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"Keep In Time"Written By: Dentelle_noir Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the
characters. They belong to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This
is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit Rating: R Warnings: AU, sap, angst, fluff Pairings: 3x4. Summary: A suspicious accident leaves Trowa without
a skating partner, sentencing him to a year without competition. Quatre
is an injured dancer, trying to find a way to live without his joy.
Together, they make new rules and find a new path. "Keep In Time" Chapter 10 Quatre eyed the mess in Trowa’s jeep with disdain. His things were STREWN everywhere! Trowa had stayed for stretch class, and volunteered to drive Quatre home. Quatre had made sure they were out the door before July could ask too. He climbed in the passenger seat to find his legs dwarfed by the extra space and his MP3 nowhere in sight. It was a direct threat against Quatre’s right to be in Trowa’s Jeep! “Hurricane Cathy” was Trowa’s remark. He wasn’t going to help, though, oh no, because Quatre had shimmied between the back and front seat via the armrest and as he searched, Trowa had a perfect view of his ass to ogle while Quatre couldn’t catch him. He had one hell of a nice ass... Trowa just reclined against the wheel and watched, grinning. Quatre, folded over the armrest and dangling into the mass of stuff --did Trowa even NEED a pair of scissors in the car? Why in the world would he have scissors?-- and he finally found the tiny, thumb sized purple MP3 player. “GOT IT!” Trowa grabbed the blonde’s hips gently and pulled him back to the front, feeling how tight that body-suit clung to the blonde’s slightly damp skin, and let him settle straddled across the armrest, neck slightly angled to avoid hitting the roof. The blonde was drop dead sexy. Long lines curving straight from the knee; bringing the eye up to the swells at his hips and the dips at his stomach to the long delicate arch from clavicle to ear; all in skin tight black that radiated Quatre’s heat, and looking at Trowa with heavy lidded eyes. As if he knew exactly what was going through Trowa’s brain, and encouraging it. Trowa maneuvered those hips closer to him, moving him so that he was cradled in Trowa’s lap, half pinned between the wheel, the consul, and Trowa’s lips when he moved to capture that smirking mouth. Quatre groaned into the kiss, encouraging him to go further, delve deeper, take more, and Trowa did. He ravaged the blonde’s mouth, using tongue and lips and teeth and hands to show him how much he wanted Quatre. And it seemed to be exactly what the blonde needed. He was responding with moans, groans, and grinding against Trowa’s body wantonly as he teased the invading tongue and touch. Emboldened, Trowa let his hand drop from the safety of Quatre’s hip, moving it lower, more central...and Quatre broke the kiss. “Trowa?” Trowa slid his hand back to the hip, a blush of embarrassment coloring his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go to fast-“ “Trowa.” Quatre said again, making Trowa look up at him. He was panting, eyes shining with lust, hands splayed on Trowa’s chest, “I shouldn’t be mad that you showed up with July, because you’re not even my boyfriend.” Trowa’s brows shot to his hairline. Not his boyfriend? “Why not!?” A teasing smile adorned Quatre’s face, a twinkle in his eyes saying that Trowa had given the answer he wanted. “Because you haven’t asked me yet.” He was right, of course. Quatre was always more socially adept then Trowa, understanding the importance of labels. Trowa already considered their relationship as steady, but neither had said the words, “Will you be my boyfriend? Date only me?” He asked, massaging the edges of the blonde’s hips. Quatre grinned, leaning back down to press his lips back to Trowa’s, “Yes.” He said, smiling, touching Trowa’s hand and nudging it back down to its bold position, “And you can skate with whoever you want, as long as you promise not to cheat on me.” There was something in Quatre’s eyes when he said that; an understanding, a worry, a rawness of hurt. “I promise.” Trowa declared, locking eyes with the blonde, “You’re my boyfriend now. And I’ll treat you like a prince.” Dropping his forehead to lean against Trowa’s, Quatre smiled warmly. “Then I command you to kiss me.” Happily, Trowa complied, delving into the willing mouth passionately, hungrily, wrapping one arm around the blonde and pulling him tight against him while his other hand roamed that thigh he’d been allowed access to. And Quatre moaned in desire, shifting position, crunching about in the limited space of the jeep, rolling his hips back so that he could drop his hand from Trowa’s chest low, lower, until Quatre’s fingers began to toy with the button of Trowa’s jeans hesitantly. The heavy sound of tires bumping over a pot-hole made both of them jump sky-high and remember they were in a well-lit parking lot within full view of a major roadway. Quatre scrambled blushingly back into the passenger seat and used the seat belt to check his own libido. Trowa followed his example, cranking the window down to cool his racing blood. Quatre took pity on him (or just wanted the fun) and flipped the switch to make the Jeep retract its top. Trowa threw his duffle onto the floor to protect all the crap down there from getting blown out (and revealing the mystery of how so much crap built up on the jeep’s floor) and keyed the ignition, moving them out of the parking lot. Quatre cued the music, finding something hard and driving, and he personally shot Cathy’s CD into the backseat in a little dose of revenge. After Trowa turned in the complete opposite direction of either of their houses, Quatre decided to break the quiet. “Try-outs, huh?” “Unfortunately. It was hell. I had to skate with at least a dozen girls who hardly knew the outside edge of their blades from the inside, all playing the same damn classical music over and over.” Quatre let out a derisive snort, using a hand to push the whipping strands of blonde away from his eyes, “July played the Pink Panther, didn’t she? That’s how the little backstabber got your vote?” Trowa let his eyes snap to Quatre in question. The blonde was laughing wryly, “Trowa, her and I were talking last night on the computer. She kept asking what sort of things you’d skate to. I didn’t even think. Of all the girls in the class, July at least has a head on her shoulders. I wouldn’t hold a grudge. She’ll be coming to our school soon, remember…” he tried to change the subject, but Trowa wasn’t having any of that. “You told her to play that?” Trowa asked, jaw dropping. Competitive skating made desperate, grasping little backstabbers of everyone it seemed. Trowa knew he would be tempted to do something unethical should Heero Yuy be the target. And they all knew who was responsible for Cathy’s skate; only another skater would have known how to slit the seams of a specialty made boot. And the only ones who stood to gain were team Lowe. Rumor had it that Relena couldn’t land her double that year while Cathy could. It would have meant the silver if Trowa and Cathy skated a clean program. Quatre shrugged, “I told her some stuff that would work well enough with her more classic style but still a little upbeat, like you enjoy. She got me good, I even sent her the file. I have to respect that level of controlled underhandedness, though. She’s got style and brains.” Quatre ended with a snicker. Trowa couldn’t help but smile, “Well, no one can compare to the original,” he said, moving a hand off the wheel to brush against Quatre’s thigh. Quatre felt his face flame in embarrassment, but his lips turned up into a pleased smile. Trowa reached to pull out his sweater, the one he had given to Quatre, and handed it to him. The air was cold, and the blonde took it gratefully, snuggling deep into the thick cotton made to endure rink temperatures. “Wanna come to my cousin’s Birthday? It’s this Wednesday after school. Odd time, I know, but it’s a skating party. I thought you might want to come?” Trowa blinked, “Sure I’ll come with you. But, a skating party? How old’s this cousin?” As far as Trowa knew, no one with a shred of dignity had a themed birthday party who was over the age of twelve. Merry tinkling laughter bubbled from Quatre, and he grinned. “He’s our age! But the skating party is a tradition or something. I don’t know. We just always do it for his birthday. You don’t have to-” “I’ll be there. I can do Wednesdays. Just give me the details by Tuesday,” Trowa cut him off, smiling gently. Any excuse to be with Quatre was enough of an excuse for him. They ended up driving all over the city, just chatting and rocking out to music and enjoying the other’s company. He promised to pick Quatre up the next morning, and drove the rest of the way home, eager for gym the next day to find out if Quatre could do lifts on ice as gracefully as he had in the class. It was almost midnight by the time Trowa pulled into his driveway. The porch light was still on, and there was an all too familiar Sedan parked at the curb. Jeffy-boy was over. Trowa just hoped they took it to Cathy’s room this time (and began to wonder if he could get away with bringing Quatre home...). He hit the mattress at ten after twelve and set his alarm for five AM. He had practice, of course, and he never DID get that sleep he was looking forward to. He was dead to the world before his head hit the pillow and sweet dreams of a blonde in black blew his mind. After the coach made the class partner up in NUMBERED partners to avoid the little scene from last time (Stymieing Trowa’s ideas to work on those lifts while on skates with the blonde). Trowa had to watch as Quatre did slaloms between cones down the ice like it was butter. Quatre’s skating must have been really rusty, because this last week it had come to a shining polish with just some regular practice. Trowa couldn’t wait for the end of class because he was able to skate right over to the blonde and grab his hand just to be touching. Quatre was encouraging him, though, and Trowa found that he enjoyed the causal touches and looks and smiles. Now they could have lunch together, even if it was nothing but mutual protein shakes. Trowa sat down at the usual cafeteria table, putting his duffle on the floor beside his feet, and broke out his shake, followed momentarily by Quatre who sat so close their hips touched. Trowa let his hand fall beneath the table to set on the blonde’s jean-covered thigh comfortably, simply enjoying being close to him. Soon they were joined by the artsy group Quatre called friends, all chattering about the winter thaw coming, the disgusting cafeteria food, and the general woes of teenage life. Like some sort of masochist, Jason chose to sit directly beside Trowa, sitting down causally and tipping his purple-striped head back to gulp a diet pop. After a few minutes, he looked up and smiled at Trowa....friendly? No. Trowa didn’t think so. “Are you coming with us to the movies today?” Jason asked, one delicate brow raised in question (did that guy pluck them or something to look that pretentious?). Trowa sighed, “I can’t. I have-” “Practice, right?” Jason cut in, a vicious smile on his face. “Of course. If I didn’t see you at lunch, I might just believe Quatre’s dating some phantom. You’re never around. Nice to see that you care about Quatre’s life.” Trowa glared, “Just because I don’t ditch practice, practice for the sport I LOVE, just to hang out at the mall with you guys doesn’t mean that I don’t make time for Quatre. Thank you for the concern, Jason.” Trowa really was not trying to start something with the guy; the guy’s jealously-complex was not even worth his effort. Jason rolled his eyes, “You are just too cool, aren’t cha Trowa? Hard core.” The sarcasm was dripping so thick it was almost comical. “Leave him alone, Jason. Not everyone has to be as underground as you and listen to emo and indie.” Quatre said, almost bored. He sipped at his protein drink again, choco-banana it read, but it didn’t really taste like either. Jason, sitting beside Trowa, shrugged and looked away. A moment later, he elbowed a bag to the floor and bent to retrieve it...and found his prize right in the edge pocket of Trowa’s bag. His MP3 player. Jason grabbed it and stood abruptly, moving out of harm’s way before he turned it on in front of everyone. “Let’s see what the hard core Skater listens too, hm?” Jason said, stepping up onto the seats of the cafeteria benches surrounded by eager followers. “Looks like we’ve got some classic rock, very respectable, no rap thank god, oh yes, Rob Zombie HOW hard-core, Trowa.” Jason was smirking madly, locking vicious eyes with Trowa’s very unamused ones. Trowa stood angrily, moving over to Jason’s side of the table, “Get off the table, Jason and give that back.” Because in Jason’s hand was NOT Trowa’s MP3 player. Jason was scrolling through a slim purple device which, if the idiot would have looked closely at, he might see was titled “Quatre’s player” and had a little Q penned onto the opaque cover. Trowa was already alienated from that group the minute he said he was an athlete; he wouldn’t let it happen to Quatre for his musical tastes. “Worried I’m going to find something, Trowa? What? Got some polka-dot-door on here, Mr. Big-Tough-Skater?” Jason wibbled sarcastically, and took a step up to the table to get away from Trowa. “Let’s see what else we got here! Trowa pushed past the wall of friends and swiped at the guy, trying to get him down. His antics had now caught the attention of most of the friggan cafeteria! This was ridiculous! “JACKPOT!” Jason crowed, looking at the playlists, “What’s this? Britney spears! Oh yes, toxic all right! And, oh my god, Barton, you have “Bitch” on here! Any more female power anthems you friggan tranny?” The cafeteria erupted into laughter and Trowa saw red, “you’re going down!” Trowa growled, stepping up to the purple-striped boy with killer intent. Jason saw school security were watching with hawk eyes, so he got bold and continued to scroll through the MP3. “Oh course there’s more power anthems! Pink, Sarah McLachlan! Of course. OH OH OH!” Jason crowed, “HILARY DUFF!” Trowa stopped, and glared at that one, “I happen to like Hilary Duff.” He defended. “You like it all, apparently!” Jason hollered, making the cafeteria burst out into uproarious laughter. “You’re an idiot, apparently,” rang through the cafeteria. Quatre stood from his spot and clambered up to the table, grabbing the MP3 from Jason with one angry swat. He flipped it over and pointed to the Q penned on the cover. “Q for Quatre, you dumb fuck! This is MY player. And yeah, I like Sarah McLachlan. And you can fuck off, you emo loser. Why the hell do I hang OUT with you?!” He yelled, turning around and grabbing Trowa’s arm to haul him back to the floor with an iron grip. Following Quatre, Trowa turned and gave a lunge, making Jason jump a foot in the air with a squeal. “Who’s the girl now, Jasey?” Trowa cooed, smirking in victory. Trowa moved to regain his seat....and saw Cathy and Jeff, standing from their table. Cathy threw out what was left of her lunch and shot one look at her brother. Scathing. Disgusted. Annoyed. And suddenly Trowa didn’t feel so victorious anymore. Quatre waited for a few moments for the hullabaloo to die down before he leant into Trowa, pressing their bodies close, “Why do you look so upset? It’s over with.” Quatre whispered. Trowa snaked an arm around Quatre and hugged him tight, not caring at the multiple stares of dislike shot his way. Quatre’s friends did not like him. One by one they began to side with their fallen comrade, a larger group moving in to help lick Jason’s wounds each time he attacked Trowa. But Quatre didn’t seem to care, he melted into the hug, wrapping his arms around Trowa and dropping his chin to rest against his shoulder. “Cathy’s mad at me.” Trowa whispered, his voice showing the desperation he was feeling. Cathy was his only family! She was the only one at home, the only one who’d been there! She was his partner, for God’s sakes! “She’s mad at me.” Quatre sighed, understanding from Trowa’s body language just how much a blow that was to him. Trowa seemed to live and breathe according to Cathy! Cathy Cathy Cathy! “It’s not the end of the world, Trowa. I know she’s important to you, but you have to learn to do things your own way. You can’t live in her shadow, Trowa, it’s strangling you.” Trowa pulled away from Quatre, confusion and a touch of fear flitting across his eyes, “She’s the only reason I do well! She’s my partner! She’s my family-- my everything! I can’t even skate without her!” Quatre scoffed, moving away from Trowa as well, “You’ve been doing fine on your own as far as I can see, Trowa. You did singles before. You don’t need her.” Trowa jumped back as if struck. How DARE Quatre say something like that! That was just-- wrong! He was a double’s skater! He was Cathy’s partner! That was it! One part of a team of two and just biding his time until Cathy came back. Cathy had to come back. “Cathy’s coming back!” he snarled, staring Quatre down angrily. But he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince Quatre, or himself. The blonde blinked in surprise, “No she’s not.” Quatre said casually, his face turning sad. “You gotta face the facts, Trowa. She hasn’t even tried to keep up her training. Her cast should be coming off soon, but she’d rather party with the popular kids then be on the ice. You’ve gotta find your own way,” Alone, was unspoken, but rang in the air between Quatre and Trowa. Trowa’s hold on the world began to slip. “Fuck you.” Trowa said, quiet and hurt. And at that he stomped out of the cafeteria, pushing people out of his way as he went. He heard Quatre call after him, but he didn’t even look back. Couldn’t look back. Would NOT look back. He walked straight out of the school and climbed into his jeep, slamming it into gear and pulling out of the drive with careless speed, wiping his arm against his face to clear his watery vision. Quatre was nothing but drama! Cathy was right, he was nothing but a distraction. He needed to skate! His rink at home was melting, but it would do until practice. It had to do. He needed to clear his head before Quatre’s words
could sink in.
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