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"Satin and Lace "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: Gender Identity, Genderqueer Character,
Angst, Drama, Yaoi, Romance, Fluff, Post Endless Waltz, Canon Compliant,
Feminization, But we're talking about Quatre here so it's not much
of a stretch. Pairings: 3x4 Summary: He didn't know when it started. He didn't understand why it was considered bad. All he wanted was to feel pretty. To feel the silky satin and the rough scratch of lace against his skin. All he wanted was to feel loved and accepted. This is a story based on a personal headcanon
that Quatre may identify as genderqueer, genderfluid, or androgynous.
This headcanon is based solely on his behavior and mannerisms in canon.
Obviously, it's not confirmed by an official source and neither is
his sexuality, but I've long held the belief that at the very least,
Quatre is not straight and could very well identify as something not
exclusively male. Personally I believe he is nothing short of a Kinsey
6/identifies as homosexual based on his interactions in the canon
universe. Ergo, you will never see me ship him in a romantic/sexual
relationship with a female unless I venture down that dark road into
the genre of genderswap fic and I am twisted enough to do just that.
xD "Satin and Lace " Quatre was in a stuffy, florescent-lit boardroom in the middle of a meeting when his watch beeped, indicating an incoming call. He excused himself with an apology and headed to the empty lobby to take it. The admonishment that his secretary knew better than to send calls through in the middle of a conference on the tip of his tongue even though he was secretly grateful. He was sweltering in his suit and the lobby was a good fifteen degrees cooler. He knew the repercussions of wearing a lacy bra and panties beneath it, the sweat making the scratchy material extremely uncomfortable in more ways than one. He glanced around to make sure the coast was clear and then reached down to adjust himself through his slacks and then around to pull the strap of the g-string out of the crack of his ass. Finally a tiny bit more comfortable, he plugged his headset into the watch's port and shoved one ear bud into his ear. "This is Quatre Winner." "Quatre...it's Heero." "How are you?" "Fine. Look, we've got trouble." "What kind of trouble?" "Dekim Barton kind of trouble." He cursed and stepped into an empty consultation office and closed the door. It was no secret among those in the know that Dekim Barton had been causing problems recently and agitating the colonies into resentment against the Earth Sphere using propaganda from the first war. He'd been hoping it would die down, but it seemed that wasn't the case. "What's going on?" "Barton's little poster child has abducted Relena and declared war." "What? That little red-headed kid he claims is his granddaughter?" "Yes." He leaned against the door. "Huh. Imagine that." She seemed like such a sweet little girl. "Not that sweet." Quatre blushed, not realizing he was projecting and forgetting that Heero would pick it up like a satellite dish. "Sorry. Guess I was thinking out loud. So what's the plan?" "I need you to retrieve the Gundams." "What?! Heero, they're on a one way trip to the Sun!" "You need to get them back, Quatre. I have a feeling we might need them." "Damn. Okay, I'll see what I can do. Give me a little time." "We don't have much, so make the most of it." "Understood. See you soon." "Quatre." He paused with his hand holding the ear bud. "What?" "I'm not sure how this is going to go. I'm sending you the coordinates where you are to leave Wing for me to pick up should there be any complications." "Got it. Anything else?" "Just...be careful." Quatre grinned. "Aw, Heero. You ol' softy." Heero tutted, but Quatre could hear the amusement in his voice. "You sound like Duo." He smiled. "You be careful, too. I'll see you soon." "Copy that." He pulled the bud out of his ear and tipped his head back with a sigh. Just what he needed. He left the empty office and walked over to his secretary, tucking the headset back into his pocket. "Everything alright, Mr. Winner?" "Yes, fine. Look, I'm going to need to take some time off. Can you contact Julia and let her know?" "Of course, Mr. Winner. Are you sure everything is alright?" He turned away and headed down the hall back to the conference room, muttering, "I doubt it." "Rashid, I need your help." The large, gruff man stared back at him through the vid screen and Quatre almost laughed as a bright pink stuffed unicorn bounced off the side of his head with a squeak, followed by a tiny giggle. The Maguanac leader never flinched, or even blinked. Quatre could see streaks of gray at the edges of the man's temples and sprinkled throughout his beard and wondered how much things could change in only a year's time. Rashid broke eye contact long enough to lift the still tittering child and place her into his lap. Quatre waved and cooed at the girl and was rewarded with a drooling, gummy grin. "She's getting so big! I think she remembers me," he said as she placed an open palm against the screen, jarring the camera a little. Quatre tapped the screen over her hand and smiled. "Hi, sweetheart!" "Of course she remembers you! She asks about you all the time." "She's talking now?" "Well, in her own little language. She says "Tat" a lot and points at your picture," Rashid said as he pulled the girl's hand away from the screen and kissed it. There was a distinct print left behind. "Sorry, her hands are a little sticky." Quatre was hopelessly charmed. "What do you need help with? You know we're always with you." "Thank you. I need you to help me retrieve the Gundams." "What? But, they're heading for the sun!" "Yes, I know that, Rashid. We need to get them back. There's trouble." "What kind of trouble?" "Dekim Barton's alleged granddaughter has kidnapped the Vice Foreign Minister and declared war." "Damn," Rashid murmured and then blushed, apologizing to his daughter when she gasped and pointed a chubby finger at him. "Sorry, darling. Daddy didn't mean to say bad words." Quatre chuckled. "Somehow I think she's going to take after her father." "Bite your tongue." Laughing, he said, "Alright. I'll be leaving here tonight. I should arrive in Jordan by 1600 hours, local time. We'll devise a plan once I get there." "Roger that, Master Quatre. See you soon and be safe." "Always. Bye, Rashid. Bye, peanut!" He waved again and blew the child a kiss. She grinned and returned it, pushing her tiny hand against her mouth and then swinging it out in front of her with a 'Mwah' sound. "Yuv you, Tat!" Quatre took his own shuttle down to Jordan, preferring not to deal with the public at the moment. He had a nasty headache and a sinking feeling that things had escalated. He hadn't been in contact with Heero since the call at his office, but he had talked to Duo who confirmed that the situation was probably going to lead to violence, something they'd all hoped would be avoided. Dekim Barton's sermons had spread from near-containment on L3 to the other colonies and Quatre had begun to hear similar chatter on his own colony. According to Duo, there was an operation that existed before the first war that was never initiated. The operation entailed dropping one of the colonies onto the earth if its rulers continued to oppress and persecute them. The project was eventually deemed too barbaric and was scrapped. Quatre and his fellow pilots were the Plan B that was put into action instead of Operation: Meteor. Now, Dekim Barton had threatened to launch the operation once again if the Earth Sphere Unified Nations did not comply with his demands. He'd successfully gotten the colonies riled up and ready to fight and Quatre was dismayed at how easily they were swayed. His job was to retrieve the Gundams and bring them back to orbit and it was looking increasingly more likely that they were going to be needed. "Won one war, just to be forced into another only a year later. Will we never learn?" He asked no one in particular as he landed his shuttle onto the launchpad outside the Maguanac compound. He cut the engines, released his harness, and stood up, reaching behind the seats to grab his things. He didn't need much, but he had a few of his favorite panties with him as he always did when he traveled, including his Lucky Ruffles, the hot pink pair he'd been wearing during the final battle. The pair that had been taken from him after he was stabbed in the side and then later returned by Dr. Po. Considering all that he'd survived on that day, that particular pair of panties had been given privileged status over his collection, becoming a personal talisman, a symbol of good fortune. He realized how ridiculous it really was to believe a pair of panties held some sort of mystical power designed to see him through challenges unscathed, but he held onto the superstition all the same. They were the panties he always wore on days where he knew he would be facing particularly grueling challenges, or decisions. His muscles were cramped, begging to be stretched after the long flight, but wasn't able to do that in the confines of the shuttle. He hurriedly lowered the ladder, dropped his bag down to the ground, and made his way out of the transport. The hot, dry heat of the desert was a shock to his system after the climate controlled air of the colony and his shuttle. "Whew!" He jumped down, already feeling the sweat begin to bead on his forehead and shouldered his backpack. He raised his arms over his head and stretched, unleashing a long sigh of relief, then turned and shielded his eyes from the sun when he heard jubilant shouts coming from the compound. He waved when he saw the congregated Maguanacs just outside the door, watching as two of them broke formation and ran towards him. He laughed, delighted, when Abdul grabbed him and swung him around, though it was a little difficult to breathe while being squeezed to death. He patted the enthusiastic man on the back and sucked in lungfuls of precious oxygen when he was finally released from the bear hug. Abdul was grinning from ear to ear as he gripped Quatre's face in both hands and planted big, wet smooches onto his cheeks. "Master Quatre! It's so good to see you! It's been forever!" In reality, it had only been three months since he'd seen them last, but he wasn't about to argue. "It's great to see you, too, Abdul. How have you been?" "Good, good," he nodded and pushed his shades up his nose with his finger. "Auda, the old coot here, got married." "Yes, I know," Quatre turned to the quieter, more subdued man and gave him a hug. "Congratulations again! I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the wedding." Auda blushed, flattered. "S'okay. I understand how busy you are." "Well, I loved looking at all the photos and videos." Quatre grinned at Abdul. "I think you broke the record for Most Filmed Wedding." Abdul waggled his eyebrows and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You want, I can get you a copy of the wedding night. Five hundred dinars a pop - ouch!" He winced and jumped away when Auda smacked him upside the head. "You are such a pervert." He looked at Quatre, his face flushed. "I promise you, there is no footage of the wedding night." He glared at Abdul. "Unless someone has a death wish." "Eh-heh." Abdul rubbed the back of his head. "Footage? Wedding night? I don't know what you're talking about." Auda nodded. "That's what I thought." Quatre chuckled and fell into step beside them as they headed towards the compound. "What about you, Abdul? Anyone new in your life?" Abdul pointed at himself, his expression one of surprise. "Me? Naw. Once a bachelor, always a bachelor." "Abdul is a pathological ladies man," Auda said fondly. "I resemble that remark." Abdul glanced over at Quatre. "What about you?" "New? No. Too busy." It remained unsaid that the only one he was interested in was Trowa. Even after they hadn't seen each other in ten months. Quatre had tried to contact him on multiple occasions, only to have Catherine answer the calls and tell him she'd pass on the messages. He preferred to believe that Catherine was just absent-minded and forgot to actually tell Trowa. The alternative was too painful to think about. Still, Trowa had not contacted him of his own volition either, which was disheartening and Quatre found himself wishing he could just let him go. He obviously wasn't interested despite their extreme closeness during and just after the war. He knew, now with the rising tensions and the prospect of another war, it was likely they'd see each other again. Quatre was conflicted because as much as he wanted to see Trowa, he was terrified of being shunned. Abdul slung an arm around his neck and sighed. "Don't let yourself get tied down with anyone, kid. There's a reason they call 'em the ol' "ball and chain." "Don't listen to him, Master Quatre. You know as well as I do that Abdul is perpetually fourteen years old." Quatre laughed, enjoying their banter. He really missed it. He'd missed all of them and was ecstatic when they reached the compound and he found himself being pulled into warm hugs and declarations that he was also missed. He endured the countless embraces, the kisses on his cheeks, and the ruffling of his hair with a wide smile. At last, he reached Rashid and looked up into warm, affectionate eyes. "Glad to see you are looking well, Master Quatre," he said in his deep, soothing voice. He held out his arms and Quatre went into them willingly, resting his head against the massive chest. He hummed contentedly at the feeling of being loved and cared for, wishing with a surge of bitterness that he could have experienced these things with his father. He pushed away the knowledge that even Rashid would turn from him if he ever found out about his secret, though he wondered if that was the price of being a deviant. Perhaps people like him didn't deserve love. Perhaps Trowa had sensed that. Perhaps that was why Quatre never heard from him. He forced a smile onto his face when Rashid pulled back and held him at arm's length, looking him over with a critical eye. "I think you might have grown a little." "Have I?" He honestly couldn't tell and no one ever said anything about it. He assumed he hadn't grown, at least not significantly. "Yes, I think so. At least an inch, or so." He shrugged and placed a large hand on Quatre's shoulder. "No matter. You're still young. You have time to grow." "Not that much time anymore. I think the cutoff age is eighteen. I just turned sixteen," he chuckled and let Rashid usher him into the compound, humming in relief when he was met with cool air. "Oh, it feels heavenly in here!" He gave Rashid a sheepish look. "I must admit, I've been spoiled. I've gotten used to air conditioning." "Do not forget, Master Quatre, that you can endure anything. It was you that crossed the Sahara on foot. Such a journey would have killed a lesser man." "Yeah, like Auda," Abdul piped up from across the room. "Shut up," Auda muttered. Quatre laughed and looked back at Rashid, his cheeks flushed from the compliment. "Well, it wasn't easy. I'm not sure I could do it again." "You can do a great many things, young Master. There is a reason the public adores you. There is a reason you were chosen to pilot a Gundam and there is a reason you are our leader." He smiled and nodded, not wanting to argue. The Maguanacs always talked to and about him as if he was some sort of god which embarrassed him to no end. He cleared his throat. "I'm just going to take my things to my room. Is it alright if I shower? It was a long flight." "Of course. You needn't ask for such things. This is your home, too." "Thanks. I'll be down soon and then we can go over the game plan." "Take your time." Quatre stepped under the lukewarm, almost cool spray of the shower and tried not to moan as the tepid water washed away his travel fatigue. He didn't know what it was about long trips that just made you feel dirty, despite being clean upon departure. Nonetheless, it refreshed him and cleaned away the sweat that had accumulated during the brief amount of time he was outside and being hugged within an inch of his life. He shook his head and chided himself on becoming soft, so much so that he couldn't handle being in the heat for more than thirty minutes. Too much time being spent in boardrooms, I suppose. Better get used to it, pal. In a few days, you're going to be close to Mercury's orbit. You think the desert's hot? You ain't seen nothing yet. Oh, but he was not looking forward to that. The mission was going to be difficult at best, outright dangerous at worst. He was going to have to don his helmet and spacewalk his way over to the capsule that contained the Gundams. The slightest wrong move and he could end up separated from both ships and sucked into the sun's gravitational pull on a one-way trip to Fry Town. At least that's how Duo had referred to it. "Be safe, Quat. Don't want to see you end up a crispy critter. I quite like you the way you are." Quatre had smirked at him through the vid screen. "Thanks for the vote of confidence." "Jus' sayin.'" Still, Duo was right. Though, he didn't think it was the most horrible way to go. If he looked on the bright side, at least he would be remembered as the first human to fall into the sun. There was a first time for everything. Why not go out with some style? He laughed as he washed himself and wondered when he'd become so morose. War will do that to you. Indeed. He dried off, wrapped the towel around his waist, and headed down the hall to his room. It wasn't anything fancy. There were certainly no luxuries, but it wasn't as if he hadn't "roughed it" before, in conditions that were a thousand times worse than this. He could remember that trek through the desert. The boiling heat of the day, and the near freezing temperatures at night. He'd used the sand to insulate himself from the brisk winds in order to catch an hour, or so of sleep before moving on again. He'd had no food, no water, and had gone right into battle as soon as he'd arrived at his destination. Thankfully, there had been a two week lull in between missions. He'd taken full advantage of that, guzzling down gallons of water and eating more than his fill of Auda's delicious cooking before falling into a near coma for several days. He hadn't had a good sleep like that since and was amazed at how refreshed he'd felt once he finally woke up. There was a lot of uncertainty about the future. Whether war would break out, or whether there would be a peaceful resolution. Had their luck run out? Would they even survive this time? If war happened, how long would it last? Strangely, he could accept the fact that he might die this time, but something he refused to entertain was seeing his fellow pilots losing their lives. Most notably, Trowa. He sat down on the edge of the bed and slipped his feet into a pair of white lacy panties, remembering those wonderful days when he'd been recovering from his stab wound aboard the Peacemillion. It was such a surreal time. He'd survived a near-fatal injury, survived the war, and so had his friends. He could easily say those had been the best days of his life, especially those moments when he lounged on the sofa in the rec room with Trowa's arms wrapped around him as they took some time to just enjoy a film, or a game. He'd really believed there was something there. Something significant between them. He didn't know what had happened, or what went wrong. He had spent many months wracking his brain, trying to figure out if he'd done something that turned Trowa off to him, but could come up with nothing. Maybe he'd simply been reading too much into it. Maybe he'd been projecting his own romantic feelings onto the other boy. He could accept the possibility that Trowa only wanted to be friends. It would hurt, but he could accept it. But if they were friends, why hadn't Trowa spoken to him in so long? Why didn't he return Quatre's calls? Why was he torturing himself like this? He sighed and pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and a tank top. He didn't know what he was even going to say to him when they inevitably saw each other again. Maybe there was nothing to say. Maybe, whatever it was, was over and that was that. He slipped on a pair of sandals and headed back down to the common room to catch up with his comrades. Either way, stressing over it would solve nothing. He was just going to have to cross that bridge when he got to it. "Go fish!" Abdul shouted triumphantly, slapping his hand on the table. Quatre shook his head and reached over to the pile to swipe a card off the top. It was amazing how a grown man could take such a juvenile game so seriously, but that was just Abdul's way. Auda was right when he'd said he was perpetually fourteen years old. He reminded Quatre a little of Duo. He held his cards up and peered at Abdul over the top. "How do you even see in here when you wear those things?" Abdul grinned. "X-ray vision." Quatre snorted and asked if he had any threes. "Go fish!" "Damn." He reached for the pile again and tucked another card he didn't need into the growing fan in his hand. He glanced around, making sure they had at least a little privacy. It was late now and most of the other Maguanacs had gone to bed. A few were still awake, quietly watching a film. Rashid sat nearby in an armchair with his head tipped back and was snoring softly. "Hey, Abdul. Can I ask you something?" "Sure, kid. You can ask me anything." He leaned back and puffed out his chest. "I am a fountain of wisdom." Quatre highly doubted that. He leaned across the table and dropped his voice. "How old were you when you first..." he twirled his hand, "you know." "What, popped my cherry?" Abdul asked, a little too loudly. "Ssh! Allah, don't you have an inside voice?" Quatre glanced around and winced when he noticed a couple of the other Maguanacs sending them odd looks. Rashid snorted, smacked his lips, and settled back down again. Abdul pressed a finger against his chin. "Hmmm...thirteen...no, fourteen, I think." He propped his chin on his fist and sighed wistfully. "Ah, yes. Brenda was her name. American. She was an exchange student from...Iowa, I believe. She had the longest, most beautiful blonde hair." He pulled his shades down the slope of his nose and narrowed his eyes at Quatre's head. "Close to your color. Blue eyes, red lips. Loved her toes." Quatre paused from dealing out cards and raised a brow at his friend. "I'm sorry. Did you say "toes"?" "Yeah," Abdul nodded and sipped his coffee. "She painted them red and she wore these pretty little white sandals and during class, she would cross those sinfully long legs and dangle her sandal off the end of her toes." He pushed his shades back up his nose and sighed again. "Drove me crazy." "So you slept with her?" "Not at first. That's the thing with chicks, man. You can't just go up to them and say, "Hey, wanna go under the bleachers and fuck?"" Quatre cringed at the crude language, but nodded at him to continue. "Takes a little wining and dining, if you know what I mean. Then, you gotta start slow, y'know? Kissing, touching. You gotta make your way through the bases -" "Bases?" "Yeah, first base, second base, third base..." Quatre nodded absently, remembering Duo using those same terms when he was talking about his relationship with Hilde. Last Quatre had heard, they'd made it to "second base", whatever that was. Apparently, Abdul was going to enlighten him. He planted his elbow on the table and began ticking his fingers. "First base is kissing, but with tongue. Pecks on the mouth don't count. Second base is," he wiggled his fingers, "touching. That's when you get to touch the boobs and down in the -" "Yeah, okay. I get it, thanks," Quatre held up his hand, not the least bit interested in the nuts and bolts of getting it on with a girl. He was smart enough to put two and two together. "I guess, I just wondered how old you were." He shook his head and stared down at the table. "I don't know why I asked." Abdul leaned over the table and lowered his voice, sounding almost scandalized. "Wait...Are you saying you're a virgin?" Quatre looked up sharply, then glanced away, his face flushing beet red. Abdul let out a soft whistle. "Damn. And here I thought you had chicks all over you." Essentially, he did. He just wasn't interested. The media had already begun to sniff him out. It wasn't every day someone as good looking, wealthy, and influential as he was turned down countless advances and proposals from some of the most beautiful girls in the world. The longer that went on, the more the public would start to question his sexual preferences. It didn't seem as if Abdul was aware of the speculation, or if he was, he'd just dismissed them as typical tabloid fodder. He shifted in his chair, kicking himself now for even bringing it up. He'd dug himself a hole he wasn't sure he could talk his way out of. "Never mind. I don't know why I said anything. Ignore me." "Aw, Quat. You're saving yourself for The One, aren't you? That's so sweet," Abdul simpered, clasping his hands against the side of his face. Quatre was convinced that if he yanked those stupid sunglasses off, there would be hearts in the man's eyes. He shot Abdul a dark look. "Don't patronize me." "I'm not!" Abdul said, a touch defensively. "I really think it's sweet. Look, it's up to you who you give yourself to and when. If you want to wait for the right girl, good on you." He shook his head and gathered up the cards, stuffing them back into their box. "Honestly, you shouldn't take dating advice from me anyway." Quatre didn't know why, but he was tempted to tell Abdul everything. There was only one other person who did know and that was his sister. For some strange reason, he was desperate, almost dying to know how many of his friends would still be his friends if they knew what he was. It made him sad, a deep sense of isolation that the people he cared about the most didn't really know him and would probably shun him if they did. Abdul, I'm gay. I love men. I want to have sex with men. Actually, only one man. Trowa. Remember him? But I don't just want to have sex with him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. I love him. I'm in love with him, but he won't talk to me. Also, sometimes I like to feel pretty and girly. It makes me happy when I wear makeup and lacy underwear. In fact, I'm wearing a pair right now and you didn't even know, did you? So...now what? Are you still my friend? Do you think less of me? Am I a freak? Instead of saying what he really felt, he pressed his lips together and stood up, pushing his chair back against the table. "We should get to bed. We leave first thing in the morning." "Roger that, boss boy." Quatre turned away and headed up to his room, his thoughts drenched in chaos. War was on the horizon. If he died, they would find his underwear and makeup collection and plaster the truth all over the media. As long as he was alive, no one would ever, could ever know who he really was. Not someone in his position. He wondered, not for the first time, if Trowa had actually seen his panties when they'd cut his suit off of him to get to his injury. Maybe that's why Quatre hadn't heard from him. In his mind, Trowa's silence spoke volumes. And if Trowa, who was so kind and loving, thought he was someone to stay away from, then there was no way anyone else could ever know.
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