|
"Wish Upon a Star "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, AU Pairings: 3x4 Summary: When you wish upon a star, it makes no
difference who you are, unless you're the heir to the Winner business
empire. So when you do find a means of escape, how long can you hold
on to the fantasy, and the man of your dreams, before reality takes
over? "Wish Upon a Star "
Blond Bombshell: Beer was just wonderful, Quatre thought dreamily. Wonderful. The most wonderful substance in the whole universe. Such a lovely colour – amber-gold with bubbles and if you held a glass to the light you could see tiny suns and stars sparkling and dancing through the liquid. And the ice-cubes clinked so prettily when he lifted his glass. It was just a shame, really, that he disliked the taste so much. He took another long swallow, thinking of it as medicine, and put the glass down, beaming at the man standing behind the bar. 'May I have another glass of beer please?' 'I think he's had enough for one night, Frank.' The new voice, soft and deep, came from somewhere behind him, and Quatre swivelled around on his stool so fast that he almost pitched forward on to the floor. 'Easy there.' Oh, it just wasn't fair that a voice could be so softly melodious and deep and hold so many layers of concern and amusement and just an edge of authority. He'd rested a hand on each of Quatre's shoulders, holding him carefully in place. 'Thank you. But I'm ferfectly pine…I mean, I'm perfectly fine.' Damn, he'd been trying to sound so dignified and had to spoil it all with a loud hiccup. 'I know you are. Frank, can I have a large glass of water please? And you know perfectly well that there are laws about selling more alcohol to people who are drunk.' Quatre's indignant 'I'm not remotely drunk' chimed with Frank's equally offended 'he's only had one glass.' 'I am not drunk,' Quatre repeated, this time managing not to mangle his consonants. 'Anyway, it's none of your business. None of anyone's business.' It wasn't either. Even if the man had the most amazing voice, what Quatre did wasn't any of his concern. He'd been having such a lovely time. He'd danced a couple of times, trying to pretend he was actually the blond bombshell Brian had called him, trying to pretend that he was the sort of person who was allowed to go to clubs and dance, and have fun. It had been fun. And now this total stranger had turned up out of nowhere and wanted to boss him around, like everyone else in the universe did, and it was intolerable. 'I am quite capable of looking after myself, thank you very much,' he snapped, sliding off the stool. The other man didn't let go of him, which effectively meant Quatre walked straight into an embrace. He was tall, quite a bit taller than Quatre, and good-looking. Very good-looking in fact, even if one side of his face was mostly hidden by a swathe of hair falling across his forehead. Oh, it was very, very tempting to sweep that hair to one side, to see how it felt, to see if his other eye was a match for that gleaming jade colour. 'Of course you are. Frank, can I have that glass of water? And a shot of whiskey for myself?' 'You're humouring me,' Quatre muttered crossly, taking the glass he was handed. It tasted wonderful; ice-cold and clear and fresh. Sadly, this annoying, persistent man had let go of him to take the drinks. He missed that contact; he couldn't remember the last time anyone, except his sisters, had touched him, even casually. Except Brian, and he'd been paid to do so, so it didn't count. 'I wouldn't dream of doing anything of the sort. Frank, another glass of water when you're ready. ' 'And you're laughing at me.' Quatre drained the second glass and fished out the slice of lemon to chew. That was so much better; at least he'd got rid of the nasty taste of the beer! 'Wouldn't dream of it.' He had a lovely mouth, and perfect teeth when he smiled. 'Now, are you going to throw up?' 'Certainly not! I'm fine.' 'In that case, would you like to dance?' 'Why?' Quatre crossed his arms across his chest and glared into laughing green eyes. He wasn't used to being laughed at. He wasn't sure that he liked it. 'Aren't you scared I will get sick on you?' 'You just said you wouldn't and I trust you. Anyway, I'm willing to risk it. You're cute when you pout, do you know that?' 'I am not pouting!' 'Uh huh.' One long finger, still cold from holding the frosted glasses, traced the outline of Quatre's mouth. 'You're frowning, you've got your bottom lip stuck out. Very definitely a pout. Come on, one dance?' 'I'm not sure if I want to dance with you. You're very bossy.' 'Bossy,' the other man mused, finger stroking Quatre's cheek. 'I wish you wouldn't call me that. Can't I be masterful or dominant? They sound much more impressive.' Quatre shook his head. 'Sorry. Not when you're wearing a Hello Kitty watch.' 'Damn.' He threw back his head, laughing. 'It's my niece's. I forgot that I was wearing it.' 'That's what they all say,' Quatre teased, belatedly realising that he'd somehow gone from offended to flirting. How had that happened? 'All right. If I admit it's mine, will you dance with me?' Quatre dropped his eyes. 'I'm not a very good dancer. Really.' It was more or less true, just because he'd never had much chance to practice. He'd been to a few clubs with Jordan; he'd been to a few highly secret clubs on L4 where dancing was usually a brief preliminary to a much deeper connection. 'Nor am I. It doesn't matter anyway. I just want to have an excuse to hold you.' 'I'm not sure if that's sweet or corny.' 'You could always give me the benefit of the doubt. And it's true. Now, come on.' Quatre supposed that he could have wrenched his hand free from the other man's fairly light grasp if he'd wanted. He didn't want. He'd lied about not being a good dancer. He hadn't lied about wanting to hold Quatre, it seemed . It felt wonderful. 'I thought you said you couldn't dance.' 'So did you,' Quatre retorted. 'I know.' Green eyes glinted under the strobe lighting. 'But I'm the sort of guy who bosses total strangers around and wears little girls' jewellery. You can't expect someone like me to be honest with you.' 'What's your name?' Quatre asked suddenly. He hadn't meant to. He'd allow himself one dance with an anonymous stranger; one happy, flirty little memory to hug to himself. 'Trowa. What do I call you?' Quatre swallowed at the question. Not 'what is your name?' He wasn't sure what that meant. 'Quatre.' He had to shout it over a sudden burst of loud music and Trowa shook his head. 'Call me Cat.' People on Earth sometimes found it hard to pronounce his name; it was easier just to shorten it. 'Cat. OK.' The music slowed, and then they weren't dancing so much as swaying together. One of Trowa's hands was resting on his hipbone, stroking lightly and the other was on the back of his neck. Quatre closed his eyes, letting his head fall against Trowa's shoulder, wanting to remember every second of this. He'd expected the slow dance would herald a make-out session, but Trowa seemed happy just to hold him. 'This is really nice,' he murmured into the soft fabric of Trowa's shirt, not sure if Trowa would even be able to hear him. 'Isn't it?' Quatre smiled faintly as Trowa tightened his arms around him. 'I could hold you like this all night, you know.' 'I could go along with that.' Quatre lifted his face, still smiling, and felt Trowa's lips curve against his. 'I could do this all night too.' He tasted of whiskey. He was very gentle. Quatre had never been kissed like that, never. He never wanted it to stop. The music stopped them, in the end. The slow song came to an end, replaced by a jarring cacophony of sound. He let Trowa take his hand and lead him off the dance floor. 'There's another bar on the roof terrace. It's quieter. You want to go up there for a drink?' Quatre nodded, following him up a spiral staircase. 'Do you come here a lot?' 'Fairly often. Your first time, right?' 'Is it that obvious?' 'I know most of the regulars. And your accent isn't local.' 'No, I'm from L4.' Quatre gasped as they stepped on to the roof; there was a small bar, festooned with twinkling fairy lights, and a few stools and tables. And a starlit sky, and the city lights below. 'This is amazing.' 'I know. Sometimes I come here just so I can watch the stars. What do you want to drink?' 'Just a glass of mineral water or something. I don't really drink alcohol much.' He grinned ruefully. 'As you probably guessed.' 'It wasn't that hard.' Trowa's smile was teasing. Instead of being offended, Quatre felt oddly warm. He didn't really mind Trowa laughing at him. 'So how come you were trying to drown your sorrows in a glass of beer?' 'It's a long story. I've just had an incredibly bad day and I needed to get away for a bit.' 'Do you want to talk about it?' Trowa settled them at a small table in a quiet corner, ordering two glasses of iced tea. 'Not really. Just family stuff.' 'All right. So what are you doing in Sanque?' 'I'm on holiday.' That, for these few hours, was true enough. It wasn't as if he could tell Trowa the truth. I'm here to finalise a trade treaty between the Sanque government and my family's company. And announce my engagement to a girl I've only met a couple of times. And hide from my ex-boyfriend who's trying to out me. How had his life become so very complicated? I had all been so much easier when he could just hide away in his office, and try to pretend that he was just another WEI employee, that he wouldn't have to run the company one day. Now, he didn't even have that tiny fantasy to escape into. Life was about to become pure, harsh reality. The CEO of Winner Enterprises would live his entire life under public scrutiny. That was the way things were. 'I'm glad I met you,' he said suddenly, meaning it. There would always be that one little prism of light in the darkest day of his life. He'd met Trowa. In another lifetime, in another reality, perhaps they could have been friends. 'I'm sorry if I was rude to you before. You were only trying to help me. I'm really, really glad you just happened to come and order a drink when you did.' Trowa smiled; just a slight quirk of his lips. 'It wasn't exactly a coincidence. I'd been watching you since you walked in the door.' 'Watching me? Why?' The little smile deepened. 'Haven't they invented mirrors on L4?' He reached out and teased one tousled lock of blond hair around a finger. The smile died; it had never reached his eyes, Quatre realised suddenly. 'You looked really lost. Like you weren't quite sure what you were doing here. I've seen guys look like that before, the first time they go into a gay bar, the first time they take that first step. You know?' Quatre nodded, remembering himself at eighteen, letting Jordan persuade him to go to his first gay club. He'd been terrified. Two years later, back on L4, he'd finally taken the plunge and visited one of the discreet, top-secret gay bars, driven by desperate loneliness. 'It's not really like that. I've been to places like this before. Just not for a while. And it's, well, it's difficult at home.' 'Yeah.' Trowa said it very softly. 'My best friend's from L2; he's told me what it's like on some of the colonies. What's your real name?' 'Quatre. But people do call me Cat sometimes.' 'Quatre.' He pronounced it properly, which most people on Sanque couldn't do. 'I like that. What do you do when you're not on holiday?' 'I work for my family business. Not very exciting. And you?' 'I run a bookshop.' The hand stroking Quatre's hair stilled suddenly. 'What were you looking for when you came here tonight? Honestly?' 'Honestly?' Quatre slid his hand over Trowa's. 'I just wanted to get away for a couple of hours. I had a row with my older sister earlier. She, well, my mother died when I was born and Iria is a lot older so she's practically my surrogate mother. Anyway, I just needed to escape for a little bit from where I'm staying and I met someone earlier who recommended this place…so here I am.' 'The place where you're staying is that bad?' Trowa's eyebrow, the one not hidden by his fall of hair, lifted. 'You're not staying in one of those fleapits down by the docks, are you? They're total dives. My friend Duo stayed there for a week when he first came to Sanque and he still bitches about it.' 'No. My hotel is quite nice, but I just needed to get out.' Quatre agreed, hoping Trowa would put his sudden blush down to the fact that the other man's fingers had begun to caress the back of his neck. He was hopeless at lying, and he hated lying to someone he liked. Really liked. Anyway, most of what he'd told Trowa was essentially true. He and Iria had had a row, and he'd needed to escape; all very true. He'd just omitted a few of the details, and it wasn't as if he could tell a virtual stranger any of his real problems. 'Poor Quatre.' They'd been sitting close together anyway, close enough for legs and arms to brush. It was easy for Trowa to pull him into his lap, and slide both arms around him. 'Are you feeling better now?' 'Now, I am.' Quatre snuggled against him. If he closed
his eyes, and tried really hard, he could make himself believe that
this was his reality, even for a little while. ~ * ~ |
