"Gingerbread"

Written By: Dentelle_noir

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the characters, nor do I condone evil bitter bus drivers. GW belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit

Rating: NC 17

Warnings: Yaoi, lemon

Pairings: 3x4

Summary: Exhausted and stuck at the end of the bus route with nowhere to go, a fading sign draws Trowa in. And into the arms he didn’t know he was desperately seeking.

" Gingerbread"

"End of the line." The voice was gruff, bitter and all around unfamiliar to a waking Trowa.

His eyes, heavy with lack of sleep shot open to come face to face with a scowling man in his mid thirties starring at him. And his back was really sore. And the air around him smelt stale, not at all the fresh, always window open as an unbreakable rule of anywhere he usually slept.

"Get off." The man said again perturbed obviously with the young boy's lack of get-up-and-do-as-told. Damn kids. Twenty something and think they owned the world and then some.

Trowa shook the haze from his mind and looked around him. Tacky yellow seating, small confined space, disgustingly yellowed florescent light in a row on top of thin posters running all the way down the length of the...

Bus?

"Where Am I?" Trowa asked the first intelligent question of the hour.

"On a bus." But obviously hoping for an equally intelligent answer was too much to ask.

"I gathered that. Thank you, Sir." Trowa, now awake tried to politely gather some information. "Where is the bus right now?"

"The End of the Line! Damn you don't catch on quick. You fell asleep back here. Don't know when. Don't really care. You are now at the garage. This is the last bus until the morning route starts. It leaves here at four-o-five sharp. Now get off my bus so I can lock it and go home. I got things to do buddy."

Trowa rolled himself off the incredibly uncomfortable seat, his back scrunching disgustingly. Getting a long disgusted look at the banana-meets-mildew yellow cardboard seats he had unwittingly fell asleep on, he realize he must have been incredibly tired. Making his way to the front of the bus he walked into the open and thankfully crisp and fresh air.

The sudden coolness shook the last of sleepy haze from his system, for a few minutes anyway. Which was long enough for him to review the situation. One look at his expensive designer watch told him it was just about Two AM. The driver said the next bus left at 4:05. He had two hours to kill.

Or he could call a cab. At peak bar closing hours. In the city.

Waiting the two hours would get him home faster.

He was going to try and gleam a little bit more information off the driver as to where in hell's half acres he was. But when he turned to find him, the bitter old guy was gone. The bus now black and abandoned. With a perplexed tilt, his question was answered when the sound of an SUV tearing up the pavement behind him and leaving dust in it's wake proved to him that he was indeed left alone at a frickin' bus garage in the middle of nowhere.

He lived in the city for God's sake, and there was still in the middle of nowhere. Was that even possible? Cities were not supposed to have middle's of nowhere!

Sighing, he figured he might was well make himself comfortable. Trudging to an old rickety bench, Trowa sat and surveyed the area.

There were a few places along the opposite roads, all black at this ungodly hour.

Except one.

A few doors further down was a neon sign, half the letter's burnt out of the name making it indiscernible. But there was light. And he could see in the pale pink neon script of the diner window "Voted BEST GINGERBREAD IN TOWN, 1996".

What the hell. Not that he had anything else to do for two hours.

_______________________________________________________________ __________

The jingles atop the door jangled their merry little tune as the door to the diner opened. Trowa took a step in. The place was quaint. Small, but friendly seeming. It had maroon bench seating, like an old 50's diner car cafe and linoleum flooring. But it was clean, and Trowa would smell the coffee. Coffee. Coffeeeeeeee.

But there seemed to be no one at the counter to serve him said delectable addicting inky black craving. Scanning the room, his eyes fell upon a woman in her late twenties sitting sprawled out on one of the benches. She was in what was obviously a waitresses uniform; Pale blue button up top, pale blue pencil skirt, white tie around the waist apron. The whole nine yards. But she seemed anything but enthused at Trowa's presence. Actually, she seemed apathetic either way.

Blinking, she turned chilling cold ice blue eyes under incredibly dark forked eyebrows to Trowa, spanning him up and down. Then flicking her yards of platinum blonde hair behind her, she turned her face to just beyond Trowa.

"Didn't you hear the bells. We have a customer!" She yelled in a condescending and do-as-I-command-Minion sort of way.

Grumbles, grunts and a few clangs later, a rather tousled looking man, about Trowa's age, emerged from the door to the kitchen.

He wore a similar pale blue shirt, his splattered with some sort of dough and grease and had on navy blue pants, also sporting a rather classic flour pattern. Even his hair, which was a short baby-blonde, but shaggy cut and practically reflecting the sun even under the halogens, was spotted with the obvious labor of some kind. All over seemingly displeased at the lay-about calling him. He was obviously doing something that wasn't waiting on Trowa, while she was perfectly able. But damn, he looked too adorable with cherub features and bright baby blue eyes.

The blonde stood his ground, fists clenched and ready to tell the woman something, when she abruptly swept out of her position and pulled a card from her pocket. Flipping it to the counter in front of the blonde boy she grabbed a Gucci hand bag from her side and proceeded to the door. "Punch out for me at closing Cat." And then she was gone. The boy clenching and unclenching his fists a few times in unrestrained aggravation watching her retreating form.

"You should report her." Trowa spoke up from his place just inside the door.

His voice seemed to shock the boy out of his angry glare and bring a sheepish look of embarrassment. He had just noticed the other man standing in the diner.

He was tall, and dark. No really. He wore firmly pressed black pants, the pockets flat and angled against the front differently from normal cheap pants. And he wore a crisp black turtleneck covered in a stylish black blazer fitting his lean but well-muscled frame gorgeously. He really was dark.

The man himself stood confidently, an air of someone successful and happy with his more than likely office job. But what really gave him the mysterious look was a fall of cinnamon bangs swept almost completely over one side of his angular and delicate face.

The one side his eyes were privy too showed a firm emerald eye, looking kind and trustworthy, and right now a little condescending of Dorothy, the girl who just walked out.

He turned to stare pointedly to the waiter, waiting patiently for his answer. Opps. What has Mr. Tall dark and handsome stranger asked? Oh right! "I can't really report her. Her aunt owns this place. She's also my cousin. They wanted to keep this a "family" business. And now there is only really me, her, and my sister to take care if it."

The tall stranger nodded and sent casual glances to the teasing coffee pot in the waiter's hand.

The blonde smiled, his grin lighting up the entire room, "Can I get you something, stranger. A coffee perhaps?" he asked even though he knew the answer.

The man nodded and bee lined skipping for a stool at the counter, eagerly awaiting the promised black gold like a child at Christmas.

Okay that wasn't true. The man wasn't the type to do something like that. But it was funny envisioning the uptight man jumping up and down eagerly.

Once a cup was filled with the steaming black liquid and a few mouthfuls down, the man sighed and lent comfortably on the counter. "And it's Trowa, by the way. Not stranger. Trowa Barton."

"Why it's a pleasure to meet you Trowa."

"Iria, right?" Trowa asked.

The waiter scowled, a little surprised. He knew he looked like sister, but he had never been mistaken for her before.

"Did I mispronounce it. I'm sorry. I was just reading your name-tag." Trowa apologized.

The boy glanced down and pulled at his breast pocket to give the tag a good look. "Iria". His eyes twitching slightly, just enough for it to be comical, the waiter carefully removed the obviously offending tag, closed it carefully, whiping off the dirt from it's front then proceeded to fire it over the counter and towards the door, where it collided with a tang and the sound of the poor plastic tag snapping at the contact.

"I'm going to kill her. I'm going to kill her. Stupid sister. Probably had her name on there all friggan' day and no one told me." the waiter grumbled menacingly.

Trowa felt his pain, "I have a prank playing older sister too".

"Sorry, Trowa. My family likes to play pranks on me. I'm the youngest. And I'm Quatre by the way."

Finally introduced, Trowa nodded and took another sip of coffee, savoring the bitter caffeine taste that would keep him going long enough to get him home.

"Not to pry, but we don't get many people like you out here. Mostly just the break crowd from the factory a few blocks back. There really isn't anything out here. What brings you here?"

Trowa set down his coffee with a sigh, "My sister, yes the same one that loved to tie my hair in ribbons while I slept, is in town. We both grew up on a farm, and she doesn't trust the cabs around here. She wanted to go 'Big City Shopping' today so I told her to take my car. I would cab to work. Of course, the cab-a-phobic wouldn't hear of it. So on the bus I went. I got to work just fine, worked just fine. But a few minutes before I was going to leave I got a new manuscript in that I wanted to start at least. I'm a copy editor for Random house. So I decided to stay late. Late turned into really, really, late. So I had to take the bus back home, but of course, you can't just ask the driver to pull into a drive-thru for coffee like I can in my car. End result was me falling asleep in the back of the bus and being woken at the end of the line. At the end of the route. Now I'm stuck waiting until four when the morning route begins to get out of here. This place was close."

Through the whole story, Quatre was enamored, hanging on every word. "That's horrible! We usually close at three, but I usually stay a bit later, I'll keep you company until Four if you like. It's better to be in a warm diner than out there before dawn anyway."

Trowa smiled lightly, thanking the blonde sunshine in his own way. Quatre seemed glad to do it.

Then with a lighting of his features, which probably meant he had an idea, he dashed to the back.

A few seconds later, he emerged carrying a tray of gingerbread men. Setting the brightly colored cookies on the counter and brewing a pot of tea, Quatre sat himself on the stool next to Trowa. Taking a cookie and dipping it's leg into the hot tea (One milk, no sugar)

Quatre gestured to the plate as he munched on them, imploring his new friend to try one. "They're on the house, C'mon. I made them myself. There not as good as my aunt's "voted best" gingerbread, but I like them."

Looking so cute and hopeful, Trowa found himself completely unable to dash his dream, and took one, crunching a leg off one. Then the other leg, and soon he was on to the torso; his man was becoming shorter by the gulp. Quatre practically beamed as his hard made cookie disappeared.

"So, Quatre. How is it you got conned into working here?" Trowa asked, even though he already knew the sketchy details. Soon he was filled in to the boy's life history, his father not wanting him to go, but him wanting to spread his wings to work in the city. He talked for practically an hour, but Trowa was incredibly interested, never missing a beat and occasionally commenting or little side conversations popping up along the way. They had a lot in common.

Soon, though a bell began to ring from the back, Quatre looking startled and glancing unbelieving at the clock. It was three am already!

"I haven't even closed up yet!" the blonde fretted, springing up from the stool and beginning to wipe down the spotless counter.

Trowa put his hand overtop of Quatre's. Noticing how Quatre's fingers fit just a bit smaller under Trowa's strong hand and blushing from the thought. But his hands were stilled in their cleaning anyway.

"Let me help." Trowa offered, shedding the expensive looking blazer and rolling up his pristine black sleeves to grasp a dirty table rag.

Knowing no real way to say no to someone already wiping down tables and lifting chairs, Quatre had no choice but to let him.

"Hope you don't mind some music to work by." Quatre said as he spun the CD player that had been, up to that point, playing classic old diner music as dull and lifeless as the worn linoleum floor.

Disney classics began to play, the slightly upbeat songs carrying them to finish up the duties quickly and soon they found themselves just singing along with the well known words as they were mostly done.

Quatre put down his dish towel and sighed, just listening to his favorite song on the CD, "Kiss the girl". He loved that song. Unconsciously, he began to sway his hips.

Startled, Quatre felt fingers intertwine in his, then a hand at the small of his back leading him to the centre of the room. Soon they were moving in time to the song, Quatre sha-na-na-na-ing along as Trowa spun him around the floor, both of them moving in time with each other as the music flowed around them.

Feeling the song slow to very end, Quatre felt warmth spread on his chest. He knew that Trowa had spun him right into his awaiting arms. Relishing the feel of a strong man wrapping his arms around him, Quatre sunk into Trowa, resting his cheek in the taller man's shoulder.

"Are you hitting on me, Mr. Trowa Barton?" Quatre asked coyly, knowing full well he wouldn't have danced with him if he wasn't.

"Would it bother you if I were?"

"Defiantly not."

"Then, of course." Trowa answered, his fingers dancing across the blonde's shoulder blades, caressing him through the uniform. He would be down right lying to think that he didn't instantly feel attracted to the blonde. And well, he had only hopped the boy felt at least some of the same back.

Quatre turned his cheek up and locked eyes with the taller man, still swaying him gently in his arms, the song already faded to another awfully annoying song neither heard. Their looks were too heavy to even notice.

Trowa dipped down as Quatre tip-toed up, their lips meeting in the briefest of kisses. Then, when neither refused, they met again, the brushes and tentative nips growing more intense each time as the affection harbored between them in the last hour gave way to longing.

Soon they were practically devouring each other, Quatre dipping into the sweet taste of Trowa's mouth and lips.

But Trowa didn't stop there, releasing the blonde's lips he ducked down and began to kiss and nibble the boy's throat, hopping he would let him be so bold.

With a moan of pleasure, the boy threw his head back in ecstasy, reveling in the pulse-quickening feel of Trowa's mouth on him.

Heady with desire to be allowed more of the boy, Trowa moved his hands from around his neck to the front of the blue uniform shirt, tugging out a few of the buttons to pull the annoying cloth away to get at more of Quatre's shoulders.

Prickling in goosebumps, Quatre let Trowa move further down his shoulders, the intense feeling if his hot savory lips against his cool tensed flesh driving him absolutely insane. If he was trying to get Quatre to loose himself in passion, he was already there, practically mewing for the man to take him.

But not without a little pay back.

Quatre moved his hands from Trowa's slim hips to his sides, running his fingers up and down the bottom of his ribs. Then, quick as lightning, he slid his hands under the crisp black fabric and grasped at the hard, lean toned muscles underneath. Damn it, he was supposed to be teasing Trowa and just the feel of him under his hands was setting himself on fire! But that wasn't enough to stop him.

His slim fingers continued to massage and feel up the man's sides and front, caressing every bit of flesh he came in contact with. Up higher and higher as Trowa continued to nibble on Quatre's shoulder, more incessant and panting heavier than before. Then he found the man's peck, hard and defined. Oh, Damn it if he wasn't a sucker for a sexy chest! But he squeezed gently, taking the flesh in his hands, and then passing ever so quickly over a hardened pink nub.

Trowa gasped from where he was, running his hands down Quatre's front, all the buttons now undone and leaving the fey creature in front of him showing a window of soft pale skin, begging for Trowa to explore. He ran his fingers over the soft toned stomach, and up and up until he too was brushing against Quatre's nipples, sending the boy arching back in pleasure.

Quatre just couldn't take it anymore. He was on fire with pleasure. Gripping the back of Trowa's belt loops, he led stumbling backwards towards the long maroon padded bench across the back of the diner. That one was extra deep, Quatre had slept there a few times when he was working late then early. He knew it was enough.

When his feet hit it, he broke contact with the emerald eyed man for just a second to let Trowa figure out his intensions.

One look and it was pretty obvious. And pretty obviously well received. With not a moment to spare, Trowa took Quatre around the waist lifting him off his feet and pushing him to the maroon bench, tumbling behind right after.

They continued their battle, Trowa completely throwing off the blue uniform shirt to reveal the entire length of Quatre's pale beautiful skin, and finally he was able to lean down and take it as his own. Running his tongue up and down and over Trowa kissed every inch of flesh he could.

Quatre arched back in pleasure, not really used to having a lover as unselfish as Trowa and reveling in the feel. He dug his hands in the back of Trowa's hair, his fingers racking down the back of the still annoyingly present turtle neck. "OFF!" He commanded, grabbing the offending shirt and tugging it up and over the man's head in one fluid motion. The second he was released, Trowa went back down to continue his ministrations.

Quatre raked his hands down the man's back, enjoying the feel of the hot, strong, moving flesh under his fingers as Trowa continued to work.

He was more than ready to give Quatre anything he wanted.

But that thought stopped him. Trowa pulled away, his breath heavy and deep, trying to cool his nerves. He had to slow himself down. This was how he ended up someone's one-night stand and never having anyone but his cat to come home to (Whom only loved him because he fed her).

Quatre gulped breath as well, thankful Trowa had stopped them before he fell headlong into it. "You're right, we should slow down. We've only just met. You don't know anything really about me, let alone want a white picket fence relationship." Quatre mumbled. Then he mentally slapped himself.

Why did he have to go and tell Trowa he was imagining them as a couple, to death do they part, and a dog! Really now. No wonder his relationships were with total idiots more absorbed with themselves than anything else. At least Trowa had listened to him, hardly said much at all. He was an interesting, complex, intelligent, nor self absorbed person and now he was going to scare him away with the commitment word. Stupid muttering!

Trowa smiled, it going unseen by the self-berating blonde in his arms. He ran his fingers along the soft pale jawbone and tilted him upwards, coming down upon him for another searing kiss, his lips welcoming and begging for more.

Trowa came up for air, massaging Quatre's neck and shoulders with his roaming hands. "I like white picket fences." Trowa murmured into Quatre's hair, it not going unheard by the blonde, who only hugged him tighter.

Letting his hands roam over the boy's pale flesh, Trowa quickly continued in his quest to make the blonde moan like he had before. He was not ready to let him go, no matter what. Quatre was just too absolutely perfect. Trowa was never good with words to tell him that with just knowing him fro that little time he wanted to be with him, to get to know him better, to let him into his life, at least a little bit. He was much better at using his hands and lips and breath than words. His sister said that he was `easy' when he was in high school. Trowa thought maybe he was, but he didn't find anything wrong with enjoying sex and pleasing others. And the way that Quatre was writing and clinging underneath him told him that Quatre needed a little bit if physical love as well. Perhaps Quatre's sisters called him easy as well. Maybe the two of them could work together very well. Trowa would like that very much. And he made it a point of letting him know just how much he liked the idea.

He slid his mouth down and dipped his tongue into the boy's belly-button, nipping at the bit of skin hanging, Quatre giggling at the sensation and withering underneath his touch.

A wicked smile played on Trowa's lips and he continued to move lower and lower down the blonde, his effect on the blonde not unnoticed.

Pointedly ignoring the tell-tale bulge in the uniform pants, Trowa began to run his hands down his thighs. Quatre gasped in pleasure, arching up to meet the silent tease. But Quatre could feel Trowa smirk against his stomach. Trowa continued to run his fingers on top of his thighs, never dipping the few inches to Quatre's aching need. Blasted tease!

Gurgling back a moan of desperation, Quatre threw his head back, mashing it against the bench seat and arching harder against Trowa's stomach and chest, pressing his burning erection against him in a depredate need of friction. If Trowa hadn't been in the way, he would've been forced to relieve himself, the way the man was driving him insane.

Savoring the look of Quatre practically panting in heat, Trowa decided to have a little mercy on the boy. He delicately brought his finger tips to his zipper and with painful slowness, pulled it down.

Quatre was practically trying to kick the damn pants off in a desperate attempt to get closer to Trowa's skin. But of course, the damn sexy tease wouldn't allow him to get off that easily. But the truth was, it was fun to be the seduced instead of the one seducing just to at least have fun for more than fifteen minutes.

Trowa hooked his fingers in his belt-loops and tugged slowly and gently, Quatre's hips practically touching the sky in helping get them off his hips.

Did he even realize how turned on Trowa was just watching him squirm under the smallest touch? He could just imagine the expression of the blonde during love-making.

Okay, that was enough to make his blood pump harder.

Now clad only in white cotton briefs, Trowa began to massage Quatre's nude thighs again, this time dipping low to the blonde's sensitive inner thighs.

Quatre bucked up against him, trying to get some friction, anything for some release! It was pure hell, but he loved every second of it.

"Oh, Trowa." Quatre moaned out deep and husky, his head back and eyes clamped shut and his breath coming hard. All he could think about was the man that had sat and just listened to him with that small smile and soft words, now making him mew and scream. He knew he could at least make it seem like he was harder to get, but unfortunately, Quatre knew the truth. He was always just looking for love and fell for anyone who he thought would give it to him. Hoping perhaps this quite man might be able to give him that love, despite him being so different form the type that usually pursued him. "TROWA!" He called again, his voice pleading and wanton.

Trowa's blood hit the boiling mark. His own breath haggard. Sliding his thumbs under the waistband of Quatre's underwear he practically threw them off, the blonde now gloriously nude beneath him and writhing in ecstasy.

Resituating himself to get a better balance, Trowa dipped his hand, currently massaging Quatre's bucking hips, and wrapped it around his need.

Screaming in passion, Quatre bucked into the awaited touch with fever.

But at the same time, he knew he could turn the tables. Trowa was now straddling his leg since he moved.

Trying to ignore the heat in his groin for a few seconds, Quatre let the world come into view long enough to position himself just a bit, and began to rub his leg up against Trowa's arousal through the black pants that were oh-so-sexy before, now just oh-so-in-the-way!

Trowa's breath stopped while his world spun into a flurry of searing bliss. He was having enough trouble ignoring his own rock hard erection in favor of a little teasing, but damn it all to hell! Quatre was making that incredibly difficult!

In retaliation Trowa stroked faster, Quatre panting in time and still bucking up against Trowa. Fuck, he knew his pants were going to be wet the way Quatre was hitting him just right.

A trickle of sweat dropped down onto Quatre's fiery skin. Quatre opened his eyes long enough to see the look of pure abandon on the normally controlled man. And hell, was it sexy!

That was it. He needed more, and now.

Quatre sat himself up off the bench, Trowa still pumping him gently, but slowing at the movement.

As if he'd allow Trowa to pay all that attention to him and none to himself! Quatre gripped onto Trowa's belt, ripping the buckle open and off him, throwing it to the floor. Then much more hurried than Trowa had, the teasing bastard, Quatre tore down the zipper.

Still panting hard, Trowa of course not letting him go about his task without him continuing to rub his member, Quatre grabbed a handful of material and pushed it down to Trowa's knees.

Of course, the man wouldn't lift his knees to take them off! "Off!!!" Quatre demanded heavily, ready to get in on the doing, rather than just receiving.

Trowa may have loved to tease, but a command like that just couldn't be ignored. He let go of Quatre, jumping up to stand, and shed the pants to the floor with his belt.

Before he could climb back on top of the blonde, Quatre was sitting up quick as lightning and positioned between Trowa's thighs, hands holding his thin hips and caressing them.

Quatre moved forward, getting a good look at the long muscular body in front of him and brought hungry lips to his skin, taking as much of the innocent and hard muscled flesh into his mouth as he could, dipping his tongue into Trowa's bellybutton and kneading his hips as he went.

Quatre's kisses crawled lower until he met the waistband of the plain black tight boxers encasing the last piece of the mystery. Releasing his hold on Trowa's hips, but not removing his ravenous lips, Quatre slid his hands down the side of his boxers and continued to slide past them, bringing the material with him and freeing the cinnamon haired man's member.

Quatre found himself licking his lips in lust, just watching Trowa standing there in all his glory gripping the nearby table with white knuckles as Quatre continued to dance his lips along Trowa's flesh.

Oh yes, how the tables had turned now! Quatre smirked and grabbed his hips again, stilling them as he brought his lips around Trowa and started a fevered rhythm, bobbing up and down.

Stars springing to his sight, Trowa gasped, almost unable to take another second and practically falling over from week knees. Panting harder and faster as the blonde continued, Trowa all but fell over, having to pull Quatre away at the last second.

He wanted to be able to be with Quatre tonight, and if he had continued a second longer, there was no way he'd be able to. He started this to please Quatre. He honestly didn't care if he got off, he just wanted to relieve some of the stress the blonde had all twisted up inside him. Trowa did live to serve after all.

Quatre looked up, a little confused. He'd always been told he was great at head. Why was Trowa stopping him? He sure seemed to be liking it?

Grasping Quatre's shoulders, Trowa pushed him back down onto the bench, trailing kisses down the boy's neck and letting himself relax a second and slowing his own frantic breath.

Quatre began again squirming under his touch bucking up against his stomach with his aching need.

A feral grin crossed Trowa's features as he licked his own lips. Quick, before Quatre even knew what was happening, Quatre was arching up off the bench and screaming in pleasure, the warm moist heat surrounding him sending electric sparks through his core and lights to his eyes. Panting Trowa's name over and over as Trowa dipped down and up again, his tongue circling him and sucking.

Quatre's breath ran short and he knew he had only seconds left of will power before he would explode. But damn it all, he wanted more of Trowa. Needed more.

Gripping the copy editor's shoulder and roughly pushing him off, Quatre met Trowa's eyes, both burring in lust and passion, Trowa's deep green starring animal like and lips red and bruised from their kisses.

Fuck, they needed lube and NOW! Quatre tried to think clearly for a moment, scanning the diner and knowing he didn't have any on him. Then he spotted the sink folded just beyond the employee only door. He knew his sister had Vaseline in there; she used it like chap stick.

Quatre pushed his lover over, rolling out from underneath the taller man, he scampered across the diner, past the windows still dark from the three-o-clock lack of sun, naked as the day he was born. But hell if he cared. His mind was on one thing, a particular tube that he needed to get, then a flushed fucking sexier than all hell man splayed out waiting for him on a diner bench.

Racing back, prize in hand, he was about to fling himself onto Trowa, when the taller man grabbed the tube out of his hands, and pushed him down on the bench by the hips, massaging them more and replacing himself atop the blonde.

Trailing kisses down the familiar path down his stomach, Trowa took Quatre's arousal in his hand and began to pump him gently. Just knowing what was to be coming, Quatre rolled into the rhythm breathing deep and enjoying the sensations coursing through his body.

Trowa rounded on hardened pink nubs, his tongue darting out to tease the flesh as he let go of Quatre's member to squeeze some of the Vaseline onto his fingers and begin to spread it across Quatre's backside liberally. He really didn't want to hurt the blonde. Taking one slim digit, he found Quatre's opening and pushed.

Quatre arched up, propelling Trowa's finger deeper in passion. Hell he wanted him NOW!

But Trowa wouldn't allow him to not be ready. He slid the finger out, and then slid two in the next time, slowly moving and stretching Quatre's opening. All the while, Quatre was panting, arching, mewing, and grasping at Trowa for more.

A third digit followed when he felt comfortable enough, the three pushing in far enough to touch the spot within Quatre. Quatre screamed, his voice echoing off the diner walls in sheer ecstasy.

That was it. Trowa couldn't wait a second more. He lathered his pulsing erection up with the slick lubrication and positioned himself at Quatre's opening.

Slowly, he pushed. Quatre's inner walls tight and pulsing around his member. Damn it, at that rate, he may not get too far. Quatre already had his head swimming in desire and barely contained ecstasy.

Once he knew Quatre had relaxed to the intrusion, he pushed just a bit further, still not completely in.

At the touch, Quatre threw his head back, panting Trowa's name, his body tensing and squeezing around his lover making him hit the spot again and again as they built up a rhythm, Trowa's hand coming to wrap around Quatre's member as he pistoned in making Quatre scream out his name.

Again and again, Quatre bucked his hips with Trowa's thrusts, panting, gasping, and claiming each other as lovers.

Soon, neither could hold back any longer, Quatre raking his fingers down Trowa's arms, leaving scratches along his path as he cried out Trowa's name louder and harder than ever before and grasped for anything to tie him to the world as he spilt his seed all over Trowa's hand and stomach.

His lover's cry and the tightening of all muscles in his body carried Trowa over the edge, and with a few more mind numbing thrusts Trowa buckled over, grunting into Quatre's sweaty shoulder as he exploded deep within him.

Collapsing onto him, the two a mess of sweaty limbs and heaving breaths, Trowa rolled himself to the back, grasping onto Quatre. The blonde curling deep into his side, keeping their naked and cooling bodies as close as he could to conserve heat (and to stay actually on top of the bench, it was larger than average, but not that large!)

Head mashed into Trowa's enveloping shoulders, Quatre felt his eyes closing, letting his fingers dance along the sides of his new lover. That was officially the BEST he had ever had. Even better than the best. Like, leagues better than the best. He never even dreamed it could be that good!

"Quatre, I have to confess something to you." Trowa said, still not letting go of the blonde.

That caught his breath. Oh oh. No. Bad. Bad idea. Something is not right! Danger Will Robinson! Danger. And he thought everything was going so well! He new Trowa was too good to be true!

"I lied." Trowa explained sweetly into Quatre's mop of blonde, "I really don't like gingerbread cookies. You just looked so happy I was eating them, I couldn't stop." Trowa confessed, rubbing the tenses muscles in Quatre's back and chuckling.

Quatre punched him gently, trying (unsuccessfully) to scowl through a huge grin. "Too bad, bucko! Because you're getting a batch every night. You'll learn to love 'em or learn creative ways of destroying the evidence."

Trowa began to laugh; Quatre's humor one of the best the best parts of him.

The next best part being his pink lush lips just waiting to be kissed again.

Trowa leant down again, taking Quatre to him, their lips dueling together, massaging and tasting each other. They were ready for another round of play.

The bells on top of the door jingled merrily, a kind woman's voice invading the atmosphere. "Quatre! You had better not be here, boy. You work too much! Don't let Dorothy walk all over you!" the motherly voice berated. Unbeknown to her, the object of her scolding was lying on the bench seat a few rows back with a rather sexy copy editor currently ignoring their guest and placing feather light kisses to Quatre's exposed collarbone.

Quatre had a wicked thought, knowing Iria would love to see this one. "We're closed!" Quatre called out from underneath Trowa's ministrations, his voice playful.

In a classic double take, the woman caught site of her brother, gapped, then smirked. From what she eyed, whoever that guy was had one hot ass.

Turning on her heels and walking out of the diner, chuckling all the way, Iria turned the open sign around and locked the door behind her. A sister's job was never done.

As she strolled to her SUV, she looked up to see the four-o-five city bus passing by.

Empty as usual.

End.

Authors notes: Well, what did you think? Please email a review.

This was my take on them in AU. I think Quatre is so sweet, trophy boyfriend-ish and too nice to turn someone down right off the bat. That's why I figure he'd always get stuck with lecherous losers. He's the type to always want to give, give, give and never ask for anything in return. Although, he desperately wanted that something back.

As for Trowa, I can see people liking him, but he's more reserved in his opinion. He just wouldn't be able to really express what he felt or that he wanted a relationship to the people he was with, so he always feels like a one or two night stand. He's too reserved to ask someone to stay with him, so he ends up alone. I also see Trowa as a person who expresses himself physically, as opposed to verbally, which is why they tend to tumble into bed quickly.

That's why I love the 3x4 couple so much. Quatre won't let him go, the cling that he is, and Trowa wants someone who will be there for him. Instant perfect match.

That's my take on their personalities.

Thank-you for reading.

 

 

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