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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 4: (In which Quatre plans the perfect first date, down to the goodnight kiss, and Trowa refuses to co-operate. ) The universe had conspired to make Quatre almost fifteen minutes early for his first date with Trowa. The shirt he wanted to wear just happened to be freshly washed and pressed; the taxi he ordered turned up exactly on time, the driver didn't have to stop at traffic lights once. It was something of a novelty; being early. Not a particular hardship; he'd made the reservation for his favourite restaurant, and it was pleasant enough just to sit at his usual table in the bay window and have a few minutes to himself. He hoped Trowa was going to like this place; the fact that he could get a table at such short notice usually impressed people, and he wanted to impress Trowa. Very much. To that end, he'd dressed very carefully; a new suit by his favourite French designer and the lilac silk shirt his sister Iria had given him for Christmas. Quatre wasn't vain or anything, but he thought he looked nice, studying his reflection in the gilded mirror opposite. He rather hoped Trowa would be early; it was boring sitting here alone. He wasn't used to having to wait for people. 'Mr. Winner. How good to see you again.' His carafe of Irish spring water arrived, borne by the Maitre'd' himself; a privilege accorded to very few customers. 'I wonder if I might have a brief word.' 'Of course, Albert.' Quatre smiled, readying himself for the inevitable enquiries into the healths of his parents and sisters. Albert hesitated. 'Forgive me for mentioning this, sir, but this restaurant does have a very strict dress code.' 'I was under the impression that I was suitably attired.' 'Of course, of course. However, I fear your dinner guest was unaware of the fact that we do expect a certain formality of dress from our customers.' 'I may possibly have neglected to inform my friend of the fact,' Quatre said tightly. 'The fault is entirely mine. I do trust that won't be a problem.' His tone implied that it had better not be. 'Not for this evening, sir, no.' Albert bowed. 'I'll have Mr. Barton shown to your table, as soon as I take his coat.' Honestly. They were such fusspots in this place; making a big deal out of the fact that Trowa probably didn't have his tie at the correct angle or something stupid like that. Trowa, when he arrived, wasn't wearing a tie at all. That probably was Quatre's fault; he hadn't said where they'd be going, but his dates always assumed he would take them somewhere special and dressed accordingly. Trowa Barton hadn't bothered to dress up for him. It didn't matter. He could have worn a sack and still looked mouth-wateringly good. The black jeans were deliciously tight and the shirt exactly picked up the colour of his eyes - well, eye; there was only one on show. He grinned at Quatre, taking the chair one of the lower-caste waiters was holding for him, and looking around curiously. 'Hi. I haven't been here before. This place is pretty pretentious, isn't it?' 'It's my favourite restaurant in Sanque!' Quatre bristled. He'd somehow managed to forget how aggravating his companion could be in the two days since he'd seen him. And the Mermaid wasn't at all pretentious. He loved it, from the painted ceiling to the carved and gilded furnishings. 'Really? You don't think that ceiling's a bit over-the-top? Come on, it's a restaurant, not the Sistine Chapel.' He glanced around. 'Half the time, restaurants use all this frou-frou décor just to distract people from noticing the food's not that special.' 'Well, the food here is excellent, actually. They have a wonderful eight-course set menu at the moment that's designed to showcase traditional rustic Sanque dishes. Venison stew and roast pheasant and smoked boar.' 'I'm a vegetarian, so that's probably not for me.' 'Oh! I'm so sorry.' Quatre's eyes dropped to his own menu, frantically scanning for vegetarian-friendly meals. 'I hope you can find something you like. Otherwise, we'll go somewhere else. I should have asked…' 'Quatre. Just chill, OK? It's not like I've got a disability; I eat fish and there's plenty of that on the menu.' 'All right. If you're sure,' Quatre said uncertainly. This wasn't going quite so well as he'd hoped. Silly of him; he should have asked Duo what sort of place Trowa would like. 'But we could go to another restaurant if you'd prefer?' 'It's fine.' He flicked his hair back and gave Quatre the benefit of both eyes. 'Look, stop stressing about it. I'm here to be with you; the food's not important. How about we order and then maybe some of these waiters will stop hovering?' He nodded to one of them. 'I'll have the prawns in banana leaf to start, and then the salmon. No sauce. Quatre?' 'Um, I'll have the same, please,' Quatre said, just a little dazedly. Normally, he loved spending ages going over the menu, deliberating over what to choose. Huh. This wasn't going at all well. Trowa hadn't even told him that he looked good, too busy criticizing the décor. 'Wouldn't you like some wine? The wine list is superb.' 'I'm driving. You go ahead and get some if you want.' Quatre nodded, ordering a half bottle of his favourite Sauvignon Blanc. Normally, he would have thought it was rude to be the only one drinking but Trowa obviously didn't care about common courtesy. 'These look wonderful,' he enthused happily, when their starters arrived. 'And so pretty. I love how they get them this dark pink colour.' 'Not bad,' Trowa allowed. 'The chef's used just a bit too much turmeric though, don't you think? Sure, the colour's great but the taste is just a little bit too overpowering.' 'Do you cook?' 'I've worked in a few restaurants. If we weren't busy, the chefs sometimes let me watch them. You?' 'Not really, not this sort of food anyway. I can make simple things. Not sauces or dressings or anything like that.' 'That's the best. A lot of so-called gourmet food is just gussying up good ingredients with a load of spices and sauces.' 'What sort of food do you like best?' 'Spicy. Thai, Indian. Vietnamese is really good too.' 'I love Indian. There's a lovely restaurant near the National Gallery; Jaipur. Have you ever been there?' Trowa shook his head. 'I don't eat out all that much. I like cooking; that way I can do it exactly the way I want.' 'I like cooking too, when I have time.' Quatre lifted his wine glass, which was almost empty, and a waiter moved smoothly forward to refill it. Odd; he didn't remember taking so much as one sip. 'It doesn't happen very often, though. I'm still building up my own business, so I work pretty long hours. Duo told me you work for yourself as well. You're an animal trainer, aren't you? Is that very difficult?' 'Animals are fine. Usually, the owners are the ones who need training.' 'Right.' The blond took another gulp of wine, trying not to imagine what being trained by Trowa would be like. He'd be very strict, probably, but Quatre could imagine himself doing all sorts of things just to see that rare smile, or even to get a word of approval. Good grief; this was all rather strange. Caught up in trying to entice a smile out of his date, he hadn't even glanced around the restaurant once, to see if he knew anyone. Very strange. It was rather flattering that Trowa hadn't either; those green eyes had remained very fixedly on him the whole time. That didn't mean no one was paying attention to him though. Table hopping at the Mermaid to greet friends was usually one of Quatre's favourite pastimes. Tonight, it was just irritating when people stopped by his table; he wanted to talk to Trowa, not gossip with people he hardly knew. Most of them could be brushed off quickly enough; one particular middle-aged lady had known him since childhood and deserved a certain amount of courtesy. 'I'm so sorry about that,' Quatre apologised. 'Mrs. Noventa's a friend of my mother's. They're both on the board of a couple of the same charities. You've probably heard of her husband; General Noventa. He's just been appointed to the Senate.' Trowa nodded. 'Just what the country needs. Another old man with his head firmly rooted in the past. Until Sanque can move on from this isolationist policy, we're never going to develop as a modern country.' 'I happen to agree with a lot of his policies,' Quatre retorted, and they were off on an incredibly detailed argument. By the time the waiters arrived with their second course, Quatre had completely forgotten about charming or impressing his date. Trowa was driving him insane. Elbows on the table, he had covered the cloth with a pattern of prawn shells, each one to represent some aspect of the Sanque economy. They'd also discussed Sanque's possible entry into the European Union, a film they'd both seen the previous week, the upcoming season at the Sanque Concert Hall, and the latest government scandal. Just enough to know they had virtually nothing in common. Trowa was a wonderful person to argue with; he listened to Quatre's ideas and had absolutely no problem in pulling them apart when he disagreed, but he also acknowledged a number of points as being correct. It wasn't like being on a date at all. There was simply no question of Trowa deferring to him, or letting him get away with any statements that he couldn't back up. It was like having a conversation with Duo or Treize or Zechs except that there wasn't any sort of sexual tension with his friends, and there was with Trowa, and it felt amazing. 'You know,' Trowa interrupted an impassioned statement by Quatre that ballet was one of the more superior art forms. 'I think we should probably let these guys clear up and go home.' Quatre blinked, glancing around and realising they had the place to themselves, except for a number of waiters. 'I can't believe it's this late. Almost twelve! Wouldn't you like a coffee before we go? I'm sure they won't mind us being a little longer.' 'Sure. But they'd probably spit in the coffee before they served us.' He laughed at the look on Quatre's face. 'Hey, I've worked in kitchens, like I said. We'll find someplace else for a nightcap. Come on.' Quatre apologised profusely and left a generous tip as they headed outside. 'They don't mind you walking out without paying in these sort of places?' Trowa asked quizzically. 'They probably would, yes. I eat there quite a lot; they have my card details.' 'That's handy,' Trowa commented. 'Now, what do you want to do next? We could just find somewhere for coffee or we could go to a club or something?' 'I hadn't actually planned to stay out all that late tonight. I have a breakfast meeting planned for the morning.' 'Staying up past your bedtime for one night won't hurt you,' Trowa informed him. 'Or do you have a curfew?' 'No.' He coloured slightly. 'Of course I don't. I suppose we could go for coffee. I'm not sure what's going to be open this time of night though, unless we take a taxi to the city centre.' 'I know a place.' He was off on those long legs, without so much as asking Quatre if that was all right. So damned infuriating; it was almost tempting to go straight home and see how Mr. Assertive liked that. Of course, he didn't. 'What kept you?' Trowa was waiting for him at the next corner, under a lamppost. All unfairly long legs in tight denim, and sea green eyes and that beautiful mouth. Oh, he'd definitely let Trowa kiss him before going home. Just to see if it was as good as the one they'd shared by the sea. Quatre had a tried and tested formula for kissing on the first date. If he liked the guy, but just as a friend, he would permit a peck on the cheek. If there was something more, it would be on the mouth, with perhaps a little above the waist groping. Trowa would be getting the deluxe treatment. 'Let's see if you were worth waiting for.' He was not, very definitely not, used to being manhandled. No one, ever, had pushed him into a doorway and then crushed his mouth like that. He could practically feel the imprint of rough bricks against his back, and Trowa had one hand holding his head in place and the other roving under his jacket. When he was finally released, he was panting. Both arms had somehow ended up twined around Trowa's neck, and he had one leg thrust between Trowa's. 'You could have asked me before doing that!' he hissed. Trowa took his arm. 'You might have said no, and then I'd have lost the element of surprise. Besides, I didn't really get that you were objecting all that much.' 'That isn't the point! I'm used to being asked.' 'Yeah, I got that impression.' Trowa peered down at him in the near darkness. 'I'd have let you go if I didn't think you were into it. You know that, right?' The blond nodded. He'd been every bit as enthusiastic as Trowa, once he'd realised what was going on. And the tall man hadn't been rough or aggressive or anything; just very determined. 'Let's go and get that drink, OK?' Trowa's voice was gentler than usual, and he wrapped one arm around Quatre's waist, making sure not to walk too fast. Huh. He'd already gone too fast. Too far, too fast, and Quatre hadn't even worked out yet whether or not he truly liked him. There were rather scary levels of physical attraction, and he'd been stimulating company, but Trowa certainly wasn't bothering to fuss over him, or pay him extravagant compliments, or hang on his every word. 'Cargo club!' Quatre exclaimed happily when they'd gone another couple of blocks. 'I love this place.' 'You come here?' 'Quite a lot. They have great live music at the weekends, especially the traditional Celtic sessions. I've played a couple of times.' Trowa, posed on the door step, turned back and gave him a long, searching look. 'How the hell have we not met properly before now?' 'I'm not sure. It's silly, isn't it? I mean, we have met but we never actually talked. Not like tonight.' 'Tonight's not over yet. Now, do you still just want coffee or would you like something stronger?' 'Coffee with a dash of Baileys would be lovely. But I'll get the drinks; I'm the one who asked you out.' 'It's after midnight.' That tiny, irresistible smile glimmered for a just a second. 'New day. New rules. You find us somewhere to sit.' New day, new rules. What was that supposed to mean? Tonight's not over yet. Quatre took a long, steadying breath. He'd never slept with someone on a first date, and he wasn't going to start. He'd already gone more than far enough. He'd drink his coffee and then call for a taxi home. Alone, obviously. 'Would you like to dance?' A hand, very gently, touched his shoulder; jerked suddenly out of his thoughts, Quatre stumbled over a chair leg. Someone caught his elbow, stopping his highly undignified tumble. 'Are you all right? I didn't mean to startle you like that.' 'Yes. Fine. Thank you. I'm so sorry, I was thinking about something and…oh.' Quatre turned around slowly and came face to face with him. The sandwich delivery guy, as Duo and Treize had started calling him. The man he'd been bumping into all over the place for the last month, and who had ensconced himself in all of Quatre's daydreams since he'd first seen him. Here. Now. Asking him to dance. He was smiling, with just a hint of concern. This was so, so unfair. Close up, he was amazing, but that wasn't it. Not just it. Those eyes were the most beautiful colour, and very soft, and he was looking at Quatre as if he'd just found something terribly precious. Probably the same way Quatre was looking up at him. 'Since you very obviously don't want to dance with me, perhaps you'll let me buy you a drink?' Those mesmerising eyes were dancing by themselves, alight with humour. 'No! I'd love to dance with you, um, that is, I would have loved to dance with you, but I'm here with somebody. So I can't. I am truly sorry.' 'Ah.' It was a painful thing, to watch the light fade from the other man's face. 'You would be, of course. Enjoy the rest of your night. It was nice to see you again.' 'I might see you in the morning,' Quatre ventured. 'If you're on the train.' He accorded Quatre a formal, little bow. 'I will be.' 'Great table,' Trowa observed, arriving back with a tray. 'Lucky that guy was leaving. I saw you talking. Do you know him or something?' 'No. I've just seen him on the train a few times. I don't know him at all.' He wanted to, though.
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