Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, and am making no money off of this fic.
AN: Written for the August 24th Cocktail Party prompt found here: gwcocktailfriday . tumblr .com(/)post/177128930020/what-do-you-mix-with-your-alcohol-cocktail-friday. (Without the spaces and parentheses.)
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Everything You Got by luvsanime02
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"What's your poison, sweetheart?"
Quatre doesn't even blink at the term of endearment. He's far too used to waitresses and bartenders calling him all sorts of names, from sweetheart to dear to doll, even. He simply points to a sign behind the bar. "Give me one of all of those with vodka," he says.
The bartender follows his finger to the colorful display behind him that's showing several different types of fruits and vegetables being mixed into drinks, along with the saying 'What do you mix with your alcohol?' in bold letters underneath the picture.
Quatre sees the raised eyebrow, and braces himself for the teasing, or the concern that someone of Quatre's slight stature is ordering so many drinks. Instead, the bartender only shrugs and reaches under the bar. "Sure thing, sweetheart."
He decides that he's more than okay with the nickname as long as he's not being judged for ordering five different cocktails at nine in the morning. Quatre takes a seat at the bar, deciding that it's too much effort to find somewhere else to sit. If the bartender's not going to give him any crap, then this spot is good enough.
"On vacation?" the guy asks, while he's mixing the first drink in the blender.
Quatre shrugs. Of course he's on vacation. He's at a resort on a tropical island that's famous for its tourism. But he also understands that small talk is part of the bartending deal. If he was really against being talked to, Quatre would have sat at a table somewhere.
"Yes," he says. "One of my older sisters booked the whole thing for me, packed my stuff, and told me I wasn't allowed back in the office for two weeks."
It was partly touching, but a lot annoying. Quatre knows that he's been working hard lately, and that his sister is worried for his health, but he doesn't believe that gives her the right to suddenly rearrange his entire schedule and pack him off for a couple of weeks like an unruly schoolboy.
The bartender snorts sympathetically. "Older sisters can be a handful," he says, and just from his tone, Quatre knows that the other man is speaking from experience.
Quatre smiles. "I'm pretty mad about it," he admits. "Still, since I'm here, I'm trying to make the best of things." And trying not to worry too much over the million problems that are still going to be waiting for him when he gets back, needing dealt with even more urgently than before.
That's not really fair of him. Several of Quatre's sisters have business degrees, and are perfectly capable of running WEI while Quatre's gone for a couple of weeks. Hell, several of them help Quatre, anyway.
That's not the point, though.
"Is that what the drinks are for?" the bartender asks, setting two down in front of Quatre.
He blinks, and needs a few seconds to remember their conversation before nodding. "Yes," he says. "I don't plan on going back to my room until after sunset, so I might as well just sit here and get very, very drunk this morning."
He takes a large gulp of the first drink. It's the pineapple one, and very tasty.
"Might as well," the bartender agrees amicably enough. Quatre gets the feeling, though, that he'd rather not be responsible for a completely drunk guest this morning. Not that he can blame the guy.
"Don't worry," Quatre says reassuringly. "I actually have quite a high tolerance for alcohol. As long as I eat something eventually, I'm not going to end up sitting here serenading you with songs from Mamma Mia!, or anything."
That startles a laugh out of the bartender. Quatre studies him intently for the first time, and realizes that he's actually quite attractive. Not surprising for a resort like this. The guy has gorgeous green eyes and a fall of reddish brown hair styled over one side of his face. His shoulders are wide and defined, and his torso leads down to a trim waist, and yeah, Quatre needs to stop drooling over the guy now.
"That might be entertaining, though," the bartender says eventually.
Quatre chuckles, shaking his head. "Not really," he admits. "I'd probably damage your eardrums. I have the worst singing voice ever."
"Too bad," the guy quips. "No one's tried to serenade me since yesterday."
Snickering, Quatre finishes off the first drink and reaches for the second one. "Are the tips worth it?" he asks, curious.
The guy nods. "Usually," he confirms. Someone else walks up to the bar just then, though thankfully at the other end so Quatre doesn't have to make polite conversation with them, and the bartender moves away with a short wave.
Quatre turns around in his seat a little, looking around at the others sitting by the pool or at the various tables, and admits to himself that his family could have picked worse vacation destinations to force on him. He pulls out his phone, takes a picture of the bartender, and sends it along with a winky face to Iria, before promptly turning off his phone so that he can ignore her response.
Let her be jealous. Quatre has no doubt that she'll share the picture with all the rest of his sisters, too, and then they can all commiserate over his good luck together. Let that teach them to treat him like a teenager.
"Do I want to know?" the bartender asks after he walks back over, obviously having noticed earlier that Quatre took his picture.
"I'm making all of my sisters jealous," he explains honestly.
"'All of'?" the bartender repeats. "How many sisters do you have?"
Quatre smirks. He always loves witnessing people's reactions to this reveal. "Twenty-nine," he says casually.
The bartender stops moving and stares, clearly waiting for Quatre to say that he's joking. When he doesn't, the guy shakes his head and pushes the last of the drinks over to him. "That one's on the house," he says, gesturing at the glass. "I'm so sorry."
Quatre laughs. "I get that a lot," he says. Then, he holds out his hand. "Quatre Winner," he says, introducing himself, because he wants to call this guy something other than 'the bartender' in his head.
That earns him a stunning smile. "Trowa Barton," the guy says, returning the handshake. "Nice to meet you."
"It's very nice to meet you too, Trowa," Quatre says, really meaning it, and yeah, now he's enjoying himself. Maybe this vacation won't be so bad, after all.