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"The Pact"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: Smut, Porn With Plot, OT5, Fluff, Mild
Angst, Humor, Fivesome, Angst, Newtypes, Possessive Behavior, Alternate
Universe - Dark, Non-Graphic Violence Pairings: 3x5x2x4x1 Summary: Formerly Intervention (retitled because the story detoured and went its own way).After seducing Quatre, the other four ex-pilots brave the uncharted waters of their new abilities and learn to cope with the unintentional gifts they were given. But as always, power requires responsibility and the humbling acknowledgement of humanity's weaknesses. The struggle to stay true to themselves becomes a dangerous and terrifying endeavor as they skirt the boundary where conscience bleeds into chaos and the dark abyss of temptation.
"The Pact" Tuesday, December 16th, 8:02pm. L2 X9984, District Four...
The
garage was stuffy and reeked of sweat and motor oil, mixed with the
faint lavender and spice scent of HIlde's perfume. It was stronger
now, clinging to her moist skin as she arched her back in ecstasy.
Duo ogled the bounce of her small breasts and couldn't resist the
temptation to lean down and suck one of those tiny, tightened nipples
into his mouth. Is it possible to die from an extreme case of blue balls? ‘Cause that would suck some serious donkey ass. "Oh, Duo! Fuck, I'm coming!" He drove in roughly, jolting Hilde across the red, threadbare fabric of the old Chevy Nova's bench seat that he used as a makeshift couch. He kept up the rough pace as she arched her back, trembled, and shouted her way through her climax, only slowing to a stop once she lay limp and sated against the seat. Their panting breaths mingled in the air between them, hers from satiety and his from exertion. He wiped sweat from his brow and gingerly pulled his hips back until his still-erect cock slid from her body. With an exhausted sigh, he maneuvered Hilde's legs out of the way to make room to sit and then brought them back to rest in his lap. He'd had some real bitch moments in his life, but this took the cake. Some of them had been so bad, he'd had no way of knowing if he would survive the night. He would never forget the agony of slowly succumbing to hypothermia and asphyxiation while lying on a steel floor that felt more like a slab of ice with only his anal-retentive co-pilot for company. At least if he'd been with Quatre, they could have passed the time and made use of the rapidly evaporating oxygen with some pleasant conversation. Of course, Wufei had demanded he not speak at all in order to preserve what little air they'd had, though Duo suspected that was only part of the reason. Though Wufei never said so out loud, he was sure his bellyaching had grated on the other boy's nerves. If they'd died that day, Wufei probably would have died much happier without the incessant whining of his co-pilot. He was a little ticked off, not only at Wufei, but also Heero since they'd stopped answering his calls. He understood it to some extent. He knew he could be a little abrasive at times and it probably didn't help that they all seemed to be in the same boat. A rapidly sinking boat with only a few measly teaspoons to bail out the water. And this problem of theirs all seemed to have the same common denominator: A raging hard-on for a certain blond billionaire friend of theirs. He could admit that during the war and even after, he'd had his fair share of fantasies about the Sandrock pilot. Quatre was a stunner and instead of growing out of his looks as people sometimes did, the prettiness of his youth had evolved into breathtaking beauty. A real head-turner kind of beauty. He was the kind of man that stopped traffic and drew stares everywhere he went. Quatre's inner beauty no doubt enhanced his outer beauty. His mannerisms, his grace, the way he carried himself, his humbleness, generosity, and intelligence. The gentle, soft-spoken lilt of his voice and the way it could sing a colicky baby to sleep, or effortlessly command entire armies. He bled competence, strength, and compassion through his very pores and it was no wonder why so many people were drawn to him like moths to a flame. It was no wonder he was the most sought-after bachelor in the world, with men and women alike tripping over themselves for just a glance, a smile, a moment of his undivided attention. Quatre was a prize, no doubt about it. Looks, smarts, wealth, and an infinite amount of charm at his disposal. The public was competitive over him like wolves fighting for a prime cut of meat, whether they were seeking donations, exclusive interviews, dates, or hounding him until he finally broke down and agreed to a special edition GQ photo spread. Duo had come across the publication in a local market and did not hesitate to purchase a copy with a cheeky grin at the cashier and a proudly announced, "I know this guy. One of my best buds in the whole wide world."
The
cashier just rolled his eyes as if he'd heard the exact same story
from every schmuck that passed through his checkout line, and muttered,
"If you say so, pal." The photo spread inside the magazine was a whole other level of wank fodder. One featured a soft and demure Quatre laying on his back, staring up from the printed pages with those endless sky blue eyes and a pout that would make any dom weep with need. But Duo's personal favorite was the shot of him standing with his back to the camera in the middle of an abandoned metropolis street. Quatre gazed over a shoulder bared above the neckline of a baggy silver sweater that had slipped down his arm and beneath the short-waisted hem, the work of art that was his ass was on full display in a pair of black leather pants which clung to him like a second skin. His hair was curled and the springy, flaxen locks tumbled over his forehead and ears, giving him an air of playful youth and innocence. The thumb of his left hand was hooked into the back pocket of his trousers and in his right, he teasingly held a red lollipop up to his cherry-stained lips. He looked like he was begging to be wrecked and, fucking Christ on a cracker did Duo want to be the one to do the honors. "Hey...you alright?" He turned his head when gentle fingers tucked a loose lock of hair behind his ear and smiled. "Yeah. Sorry, I was wandering." Hilde's eyes dropped to his lap where his cock was still rock hard against his belly. "You didn't come?" He shook his head and playfully chucked her chin. "Nah, but it's cool." She didn't look convinced. "I could help with you with that." As wonderful as that sounded, he knew it would do no good. Instead, he reached over towards the stack of crates which substituted as an end table for the pack of Winstons that sat on top. "It's fine. It'll go down." "You sure? I don't mind." "No worries, babe." With a flick of his wrist he flipped the Zippo open, lit a smoke, and handed it to her before lighting one up for himself. His dick was still ready for action despite feeling raw and chafed, but he preferred to wait until after Hilde left to take care of it. Tonight, he had another date with that magazine. He only hoped one of these days it would go down and stay that way for at least a couple hours because he was mildly worried that he might actually start killing brain cells if his blood continued to fly south for the winter. Hilde shifted and lifted her cigarette to her lips, tipping her head back to blow the smoke away from his face. He could see the concern in her eyes as she bit down on a painted thumbnail, a sure sign that she was fretting. "Did I do something wrong?" "What? No, babe! No, you were great. You always are." "But you didn't come. That's never been a problem until the last two times." He dropped his head back onto the seat and watched curls of smoke drift up towards the vent that lead to the ceiling fan. It was quiet, but the hum was there and for Duo, it was comforting white noise. He'd gotten so used to having it on while he worked, he couldn't focus without it. "Not trying to be cliche here, Hil, but it's not you. It's me." She didn't look like she bought that, but since he had no idea why this was happening, he just didn't know what else to say. He rested his hand on her leg and looked deep into her eyes, hoping she could see how genuine he was being. "Look at me, Hil. Have I ever lied to you?" She shook her head. "No." "Well, I'm not lying to you now either. I'm not sure what's happening, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's just stress. I'm under a lot of pressure to meet the Sweepers' deadlines and if I don't, we could lose some very big accounts." Which was true, though he doubted that was the reason his dick was still standing at attention after beating off three times today and then having sex with Hilde. "Plus, I've been staying up pretty late to get some of this work done so I'm not getting as much sleep as I probably should." "Duo, for god's sake! Don't do this to yourself. I mean, sure, the accounts are important, but your health trumps all of that. If you don't take some time off to rest and recuperate, you're going to work yourself into exhaustion and then what good will you be for the Sweepers?" He grinned and gave her a cheeky wink. "And here I thought Quat was the mother hen." "I'm serious, Duo." He nodded. "Yeah, I know, babe. And I will, okay? I won't let it go that far." "Promise?" He traced two intersecting lines over his chest and said, "Cross my heart." "Good. I'm going to hold you to that and if you don't give yourself time to rest and sleep, I'm going to smack you upside your thick head." "Duly noted." She swung her legs over the side of the car seat and reached for her jeans. "I've got to get to work anyway. I've got a shift in thirty minutes." "Still pullin' the graveyard shift, eh?" "Yeah, well. Marci is still out from her back surgery and probably will be for at least another week," she told him as she bent down to slip her shoes on. "Someone's got to fill in for her and I can't complain since I'm getting overtime." "Always a plus." "When I get my next paycheck, I'm going to take you out to eat." "Hil, you don't have to spend your money on me. I've got my own." "I want to, you knucklehead," she quipped, giving him a light tap on the back of his head. "What good is earning all this capital if I don't get to spend a little of it on my friends?" "Well, alright. Since you put it that way. On one condition, though. You let me return the favor one of these days." "Deal. Just think about where you want to go and we'll go next Friday." "There's that little Italian place on Fifth. It's a bit of a dive, but the food is killer. Very authentic." "Rosalita's? Yeah, I know that place." She stood up and grabbed her bra off the floor, sliding her arms through the straps and hooking the clasps in the back. "It's up to you." "Okay, we'll go there." He finished his smoke and snuffed it out into the little aluminum ashtray on the table. "Sound like fun. They got that self-playing piano thing, too." "You're such a kid," she chuckled as she slipped her shirt on and bend down to kiss his forehead. "Take the night off, okay? Do it for me?" "Hil -" "Please?" God, how could he say no when she gave him that puppy dog look? "Alright, fine. I'll take the night off and try to get some sleep, but I'm working tomorrow. I have to, Hil." "Fair enough." She pulled her jacket on and grabbed her purse. "We still on for Sunday?" "Wouldn't miss it," he promised. He was looking forward to it. Just the two of them, a six pack of cheap beer, and Sunday night football. It didn't get any better than that. "It's a date." She gave him an odd look. "We're not dating, Duo." He shrugged. "Figure of speech." "Alright, I gotta go," she told him, leaning down to kiss his cheek this time. "I'll call you tomorrow. I'd better hear that you slept." "Yes, mother." She gave him one final, stern look and then left the garage. He leaned back against the seat and listened to the fading click of her fashion boots and the closing of the door, followed by the roar of her Camaro's engine. She had one of the most bad ass cars on L2, in his humble opinion. It was a classic, restored by his own hands and presented as a gift so maybe he was biased, but it really was a sweet ride. He reached for another smoke and lit up as he lounged on the car seat in his birthday suit. He was in no hurry to get up, or get dressed. To do so would require energy he just didn't have at the moment. For him, that was unusual. He always seemed to draw from a seemingly endless well of energy during the day and surprisingly, he'd always slept like a baby at night. Three days ago, his habitual nature had taken a complete one-eighty and in the aftermath, he found his life turned on its head. He couldn't remember a time he'd ever been so tired, but so high-strung at the same time. The restlessness was like a constant vibration buzzing like hundreds of angry bees beneath his skin and it seemed to be intimately connected to his perpetually aroused state. And it was only getting worse with each passing day. He glanced down at his dick and gave it a flick with his thumb and forefinger. "What're you starin' at, pal? You had your chance to get off and you chose not to. It certainly wasn't for lack of effort on my part so don't even look at me like that." In truth, the only way he could seem to get off was by looking at the magazine he kept under his mattress. At least that was the only time it seemed to work, though the relief was infuriatingly temporary. He seriously hoped Trowa wouldn't decide to travel to L4 without him. He was a little jealous of his closeness to Quatre even though he knew he had no right to be. Of course he would never attempt to force his way between them, but he would be lying if he said he wouldn't be furious with Trowa if the other man jetted off to see the blond without telling him. There was a disturbing amount of possessiveness and sense of ownership that he'd never felt towards anyone before and it scared him because he was reasonably sure it wasn't healthy. It wouldn't have been healthy even if they'd been in a relationship and the fact that they weren't made it even weirder. Only his utmost respect for Quatre kept him from calling the blond up and pestering him with desperate pleas to see him. It was only that respect that kept him from jumping on the next shuttle destined for L4, storming his way into Quatre's office building, and fucking him on top of the conference table in full view of his gobsmacked colleagues. That would be bad no matter how many times his vivid imagination tried to convince him otherwise. And to his ever-growing concern, that restraint which was built out of respect was being pulled so tightly that it was threatening to snap like a rubber band and it was taking his sanity with it. He looked down at his cock again and it twitched as if it sensed his attention. "I've always been good to you, haven't I? I always got you off when you wanted it. I never pulled you too hard. Never accidentally zipped you up in my jeans, or got you caught in a doorjamb, or anything. What's your deal?" It twitched again and he huffed irritably. "I know exactly what you want, but you're not getting it tonight, tomorrow night, or possibly any night after that so you might as well suck it up because we can't always get what we want." Twitch. "Goddamn it," he muttered and stubbed out his cigarette with an angry twist of his wrist. Grumbling to himself, he grabbed his clothes and draped them over his arm as he made his way to the door that connected the garage to his house, flipping the lights off as he left. "I'll indulge you one last time, but if you don't cooperate, I'm hereby absolving myself of responsibility, understood?" In his bedroom, he dropped his clothing onto the chair next to his bed and stuck his hand beneath his mattress, feeling for the thin binder of the magazine. "Where are you? Where - ah, gotcha!" He slid it out and held it up, staring at the blond on the cover whose sinfully seductive wiles had embedded themselves into his skin like a billion and one fishing hooks. "How ya doin' on this fine evening, Q? I hope you're doing well. Sorry again for all this and I hope you can forgive me for what I'm about to do." Absurd maybe, but he felt the need to apologize every time he did this if only to appease his own conscience. He was developing an obsession, a disturbing vice towards his friend who for all he knew, didn't want to have anything to do with any of them. And if this kept getting worse, he was going to have to consider making an appointment with a therapist to help him work through it before it became a serious problem. His cock throbbed for his touch as his brain made the connection that he was finally looking at the object of his desire. He wrapped his hand around it and gave it a reprimanding squeeze. "Alright, you greedy fucker. Let's get this show on the road." He opened the magazine and sifted through the pages of photos, articles, and advertisements until he found the cover story spread at the center. This time, he opted for the most provocative photo of Quatre in a white thwab. The traditional Arab garment while usually a conservative article of clothing, had a long slit right down the middle and the embroidered hem at the neckline had slipped down, exposing a creamy shoulder. Quatre was sitting on the floor of what looked like a middle eastern palace with his legs curled beneath him. He was leaning forward with his hands flat on an ornate, Moroccan rug and the bottom of his thwab was hitched up to reveal most of his right leg and a hint of hip. On his head was the customary keffiyeh of his culture, though some locks of blond hair were visible and framed his beautiful face which was illuminated by the sunlight that streamed in from the windows to his right. The pose and the arrangement of his clothing was deliciously submissive, undoubtedly sexual and not surprisingly, highly coveted in the gay community. Duo remembered the controversy it stirred and the negative publicity that Quatre had had to deal with once the magazine was distributed, but he didn't disappoint in his responses to the criticism. He was blatantly unapologetic and steadfast in his support of the photo and the photographer, citing that gay Arab men existed and they were not second class citizens. Duo remembered how proud he'd been of his friend during that interview, especially when the interviewer had asked him if that was a personal confession. Without hesitating, or even batting an eye, Quatre answered the question with a blunt honesty that had the media in near-hysterics for months and prompted a firestorm of inquiries and speculation about the blond's love life. He'd followed the headlines closely and read many a comment on news and gossip websites. He was often appalled and disgusted by the graphic and invasive way that Quatre's sexuality was discussed which for Duo, only served to strengthen his admiration for his friend. One had to be tough as nails to deal with the kind of bullshit that Quatre did every day. Not that he was much better, he mused as he lay down on the bed and placed the opened magazine on his pillow. He reached for the other pillow and folded it in half before wedging it beneath his groin. His dick was no longer able to settle for his hand and now he knew the only way of getting a little relief was to pretend he was actually performing the act of fucking. He shifted his hips a little to get as comfortable as possible and then lowered himself down onto his elbows. He kept his eyes glued to the photo, not wanting any real world distractions to ruin the fantasy, and then let his mind take it from there. The photo began to transform from a flat, glossy piece of paper into real flesh and blood and within seconds, the real Quatre was right there with him, beneath him and begging to be taken with desperate pleas and soft sighs. A moan vibrated Duo's throat as his hips started to rock, pushing his cock into the accommodating groove of the memory foam. In his mind, it was the maddening tightness and heat of the blond's body which yielded to his invasion and caressed him with a lover's touch. "You feel so good, baby," he murmured, lowering his forehead until it rested on the bottom edge of the magazine. "I'm gonna make you feel good, too." He pumped his hips faster and groaned with helpless abandon, a prisoner of his own pleasure. It was a prison he couldn't escape and didn't want to even if he was given the keys and the warden's blessing. Memories of that first night resurfaced, hazy, but so insanely erotic that at the time, he was almost afraid he was going to explode. He remembered that scent, sweet like candy but tinged with something wild and untamed and the effect on his mind was like a dose of narcotics. Like the second hand buzz after inhaling Howard's ganja smoke, only a million times more intense. From there, he'd had little control over his actions, operating on an instinct that seemed intimately connected to his libido. He'd been dimly aware that the rest of them were in similar states of primal need and it only became stronger when Quatre was yanked off the couch and lay sprawled on the floor with his t-shirt hitched up over his exposed ass. An ass that had been wet with something he'd neither heard of, seen, smelled, or tasted before. He'd barely paid any mind to the fact that such a thing wasn't possible, much less normal. All he cared about was getting a taste of it. He recalled watching Trowa dive in first and a surge of dark envy uncurled in his belly, forcing him to grab a handful of auburn hair and pull that head away just far enough for him to move in and sample the goods. It was like an elixir, like drinking from the fountain of youth, or some liquid form of ecstasy. He felt refreshed, invigorated, outrageously horny, and like he was floating among the clouds all at the same time. He'd licked into blond with an aggressive desperation as if he'd been walking through the desert for days and had happened upon a cool spring. Quatre's soft whimpers were like the sweetest music to his ears and he'd quite literally snarled when someone grabbed his braid and roughly pulled his head away from his prize. Heero had quickly taken his place and Duo used the reprieve to gaze upon their prey. Quatre had already seemed to give up any semblance of resistance, though Duo sensed no fear, or reticence from him. Quite the contrary, actually if the way he'd spread his legs out and tilted his hips up to get more of the action was anything to go by. By then, he was mewling into the carpet and panting breathless encouragement as he lost himself to the pleasure. They'd gone at him like starving wolves for what Duo figured must have been at least half an hour and still Quatre kept producing the strange fluid as if he'd had a never ending supply of it hidden somewhere inside his body. Once they'd consumed their fill, other needs took precedence and they'd all watched with ravenous eyes as Trowa forced his hips between the blond's open thighs and pushed his cock into the glistening opening. The only other time Duo had seen Trowa act so aggressively was during battle. At every other time, he was as placid and laid back as they came. But on that night, he'd been a literal fucking machine, driving himself into Quatre's body with his lips curled back from his teeth and his fingers like iron hooks around the blond's wrists. Duo was sure there was no porn in the world that could beat that. If there was, he had yet to find it. And it certainly didn't look as though Quatre was in any condition to complain. His eyes had rolled beneath fluttering lashes and his open mouth bleated the prettiest sounds as he deliriously succumbed to the show of dominance. By the time Trowa climaxed, Duo was practically climbing the walls and he'd roughly shoved the other man off in his desperation to plunder that deliciously quivering body. He seemed to lose all sense of reality once he was inside the blond's velvety hot sheath, driven by a primitive carnality so powerful, it threatened to smother his sanity until there was nothing left of him that was recognizable. He remembered pinning Quatre's wrists to the floor and snarling into the back of his head like a feral animal. He'd growled possessive declarations and abject filth into the blond's ear and each word was reciprocated with a whimper of affirmation. By the time Heero and Wufei had had a turn, he was finally beginning to come down from the high and once he saw the ravished state of his friend, reality dropped down onto him like a lead weight and it shook him to his core. He'd never lost control of himself like that before. None of them had, not even the chronically impulsive Heero who often acted before he thought things through. At the time, there'd really been no room to think, no room for logic as though the reasonable part of their brains had taken a temporary vacation and only decided to return home once everything was all said and done. Quatre was out cold by then, simply too exhausted to stay awake and Duo couldn't decide if that made it better, or worse. And he knew, as surely as he knew that the sun would rise in the morning, that if he ever came face to face with Quatre again, the exact same thing would happen. There was no denying it, no deluding himself into thinking he'd have any more control than he did three nights ago. Distantly, he could hear the sound of an incoming phone call, but not even the God of Death himself had the power to stop him now. He shoved his cock into the pillow and humped it frantically, his senses flying high from the exquisite friction. The fantasy played out inside his mind and manifested as the physical sensation of flesh that was silky soft and coated with sweat, and a body that was warm, slender, and smelled of jasmine coupled with the sweetness of that strange fluid. "Fuck...baby, you're gonna make me come. You feel so fucking good," he groaned, curling his fingers around imaginary wrists and pushing himself deep into the phantom warmth of the blond's body. "Never gonna let anyone else have you. Never gonna - oh, god...never gonna let anyone else touch you. You belong to me and I - oh! Oh, shit! I'm comin'. I'm -" His back bowed sharply and his eyes automatically squeezed shut as his cock spurted white, hot ecstasy into the pillow. He shouted his pleasure into the muggy air of his bedroom and kept up the rocking motion of his hips until the shocks of oversensitivity forced him to stop. For a while, he lay panting and shuddering in a sweaty heap, listening to the ringing in his ears and the thump, thump, thump of his rapidly beating heart. Once the tinnitus began to fade, he noticed that his phone had stopped ringing and as awareness slowly came back, he became increasingly curious about who'd called him. Possibly Howard, or Hilde, though he suspected it was Trowa since he'd promised to call him back after his performance. He was anxious to talk to the other man as contact with his fellow pilots helped to calm him and it was good to know he wasn't alone in this situation. If he was indeed taking the crazy train to Insanityville, at least he'd have his friends by his side. Ain't that what best buds are for? Ride, or die, my friends. Ride, or die. He pushed himself up and used his knee to kick the come-stained pillow onto the floor. He would wash the case in the morning, but for now he was far more interested in talking to Trowa. He climbed off the bed and glanced down as he felt the heavy swing of his cock which, to his dismay, had not gone soft. Not even a little. "Oh, fuck you, you ingrate," he hissed at it and grabbed his jeans off the chair. He slid them over his legs and pulled them up, but he struggled a little to get his erection stuffed inside well enough that he wouldn't have any unfortunate zipper incidents. "I just got you off and you're still nagging me? What the hell do you want from me?" He hated to say it, but he was starting to develop a love/hate relationship with his dick and the scales were beginning to tip farther and farther in favor of hate. He went over to his computer and swiped across the mousepad to wake it up. In the bottom right corner of the screen, there was a notification for a missed call and one unseen message. He tapped the icon and waited for the window to pop up, expecting to see Trowa's name and he almost swallowed his tongue when he saw Quatre's instead. Heart pounding like a base drum, he tapped the message icon and held his breath as the window for the video message loaded. Please don't be calling me to tell me you hate me. Please don't be calling me to tell me you hate me. Please don't - oh, fuck! Quatre's face appeared on the screen and Duo was struck dumb by how beautiful he looked. It took him a moment to comprehend the message and he had to rewind it and start over again so that he caught every word. "Hey, Duo. Sorry to bother you -" Always apologizing. Babe, you couldn't bother me even if you tried. Goddamn, you look good enough to eat. Can I spread you out and feast on you before I fuck you stupid? " - But I just wanted to see how you're doing and make sure you're alright. Can you call me back as soon as you can? I know what's happening and I have a way I can help you with your um...with your problem." He balked and then looked down at his tented jeans. How in the hell does he know about that? Wait...did he just say he knew what was happening? "Also, I want to get you all together on Sunday because I have something to tell you. I've already talked to Trowa, Heero, and Wufei and they've agreed to come to L4. I hope you can make it. Please call me back, okay? I'll see you soon." The screen went dark and he dropped into the chair, too stunned to do anything but stare blankly at the wall. This was...an interesting development. But if Quatre knew what was happening, then he probably knew how to make this go away. He couldn't for the life of him figure out what it could possibly be, but he was dying of curiosity. Sunday. He wants me to come out there on Sunday and what if we - oh, shit! I'm supposed to hang out with Hilde on Sunday. He dropped his head down onto his arms with a groan. He didn't want to ditch his Sunday get-together with her, but he already knew damned well he would. There was no question about it. He loved Hilde to death, but his need to see Quatre was far more pressing. He needed answers and he just plain needed Quatre. Without giving himself time for second guessing, he opened his contacts and scrolled down until he reached Quatre's home number. He clicked on it and watched the call window open up, drumming his fingers against his desk as he waited nervously for the blond to pick up. After three rings, Quatre was there, looking at him and speaking to him in real time and he struggled to get his sluggish tongue to work. Play it cool, bro. Just play it cool. "Hey, Q. I, uh...I just saw that you called. What's up?"
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