Title: Vampires Brefer Blondes Pairing: Quatre/Trowa, Trowa/Zechs By: Lost Angel Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or anything to do with it. Notes: Thanks for the title Shiva!

Quatre stumbled clumsily down the streets, lazily colliding with people who uttered quiet complaints of "hey there," and "watch where you're going." He didn't know what to watch, because the fact was that he had no idea where he was going.

The day had been a plethora of poor and painful experiences that he knew he didn't want to remember. As the rain picked up its tight grip on him he folded his thin arms around himself to try to keep himself warm.

The city surrounding him showed complete pathetic fallacy to the way he was feeling and acting. Dark passageways seemed more foreboding than usual and torrents of rain and cold were raining down incessantly. The crowds of people seemed to take no heed to this as they talked amongst themselves, more focused on the bright lights and advertisements shouting at them than the frail teenager around them.

Quatre was barely 17, but he didn't look it. His face was covered with the mingling remnants of tears, washed away by the onslaught of water that had started a short while ago. His head of messy blonde hair was unusually matted down, as it was usually gelled into many sharp spikes. Quatre was wearing only what he had on when he had to leave: a dark blue t-shirt and black cargo pants. But he might as well have been naked because the fabric was doing little to still the chill that was forcing its way into his bones.

Exhausted and freezing, Quatre emerged from the crowd to find what looked like a fairly innocent bar, so he entered, hoping to warm himself. It seemed odd that such a swank bar was situated in the part of town usually reserved for clubs and techno dance studios, but he was far too tired and cold to care, so he took a seat at the bar and warmed himself.

It was fairly crowded, surrounded with people talking, but they were drowned out by others, their voices mingling into a white-noise of chit chat and corny pick-up lines. Quatre kept his head down, with a faint showing of pain in his eyes as he blew on his frost-bitten hands.

"Can I get you anything?"

Quatre moved back at the sudden words and looked up. In front of him was a tall, aging man with graying, black hair who didn't seem to mind at all that a young teenager, soaked to the bone, was dripping on the bar. He was portly, but seemed homely, so Quatre made faint smile to try to get on his good side of the contrary proved true.

"Ummm.I think I'll just have." He was desperately trying to search for an answer other than water, but his options were low. Bars didn't take kindly to people ordering water, especially when they were covered with it in the first place.

The bartender didn't seem upset in the least, he simply scooped some ice into a clear glass, and filled it with what appeared to be Coca-Cola. "It's on the house."

Before Quatre could reply the man stuck a slice of lemon on the side of the glass, and went off to check on some other customers. He smiled and took the glass happily, drinking the sweet beverage, and eating the citrus fruit quickly, enjoying the sour taste.

Quatre felt fairly aimless. He didn't know where to go, or what to do. All he had was a Coke and the cloths on his back. Idly, he ran his hand across the other, while surveying the area. After finding nothing of interest (besides two women having a raucous fight at the table behind him), Quatre slumped lower into his chair, waiting for the night to pass him by.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He had never regretted doing it before. Such a simple nature couldn't be denied, or ignored with a callous swipe of indignation. So he withdrew, his teeth stained red, but he was quick to clean them with his mouth, as he wiped his lips free of any excess liquid.

She had been pretty. A brunette, but unnoticeable, and Trowa made the decision that no one would probably miss her. So he carelessly allowed the body to rest against a wall, and he moved on. Funny, he though, once someone dies he or she no longer has a name. He or she is now only "it" or "the body." Something about this lack of sympathy in his own pray brought a quiver of pleasure to Trowa, and he smirked as he returned to the torrential downpour.

He was sated for the time being, but that didn't mean he would deny indulging in a another fresh kill. All around him were hundreds of people, but the vast majority didn't fit the tastes that Trowa had acquired over the years. He, and most others of his kind, took great care in who they decided to dine upon. After all, you are what, or who, you eat.

Trowa swerved through the sea of young people, until he came to walk behind a tall blonde man. His hair easily went down far below his neck, spilling across his body. He was taller than Trowa, but that didn't factor into his equation, the struggle was half the fun.

The blonde jerked to the right and head through a crack between two apartment buildings, and Trowa followed his movements obediently. When he entered the gloomy passage, he noticed the man was standing serenely still, staring at the cobbles of bricks in front of him.

Assuming nothing, Trowa inquisitively moved closer to the blonde until he was only a few inches behind him. Trowa pondered his next movement for a few short seconds before placing his right hand around the taller man's neck, and grinding his hips against his victim's rear-end.

Trowa smiled at the lack of response from the seemingly coy creature. He would have all the time in the world to show how much he could make him scream, cry, and best of all, beg.

As he was about to move his prisoner about-face, the blonde slipped out of Trowa's control, grabbing both his wrists and slamming him violently against the cold brick wall behind him.

He could feel his head swimming, and Trowa let out a low growl of anger and pain. He jerked both of his wrists, but this only allowed his attacked to squeeze them harder, eliciting a quiet yelp of repeal from the smaller man.

Finally, Trowa took an assessment of the situation and decided it was in his best interests to get a better view of his attacker. Slowly, Trowa opened his eyelids.

"Fuck Zechs, you really are a bastard."

The blonde smirked. "What? You're telling me you don't like this you little whore?" He squeezed his wrists again, harder, and forced his own body against Trowa's, forcing him to stand up straight. The corduroy of Zechs and the denim of Trowa moved rhythmically and Zechs seized this opportunity to force himself even closer.

"Mind letting me go?" Trowa almost cried, now letting the pain in his voice come out clearly as he winced, drawing his eyes shut again. Zechs' hands were like vices around his wrists, and he desperately want relief from it.

Zechs only took this as a predisposed gesture to ask for more, so yet again he pressed himself hard against Trowa, and roughly grasped the brunette's left leg, raising it up to his hip in dominance. Ignoring his question, Zechs replied, "you didn't recognize me pet? I'm disappointed. I thought after all the time that we spent together that you would be able to pick me out." The stronger vampire released Trowa.

Not willing to show relief, Trowa smoothly let his hands crawl up towards Zech's hair and play with a few golden locks. The tassels were smooth in his hands and he rubbed the back of his foot against Zech's back suggestively. "Are you really that full of yourself? Do you honestly think you're that unforgettable?"

In a type of semantically inept dance, Zechs answered Trowa with another question. "How've you been? Get anyone good lately?" His eyes moved around Trowa, he seemed thinner than when he last visited him.

Trowa shrugged and moved his eyes to the ground, eyeing a Coke can. "There aren't many interesting ones around here, nothing like in New York." He smiled whimsically, remembering the night that Zechs and he had gotten their hands on two twin blondes. Memories.

Zechs frowned, somewhat disappointed by the reply. "You should be eating more," he let his hands rub under Trowa's stomach, allowing his index finger to trace semi-circles around Trowa's naval. "I wouldn't want you getting sick."

"Don't worry, I just had some young brunette a couple of minutes ago, I think I'm good for a while." Trowa lowered his leg as he was beginning to have a cramp in it, but as he had thought, Zechs wouldn't allow that.

The second the limb began to recline, it was forced back up again by a strong hand. "Uh-uh, trying to go somewhere? I still have a lot I want to talk to you about." After finishing his taunting, Zechs forced the other leg up, now pressing Trowa against the wall for support. "Now, settle in, because I am not done with you yet."

Trowa fawned a melodramatic sigh. "Not able to get enough like normal? I guess age really does get to you," he snapped his ring finger, moving a few hairs from Zech's brow. "You do look at least 300."

Zechs smirked, accepting the metaphorical challenge he had just received. "You can just say it you know."

Trowa raised an eyebrow bemusement. "What's that supposed to mean?"

The blonde used one of Trowa's hands, dangling like a puppet, to push away a few more stray hairs. "It's your sad little way of begging for me to have my way with you without actually having to say it."

Although Zechs had him right on, Trowa once again fawned ignorance, and answered the previous comment with further silence, and of course, moving his lips dangerously close to his masters'. "Take me then master."

"No."

Trowa moved his lips forward on instinct, but when he felt his legs drop back onto the ground, he stuttered in shock. "What the f."

Zechs moved away and tossed his previously discarded jacket onto his shoulder. "You can't come crawling to me every time you want some, go get a human." Smiling, the blonde retreated back into the night.

Trowa slid down the wall that he previously held prisoner on. The very though repulsed him. He wanted Zechs, not some weak human that he could toss aside on a whim. He wanted an aggressor, an equal that he could challenge and be challenged by. But it appeared that he had no other choice. There was no point in attempting to follow Zechs, he was already gone.