Title: Happy Birthday, Mr. President
Author: WickedGame
Archive: FFNet, MediaMinerOrg, anyone else just needs to ask
Category: Humor
Rating: M or R, depending on how you look at it
Warnings: Crossdressing, bad singing, foul language, sexually suggestive material
Spoilers: None
Notes: Third fic in my Drunken Debauchery Series. This fic is dedicated to Keiichi Sei, who drew me my very first fan art ever and mailed it to just recently. It provided me with the inspiration for this story. Many many thanks! Beta-ed by FantasyOrReality.
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing. I don't! I do not own the song "Happy Birthday" (I don't wanna be sued by those ruthless people!)
Quatre Winner sat in his place of honor at the annual Winner Enterprises Dinner with boredom in his eyes and dirty in his mind. While the COO droned on about their stocks and such, Quatre's dirty mind wandered to memories of he and Trowa playing 'pin the tail on the Quatre' the night before. The tail in question had been a very nicely shaped dildo, and Quatre had moaned when –
'Oh nononono, I cannot get a hard on here!" Quatre bemoaned his damned horny mind and banished the memories from his head. He downed what must have been his sixth martini and let the vermouth and gin carry him off on a blissful cloud of fuzziness that was the only way to describe the tipsiness he was feeling. After all, it was his birthday. Later on they were all planning on going back to the karaoke bar for some fun. Hopefully Duo would get back up there and sing another show tune that they could all razz him for later.
"Mr. Winner, would you like to come up here and say a few words?" the snooty looking COO asked, inviting him to come to the podium. Quatre got up with a little stagger causing snickering throughout the audience. Quatre walked the few steps to the podium and cracked a smile at the disapproving man.
"Excuse me, Coscarelli, but you seem to have left your fly down," Quatre tried to whisper but it did not work very well, and the man in question blushed as he returned to his seat. Quatre turned to face the people who made up a large part of his father's company.
"I am truly sorry about that. But, I think it may be the bartender's fault. He makes a sinful martini," the crowd laughed gently at the joke. Quatre looked for Trowa in the crowd but he could not see him, "I am so very happy to have you all as employees. Our company means a lot to me, and I hope it means a lot to all of you. I think that – "
Quatre was cut off when the audience almost collectively gasped. He stared at them in semi-drunken confusion and then turned around.
Who knew Trowa could look so good in a skirt? With a microphone? The top he wore bared his midriff, a little pink number that was gathered throughout his torso, and had little halter straps that encircled Trowa's slim neck. The skirt must have been a silk georgette, with a slit that came up the Trowa's muscular thigh. Where he had gotten pink boots to go with it Quatre had no clue, but the overall effect was amplified even more with the smoky eye makeup and lusciously painted lips.
Trowa was no singer, so it was no surprise that his voice came out of the speakers breathy and weirdly pitched.
"Happy Birthday to you," Trowa walked closer to Quatre, never taking his eyes off the stammering blond boy.
"Happy Birthday to you," Quatre was now blushing and blubbering.
"Happy Birthday. Mister … President," Trowa stopped right in front of Quatre and laid a hand on his chest.
"Happy Birthday. To. You," Trowa grabbed Quatre and kissed him ardently, not caring that his lipstick was being smeared by the second.
Quatre grabbed Trowa's arm and they ran backstage, Trowa to keep from busting up laughing, and Quatre to get somewhere that would allow him to blush and stammer all he wanted without losing face.
"What the fuck was that?" Quatre gasped.
The snickering from the corner told him that the other three were here too.
"Oh. My. God! Quatre! You should have seen your face!" Duo came out from the shadowed corner and doubled over laughing.
"I still look better in an evening gown," Heero smirked.
"I make one fucking sexy lady Yuy. More than I can say for your whole death glare persona even when you are wearing a dress," Trowa chuckled. Heero punched him on the arm.
"I swear you will never get me to wear one. You will never get me to wear one," Wufei repeated to himself.
"Ah, come on Wuffers. With those pretty legs, you would be a knockout in some little red number!" Duo chortled with glee and then dodged Wufei's fist.
"You just wait Barton, next time I will come complete with fishnets," Heero warned.
"How much did you guys have to drink?" Quatre moaned as he buried his face in his hands.
"Well, Marilyn here had enough to inebriate a regiment," Heero cocked a thumb at Trowa.
"Marilyn? Marilyn?" Trowa stalked towards Heero, who started a merry chase towards the back stage door.
"Wufei would loooookkkk sooooo preeeetttyyyyy in a littttle red mandarin dresssssss. We could call him Cream of Someyoungguy!" Wufei let out a vicious growl as Duo let out a war whoop and took off running.
"What the hell did I do to get stuck with you guys?" Quatre moaned as he followed them out the back.
"Ah, Quatre, you are just too pretty to wear a sad face like that," Trowa frowned, "Let's go to the bar, and I promise we can convince Duo to get up there and sing songs from The Phantom of the Opera!"
"I heard that you fucker!" Duo yelled as Wufei chased him in circles.
"And hey, look at it this way," Trowa smiled a wicked smile, "Later on I promise you that I will smear your body with frosting and lick every inch of it off!"
"Fucking hell Barton! Some of us just don't want to know!" Wufei stopped his pursuit of Duo to cover his ears.
"Sally must not ever cover him in the foodstuffs," Quatre lamented. Trowa nodded in agreement.
"What Sally and I do in bed is none of your business," Wufei grunted, but his face was red.
"Vanilla sex sucks," Duo grinned a malicious grin at Wufei's expense.
"I refuse to even dignify that with an answer."
- The End –