A/N: This grew from a drabble request made by chemicalchrush.
A/N #2: Thanks to Ro for being an amazing beta, and to Maeve, for beta-reading and always being so encouraging.
A/N #3: I am in NO way an expert on ballet or music/orchestral life. I'm an expert on NONE of the careers mentioned - with the exception of Wufei's, and even then I fully acknowledge he is way too young to have that job - so please just know I'm relying on the internet. If you have any suggestions or expertise to offer, I welcome it.
A/N #5: If you're ever curious about what these people's homes look like, check out "Pas de Trois Locations" on my tumblr page, where I have links to actual apartments that are for sale! In case you have several million dollars laying around. In which case, we should talk.
Warnings: language, angst, sexy times
Pairings: 2x3xR, 3x5, 3x13, 1x4, 1x6, DxC others will be added as necessary
Pas de Trois
Chapter Four
"So what is the appropriate gift to get someone for their surprise engagement party?" I asked Heero.
It was Saturday afternoon, and we were in Bendel's on 5th Avenue. The matinee of Firebird had ended and Heero, performing in it, had walked down to meet me at the boutique.
Heero paused to smell one of the candles. He sniffed, and then recoiled in disgust. I looked and made a mental note - "Blackberry Fig" was a no for Heero.
"No idea," he shrugged. "You could google it."
I rolled my eyes, but pulled out my phone anyway and typed the question into the google search.
There were no immediate results, but I clicked on the Martha Stewart link for engagement party etiquette.
"How fancy is this going to be?" I asked Heero, as I scrolled through images of models in cocktail dresses and suits.
The other man shrugged again, sniffed at the "Provence" scented candle and smiled ever-so-slightly. I made a mental note of that as well.
"Her birthday party there last year had people in ballgowns. You were in Paris, so you got to miss it, lucky bastard," he added with a mutter. "I think the mayor was there."
"At Meilin's birthday party?" I asked, incredulous. Sure, she was a principal at ABT, but still…
"Her boyfriend is a Livingston. Or an Astor. Or something like that."
"Something like that?" I echoed, amused. "What's his name?"
"Terrance something. Not Livingston or Astor," he added quickly, clearly guessing what I would say next.
"And how did-"
"He's a member of the board - I don't think he works. He met Meilin at the gala two years ago and has been pathetically in love with her ever since."
I arched an eyebrow. It was difficult to imagine Meilin in a relationship with someone who seemed so desperate. As much as Meilin appreciated attention and expected to be lavished with praise for her talent, she didn't think much of sycophants. I had always pictured her as being interested in someone who would challenge her and who she would have to chase.
"You think she wants to be ambushed with a proposal in front of the entire company?" Heero asked idly, as he sniffed at 'Lemon Verbena.'
I levelled a cool look at him. "If you think she hasn't had a hand in organizing this entire thing, you're delusional. She's a prima - the world is her stage, and she's not going to let herself be put in a position she doesn't want to be in."
Heero thought that over and then nodded. "Except for the Winner party." He smirked. "All through our Sylvia rehearsals yesterday, she wouldn't stop complaining about it."
That brought me up short. Of course, I wasn't exactly thrilled about it either, but I was at least looking forward to dancing with Meilin.
"Did she complain about me?" I had to ask.
Heero shook his head, not bothering to look up from his inspection of a row of candles that seemed so small they might as well have been designed for a dollhouse.
"No. She said you're the best pas de deux partner she's had since she and Zechs did Don Quixote."
I arched an eyebrow at that unexpected praise. "Really?"
Heero nodded, and then looked up at me with a slight smirk on his lips.
"Of course, she also says you're as anxious and uptight as she was the day she auditioned for ABT. She says you need to get laid or you're going to break something." Heero let his gaze sweep down to my crotch.
I rolled my eyes and gave his shoulder a slight shove. He rocked but, of course, remained perfectly balanced.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen. Can I help you find anything?"
A sales associate - the second one since we had entered the boutique - walked towards us with an empty smile on her blandly attractive face.
"We're looking for engagement presents," I told her.
Her smile brightened considerably. "Congratulations! Would you like me to get the paperwork for our registry so that-"
"No," I jumped in hastily. "Not for-"
"Let's hold off on the paperwork," Heero said, and stepped closer to me, sliding an arm around my waist and offering me another smirk. "We're just browsing today. Can you show us a few items?"
"Of course!" She smiled again, and started to walk away.
We followed, slowly, and I glared down at Heero.
"What are you doing?"
He shrugged one shoulder, a gesture he had picked up from me.
"I'm bored. And besides, we've been dating for a few days - I thought it was time to take our relationship to the next level."
My glare intensified.
He had asked, that night when we got home from the too-long dinner with my parents, what had happened with Duo and I when I went up to the bar. He had been amused by Duo's assumption - it wasn't the first time someone had assumed we were dating. We had both lost a few dates over the years when they saw us interact and assumed that we were secretly in love with each other - or not so secretly, on occasion. Twice we had been propositioned, by Heero's boyfriends, with a threesome.
The sales associate showed us an array of increasingly useless items - key fobs and key trays, striped boxes, dog accoutrement, candle collections, and-
"What is that?" Heero gestured to a gold tool that looked like surgical scissors with a strange, circular tip.
"Oh, a candlewick trimmer," she responded, as if of course that's what it was - how could we not know?
Heero and I stared at it. Who the hell, I wondered, was so pretentious as to need a gold candlewick trimmer?
I looked at the price tag - $78. For a pair of crappy gold scissors.
"It's perfect," Heero said, and I found myself nodding in agreement.
The sales associate beamed at us. "Perfect for the first item on your registry, or-"
"No," Heero let me go and reached out to pick up one of the leather boxes that contained the useless implement. "I think we don't want to wait to bring this home."
"Actually," I took the thing from him, "I think this might make the perfect gift for my sister. We can see how she likes it, and then decide if we need it. Can you gift wrap this?"
I held it out and the associate took it. "Of course. Would you like to continue browsing, or-"
"No, I think that's all we need at the moment," Heero said.
We followed her up to the counter.
"What did you get them?" I asked him as I pulled out my wallet.
Heero's lips tipped upwards again, this time in an expression that said he thought he was funny, even if no one else did.
I rolled my eyes, wondering just what he had done.
"I got them a video series."
I arched an eyebrow. That sounded so mundane, and didn't explain his amusement at all.
"Sex Ballet. It's an exercise series."
"Sex Ballet?" I repeated, too loudly, and a few people looked at me.
Heero continued to smirk.
"It teaches you ballet exercises that are designed to improve your sex life."
I could only imagine what Meilin's response to that was going to be.
"Is this about-"
"Yes," Heero interrupted me, clearly not keen to have it said aloud.
I found myself smirking as I forked over way too much money for a very useless object that had been trussed up in a striped box and wrapped with a gold bow.
On our first day as members of the corps, four years ago now, Heero and I had made the mistake of walking into the wrong locker rooms at the ABT rehearsal studios. As apprentices, we had shared a locker room with the upper-level students in the JKO school, and on that first day, we had simply followed the signs and stepped into the first locker room we found.
We were both naked except for our dance belts when Meilin had walked in, then just a soloist, and arched an eyebrow at us.
Wordlessly, she had stood in front of a locker between us and started to undress.
Heero and I hadn't known what to do - hadn't known why Meilin was in the men's locker room at all.
But then, before I'd even put on a shirt, the door opened again and a parade of women in the company entered.
They looked at Heero and I, practically naked, and burst out laughing.
We had grabbed our bags and fled, the sound of Meilin's laughter rising above the others, and had had to hurriedly put on our clothes in the hall, under the amused eyes of Zechs.
Heero had not forgiven Meilin for that, and it amused me that this was his revenge four years later.
-o-
It was bizarre to think that Meilin lived a mile from us. But the differences between Murray Hill and the Upper East Side were impossible to miss. While most of the buildings were still Pre-War, in Meilin's neighborhood most of the facades had been replaced or refurbished. Trees were everywhere - as were doormen.
We had gone back to our apartment to change into the suits we usually reserved for opening night parties or galas, and then had walked up to her apartment.
Even so, standing in front of the doorman in my $150 dollar suit, I was keenly aware that it was not up to par with this building.
The doorman let us in and another liveried employee took us up on the elevator to the 17th floor.
Holy shit.
I had thought that Duo and Relena's apartment was the most expensive place I had ever been in.
But it was nothing compared to this place.
"Two floors," Heero told me as we walked up a staircase, "and wait 'til you see the-"
"Holy shit."
One entire wall of the apartment was a glass-covered terrace, lined with blue-cushioned seating, Manhattan spread out in all of her dusky glory beyond us.
Beside me, Heero looked smug, but just a little in awe as well.
I had never seen something so incredible.
All around me were signs of wealth - from furniture to paintings to rugs to the marble floors.
To the people.
My suit definitely didn't stand up.
While most of the women were in cocktail dresses, they weren't the casual ones from the Martha Stewart etiquette guide. These women were wearing dresses that looked like they had just stepped off the runway.
I felt incredibly out of place, and I clutched the Bendel's gift tightly.
"Let's find the bar," Heero suggested. I followed him, and we navigated our way to a balcony adjacent to the terrace - this one open to the cool night air. Along the way, we passed a side table that seemed to be the gift repository, and we placed ours on the table in the midst of countless Tiffany's boxes.
Heero collected two glasses of champagne for us and we stood, looking out at the city, sipping on the effervescent liquid.
"It makes you wonder why she even bothers to dance," Heero murmured.
That thought took me by surprise, and I considered it.
It was difficult to imagine Meilin forcing herself to follow the grueling regime of a professional ballet dancer when she could, instead, recline in this palace of an apartment at her leisure. But then, what would be the point? As grand as this apartment was, it was not the Metropolitan Opera House. The gathered crowd here, as sparkling and no doubt influential as it was, it was not 3,800 people standing and calling for an encore.
If I had been faced with the choice - dance or live a carefree life in this place - I would have hesitated, but I would have chosen to dance. I knew that was naive, and in five years, definitely in ten, I would dream of having this kind of luxury. But for now, the two-bedroom apartment I shared with Heero, with the screeching elevator and leaky faucets and broken firescape, was enough when it allowed me to stand on that stage, under those lights, and dance.
There was a sound, someone calling the guests to attention, and I assumed that Meilin had finally arrived.
She had performed in Carmen at eight. It was nine-thirty now, plenty of time for her to have showered after the one-act ballet and prepared herself for this "surprise" party.
Sure enough, when she stepped through the door, Meilin was dressed in a simple black dress that, while no means as ornate as some of the attire of her guests, fit her well, and was certainly fancier than the leggings and t-shirts I knew she normally put on after a performance.
Heero and I were on the outside of the crowd - most of the company was there, as well as plenty of people I didn't recognize but assumed to be friends of the would-be groom - but I could still see the handsome, middle-aged man clearly as he knelt down in front of Meilin and presented her with an open velvet box.
I couldn't hear what he said, but after a moment, Meilin covered her mouth with her right hand while at the same time nodding and extending her left.
The man slipped the ring onto her finger, and then stood up to kiss her while everyone applauded.
Once they ended the kiss, the music changed, growing a little louder, and the guests cheered and offered toasts.
Across the room, just behind Meilin, I saw Wufei.
His glass wasn't raised, and his attention wasn't on the happy couple. His dark gaze was, instead, focused entirely on me.
I tossed back the last of my champagne.
Of course Wufei was here. He was Meilin's cousin - and Meilin had been the one to introduce me to him in the first place. Or rather, she had walked up to me at a party with Wufei in tow and shoved him in my direction with a smirk and a casual "Wufei, Trowa. Trowa, Wufei. Wufei's been admiring your ass while he designs the lights, and I'm tired of hearing about it."
Much like that night, as I watched him across the room I saw Wufei's brows draw together in a scowl - no doubt he didn't like seeing me finish off my drink like that, since he knew exactly how poor my judgement was when I was drunk.
So I turned away and went back outside and helped myself to another glass.
I was on my third when Wufei finally cornered me.
"Trowa." He said my name like a plea - exasperated and just a little tender, and it made me clutch my half-empty glass of champagne tightly.
"Wufei," I bit out, my tone very different.
His mouth tightened, and I watched his eyes narrow slightly.
We stared at each other, and I couldn't help but notice how good he looked in his suit. It was white, and over the black dress shirt he wore it could have looked stupid but it didn't. It fit him well, and he looked as handsome and self-assured as ever. His hair was loose, another concession to this being a more formal occasion, since he normally just pulled it back and ignored it while working.
"I heard about Le Corsaire. I'm designing it."
I nodded. I wasn't surprised. Zechs had been lit by Wufei often, over the years. Of course he would want to work with him again. Wufei was Meilin's age - his thirtieth birthday was only a few months away - and he had been working with ABT just as long as I had.
"It's a good role," he continued.
"I know." It was clear he was trying to be nice, but I wasn't sure why. And I refused to let down my guard.
His words, that last night in his apartment before I finally shoved the few things I kept there into my bag and stormed out, rang in my ears.
I can't love you more than you love yourself. I can't fight for us when you won't even fight for yourself. I can't watch you kill yourself for this.
This, at the time, had been auditions for Romeo and Juliet. When I had returned from Paris and then, subsequently, been promoted to soloist, I had called my parents immediately. They had been shocked - unlike Cathy, who had merely been surprised, and instantly showered praise and congratulations on me - and there had been an awkward silence on the phone before my mother had congratulated me and my father had offered warnings of keeping low expectations. Being a soloist didn't guarantee I would be cast in a role with a solo, or even a pas de deux.
It was the same kind of advice my father always gave me, the same kind that always reminded me that while, yes, it seemed like I had something to celebrate, my father knew that, in reality, I was always on the cusp of failure.
So, the week that Kevin McKenzie sat in on classes and scribbled notes as he thought through the cast of Romeo and Juliet that he would choreograph, I worked my ass off - coming in an hour early to do barre and center work, staying late to use the training equipment at the ABT rehearsal studios because I hadn't gotten my membership to the gym yet. I had done everything in my power to stand out, to impress, to prove that I could do great things.
I also hadn't eaten much. The first day of classes, Zechs had looked me over and smirked before muttering something about French food clearly agreeing with me. I had put on weight - eleven pounds - but I had returned from France feeling healthier and stronger than I had since college, since before joining ABT.
So it had been a rough week of little food, a lot of work, and even more fights with Wufei.
Our season apart had been a challenge. He had taken what gigs he could in Paris, and he had flown over between his own shows to visit, so we saw each other at least once a month. But we were both too introverted, too stuck in our own heads, to instantly feel at ease with each other during those visits. It always took a few hours to relearn each other, and each time it took a little longer, until, finally, I returned to New York and we had a fight on the way back from the airport that was awful enough for me to go to Heero's place instead of Wufei's.
And then there was that week of trying to impress McKenzie, of trying to lose weight and fit back into a company where most of the men resented my promotion when I hadn't even been with ABT the season before. Wufei and I had fought every night, had lain awake in bed glaring at the ceiling until I goaded him into fucking me, and even then, we had slept at opposite sides of the bed, hugging the edges.
And then the fight.
"I'm not designing Sylvia. I don't know if you knew."
I hadn't. I hadn't asked because I didn't want to have to decide whether or not to avoid him or try to catch his eye next week during tech and dress rehearsals. Wufei was exhausting, even more-so now that we weren't together, and I was tired enough as it was.
"Why not?" I knew it wasn't because of me.
"I'll be in San Francisco for a few weeks, working on a show out there - a musical," he added.
"I hope it goes well." I finished off the glass and wondered if I could feasibly have another.
Not with Wufei standing in front of me.
"I'll let you get back to your family." I nodded towards Meilin's mother and Wufei's own.
Wufei's mother was looking over at us, her mouth curved upwards ever-so-slightly. She liked me just fine. It was ironic, now that I thought about it - my mother loved Wufei, his mother loved me. If only that was enough.
"Trowa." He reached out to me then, his fingers warm on my wrist, and I could feel my pulse jump at his touch. "I miss you."
"You miss me?" I stared at him and he nodded, moving closer, misreading my mood. "What, exactly, do you miss?"
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"You miss me - what about me do you miss? Do you miss having to deal with my complete lack of self-confidence or self-awareness?" I was repeating his own words, though I had thought them often enough myself without having him throw them at me during our fights. "Do you miss our fights? Or staring at me pretending to eat? Or-"
"Stop," he hissed, stepping even closer, so that our bodies were flush.
"Oh. You miss fucking me." I raised an eyebrow, remembering that last fight, remembering just how cruel he had been. "Even if I was just a spineless bottom who needs a dick up my-"
Wufei put a hand over my mouth and looked around us, anxious that no one had overheard me.
I pushed his hand away and stepped back.
"Fuck you," I said, my voice low. "Stay away from me."
I set my empty champagne glass down and walked away, feeling the alcohol buzz through my veins, feeding my anger and nerves, and by the time I found a bathroom I felt dizzy.
I closed the door and leaned back against it, closing my eyes and forcing myself to breathe and not think about the way Wufei had just looked at me.
Horrified and disgusted. As if he was, at last, finally seeing the depth of all the things he had ever accused me of being - or not being.
Once my breathing was back to normal, I opened my eyes and then I had to laugh.
I was in some kind of marble sanctuary that looked like it had been lifted from a spa - warm, low amber lighting that made every marbled and mirrored surface of the bathroom glow. Even the toilet, somehow, looked like it was fit for royalty.
I stepped away from the door and splashed cool water on my face. I ran a hand through my hair and stared at my reflection.
It was absurd. Everything about me being here, was absurd.
Here I was, clinging to the coattails of the talented and fortunate around me. I didn't belong here - I wasn't my father. I wasn't my mother or my sister. I wasn't-
The door behind me opened, and I looked into the mirror again to see Treize.
I couldn't help the scowl that crossed my face. I had seen him, earlier, talking to McKenzie and Zechs and Une.
"You didn't lock the door," he said.
Yet another thing I couldn't do. Of course he was here to lecture me about just what a monumental failure and waste of his time I was.
"Sorry," I mumbled.
Neither of us moved, and I realized, belatedly, that Treize was not here to lecture me about my failures. I felt heat coil in my groin.
I raised an eyebrow. "Are you going to?"
He didn't even look, just reached behind him and carelessly threw the lock, even as he took a step forward and crowded me against the bathroom counter.
His eyes stayed locked on mine in the mirror as he fit his hips against mine and waited.
I remained still for a moment, staring at him, at the indecipherable look on his face that could have been lust or hatred - might as well have been both.
But then I leaned back against him, pressed my ass against his thighs, and he smirked, the look so arrogant it made my stomach turn.
Treize put his hands on my waist, pushed me down so that I had to steady myself against the counter with my arms, and ran his hands over my back and up to my shoulders, my hair. He tugged sharply, and I winced at the pain.
He kept one hand tangled in my hair while, finally looking away, he opened up the cabinets on either side of us, searching for something.
I shifted, rubbing my ass against him until I felt the length of his cock, not quite erect yet, through his trousers.
I tried to turn, to reach back to remove his trousers, but Treize tightened his hold on me.
"No," he said, voice idle. "I don't need your help with that."
I flushed. Of course he didn't. I looked away from his cold face and saw him withdraw a small black and white jar from the drawer to my left. He set it on the counter beside me.
Pure Aloe Vera Gel.
I reached into my pocket, fumbling slightly, and pulled out my wallet.
My attempt to sleep my way through Manhattan, as Heero liked to term it, had taught me to always carry condoms.
I pulled out one from between the singles in my wallet and put it beside the jar.
"And what if I said no condoms?" Treize asked, hand tugging at my hair until he had stood me up and angled my neck to the side.
"Then I'd point out that you don't need my help to masturbate," I said, the pain and irritation from his handling of my scalp, combined with the champagne and the lingering effects of my encounter with Wufei, making me combative.
Treize smirked and leaned down to press a kiss against my throat, his lips cool and dry, and it made me shiver.
"Strip," he instructed. "Everything."
I'd had quick bathroom fucks before - never in a penthouse like this - and they had all involved clumsy groping and trousers barely kicked down far enough.
I could see that he expected me to balk, probably even wanted me to, so that he could say something cutting and cruel.
I undressed quickly, with a calm I absolutely did not feel, and laid my clothes on the bathroom counter as though my only concern in the world, at that moment, was keeping them wrinkle-free.
Treize's lips turned up, his amusement just as harsh as any of his insults had ever been.
But his eyes roamed over my naked flesh and he made a humming sound, something that sounded like appreciation, and he ran his hands over my bare back, my ass and my thighs.
"Why am I not surprised to see you hard?" he laughed, as he wrapped one hand around my embarrassingly erect cock.
He didn't seem to want or need a response from me. He pushed me down again, fast and hard enough that I only caught myself as my face touched the marble surface of the counter.
He kept his hand on the center of my back, holding me in place.
Treize smoothed his hand along the shaft of my cock, the gentlest touch he had ever given me - softer and kinder than the little shoves in the rehearsal hall, the commanding grips on my shoulders or arms or legs.
I sucked in a breath, completely unprepared for that, for anything about Treize to be soft, and I saw him smirk again.
"Do I need to put something in your mouth?" he asked.
I thought, for a moment, that he meant his cock, but his eyes flicked to the stack of hand towels near my head.
"No," I growled, the idea sending another wave of anger through me.
"Very well."
He removed both of his hands from my body, though I knew better than to move, and unfastened his trousers.
I watched as he pushed his briefs down and his cock, long and already hard and curved in a way that made me lick my lips, sprang free.
He stepped close again, resting the thick weight of his cock between the cheeks of my ass, and I moved back, pushing against him involuntarily.
I half-expected another reprimand from him, but he leaned forward, bracing himself on the counter with his hands on either side of my hips, and rocked against me.
"Prepare yourself," he instructed.
I reached for the aloe. I unscrewed the lid and dipped my fingers in the cool gel, scooping up a generous amount so that I didn't have to return for more, and reached back.
Treize helpfully moved his cock so that, instead of resting against the small of my back, it nudged against my balls and my own cock. He lazily moved against me, eyes glued to my fingers as I stretched and fucked myself.
I had to bite my lip as I found my prostate and stroked against it. I wasn't going to cry out, wasn't going to moan, wasn't going to give Treize that kind of satisfaction, even if I didn't think I would be overheard from inside this marble tomb.
"Now," I said, when three fingers parted my body with ease.
Treize arched an eyebrow at my breathless tone, my command, but he reached for the condom and rolled it down his hard cock before pushing my hand away.
I felt the head of his cock, wide and hard, push at me, and I forced myself to relax, forced myself to remain still as he pushed in, burning his way into me, until I felt the hair of his groin brush against me.
"Hm." That approving hum again, and then he moved his hands to my hips, gripping tightly, and he fucked me.
I had expected something rough - fast and hard and painful enough that it would outweigh my pleasure - but Treize was controlled, precise. His cock filled me in slow, aching thrusts that made me want more, made me need more.
I met his eyes in the mirror, saw his amusement, saw the challenge.
I rocked back, meeting his thrust and upsetting his pace. His lips curved upwards and his hands tightened on my hips.
"Are you sure you want to play that game?" His voice was a caress, a warning that made me shiver, and I pushed back again, and again, fighting with him until his rhythm changed, until his perfect control shattered and his fingers were digging into my skin so deep there would be bruises.
I reached back and worked my own cock, tugging at my flesh in time with our hips.
My breathing was harsh, so loud and uneven in my ears I couldn't even hear my heartbeat over it. But Treize's was worse - his control completely gone, his eyes closed and his mouth open.
He looked nothing like the brutal choreographer from the studios or our date. Gone was that chiseled statue of perfection and authority. He was totally lost to the movement of our bodies, to the build of his climax, and I felt, for the first time in a long time, a sense of power and control of my own.
I had done this. I had broken him, and forced him to do things my way.
He came first, hands spasming and fingernails curling into my skin so sharply that I cried out in pain, drowning out the low, guttural groan that accompanied his release.
I expected him to pull out, to leave me hard and unfinished, but instead he pushed my hand aside and took me in his own hand.
"Don't you dare draw this out," I warned him, anticipating a return to his earlier pace, a pace that would never get me off.
He chuckled, the sound surprisingly warm, and pressed a kiss to my back.
"You're learning," he said, and surprised me further by keeping his grip tight, stroking me quickly and firmly until I was riding his spent cock and biting my lip.
I could feel it building, could feel the heat and pressure, and I felt the need to come, felt the urge to spill all over Treize's hand.
"Kiss me," I growled, taking both of us aback.
But Treize pulled me up so that my back was against his chest, and he turned my head and took my mouth in a sweeping kiss that was exactly what I needed to go flying over the edge.
I moaned into his mouth, biting his lower lip and sucking it into my mouth and he, amazingly, let me.
It took far too long for me to realize what I was doing, for the euphoria of orgasm to leave me, for me to pull away from his lips, his hands and his cock, and even then, I felt…
Treize reached out and ran a knuckle over my swollen lips.
"Learn to dance like that, and there will be no stopping you," he said.
"What?"
My breathing was as harsh and labored as though I had just danced Desiré's variation in Sleeping Beauty.
He gave me a look - a look I already knew as his most patronizing. I had received it often, over the past few days.
He pulled off the condom and dropped it carelessly into the wastebasket. I watched, fascinated and just a little horrified, as he picked up a hand towel, wet it, and cleaned himself off before dropping it, too, into the trash.
"Your technique is flawless, as you know. Your extension is maddening, and while you have no perceivable acting ability in the rehearsal studio, you transform onstage. It's impossible to look away from you."
He stepped close, reaching around my body to wash off his hands.
"Learn how to dance the way you just fucked me, and I'll be begging you to dance Le Spectre."
I stared at him, convinced this was all a cruel, and rather elaborate, joke at my expense.
He met my gaze and arched an eyebrow.
"You really don't believe me? You really think you got this far on your looks and your parents' names?"
"No." I was sure that had gotten me through several rounds of auditions for colleges, and eventually, ABT.
His gaze turned cold again, and he shook his head. " Do you think I don't know how much you want my praise in the studio? The way you practically beg for approval with each battement. Learn to recognize your own perfection, Trowa. Not every choreographer is going to be Une, ready to call you the next Baryshnikov just because you fill out a dance belt."
I flushed at that. I had seen the way Une looked at me - at my crotch and my ass, in particular.
Treize put his clothes to rights, looked past me into the mirror and smoothed his hair back into place, and only then did he look at me again, still naked, still trying to make sense of what he had said.
"You were a better fuck than I was led to believe," he said, his cruel smirk spreading across his face once again.
And then he was gone.
I dressed hurriedly, angrily, wiping myself off with toilet paper and grimacing as it stuck to the aloe smeared on my ass.
Fuck Treize, I thought, hating him more now than I had before. Praising me and insulting me in almost the same breath. Telling me I was worth something, and then suggesting I was only barely that.
Fuck him.
And fuck Wufei.
I stepped out of the bathroom and made my way back to the party to scan the guests for Heero.
He was on the glassed-in terrace, talking to Zechs.
I narrowed my eyes as I took in the uneasy look on Heero's face, coupled with the way he seemed to be leaning towards Zechs. He was, I could tell, already ready to go home with him.
I stalked across the room and stopped, rudely and abruptly, right beside them.
"Let's go," I said to Heero.
Zechs scowled at me. Heero frowned and looked me over, from my hair, which- fuck. I hadn't even thought to run my hands through it after Treize's treatment.
"Now," I added, since it had worked wonders on Treize.
Zechs arched an eyebrow in amusement. "Is there a problem?"
"No," Heero said before I could say anything. "We had plans for later, and it's time for us to go."
We both stared at him, caught off-guard by the clumsy lie.
Zechs' lips twitched. "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you."
He made a magnanimous gesture, and Heero grabbed my arm before I could say or do anything and hauled me away.
We didn't even look for Meilin to congratulate her, just made our way down the stairs and then rode the elevator in silence.
It wasn't until we were on the street, Heero's shoulders hunched angrily, that he spoke to me.
"What the hell was that about?"
I ran a hand through my hair. It was a fair question, and I wasn't entirely certain I had an answer.
"I'm a fucking idiot," I finally said.
"No argument there," Heero muttered.
"And you are too. Zechs isn't worth your time, Heero. Fucking him isn't going to help your career or your personal life."
Heero glared at me, fists clenched just as tightly as his jaw.
"When did you become a trusted source for relationship advice?" he demanded.
"When I fucked Treize in a bathroom," I snapped. "This is all bullshit. Does Zechs make you happy? Does he appreciate you?"
Heero stared at me, and I didn't know if it was my admission or my questions that had left him speechless.
"No," he said at last. "Not really."
"Then stop fucking him. Go find yourself a Livingston or an Astor or something. We need a better apartment."
It startled a laugh out of him, and I found myself smirking.
I was a mess - and I had had no right to jump down Heero's throat like that. It was good to hear him laughing instead of calling me out for it.
We walked in quiet for several blocks before the inevitable happened.
"You really fucked Treize?" he asked, voice somewhere between awed and revolted.
I didn't say anything.
"Is it going to happen again?"
"No," I answered with complete confidence. I doubted Treize wanted me a second time, and even if he did, once was enough for me.
I still couldn't wrap my head around it - the sex or Treize's words after - and I felt unsettled and uneasy about the entire thing.
And I still, even as we walked up the five flights of stairs to our apartment, didn't feel quite like myself.
-o-
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