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"Breathless"Written By: Waterliliylf Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. All rights
remain with Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. No profit being
made here. Rating: R Warnings: sap, angst, fluff Pairings: 3x4, 13x2 Summary: Quatre finds himself introduced to an
annoying young man, one he can't seem to get out of his head. "Breathless" Chapter 27: In which Quatre sets the perfect seduction scene and Trowa is seduced. When Trowa woke, it was almost seven o'clock and he was alone in Quatre's bed, and actually sorry not to have the blond there curled around him. Both odd. Quatre liked to snuggle, he was the first man Trowa had ever met who used the word without being sarcastic. He didn't see the point of sharing a bed with someone and sleeping on opposite sides. Trowa had never considered himself a snuggler, although he rather liked Quatre's interpretation of it. He normally disliked sharing a bed with anyone, period, once the actual sex was done with. And he'd apparently slept the whole night through and he never did that. Especially not after seeing Duo like that in hospital; he hadn't expected to sleep a wink. It felt good, waking up in Quatre's bed, in his room. After he'd driven the blond home, Quatre had jumped out of the truck and stood on the pavement, the streetlight turning his hair to gold. He hadn't said anything for a minute, and Trowa thought that was that, even after he'd endured that fucking nightmare conversation. Duo would be pissed with him, and he'd miss the blond's bright presence in his life; his capacity for endless blateration about nothing and those sudden, surprising moments of connection. Then Quatre had hold out his hand, and asked him in for a drink, and halfway through the bottle of wine, suggested taking it upstairs. Trowa had assumed that meant sex, because that was why you invited people into your bed. It hadn't happened, though. They'd just lain face to face, kissing and touching a little, and talking until they'd both fallen asleep. It had been oddly nice, like being part of a couple. Quatre's room, which he hadn't really noticed the previous night, was unexpectedly simple, once you got past the huge, canopied bed. Nothing at all like the cheerfully cluttered rooms downstairs. It occurred to Trowa, glancing around, that most visitors probably never got past them. This room was incredibly relaxing. There was a well-filled bookshelf; he had thrillers and detective stories downstairs, and a few books on art and travel. Up here, it was all philosophy and world religions and literature. There was a carved Buddha with gold-tipped curls smiling benevolently down at him from the opposite wall, and a lovely little frieze of Balinese temple dancers that had to be ancient, and was probably worth a fortune. And the painting. He'd half noticed that before falling asleep; had vaguely planned to tease Quatre about being the only person he'd ever met who kept a self-portrait over his bed. Well, apart from Duo, but that was presumably Treize's doing. Looking at it properly, in daylight, he knew he wouldn't be doing that. It was a younger Quatre, with his hair in a floppy, unkempt fringe. He was wearing black, and he'd told Trowa once that he never wore black; that it didn't suit his colouring. Even Trowa, who had no interest in clothes, couldn't imagine him wearing that sort of suit in real life; black and severely tailored. He was cradling a violin in his lap, the fingers of one hand touching it. There was a piano downstairs, but he'd never mentioned playing the violin. He was sitting in a dark room, panelled with unadorned wood and through the arched window there was a building that blazed with sunlight and metal and jewels, shining against a blue sky. And Quatre, his Quatre, was sitting alone wearing clothes the colour of death, and looking utterly forlorn. He had darkness in his past too, then. It was a Merquise, of course. Zechs saw too much, and then put it on canvas for all the world to see. Trowa had always refused to pose properly, but Zechs had done a few sketches from memory. Just simple charcoal line drawings; never Trowa's face. He'd always been good at knowing where the boundaries were. Trowa pulled on the previous night's clothes, and went looking for his boyfriend. He hadn't realised there was a roof garden until he ran out of places to look for Quatre, and noticed the small spiral staircase. Breakfast was laid out on a patio table that looked like it had been made out of driftwood. Juice and fruit and a couple of baskets filled with scones and croissants. And Quatre, dressed more casually than Trowa had ever seen him, in blue jeans and a loose t-shirt inscribed with the legend Blonds Are More Fun, was flat on the ground at his feet, midway through the Salute to the Sun. Trowa had done yoga himself for years. Quatre made it look simple, that lovely body flowing into the different movements. Then he noticed Trowa and lost his balance. 'Oops.' He jumped up, laughing but still obviously a little bit self-conscious. Hmmm. He'd said last night, fussing over finding Trowa a toothbrush and towels and toiletries, that he wasn't used to overnight guests. That probably meant he wasn't used to having people up here, in what was very obviously his personal space. And Trowa Barton had penetrated the inner sanctum. In a sense. Trowa grinned suddenly. It caught him off guard sometimes; the way a sudden spurt of happiness could be gleaned out of nothingness. No, he corrected. It wasn't nothing. Quatre was smiling at him, with sunbeams dancing in his hair, and the sun was shining, and he could smell freshly baked pastries. Not nothing at all. 'Sorry. I hadn't realised you were awake. I just called Treize; Duo's awake, he's fine, and they've started a few more tests.' 'Why bother with tests if he's fine?' 'I think it's hospital policy, with head injuries. But he's all right. I thought we could have breakfast first, and then drive over to see him.' Trowa almost – almost – said he wasn't hungry, that he wanted to leave straightaway, but Quatre had obviously taken care to set all of this up. There was even honey and jam in small crystal bowls, and a little vase of flowers. 'Quatre, you didn't have to do all of this for me.' 'It's for both of us. I was going to bring you breakfast in bed, but it's such a lovely morning I thought we should eat outside. ' 'This is great.' Trowa glanced around in pure pleasure. This high above the city, there was no traffic noise. No noise at all, apart from birdsong and the hum of bees and the splash of a small fountain. You could see right over the harbour to the mountains beyond. There were carefully tended flowers and herbs in earthenware pots, and a small greenhouse in the corner, and an array of birdfeeders and fat, gleaming goldfish in a series of terraced ponds. The Siamese cat was sitting by the side of one, occasionally dipping a paw in the water, and withdrawing it in disgust, shaking off droplets of water. 'Thank you.' Quatre sounded pleased at the compliment. 'Zechs helped me to design it, and my parents' gardeners built it. I spend hours up here, sometimes.' 'I would too.' He kept noticing new things; wind chimes dangling from a clematis-smothered trellis, and a stone carving of Ganesh, the Hindu elephant god that looked centuries old, and a cushioned swing seat. 'There's really so much money in lifestyle coaching?' Quatre grinned. 'There's really so much money in my trust fund, thank heavens.' 'Living off inherited wealth,' Trowa mused. 'You don't think that's immoral?' The blond bubbled into laughter. 'I could ask you a similar question, couldn't I?' 'Ouch.' Trowa found he was smiling back, wandering over to touch the little statue. 'You really like Eastern stuff, don't you? I'm starting to doubt your dizzy blond credentials.' 'Oh, heavens, don't do that. Let's see, I spent an hour last night trying to decide what to wear, and this morning I couldn't work out why it was taking so long to boil the kettle and then I realised I hadn't plugged it in.' He laughed. 'I'm such an airhead. Now, what sort of croissants do you like? Almond or chocolate?' It was a seduction, Trowa mused. All of it. This garden high above the city, heady with the scent of jasmine. Sunlight glistening on water, and on the glistening goldfish in their pond, and the play of the little fountain. This must have been how Duo had felt, when he met Treize. It wasn't fair, really to say that, and Trowa knew it. Duo would have fallen for Treize if he'd been a road-sweeper or a thief or even a lawyer, most likely. It hadn't stopped him from saying awful, unforgivable things to Duo, about whoring himself out. Duo had forgiven him, of course, because they always forgave each other, eventually. Trowa took a bite of the croissant Quatre had given him, very deliberately not looking at the little blond. It wasn't the same. He had a perfectly good life of his own. He had the house he'd always dreamed of, and a job he loved, and a few close friends. Finding sex was never a problem; Trowa wasn't vain but he knew well enough what he looked like and he'd exploited it often enough. He didn't need to be Quatre Winner's toy-boy. Apart from the fact that Quatre was probably a bit younger than he was. 'How old are you?' Blue eyes blinked at the sudden question. 'Twenty five. Why?' 'I'm too old to be your toy boy.' Quatre grinned. 'I don't believe in being ageist. How old are you anyway?' 'Twenty seven.' 'An older man.' Quatre leaned over and kissed him briefly on the mouth. He tasted of orange juice and toothpaste. 'Thank you.' He meant, for everything, and Quatre seemed to pick up on that. 'Seriously. This is a great way to start the morning. Thanks for letting me see this place. It's perfect.' 'Well, I'm glad you like it.' Quatre put down his glass and wandered over to the fish pond, dabbling one hand for his fish to nibble. 'I love water.' Quatre said by way of explanation, glancing up and seeing Trowa looking at him. 'My grandparents came from Jordan; they used to tell us stories about how our ancestors had been nomads; about how precious water had been to them.' 'They used to ration water supplies on L2,' Trowa said idly, moving to sit beside him and trailing one hand in the pond, wondering if the fish would come to him. 'Not for everyone; if you could afford it, you could have water piped to your house. If you couldn't, you had to queue up every day and there was never quite enough.' Trowa had given his first blow job at the water supply office. The guy in charge of distribution gave out extra rations in exchange for certain favours. It was something you did. After, the asshole had tried to back out on the deal, claiming Trowa's mouth had already swallowed enough. He'd been seven. 'That's so awful,' Quatre said softly. For a terrible moment, Trowa thought he'd spoken that particular memory aloud and then realised that Quatre meant the water shortage thing. 'Yeah. There were ways of getting extra, sometimes. It wasn't like anyone ever died of thirst. And you got used to it.' He remembered Duo being upset one day, not long after they'd met, because some older kids on the street had laughed at him, and told him he smelled bad. They'd always had water in the orphanage where he'd been before; the kids had got to wash properly every day. He'd hugged Duo and told him that of course he didn't smell bad. In the present, he took a swallow of juice from a crystal glass, poured for him by one of the richest guys in Sanque and shook his head. 'A world away from here.' 'I imagine so.' Quatre, who could have no possible conception of how he and Duo had grown up, agreed. 'Was it awful?' Trowa shrugged. 'Duo's your friend. I'm sure he's told you stuff.' 'A little. He always tries to make it sound like an adventure, growing up there, but I know it wasn't really, was it?' Trowa wouldn't have answered if he hadn't been looking directly at the blond, and seen the glowing affection in his eyes. Concern, not pity. That was bearable. 'Yeah, pretty much.' He took a deep breath, tapping one fingernail against the side of his glass. Antique Waterford crystal. Naturally. 'The place was run by gangs; still is, as far as I know. When I was a kid, I used to hang 'round this gang called The Mercenaries. I ran errands and kept watch sometimes, and got into places that were too small for an adult to fit. There were a few of us; street kids, and the gang leader looked out for us. Kurt was an OK guy. Well, for a drug-dealing, murderous criminal. He made sure we got fed, had a place to stay, that no one touched us. I was eight, I think, when he got killed in a knife fight. The guy who'd killed him wasn't so great.' He sipped at his drink, the cool, sweet liquid dancing over his tongue. 'A couple of years later, I met Duo. That changed everything. I thought the way I lived was just the way things were; the only way to survive was to get to be bigger and meaner than anyone else so no one could ever touch you. Duo was different. He'd lived in this orphanage with nice people who'd taken care of him.' Trowa shook his head, letting the bangs fall over his eyes, remembering Duo back then. Innocence and vulnerability and fierce determination that they could somehow get away, make a better life for themselves. He'd never met anyone who felt like that before. The best most people hoped for, on L2, was to clamour to the top of the shitheap and stay there until someone stronger took you down. 'He always says you looked after him, that he wouldn't have survived without you.' 'Duo's a survivor, whatever he says. And once he was old enough to handle himself, he looked after me, not the other way around. He killed a guy once who'd been trying to hurt me. He was twelve. He ever tell you that?' Quatre's eyes, aquamarine with the bright morning sunlight, were huge. 'No.' 'Duo's tough.' Trowa blinked suddenly, remembering his friend the previous night, dressed in a sickly green hospital gown and so desperately wanting to go home. No, not home; Romfeller, which was his home now, no matter how much it hurt to acknowledge it. 'It was his idea to leave L2. He planned it all pretty much.' Trowa didn't bother to say that at that point they'd had to leave. Duo had won a fight he wasn't supposed to; against a guy who hadn't relished losing to a kid in his early teens. Too many people had lost money. They could maybe have handled that but the loser, a guy with all the wrong friends in powerful places and a brother who ran guns, had tried to jump Duo and died on Trowa's blade. They'd been planning to leave anyway, once they'd got some money together, but that night, they'd stowed away on the first shuttle out of the space port. It had just happened to be going to some little country in Europe that neither of them had ever heard of. 'I'm very glad you ended up in Sanque,' Quatre said, after Trowa had told him a slightly censored version of how they'd come to be there. He sounded like he meant it. His eyes had sparkled when Trowa had talked about stowing away on the ship. He'd probably grown up reading pirate stories, or having them read to him by a nanny or something. 'What happened then?' He sounded like a little kid, engrossed in a bed time story. Like it was all just an unimaginable fantasy. Well, it probably was. A nightmare, if he'd heard it all. 'Hasn't Duo told you any of this?' Trowa stood up abruptly, feeling a sudden pang of hunger. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten properly; lunchtime the previous day maybe. He filled a plate and settled on the swing seat, absurdly pleased when Quatre jumped up and sat beside him. 'Well, yes, but it's nice hearing you talk about it. That was seven years ago, wasn't it?' Quatre prompted, obviously determined to get the whole story. 'Yeah.' Trowa said it around a mouthful of croissant. He didn't really mind talking about this part of his life, and Quatre probably knew most of it from Duo anyway. 'Let's see. What happened? We hadn't a freaking clue where we were once we sneaked off. Hadn't a clue where Sanque was once we found out. We had to go into this public library and look it up. We lived rough for a couple of weeks. No, it was fine,' he assured Quatre, ruffling the blond's hair and trying not to laugh at his concerned expression. 'It was early summer, and warm enough that you could sleep out, no problem. We found this really great park. You could just lie under a tree and look up and see the branches against the sky, and the stars, and wake up with the birds singing. Neither of us would have traded that for the classiest hotel room in the universe. Then…we did a couple of little jobs. You know what I'm talking about, right?' Quatre nodded. 'Man, it was so easy after L2. Anyway, we got some cash together, and rented a little apartment, and we had an actual home, and managed to get some fake papers. We'd planned to move on once we had passports; Duo wanted to see Venice and I really wanted to go to France, but we kind of got fond of Sanque. Got proper work permits and all; well, I did. Duo was only fourteen or so. I got all sorts of odd jobs; just to get on the computer system here. I actually worked on a construction site not far from here; that office building on the corner.' Blue-green eyes twinkled at him. 'Really? Did you have a hard hat? And jeans that slipped halfway down your ass?' 'Of course,' Trowa said solemnly. 'They're obligatory.' He winked, taking care to brush against Quatre's arm as he reached for another pastry. 'I still have them. I'll dress up for you sometime if you're good.' Quatre gave a satisfactory little shiver. 'I'd like that. What was Duo doing? He met Howard soon after you arrived here, didn't he?' 'Yep.' He gave Quatre a little nudge with one elbow. 'You already know all this. Why'm I wasting my time telling you?' 'Because I want you to!' Quatre gazed up at him beseechingly. 'Please, Trowa.' 'OK.' Trowa gave a long-suffering sigh, which made Quatre laugh, and then a quick kiss, which produced another shiver. 'Howie was the guy who made us the fake passports. It was this little sideline to his art restoration business. He and Duo clicked from the word go; Duo started hanging out at his studio when I was working. I wasn't too crazy about it; thought Howie was after something, so we had a little chat one day and I told him if anyone ever hurt Duo, I'd kill them. Just so he knew the score.' Quatre shivered again; not a good shiver this time. 'Sorry. You did ask. Anyway, I'd got it wrong. Howard's a great guy. He took Duo on as a sort of apprentice. Well, took us both on in the end.' That was true. Howard's ramshackle, tumble-down shabby home had become something of a second home for them. There was always beer and food in the fridge and Howard had never pressed them to talk about anything, just offered casual advice and easy, undemanding friendship. So weird; someone who hadn't wanted anything in return. Duo had had no problem accepting that from the word go. Trowa had been much warier, but he'd been won over too, in the end. 'Duo said he was your…fence? Is that right?' He pronounced the word awkwardly, like it was from an unfamiliar foreign language. 'God, Duo talks too much. Listen, I'm only telling you this because Duo's already told you most of it, and he trusts you. Yeah, he handled some of our jobs. He had the right contracts. You need that starting out.' Quatre, surprisingly, laughed. 'You make it sound so…normal. Like any other business venture.' 'There's plenty of so-called legitimate business ventures that are a damn sight more screwed up than plain theft,' Trowa said sharply. 'We never stole a thing from someone who might actually have missed it. Hell, most of the paintings were buried in vaults underground and hadn't been looked at in decades. Stolen, plenty of them.' 'I wasn't being judgemental! Paintings shouldn't be treated like that. They deserve to be looked at, to be enjoyed.' Trowa arched an eyebrow at him. 'Really? Your parents invite the public into their house to gawk at their art collection, do they?' 'My parents lend their artworks to galleries and exhibitions all over the world, actually,' Quatre snapped. 'And you can't exactly take a moral stance. You've got a Zechs Merquise in your living room. How many people have seen that?' 'You've got an answer for everything, haven't you?' Trowa was amused more than anything. It was fun getting Quatre all riled up. 'You're the one with a Merquise over his bed. How many people have seen that?' 'Hmm?' Quatre suddenly became engrossed in spreading butter on his scone. 'I saw that painting in your room. I didn't know you played the violin.' 'Oh, that.' The blond added a dollop of jam. 'I don't. I used to, when I was younger. I was never very good. Duo told me you play the flute; what sort of music do you like?' 'Celtic mostly. Some classical.' 'There are some lovely duets for piano and flutes,' Quatre said eagerly. 'We'll have to play together sometime, don't you think?' 'I'm thinking we could play together right now. No neighbours to shock, all the way up here. No one to hear you screaming my name when you come.' Well, assuming one of them didn't use Wufei's name by mistake, Trowa thought grimly, and then gave himself a mental kick in the ass. He wasn't going to think about that guy. 'That sounds so much fun!' He suddenly had Quatre wrapped around him, those slender denim-clad legs straddling his thighs. 'How exactly do you plan to make me scream, Mr. Barton?' 'Oh, I have all sorts of ideas.' Bending his head to
kiss Quatre's lush, smiling mouth, he thought briefly of Duo. But
Treize was with him, and they'd head straight to the hospital once
the screaming was over. And a bit of sighing, and maybe a long shared
shower…
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