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"Drabbles"Written By: Clara Barton Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. The following
is an intellectual exercise with no intention of profit. That said,
these characterizations, words, and situations are mine. Please ask
before reprinting. Rating: R A/N: For Cocktail Friday on Tumblr, this week
a photo prompt of two divine cocktails on a beach at sunset. Warnings: language Pairings: 2x3
Trowa was glad he had stopped by his room and changed first.
The ‘casual’ dress code at the beachside hotel bar seemed to be someone’s idea of a joke.
Then again, casual at one of the most exclusive resorts in Dubai likely had an entirely different meaning than what Trowa considered casual.
Jeans and a t-shirt would have likely gotten him escorted off the premises. His gray trousers and lavender button-up shirt, however, seemed to pass inspection. He had left the top few buttons undone and rolled up his sleeves, and as he looked around the cafe tables arrayed on the pristine white sand, he sighed in relief.
He didn’t stand out too badly, even though he was keenly aware of the fact that he didn’t belong in this world at all .
Trowa had been doing undercover work since before he really even knew what it was , but there were some roles he still felt uncomfortable in.
Rich bastard enjoying a weekend in Dubai was definitely one of them.
It only took a few minutes of idly scanning the early evening crowd before he spotted his mark.
Trowa took his time making the approach, however. He sidled up to the bar and ordered a gimlet, letting half of his attention linger on the bartender’s clever hands, and the other half focus on his mark.
The man was sitting a little ways apart, at a table closer to the pool than the surf. His eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses, and he looked both completely at home among the other patrons, and at the same time, uniquely out of place.
He wore tan linen trousers and a black linen shirt, sleeves rolled up and the front completely open, exposing lean, pale flesh and an assortment of tattoos and scars.
Trowa took a sip of his drink, complimented the bartender and provided his room number, and then started to make his way towards the man.
“Mind if I join you?”
The man looked up, eyes impossible to read behind the glasses, but the slow, heated smirk that curved his lips said plenty.
“There’s an empty table just over there,” he said.
Trowa shrugged one shoulder.
“I like the view here better.”
The man snorted a laugh, and made a grand gesture.
Trowa sat down in the seat beside him and stretched his legs out, letting their bare feet tangle together in the sand.
The man’s smirk lost some of its edge.
They sat in silence together, enjoying the last, fiery rays of sunlight and their drinks.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met an informant at a hotel that charges more than a thousand credits a night before,” Trowa said eventually.
The man laughed again.
“Well, I’m special.”
Trowa could agree with that.
The man turned to him and shrugged, a sinuous, sensuous roll of his shoulders that had Trowa looking at his exposed chest and thinking about things that had nothing to do with Preventers Intelligence gathering.
“Besides, last time I saw you, you looked like shit. I figured you could use a vacation.”
The last time they had met had been two months ago, in a dive bar on the moon, and Trowa had just come off a six-month-long mission that had left him feeling raw and empty.
“I’m only booked for one night. Preventers doesn't have an endless budget for me to burn through.”
The man folded his arms on the table and leaned close, tilting his head down so that Trowa could just make out a glimmer of indigo behind the sunglasses.
“Not even for me?” He lowered his voice and ran his foot under the hem of Trowa’s trousers, over his calf. “Not even for intel on Zechs’s little Martian empire?”
Trowa felt his breath catch.
That’s what they had been waiting for.
It was what the entire setup had been about. Five years of undercover work. And finally, finally, it was going to pay off.
“You got an in?” Trowa asked, knowing he sounded a little breathless, not knowing how much of it was at the prospect of finally having dirt on the Lightning Count, and how much was because of his arousal as the man’s foot started to tease his inner thigh.
“Mmhm. You’re looking at his new delivery pilot.”
That was good news. It was also dangerous news.
“Duo-”
The man lifted one hand and pressed a finger to Trowa’s lips.
“Nah-uh. We agreed. You don’t worry about me dying, and I don’t worry about you getting yourself killed.”
Trowa swallowed back the words he had been about to say.
The finger lingered on his lips, and Trowa gave into temptation.
He opened his mouth and drew the finger in, laving at it with his tongue until the man shuddered.
“You know,” he said, slowly drawing his finger out of Trowa’s mouth, “you might only be booked for the one night, but I’ve got myself a fancy ass suite for an entire week while I wait for his highness’s shuttle to get upgraded. Why don’t I show you to my room?”
-o- ~ * ~ |
