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"Here Come the Drums"Written By: Dentelle_noir Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the
characters. GW belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This
is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit Rating: PG 13 Warnings: AU, un-beta’d Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Quatre simply has to escape sometimes...and
tonight? Tonight he followed the sounds of the drums straight to a
pair of emerald eyes. "Here Come the Drums" The pounding resounded through his head, thick, heavy, heady boom over and over that reminded Quatre of a wild, primal place. He was an heir, a business man! But some days...Some days he put on a pair of Wal-Mart jeans and a skimpy little top, and out he went, into the urban jungle. Sometimes those days of need corresponded to Wing’s shows, and he found himself there time and time again, getting in the throng of people., pushing his way to the front just to thrash and jump and let the base take him away. But this night was different. This night, he’d
NEEDED this more than normal; he’d had a terrible day, his paperwork
was piled to the roof and he had nothing to show for his near 12 hours
of working. So, he just got out. Just left the stack for tomorrow,
and followed that primal need to the little pub on West Street where
he knew Wing was playing. Where he knew Falcon would be on the Drums,
and he just...followed. When the set was over and the band went to collect their free beers, Quatre was on his way out the door, when he heard a smooth, deep baritone. He really should sing’ flashed through Quatre’s mind, as it always did, but he smiled, turning. “Not having a drink?” Falcon asked, shrugging a leather biker jacket over his bare shoulders (he was known for drumming without a shirt. The lights were hot, and then he could show off the full shoulder Tat that was his namesake. No fan seemed to know his real name, just Falcon, and it added to the mystery). Quatre smiled softly, “I’m not much for drinking, and I’ve already had a few...Why aren’t you getting those free drinks they always give the good bands?” Falcon...smiled. “Well, I thought I would ask this cute little blonde if I could buy him a drink.” And suddenly it wasn’t the drums. It was his heart beating like that, beating so fast he could almost hear it, could almost taste it rising into his throat, could hear himself stammering out, “Maybe I will stay, then.” The next morning he called in sick, and let the paperwork
go to his vice president’s desk. He had better things to...do.
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