Disclaimer– I do not own Gundam Wing or any of the characters.
AN– I'm new to the Gundam Wing fandom and decided to try my hand at writing some fanfics. I have never seen Gundam Wing so the characters will be OOC.
Warnings-- Language, sexual situations, male/male, cross dressing, rape, suicide, murder, drugs
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Trowa walked into the bar and it seemed like all conversation stopped as everyone turned to look at him. Ignoring all the looks, he went over to the bar and sat down.

"Give me the strongest drink you've got."

"Be right with you." he said quickly looking at Trowa.

He turned away and quickly did a double take. Trowa didn't blame him for that reaction or the staring that followed. Hell, he'd stare at himself too. It wasn't everyday that you see a six foot tall teenager wearing a cat suit. Said cat suit consisted of black leotard, which was concealed by a trench coat, furry black ears, whiskers, and a collar stating that his name was Sugar Puff. And if the bartender could see under the trench coat he would see a long black tail and a leash attached to the collar.

"You can stare after I get my drink." he stated.

"Uh...sorry. I need to see ID."

Trowa pulled out his fake ID and handed it to the man. The bartender looked it over, handed it back to him and went to get Trowa's drink. A minute or later he returned with the drink. Trowa tasted it and then looked at the bartender.

"Either ask your question or go away." he snapped.

"Why are you dressed like a cat?"

"Costume party."

"It's not Halloween."

Idiot, Trowa thought. People dress up for reasons other than Halloween. But instead of saying that, he just shrugged his shoulders and drank more of his drink. Obviously not satisfied with that answer, the bartender continued staring at him.

Can't I just sit here and drink my fucking drink in peace?

Trowa wisely resisted the urge to tell the man to fuck off. No, it wasn't wise to piss off the person fixing you something to drink.

"It was a birthday party." he finally said. "The kid hates clowns, wanted a kitten."

Finally, satisfied with that answer, the bartender nodded his head and walked away. A small smirk appeared on Trowa's face. What he said wasn't exactly a lie. There had been a party and the birthday boy did want a cat. The difference was that the "boy" was actually a thirty-two year old man. Trowa finished that drink and ordered another two. After finishing those, he paid for the drinks and left. Just as he was about to walk out the door, someone yelled out to ask him if he was embarrassed walking around like he was. He pretended like he didn't hear him and continued walking out. Was he embarrassed? No. He had long ago given up the notion of being embarrassed. Not even an hour ago he had been on the floor playing with a ball of yarn like a cat while some guy jerked off to it. Yesterday he had been a slutty nurse, a rabbit and gave some guy a blowjob while the guy read from porn magazines. And tomorrow, who knew. He could be anything from some cute animal to a leather clad biker type, hopefully not the leather because he hated it. Or he could spend the whole day giving hand and blowjobs. He'd do whatever he was paid to do, except for full intercourse. Trowa flat out refused to have sex with anyone. He'd been down that road before and barely made it out alive. Never again. He wouldn't even be doing this but he needed money. And the only way to make money quickly was either sell drugs or yourself. He had sold drugs for awhile but once again he couldn't live with the guilt. There was only so many kids or pregnant woman that you could sell to before it begun bothering you. So he chose to sell himself. An acquaintance had helped him get a job at Love Zone, a dance club located in a massive old warehouse, which despite it's name no one came looking for anything resembling love. Trowa worked downstairs in the lounge, which was also misnamed. The lounge actually consisted of a small sitting room with a bar, a locker room, an office, and private rooms for anyone willing to pay for them. On paper anyone working in the lounge were considered escorts or waiters. Amongst the workers some referred to themselves as sexual gophers, pleasure specialists and other cute names to not say what they really were. Not Trowa. At all times he liked to remind himself of what he did, sold himself for money, and what he was, a whore. That way when it was all over, he'd remember how he hated what he was and would therefore do whatever was necessary to not be put back in that position. Even walking as slow as possible, Trowa made it back to work in ten minutes. He walked into the locker room and as usual people were walking around in various states of undress. A few people greeted him and he acknowledged them with a small nod of the head.

"You're late cat boy."

Trowa frowned but ignored Dante, the dark eyed red head that he knew was standing behind him.

"Ignore me then. But you need to hurry up and change. I'm not going to lose money because you're lazy."

Trowa turned to face him but didn't say anything.

"Patrick is sick so you're working a party with me and a few others." Dante explained. "Change out of the costume and let's go."

"I need to shower first."

"Shower when we get there."

Dante walked off. Oh this is going to be fun, Trowa thought sarcastically. It was no secret that he and Dante didn't get along. Rather, Dante didn't get along with him. Trowa had barely begun working in the lounge before Dante made it clear that he hated the ground Trowa walked on and would be the first to cheer once he was gone. Dante had gone so far as to try to sabotage him. But after a "friendly talk" with Trowa he backed off, content with just verbally attacking him. They hadn't ever crossed paths before so Trowa was fairly certain it was jealousy over the fact that he outranked him. In the lounge there was a ranking system ranging from the elites to the grunts. The elites, who usually had been there longer, got lots of perks, like more money, first choice of who they took on, what they did, access to nice hotel rooms, unlimited use of the club's cars and more. The grunts, usually newly hired, took on what no one else wanted. By all rights Trowa should've been ranked as a grunt. But due to some unsavory connections that Trowa would rather not have, he was treated like an elite. He only did grunt work by choice. After he finished changing, Trowa went outside where Dante was sitting in a car waiting. He glared at him for a second as he got in and then drove off. Half an hour later they pulled up in front of a huge mansion. On the ride there Dante told him what was going on. Apparently some big shot in the porn industry was being given a birthday party and they were the entertainment. Everyone one else working the party was already there getting ready.

"Use the upstairs bathroom to shower. Use the rob provided and leave your clothes in the bedroom. Meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes." he said once they were inside.

Once again he walked off without another word. Trowa shook his head slightly and went upstairs to the bedroom. He stripped off his clothes and stuffed them in his backpack, which he was glad he decided to bring along, and sat them on the floor out of the way of everyone else's clothes. He went into the bathroom and showered. Afterwards, he slipped on the short black silk robe and went downstairs. He found Dante downstairs talking to everyone else. Trowa was surprised that only five other people were wearing the black robs. Dante and everyone else were dressed in different colored almost see thru shorts with matching collars around their necks. He noticed Trowa and then looked at his watch. He still had five minutes left on the fifteen minute deadline so he couldn't say anything.

"You're part of the buffet."

Trowa's first thought was wondering if he was serving food. But the glint of amusement in Dante's eyes told him that he wasn't going to get off that easy.

"In there." he said pointing to the room behind him.

Dante moved to the side to let Trowa in. He went in and looked around. It was an enormous, and he meant enormous, playroom. He guessed it would have to be seeing as everything in the room was huge. Entertainment center, fireplace, chairs, tables, dart boards, two pool tables, stocked bar. There was a wall of glass that lead out to an even bigger deck with what looked like an Olympic sized pool just beyond it. There was more to see but he eyes were drawn to another set of sliding glass doors just to his left. They were open so he was able to see the long tables that were draped in black silk sitting in there. Buffet tables. Empty buffet tables, his mind supplied a second later. Trowa's eyes narrowed slightly. You have got to be kidding me, he thought as he quickly realized what that could possibly mean.

"You're dessert." Dante said confirming his suspicions. "Just lay up there and try not to move or speak. Think you can handle that?"

In response, Trowa pulled off his robe, and walked over to the table. Looking completely indifferent, he hopped up on the table and laid back. As he did he heard one of the "boys" mumble something to Dante, who then started laughing. Two words were deliberately said loud enough for Trowa to hear, "kept bitch." They wanted him to react but he didn't. Truth was he could care less about what they said. He was well aware of the rumors about him being someone's pet but they weren't even close to the truth. He was a lot of things but kept wasn't one of them. The next few minutes saw the others got on their tables and made themselves comfortable. Once that was done, the caterers began setting the tables. Trowa stared at the ceiling as bite-sized cakes, pastries and other sweets were strategically, yet decoratively, placed on and around his body. Warm melted chocolate was poured into his navel until it overflowed and ran down his sides while whipped cream and other dipping sauces, were poured onto other parts of his body in patterns that he couldn't see. After the caterers were finished, they took a picture of each table and went back to the kitchen, where they waited until they were needed to replenish the tables. As the party began Trowa relaxed as much as he could and tried to zone out. It was difficult because the table was cold and he felt disgusting with the food just sitting on him. He silently cursed at rich perverts who had too much time and money on their hands.

What happened to the days of a quick suck and fuck, he asked himself.

Granted this was a lot better than a back alley fuck, but in some cases faster was better. And at least there wasn't a no drinking on the job rule. As long as they didn't get too drunk to do their job, then they were fine. Every now and then a caterer would come check on them and bring them something to drink, vodka in Trowa's case. And after a few drinks, he hoped to be tipsy enough not to care about all the people touching and eventually licking him. About four hours later, Trowa and the others were told that they were finished. Without looking like he was rushing, Trowa went to get a hot shower. He had thought the food just sitting on him was bad, but the stickiness and dried flakes of different icing were worse. Not to mention the clamminess left behind by being licked clean. Afterwards, he got dressed and went downstairs to Dante's car to wait for him. The past taught him that Dante wasn't above leaving him to get home or back to the club on his own. Dante wasn't happy with having to drive him home, especially since Trowa lived in the opposite direction than he did. After an hour in complete silence, they finally got there. Dante looked at the house, then Trowa and back to the house. From the shocked look on his face it was obvious that he hadn't expected Trowa to live in such a nice area, much less a huge townhouse.

"Home sweet Sugar Daddy's home." Dante said sarcastically.

Trowa ignored him and got out of the car. He should've known that Dante would automatically think this was his "Sugar Daddy's" house but truth was that there was no Sugar Daddy. The townhouse actually belonged to friends of someone that Trowa knew, and that he was only staying in one of the extra rooms. Although even that was about to change. Trowa was soon going to have to move because Victor and Brad, the couple who owned the townhouse, had decided that he should be their personal fuck toy. Trowa readily admitted that he had non verbally played a part in their assumption. But what did they expect him to do when they'd knock two hundred dollars off his share of the rent if he handed them the money in the nude? Or not charge him for utilities and food if he let them rub against him like cats in heat. Hell, he was fine with that and would've probably thrown in a few blowjobs and handjobs if they hadn't started getting possessive. He could barely leave without being bombarded with questions like where are you going, who are you going with, when will you be back. They were probably going to hound him mercilessly once he got inside because he hadn't been home in two days. Surprisingly, the house was silent when he walked in. Glad that he avoided an interrogation, Trowa went to his bedroom. He quickly got undressed, got into the bed and went to sleep.

From a younger age, Trowa learned how to be a light sleeper so when his door creaked open a few hours later he instantly woke up. He slid his had under his pillow to the knife he always kept with him. Their distinctive after shave already told him that it was Victor and Brad. Trowa sighed inwardly. It seemed like he was moving sooner than he thought. He pretended to be sleep because he was curious to see what they were up to. A hand, Victor's judging from the size, stroked his wrist. As he did, something metal clinked. Handcuffs, his mind instantly supplied. That wasn't good. If they handcuffed him, he'd be in a lot of trouble. So Trowa lashed out and sliced at the hand. Victor yelled in pain.

"Keep your hands to yourself." Trowa said calmly as he got out of bed.

He turned on the light and saw that Brad was kneeling beside Victor holding his shirt to his cut hand. The handcuffs lay forgotten on the floor.

"Are you crazy?" Brad shrieked. "You cut him."

In response Trowa picked up the handcuffs and dangled them in front of their faces to remind them of what they had planned to do.

"We're even."

Trowa began to pack his things so he could leave. Despite his calm exterior, he was furious. Just the thought of what could've happened while he was handcuffed made him want to cut more than Victor's hand. Only the threat of going to jail and the fact that he played a part in the situation stopped him. Although, Trowa wasn't concerned about them calling the police because he knew they wouldn't. They would never want to explain why someone like him was living with them. Once he was finished packing he left. The minute he stepped outside his mood further deteriorated. Not only was it cold, it was raining. Why couldn't they have picked a warmed night to act up, he thought. And why couldn't they choose a day when he was already in a shitty mood? No, they chose the one day that was going okay. To make matters worse, he didn't really have anywhere to go now. He didn't have any friends and the few acquaintances he did know wouldn't help him out of the goodness of their hearts. It didn't matter anyway. They lived in rough neighborhoods. Noone was going to open the door for him at this time of night. Instead he walked ten minutes to the nearest bus stop. He'd wait there until the buses began running again in three hours. Even though it wouldn't really help, he quickly put more clothes to try to keep out the cold. Luckily the bench was covered so he wouldn't get too wet. He sat down and wished he had taken some kind of alcohol when he left, but was somewhat glad that he didn't. In his present mood, he was more than likely to get drunk and slit his own throat.

"Trowa Barton, whore extraordinaire, survives another day." he said bitterly.

That's if you can call being cold, tired, homeless, forced into a lifestyle he hated, and broke even though he was well paid, surviving. Still as bad as it was, he knew that it could always be worse. First hand knowledge reminded him that it could be much more worse. But in the end, he had pulled himself together and got through it. He would just have to do it again. And since this time he had a reason to make it, he was going to fight that much harder. Trowa looked up at the sky and sighed. But this was it. He didn't have it in him to go through this anymore. He couldn't. Correction, wouldn't. He'd rather die first.

"One way or another, it ends with this." Trowa promised himself.