|
"Business, or Pleasure?"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, Humor, Arguing, Makeup Sex, Angry
Sex, Elevator Sex, a little fluff Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Trowa's not always the best when it comes
to expressing himself through words. Sometimes actions speak louder. "Business or Pleasure?" Trowa had a feeling he was making a huge mistake. He knew that taking the argument he had with Quatre that morning to the other man’s office was probably a bad idea. But he simply wasn’t the kind of person who could fester in anger and harbor resentment. He wanted quick resolutions and maybe a good dose of hot makeup sex to set the universe right again. He’d never been one to hold a grudge. Unfortunately, Quatre was the complete opposite. It was truly amazing to Trowa how someone who was typically so good-natured and sweet could stew over the smallest slight for hours, even days. Especially since he’d so readily let that Catalonia girl off the hook after running a sword though his side. Then again, Quatre’s evident glee when she predictably burned through one relationship after another might have been an indication that all was not forgiven. Trowa had gotten the cold shoulder for nearly a week when he forgot a scheduled lunch date with Quatre’s sister, Iria, and her husband. When Trowa accidently threw his red New York Giants t-shirt into the wash with Quatre’s customary thawbs and turned them a rather fetching shade of rose, his lover withheld sex for five solid days. Trowa stubbornly held out for as long as he could, but by the third day, he was on his knees, more than ready to prostrate himself for just a quick Old Fashioned. Even more infuriating, Quatre had a tendency to take his frustration with other people out on Trowa. He remembered an absurd feud between the blond and Duo that started over the latter making a stupid quip about how Quatre’s homemade hummus reminded him of the time he’d barfed up a Big Mac after he drank too much beer. Insulted, Quatre wouldn’t even let Trowa touch him for two days, not even to comfort and soothe his anger. And he didn’t speak to Duo again for nearly four months. Fast forward to the present day, and well, not much had changed. Trowa woke up to a grouchy lover who didn’t get more than two hours of sleep and he’d made the good-intentioned, but ill-timed mistake of suggesting that Quatre take some time off of work to catch up on his rest. He was rewarded with a loud bang as Quatre irritably slammed his briefcase onto the counter. Trowa turned his gaze towards the ceiling, knowing he’d just earned himself an earful of snark. “Yeah, sure. That’s a great idea. And while I’m at it, why don’t I just pour a trail of gasoline around my father’s legacy and light a match?” “Oh, come off it, Quatre. As if there aren’t plenty of people who can take over while you give yourself a little R and R.” “Are you nuts? You think I’m going to leave my family’s livelihood in the hands of a bunch of incompetent baffoons?” “Those “incompetent baffoons” happen to be your own sisters, whom you’ve added as Co-Chairs.” “Under coercion,” Quatre muttered. “Need I remind you what Trina’s brilliant contribution was?” “Chintz wallpaper?” The blond tipped his head back in exasperation as though he was trying to explain theoretical physics to a toddler. “No, that was Jordana. Trina was the one who, when I said we needed a team of specialists to go out and reprogram the obsolete resource satellites so they wouldn’t crash into earth, handed me a business card for her therapy group.” Trowa munched on a piece of bacon and shrugged his shoulder. “So she got confused about what kind of specialist you were talking about.” Quatre’s eyes narrowed. “It was for a sex therapy group, Trowa.” There was a joke to be had there for sure, but Trowa took a sip of orange juice instead. Best not to rock the already sinking boat. “Anyway,” Quatre continued. “Even if I wanted to, there’s no way I can do it now. I’ve got too many deadlines and I’m behind as it is. I can’t take time off.” “You have staff that’s more than qualified to run your affairs for a few days.” Quatre’s jaw dropped open in outrage and Trowa direly wished he could roll that last comment back into his mouth like an old, piss-stained rug. “Have you been living with me for the past three years? Are you suddenly not aware of the number of calls I receive at all hours of the day from these idiots who can’t seem to find their own asses with a flashlight without calling me for directions first?” “You hired them. Hire better people.” He winced and pressed his fist over his mouth, but it was too late. Far too late for poor Trowa. Oh, damn. Now you stepped in it, Barton. Better grab the extra blanket and pillow out of the closet and get the dog house ready. This is going to be a doozy. Quatre’s normally pleasant, peachy face was an alarming shade of fire engine red. “I don’t believe you!” Noose is already around my neck. Might as well kick the chair over while I’m at it. “Well, what am I supposed to do, Quat? Just sit back and smile while you kill yourself?” “I’m not killing myself!” “Oh, you’re not? My bad. It must be someone else who drags himself through the door at two o’clock in the morning and passes out, fully clothed, on our bed because he’s too exhausted to even take his shoes off!” “You knew exactly what you were getting into when we got together.” “I knew you would be working long hours, yes. I wasn’t expecting a slow, corporate death, though.” “You are a piece of work, you know that?” Trowa folded his arms and leaned against the counter. What the hell. He already had half his foot in his mouth. Why not take the plunge? “Takes one to know one.” He held his lover’s gaze, watching the literal physical manifestation of Quatre’s blood pressure reach ambulatory levels. He’d come this far. He wasn’t backing down now. “Yeah, well...you’re - you’re -” The blond twirled his hand in an obvious gesture that he was desperately grasping for a good comeback. Fortunately for Trowa, it wasn’t Quatre’s strong point. “You snore and you pick your teeth,” he shot back, absurdly proud of himself. “It’s gross,” he added. “I do not snore!” Quatre’s mouth quirked. “Do, too.” “And excuse me for having the nerve to clean my teeth. Unlike you who wants to kiss me with broccoli bits stuck in those chompers. I’ve seen horses with smaller teeth than you.” Okay, now this was passing the childish station on a runaway train to Playground Slap Fights for Five Hundred, Alex. Quatre’s nostrils flared with rage and his blue eyes burned like the fires of Hell. “How dare you! You - you myopic cyclops!” Trowa rolled his eyes. Droll. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.” “Brute! Neanderthal! You - you flying monkey,” Quatre hissed, then dropped his voice a few octaves. “Tarzan like jungle? Swing from vine?” Trowa sneered and matched his tone. “Only if Jane don’t break a nail.” Oh my God, what are we doing? “Oh, that’s rich. When all else fails, you rip on my masculinity?” Trowa smirked and proceeded to drive the final nail into his coffin. “What masculinity?”
***
Granted, it had not been his proudest moment and now he was kicking himself for ever letting it get that far. It was difficult to focus on his work because he kept replaying the sequence of events over and over in his head. It made him twitchy and restless and eager to smooth things over with Quatre as soon as possible. His attempt to be lowkey was not as successful as he’d hoped and when Wufei’s face appeared over the top of his cubicle with his black brows knitted in irritation, he knew he’d failed at hiding his anxiety. “You got ants in your pants, Barton?” “Maybe he has to take a piss,” Duo’s voice drifted through the partition on his right. “Do us all a favor, man, and ask Une for a hall pass.” He rubbed his forehead, feeling strangely wired, but fatigued at the same time. Wufei’s eyes flitted to the left, addressing Duo in the adjacent cubicle. “I think there’s trouble in paradise.” He groaned, silently cursing Wufei for figuring it out, and for informing their co-worker who just so happened to thrive in the face of drama the way a succubus feeds on energy. “Oh ho ho,” Duo drawled, leaning back in his chair so he could get a good look at Trowa’s flustered appearance. He grinned, displaying gleaming white teeth and a toothpick wedged between them. “What’d you do this time, Tro? Get your rocks off before blondie even got a hardon?” Trowa gave him a dark look. “No. And if you know what’s good for you, you will not continue with that train of thought.” Duo gnawed on the end of his toothpick as he mulled that over and tried to decide if it was worth it. “It’s not worth it, Duo. Trust me on that.” The other man shrugged and righted his chair with a loud squeak, disappearing behind the partition again. Trowa glanced up at Wufei who said, “Get your shit together, Barton. Fix it because I’m tired of listening to you squirm and sigh over there like an angst-ridden teenager. Take care of business so that I don’t have to deal with it.” Duo popped his head around the partition again. “What our friend is trying to say is that you’re driving us bonkers so if you could just please make nice with blondie, that would be killer. Just...just slip him a little dick and I’m sure he’ll get over whatever else crawled up his ass and died.” Trowa glared at his friend. “Promise me neither of you will ever run an advice column.” “Can't help you there, buddy,” Duo quipped with a playful wink. In essence, they were right, though. Without giving himself much time to second guess, he got up and headed for Une’s office. Trying to convince the Dragon Lady herself was the real feat here. She eyed him shrewdly over the top of her computer monitor and Trowa almost felt like a newly deceased soul waiting at the Pearly Gates for judgement. “You want a long lunch why, now?” “I - I need to speak to Quatre. It’s important.” “Uh-huh.” She picked up her fountain pen and scribbled something illegible onto a yellow legal pad. “Life and death matters, is it?” Fuck. How was he supposed to answer that? “Uh...no, Ma’am. Not exactly. Just an urgent matter.” “You know the procedures about mixing personal business with work. Especially pertaining to taking personal time while you’re on the clock.” “I’ll clock out.” She glanced up, her brown eyes sharp like an eagle that had just spotted its supper scurrying across a field. “What’d you do this time?”
***
Bitching and moaning was not something Trowa was prone to doing, but for Christ’s sake. Why did everyone assume this was his fault? “Stupid Une. Stupid Duo. Stupid Wufei. Oh, yeah. Quatre’s such an innocent little angel who can do no wrong. You fuckers are just damned lucky you don’t have to live with the little bastard,” he grumbled as he took a hard right at a yellow light. Okay, maybe it was orange. Okay, more like vermillion. He flipped off a passing vehicle when it screeched by, horns blaring, and narrowly avoided clipping his front fender which set his nerves on edge even more. “Watch where you’re going, asshole,” he shouted against the glass of his closed window.
***
It wasn’t until he reached Quatre’s building and saw the large, steel lettering that spelled out, “WEI” beside a simple logo of a circle with a half ring around it, that he began to question whether, or not this was a good idea. Oddly enough, it was Wufei’s unique brand of uncensored reason that had him unbuckling his seat belt and opening the door. Quit being a pussy, Barton, and retrieve your balls from Winner’s briefcase. He reached the sixteenth floor and employed a few mental exercises of imaging himself metaphorically retrieving said balls from Quatre’s briefcase. By the time the elevator dinged and the doors slid open, he was more than ready to do whatever it took to bury the hatchet. His strides were quick and purposeful as he walked right past Quatre’s secretary who stuttered in surprise and reached for her phone. “No need,” he told her briskly, not missing a beat. “Oh, but...Mr. Barton. He’s in a meeting at the moment -” “Don’t care.” He reached the conference room at the end of the hallway and didn’t even pause to question the wisdom of this approach before he grabbed the door handle and pushed the door so hard, it swung wide and banged into the adjacent wall. Half the room’s occupants jumped out of their chairs in shock and Trowa didn’t miss Quatre’s hand diving into his suit jacket for the sidearm in his shoulder holster. Trowa remained in the doorway and waited for recognition to light up the blue eyes. Said blue eyes widened even more and then Quatre’s hand slipped from inside his jacket, dropping back down to his side. “Trowa! What is this? What are you doing here?” He stepped into the room, skirted the edge of the table until he reached his lover at the head, and glanced at the gaping attendees as he wrapped his hand around Quatre’s arm. “If you’ll excuse us, we have a little business to take care of.” Quatre yanked his arm out of the firm grip and hissed, “I’m not going anywhere with you. We’ll talk about this when we get home.” Quatre’s secretary rushed in, panting after the exertion of running down the long corridor in a pair six inch pumps. “Mr. Winner! I’m so sorry, Sir. He just barreled right past me. Would you like me to call security?” Quatre opened his mouth and Trowa knew instantly that his lover was just pissed enough to say yes. He leaned close into his personal space. “Tell me you’re not going to call security on your own boyfriend.” The blond’s mouth clamped shut, lips pressed together as he breathed deeply through his nose. His eyes flitted towards his secretary with a shake of his head. “No, Tess. That won’t be necessary. I can take care of this myself.” Tess hesitated, but then conceded with a curt not, her dark eyes shooting Trowa daggers before she flounced from the room. Quatre turned his gaze back to his lover, speaking in a deceptively soft voice through clenched teeth. “We’ll. Talk. About this. Later.” But Trowa was having none of it. “No. We’re talking about this now. We can either do this the easy way, or the hard way and I promise you that you do not want the hard way.” The glittering aquamarine eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Are you...threatening me?” And something in his voice told Trowa that he was goading him, practically double dog daring him to do it and see where it got him. It was far too late to turn back now. “Two choices, Quat. You have three seconds.” Quatre’s arm flew up, indignant finger pointed towards the door. “Get out.” Two...and three...Okay, don’t say I didn’t warn you. There was an ear-piercing screech of outrageous fury as Trowa bent down and shoved forward into his belly. When he stood up, Quatre was hanging upside down over his broad shoulder, spewing angry curses in Arabic and pounding on Trowa’s back. Trowa grabbed the flailing legs in a strong arm and ignored the percussion of fists against his back, turning towards the group of shocked, and now some amused, faces. “Like I said. Excuse us, please.” Quatre fought like a wildcat as he was carried out of the room, grabbing everything within his reach to no avail. His fury burned out quickly, knowing well enough that it would do him no good. He shifted to bartering, then to bribery, and finally to resigned acceptance, dangling over Trowa’s shoulder like a sack of flour, his arms and legs limp and swaying from side to side with every step. “Where are you taking me, you Paul Bunyan wannabe?” “If you really think insults are in any way conducive to your well-being at the moment, you’re sorely mistaken, babe.” He sneered as he passed the fuming Tess and Quatre paused in his seemingly endless bitchfest just long enough to bark a, “Hold my calls,” at her on their way out the door. “So what are you going to do? Spank me? Ground me? Take away my privileges?” “Don’t tempt me,” Trowa warned and pressed the down arrow in the panel beside the elevator. “You realize you just humiliated me in front of the entire committee, don’t you?” “I gave you fair warning. You chose to be stubborn.” Quatre shifted and mumbled a petulant, “I didn’t think -” “You didn’t think I’d follow through on my threat,” Trowa finished for him. “That’s not your fault. I’ve been far too lenient thus far.” Quatre scoffed, insulted. “Excuse you? Lenient? I have news for you, pal. You are not my father.” “Definitely not, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t in dire need of a little discipline.” “How dare you patronize me! You have got some - Uh, hello. Can I help you? Trying to have a discussion with my boyfriend here. Do you mind?” Trowa turned his head and spotted the retreating backs of several of Quatre’s colleagues as they scurried down the hall and out of sight. The elevator dinged and he stepped inside with his burden, pressing the button to close the doors. As the lift began to descend, he wrenched the emergency panel open and gripped a handful of wires. “What the hell are you doing?!” Sparks shot from the now severed wires as he yanked them out and the lift lurched to a screechy stop. The lights flickered, then went out, engulfing the tiny space in complete darkness. “You son of a bitch,” Quatre shrieked into his ear. “Have you lost your goddamned mind?” The emergency lights clicked on, casting the inside of the elevator in a deep, crimson red and Trowa had just about met his threshold of tolerance for Quatre’s behavior. He pressed the smaller man against the wall, effectively pinning him there with his unmatched physical prowess. He was almost ridiculously aroused now and Quatre’s squirming and spitting curses only served to enhance the delicious feeling of dominance that surged up like a rush of heat. He ground his erection against the blond’s groin and growled into Quatre’s neck as the string of obscenities faltered with a trembling breath. Unfortunately, the reprieve didn’t last long. “Oh my God, you are such a perv! Are you seriously trying to get into my pants right now? In an elevator of all places?” “Quatre, shut the fuck up,” he groaned and silenced the rest of his lover’s protests with a toe-curling kiss. He pressed his tongue deep into Quatre’s mouth and grabbed the hands that shoved at his chest, pinning them against the wall above the blond’s tousled head. He held them fast in one hand and used the other to wrench open Quatre’s belt, diving inside to fondle his lover’s awakening erection. Quatre pulled his face away and tipped his head back, thumping it against the hollowed wall. “Huh...oh, fuck. Trowa...oh, God…” The breathy words of surrender went right to his cock and he pressed his mouth against the pearly shell of Quatre’s ear. “You want me, baby? I want you. So fucking bad, Quat.” “Fuck...I can’t - ca - oh, God - can’t believe we’re do - doing this. Tro - ah - what are we doing?” “We’re fucking, baby. Right here. Right now. Where all your colleagues can hear you scream.” Quatre squeezed his eyes shut, summoning the strength to resist with the tiny part of his rational mind that was wagging its finger at him, knowing this was so wrong on so many levels. But when Trowa twisted his wrist juuuust so, he sent that part of his brain packing for the hills. Somehow, the thought of those repressed, uptight animated corpses listening in and blushing to the tips of their prudish ears turned him on more than he could have imagined. He nodded deliriously, sweltering inside his suit and lost to the divine ache of arousal. “Ye - yeah. Yeah, let’s - oh, God, please fuck me. I need you so bad, baby.” Within the stifling, humid space of the elevator, the sounds of panting breath were broken only by the tearing of fabric. Garments were carelessly tossed as Trowa yanked Quatre’s blazer off and threw it over his shoulder, quickly followed by the tie, trousers, and underwear. He left Quatre’s white shirttails on, though it was open in the front now that the buttons were scattered haphazardly across the floor. His fantasies of fucking his lover in nothing but a shirt and socks were finally becoming a reality and goddamned if he wasn’t going to enjoy the shit out of it. He dropped to his knees and sucked the hard length of Quatre’s cock into his mouth, savoring the hoarse shout of surprise and helpless surrender. Trembling fingers threaded into his hair and curled, pulling fistfuls that sent sharp currents of pain through his scalp which traveled across his nerve endings and down to his groin. He wedged a finger through the tight seal of his lips and the excess saliva did the rest. Sucking Quatre into his throat as far as he could, he pressed his wet finger behind his lover’s balls, seeking the opening that would give him a glimpse into paradise. Quatre’s knees buckled as the finger slid home just like Trowa predicted they would. He pulled his mouth away and stood, pressing his lover against the wall and shoving his finger in until his knuckles were snug against the blond’s ass. He mouthed wet kisses over Quatre’s face and sucked marks into the porcelain skin of his neck. “That feel good, baby?” Quatre whimpered and moaned his affirmation into Trowa’s shoulder, and then threw his head back with an emphatic, “Oh, gah - God…” when he crooked his finger, touching the place inside that reduced him to putty in his hands and left him begging to be taken. And that was incentive enough for Trowa whose body was alight with the need to sink inside the velvety heat that rippled so deliciously around his finger. For some reason, the dark glow of the red emergency light seemed to fuel the volatile crest of his passion which pulsed within his loins like liquid fire. It seemed so unorthodox, so...illicit. So delectably naughty. He fished his cock out from the confines of his trousers, slathered it with saliva, and guided it towards his lover’s opening. It grazed over Quatre’s perineum, sending sparks of wicked sensation up the turgid length and spurred on his desperate need to plunder and fuck. He pushed in, not even pausing to give Quatre a moment to catch his breath, or orient his spinning head. Once he was balls deep, he gripped a supple thigh and held it fast against his hip as he withdrew and then pushed back in again, drawing the most erotic sounds from his lover’s swollen lips. The world around him fell away, like fading towards the other end of a long tunnel, distant and irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the two of them and the age-old, erotic dance of lovers. The only thing that existed was the steamy, dizzying humidity of built-up carbon dioxide in a confined space, and the soft cries and whimpers that escaped Quatre’s open mouth. His climax rose up swift and powerful and he grabbed his lover by the thighs and lifted both legs off the floor, driving in deep with rough, fervent thrusts of his hips. He groaned into Quatre’s neck as the blond writhed with a broken shout and came all over himself. He pushed in hard, his mind whiting out from the maddening contractions of Quatre’s opening and then his groin followed suit, reaching the peak of agonizing rapture. He huffed into the blond’s sweaty shoulder, holding his hips flush between Quatre’s spread thighs, and emptied himself into the warm embrace of his love’s body. Reality made itself known gradually, inching into his mind little by little and he lifted his head from Quatre’s shoulder, gazing into the red glow of drowsy eyes. Quatre gave him a dopey smile and brushed damp hair away from Trowa’s forehead. “You can put me down now.” He leaned forward to steal more kisses and slurred against the plush mouth, “Don’ want to.” “Yeah, well. In case you’ve forgotten, I was kind of in the middle of a meeting and now I can’t even button my shirt because some caveman decided to rip it open,” Quatre informed him with a slightly sulky tone. “That was a three hundred dollar shirt.” “Oh, boo hoo. I’ll buy you another one.” He stretched his back, as much as he could considering he was still pinned against the wall. “Mmm...what time is it?” “Oh, shit!” Trowa lowered him to the floor and pressed the button on the side of his watch. “Goddamnit. I was only supposed to be gone for an hour. Une’s going to kill me.” He reached down to tuck himself back into his pants, but froze when he noticed the mess all over his shirt. “Damn.” Quatre chuckled as he picked his own trousers up off the floor. “Serves you right.” “Yeah, and it’s probably going to take at least another hour to get out of this lift.” “And several grand to fix the damage you did to the panel and wiring,” Quatre added with a fond shake of his head. “I swear, you are such a lunk.” He leaned against the elevator doors and watched his lover get dressed. “At least I’m not a prissy little brat.” Quatre huffed and draped his tie around his neck. “Are we really going there again?” “No.” He pushed away from the doors and cupped his love’s angelic face, dipping his head down to nip at Quatre’s mouth. “It wouldn't matter even if we fought all the time. I love you, Quatre Raberba Winner. Always and forever.” “Maybe we can fight more often if it leads to sex like this.” He tugged the blond into his arms and rested his chin on top of his head. “How about more sex like this and less fighting?” “Are you sure you’re up to the task? I’m not exactly low maintenance.” “You know me. I love a good challenge.” “A challenge now, am I?” “A good one.” “Just good?” He smiled and kissed the crown of Quatre’s head. “The best.” Quatre pulled his head back and smiled up at him. “I suppose I can take a couple of days off.” “You mean that?” “Sure. Why not. You were right. I am overdoing it.” He hugged Trowa close, resting his head against the muscular chest. “I’m glad I have you to remind me that I need a break every once in a while.” “Well, in that case, I’ll take a few days off, too. We can spend them in bed together. Just imagine three whole days of snoozing, vegging out in front of the television, and lazy sex.” Quatre grinned and slapped him on the ass. “You’re speaking my language, babe. I suppose we’d better sound the alarm.” Trowa pulled away and peered at the busted panel. “Uh...I don’t think that’s going to be possible.” “Why not?” He glanced at his lover, guilt evident on his face even in the dim lighting. “I...kind of, sort of snapped that wire, too.” “Oh, goddamn it, Trowa! So now what do we do?” “Um...Yell?”
***
Forty five minutes later, the rescuers managed to pull the lift up to the next floor manually and when they pried the doors open, two disheveled men sheepishly stepped out to an audience of half the building’s occupants. It wasn’t every day that they got to see the normally poised and professional bossman flushed and flustered after vigorous elevator sex. Quatre shot his lover a dark look as they walked side by side down the hall towards the parking garage, enduring a flurry of whispers and snickers. “I’ll be lucky if I can ever look any of these people in the eye again thanks to you.” “You enjoy an adventurous sex life. If anything, they should be envious.” Quatre glanced behind him and caught quite a few saucy winks. “That doesn’t look like envy.” “Don’t worry about it, baby. You’re the boss, remember?” “Yeah. The boss that just got defiled within earshot of all my subordinates.” “Defiled,” Trowa scoffed. “Anyway, it’s not my fault you scream like a banshee during sex.” Quatre glared at him. “Actually, it...kind of is.”
End.
~ * ~ |
