The Stylist
Summary: In this chapter Duo and Trowa get the complete and full treatment and meet two of Wufei Chang's clients.
Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.
Warnings: AU, male/male pairings, language
Chapter Three
Day 1 continued
(o) Salon wonders for the skin, hair, and nails-oh my!
Trowa had decided make-overs were a waste of money, until he saw the results of the spa treatments. His skin was satiny smooth. His hair had never looked better. He had never looked so good. He hoped Duo was making the most of this opportunity and enjoying the attention, too.
He mused in this manner as he wended his way to the nail and toe shop, as he thought of it, when he heard his name called, and not in the hushed tones he'd become accustomed to in this new world of luxury.
"Mr. Barton!"
This was more a call of the wild combined with a desperate cry for help. He turned around and waited for the flustered attendant to catch up to him.
"Problem in paradise?" he asked, adjusting his thick terry robe and cinching the waist tie tighter.
"Yes!" The self-conscious, red-faced attendant gasped.
"Take a moment and breathe," he said, offering what comfort he could under the circumstances.
"Please… help…hair…"
Ah, Duo.
"He's very sensitive about that braid of his." Trowa patted the girl's head, about as demonstrative as he ever was with a stranger. "Lead the way to the trauma center."
That earned him the smile he'd hoped for.
"It's not that bad," she demurred.
"Then you haven't got the tie off yet."
"No, he won't let me touch it!"
Trowa shook his head, liking the feel of his new haircut, the silky soft sway of his shiny bangs. The hair stylist had left the length intact and it was swingier than ever. The new highlights were cool and made his eyes sparkle. Chang's people knew their stuff.
"It's a lot quieter now. It was so much noisier before," the attendant insisted as they entered the hair salon.
Trowa chose not to comment.
Duo had the other attendants eating out of his hand, literally. His left hand gripped his braid. His right arm was extended and two girls were taking turns nibbling sugar-free gummy bears off his palm. Trowa had noticed numerous jars of the candies dotted around the room when he had had his turn in the chair. He guessed the snacks were there for more than decoration, probably to feed the half-starved dieting clients.
"Hey," Duo greeted him.
"Hey, yourself," Trowa murmured, closing in on Duo and wrapping him in a one-armed hug. "What's this I hear about some brat afraid to get his hair washed?"
"It wasn't the washing," Duo insisted. "I heard them scheming behind my back. Cutting, trimming… shor-ten-ing." He said the last word like he might say 'slaugh-ter-ing'.
"See mine?" Trowa asked, stepping away and striking a pose. Chin up, a swing to show off his great haircut, a coy, sideways glance.
Duo let out a low whistle of approval. "You look awesome."
"Yes, I do." Trowa sidled up next to Duo again, a hand smoothing over Duo's back in a light massage. He leaned close and whispered in Duo's ear, his breath warm, "And if you want to be seen in this awesome presence, you'll have to…surrender control."
"Oh…kay," Duo croaked, his voice hoarse, his mouth dry.
"I will assume permission to proceed is granted."
Duo nodded once. He could be seduced into a shampoo.
Trowa yanked off the tie binding Duo's braid. Duo didn't flinch, but he gulped audibly. He behaved perfectly, and didn't complain when Trowa's fingers ran through his hair, loosening the coils.
After that, Duo was putty in the hands of the attendants. The perfumed products made his nose wrinkle, but the scalp finger-massage nearly put him to sleep. The highlights went a bit far, but since Trowa looked so great, he'd go all the way, too—with the hair treatments. In the end, the trimming wasn't so bad either; nothing he'd miss was removed.
Crisis averted.
"It looks good, Duo. Leave it loose for now," Trowa urged his friend.
"I guess," he agreed feebly, but Trowa could tell how very pleased he was with his hair's feel. "At least, until we leave this place. It gets into everything, you know. Food in particular."
"I can imagine."
The attention it got him was probably worth it, Trowa thought. It was good for Duo to be legitimately admired. And good for him, too. Trowa wore his hair layered short in the back with a clean edge and with a sweep of straight, glossy, light honey brown bangs parted to one side. Duo's was a cascade of heavy, chestnut brown waves and loose curls, gleaming with red and gold highlights. It hung down his back nearly to his knees; framing his face, Duo's shaggy bangs had been layered slightly, wispy rather than the dense fringe it had been before.
"Now that you've caught up to me," Trowa explained, "we can finish together. We have to pass through the claw shop and get dressed before we can go eat."
"Claw shop? Oh, nails, yeah." Duo examined his nails a moment then sighed. "I guess they do look a little gnarly." He grabbed Trowa's nearest hand and inspected his friend's nails. "Yep! You could do with some of the fussing you know they're going to insist on."
"I can take it," Trowa said. "What do you bet we'll be required have our pictures taken before we get dinner?"
"The running of the gauntlet! Must be part of a test, but instead of measuring agility it's a personal space invasion…thing. I'll ask Wu-man about that."
"He should know."
Trowa paused at the next turn, the passageway widened where a short hall spit off, ending at the front of the nail salon. "Here we are," Trowa announced.
Upon their arrival, an automated door opened into a clean room smelling slightly of acetone and rosewater. A hive of busy, uniformed attendants hovered around them. Two pairs separated from the rest and lit on the curious young men. With kind faces and murmuring reassuring phrases, the attendants led them in opposite directions, and proceeded with their ministrations. Trowa closed his eyes and relaxed, enjoying the foot and hand soaks. Nothing was required of him, which was perfect, and since Duo was quiet, he figured either Duo was appreciating the rest or was too worn down to put up much of a fight.
No matter. All was well.
For a while.
"Which polish?!" Duo blurted out. "I'm a man! Nothing! Nada! No color AT ALL!"
That was longer than Trowa had expected the solitude to last. "Go with a buff out, Duo!"
Silence.
"Oh. Okay, thanks, bro'."
Soon, buffed to faultlessness, nails and toes gleaming subtlety, Trowa and Duo were gamboling out of the nail salon wing of the spa and on to the last leg of their journey.
"I wonder where our clothes are?" Duo asked as he admired his cleaned, trimmed, and smooth toes and fingernails.
"I wonder what they did with our clothes," Trowa said. "If they exist at all."
"You think someone burned them?"
"Very possible." Trowa came to a halt alongside a sign beckoning them into the men's boudoir. "Here's where we find out, I suppose."
"I hope there's something in there to put on, 'cause I ain't going to dinner in a robe, although… I do like this robe."
"I'm keeping mine." Trowa ran his hands over the thick nap. "Delux."
A smartly dressed assistant stepped out of the shadows. "Hello, Mr. Barton, Mr. Maxwell. I have set out the outfits Mr. Chang has chosen for you. If you'll come this way to your changing room, Mr. Barton? And to your changing room, Mr. Maxwell?"
Duo shot a woeful look at Trowa, who simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Might as well see what the stylist to the stars thinks will make us look like a million bucks."
"No skin off my potato," Duo said, resigned and, "… hungry enough to wear one of those goat-hair suits if it gets me to dinner faster." He marched into his assigned compartment and was speechless, momentarily.
It was the size of a small apartment.
"Hey, Trowa?"
"I'm choosing shirts."
"I could live in here."
Trowa remained silent. He was busy admiring the luxurious fabrics.
"I'm done." Duo told him. "Hurry up."
"This t-shirt is silk. Silk! I get to choose colors here."
"You are easily impressed, Tro'-babe."
"I am."
"Come out and we'll compare… clothes." Duo said, grimacing that he had said such a stupid sounding thing.
"Okay, how's this look?" Trowa asked, with a slow rotation.
"Man! Dude, you are stylin'."
"I know you want to be on your way," the room attendant said, "But allow me to point out the finer features of what you are wearing."
Trowa had selected the pale cream silk, long-sleeved t-shirt and taupe wool slacks with a fine sea-green line. Skipping the button-down shirts, he finished with a camel-colored cashmere jacket and supple cordovan-colored slip-on shoes he never wanted to remove. He especially liked the jacket for its joke value. Most importantly, no sage green.
Duo dressed in more saturated colors, which suited his complexion and flashier, more textured fabrics. Charcoal grey wool slacks and navy shoes were a surprise. So was his Shantung silk, curry-colored shirt, left open at the neck—"no tie for me either!" His favorite item was the loose-cut, rusty, dark-red leather jacket. The shirt and jacket appeared to be color-matched to his hair highlights.
By this time, Trowa and Duo noticed that they had attracted a small crowd of admirers, people who worked there excited at last to see the results of all their hard work. The new classically-styled pair decided to play it work all it was worth.
"I can see a whole neighborhood in that outfit," Trowa said, straight-faced.
"A better one than I grew up in, I hope."
"A better class of leather."
"Heh, heh…Okay, so that guy over there," Duo pointed to his image in the mirror. "What wouldn't you want to do to him?"
"You mean hypothetically speaking?"
"Well, yeah. If you could do whatever you wanted."
"I wouldn't fuck him."
"Why not? He's hot."
"You think, just 'cause a guy's hot, that's all I care think about?" Trowa put on a convincing injured look.
"Yeah."
"Not so, buddy, not so. I'm very deep." Trowa closed his eyes. "Very very."
"You're getting me all excited. Stop with the talking."
"You started it with the questions."
"I know. Forget I asked."
The male assistant who had directed them to their individual rooms was laughing, and he was not alone. The entire audience comprised of members of the spa who had helped them were laughing at their antics and applauding.
It was a fine send off.
The elevator door was closing on them when Trowa remembered about their old clothes. He didn't feel it wasn't important enough to go back for them, and if Duo didn't ask, he wouldn't dredge it up. Duo was smiling, rattling his keys in his pocket, and he was glad his friend seemed happy. He pressed "Lobby."
"What the-?" Duo pulled out his key ring with a familiar fob, weighing the emptiness of it. "Where're the rest of my keys? There's just the old car key!" Duo looked at him wildly. "I just scooped up my crap from the tray—keys, wallet—without thinking. Don't I need a key to the suite upstairs? And what about the garage and my locker and…the old apartment… and… all?"
"Relax, Duo. It's okay. Our room key is an electronic key card, which is in your wallet. The apartment key was turned in, our stuff put in storage. The other things were sent up to our new place. It will all be there when we go in."
"Oh. Okay. How do you know all this? Why don't I know it?"
"I read the note on the tray."
"Oh. I saw the note."
"We are not expected to carry much in these slacks and I suppose some of the new jeans will fit too tight for even these wallets. Something to get used to."
"Right. Tro', what would I do without you?" Duo asked.
There was no melancholy in his friend's voice. That was good. Trowa decided not to worry. "You couldn't. I'm irreplaceable."
"Heh, heh… yeah. I'm starving, aren't you?"
"Don't get carried away. You know Chang is going to insist on a photo session next."
Disregarding his pragmatic advice, as Trowa knew he would, Duo persevered. "I'm thinking ravioli. A freaking big bowl of them."
Duo often had an amusing way of handling the obstacles life dealt them, to which Trowa just as often happily resigned himself. It contributed to their close friendship.
The elevator stopped. The doors opened.
"Stuffed shells," Trowa suggested, "The kind filled with melted cheese and spinach in a pool of pasta sauce."
The happy pair stepped out and into the lobby, where two known faces and one stranger stared at them in awe- which Duo didn't notice because he was facing his friend.
"God, yes! Food sex," Duo gushed. "And spaghetti and meatballs! I could eat a pile up to here!" Duo held out his hands a couple feet apart.
"Turn around slowly," Trowa advised him. "We are not alone."
Wufei moved ahead on the introductions. "Duo Maxwell, Trowa Barton, you have already met Mr. Quatre Winner. I'd like to meet another client of mine and a friend of Mr. Winner's, Mr. Heero Yuy."
There was a round of greetings. Once the polite handshakes were completed and Winner had distributed a sufficient amount of air kisses, and before any conversations could start up, Wufei directed them into his office.
"Get your mind off food, Maxwell. Meiran is waiting, so go in and smile for the camera."
Winner and Yuy spoke in low voices, sharing thoughts about the changes they noticed.
"You're right," Heero said in a near-whisper, "I recognize Barton. He has changed minimally. He's grown, as we all have. And Wufei mentioned his working at a circus, an association I remember. He has no recall?"
"He suffered memory loss in a traumatic explosion, as you did. I might be able to reach him." Quatre searched his friend's face.
"He might not want that. He might be better off this way."
"It doesn't change the past, just how we deal with it, Heero. Anyway, I think Duo might remember. I don't know why he doesn't say something. You're sure Duo isn't familiar to you?"
Heero shook his head. "I'm not sure. It is like a memory that's just out of reach. A dream that fades on awakening. I do and then… I can't hold onto the specifics. It's frustrating. Chang?"
"No change that I can tell." Quatre shrugged. "He's never wanted to talk about the old times." He signaled that the conversation was done. "He's calling us over."
When the stylist was satisfied with how the photography session was proceeding, he pressed them for their impressions.
"I'm a little surprised, Wufei," Quatre said. "I was expecting them to be in the latest fashions—more avant-garde? Instead, they are wearing updated classics."
"You think what Maxwell is wearing is classic?" Heero asked disapproving of his friend's analysis.
"A modernization," Quatre replied with a wink to Heero. "Wufei, you have succeeded already."
Wufei dismissed him with a wave of his hand. "I've only touched the surfaces."
"Have you?" Quatre teased. "Touched… the surfaces?"
Blood rushed to his face as Chang blubbered through a denial and explanation, "—in the future… OZ new designs-" that ended with Winner laughing and patting his back compassionately.
"Whew!" Duo said, fanning his face with a hand. "That was a hot work out, and not like what you're thinking. Hot under those lights, heh heh."
"It's not so bad," Trowa said just to be argumentative.
Duo gripped a fistful of his luxurious hair and shook it. "You aren't wearing a blanket on your back. Another reason I wear it braided all the time."
He parted his mane into three parts and started to plait it, not caring if Wufei thought it was stylish or not.
"It's very beautiful," Quatre complimented him. "Don't you think so, Heero?"
"The braid is more practical," Heero said, looking annoyed at his friend for putting him on the spot.
Duo shot him a look of surprise. He hadn't expected support coming from the glowering man. As far as he could figure, Mr. Yuy was disinclined to be there, taking displeasure in the presence of the two young men, casting hostile scowls at everyone present. "You're right, it is. Ah, shit! My hair tie is gone! Fei-man, you got a rubber band or something?"
Trowa withdrew a fancy one from his pocket. "Here. They wanted you to switch to a less damaging one." He attached it to the braid's end for Duo. "I watched their demonstration."
"Was I even there? I don't remember any demo of hair ties," Duo groused.
Trowa just shrugged. It wasn't important.
Seeing as his friend had lost interest and was no longer being forthcoming, Duo switched gears. "So, dinner's not happening here—" Duo began.
Wufei interrupted Duo. It was time to set the consumption ground rules. "Downsize your dinner dreams, Maxwell. You are on a restricted diet! Yes, that's right. Salad… and you may share the small antipasto for starters. Trowa needs his protein."
Before Duo exploded, Quatre proposed that he and Heero join them at dinner. "If you don't mind? We haven't eaten yet."
Trowa swiftly approved. "Fine with me."
Wufei begged off with several excuses, which included the usual "piles of work to catch up on" and "Barton and Maxwell will see enough of me tomorrow—10:00 AM sharp."
Duo didn't want to share the limited time he and Trowa had with these other guys, but it was clear to him that Trowa was enamored of the blond businessman, so how could he object? What cinched the deal for Duo came when the stern Mr. Yuy bent closer to him, whispering, "As far as I'm concerned, you can eat whatever you like."
"A man after my heart," Duo said and then tacked on a laugh to diffuse the crazy thoughts suddenly entering his head. "Let's go!"
Trowa and Quatre led the way with the executive doing most of the talking. "I've been to Lorenzo's many times with Wufei. The walk is pleasant. They serve an excellent house Zinfandel, but it's a work night so I should only have one glass. Do you like wine, Mr. Barton?"
"I'm no expert, and since Duo is still underage, I don't order it in restaurants." He met Quatre's questioning look. "Twenty-three. Duo's still twenty."
Now as this was factually accurate, it was misleading. Duo would turn twenty-one in a matter of minutes, according to his Sanc driver's license, but that had been falsified also. Trowa liked the provocative aspect of the birthday surprise.
Mr. Winner was greeted at the door by the owner amid hugs and kisses.
"Guess he's been here a lot," Duo said as he slipped in behind Trowa.
"Could be he owns the place. Never know," Trowa countered.
"Mr. Winner and friends, welcome, welcome." Luca displayed the genial and professional attributes of a good host. His wide smile peeked from under a copious moustache and he was dressed smartly in a crisply starched white chef's jacket. "Step inside!"
Blown glass chandeliers imparted warm, mellow light that carried over the gleaming polished wood-beam ceiling and floor. Trowa loved how it made Quatre's fair hair glow.
"This way, gentlemen."
Their host beckoned them through a spacious open area, past other seated guests, some eating, votives flickering on white linen tablecloths. Deeper into the restaurant dining room, exposed brick and fairy lights outlined private alcove seating. It was to one of these in a spacious corner that Luca delivered them.
"Is this table suitable? Yes, very good. Very nice. May I suggest a wine? No? Very well, let me bring you a very special antipasto while you look over your menus, no?"
"Yes, please, Luca," Quatre responded.
Duo hadn't expected everyone to stick to "just water", but maybe they had good reasons to avoid an alcohol haze. Goblets of ice water were set before them along with a pitcher of more water with slices of cucumber and lemon floating amongst the ice.
The fruits lent the water a mild, refreshing taste, which Duo liked, so he poured himself a second glass. The menu was extensive, and he didn't recognize many of the dishes, but he found what he wanted, and what he would order.
"I just love the old world charm, don't you?" Quatre asked.
Since this was mostly directed at Trowa, it was he who answered. "Nice. I like how it smells. The herbs and sauces."
This seemed to delight Quatre and he led the conversation to safe topics until the appetizer plate arrived. The antipasto didn't look like a small one, even served family-style for all of them to portion out. There were more olives of varying colors (and flavors, he discovered with delight) than Duo had ever seen at one time. As much as he was tempted to devour the entire offering, he checked himself. He could curb his baser instincts, which drove him to eat everything within his reach. He could and he would show restraint.
"Sono pronto per ordinare, per favore," Trowa said, summoning Luca to their table.
Duo suppressed a smile when Trowa ordered in fluent Italian. If his friend wanted to impress Quatre with his language skills, he'd demonstrate self-control and keep to the stylist's dietary guidelines. "Order me the salad, 'Tro'…please."
His answer was a curt nod and a laser-direct stare from a green eye.
"Does your circus troop visit Italy often?" Quatre asked him, curious if he remembered his time there.
"Never. The acrobats I work with are Italian," Trowa explained humbly. "I picked it up. Russian, too. You probably travel a lot with your company," he guessed.
"Oh, yes!" Quatre's face lit with pleasure and he entertained everyone with a few stories from his last visit to Australia until their food arrived.
Duo felt dispirited over his salad, which he gamely declared to be "pretty good."
Heero pushed his plate of ravioli between them. "Try one."
"What?" The offer had been so unexpected that Duo didn't know what else to say.
"They hand-make them here. Let me know how you like it."
Duo delicately speared the one nearest him and wolfed it down. It was nothing like the boiled freezer ones he usually fixed. With a roll of his eyes he proclaimed it as: "Awesomelicious!"
"They're all yours," Heero told him. "I have meatballs on the way."
"Thanks, but…"
"You can taste those too."
"Why? Are you trying to fatten me up so Charm-Fu will yell at me? And if you know him at all, you've probably been on the receiving end of one of his rants—that's punishment."
"No!" Heero's injured look went a long way convincing Duo of his sincerity. He pulled out a paper from his coat pocket and pushed it in front of Duo. "Here."
Quatre glanced across the table at the note paper. "Heero, where did you get that?"
"Chang's desk (obviously). I didn't like his attitude and when I read his plans for … Max-well," he said, nearly bungling Duo's name as his tongue stumbled over the syllables. "I felt—" He couldn't fill in that word at all, but he looked angry.
"You felt you should steal Mr. Chang's notes?" Winner said bluntly, but his sparkling eyes didn't reflect anger at all.
Duo scanned the delicate pencil marks, deciphering the florid script with difficulty, but eventually grasped what Heero was talking about. "Damn," Duo said, keeping his voice down. "I don't want to be—"
"-Marketed," Heero supplied the word he thought applied best.
"Yeah, marketed as some girly guy."
"Androgynous."
"That too. When I agreed to go along with this bet thing, what I heard him saying to that Zechs dude was 'street cred' something fashion." Duo's eyes shifted from face to face looking for an argument. "I ain't starving myself in order to look like something perverts can get off on."
"Oh, Duo," Quatre said kindly, "I don't believe Wufei has anything like that in mind for you. We don't know if this memo was just him working out ideas. I'm sure he wouldn't promote you carelessly."
"He's your friend, not mine. I don't know what he does or doesn't do. But… I gotta plan of my own."
"Duo," Trowa said, taking his turn to defuse the situation, "no one wants you to do something you think is disgusting. Can we shelve it for now and just eat dinner, and then I promise we can talk it over with Chang in the morning."
"Sure… right after I get me some really vile tattoos… maybe poke some holes in my face."
"Oh, Duo! That's a terrible idea!" Quatre cried.
"Or… grow a beard… I can look tough."
"You've gone this long avoiding needles of all kinds. Don't do something stupid and blow that," Trowa pointed out. Trying hard not to laugh, he shook his head, disappearing behind his bangs. "What your face doesn't need is more hair."
"Har, har. Very funny."
Amid the voices dismissing Duo's rash ideas, one compelled him to listen, and it came from Heero. He said it plainly and honestly, "Don't do that to yourself, please."
Duo stared in wide-eyed surprise at the blunt fellow. That simple statement stirred a heat inside him that just welled up, radiating outwards, until he felt fuzzy and floaty-brained. "Um, thanks, ah, well, I was just mad."
"No need to apologize," Heero told him. "The note offended you. We'll make sure Chang sees his error, that's all."
"Yeah, okay." Duo liked the support that the "we" implied. "Thanks."
Duo took turns nibbling on his salad, finishing the ravioli, and defiantly slurping down Heero's spaghetti and meatballs, and telling the others about his day at the spa—with supplementary embroideries by Trowa, at appropriate intervals.
At some point in the evening, Trowa spoke to Luca again. His friend had made a point of canvassing the three of them about their dessert choices, so Duo assumed he was ordering for them. He didn't give it another thought, until a cheesecake fully aflame with candles and five singing waitresses descended upon their table.
"Happy Birthday to you… Happy birthday, dear Duo…"
Luca put in an appearance popping the cork on a bottle of champagne and pouring glasses. He waved an imperious arm at the four celebrants. "Congratulazioni! molti felici ritorni!"
Duo sat open-mouthed, and then shot a poisonous look at Trowa, how could you?
Trowa smiled the tiniest bit, touched a lock of hair, and stared back, getting back for the hair meltdown.
Quatre laughed aloud. "You're practically screaming at each other in thought-language. Come on Duo and blow out the candles so we can get this over with."
And while Duo followed his orders and Luca served the cake, Heero leaned over to Trowa, lowering his voice. "And I thought... it seemed you and he could read each other's thoughts, but I was wrong, apparently."
"What do you mean by that?" Trowa asked.
"Even I can tell he's hurt by all the notice. Plus, you've drawn attention to us. See the videos being taken…smartphones? Or was part of your plan as well?"
Trowa shook his head, baffled. And didn't say anything.
Duo said, "It's not the day I was born; I don't actually know the date, but is the official date on all my documents. Yeah, twenty-one today."
Duo had recovered his good humor, pointing out the good things he'd enjoyed that day. He ended his spiel with, "and other than getting to wear these awesome clothes, sadly, I don't feel like I achieved anything actually worthwhile today."
"And you would have at the garage?" Heero asked.
"Yep. Every day. Cars in, cars out. They come in needing repair; they go out running like butter on hot toast." Duo smiled.
"I agree with you, Duo," Quatre said. "Having visible, measureable accomplishments is important." He told them about his latest business deal and how rewarding it was to solve a customer's problem, while generating the money to pay his employee's wages. "I don't think Heero told you what he does for a living—"
"—I'm sure no one is interested," Heero said.
"Of course they are!" Quatre assured him. "Heero is the number one top Internet Security man in all of Sanc."
"That's not true."
Winner waved him to silence. "You provide the technical security for the Prime Minister and all the palace, and she wouldn't hire anything but the best (so there)."
Duo could see Heero felt terribly uncomfortable talking about his work and since Heero had sided with him a couple of times, he decided to do the same for him. He yawned.
"Man, sorry 'bout that. As interesting as this all is, as much as I hate to break up the party, I guess the early hours are messing with my sleep schedule."
He felt Trowa's undisguised annoyance lance right through his head. "You probably just need fresh air," Trowa practically growled.
"What a good idea!" Winner, at least, was thrilled with the prospect of continuing the party. "We should go dancing! There's a great club right up the street. It will be such fun. It's exclusive, but I have a membership so I can get you all in."
"Sounds good," Trowa said, completely on board.
Since Duo had already declared himself "beat", he couldn't very well be ready to dance the night away- unless Yuy was determined to go along. In that case he would feel he'd have to go to complete their neat little foursome.
"If you want to go, don't feel obligated to pass on my account," Heero told him. "I don't dance. I'd rather read."
"He'll just go home and bury himself in some technical manual," Quatre cried out. "Duo, you want to come, don't you? Talk him into it, for his own good."
Duo did not want to do anything of the sort. He could imagine the waves of irritation emanating from Heero, crashing on Quatre's rocky shores. Certainly, his friend could sense that he was annoyed. Even an impassionate stranger could.
"I think I'd rather go home, if it's all the same with you," Duo said. "Trowa, have fun. I gotta key and I know the way. And Heero can walk back with me." Duo felt rather proud of that adroit move.
"That would be acceptable," Heero agreed immediately.
"How will you get home then, Heero?" Quatre asked, putting yet another impediment in the way.
"I've got a car. I can drive him home." There! Duo had all the solutions.
"Oh, all right," Winner caved. "Have it your way. Goodnight, Duo."
And so, the men parted ways outside the restaurant.
(o)
Heero started talking as soon as they were out of hearing distance. "You and Barton live in the Long's building?"
Duo figured Heero's friendlier demeanor meant he really was relieved to have avoided the dancing venue. Duo had done a nice thing for someone, and so he smiled and added a little bounce to his step.
"Yeah, it's pretty cool. We gotta whole suite thing. Wanna see? Won't take but a minute and it's got this real scenic view of Sanc." Duo added, "The car's in the garage underneath so it's close. Not out of the way—"
The hand on his arm brought Duo's nervous chattering to an abrupt end.
"It's okay," Heero said, "I'm not in any hurry and I'd like to see the view." It was only a touch that lasted a heartbeat and then was gone; the impression lingered on though.
It didn't take long for reality to settle in. Duo was out of practice. He didn't typically ask men, who he'd just met, up to his apartment.
Actually, only that one time and never since. I learned my lesson. But. Here I just did it again. Gone and done it. Not that Heero has given me any indication that he is interested in me- or even gay. Not really. Not what I need to be sure.
I'll play it cool. There is no reason to think the techie could be attracted to me. Why should he? We are totally different people from what I can glean. We probably don't share any interests. God. What was I thinking? What would we talk about without Trowa or Quatre to bail us out?
Bail out. Too late for that. No place to run.
He used his keycard (for the first time) to gain access to the building and from there to the elevator.
"I'm glad that worked," Duo chuckled, nervous as hell. "This is the first time I tried it. Trowa just told me Chang had replaced my keys with this, except for the car key. I mean, I had a key chain with actual metal keys, but now I got a plastic card I could break or bend or scratch. What do I do then? I never was locked out of an apartment because of a broken, bent or scratched key, you know?"
They were in the elevator where there was no escape. In close quarters, Heero's quirky smile appeared evil to Duo. "You should call Chang after midnight and tell him your card doesn't work. They can become de-magnetized easily," he explained. "Do that often enough and he will get the locks changed to regular keys."
"That's a really diabolical, cool idea! Thanks man!" Duo smiled. "Here we are. Let's see if it gets us past the door."
"Two for two," Heero congratulated him when the suite door unlocked. "Welcome to the world of modern miracles."
Duo showed off the suite's entry, kitchen, ending with the living room with a view. "Pretty cool, huh?"
"Yes," Heero answered in an awed tone. "There's the palace… You can see my building, over there."
"Really? Which one? Oh, yeah, cool. What kind of a host am I? Let's see what there is to drink in this cell block." One look inside the refrigerator and he knew it sucked. "Fei-man promised a 'well-stocked pantry' and look-it this! Nothing here but f—ing fruity water."
Heero chuckled and requested an essence-of-the-berry – Duo's choice, too. "It's pretty standard fare for low carb diets, Duo."
"If you say so. Not even any real fruit. Essence, what is that? I would have wasted away on this shit. Here you go."
Duo studied Heero for the first time, while Heero seemed attached to the view. Nice profile. Nice hair, if he'd stop running his fingers through it (let me!). Dark blue suit cut to accentuate his wide shoulders and narrow waist (yum), matching shirt and tie. Very dark and moody and sexy as hell. His eyes were shadowed by the overhanging dark bangs, but Duo had caught glimpses of sapphire blue.
The suit…and then he knew where he had seen him before. God. Sanc Academy. Man, what were the odds of running into him again? Damn. He hoped Heero didn't remember him. Time had changed them both.
Heero ignored the beeping phone at first, but on the third insistent call, he looked at the message, irritation on his face.
Duo waited until he'd shoved it back into his pocket, and then asked, "You guys are connected by those huh?"
"Make sure Chang gets you both a smartphone. You will need them to manage in the modern world."
"Okay (we'll see). Everything all right?"
"I should go now," Heero answered evasively.
"Okay," Duo replied a little disappointed to have their time cut short. Alternatively, they weren't at one another's throats, so… Good. Short and sweet.
"Your chariot awaits!"
Duo dropped him off outside a condo complex a quarter mile away. But instead of walking away, Heero turned and propped an arm above the door. Duo lowered the window.
"Forgot something?"
"I can cook," Heero blurted out, awkwardly.
"Um, okay. That's good."
Heero snorted a frustrated huff. "What I'm saying is that I can cook us dinner some night. If you'd like that?"
"Yeah, I'd like that a lot. And just to make this clear, 'cause I have a way of misconstruing things, this is just me, right?"
Heero actually blushed. "Yes. How about tomorrow?"
"Cool. My schedule is an empty slate, until Changrilla loads us up with crap to do."
A small smile graced Heero's lips. "Right. Until you have a number I can call… come over whenever you are done." He handed Duo his card. "Park in the drop-off zone up ahead and give the man at the lobby this card. They will park your car and ring you inside."
"Gotcha. I can do that. Thanks, Heero. Later!"
Heero left then, leaving Duo mystified as to whether or not he'd just been asked over on a date or a man-friend visit. He was almost sure Heero was gay, but he was so ungay and unsure. "Guess I'll find out tomorrow."
He returned home, shivering with the drop in temperature. Tiny flakes of snow melted instantly on his windshield. "Next time, wear a warmer coat, and gloves," he murmured to himself.
Once inside the suite, he cranked up the heat and closed the window shades against the whirling flurries. In his room, new clothes, his outfit for the next day, he assumed, was draped over the clothes-tree furniture meant for that purpose. "Wool knit hat, gloves, and a heavy coat—thank you Mr. Chang!"
He was in bed asleep before Trowa came home.
(o)
Winner parked in the shadows near the rear entrance to the Long's building. He turned toward Trowa. "You'll have to meet me halfway, if this is going to work," he said demurely.
Trowa wasn't stupid, nor was he too shy to follow along. He got the message and complied, closing the distance between them, despite the gear shift, and let the other man kiss him. The kiss was tender and brief.
"Nice," he murmured.
Trowa bent his head forward again and brushed Quatre's lips with his. When Quatre felt Trowa's tongue, he closed on it and sucked it greedily into his mouth. Trowa allowed it, exploring the pebbly surface of Quatre's tongue with his. Trowa finished the kiss in his own time, holding onto Quatre's back while he explored with his mouth, .temporarily ignoring Quatre's attempt to talk. When he finished the kiss, they both needed a moment just to breathe. He straightened his shirt, looking down at Quatre, who had become a puddle of swoon in his arms.
"Like that?" Trowa asked, in fun.
"You are a fantastic kisser," Quatre told him, breaking into a breathtaking smile.
The spell broke when Quatre pulled out his smartphone. "Look at this! Now, it's completely unintentional on my part—media attention comes with my position; I'm constantly bothered by publicity types- but videos of our foursome at the restaurant and of you and me dancing at the club are trending."
He displayed the pictures so Trowa could see for himself what he meant. "I am surprised that Wufei hasn't supplied you and Duo with smartphones. It is a must-have for people these days. You need it to communicate, set dates, get information."
Trowa lifted his head and leveled a steady gaze at the lovely young man with whom he was infatuated, which made what he had to say painful. He had never given away his heart and he was already so close this time. But if this was all part of a game for the self-assured golden boy… if those kisses were just superficial… then he still had time to pull out, protect his heart, come away unscathed…again.
He had to know the truth, so he asked point blank, not giving a hint of what was to come, and Quatre wouldn't have time to prepare a neat little lie.
"Are you and Yuy in league with Chang?" Trowa asked.
"What? No! We're friends and clients of his!"
"Was it just chance that you showed up at his office just as Duo and I came down from our makeovers?"
"Well, not really, we had to wait awhile, but—"
"Look at it from my viewpoint, it seems funny how smoothly you insinuated yourselves into a dinner date and dancing at your club, when you knew paparazzi trailed you? That we'd be, what did you call it—trending- on that device of yours? Sounds like it does Chang some good. Gets him one up on the publicity. Oh, I could go on…"
"Please don't." Worry lines became a frown on the youthful face. Quatre shook his head and tears leaked out and ran down his cheeks. "How can you think that?"
"My trust in others has seldom been rewarded, Quatre." Trowa stared out the window. Snowflakes were falling in the lamplight. "I'm sorry. I'll admit my experience is limited, but should I like being used?" Trowa asked as one eyebrow pulled itself into a graceful arc.
"Of course not. And I wouldn't conspire with anyone to hurt you, or Duo- you have to believe me… I want you to. I wouldn't do anything to risk my reputation, or ruin another person's. And Chang Wufei's middle name is Honor—he wouldn't have cooperated with a foolish publicity stunt under any circumstances."
Trowa nodded, "I want to believe."
"Please give me a chance to prove myself to you?"
"I can do that."
Trowa and Quatre said good night, but on a cautionary note: "I hope you live up to your reputation."
TBC