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"Getting Lucky"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: Friends With Benefits, Pining, Humor,
Bickering, Implied Sexual Content, mentions of dirty talk, Smoking,
Sweaty Shirtless Trowa Splitting Wood, Do I Have Your Attention Yet? Pairings: 3x2, 3x4, 2x5 Summary: Boning your buddy is great for getting
your rocks off, but after so long you start to realize there's no
substitution for the real thing. " Getting Lucky" Life has a funny way of showing you your heart’s desire and waving it beneath your nose like a slab of meat slapped across the snout of a hungry wolf. And just when that wolf is about to take the bait, some jerk off in the distance yanks the rope that’s tied around it, cackling like he’s some sort of evil genius who invented the concept of pranks. Trowa rather liked that metaphor. It was oddly fitting, yet just perverse enough to be added to the cliffsnotes version of Duo-isms. His nostrils flared and burned slightly when a wisp of smoke curled beneath his nose. He reached up and pinched it shut, then swung his other arm to the left, smacking into the solid chest of the man beside him. “Ouch! The fuck, Tro?” “There’s no smoking in here, Duo.” “Pffft. Please. It’s a fucking fag, not a five alarm fire at the nuke plant. After I let you stick your dick up my ass, I’d say you owe me one.” “That’s funny. I don’t remember you complaining at all.” “Hey. Don’t go there. You know I’m a top.” “If you say so.” Duo puffed on his cigarette and then pursed his lips. Smoke rings drifted lazily up towards the ceiling before they dispersed in the sunlight that shone through the partially covered window. “If Cathy smells that, we’ll both be in deep shit.” “S’your room. You’re an adult doing adult things. What does she care?” “She cares about my health,” Trowa informed him as he climbed off the bed and reached for his jeans. Duo stuck the butt end of the cigarette into his mouth and folded his hands behind his head. “I bet she makes sure you eat your veggies, too, eh?” “Don’t be a dick.” He slid the jeans up over his ass, buttoned the fly, and then turned to the man still sprawled across his bed. “You’re not planning on laying here all day, are you?” Duo grunted. “Maybe. S’not a bad set up you got here. Cozy in that trailer trash kind of way.” “Says the guy who lives in a junkyard.” “Scrap yard, you idjit. And it just so happens that my little operation is going to end up a multi-trillion dollar empire someday.” He frowned when Trowa barked out a laugh. “You laugh now, but when you’re eating caviar off the ass of a ten grand an hour stripper, I guarantee you, you’ll be singing a different tune, pal.” “I’ll pass.” Trowa slipped his arms through a clean flannel and buttoned up the bottom half. “You’re not lying in my bed all day. Get up, you lazy ass.” Duo snuffed his smoke out in an old beer can and rolled over with an agonized groan. “You’re killin’ me, man. I come all this way at your behest just so you can fuck my ass and pretend that you’re consummating your obsession with blondie -” “It’s not an obsession -” “- And I don’t even get the courtesy of a nap? What kind of friend are you?” Trowa stared at him for several seconds and then turned his gaze towards his desk. Sitting on top was a framed photo of himself and Quatre that Cathy had taken a year ago. It was a summer of carefree relaxation. Of beachside picnics, ice cold lemonade, swimming in the sea, twilight campfires, and lots of easy laughter. When Cathy held up the camera, Quatre had jumped on Trowa’s back, wrapping slender arms around his neck. Their grins were wide and indicative of the fun they’d had. Quatre’s porcelain skin was kissed gold by the sun while his blond curls had lightened even more. In the photo, his hair was damp and tousled from swimming, curling around his ears and forehead in flaxen wisps. Trowa had never seen anything more beautiful and by now, he didn’t believe he ever would. He glanced back at Duo, denial on the tip of his tongue. At the last minute, he realized he wasn’t fooling anyone. “I am obsessed, aren’t I?” “Bro, I’d bet half my revenue that if I opened a dictionary to the word “obsessed”, your picture would be right next to it.” Trowa glowered at his friend and tossed his clothes at him. The black jeans and t-shirt landed in a rumpled pile on top of Duo’s face. “You’re one to talk.” Duo yanked the garments away and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Right.” He ran his fingers through his hair, glancing in the mirror to make sure he was presentable. It wasn’t like Cathy didn’t know he had sex, but it didn’t make it any less embarrassing when he emerged from his bedroom with a partner in tow and had to deal with her shifty-eyed looks. He leaned against his desk and watched Duo slide his jeans over his legs. “So tell me, Mr. Top. When are you planning on “consummating” your own obsession?” Duo stood up and slipped his shirt over his head. “I don’t “obsess”. People obsess over me.” “Is that why you look ready to dry hump Wufei’s leg every time you see him?” Duo combed his fingers through his hair, ripping out knots as he worked his way down. “If I did that, it wouldn’t be his leg.” Trowa winced and turned away, grabbing his phone off the television stand and stuffing it into his pocket. “Why are you so tactless? I thought you actually cared about him.” “Are you serious?” Duo scoffed. “C’mon. Don’t act like you’re some pious goody-two-shoes. What do you think about when you fantasize about Quat? What, rose petals on the bed? Soft music? Gentle lovemaking? Gimme a break.” “I’m not really -” “You’re no less of a dude than I am. I know exactly what you think about. You think about pinning blondie down and fucking the shit out of him. You think about doing him from behind while you pull on those yellow curls. You think about him riding your dick like a shameless whore. You think about him calling you Daddy and you think about calling him your dirty little slut. You think about making him choke on your dick. If you say you don’t, you’re a liar.” Trowa’s face flushed with heat. To hear the truth so crudely spoken out loud. To actually hear his darkest fantasies vocalized caused a pang of guilt that he was not only capable of objectifying Quatre that way, but that he got off on it, too. Delicious arousal unfurled within his groin as the words invoked the images in his mind that he’d thought would always be a furiously guarded secret. To save face, he cleared his throat, but his voice still came out in a thick croak. “Is that a confession?” Duo looked genuinely affronted. “Of course it is! Do you know me? You don’t think I fantasize about doing those same things to that - that anal-retentive egomaniac who suffers from anger issues and a superiority complex every time I wrap my hand around my dick at night? Fuck!” He flopped back onto the bed and flung his arm over his eyes. “Why do I do that? Why does he make my dick harder than Heero’s skull? He’s such a pompous, snooty little...shit. I don’t get it, Tro.” He smiled and reached for his keys. “Can’t help you there. Love isn’t rational.” “Got that right, buddy.” Duo sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I need a smoke.” He pointed towards the door. “Outside, or Cathy will murder us both.”
***
August in Utah was muggy and hot. Hidden in the thick, green brush of trees and overgrown fields, crickets and cicadas buzzed with frenetic enthusiasm, much to Duo’s chagrin. He slumped over on a stack of old tires and irritably shook a Kool from his pack. “Fucking hell. It’s like the whole world is telling me to get laid.” Trowa picked up his ax and stepped over to the pile of logs he was still in the process of splitting. His flannel was now tied low around his waist and his deeply bronzed skin glistened in the sun as rivulets of sweat rolled down the ridges of his chest and abdomen. “You just got laid, numbnuts. It’s not about you. It’s about the survival of their species.” “Eh, that didn’t count. No offense,” he added hurriedly. “None taken.” “I mean, how many times have we banged? Four? Five? But neither of us have the collective balls to actually bang the people we want to bang. The hell’s wrong with us?” Trowa honestly didn’t know. He supposed it was fear. In fact, he knew it was in his case. Probably Duo’s as well. Quatre frightened him was the long and the short of it. His wealth, his popularity, his status, his family. What could Trowa possibly offer him that would ever be good enough? “I can just imagine the headlines if Quat and I actually ever got together. Gold digger? Kept boy?” He shook his head and placed a log onto the chopping block. “They’d never take us seriously.” “Who the fuck cares? You think Quat would care, or believe all that bullshit? You think he’s not aware of what they already print about him? He knows better than that.” “I just...I don’t know. I think it would bother me. I want everyone to understand that it would be a loving, equal relationship.” “You’re never gonna have that, dude. The understanding, I mean.” He shrugged and puffed his cigarette. “People suck, man. Nothin’ you can do about that. Why let assholes you don’t even care about get in the way of your own happiness? Or Quat’s happiness? You know how much that little shit loves you.” Trowa propped the blade of the ax on the chopping block and leaned against the handle. “So what’s your excuse?” Duo snorted and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. “I actually value being alive.” “He’s not going to kill you, Duo.” “He’s tried to kill me multiple times!” “Trust me. If he really wanted you dead, you would be.” Duo shifted, looking queasy, but reluctantly hopeful. “Yeah?” “As a doornail. Not even cold and stiff dead. Well into decomposition dead.” His face twisted in disgust as he leaned over and dropped his butt into a coffee can. “What would I even say to him? Fei’s not - I mean, he’s not someone I can just walk up to and say, “Hey, wanna fuck?” Y’know?” “Is that what you want to say to him?” Even behind the sunglasses, Trowa could tell he was mulling that over. Finally, he said, “No?” “Is that a question, or an answer?” Duo chewed his lip for a moment and then flung his arm out, pointing his finger at Trowa. “You know what? You’re right. I’m gonna go for it.” He stood up and began pacing back and forth through the long grass. “I’m just gonna tell him I like him and ask him out.” “Good.” “On one condition.” Shit. “You do the same with Quat.” Shit, shit, shit. “If I can do it, so can you.” Trowa didn't respond. Instead, he yanked on the ax and reached for another log, propping it vertically onto the block. He pressed his lips together and lifted the ax above his head. “Tro?” Whack! “Tro -” Another log. Whack! “Tro!” “Alright! Alright. I’ll do it. Happy?” Duo grinned and walked towards him, thrusting his hand out. “Shake on it.” Trowa stared at the hand and then glanced up at the other man’s face. “Are we going to do a blood oath, too?” “Don’t be a dick, Tro. Shake on it,” he pressed and then groaned in irritation when Trowa hesitated. “You really think Quat’s going to reject you? C’mon. That’s like - like a duck rejecting water. You’ve been like two peas in a pod since the day you met. Like peas and carrots. Pork and beans. Abbott and Costello. Simon and Garfunkle. Steak and potatoes. Chips and dip. Wine and -” Trowa grabbed his hand and gave it an aggressive shake. “Okay. I get it. Shut up, please.” Duo smirked. “Wuss.” “Oh, I’m a wuss, am I?” He curled his finger in a beckoning gesture. “C’mere.” Now it was Duo’s turn to hesitate, eyeing the other man warily. “Why?” He bent down, grabbed another log, and set it on top of the block. Then, he pointed the ax handle towards Duo. “Chop.” Duo’s mouth dropped open. “Say what?” “Chop.” “Tro, I don’t think -” “Chop, or the deal’s off.” Duo propped his hands on his hips, looking uncannily like an offended prom date who’d just been told the rental place was fresh out of limos. “Are you serious? You’re going to give up Quat if I don’t chop some fucking wood?” “No, because you are going to chop it,” he assured him and arched a brow when Duo gave him a doubtful look. “What? You afraid you’re going to break a nail?” “Oh, ho ho! Alright, Barton. You asked for it.” He swiped the ax from the proffered hand, placed it blade-side down against the rounded edge of the log, and then repeated the action a few more times to make sure he had his aim right. After a brief pause, he brought it down, cursing when it only nicked the edge. He jumped back as the log tipped and fell off the block. “Fuck!” Trowa grinned and held his hand out. “It’s alright. I’ll give you credit for trying.” “No! No, put it back. I wanna try again.” He wiggled his hips and widened his stance, taking a few practice swings. Unfortunately, the second time was no better and he howled in pain when the intact log landed on his toe. “Sonofabitch,” he hollered, hopping on one foot as he held the injured one against his belly. “How the hell do you do that?” Trowa took the ax back and set the toppled log onto the block. In one swift, graceful movement, he swung it down and hit the wood clean through the center, creating a perfect split right down the middle. The two halves teetered and then tipped over in opposite directions. “Practice,” he answered and reached for another. Duo whistled, impressed. “Man, that’s fuckin’ amazing. It's a lot harder than it looks. Quat is one lucky dude.” Trowa paused and looked up at him, resting the ax handle against a broad, sweaty shoulder. “No. I’m the lucky one. And I’m going to make sure Quat knows it. Every day.” Duo’s mouth curled up in a wry grin as he held his hand out one more time. “To getting lucky in love?” He took the hand and shook it, gently this time. “To love,” he agreed and then added, “And getting lucky.”
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