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"Philosophers and Conquerors"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: NC 17 Warnings: AU, language, lemon Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Stripping wasn’t exactly a ‘safe’
job by any stretch of the imagination, but Trowa kept himself safe
and stuck to the rules. Until a blonde CEO decided to push his boundaries.
"Philosophers and Conquerors" Chapter 1 Trowa didn't believe in Happily Ever After, or any of that 'Pretty Woman' type crap that a lot of the other dancers did. Most of them clamoured to dance at these sorts of parties, in hopes of catching the eye of some rich CEO and making him a third wife or something, thinking that they could find their prince charming. Trowa knew that was bullshit. None of the CEOs around the room did more than let their eyes roam over the girls dancing for them, and those strippers who let one of the men take them home were much more likely to get killed then get so much as a second date. Needless to say, Trowa did not want to go to this type of party, but, he did because he was part of the package. Trowa worked for one of the higher-end gentleman's clubs in the Miami district, and because he could be a bouncer, a bartender, or a dancer depending on what was needed, he was almost always asked to go. He ditched the first few times he was asked to work at this sort of thing, but his "manager" (Pimp. Trowa was a big fan of calling a spade a spade) had figured out pretty quickly that he would only go if his sister, Cathy, was scheduled to dance too. And so, since he refused to leave her alone with these CEO cock-sucking sharks, Trowa found himself walking up to the pole and posing. He was the only male dancing tonight. Tonight's venue was some rich guy's 'smoking room' which was a fancy name for a large den with lots of alcohol, snobbery, and a dark heavy lighting- there didn't seem to be much smoking going on, which annoyed Trowa on principle. There was a little raised stage set up near the middle of the room, and all around the stage were couches and stools and people in business suits chatting with each other, chewing on cigars, watching the dancers, getting lap dances and generally enjoying their wealth as under-aged and nearly-under aged girls fell all over themselves to get a glance from one of them. No one was really listening, and no one was really paying attention. His own little rebellion came over the speakers and he began to move. The song was dark, and angry... And Trowa began ringing the pole and sliding down it with his back. He didn't look anything like the other girls. He wore heavy black boots and tight blank jeans. He had a studded belt and earrings all the way down the outer shell of his ear. His shirt was a simple short-sleeved black cotton V-neck, and he finished off the look with two black leather cuffs on his wrists. Tasteful, but dark; that's how he always dressed. He also looked different because, unlike the dancers, he had come to the party thinking he was bartending, and he had to go to work after this too. But he could dance in anything, anyway. It wasn't like anyone cared. And it was proven clearly. His music was Marylin Manson's "the beautiful people" and as he danced-- twirling around the pole, dipping low and sliding back up it with the grace of a panther and the passion of a lover—no one noticed that his music made fun of his hosts with each note. Except perhaps one person. Trowa noticed him right away. His eyes were trained on the stage and he had a twenty dollar martini sitting on his Armani-clad lap. He fit in with the sharks around them, but he was younger than most of the others, with blonde hair and blue eyes and full, sexy lips that were mouthing the words of his song with a little sort of smirk. Trowa found himself smirking back. It was sort of like a private joke, and, well, it was something interesting at least. He was the only person really looking at Trowa's performance, so, Trowa turned the heat up a bit and gave him a bit more of a show, sliding his shirt up higher as he rolled and slithered low on the stage, using the poll to lean against so he could go all the way down to his knees. He probably should have been getting naked, but what was the point when no one was watching? He certainly wasn't body shy- he DID take his clothes off for tips pretty regularly- but he hadn't worn easily removable clothes, and he didn't want to have to fix his hair before he left to get to work. This was a private party, and they didn't have the same rules here. Trowa didn't take his shirt off, just moved back to the poll and ground against it again, grabbing onto it and bending back, and back, and back showing off his flexibility. He saw the blonde watching, and Trowa gave him a saucy sort of wink before snapping upright and launching up the pole and holding it with his thighs so he could slide down nice and slow and let the little blonde shark lick his lips. Too bad for him, though, the music ended and Trowa walked off the stage, having never taken off stitch of clothing- and the man's eyes glued to his ass as he walked too. He didn't mind his eyes too much, and for a good enough price Trowa wouldn't have minded a bit more from the guy, either. As long as he paid. Trowa couldn't stand rich Bastards who thought that they should get everything handed to them because they had cash. What was fair for the goose was fair for the gander, as far as he was concerned, and if Trowa was $100 bucks an hour on his back for jo-blow off the street, he was $100 for someone in Armani. Unlike the other dancers, he didn't jack up his price. He checked his watch and saw it was nearly 10. The other bouncer had shown up a few minutes earlier and was watching out for the girls. Trowa grabbed his bag and moved out the back, through the hallways and towards his car. He pulled a smoke out of his bag and took a moment to light it when he passed through the dining room. That outta piss off the owner a little. Smoking room his ass. He was glad to be getting out of there, though, wanting to be gone as fast as possible. But, his car was a piece of crap and the stubborn lock decided to give him trouble. He finished his first smoke and took out another and then tried the lock a few more times with the right sort of flick of the wrist... AH! Got it. It opened up and Trowa stood just outside the open door. He tossed his bag into the passenger seat while he looked for his lighter in his pocket. "Your dance was exceptional." Trowa turned around so fast he nearly caused himself whiplash. There, a few feet behind him, was the blonde CEO from the party. What? He following him now, because Trowa gave him a little extra sugar in his dance? Fuck! Trowa took a bold move and climbed into his car to grab at his bag. When he stood back up, he was not shocked to find that the guy had taken a few steps closer. Trowa palmed the little can of mace he had grabbed from his bag, but stayed cool and put his smoke to his lips. The blonde stepped forward again, within arm's reach of Trowa now, "Need a light?" he asked with a little smirk. He probably thought that Trowa was playing coy, but he really wasn't. He was trying to gauge what the guy wanted and whether or not punching him in the face would be a suitable reaction to being cornered at his car. The blonde had a pretty little platinum zippo in his pocket probably worth a whole week's pay for most people, and he flicked it open and held it out for Trowa. He didn't really see the harm in it, so, Trowa leaned in and sucked on his smoke to get it to light. Then he leaned back and held the smoke with his one free hand and tried to let it settle him a little. The blonde licked his lips again, unconsciously, and seemed to look Trowa over a little. Trowa hadn't bothered to really fix himself up after his dance, and his shirt was still tugged up a bit and showing skin, and the blonde really seemed to like watching Trowa have his smoke. At least he wasn't being a bully, or asking Trowa for a freebie. That didn't mean Trowa was going to give him an opening. He had to go to work, and while he wouldn't mind terribly to sell Blondie an hour, that didn't mean he had an hour TO sell right about now. And blondie looked like he was about to invite him for dinner or something and then expect Trowa to put out. Sorry, bucko, things didn't work like that in Trowa's world, and the more he looked at him with those big blue eyes the more Trowa was getting antsy to leave. The blonde smiled a little tightly, leaning back a bit as if he could tell that Trowa was feeling kinda cornered. "I just saw you walking this way, and I thought I'd tell you that I enjoyed your music choice. Evocative. And fitting for that snake-pit. I rather liked it." How poetic. Kinda deep. Trowa had to admit he kinda liked that. He supposed he could stay a minute more... Just to finish his smoke. He gave the philosopher-blonde a bit of a flirting smile and took another drag. "My name is Quatre, by the way." Oh? No last name, either? That was refreshing. In a snake-pit of CEOs, usually it was all about the last name, or the company. Trowa supposed giving the guy his name wouldn't be too much. "I'm Trowa." The blonde smiled warmly, but didn't move forward or anything. That was good. "I liked the dance, too. You didn't really move like the other strippers. And you certainly don't dress like one. It was refreshing." Trowa shrugged, but toyed with his cigarette a little. He didn't too much mind attentions from the philosopher. "I dressed for tonight thinking that I'd be a Bouncer. But, I have a degree in Modern Dance so I strip from time to time if it's needed. But no, I don't usually look like the other dancers." Quatre looked surprised to hear that. Score one point for Trowa. He smirked a little and waited to see what the pretty little philosopher had to say now. The blonde thought for a moment, then leaned back against the car sitting next to Trowa's and smiled a salesman's smirk, "I'm going to New York this weekend. I was looking for some company. Maybe you'd be interested? I could take you to see a show. And I'd bring you shopping after. Buy you something nice..." Not a philosopher. Not at all. Just another sleazy guy wanting a free fuck and throwing around his money to get it. Trowa glared, "I work this weekend." Just a little snarky? Check. He sorta hoped the guy took the hint and left him alone now. He wasn't interested in some CEO thinking he ruled the world like some King. He could pay like everyone else or leave him the hell alone. "You'd rather work as a Bouncer than go to New York with me?" Quatre looked struck by that thought. He probably thought that he had "dancers" all figured out. But Trowa had said it before, and he would say it again. He wasn't like the other dancers. A real philosopher would have picked up on that. "Bartender." Trowa corrected, taking another deep drag of his smoke to finish it quicker. "I work as a Bartender on the weekends for the club." The blonde tried to think of a way to get back into Trowa's good graces. Apparently offering to take him shopping only pissed him off. Trowa had stopped slowly enjoying his cigarette and was now getting ready to leave. Quatre couldn't read him anymore. The dancer had been clearly flirting with him earlier! And he had been smiling and teasing... Maybe that was the way to go with the dancer? Quatre only had a few seconds to turn this around, so, he tried what he could. "A Bartender, a Bouncer, and a Dancer? Now all you need to do is juggle and you'll be a perfect all-around performer." Quatre teased with a smile, trying to get the dancer talking again. Wrong move. Fear and paranoia spiked through the dancer's spine, and suddenly their flirting game wasn't fun anymore. Trowa brought his arm up and there was a can of mace right to Quatre's face, "Alright, back the FUCK up, asshole! This conversation is OVER." Quatre took a step back immediately, putting his hands up in surrender, confusion written across his face. "What the hell..." He gestured for Quatre to back up a bit more, so he did, walking all the way to the back of Trowa's car. Trowa hopped in and turned the key, and then he was GONE, leaving Quatre standing there. What had he done so wrong? tbc... |
