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"Santa Baby"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, Pairings: 3x4 "Santa Baby" The music hummed over the loud chatter and tipsy laughter of the employees of Winner Corp for their Annual Christmas Party. He sipped on a sparking non-alcoholic wine (it was against his religion to drink) and he watched as his normally professional and uptight staff slowly unravelled to a bunch of sex-craved monkeys in suits. Someone was making out on top of the poor copy machine, he was SURE, but he didn’t even want to go over and stop them, afraid of what he might see. He had respected that poor copy machine and was not sure how he could face it in the morning... but he knew that going over there wouldn’t save its dignity. He really didn’t frighten any of the staff, since he was so young and most of them were veterans at the office. He had no idea why his father had put him in charge here after his early graduation from Princeton at age 18, but, here he was. In purgatory having to be at this social function. He was a prodigy, not a party host! Over the speakers, the most promiscuous voice that he’d ever heard on a holiday radio station began to hum, “Santa baby... Hurry down the chimney tonight...” and the already drunk office woman began to sing along and raise their skirts to the music, grinding and pouting and hooking their fingers towards co-workers in clearly indecent ways. One was looking right at him and did a low sort of dip and twist that gave Quatre a very clear view up her pencil skirt that he wished he had never seen. He ran out of the office break room after that, hiding in his private office and hoping that he could make his exit now! This was a nightmare! He hated social occasions, and social people, and well, being social! At all! He could calculate the exact amount of copier toner needed to print out his documents, but he had no idea how to tell the pretty raven-haired woman that he was so not interested. There was a gentle knock at his office door, and Quatre pretended he wasn’t there. But the knock came once more, then the soft, gentle voice of their college-intern. “I know you’re in there.” Trowa Barton. He was in school for architecture, and worked on the same floor as Quatre in the planning department. He was only 2 years older than Quatre, at least. The raven-haired woman had a good 8 years on him. Quatre peeked out the side of his office curtains like a child under the bed sheets, and Trowa had to smirk just a little. Quatre opened the door for him quietly, looking miserable. “They’re going to find me...” Trowa chuckled gently, “Well... you did hide in your office. It wasn’t hard to figure out where you were going, Quatre.” Quatre scowled at him, angry because he knew that Trowa was right. As usual. Trowa held out a peace offering of a gingerbread “person” on a paper plate. It was very pretty, with red icing around the edges and purple gumdrop buttons. It reminded Quatre of the movie Shrek, except this ginergerbread person had a very clear bite mark out of its arm. Quatre picked it up anyway, and, seeing as though it was already bitten, he bit in the same place, taking out a piece of shoulder too. Trowa grinned roguishly, and took a bold step forward. Quatre didn’t quite know what he was planning... there was an 80% chance that he wanted something, but Quatre had no clue as to what... “You’ve already shared my germs now” he said, clearly amused. Quatre opened his mouth to reply that simple contact with someone’s hands shared many of the same germs as saliva would, but he didn’t get a chance. Trowa pushed forward and captured his lips in a soft, sweet kiss that tasted like whisky, with faint traced of spiced cider, gingerbread, and coconut cookies. Trowa pulled away slowly, lifting his hand to push the hair out of Quatre’s face with soft, gentle movements that seemed fitting for the soft-spoken architect. Quatre flicked his eyes to the ceiling, and Trowa took a step back, frowning with slight worry. “Did I misread your signals?” Blushing, Quatre stammered a little, “No... I was looking to see if there was mistletoe that would explain your suddenly erratic behaviour. ” The behaviour was erratic to Quatre. He had liked the tall college student for a while, and he knew that Trowa had caught him admiring his ass at least a week ago, but he had not said anything or shown any sort of interest before this. Trowa smirked, seeming to find Quatre’s science-babble rather charming. “Do you want me to stop?” he purred with a sexy sort of tone that sent goose bumps down Quatre’s arms. Quatre shook his head, then took a step forward himself, wrapping his arms around Trowa’s neck and moving in for the next kiss himself, closing his eyes this time and trying to find the taste beneath the whiskey. He had to admit, even thought there was mathematical certainty that coworkers, sexy music, and spiked cider equalled erratic behaviour, there was no equation to determine if that behaviour would result in negative outcomes. This time, despite the loss of the copy machine’s dignity, this Christmas party was turning out to be damn good.
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