didn’t have any side effects, and he felt more normal. It was a far cry from the heavily controversial brain operation that alien technologists were able to perform to simply “wipe out” the disorder and institute a completely different one in its place, but the procedure was much too expensive, and his parents hadn’t liked the idea of letting their only child go under the knife for such effects.
It wasn’t as if he were psychotic, or he was in danger of harming anyone or himself. It was just that, when he was feeling down, he felt down enough to think in conscienceless decision, and when he was happy–well, there wasn’t anything wrong with it, it was just the downside of his moods that had gotten him into trouble. When he was an eighth grader, before he was diagnosed, he had brutally beat and nearly raped a classmate because she wouldn’t go out with him, and upon resulting effects with his therapist over the incident (which was almost hush-hush because his parents hadn’t wanted negative reaction from the community and from the girls’ parents, and thus their continuous roaming to constantly escape that past), who diagnosed him as such, he was now one of ‘those’ people that were shunned and speculated simply because he had to rely on medication to keep being ‘normal’.
It wasn’t because he was bipolar that he’d resorted to such a disgraceful tactic over that classmate. All bipolars were different–their symptoms and such were similar, but it didn’t mean that they could be characterized as being in the same level as another. It was his own way of thinking, his own drawing of depressing conclusions that caused him to make that regretful decision, and no one could blame it on anything else. The fact that he was diagnosed with such shouldn’t be held accountable or against him.
He’d learned to live with his parents’ constant suspicion and regards over his relationships with his classmates, and despite their constant moving, he’d learned to cope with himself and learned to recognize his own damaging ways if he were to ever forget the required dosage, or if something had tampered with it in an entirely different way (drugs and alcohol were common neutralizers that fucked up with his dosage, and both were consumed socially, because he didn’t want to seem like a ‘goody-goody’ among his peers). It wasn’t that bad, because he wasn’t under his parents’ supervision twenty-four/seven, and this private school was completely in disregard for boredom, and thus, his disorder didn’t drag him down because he suffered from the effects. It was currently being balanced by his new medication (no more headaches, loss of appetite, embarrassing diarrhea, cotton-mouth, nausea...), and things were just...looking up.
He was looking forward for the brand-new start at Sophia Darken, for the senior trip to Io’s Resort and Plantation halfway across the solar system, and for basketball. He’d played since he was a young boy, and never lost interest. While he wasn’t a manic about it, he loved basketball enough to play occasionally in the gym with several others of similar interest, and he certainly loved playing for Sophia Darken. He was looking forward to potential new snags, to parties held off-campus, to more nights at Dougie’s a country western bar that catered to people of all types, and in particular, to an enticing new interest in one of his fellow Residents.
He was really looking forward to was seeing Quatre Winner again. The boy held him in absolute power, what with his good looks and completely maniacal manner, on and off court. He was a cock tease, an enigma, a joy and a downer all in one. Triton, upon meeting the blond boy on court, was not even impressed with the way the boy held himself until he caught his attention dominating the court as a Point Guard. He was in complete control, from the inbound pass to the resulting shot. And from there, it just snowballed into something of a quiet obsession.
He didn’t really think it would get this far, but it had. He found himself clipping from the paper newspapers what he could find of the athlete, from various high school sports columns, to the various fanfiction that the more unlucky students of hideous manner (re: the nerds, the hopelessly gay) wrote in appreciation of the blond, and taking what he could from the guy when he wasn’t paying attention. Triton had found himself last year secretly watching Quatre take showers after games, watching him undress and dress, watching him move from class to class, watching him eat, watching him drink, watching him with his stupid goth boyfriend, Trowa...whatever Quatre did, Triton took great notice of.
He wasn’t sure why it had happened–just that, one day, Triton found himself hopelessly smitten with the former sophomore and no matter how many times he’d tried to fixate on more reachable snags, he just couldn’t get his mind off the boy. Which was really sad and sick–he was disgusted with himself over it, but it was as if the boy was a bad car accident–most couldn’t look away even if their conscience and stomach wanted to. Triton couldn’t get himself to concentrate on anything else, and found himself fixated on the chance to seeing him again.
Since his parents’ move to New Park City, Triton found himself a nice, sizable crowd to hang out with, in the high class neighborhood of the East End, and had met up with a pathetic guy named Stan, who was simply fascinated with Felicia Passage, a regular partier. Once Stan found out that Quatre was a good friend of hers, Stan had somehow managed to snag Quatre’s number, and had bragged to Triton, on a completely unrelated subject, that he was going to hook up with Felicia via Quatre, and of whose name caught Triton’s interest. When Stan revealed that he’d had the boy’s cell phone number, Triton had to have it. He didn’t want to bother the blond–who was probably with his pathetically insecure and insanely jealous boyfriend (which Triton didn’t mind, because he would probably be the same way had he somehow managed to wind up in Trowa’s particular standing with Quatre)–and had merely called him once to see if the number was actually his. When he found out that it was–oh, how his cock had jumped at the sound of that familiar tenor–he’d left it at that. He didn’t know what the blond did over the summer, why he was still at Darken, but he held the number in reverence.
Then he had to sigh, shaking his head. He’d fucked up, last year–because he’d hated the side effects of his medication, he took it much less than was recommended. One week, due to some partying and because he was feeling rather tired of the constant effects, he’d taken less than he normally did, and had found himself in loss of control over his mood. He was in a particular funk because there was something different about Quatre that week, and it had to do with his boyfriend. He was feeling down and depressed because he wanted Quatre to himself, and there wasn’t a chance for him to get that opportunity, and then... well, things were kind of hazy. But in the end, he scared the poor boy, and himself, because he’d very nearly pushed them into a very bad situation that bordered on the same instance in Dallas. He was shaken up by the incident, incredibly guilty and disgusted, but there wasn’t anything he could do to take the situation back. He could only try to apologize, but even then, that was unable to venture past his lips because he wasn’t quite secure about doing it.
In the end, Quatre still talked to him, due to their status on the team, but Triton could see the wariness on the blond’s face whenever they saw each other. When Quatre fucked up his knee, preventing him from playing for the rest of the year (and what the fuck was Middie thinking, when she repeated the offense rather maliciously during its first healing process?! The team needed him!!), Triton felt rather down that he was unable to hang out with the blond via basketball practice and such, but at least he got to see him everyday, moving about on crutches.
But even then, he had to keep his distance, knowing what he had done, what he was capable of, and Triton hated that aspect of him, hated that he couldn’t be ‘normal’ like everyone else...but this year could be different. It was his last year of high school, and he was going to celebrate it by going all out, doing the things he never really did, trying things, accepting things.
And this medication certainly helped out a lot!
He couldn’t wait for this school year to start.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Monday morning found Quatre sighing in mounting frustration as the orientation rally continued on, introducing the members of the State winning Varsity Football team and various other fall sports. The lackluster rally introduced the usual variety of teachers, coaches and members of the senior class, while it was great to not be sitting in a boring classroom, learning boring things, this rally was just...boring. And he wasn’t focused on the rally–rather, on the boy that sat beside him.
Everyone was dressed in varying flair of their standard uniforms, the mixture of blues and yellows filling the auditorium, where everyone sat where they wanted to sit, not like where they sat in the gym, separated by classes. Amid all the quiet talking and murmurs below the sound of the voices coming from the speakers that were plugged in throughout the auditorium, Quatre could just hear his own thoughts taking a rather destructive trail through his happiness.
Trowa sat in the seat beside him, completely lacking in understanding for his sexual frustration. Didn’t the boy know that Quatre had been with Rosy and her stupid friends all fucking summer? Did he have no courtesy for common relief from their three months of separation?! Whatever Trowa did in Spain, Quatre wasn’t going to give a damn, but it wasn’t fair for Trowa to hold back when Quatre really needed him. The moment they’d arrived at Darken that day at the airport, Trowa had merely spent the entire day transferring his personal effects from storage into his new room, and Quatre had helped, searching for a chance when they could reacquaint themselves, but it was as if Trowa were bitten by the modesty bug and didn’t even want to kiss him in front of his new roommate, some complete fag named Jared...
It was entirely frustrating, and while Quatre could understand why Trowa didn’t want to come out and confess what had been done, it wasn’t looking good on Quatre’s part. He was entirely affectionate with Trowa, entirely more so on the physical love level, and it just tore him apart that Trowa didn’t want to do anything with him. Quatre wanted to get Trowa’s sudden level of insecurity addressed so that they could go back to fuckin’ like dogs again, but then again, he didn’t want to confess what he himself had done, so this was a small dilemma that caused his head to ache.
He looked at Trowa now, from the corner of his eye, and found himself sighing at the familiar wave of love that usually passed over him whenever the boy was in his range. Trowa had his hair trimmed shorter than it was last year, his hair cropped close all around, his bang ending around the curve of his jaw, layered so that all the boy had to do was flip some gel through to keep it lingering on the left side of his face, where he was used to having it. He’d gotten a tan vacationing in Spain, and the boy’s features were no longer boyish–all angles, planes and jutting areas of his face were more pronounced, much more stronger, lending strength to quietly beautiful features. The strong lines of his eyebrows, which were a darker shade than his hair, were tilted slightly in the very middle, creating a somewhat snobbish expression, but they jutted rather attractively over slightly slanted emerald green eyes. The curved lips were more...prominent, he wanted to say, more beguiling. The guy was a natural model, and he must know how well he was driving Quatre crazy, because those same, beautiful lips, both of which used to linger to lovingly over his own lips and body, were curved into a slight pout by his own angry thoughts and feelings.
And once more, actually, as he focused on Trowa’s beauty, he felt self-conscious of himself once more. He hated that he’d gained weight, but that could be easily remedied once he started focusing on it. He knew Trowa had some aversion to him being this way, and it wasn’t as if he were completely fat–he was merely chubby! He was only twenty pounds overweight, and even then, his weight before had been considered a level below normal, so he wondered what the problem was. He couldn’t have Trowa’s frame–the broad shoulders, the slim body, the jutting hips and rounded ass, but his own body was unique in its own way, and he wondered if the guy or gal Trowa had cheated on him with was...well, prettier and much more attractive than he.
At that thought, he sighed loudly, sinking low in his seat and hating the insecurity of his thoughts. He really shouldn’t be thinking that way, as he’d cheated on Trowa with Justin–and that was fucked up on its own because he was just trying to make Justin feel better after the initial reaction to seeing Mr. Ogre–but he was and he couldn’t help but feel down about it. He wondered fleetingly if Trowa thought about that person often, if that person had somehow captured his Trowa’s heart and made him lose sight and perspective of him. He hoped that wasn’t the case. They could work through their mutual cheating, and he was more than willing to forgive Trowa for his, no matter the case.
Because he loved the boy and he didn’t want to lose him.
And then this sexual frustration was proving to be a monster killer case of mood swings! He wanted Trowa so much, so powerfully, that he felt extremely angry whenever Trowa didn’t even want to kiss him. His touch, his body, everything about him was a powerful drug, and Quatre was seriously in withdrawal. And then to have that beauty kept from him when he was suffering–! Very cruel...
Hands in his pockets, bang turned the other way, Quatre wondered what the fuck happened in Spain to leave Trowa so...so...lacking in attention! Well...it was his fault, anyway. For partying, for–maybe this was some sort of karmic backlash, getting back at him for being unfaithful. Yeah, that had to be it! Karma was a bitch, and it was slapping him upside the head for going along with what he knew was wrong. He deserved it, he got the message, now could Trowa and he have some privacy?!
Meanwhile, as Quatre agonized over things in the chair next to him, Trowa was wondering in his own thoughts how he was going to be able to touch his lovely (chubby) blond without remembering Amelie. Really, the pair were so different (hello, gender differences!), but he couldn’t stop himself from fantasizing about Amelie when he had Quatre in his arms. And because it was so disturbing, because he didn’t want to make love to anyone else while he had his boyfriend in his arms, he found himself unable and unwilling to perform. It just...it just wouldn’t rise! His own mental impotency was driving Quatre crazy, he could tell. The blond initiated many of their sexual encounters, his libido barely levels above his. Yes, Trowa did enjoy the phenomenal sex, but it was like...he couldn’t stop fantasizing about being with Amelie. And because of this, he didn’t want to have sex with Quatre because he knew he would be thinking about Amelie instead.
Plus the fact that he couldn’t get over Quatre’s new body–the softness where it had been hard, the flab where it had been toned–what had the guy been doing while he was away?! Eating constantly? It wasn’t that Quatre wasn’t attractive–no, such changes made him rather...noticeable. Approachable. Someone one could easily identify with. The extra weight had also added to his rather round ass, making it even more salivating, but that ended there. Trowa just couldn’t do it! And he didn’t want to hurt Quatre’s feelings in any way, he didn’t want to start anything, so he figured he’d suffer in silence...
Damn you, damn you, damn you, he thought of himself, grimacing. Why?! Why did you have to do this to him?! Why?!
He had no suspicions that Quatre himself had cheated, and was so intensely focused on himself that he didn’t know what to do or think. All he could do is wallow in self-guilt, over his unfaithfulness and over his dislike of the new Quatre. Everyone but him didn’t seem to mind the weight gain, and when he thought about it, it wasn’t even that bad! Sure, Quatre’s face was a little fuller, and he wasn’t as skinny, but it wasn’t as if the guy were waddling, his stomach overhanging his jeans–! It was quite noticeable that the blond was heavier at first glance, but...but Trowa just couldn’t deal with that! He didn’t like the softness! He loved the juts and flats of Quatre’s earlier body, and wanted it back. Not that he could appreciate it in the same light again, since Amelie, but...perhaps it would have helped him to get over the queasiness of touching Quatre again. He certainly didn’t want to feel that soft flab, that mushiness, that...geez, just listen to him.
Who was he to have such high expectations of his lover?! At least Quatre didn’t cheat on him! He wasn’t the one in Spain, having freaky sex with a forty-year old woman! It was cruel to think this way about his love, whom he very much cared for in such intense respect, but...his body...Trowa wanted to weep at the loss of his lover’s toned muscle and leanness, and couldn’t help but feel entirely disgusted when he watched other people meet and greet them, interacting with him despite his obvious tub.
But...they weren’t the ones sleeping with him...they weren’t the ones in close physical intimacy with him...though, he hated the way Felicia continued to hug and press against him, how Triton Bloom had greeted Quatre with obvious renewed lust, how various gayboys of the Quatre Winner Fanclub fawned all over the junior in the halls, exclaiming over a curvier ass and how ‘approachable’ he now was.
No one else seemed to mind, but Trowa minded a whole lot.
Did that make him evil? No...it really wasn’t, but it definitely was a problem. He still loved Quatre, don’t get him wrong, but...it was a real issue on a certainly delicate subject. Trowa didn’t know how to let Quatre know that he wanted him to lose weight before they got back into business, once more. And even then, he would still feel guilty over this thing with Amelie.
He needed a smoke. He needed some Gin-Gin, or even marijuana. Ingesting some drugs would definitely help out with the angst issues, and he needed some STAT. He looked around for Drake Bellows, knowing the Seminole would have more than enough to share, and spotted the boy sitting with some seniors, talking up a mad storm. His partner in crime was no where in sight, so Trowa was stuck with being drug-free for the moment. With a heavy sigh, he sank in his seat, rather uncomfortably because he’d grown a few more inches and he felt smushed.
Quatre looked over at him then, and smiled warmly, making Trowa feel even more guiltier and dirtier than ever before. His lover was so innocent and loving–and here he was, thinking ill thoughts about his weight gain and when his lover obviously loved him no matter what...he had an inkling that Quatre had his suspicions, but Trowa didn’t want to confess. Even though, he couldn’t keep his guilt from showing every now and then, and this thing was tearing him up inside!
He sank even lower in his seat, head resting on the back of the seat, and tried to feel better when Quatre took his hand in his, stroking his fingers. In disgust on his part, those same fingers having been used to bring Amelie into orgasmic bliss in Spain, Trowa yanked his hand away. He didn’t want to sully his innocent lover with his dirty contamination, and that was the only reason. Quatre stared at him with a hurt expression, then quickly turned annoyed, facing away from him.
Trowa wanted to apologize, to make up for what he’d done, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He wasn’t even sure how to even go about it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he hoped for a miracle.
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Quatre laughed once he saw the article in the newspaper, a paper copy that had circulated the class during their free-time. Plucking the watermelon sucker he had out of his mouth, so he wouldn’t have the thing lodged in his throat while he laughed, he rose from his seat, looking for Felicia. He had at least three classes with the gal, and most of the students he went to class with were either kids he knew from last year or were new. The new kids introduced themselves to all their classmates on their own, and one in particular, a pretty girl named Sylvia, had lingered while talking to him.
He didn’t know why, he wasn’t interested in girls, but in a way, she reminded him of Trowa. She’d been quiet, her soft blue eyes outlined in black makeup reminiscent of Alice Cooper, and...she’d seemed so interested in him that he felt a little weird. But then, he’d been distracted when someone had given him the newspaper, of which had the story of his most worst crime to date since arriving here at Darken. Well, second crime.
Felicia was talking rapidly in Mandarin to the Changs, both of whom looked entirely traumatized by whatever it was that was being discussed, and Meiran looked suspiciously ready to throw some kung fu in the Native American girl’s face. Wufei, as usual, looked ready to throw a gigantic tantrum as the girls exchanged words that sounded romantic in Quatre’s point of view. He didn’t understand how it was that Felicia Passage was able to speak the language without the class ever being offered in Darken, but he wasn’t going to pay attention to too much detail. He had enough trouble as it was in his life.
“Hey, ho-bag!” Quatre shouted across the room, waving the newspaper to catch her attention He then laughed when three other girls looked in his direction at the name, but Felicia bounced over with a condescending pat on Wufei’s head.
Quatre showed her the article, and Felicia glanced at it, laughing.
“Dude! Do you even remember that?” she asked, taking a seat on the back table of their Advanced Anatomy class, the students taking the last fifteen minutes of their first class to talk. She was wearing the boy’s uniform of the school, her long hair pulled into a battered bun at the top of her head. She was the only female Quatre knew that got away with that sort of thing.
“No. I don’t remember shit about that part,” Quatre said, looking at the article once more. It had gone on to explore the ‘mysterious’ shooting deaths of family pets that were lounging about in peoples’ yards near the Marina District of New Park City. Apparently, some teenagers (of whom weren’t readily available for description, because this had been done in the very early morning hours) had gone around several neighborhoods, shooting the poor things as they wandered about their enclosed yards. He felt bad about it, the alcohol thinking for him, and he threw the entire thing over his shoulder as he loosened his tie.
“Well, you were pretty fucked up,” Felicia commented, blinking at him. She then grinned at him, crossing her legs and leaning on them with her elbows. “Well?! You happy Tro’s back?! Did you guys have mad, delicious welcome home sex?”
Quatre sighed, hanging his head. “NO, all right?! NO! N-O! NO! Trowa hates me because I’m fat! He won’t even touch me! Every time I try and hold his hand, and even try to–to–hug him, he’s like, ew. Get the fuck away! And it makes it really fuckin’ annoying because he’s so damn perfect.”
“He’s a God,” Felicia agreed, fiddling with her longer hair.
“Yeah...he’s so beautiful. I feel all embarrassed because standing next to him, I’m just like...a fat tub of lard.”
“No, you’re not! Quat! I think you’re very attractive. Yeah, you gained a few...uh...ten..pounds or so, but you’re still good-looking! All these guys still want to hit it,” Felicia said, gesturing at the classroom. “I heard several of them talking about you in the hall today...we gotta lot of new kids...”
“Yeah...what were they saying?”
“Same old bullshit. If Trowa don’t want you, Quat, there’s like, twenty others that will snatch you up in a moment. Triton, man, if you were chocolate and he were, like, all the female population of this entire fuckhole on their rag–you’d be gone in a second. He’d appreciate you even if you pulled a fat Matt Leblanc.” Felicia nodded with seriousness. Then she scowled. “You’re not even fat, Winner! I don’t see what that guy’s complaining about, or...um...maybe he like...cheated on you, or something, and he’s just...grasping at guilt, or something....”
“You think he would?” Quatre asked, knowing instinctively that Trowa had, but eager to hear someone else’s opinion.
“I don’t know. Would he? Even then, think about gettin’ with someone else, someone that ain’t gonna cause you all this fuckin’ bullshit. God, just get with somebody that’s, like, into sex like you are! Forget all the drama! Hook up with someone else! What happened to Justin? He was fuckin’ fun!”
“I don’t want those guys...I want Trowa. And don’t fuckin’ say anything about Justin to Trowa, all right? He’s like, super insecure about things, and I don’t want him knowing what I did with who I was with...I don’t want to lose Trowa. I love him.”
“Spoken like a loved up dog...Geez, Quat, expand your territory a little. You guys’re in high school. Don’t get all hooked up with someone all these years...damn.”
“I thought you were on my side...”
“I am. I’m just trying to get you for myself,” she said, grinning as she captured him in a headlock, her superhuman strength keeping him in place as he struggled to get loose.
“That is so fucking gross,” he complained as he strived to pull out of her manly grip.
“Why? I can convert you, you know...”
“Dude, it’d be like, having sex with a guy, anyway. I know you’re a guy under there.”
“Touch me, and see. But you might get me pregnant. You know how we minorities are...”
“ARGH! GROSS!”
“WINNER! PASSAGE! Can’t you keep your hands off of each other for at least ten minutes?!” the teacher roared from the front of the class, causing everyone to look back at them in curiosity.
“God...here we go again...”
“In Time” = Mark Collie
Sophia Darken Academy loomed like some foreboding work of designer structure from the pages of Vogue. Sitting in the midst of an immaculately groomed campus, the stylish structures, created with a mixture of beige stone and marble, were the epitome of class. The main school building, a three story setting that housed the main administrative offices, cafeteria/food court, auditorium, and all four levels worth of classrooms, stood at the very center with a proud, aristocratic bearing. The front doors faced the opening driveway that emerged from Maryville’s Sixth Street, the gates manned by high level security officers, due to the personas that were attending the private institute. The surrounding hedges, flower beds and trees with over two decades worth of growth on their proud statues, added to the crispiness of nobility.
To the left was the school’s parking lot, a four story garage for both students that owned their own vehicles (juniors and seniors only, due to jobs off campus), and teachers. There was a small, open area for an open parking lot, but that was used mainly by guests.
To the right of the main building was the dormitory, a five story structure for all Residents. It was divided into class levels, with the boys on the left, girls on the right. The linking stairway was the main access route all Residents used to access other levels, but there was an elevator for sporadic use to the right of the security head’s desk in the lobby of the first floor. The levels of the dormitory held all four levels of class, but the last level, the fifth floor, was reserved for those students that were paid for by gratuitous parents who desired privacy for their little bumpkin. The others had to share rooms with various classmates. All rooms were spacious, designed to hold in comfort twin beds, two sets of dressers, desks, and extra large closet space for the roommates. All rooms were accessed via private keycode input on the keypad outside the electronically locked doors.
Behind the main school building was the gym–a two level structure that held two Olympic sized swimming pools (complete with bleachers on each section, plenty of walkway space, and spacious locker rooms) and the top level holding a massive basketball court that could easily house the entire population of Darken and their faithful fans. Consisting of a wide basketball court of regulation standard, with blue colored bleachers that fit snugly alongside the rubber mats outlining the court, two entrances into locker rooms for both home and guest teams, this was the place where the prestigious basketball teams played for dominance in those in their district and region.
Away from the gym were the various outdoor fields for Football, soccer, tennis, track, and some outside basketball courts. The campus was widely regarded as high class, and it certainly was. Decorating the wide expanse of ground were various trees, immaculate lawns, groomed flowerbeds and pots and small gardens that bloomed all year long. Seemingly straight out of some Home and Gardens magazine, Sophia Darken made all other schools look uncommonly ridiculous.
Thus, when Duo Maxwell arrived via taxi with his things, he took one look at the groomed campus and emitted a long, tired sigh. The driver helped him unload his things, all of which he was able to take with him from New York City. Seven pieces of luggage and one carrying case for his electronics. After Duo paid him, the driver left with a murmur, and Duo waited for one of the security guards to come along with a luggage pushcart and help him carry his things. He’d received his class schedule and rooming number over the summer, along with all access numbers that he needed to get into his room and computer system in the main building, and although he was reluctant to admit it, he was looking forward to spending the year with a guy named Cyrus Davis. The guy wasn’t that unknown, because Duo was the class social rat, and he liked CJ. It would be better than last year, when he was roomed with the class goth, Trowa Barton.
What a disaster that had turned out to be. The boys had been roommates before, during their freshmen year, and Trowa had been somewhat normal then. But last year, after a bad breakup with his junior boyfriend, Ralph Curt, Trowa had turned to black eyeliner and gothic things, all of which had freaked Duo out because that was just...gross. He and Trowa had talked little before, but at least they were conversations. Last year, Trowa barely talked to him and regarded him with as much attention as one would with a pesty fly.
Duo liked him okay, it was just...Trowa was just so weird...then the guy got with a social loser, newbie Quatre R. Winner, and it just turned weirder from there. If they weren’t picking on each other with dead legs and purple nurples, they were screwing each other silly, or bringing the smackdown on the other with ultra-dramatic situations....of which brought to mind, Middie Une.
Middie Une was a tenacious girl from Seattle, Washington (and Oklahoma), and had expressed much interest in Trowa despite his appearance. Duo had thought that those two getting together would be the very best situation for Trowa Barton, to get him away from that instigating prick, Quatre. Only, it didn’t work that way–it only brought those two closer together, and from what he’d last heard, Middie was only more determined to break them up. She was only in it purely for the chase–she’d admitted to both he and Hiiro Yuy that that’s what she liked. It was pretty psychotic, but hey–it may get things done, right?
Well, Duo wouldn’t have to worry about that, now. He wasn’t rooming with Trowa–he was rooming with CJ. That was cool.
He had graduated to the third level of the dormitory since he graduated from sophomore year, and as he reached his room, there were many other new juniors out and about, laughing and talking, getting to know each other, and he greeted several of his classmates as he accessed his new room. It was still empty, his roommate no where in sight, so Duo chose the far left of the room and the security guard politely left his things in the cart. Duo began to unpack, figuring that he get that out of the way before he did anything else.
It was nearly an hour and a half later when he finally finished hooking up his stereo system and put his school things neatly away on his desk. The other side of the room was still empty, so Duo put all his suitcases away on his side of the closet, and ventured outside, to visit with those he’d had to leave behind last year. As he caught up with his friends, on their social and personal issues, the day passed by with barely a flicker of excitement.
It was only Saturday night, though. Monday, they started school, and while he was looking forward for another year of academics and sport–he played only basketball, but he was thinking of trying out for Track and Field in spring–he was looking forward for a totally new thing as well.
All these years, he thought he was straight–he loved women. He loved girls. He loved females, period. Their laughs, their bodies, their voices, their unpredictable manner. He’d had his share of girlfriends and definitely wasn’t a virgin, but that was different. Since he’d started Darken, he come across a rather enigmatic boy...Hiiro. Hiiro was a transfer from Japan, his parents wanting him to explore the American way of life in the city most likely to drown him upon first glance. Duo hated minorities–they were just... wrong. Unclean. Different. But when Hiiro came along, Duo found himself attracted instantly. It wasn’t the type of attraction that had him panting after the Asian, but an attraction that demanded respect and tolerance. First of all, Hiiro was a tough Point Guard for the team, and he knew his stuff when it came to academics. Second, the guy was handsome. Messy, thick, dark brown hair...slanted, intensely enigmatic cobalt eyes that looked capable of drilling through even the toughest of steel...hard, muscled body, overworked from various weight lifting, cross-country running and general workouts on the court...man.
Duo loved peeking at him in the locker room and showers, that was for sure. That bubble-butt, those lean, muscular legs, the way his back flexed and flinched with the very simple movement such as pulling on a shirt...wow. A girl’s body hadn’t prompted such a reaction from him in that way before, so he was kind of new to it all. He knew he wasn’t gay–he didn’t appreciate any other guy and their body in the same way he’d regarded Hiiro’s...no, this was an entirely different matter. And Duo, when he got to know Hiiro their freshman year, had harbored an intense crush on him for so long, that it seemed practically traumatizing whenever he had to go long lengths of time without seeing or hearing from him.
But the thing with the situation was–Duo wasn’t gay. Hiiro wasn’t gay. Hiiro Yuy, was in fact, in a relationship with one of the school’s cheerleaders/dance team members, Relena Peacecraft. Don’t get Duo wrong, he liked Relena well enough, just...just not for Hiiro. He didn’t like them together. There was just something wrong about seeing the honey-blonde girl with the dark-haired boy...something didn’t quite meet when their hands, one soft and shapely, the other thin and veiny, connected. There just wasn’t something right when the pair were together, and for Duo, the most pain he received from seeing them together was that Relena wasn’t faithful. He knew this, he knew because he’d heard throughout the grapevine that Relena and Dorothy Catalonia were an item. Not entirely, but enough that constituted cheating.
Hiiro, no matter how many times he was confronted with this interesting tidbit, either ignored it or denied it, and Duo could tell that there were no real feelings lost, but...why stay with her if he wasn’t happy? Couldn’t they just break up and be done with it? So that...so that perhaps they could–but no. that would just be weird for the both of them. Simply because they weren’t gay, and Duo’s admiration of the boy was purely...hmm.
Was purely...well...not physical, because he was definitely hesitant about that aspect, but he really liked the boy...he was fun to hang out with, he was tough, smart, and incredibly hot. Duo shivered at the thought of that fierce face directed at him, cobalt eyes glaring with enough intensity to melt metal, dark hair threatening to hide those strongly beautiful features, and wondered what this year would hold for the possibilities of them both.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Triton Bloom was looking forward to this year–it was his senior year, last year at high school and the year when he’d really have to work hard to get into either Harvard or Brown. It wasn’t as if he were some strict, grade-point average stickler, but he got by with good enough grades to be noticed. He wasn’t sure what his future was going to hold for him, and hadn’t yet decided on what he wanted to focus on in terms of career, but he was interested in medical science and had even sat in on a few ambulance rides in his Dallas, Texas hometown, before...well, before he fucked up. So he may even try his hand out in being an Emergency Medical Technician, or Paramedic, whichever promised more satisfaction.
Having already put his things away, the seniors of Darken having the special privilege of either rooming with someone of their choice or on their own, Triton was happy that he’d chosen to room in his own, private room. It was wide enough to accommodate all of his accumulated junk throughout the year, and it was decorated in his own fashion–black curtains, NBA throw rug, lovely goosedown bedding, new change of clothes (he was a horrible fashion disaster, and if he’d had it his way and didn’t care about what he looked like in plaid pants and spotted shirts, that’s exactly what he would be wearing), and a new outlook for the year.
His medication had been changed over the summer, and he was looking forward to the long term experimental effects of TriDeltrineyorel, a drug imported from Sweden on the managing effects of neutralizing his bipolar disorder. It guaranteed less side effects, more productive balances, and long term relief. He was on his second month of ingesting it, and it had certainly made him feel... more free. Less frustrated with having to take nearly three different things and experiencing the less than lovely side effects. He didn’t have any side effects, and he felt more normal. It was a far cry from the heavily controversial brain operation that alien technologists were able to perform to simply “wipe out” the disorder and institute a completely different one in its place, but the procedure was much too expensive, and his parents hadn’t liked the idea of letting their only child go under the knife for such effects.
It wasn’t as if he were psychotic, or he was in danger of harming anyone or himself. It was just that, when he was feeling down, he felt down enough to think in conscienceless decision, and when he was happy–well, there wasn’t anything wrong with it, it was just the downside of his moods that had gotten him into trouble. When he was an eighth grader, before he was diagnosed, he had brutally beat and nearly raped a classmate because she wouldn’t go out with him, and upon resulting effects with his therapist over the incident (which was almost hush-hush because his parents hadn’t wanted negative reaction from the community and from the girls’ parents, and thus their continuous roaming to constantly escape that past), who diagnosed him as such, he was now one of ‘those’ people that were shunned and speculated simply because he had to rely on medication to keep being ‘normal’.
It wasn’t because he was bipolar that he’d resorted to such a disgraceful tactic over that classmate. All bipolars were different–their symptoms and such were similar, but it didn’t mean that they could be characterized as being in the same level as another. It was his own way of thinking, his own drawing of depressing conclusions that caused him to make that regretful decision, and no one could blame it on anything else. The fact that he was diagnosed with such shouldn’t be held accountable or against him.
He’d learned to live with his parents’ constant suspicion and regards over his relationships with his classmates, and despite their constant moving, he’d learned to cope with himself and learned to recognize his own damaging ways if he were to ever forget the required dosage, or if something had tampered with it in an entirely different way (drugs and alcohol were common neutralizers that fucked up with his dosage, and both were consumed socially, because he didn’t want to seem like a ‘goody-goody’ among his peers). It wasn’t that bad, because he wasn’t under his parents’ supervision twenty-four/seven, and this private school was completely in disregard for boredom, and thus, his disorder didn’t drag him down because he suffered from the effects. It was currently being balanced by his new medication (no more headaches, loss of appetite, embarrassing diarrhea, cotton-mouth, nausea...), and things were just...looking up.
He was looking forward for the brand-new start at Sophia Darken, for the senior trip to Io’s Resort and Plantation halfway across the solar system, and for basketball. He’d played since he was a young boy, and never lost interest. While he wasn’t a manic about it, he loved basketball enough to play occasionally in the gym with several others of similar interest, and he certainly loved playing for Sophia Darken. He was looking forward to potential new snags, to parties held off-campus, to more nights at Dougie’s a country western bar that catered to people of all types, and in particular, to an enticing new interest in one of his fellow Residents.
He was really looking forward to was seeing Quatre Winner again. The boy held him in absolute power, what with his good looks and completely maniacal manner, on and off court. He was a cock tease, an enigma, a joy and a downer all in one. Triton, upon meeting the blond boy on court, was not even impressed with the way the boy held himself until he caught his attention dominating the court as a Point Guard. He was in complete control, from the inbound pass to the resulting shot. And from there, it just snowballed into something of a quiet obsession.
He didn’t really think it would get this far, but it had. He found himself clipping from the paper newspapers what he could find of the athlete, from various high school sports columns, to the various fanfiction that the more unlucky students of hideous manner (re: the nerds, the hopelessly gay) wrote in appreciation of the blond, and taking what he could from the guy when he wasn’t paying attention. Triton had found himself last year secretly watching Quatre take showers after games, watching him undress and dress, watching him move from class to class, watching him eat, watching him drink, watching him with his stupid goth boyfriend, Trowa...whatever Quatre did, Triton took great notice of.
He wasn’t sure why it had happened–just that, one day, Triton found himself hopelessly smitten with the former sophomore and no matter how many times he’d tried to fixate on more reachable snags, he just couldn’t get his mind off the boy. Which was really sad and sick–he was disgusted with himself over it, but it was as if the boy was a bad car accident–most couldn’t look away even if their conscience and stomach wanted to. Triton couldn’t get himself to concentrate on anything else, and found himself fixated on the chance to seeing him again.
Since his parents’ move to New Park City, Triton found himself a nice, sizable crowd to hang out with, in the high class neighborhood of the East End, and had met up with a pathetic guy named Stan, who was simply fascinated with Felicia Passage, a regular partier. Once Stan found out that Quatre was a good friend of hers, Stan had somehow managed to snag Quatre’s number, and had bragged to Triton, on a completely unrelated subject, that he was going to hook up with Felicia via Quatre, and of whose name caught Triton’s interest. When Stan revealed that he’d had the boy’s cell phone number, Triton had to have it. He didn’t want to bother the blond–who was probably with his pathetically insecure and insanely jealous boyfriend (which Triton didn’t mind, because he would probably be the same way had he somehow managed to wind up in Trowa’s particular standing with Quatre)–and had merely called him once to see if the number was actually his. When he found out that it was–oh, how his cock had jumped at the sound of that familiar tenor–he’d left it at that. He didn’t know what the blond did over the summer, why he was still at Darken, but he held the number in reverence.
Then he had to sigh, shaking his head. He’d fucked up, last year–because he’d hated the side effects of his medication, he took it much less than was recommended. One week, due to some partying and because he was feeling rather tired of the constant effects, he’d taken less than he normally did, and had found himself in loss of control over his mood. He was in a particular funk because there was something different about Quatre that week, and it had to do with his boyfriend. He was feeling down and depressed because he wanted Quatre to himself, and there wasn’t a chance for him to get that opportunity, and then... well, things were kind of hazy. But in the end, he scared the poor boy, and himself, because he’d very nearly pushed them into a very bad situation that bordered on the same instance in Dallas. He was shaken up by the incident, incredibly guilty and disgusted, but there wasn’t anything he could do to take the situation back. He could only try to apologize, but even then, that was unable to venture past his lips because he wasn’t quite secure about doing it.
In the end, Quatre still talked to him, due to their status on the team, but Triton could see the wariness on the blond’s face whenever they saw each other. When Quatre fucked up his knee, preventing him from playing for the rest of the year (and what the fuck was Middie thinking, when she repeated the offense rather maliciously during its first healing process?! The team needed him!!), Triton felt rather down that he was unable to hang out with the blond via basketball practice and such, but at least he got to see him everyday, moving about on crutches.
But even then, he had to keep his distance, knowing what he had done, what he was capable of, and Triton hated that aspect of him, hated that he couldn’t be ‘normal’ like everyone else...but this year could be different. It was his last year of high school, and he was going to celebrate it by going all out, doing the things he never really did, trying things, accepting things.
And this medication certainly helped out a lot!
He couldn’t wait for this school year to start.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Monday morning found Quatre sighing in mounting frustration as the orientation rally continued on, introducing the members of the State winning Varsity Football team and various other fall sports. The lackluster rally introduced the usual variety of teachers, coaches and members of the senior class, while it was great to not be sitting in a boring classroom, learning boring things, this rally was just...boring. And he wasn’t focused on the rally–rather, on the boy that sat beside him.
Everyone was dressed in varying flair of their standard uniforms, the mixture of blues and yellows filling the auditorium, where everyone sat where they wanted to sit, not like where they sat in the gym, separated by classes. Amid all the quiet talking and murmurs below the sound of the voices coming from the speakers that were plugged in throughout the auditorium, Quatre could just hear his own thoughts taking a rather destructive trail through his happiness.
Trowa sat in the seat beside him, completely lacking in understanding for his sexual frustration. Didn’t the boy know that Quatre had been with Rosy and her stupid friends all fucking summer? Did he have no courtesy for common relief from their three months of separation?! Whatever Trowa did in Spain, Quatre wasn’t going to give a damn, but it wasn’t fair for Trowa to hold back when Quatre really needed him. The moment they’d arrived at Darken that day at the airport, Trowa had merely spent the entire day transferring his personal effects from storage into his new room, and Quatre had helped, searching for a chance when they could reacquaint themselves, but it was as if Trowa were bitten by the modesty bug and didn’t even want to kiss him in front of his new roommate, some complete fag named Jared...
It was entirely frustrating, and while Quatre could understand why Trowa didn’t want to come out and confess what had been done, it wasn’t looking good on Quatre’s part. He was entirely affectionate with Trowa, entirely more so on the physical love level, and it just tore him apart that Trowa didn’t want to do anything with him. Quatre wanted to get Trowa’s sudden level of insecurity addressed so that they could go back to fuckin’ like dogs again, but then again, he didn’t want to confess what he himself had done, so this was a small dilemma that caused his head to ache.
He looked at Trowa now, from the corner of his eye, and found himself sighing at the familiar wave of love that usually passed over him whenever the boy was in his range. Trowa had his hair trimmed shorter than it was last year, his hair cropped close all around, his bang ending around the curve of his jaw, layered so that all the boy had to do was flip some gel through to keep it lingering on the left side of his face, where he was used to having it. He’d gotten a tan vacationing in Spain, and the boy’s features were no longer boyish–all angles, planes and jutting areas of his face were more pronounced, much more stronger, lending strength to quietly beautiful features. The strong lines of his eyebrows, which were a darker shade than his hair, were tilted slightly in the very middle, creating a somewhat snobbish expression, but they jutted rather attractively over slightly slanted emerald green eyes. The curved lips were more...prominent, he wanted to say, more beguiling. The guy was a natural model, and he must know how well he was driving Quatre crazy, because those same, beautiful lips, both of which used to linger to lovingly over his own lips and body, were curved into a slight pout by his own angry thoughts and feelings.
And once more, actually, as he focused on Trowa’s beauty, he felt self-conscious of himself once more. He hated that he’d gained weight, but that could be easily remedied once he started focusing on it. He knew Trowa had some aversion to him being this way, and it wasn’t as if he were completely fat–he was merely chubby! He was only twenty pounds overweight, and even then, his weight before had been considered a level below normal, so he wondered what the problem was. He couldn’t have Trowa’s frame–the broad shoulders, the slim body, the jutting hips and rounded ass, but his own body was unique in its own way, and he wondered if the guy or gal Trowa had cheated on him with was...well, prettier and much more attractive than he.
At that thought, he sighed loudly, sinking low in his seat and hating the insecurity of his thoughts. He really shouldn’t be thinking that way, as he’d cheated on Trowa with Justin–and that was fucked up on its own because he was just trying to make Justin feel better after the initial reaction to seeing Mr. Ogre–but he was and he couldn’t help but feel down about it. He wondered fleetingly if Trowa thought about that person often, if that person had somehow captured his Trowa’s heart and made him lose sight and perspective of him. He hoped that wasn’t the case. They could work through their mutual cheating, and he was more than willing to forgive Trowa for his, no matter the case.
Because he loved the boy and he didn’t want to lose him.
And then this sexual frustration was proving to be a monster killer case of mood swings! He wanted Trowa so much, so powerfully, that he felt extremely angry whenever Trowa didn’t even want to kiss him. His touch, his body, everything about him was a powerful drug, and Quatre was seriously in withdrawal. And then to have that beauty kept from him when he was suffering–! Very cruel...
Hands in his pockets, bang turned the other way, Quatre wondered what the fuck happened in Spain to leave Trowa so...so...lacking in attention! Well...it was his fault, anyway. For partying, for–maybe this was some sort of karmic backlash, getting back at him for being unfaithful. Yeah, that had to be it! Karma was a bitch, and it was slapping him upside the head for going along with what he knew was wrong. He deserved it, he got the message, now could Trowa and he have some privacy?!
Meanwhile, as Quatre agonized over things in the chair next to him, Trowa was wondering in his own thoughts how he was going to be able to touch his lovely (chubby) blond without remembering Amelie. Really, the pair were so different (hello, gender differences!), but he couldn’t stop himself from fantasizing about Amelie when he had Quatre in his arms. And because it was so disturbing, because he didn’t want to make love to anyone else while he had his boyfriend in his arms, he found himself unable and unwilling to perform. It just...it just wouldn’t rise! His own mental impotency was driving Quatre crazy, he could tell. The blond initiated many of their sexual encounters, his libido barely levels above his. Yes, Trowa did enjoy the phenomenal sex, but it was like...he couldn’t stop fantasizing about being with Amelie. And because of this, he didn’t want to have sex with Quatre because he knew he would be thinking about Amelie instead.
Plus the fact that he couldn’t get over Quatre’s new body–the softness where it had been hard, the flab where it had been toned–what had the guy been doing while he was away?! Eating constantly? It wasn’t that Quatre wasn’t attractive–no, such changes made him rather...noticeable. Approachable. Someone one could easily identify with. The extra weight had also added to his rather round ass, making it even more salivating, but that ended there. Trowa just couldn’t do it! And he didn’t want to hurt Quatre’s feelings in any way, he didn’t want to start anything, so he figured he’d suffer in silence...
Damn you, damn you, damn you, he thought of himself, grimacing. Why?! Why did you have to do this to him?! Why?!
He had no suspicions that Quatre himself had cheated, and was so intensely focused on himself that he didn’t know what to do or think. All he could do is wallow in self-guilt, over his unfaithfulness and over his dislike of the new Quatre. Everyone but him didn’t seem to mind the weight gain, and when he thought about it, it wasn’t even that bad! Sure, Quatre’s face was a little fuller, and he wasn’t as skinny, but it wasn’t as if the guy were waddling, his stomach overhanging his jeans–! It was quite noticeable that the blond was heavier at first glance, but...but Trowa just couldn’t deal with that! He didn’t like the softness! He loved the juts and flats of Quatre’s earlier body, and wanted it back. Not that he could appreciate it in the same light again, since Amelie, but...perhaps it would have helped him to get over the queasiness of touching Quatre again. He certainly didn’t want to feel that soft flab, that mushiness, that...geez, just listen to him.
Who was he to have such high expectations of his lover?! At least Quatre didn’t cheat on him! He wasn’t the one in Spain, having freaky sex with a forty-year old woman! It was cruel to think this way about his love, whom he very much cared for in such intense respect, but...his body...Trowa wanted to weep at the loss of his lover’s toned muscle and leanness, and couldn’t help but feel entirely disgusted when he watched other people meet and greet them, interacting with him despite his obvious tub.
But...they weren’t the ones sleeping with him...they weren’t the ones in close physical intimacy with him...though, he hated the way Felicia continued to hug and press against him, how Triton Bloom had greeted Quatre with obvious renewed lust, how various gayboys of the Quatre Winner Fanclub fawned all over the junior in the halls, exclaiming over a curvier ass and how ‘approachable’ he now was.
No one else seemed to mind, but Trowa minded a whole lot.
Did that make him evil? No...it really wasn’t, but it definitely was a problem. He still loved Quatre, don’t get him wrong, but...it was a real issue on a certainly delicate subject. Trowa didn’t know how to let Quatre know that he wanted him to lose weight before they got back into business, once more. And even then, he would still feel guilty over this thing with Amelie.
He needed a smoke. He needed some Gin-Gin, or even marijuana. Ingesting some drugs would definitely help out with the angst issues, and he needed some STAT. He looked around for Drake Bellows, knowing the Seminole would have more than enough to share, and spotted the boy sitting with some seniors, talking up a mad storm. His partner in crime was no where in sight, so Trowa was stuck with being drug-free for the moment. With a heavy sigh, he sank in his seat, rather uncomfortably because he’d grown a few more inches and he felt smushed.
Quatre looked over at him then, and smiled warmly, making Trowa feel even more guiltier and dirtier than ever before. His lover was so innocent and loving–and here he was, thinking ill thoughts about his weight gain and when his lover obviously loved him no matter what...he had an inkling that Quatre had his suspicions, but Trowa didn’t want to confess. Even though, he couldn’t keep his guilt from showing every now and then, and this thing was tearing him up inside!
He sank even lower in his seat, head resting on the back of the seat, and tried to feel better when Quatre took his hand in his, stroking his fingers. In disgust on his part, those same fingers having been used to bring Amelie into orgasmic bliss in Spain, Trowa yanked his hand away. He didn’t want to sully his innocent lover with his dirty contamination, and that was the only reason. Quatre stared at him with a hurt expression, then quickly turned annoyed, facing away from him.
Trowa wanted to apologize, to make up for what he’d done, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He wasn’t even sure how to even go about it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he hoped for a miracle.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Quatre laughed once he saw the article in the newspaper, a paper copy that had circulated the class during their free-time. Plucking the watermelon sucker he had out of his mouth, so he wouldn’t have the thing lodged in his throat while he laughed, he rose from his seat, looking for Felicia. He had at least three classes with the gal, and most of the students he went to class with were either kids he knew from last year or were new. The new kids introduced themselves to all their classmates on their own, and one in particular, a pretty girl named Sylvia, had lingered while talking to him.
He didn’t know why, he wasn’t interested in girls, but in a way, she reminded him of Trowa. She’d been quiet, her soft blue eyes outlined in black makeup reminiscent of Alice Cooper, and...she’d seemed so interested in him that he felt a little weird. But then, he’d been distracted when someone had given him the newspaper, of which had the story of his most worst crime to date since arriving here at Darken. Well, second crime.
Felicia was talking rapidly in Mandarin to the Changs, both of whom looked entirely traumatized by whatever it was that was being discussed, and Meiran looked suspiciously ready to throw some kung fu in the Native American girl’s face. Wufei, as usual, looked ready to throw a gigantic tantrum as the girls exchanged words that sounded romantic in Quatre’s point of view. He didn’t understand how it was that Felicia Passage was able to speak the language without the class ever being offered in Darken, but he wasn’t going to pay attention to too much detail. He had enough trouble as it was in his life.
“Hey, ho-bag!” Quatre shouted across the room, waving the newspaper to catch her attention He then laughed when three other girls looked in his direction at the name, but Felicia bounced over with a condescending pat on Wufei’s head.
Quatre showed her the article, and Felicia glanced at it, laughing.
“Dude! Do you even remember that?” she asked, taking a seat on the back table of their Advanced Anatomy class, the students taking the last fifteen minutes of their first class to talk. She was wearing the boy’s uniform of the school, her long hair pulled into a battered bun at the top of her head. She was the only female Quatre knew that got away with that sort of thing.
“No. I don’t remember shit about that part,” Quatre said, looking at the article once more. It had gone on to explore the ‘mysterious’ shooting deaths of family pets that were lounging about in peoples’ yards near the Marina District of New Park City. Apparently, some teenagers (of whom weren’t readily available for description, because this had been done in the very early morning hours) had gone around several neighborhoods, shooting the poor things as they wandered about their enclosed yards. He felt bad about it, the alcohol thinking for him, and he threw the entire thing over his shoulder as he loosened his tie.
“Well, you were pretty fucked up,” Felicia commented, blinking at him. She then grinned at him, crossing her legs and leaning on them with her elbows. “Well?! You happy Tro’s back?! Did you guys have mad, delicious welcome home sex?”
Quatre sighed, hanging his head. “NO, all right?! NO! N-O! NO! Trowa hates me because I’m fat! He won’t even touch me! Every time I try and hold his hand, and even try to–to–hug him, he’s like, ew. Get the fuck away! And it makes it really fuckin’ annoying because he’s so damn perfect.”
“He’s a God,” Felicia agreed, fiddling with her longer hair.
“Yeah...he’s so beautiful. I feel all embarrassed because standing next to him, I’m just like...a fat tub of lard.”
“No, you’re not! Quat! I think you’re very attractive. Yeah, you gained a few...uh...ten..pounds or so, but you’re still good-looking! All these guys still want to hit it,” Felicia said, gesturing at the classroom. “I heard several of them talking about you in the hall today...we gotta lot of new kids...”
“Yeah...what were they saying?”
“Same old bullshit. If Trowa don’t want you, Quat, there’s like, twenty others that will snatch you up in a moment. Triton, man, if you were chocolate and he were, like, all the female population of this entire fuckhole on their rag–you’d be gone in a second. He’d appreciate you even if you pulled a fat Matt Leblanc.” Felicia nodded with seriousness. Then she scowled. “You’re not even fat, Winner! I don’t see what that guy’s complaining about, or...um...maybe he like...cheated on you, or something, and he’s just...grasping at guilt, or something....”
“You think he would?” Quatre asked, knowing instinctively that Trowa had, but eager to hear someone else’s opinion.
“I don’t know. Would he? Even then, think about gettin’ with someone else, someone that ain’t gonna cause you all this fuckin’ bullshit. God, just get with somebody that’s, like, into sex like you are! Forget all the drama! Hook up with someone else! What happened to Justin? He was fuckin’ fun!”
“I don’t want those guys...I want Trowa. And don’t fuckin’ say anything about Justin to Trowa, all right? He’s like, super insecure about things, and I don’t want him knowing what I did with who I was with...I don’t want to lose Trowa. I love him.”
“Spoken like a loved up dog...Geez, Quat, expand your territory a little. You guys’re in high school. Don’t get all hooked up with someone all these years...damn.”
“I thought you were on my side...”
“I am. I’m just trying to get you for myself,” she said, grinning as she captured him in a headlock, her superhuman strength keeping him in place as he struggled to get loose.
“That is so fucking gross,” he complained as he strived to pull out of her manly grip.
“Why? I can convert you, you know...”
“Dude, it’d be like, having sex with a guy, anyway. I know you’re a guy under there.”
“Touch me, and see. But you might get me pregnant. You know how we minorities are...”
“ARGH! GROSS!”
“WINNER! PASSAGE! Can’t you keep your hands off of each other for at least ten minutes?!” the teacher roared from the front of the class, causing everyone to look back at them in curiosity.
“God...here we go again...”