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"Quid Pro Quo"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: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Threesome
- M/M/M, Humor, A little angst, Fluff, Language Pairings: 3x5x4, 4xOC's Summary: Bodyguards, Trowa Barton and Chang Wufei
have just been given a new assignment: A blond-haired, blue-eyed Hollywood
darling with a spunky attitude and a troubling habit of attracting
the wrong kind of attention. They find out the hard way that big things
come in small packages, but they're determined to gain the upper hand.
Off the record, of course. "Quid Pro Quo "
Time was money and any time wasted gossiping about Donna from accounting and her inability to color-coordinate her wardrobe never got anyone paid. He was an asshole. Callous and strident in the eyes of the typical employee, but Chang Wufei was about as much of a typical employee as he was one of those dirty hippies who were always parked outside his apartment building, peddling off-key Nirvana covers on their acoustic guitars in the hopes of scoring some weed money from hard-working taxpayers. He was surprised he hadn’t yet arrived at work with a contact buzz after being assaulted by the stench of reefer and body odor which hovered like a perpetual cloud between his front door and his car, but just to be on the safe side, he kept a healthy supply of deodorizing spray in his trunk. Walking into the office smelling like a month-long drum circle would not go over well with Tam. “I have a new assignment for you.” He nodded once, but didn't respond. Instead, he waited patiently with his shoulders squared and his hands clasped behind his back. There was more. There was always more and he knew better than to preemptively open his mouth. Tam shuffled through a stack of folders on his desk, briefly flipping each one open before he shut them again and set them aside. “I’ve got two copies of the client’s information here...this is a two-man job by the way." He paused to glance at his watch and scowled. “You’re partnering with Barton on this case because you two work well together, so as soon as he gets his ass in here, I’ll brief you - ah, here we are,” he said, pulling two folders out of the stack and handing one to Wufei. Before he could peek inside, Trowa Barton in all his tall, athletic glory stepped into the room with a sheepish smile that was more adorable than it should have been on such a handsomely-sculpted face. “Sorry, Mr. Kramer. I had to wrap up the paperwork for my last case.” Tam grunted, but made no further comment as he handed Trowa the other folder and then clasped his hands on top of his desk. “Your new assignment is an extremely high profile case which involves a client that is not the easiest to work with. To put it bluntly, you’re going to have your hands full so take that as your heads-up.” Wufei opened his folder and his jaw dropped when he recognized the face staring up at him from the photo that was paper-clipped to the first page. “Are you serious?” Tam leaned back against his chair which squeaked ominously beneath his ample weight and lifted his ‘World’s Sexiest Husband’ coffee mug to his lips. “No, Mr. Chang,” he deadpanned. “This is all an elaborate joke. You can hand the folder back now and take the rest of the week off.” He blushed. “Sorry, sir. I’m just...surprised is all.” “Can’t imagine why,” Tam said, rubbing his meaty fingers over his nose. “This agency is the most reputable one in town. We deal with high profile cases like this all the time.” “True,” Trowa agreed. “It’s just that these cases have always been reserved for senior members of the staff.” “You two may be young, but you’ve shown me on many occasions that you're ready to step it up. I would not be giving you this assignment if I wasn’t convinced you’re up for the job.” Wufei shook his head as he flipped through the contents of the folder. “Quatre Winner. I’ve heard about him from people who know his previous bodyguards. Son of the world-famous movie director, Zayeed Winner. He made a name for himself doing some modeling gigs. Every bodyguard he's ever had has quit. He’s gone through so many, he’s become notorious for it. They all say he’s a major pain in the ass.” Tam shrugged. “He’s no worse than any of the difficult clients we’ve worked with in the past. Our agency has been called in specifically because we can do what others can’t.” Wufei was dubious, but also in no position to argue. He’d been busting his ass for three years and now he was being offered the chance to work in the big leagues. Now was not the time to chicken out. Trowa’s brows were knitted together in a frown as he skimmed through the pages of the case file. “What’s this section about law enforcement here?” He lifted a page and held it out in front of Tam. “Is he in legal trouble?” “Yeah, about that. You’re going to be occasionally corresponding with law enforcement - as will I - regarding this client. There have been threats made against him that are credible enough to warrant police protection in addition to our services.” “What kind of threats?” Wufei asked, already second guessing his ability to handle what appeared to be a rather serious situation. “I’ve already spoken with the chief of police and I’m told it’s a disgruntled ex. Quatre Winner is not only notorious for running his bodyguards off. Apparently he’s also known for his terrible taste in men,” Tam informed them with a distasteful twist of his face. “S'weird. The kid's got scores of beautiful women practically throwing themselves at his feet and - aw, hell. I just don’t get you young people these days. When I was your age, men were men, women were women, and the bible was law. No one questioned it.” No one questioned it because they didn’t want to end up beaten to death, or dragged across country roads while tied to the back of some inbred yokel’s pickup truck, you fat fuck, Wufei thought bitterly. For Christ’s sake, it was the twenty first century. When were these people going to step away from the Dark Ages and join the rest of humanity in the here and now? He clenched his teeth, not trusting himself to speak until he got his temper back under control. Beside him, Trowa’s discomfort was also palpable, at least to him. Tam seemed oblivious which wasn’t all that surprising. Trowa cleared his throat and steered the discussion back onto its original path and Wufei was grateful for his partner’s gift of maintaining his composure where he himself usually faltered. “So what kind of threats are we talking about and have any of them been attempted?” Tam opened a drawer and pulled out a thin stack of papers stapled together. “One incident of attempted abduction,” he said, flipping several of the top pages over. “Uh...stalking and threats, mostly digital via email and social media though there does appear to be one, or two incidents where the culprit followed young Mr. Winner home and attempted to force his way into the house.” He placed the papers back into the drawer and took his readers off. “At any rate, it's just typical domestic stuff. No professional hit men, no mafia, or anything like that.” Wufei couldn’t be sure, but Tam almost sounded disappointed that there wasn’t an organized crime element to the situation and he nearly laughed at the absurdity. If you wanted to fight gangsters, you should have joined the FBI, pal. Mafias are not our area of expertise and I would like it to stay that way. Who wanted to live their life constantly looking over their shoulder anyway? Or wonder every time they stuck their car key into the ignition if it was going to be the day that the bomb planted under the hood would blow them sky high? Like any healthy young male, a little heart-pumping danger was food for Wufei’s soul, but at the tender age of twenty three, he'd already served two years in the Air Force. Nowadays, less was more. Trowa snapped his folder closed and tucked it under his arm. “So in addition to the usual schtick of protecting the client from the fanatic masses, we should be keeping an extra eye out for this guy’s ex, right?” “That’s correct,” Tam told him, shifting his gaze from Trowa to Wufei. “Any encounters you have with Winner’s ex should be promptly reported to the cops and to me. Inside those folders, I’ve included the police reports and the chief’s direct line.” “I’m sorry, Mr. Kramer, but I have to ask. Shouldn’t this guy be in jail? I mean, attempted kidnapping isn’t exactly on par with a few unpaid parking tickets.” “The attempted kidnapping happened two years ago. He was in jail, but he got out a year later after serving only a quarter of his sentence.” “I’m assuming he’s still on probation then,” Wufei guessed. “Yes, and any violation of that probation - whether it’s a phone call, or an act of violence - will land him back in the tank so like I said, you need to report any and all attempts to contact, or approach Mr. Winner immediately. We don’t want this guy getting off on a technicality because you were too busy twiddling your thumbs. Kapish?” As if, Wufei thought. Does this guy even know me? “Of course we will,” Trowa confirmed and glanced over at him for the first time since he’d entered Tam’s office. Did that son of a bitch just wink at me? “Yes, Mr. Kramer. We will report anything suspicious right away.” Tam leaned back again and Wufei tried not to wince when the chair’s springs screeched in protest. “Good. You start tomorrow. That should give you enough time to go through the case file and familiarize yourselves with the client. Any questions?" “No, sir.” “Wonderful. Now get the hell out of my office.”
***
“You’re not actually lusting after our new ward, are you?” Caught red-handed, Trowa abruptly shoved Quatre Winner’s photograph back into its folder and made a show of organizing the paperwork that was scattered across his desk. “No.” Wufei snorted and leaned his elbows on the partition that separated their desks. “Gimme a break, Barton. In the eighteen months we’ve been working together, have you ever been able to lie to me?” Trowa coughed into his fist. “I’m not lusting, it’s just...he’s hot, okay?” “Do you know what ‘lust’ means?” “Oh, stick a cork in it, Chang. I saw your gaze linger on his photo a little longer than was necessary, too, you know. You’re not as subtle as you think you are.” Heat flushed Wufei’s cheeks and he retreated back into his own cubicle to preserve what was left of his dignity and give himself enough time to formulate a witty comeback. Unfortunately, Trowa was no more tactful than he was when it came to their mutual affinity for pretty blonds. As predicted, the man’s head slowly appeared over the top of the partition, much the same way that the sun made its morning debut in the east. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” “I said, piss off,” Wufei barked, completely blowing his opportunity to claim plausible deniability. Trowa chuckled. “Relax, Fei. We’re both in the same boat here so there’s no need to get defensive.” He glanced up at his partner, slightly worried. “You don’t think Kramer noticed, did you?” Trowa waved his hand dismissively. “Kramer wouldn’t notice a missile flying past his nose.” “I suppose you’re right.” “You know I am so don’t worry about it. Besides, starting tomorrow we’re going to have a lot more to worry about than Kramer’s bullshit.” Without Wufei's consent, a vision of their new client sprawled naked across a bed of roses appeared unbidden in his mind. The blood red color of the rose petals were a stark contrast to smooth, creamy flesh, making the young man stand out as if he were a sacrificial offering from the gods. It was tempting and naughty like the display of decadent desserts at a fancy restaurant that you weren't actually allowed to eat. Shit. Shit! He clenched his jaw and pressed the heel of hand down hard against his budding erection. Don’t you dare. Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare. His years of training in the art of self-discipline paid off and the crisis passed after a few harrowing moments. He sagged in relief as his dick obediently returned to its default flaccid state and glanced up, scowling at Trowa's smug expression. “Oh, fuck off. Like you weren’t just thinking the same thing.” “I don’t know what you mean.” “Keep telling yourself that.” He groaned and tipped his head back, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t know how I’m going to be able to focus on the job if I’m at half-mast the whole time.” “Think we can talk him into a threesome?” “Jesus, Barton. When did you become such a slut?” "Look who's talking."
***
“Now, if you look to your left, birds and blokes, you will bear witness to the over-indulgent opulence of what's commonly known as a capitalist society, or as the Yanks like to say, ‘The American Dream’. ‘Ere you will see that nothing in this world is impossible as long as you ‘ave more money than God. And let that be a lesson to us all that we -” “Your Robin Leach impersonation is lacking.” Trowa took his eyes off the road long enough to give his passenger a questioning look. “Lacking in what?” Wufei snorted and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. “Everything.” Trowa was silent for a few minutes and then petulantly mumbled under his breath, “Tune in next week for the Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.” “I feel like you should be holding a martini when you say that.” “That would be highly illegal.” “But appropriate. We could get you one of those red smoking jackets too, like the ones Hugh Heffner wears,” Wufei suggested. “Are you encouraging me to start smoking?” “What’s wrong with the occasional pipe?” “Are you speaking from experience?” “No. Not personally anyway. I’ve never tried it, but my grandfather smoked a pipe once in a while. He always smoked this sweet tobacco that made the house smell like there was bread baking in the oven. I liked it.” Trowa smiled. “Well, if we ever become accustomed to this lavish lifestyle -” “Bite your tongue.” “- We can always indulge in the occasional cigar and brandy like they used to do in the old gentlemen’s clubs.” “Cuban?” “Duh.” “That sounds nice actually,” Wufei mused, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. “Though I could do without the horde of old white guys walking around with their wrinkly old bits hanging out.” “Mmm, no. No old white guys. Maybe just a young blond twink with blue eyes and an ass that won’t quit.” “The son of a famous movie director perhaps?” “In a French maid costume.” “Now you’re speaking my language, Barton.” “Lucky for you, I’m fluent in Changese.” Wufei threw his head back and let out a loud guffaw. “You motherfucker,” he wheezed, punching his friend in the arm. “That was terrible.” Trowa’s shoulders shook with laughter. “It totally was not.” “It totally was. God, I hate your puns.” “Yet you laugh every time,” Trowa reminded him as he slowed to a stop in front of a pair of ornate iron gates and peered through the windshield with squinting eyes. “I don’t see anyone. Should we just open them?” “Try the intercom,” Wufei told him, pointing to a speaker box a few feet from the driver’s side window. Trowa rolled the window down and stuck his head out. "Hello?" They both jumped at the loud burst of static that was quickly followed by a barely audible, 'Can I help you?' “Uh, yeah. My partner and I are from the CelebGuard agency. We have an appointment with Zayeed Winner?” There was a moment of silence and Wufei shrugged when Trowa glanced back at him in confusion. “Maybe they have to -” A hair-raising screech stopped him mid-sentence and he watched the large gates slowly begin to part. “Never mind.” Trowa put the car in drive and pulled forward, staring into the rear view mirror as the gates closed behind them. “You ever heard that rumor about the working class hero who ventured into one of these posh neighborhoods and was never seen again?” "It's an urban legend, Trowa. Relax." "If you say so." The Winner estate was a sprawling two hundred room mansion situated within one of LA's most exclusive gated communities. The home stood tall and grand on top of a small hill, its architectural structure quite Gothic compared to the more contemporary abodes surrounding it. The house made Wufei think of a drafty Transylvania castle that Vlad the Impaler might have called home once upon a time. He half-expected to see a tumultuous storm cloud churning restlessly above the red clay shingles with the occasional streak of lightning striking a black iron weather vane shaped like a fire-breathing dragon. In retrospect, he was a little disappointed to discover that wasn’t the case. Trowa opened his door and swung his legs out, but not before giving Wufei his best Vincent Price expression, complete with a deep, rumbly, “Velcome.” “Why are you like this?” He'd assumed they would be greeted by a butler - perhaps one with a severe hunch in his back - and was shocked to see a rumpled Zayeed Winner answer the door instead. The world-renowned film director was visibly flustered with disheveled hair and the buttons of his white dress shirt akimbo. “Yeah, what? Can I help you gentlemen?” “Good morning, Mr. Winner. We’re from the CelebGuard agency. I’m Trowa Barton and this is -” “Yes, yes, yes, that’s fine. I’m in a bit of a rush so let’s get this over with.” Zayeed spun on his heel, took a few steps into the foyer, and tipped his head back. “QUATRE!” Wufei winced and rubbed his fingers over his ears as he followed Trowa into the foyer, jaw dropping open in awe. The - what was it? Four story entrance, judging by the mile high ceiling and three rows of railing that overlooked the ground floor. Oh, and what a floor it was. White marble and black granite swirled together in intricate patterns, accented with what looked like thin lines of gold foil which curled this way and that. The patterns were vaguely familiar, but due to the awkward vantage point and sheer size, it was difficult to figure out where he’d seen them before. "It's Arabic script," Trowa whispered in his ear. "Ah, now I see it. Thanks." Unfortunately, neither of them could read Arabic, but Wufei jotted down a mental note to ask Zayeed Winner when the man was in a slightly better mood. He hadn’t known anything about the Winners’ lineage, but looking at the family’s patriarch it was clear to him now that Zayeed was Middle Eastern. Which would make Quatre Middle Eastern. Which was weird because he looked more like he’d descended from the Nordic tribes of Europe than the deserts of north Africa. Genetics were a funny thing. “I thought you’d left already, father dearest.” Both Trowa’s and Wufei’s heads swiveled around towards the staircase in perfect synchronization like two cats tracking a laser pointer. Wufei’s saliva glands kicked into high gear as his eyes landed on smooth, shapely legs. Gaze traveling up, he took in the frayed denim that hung from a pair of snug jean shorts and caressed the tops of supple thighs. The hem of a pale yellow t-shirt didn’t quite reach the waistband of the shorts and he was treated to a strip of narrow midriff with a tiny whorled naval nestled in the center. He nearly choked on his tongue when he made out the ‘I Am the Gay Agenda’ slogan written on the front of the t-shirt in rainbow colored font. Almost identical to the shade of the t-shirt was a head of thick golden curls, framing one of the most beautiful faces he'd ever seen. Quatre Winner was even more stunning in person and Wufei panicked when his mind went blank, not sure he could string a coherent sentence together if his life depended on it. Christ, this kid is a top’s wet dream. He wouldn’t survive five minutes in any of those S & M clubs that I...totally have never been to. “Quatre, what have I told you about dressing like that?” The blond swung a pair of hot pink earbuds back and forth from his index finger like a hypnotist with a stopwatch and looked down at his bare feet. “You’re so right, father. No fashion ensemble is complete without the proper footwear.” Oh, he was good. “I’m talking about you walking around half-naked and - and -” Zayeed flicked his hand at his son’s t-shirt “- and flaunting your sexuality!” “Dad, it’s July in SoCal. Everyone dresses like this.” “Oh? Do you see me walking around in a shirt that says ‘I Am the Straight Agenda’?" Quatre looked legitimately confused. “Why would you do that?” Zayeed huffed and turned away. “Forget it. These two gentlemen here are from the CelebGuard agency.” The blond leaned his elbow on the railing of the staircase and rested his head against his fist, his expression utterly nonplussed. “And that means what to me?” “It means everything to you because they’re here for you.” “What are they, my keepers?” “No, they’re your wardens and you’re going to do whatever these two - what were your names again?” “Uh...I’m Chang Wufei and this is my partner, Trowa Barton.” Zayeed squinted an eye at him. “You a Jap?” Wufei’s eyes bugged out as Quatre hissed from the ledge. “Dad, what the fuck?!” “I’m of Chinese descent, Mr. Winner, but I was born and raised in the United States.” Oh, and fuck you, you racist piece of shit. He was grateful for Trowa’s grounding hand clamped firmly on his shoulder. No matter what, he always had Wufei's back. “With all due respect, Mr. Winner, racist behavior will not be tolerated and we do reserve the right to redact your contract with our company at any given time so if you wish to remain in good standing with us, remember that. We may work for you, but we are not your servants. We do not have to put up with that and we won’t.” Zayeed’s eyes narrowed and he held Trowa’s gaze in a clear test of wills. Wufei got the sense that he was accustomed to intimidating people with his mere presence alone. And apparently he was correct because Quatre descended the stairs a few seconds later with an irritated sigh. “Dad, knock it off. You’re not scaring him.” Indeed he was not and Wufei nearly laughed out loud. Trowa could square off against a polar bear without breaking a sweat. “Very well,” Zayeed sniffed, turning away and heading towards the stairs. “I need to get ready. I’m already twenty minutes late.” He glared at his son as he walked past him. “You be on your best behavior. If I find out you ditched your bodyguards again, or gave them a hard time, you will be under house arrest for the next month. Got it?” “I turned eighteen in December, dad, remember? Pretty sure you can’t ground me anymore.” “You may be eighteen, but you are still living under my roof and under my rules.” He pointed a warning finger in Quatre’s face. “And you are not leaving this house without putting some clothes on.” Quatre looked down at his outfit with those shorts that would make the girls in Nair commercials look overdressed. “What do you call this?” “An abomination,” Zayeed snapped and rushed up the stairs without another word. The blond rolled his eyes and then turned his attention to Trowa and Wufei. “So you’re my new babysitters, huh?” Trowa smiled sweetly. “Something like that.” Quatre gave them both a thorough once-over, his turquoise eyes lingering a beat longer on their shoulders, biceps, and groins. “Not bad.” In an ironic turn of events, Wufei suddenly felt like a choice cut of prime rib being eyed by a butcher. “Do you always hit on your bodyguards?” “Hmm...no. Just you.” The blond winked and walked towards the other end of the foyer as if he were a runway model on the catwalk. He stopped at the doorway and cocked his hip. “But let’s see how well you can keep up.” He disappeared around the corner and Wufei stumbled after him, hopelessly hooked after getting an eyeful of that glorious ass with a hint of cheek exposed beneath the frayed hem of his shorts. “Did you see -” “Yes,” he assured Trowa. “I saw.” “We’re in deep shit.”
***
By the time Trowa and Wufei retired for the night on their very first day, they both felt like they’d run a marathon while pulling an eight ton bulldozer behind them. Wufei had just dropped down onto the bed in the guestroom he’d been given for the duration of this job when a gentle knock sounded at the door. He pulled his arm away from his eyes, but kept them closed. “Yeah?” He heard the door open and then Trowa’s soft voice. “Hey. You awake?” “No, I’m talking in my sleep. What’s up?” Trowa stepped inside and closed the door. “Was this a good day, or a bad day?” He snorted. “You don’t know?” “I’m still on the fence,” Trowa said with a laugh and sat down on the edge of Wufei’s bed. “I think we’ve finally met our match.” “Yeah. Who would have thought our match was a one hundred twenty pound rich kid with a chip on his shoulder?” “One who seems hell-bent on getting laid by every guy in Los Angeles like it’s a mission from God.” Wufei nodded and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “I have a feeling he’s only doing that to anger and possibly embarrass his father.” “He’s definitely got daddy issues,” Trowa agreed. “There’s a story there.” “I’m not sure I even want to know what it is.” “Whatever it is, it’s messed with Quatre’s head. Something has gone horribly wrong in that kid’s life that probably has something to do with his father. Add to that the issues he’s having with that ex-boyfriend of his. I’m not sure he even knows what love is. I don’t think he’s ever experienced it.” “I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” Wufei told him, though he didn’t doubt that Trowa was on the right track. His partner had a knack for reading people, often upon first meeting them. It was an insight, almost like an extra sensory perception and Wufei envied his gift. He gave his friend a wry look and added, “You should have been a shrink, you know that?” “That’s exactly why I didn’t become a shrink,” Trowa told him. “Well, that and because I couldn’t afford the tuition.” “So you decided to become a hulking brute instead, eh? All brawn, no brain?” “I’m hardly a hulking brute and my brain is just fine, thank you. Anyway, what about you? You were an Air Force pilot. How did you end up here instead of making buku bucks in the cockpit of a luxury jetliner?” “It’s a long story and I’m too tired to tell it tonight. Rain check?” “Sure. I’ll let you get some rest. I doubt tomorrow will be any easier.” “Probably not." He paused and then added, "I do feel bad for him, though.” Trowa nodded as he stood up. “I don’t think anything we’ve seen today was genuine. He’s hurting deep down -” he pointed at his heart “- in here and he’s trying to hide it. Probably from himself just as much as everyone else.” “From what I know of his father so far, I’m not surprised. I was ready to kill him in the first fifteen minutes. Quatre’s had to live with him all his life.” “Guy’s definitely a class act.” “Is he divorced? There doesn’t seem to be a lady of the house.” “Widower. According to Quatre’s file, his mother died while giving birth to him.” “Christ.” Wufei pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “That’s gotta leave some scars. On both of them, I’d imagine. Poor kid.” “I really want to help him, Fei,” Trowa told him in a slightly pained voice. Wufei pulled his hand away from his face and stared up at him. “I don’t know what it is about him, but...I feel compelled to show him that he’s worth more than he thinks he is. Because he is. I feel it deep down inside him. He’s not a bad person. Quite the opposite actually. He’s protecting himself because he’s been burned far more than anyone his age should have to deal with.” “I know,” Wufei agreed. “But I’m afraid that’s going to be much easier said than done.” “It will take time for him to trust us, but I believe it’s possible.” “Always the optimist, aren’t you?” “Someone has to keep you from falling into the pit of your own despair.” “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.” “Are you sure that’s the story you want to stick with?” "Positive." "Alright, I'll let you get some sleep. See you in the morning." "Aren't you going to sleep?" "Yeah, in a little bit." Wufei cracked an eye open. "Need to jack off first, huh?" "Don't be silly," Trowa scolded as he headed towards the door. "I already did that in the bathroom a half hour ago."
~ * ~ Chapter 2 |
