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"Secrets"Written By: Honor Disclaimers: All of those who agree that the boys
should belong to me say “Aye!” Pairings: 3x4 Spoilers: Nope. Warnings: Lemon, yaoiness, bit of language, AU,
I wrote it (duh). Rating: NC-17 Betas: Lucy and Velvet Archived: Gundam Wing Diaries Author’s Notes: Driving an hour to and from work is dangerous. It gives the plot bunnies time to play. For people who love a build-up of a 3x4…here you go! Oh, and just so you know, I’m putting a whole new spin on empathy, telepathy and whatnot. *grin* That’s your only hint. /other people’s thoughts/ //Trowa’s or Quatre’s thoughts// <phone> <<mental conversations>>
"Secrets " Chapter Two: Confusions
Hanging out after school became a habit which bled over to the weekend when Quatre convinced him to spend Friday night with him. Trowa had brought over his five favorite movies, which happened to be an old black and white mystery series called The Thin Man. They had stayed up until a little past three in the morning, both laughing their heads off. Trowa could practically quote the movie line for line (he had actually demonstrated this when Quatre professed his disbelief, stopping the movie at random and saying the next five lines; what surprised Quatre was that he even had the individual character’s inflections down too) but that didn’t stop him from enjoying just as thoroughly as Quatre. The blond’s stomach muscles were sore from laughing—there were some real zingers in the old movies, and some excellent acting. When the evening had first started, Quatre had opened up his armoire (his TV was sitting inside) and arranged a plethora of pillows at the headboard so that he and his friend could get comfortable. When the last movie ended, they had fallen asleep like that. Quatre slowly came to the realization that his pillow normally didn’t have a heartbeat. Oops. Looks like he was snuggling against Trowa. Peering open an eye, he saw that Trowa was fast asleep, hair mussed a little and a slight curve to his mouth. He must be having pleasant dreams. Quatre sighed, letting his eyes fall closed. Ever since he was eight years old, he had been denied casual touching like this. Physical touch served as an amplification to emotions. An emotion that Quatre could ignore became overwhelming as soon as he touched someone. It had made him skittish about having any kind of physical contact with people, even his family. //But I can’t feel Trowa.// Since he had accidentally stumbled over the quietly attractive teen, he had been studying him carefully. At first it was simple curiosity. Why could he not feel Trowa? Sure, if he truly focused, then he could catch a glimmer of emotion but it was never very strong. Now…it was a blessing in so many ways, having a friend like this. It wasn’t just that being around Trowa was ‘safe’, although that was a large part of it; Trowa was delightful to be around. He was funny, in a very dry way; intelligent and insightful, and seemed just as starved for physical affection as Quatre was himself. The first two days that Quatre had come up to him and casually hugged him one-armed, he was surprised and uncertain on how to respond. Then he started hugging back, or reaching out to simply catch hold of Quatre’s wrist or arm to get his attention. The contact was…nice. Quatre murmured inarticulately in pleasure and snuggled in more. Trowa shifted until he was laying more on his side, arm resting over Quatre’s waist and curled up against his back. //Being held like this…it’s a miracle. I never thought I could have this experience. Would Trowa still do this if he were awake? Would he be repulsed if he knew that I wanted something more from him than friendship?// There was a low rumble above his head. Without thinking, Quatre tilted his head up to look at Trowa. One green eye was cracked open, resting on his face. “’orning.” //I guess I’m going to see if it bothers him or not.// “Morning.” “Did you know you are a snuggler?” Blink. Blinkblinkblink. “Ah…no?” “Hn. I’d barely managed to turn the TV off before you were using me as your pillow.” //Is he upset by that or not?// “Er…sorry?” Trowa shrugged and let his eyes fall shut again. “Its okay. You kept me warm.” Yawning slightly he burrowed in more. “Still sleepy.” Quatre relaxed into a smile as Trowa went right back to sleep. //Apparently the answer is ‘not upset’. Good. I can live with that.// Deciding that Trowa had a point about the whole sleeping bit, he shut out the outside world and went right back to dreamland. + Somewhere around eleven, they managed to pull themselves out of the bed and stumble down to the kitchen. Since Rashid wasn’t around to nag them into eating something healthy, Quatre pulled out leftover pizza for breakfast and hot chocolate on the side. While they were gorging themselves on caffeine and pepperoni, inspiration struck. “Trowa, let’s go swimming.” The brunette looked up quizzically. “You mean you actually bothered to get the pool up and running at this time of year?” “Why not? It should stay warm enough to use it until October.” It had been a while since Trowa had been able to play in the water, so he agreed with a nod. “Sounds like fun to me.” Little did he know… For roughly a half hour they competed against each other on diving. When the ringing in their ears became hard to ignore, Trowa got out of the pool and stretched out on a towel near the edge, just catching some sun. Quatre stayed in, floating lazily—for all of about fifteen seconds. It was *boring* inside the pool without someone to play with. And Trowa looked entirely too warm and comfortable, not to mention lazy, just laying there. Quatre sank until only his eyes were visible, then carefully approached. His prey was innocently unaware of the devious intentions on his personage until Quatre splashed water onto him. Trowa flinched as a torrent of water crashed onto him. One emerald eye cracked open dangerously. “You’re dead.” Quatre grinned saucily. “Only if you can catch me!” He quickly put some distance between himself and Trowa as the other teen neatly dove into the water. Quatre was stalked from one end of the pool to the other. He was fast, but Trowa’s long frame made him even faster. The only thing that saved the antagonist was that he could usually slip free of Trowa’s hold at the last minute. And if he couldn’t wriggle his way free, well…Trowa was extremely ticklish on his sides. Quatre was pinned in one corner of the pool, in the process of tickling his way out of captivity (Trowa was still managing to somehow keep his prisoner more or less in place, despite his laughter) when Rashid came out of the house. “You two have been in there for over two hours. Come out and get some sunscreen on at least.” Quatre decided to have some mercy on Trowa and eased up temporarily. “We put sunscreen on!” “That was two hours ago, Master Quatre,” Rashid repeated patiently. He knew his young master very well. Once you had Quatre in the water, it was nearly impossible to get him back out of the water. “You need to put some more on unless you want to look like a lobster with blond hair.” Grudgingly accepting that he might have a point, Quatre dragged himself out of the pool. Trowa blew out a breath of relief—he’d yet to find a way to defend his weak sides from attack—and pulled himself free of the water as well. “Also, a young woman by the name of Catherine called earlier. She wanted to know if Master Trowa was here.” Quatre turned an accusing look onto Trowa. “You *did* tell someone where you would be, didn’t you?” “I left a note!” Trowa protested. “Uh-huh.” Apparently that wasn’t going to cut it. “I’ll call her,” Trowa muttered in resignation. He knew that if he didn’t, Quatre would call her instead. The blond had certain ideas when it came to family, and he made sure that Trowa always alerted someone as to their whereabouts. Usually it was his sister, because the Bartons were rarely home. Rashid handed him the cordless phone in silence, watching as he punched in the telephone number and spoke briefly with his sister. He hadn’t known quite what to think when Quatre first introduced him to this young man. He had been relieved that Quatre was finally making friends—real friends—his own age, but this boy was so quiet and unlike Quatre he had wondered how they could be friends at all. Now as he watched them interact, he realized that it was their opposing natures that made them such good friends. It had been a little over a week, but they moved and talked as if they had known each other for years. Sometimes, he could almost believe that they were something more than friends. When Trowa handed the phone back to him, he was searching Rashid’s face intently. Ever so slowly he smiled and whispered, “Perhaps we will be.” /What?/ If Rashid didn’t know better he would think that Trowa had just been reading his mind. With a hint of a smile Trowa turned back to Quatre, scooping him up like a sack of potatoes. “Trowa! Put me down!” “Hm…okay.” “NOT IN THE POOL!” *splash* “Oops. He slipped.” “TROOOOWAAAAA!!!!” + “Trowa!” Recognizing that tone, the brunette turned to look at the blond. He had barely been able to get his homework done before he was supposed to meet up with the Arabian. Two weeks had taught him that not meeting Quatre on time would get him tickled. Quatre was looking up at him with sparkling eyes—not a good sign. What was he planning to do? In the middle of the school week, no less? “What?” “Don’t you want to go fishing?” Fishing? Trowa looked at him blankly. “Where on earth do you want to go fishing? And why? It’s late August, Quatre. Nobody goes fishing in late August.” “Please?” Quatre turned imploring eyes up at him, a slight pout to his mouth. “I’ve never been around enough water to go fishing before. Bright Lake is only thirty minutes from here…” Trowa’s ‘no’ came out as “You’re helping me dig out the fishing tackle in the garage.” “YES!” Quatre launched himself at Trowa, hugged him tight, then scampered towards the ranch house. “Is it somewhere in the back? Can we go today? We need to pack snacks too…” Trowa watched him bounce away, shaking his head. “What have I gotten myself into?” + “That’s it?” Quatre looked at the wriggling worm on his hook doubtfully. “That’s all there is to it,” Trowa assured him. “Just toss the line in.” It had taken five minutes to explain the basics. Quatre, as usual for beginners, was a little squeamish about baiting the hook. Quatre let his arm fall back, then let it loose. Remarkably, the line didn’t get tangled in the trees behind them or plop right in front of them, or anything else disastrous. Quatre beamed and looked at Trowa. He received an approving nod as Trowa let his own hook sink into the water. “Now we wait.” They settled on legless camp chairs, snacks and drinks at the ready. Quatre let out a relaxed lungful of air, eyes sliding halfway closed. For several moments they just enjoyed each other’s company. “Trowa?” “Hn.” “Why do you cut yourself off from people?” Trowa’s eyes fell to the water, catching the patterns made by shadows and sunlight. He wasn’t sure how to answer the question. Perhaps…halfway would be best. “They all want something from me.” “Oh.” Trowa turned to study him thoughtfully. There had been complete comprehension in that softly uttered sound. “You understand.” “Oh yes. I’ve been surrounded by such people my entire life. I was lucky to have Iria and Rashid and Abdul, however. They are the only reason why I believe in people at all.” //You’re the reason why I’m beginning to have faith in people as well, Quatre.// “My turn to ask you a question.” Quatre waved him on negligently. “Shoot.” “Why did you want to be my friend?” “To steal one of my sister’s expressions—because we’re two peas in a pod. I knew just talking to you that it would be a lot of fun to be your friend.” “Odd. I rather felt the same way about you.” “Fair trade,” Quatre declared, raising his rootbeer in a toast. Trowa clinked his own Dr. Pepper against it and they knocked back a slug. A good half hour crept by with only the occasional comment thrown in. Quatre frowned at his unmoving line. “Are you sure there’s fish in here?” “I’ve seen ‘em,” Trowa answered lazily. “Really?” “But we won’t see anything by using fishing poles.” Quatre looked at the fishing pole in his hands. There was another way of doing this? “So how else would you do it?” “Dynamite.” Quatre nearly dropped his pole in the water. “Dynamite?! For fishing?!” Trowa started grinning, eyes still closed. “My cousin Heero showed me. He claimed it was more efficient. I have to admit, he had a point there. He threw in a stick of dynamite, it went kablooey, and up came three fish.” Quatre started spluttering. “Hm…there’s a thought.” “Trowa, I am not about to go buy dynamite so we can blow holes in the lake!” “No, not that.” Quatre paused. “What, then?” “Maybe Heero got the only fish in the lake.” Quatre started laughing helplessly. “So this is useless? We’re fishing for ghost fish?” “Only one way to find out,” Trowa reiterated placidly. Quatre slumped back into his chair, shaking his head. “You’re hopeless.” “I know.” Trowa reeled in his hook, eyed the drowned worm, then looked toward the truck parked a few feet away from them. “What do you say we pack up and go to Arby’s?” “I think I can safely say that we are not Mighty Hunters,” Quatre agreed dryly. “Besides, I want curly fries. Let’s go.” ~*~*~*~ Quatre: *comes out of Honor’s impromptu lab, sheet
white* G-guys?
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