This is utter crack. Be warned.

Trowa knew he shouldn't be doing this.

He stared down the stairs, eyes following the smooth, curved hand rail. It was begging him, he could feel it in his mind.

Come on Trowa! It cried out, wantonly. Try me! Slide me! Clamp your legs around me!

His hand twitched towards it and he felt his feet moving towards it. Trowa went with the flow, succumbing to his desires.

Never mind he could break his neck, or any and every limb his body. Trowa paused stared down. Well, he considered, I've survived worse falls.

Of course that had involved a three month hospital stay.

Take me! It seemed to taunt him. Fast and hard as you can! If you can...

A frown of determination crossed Trowa's face, strengthening his resolve. He must, nay, he had no choice but to slide down that banister! Nodding, Trowa took the final step forward.

It's sleek curves... Trowa moaned, running one hand down it. It was the most beautiful banister he had ever seen. He raised his leg, feelings the smooth wood rest against his thighs. It felt wonderful, it felt -

"What are you doing, Trowa?"

Shit. Trowa turned towards the voice. It was Quatre looking at him with some amusement.

"Er, hi, Quatre... This can be explained." He said in a rush.

"Really?" Said the school mate of Trowa's. Quatre stared.

Shifting, Trowa grinned weakly. "Yeah..." Time to tell lies! His mind yelled frantically. "I want to become an architect."

"An architect? I thought you despised technical drawing with a passion that burns like the gates of hell?" Quatre asked and Trowa suddenly remembered what he had said yesterday.

"That's true, I guess."

"So?" Quatre smiled and Trowa couldn't help but feel he was making fun of him.

"It's fun?" Maybe the truth would work, he thought.

Quatre looked serious for a moment before a huge grin lit up across his face. "It sure is! It's even better when you get someone to push!"

Suddenly Trowa was moving.

Falling.

Before he lost consciousness, he could have sworn the banister was laughing at him.

Quatre watched with horror as Trowa's body was launched off the banister and fell with a bone crunching crack on the ground. He winced, and then winced again, as he heard Trowa groan.

Stepping forward, he started for the stairs, intent on helping his friend when something seemed to stop him. Quatre took a deep breath and slowly turned his gaze towards the smooth, sleek banister.

He gulped, his vision becoming focused on one object. It's graceful angles and lovely curves. It was a true vision of art. Quatre felt the desire to possess the banister.

I'm yours, it whispered, wholly and truly yours. I've only ever been yours, Quatre.

It was delectable, and Quatre shuddered, his mouth half open in abject lust. He licked his lips, wondering what the banister would taste like.

Would it be sweet, like the curves were gentle? Would it be sour, like the harsh density?

Come to me, it cried.

His hands drawn to it, Quatre stumbled over to the banister, Trowa all but forgotten as he fell to his knees in worship. He placed one hand on it, thrummings of pleasure rocking his body.

"Oh," his head bent back, his eyes rolling in skull. "Yeah... like that you sweet hunk of wood. Oh, god - "

"Quatre?"

He slowly turned, his mouth agape. His father stood there, a briefcase in his hand. His face was confused as he looked upon his son, groping the banister.

"I was just going to work..." his father muttered, his eyes bulging as his mind tried to work this out. I could handle him being gay, Quatre's father reasoned, the pink shirts pointed assuredly in that direction, but a banister? It's not even an original! It's just a worthless reproduction! How could my son go so low?

"Um... my friend had an accident." Quatre murmured, suddenly remembering Trowa.

Walking over to where Quatre still knelt, his father merely nodded as the mess Trowa was making with his blood and turned to his son. "I'd better be off," he frownd, "And son..."

Trying to restrain his horror, fear, embarrassment and tightening trousers, Quatre weakly voiced, "Yeah?"

"Wipe the drool off your face, it does not befit a Winner."

Over come by such happiness, Quatre leaned forward and kissed the silky hard banister, before leaping over it. His legs connected with the wood, and he threw back his head, his pink lips wet.

"Take me slow, or fast..." He moaned, pushing himself off, for his first ride, "Take me slow, or fast, I'm yooooouuuuurrrrsss!" His cry escaped him as he lost grip and fell to the ground.

He stared at Trowa, wondering why he couldn't black out and then at the banister. Through Quatre could tell it was only a delusion, he knew the banister loved him and only him, he thought he saw it leer triumphantly above him.

His father blinked, then shrugged.