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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 chemicalcrush, inspired by a photo posted
on my tumblr for the club!verse Maeve and I keep torturing ourselves
with. Warnings: language Pairings: 1x2, 3x5xM
It wasn't even a real club. I was pretty sure it had NEVER been zoned to be a club - pretty sure it hadn't ever had a visit from an inspector of any sort - VERY sure they didn't have a liquor license. But it was Thursday night and neither Trowa nor I had classes the next day and my roommate had been determined to go out, to get drunk and laid and probably - DEFINITELY - do something or someone he would likely regret. So I went with him, pulling on a navy flannel plaid t-shirt shirt and pushing up the sleeves haphazardly. After all, I wasn't going to the club to get laid. I was simply there to make sure Trowa didn't end up passed out or dead in a corner. Even so, even though I had determined to just have ONE drink and nothing else, as soon as we walked down the dark, mirrored entrance hall and I felt the heavy bass of music pounding into the walls, into my very skin, I couldn't help but enjoy the feel of my suddenly racing heart, of every thought drowned out by the loud music, of my eyes struggling to adjust to the blacklight overhead. Trowa was gone almost immediately, smoothly making his way across the dance floor and positioning himself near a Chinese man and woman. I watched, amused, mentally betting with myself whether or not he had a chance with either one of them. I was betting not, the man looked possessive as hell, judging by the arm he had wrapped around the woman, his fingers in the back pocket of her impossibly tight black jeans, and while the woman, her short hair dark hair tipped in either white or blue judging by the way the lights made it glow, smirked up at Trowa's approach, she was grinding against the other man as though he was the entire center of her universe. I was already starting to prepare jokes about it, thinking of how to razz Trowa about it tomorrow once his inevitable hangover wore off, when the Chinese man reached out and dragged Trowa against his back, sandwiching himself between the slightly shorter woman and the much taller and broader Trowa. Even across the room, I could see Trowa's triumphant smirk, could see the way his hands greedily moved over both of their bodies and how he pressed his groin against the other man's ass. Well then. Home run for Trowa. I got my one drink - a vodka tonic that had almost no tonic - and leaned against the wall to watch. I kept one eye on Trowa, but I looked over the press of bodies with idle curiosity. Dancing had never been my thing - Trowa would say I had personal space issues, while I would point out that HE was incapable of making personal space boundaries unless safe words and handcuffs were involved - but I didn't mind watching, didn't mind the way the music thrummed through my body or the vodka through my blood. There was one dancer, in particular, that my gaze kept drifting back towards. In the thick of it, white sleeveless t-shirt cut into a low v-neck in the front that showed a flat chest, long hair loose and flying with every flick of their head, one of the most beautiful people I had ever seen danced. I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman - the clothing, the hair, the slim frame all appeared completely androgynous to me. And when they titled their head back, when the black light washed over their perfect face, all I could think was that they were stunning. Man or woman - I had never seen anyone more stunning. I nursed my drink and watched them, watched as they danced with men and women alike, grinding against them in ways that even Trowa would have lifted an eyebrow at and I entertained myself with the fantasy of walking out there, of joining them on the dance floor and pulling that slim, taut body close and wrapping my hand in all of that hair. And then they saw me, wide lips curving into a wicked smirk, and started to walk towards me. I felt like prey, felt like an incredibly dangerous predator was coming my way and oh how I wanted to be devoured. They came closer, backed me up against the wall and pull a hand on the wall near my head. Even this close, I couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman and I realized that I absolutely did not care. "You know," they said, leaning close to shout into my ear, wet lips brushing against the shell and making me shiver, "this isn't really a spectator sport." They pulled back and raised an eyebrow at my nearly empty glass. "Vodka," I said, hoping they heard me. They smirked and took the glass from my hand, took a healthy sip, and then leaned close again and pressed that too damn sexy mouth against mine. It took me by surprise and I opened my mouth - ready to gasp or protest or moan, I wasn't sure - and they opened their mouth as well and I felt the cool slide of vodka, the rough press of their tongue, the searing hot cavern of their mouth. I wrapped my arms around their waist and hauled them even closer, felt their right hand run through my hair, short nails teasing against my scalp. They moaned into my mouth, nipped at my lower lip, and pulled away enough to smirk at me again. They stepped out of my embrace and held out a hand. "Join me?" I couldn't hear them, could only guess at the words their mouth formed, but I reached out and took their hand and let them lead me.
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