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"100 Themes Challenge"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: NC 17 Warnings: Humor, Crack, Curses Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Trowa is at work when he gets a call that his lover has been poisoned. Expecting the worst, he arrives at the hospital to find Quatre sporting some unusual side effects. Prompt: Poisoned. "Perks of A Two Day Curse" Trowa was shoulder-deep up the ass end of a Gundam, literally, when he heard a frantic shout from the ground floor of the hangar. It was after hours and he and Bill were the only two mechanics left in the building. He would have been just fine on his own, but the safety protocols in place required that no one was allowed to work alone. If something were to happen, such as an accidental dismembering, or someone getting pinned beneath the weight of heavy machinery, someone else had to be present to administer first aid and call for help. Initially, he’d thought that Bill was in trouble and immediately pulled his head out from the shaft that made up the Gundam’s afterburner to assist. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to hold a few severed fingers together while they waited for emergency personnel to come and take over. “Barton! Did you die? Where are you?” He leaned over the catwalk’s railing and looked down at the stout, middle-aged man with an arched brow. “I’m right here. I was on my way down. I thought maybe you were hurt.” “No, I’m fine.” Bill ran a hand through the stringy hair that was meticulously combed over the shiny bald spot on top of his head, unsuccessfully if the reflection from the the overhead florescent lights were anything to go by. “You got a phone call. Someone named Duo said you need to haul ass to ESUN Memorial Hospital because your...your um...your partner?” “Boyfriend,” Trowa curtly reminded him. It wasn’t as if Bill didn’t know that he was in a relationship with another man, but he was one of those guys who just couldn’t find it in himself to accept it as anything but a ‘bromance gone too far’. “You can say it, Bill. Your tongue won’t fall out, or anything.” “Okay.” Bill looked down and picked at the grease caked beneath his fingernails. Trowa waited for him to continue and rolled his eyes when nothing more was said. “My boyfriend what, Bill?” “Oh! Yeah, uh...that Duo guy said your partner was poisoned.” “What?!”
***
His friends always joked about his ability to defy the laws of physics, but Trowa was pretty sure they hadn’t meant his driving skills. Heero was the one with the most potential for a spot in the Indy 500 what with his hair-raising stunts behind the wheel which, more often than not, managed to carve a few years off his passengers’ lives. He knew he was in deep shit when he squealed past an idling police car while skirting a stroke-inducing one hundred ten miles per hour. It was confirmed a short time later while flying down the highway when he glanced into his rearview mirror to see half the California state patrol on his ass. He leaned over the steering wheel and squinted up through the windshield, muttering an emphatic curse as the shadow of a chopper passed overhead. “Sorry boys, but this is going to have to wait,” he declared into the empty space of his vehicle and then wrenched the wheel sharply to the left. His Jeep careened off the highway and onto the grassy median, kicking up dirt and uprooting the scattered array of wildflowers as he plowed his way over to the southbound lanes. He dodged and weaved his way through oncoming traffic, ignoring the blaring horns and shouts of angry motorists. He managed to thwart the attempt at a barricade, plowing through the roadblocks and putting the pedal to the medal when his tires popped from the spikes that had been laid out across the lanes. The unnerving grind of metal rims on asphalt made his gums itch, but he continued on despite the shower of fifteen foot high sparks that for some reason reminded him of the pyroglyphics at a death metal concert Duo had dragged him and Quatre to for their two year anniversary. By the time he reached the hospital, his car was on fire and his brake lines had melted from the heat of burning fuel. He ‘parked’ the remnants of his Jeep by crunching it into a concrete pillar used to hold up the giant carport labeled ‘Emergency’ in big red letters. He abandoned the smoking husk, ignoring the shouts of, “Hey pal, you can’t park that here,” and barreled into the building, knocking old ladies out of their wheelchairs as he pushed his way up to the registration area. “Sir, you can’t -” “Quatre Winner. Where is he?” “Are you family?” “Yes! Yes, just tell me where he is, please!” “He’s being treated for his - sir, wait! You can’t just go back -” But Trowa had already vanished behind the double doors, further pissing people off when he yanked aside curtain after curtain, cringing when he caught a glimpse of an old man’s bare ass between the opened flaps of his hospital gown. “Shit. Sorry.” He stopped dead in the middle of the hallway when he heard a familiar voice shout, “I don’t care how it happened, Duo! I want it fixed. Now!” “Quat?” He followed the sound of his love’s distressed voice, strangely higher-pitched, but somehow still Quatre’s. He finally spotted Duo’s distinct braid just outside of a curtained-off cubicle and sprinted over, shoving him out of the way to pull the curtain aside. “Quat? Baby?” “Trowa!” Quatre was sitting upright in the bed, much to Trowa’s relief, but at the sight of his boyfriend, the blond’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates and he wrenched the blanket that lay over his lap up to his chin. “What are you doing here?” He stepped inside and reached for his lover. “What do you mean ‘what am I doing here?’ Bill at work told me Duo called and said to get here right away because you’d been poisoned. Are you alright? What happened?” Quatre irritably swatted his hands away when he reached for him. “I’m fine,” he snapped, giving Duo a dirty look over Trowa’s shoulder. Hurt, but not wanting to anger the blond even more, he dropped his hands into his lap. “But they said you were poisoned? With what? By whom?” Quatre’s eyes shifted to the side. “Well...sorta.” “Either you were poisoned, or you weren’t, Quatre. There is no in between here. And what is up with your voice?” Quatre glanced at Duo again who shrugged and threw his hands up. “You might as well just show him, Quat. He’s gonna find out sooner, or later.” “Show me what?” Quatre, still clutching the blanket to his chest, leaned forward and placed his other hand on Trowa’s knee. “Babe, just...don’t freak out, okay?” Unfortunately, the softly spoken query had the opposite of the desired effect. Show him what? A ghastly injury? Giant, broken pustules growing on his skin? Gangrene? A flesh-eating virus? What was so bad that Quatre needed to tell him not to freak out? “Don’t freak out about what?!” The blond took a deep breath and bit down on his lower lip as if bracing himself for a monumental lapse of composure, then he dropped the sheet. It took Trowa’s brain a full minute before he could comprehend what he was looking at. He could almost hear the squeak of the cogs turning inside his head as it tried to compute something that was, as far as everything he could justify as possible in the realm of reality, impossible. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen breasts before. He had. Hundreds of times. The problem was, he’d never seen breasts on his boyfriend. His boyfriend...who was male...with a penis and...no...boobs… “What the fuck?!” His screech was loud enough to send a few nurses running over, armed and ready to fuss over whomever needed to be fussed over. Quatre shooed them out with an angry flick of his wrist and a few scathing words and then turned back to his boyfriend with pleading eyes. “Trowa -” “You - wh - how -” He sputtered as his mind momentarily forgot what language was and pointed to Quatre’s chest with a helpful, “Boobs.” Quatre scowled and folded his arms across his - now rather ample - chest, slumping against the pillow with a sour look on his face. “Yeah, Tro. Boobs,” Duo agreed and then leaned down to whisper into his ear. “He’s got a pussy, too.” That was the last thing Trowa heard before his eyes rolled back into his head. “Bah - hah - boo...” He slurred and tipped to the side, dropping onto the floor in a dead faint.
***
He came to when the powerful odor of smelling salts stung his nose and he blinked up into the matronly face of a woman he’d never seen before in his life. “What happened?” “Are you alright, sir? You took quite a tumble there -” He sucked in a sharp breath as clarity returned and shot up, his forehead colliding with the nurse’s. “Boobs!” Duo snickered, but sobered quickly and cleared his throat when he caught Quatre’s murderous look. “Uh yeah, Tro. We already established that. I know this broke your brain and all, but try to keep up, okay buddy?” Trowa pressed a hand against his forehead in an attempt to stop the room from spinning. “Ugh...how - how did this happen?” “Fucking Dorothy,” Quatre spat. He dropped his hand and gaped at his boyfriend. “How did Dorothy turn you into a girl?” “Oh, didn’t you know? She’s been dabbling in the occult.” Trowa’s face was hilariously blank. “I don’t follow.” Quatre threw his hands up. “The occult, Trowa! You know, black magic?” He tipped his head, looking uncannily like a puppy who’d just heard a strange noise. “Why?” His lover stared at him as if he’d lost his mind and Trowa got the sense he was already supposed to know the answer to that. “Because she’s a fucking psycho?” Oh. Right. “So...okay. Are you saying this was a spell of some kind?” “Obviously,” Quatre grumbled, swiping a Styrofoam cup off the little console beside him and taking a sip of water. “She cursed me because for some reason, she gets off on humil - will you stop staring at them?” “Hmm? Wha - oh, right. Sorry.” He forced his gaze away from the sensual swell of the blond’s breasts and curled his fingers into his palms, resisting the urge to cup his hands around them and confirm that they were as soft and supple as they looked. You know...for science. “What were you saying?” Quatre’s eyes narrowed into deadly slits. “Get that perverted brain of yours out of the gutter, Trowa.” He coughed into his fist with a mumbled, “Sorry,” and refocused on his love’s face. But he could still see those luscious mounds in his peripheral vision and the temptation to ogle was overwhelming. “Is this permanent?” “Probably not,” Duo piped up. “Spells like this don’t usually last for more than forty eight hours.” He caught his friends’ suspicious looks and added, “Hilde. She’s into this stuff, too.” “Well, if it’s a spell and it’s going to wear off, then why are you in the hospital?” Quatre’s face blushed beet red and he crouched down low against the pillows as if he was trying to hide. Duo spoke up for him. “We were swimming when it happened and Quat...well, he didn’t even notice right away. When I pointed out the fact that he had tits, he freaked out and tripped and smacked his head on the edge of the pool.” Quatre lifted his long bangs out of the way and Trowa saw the now stitched up gash across his hairline. “Oh, sweetheart -” “No concussion, though,” Duo continued. “Just a few stitches to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” The blond dropped his hair back into place and pouted. “I’ve never been so humiliated in all my life.” “It’s not so bad, baby,” Trowa reassured him, pausing to reconsider when Quatre gave him a shrewd look. “Okay, maybe it is, but I’m sure it will wear off soon.” “So what am I supposed to do until then?” He weighed his options, not sure if what he was thinking would be received well, or if it would send Quatre into a rage. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to sample the pleasures of his lover’s female form. He was certain that he could make it worth Quatre’s while. What the hell. You only live once, right? “Well...I am bi.”
***
Trowa wanted to know the license plate of the tank that hit him because Jesus, did that pack a wallop. He groaned as he was pulled roughly to his feet, fighting off a wave of nausea that nearly made him lose his supper. “Whazzit...wha’s happening?” “Mr. Barton, you’re under arrest for reckless driving and fleeing police pursuit as well malicious destruction of property. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of -” “Wait, what?” He blinked bruised, bleary eyes open and realized with a jolt of dread that he was surrounded by what looked like the entirety of the California state police, all crammed into the tiny hospital room. He glanced frantically towards the bed, stunned by the vindictive look in the blond’s eyes. “Quat?” “Make sure you keep the perv for at least two days,” Quatre called out as Trowa was hauled from the room. “Quat! How could you? No,” he shouted, trying to wrench his arms free. “I - I didn’t even get to touch -” He glanced over his shoulder, staring longingly at the twin swells curving deliciously beneath the fabric of his lover’s hospital gown. “The boobs…”
~ * ~ Chapter 6 |
