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"Agglomeration"Written By: The Plotting Housewife Disclaimer: Gundam Wing belongs to Bandai, Sotsu
and associated Parties. This work is written for pleasure not profit. Rating: R Warnings: fluff, humor Pairings: Trowa/Quatre Summary: An injured Trowa wants to get frisky.
Quatre's having none of it. Notes: Written for the dialogue prompt: “Oh my god, you have a concussion, stop trying to flirt with me.” by omgsterekplease
" Convalescence " Honestly, it could have been a lot worse, but to hear Cathy and Quatre talk, you would think Trowa had split his head clean open. He had no idea what went wrong. It wasn't as if he wasn't a top-notch tightrope walker. He had that shit down to an art form. Piece of cake. But, for some reason, whether the spin of the Earth was off, or there was some minute tremor that he hadn't felt, whatever disruption in the status quo it was, he'd lost his footing. He distinctly remembered the swooping sensation in his stomach and his arms, under the pretense that he could actually fly, pinwheeled in a desperate attempt to keep from being flattened on the ground below. Then, a split second moment of, Oh, shit. This is going to hurt. And that had been all she wrote. He'd tumbled from the wire, the surreal whooshing of the wind in his ears and the ever-increasing closeness of the dirt floor, and then splat! A few cracked ribs and a concussion later and he was being treated by his sister and his lover as though he was incapable of wiping his own ass. Which he was. Very capable, thank you very much. Again, it could have been worse. But if Quatre and Cathy did not stop hovering over him like over-protective hens, he was going to seriously lose his shit. "Quat, baby. I'm fine. Why don't you go take a nap. You're exhausted." The blond gave him a look of such offense, Trowa had to bite down on his tongue to keep from laughing. "Are you crazy? I can't leave you alone! What if you fall asleep?" "I'm not going to fall asleep. I'm not even tired." Quatre shifted uneasily. "Not until Cathy gets back." Cathy had put Trowa in Quatre's charge until she was finished running errands and Quatre had taken to his duty like an eager rookie desperate to please his superiors. The fact that Quatre had established some strange habit of staring holes into his head for the past hour was seriously starting to creep him out. "I'm promise I won't fall asleep." But Quatre shook his head. "Nope. Nice try, but I'm not going anywhere until Cathy gets back. If something happens to you under my watch, she'd kill me and I'd never forgive myself." Trowa honestly didn't know what could possibly happen in the next half hour that would be so detrimental to his recovery, but Quatre wasn't taking any chances. Trowa tried another tactic in an attempt to lighten the somewhat maudlin mood that had settled over the trailer like a dark cloud. He smiled and leaned back into the soft cushions of the chair and propped his chin on his hand. "Have I told you how much I love your hair like that?" He wasn't playing, he really did. Quatre had grown it out some. The bangs brushed against his chin and the pretty blond waves Trowa was so fond of almost reached his shoulders. It was a beautiful look on him. You would have thought he'd just insulted Quatre's mother for the look he got. The blue eyes narrowed dangerously, his voice laced with suspicion.. "What are you doing?" Trowa shot him a confused look. "What?" "What? No, that. What? What are you trying to do?" "I'm...complimenting you?" "No, you're not." "I'm not?" "No, you're - I don't know what you're doing, but it's not going to work." Trowa was clueless, blinking at his lover owlishly. "What's not going to work?" "You're trying to - to flirt with me!" And why did Quatre sound so offended by that? Trowa was at a complete loss here. Cautiously, "Yeaaah?" "Oh my God, Trowa! You have a concussion! Stop trying to flirt with me!" Trowa stared at him, gobsmacked. "Why can't I?" Was there some fundamental rule about flirting with a concussion that he didn't know about? "Why? Because - because it's dangerous!" Okay, this was getting out of hand. "Quat, love, flirting is not dangerous." The blond sputtered. "But, it could lead to sex!" "Yeaaah? My dick still works, you know." Quatre's face flushed beet red, his hands flying up to cover it. "I cannot believe you. You are in no shape for sex, Trowa." "Why not? I can just sit here and you can climb on up -" "Oh my fucking God, Trowa!" Quatre shot up off his chair. "You need to lie down. You're not feeling well." "Quat...babe -" "Lie down." Quatre practically pushed at his forehead until he was reclined. "Let me get you some ice. I'd better call the doctor -" "I'm not sick, Quat. I'm fucking horny." "Not until you're better," Quatre told him in an infuriatingly patronizing voice. Trowa winced as a freezing cold ice pack settled over his face, closing his eyes in exasperation. "For fuck's sake..."
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