The Queen of Hearts

Chapter 4

Quatre hurried up to his room after the performance was over. "Always leave them wanting more" was she showbiz motto, and after that little stunt he'd pulled on the crowd with Trowa, it was best if he wasn't seen for the rest of the evening. It would cause rumors to spread and generally be good for business. He closed his door and locked it for good measure, then leaned back against it and sighed.

"Did I really just do that? Did I really just touch him in public like that then kiss him TWICE tonight?" He removed the partial wig he had on and placed it on its stand, and then he began to methodically remove the laces on his costume and put away the padding he used to give himself a female figure. He stripped slowly, tiredly, and then sat on the bed to remove the painful high-heeled short boots, followed by the garter and stockings. He stripped entirely, and then went into his tiny closet of a bathroom to wash off the sweat of the evening and the makeup he wore. It was just so easy to be The Queen; it was so easy to seem confidant and brash in that character. But when he looked up into the mirror, all that gazed back was Quatre: Nothing but a plain, runaway, piano player; and Quatre was scared to death at being found out.

And then there was the stranger, Trowa. He was tall, handsome, mysterious, and best of all, interested. Quatre smiled fondly at that as he finished washing off and slipped into a pair of linen pants to sleep in. Trowa had almost kissed him as Quatre, and was definitely interested in Q-baby. Maybe Trowa would be the one… Maybe.

Outside the rowdy bar, Trowa walked back to his room at the inn and had the hardest time falling asleep. He hadn't meant to stay around for long, but this town had two things that no other town he'd ever been to ever had, and both enigmatic blondes wouldn't get out of his head. He dragged himself up to his room and undressed for bed, but as he lay there, he couldn't get his mind to stop spinning round and round in circles. His lips still burned with the heated kisses The Queen had bestowed upon him; Queen of Hearts indeed. She had his wrapped around her dainty finger and yet they'd only really met twice. Both times, she'd managed to kiss him.

Then on the opposite end of the spectrum was Quatre. These two blonds were as different as night and day! It seemed like the only thing they had in common was blonde hair and blue eyes. Quatre was sweet and shy and very male; Q-baby was sensual, commanded the attention of the room, and though she lacked a curvy female shape, what she had, she flaunted shamelessly.

Trowa groaned and rolled over on the bed, He couldn't decide at this point which he wanted more; did he want the sweet, virginal allure that Quatre exuded or was he after the feisty, in-your-face seduction of The Queen?

And for that matter, just what was she talking about tonight? Was she really threatening both Quatre and Trowa with what she knew? And for what gain? Trowa growled softly. This was NOT going to let him sleep any time soon. He rolled off the bed and leaned out the open window. If he leaned out a little and turned his head, he could see the Saloon across the road. There was music playing in the air and he could hear the drunken patrons singing along off-key with the rest of the girls, but Q-baby had disappeared. He'd loitered around the outside of the bar for a few minutes to see if he could hear her singing on stage again, but he knew she'd not gone back to the crowd. If only he hadn't been caught so off guard, he might have made note of where she'd run off to.

Just then, one of the lights above the Saloon caught his attention. He couldn't see inside, the window was on the other side of the building, but the light shone through the window and cast an odd rhomboid shape on the wall of the stables. He saw the shape of a person (thin by the look of it) walk around for a minute before leaving the area from around the window, but the light remained on. Hurriedly, he put on his pants, tossed on his shirt, and stomped into his worn boots on his mad dash out.

It was just a hunch, but something told him that the answers to his questions could be found there… in the one lit window of the otherwise dark second story. He ran across the road and skidded to a halt outside the window. He stood there like a mad man, waiting for a glimpse of anything, knowing full well that this whole endeavor was probably pointless and that the person that the shadow he'd seen belonged to was very likely not one of the people he wished it'd belonged to. He stood there for another few moments, and was rewarded by a flash of bond hair and pale skin before the light in the room died away.

Back in the bedroom, Quatre couldn't rest with the noise going on down stairs and the vibrations of the floor and bed beneath him as the band played on. He sat up tiredly in his bed and wearily rubbed his eyes. This whole situation with Trowa was eating at him. Never before in all his life had anyone stolen his calm as Trowa had. He stood and after letting his eyes rest on a battered, old case, resting in the corner, he made up his mind and simply put on a linen shirt and then slipped on an old, tattered blue dressing robe. He took out the contents of the case and, after blowing out the light from the bedside lamp, he took up his small lantern and made his way out of his room on bare feet toward the stables. No one would be around anyway. The people who were awake were at the bar, and the rest were at home, piously resisting the evils of drunkenness and womanizing and gambling.

He didn't mind the few rocks at his feet and for the most part, the packed dirt was soft against his feet. In fact, the few rocks he came upon were well-worn and rather welcome as they helped to ease out the soreness that he felt in the arches of his feet from wearing ladies' shoes. He made his way into the stable, completely missing the shadowed form that had caught the small lantern light that exited the back of the Saloon and was following silently behind him. He walked to the center of the stables and placed the lantern on the floor, making sure that the light was dim enough not to cause anyone suspicion, but the glow was enough to let him see somewhat in the darkness.

He closed his eyes then, and raised his instrument to the juncture of his neck and shoulder and with a final sigh, he brought the worn bow against the strings of his beloved violin and let his hands and fingers spill the contents of his soul to the peaceful beasts that were his captive audience. Time seemed to still, yet pass, in a paradoxical way. It felt as though he'd spent an eternity sharing his grief and anxieties with the majestic creatures that rested in their stalls, but at the same time, it felt as if he'd run out of things to express almost as quickly as he'd begun.

He let out a shuddering breath as the final notes escaped his prized possession and he slowly pulled it from its nested place beneath his chin to dangle in weary fingertips. He felt as if the music that had poured out of him had left him empty and exhausted enough to go back to bed and fall into a dreamless sleep. He was just about to do that, picking up his small lantern, when he heard a noise behind him.

The sudden sound startled him enough to drop the lantern and with its fall, the flame within died. There wasn't nearly enough kerosene in it to keep the small flame big enough to illuminate a room on its own; it barely had enough to keep it going until Quatre could buy more to put into it, which was lucky, considering how much dry hay was laying on the ground.

"Who's there?" Quatre asked suspiciously. He didn't dare try to pick up the battered lantern; it was better to try and find whoever was in there with him. "What do you want?"

"You play beautifully," a soft voice said from the shadows. Quatre could hear footsteps crunching on the hay as the person walked away from the entrance of the stables and closer to him.

"Who are you?" Quatre asked. The voice was giving him goose bumps; it was silky and smooth… like black velvet, making his knees weak.

The figure came a little closer and stepped into a beam of moonlight that broke through the darkness, thanks to a hole in the roofing. The place he, himself, had been standing in a few moments before… before he'd backed away from the sound of another person in the building. As the figure came into view, Quatre couldn't help but feel the breath catch in his throat and his heart beat accelerate... it was Trowa.

He prayed that Trowa didn't find out about him yet, that he'd washed off all traces of Q-baby, that his no longer had a lingering trace of her perfume.

"I didn't know you were more than just a piano man," Trowa said in a dangerously sultry voice. "Where do you always run off to? I was hoping we'd get a chance to get to know each other a little more…"

Was Trowa really that interested in him or was he just toying with Quatre?

"I don't know what you're talking about," Quatre said, trying hard to seem indifferent and just walk away. He couldn't do this. He couldn't talk to Trowa like this as Quatre. He needed The Queen of Hearts; she was the shameless flirt, the confidant one. Where was his mask when he needed it?

Trowa suddenly grabbed him by the waist and held him tightly, making Quatre realize exactly how big their height difference was and just how good Trowa's arms felt as they tightened around him.

"You're driving me crazy, Angel," Trowa whispered heatedly into Quatre's ear. "What will it take for you to give me the time of day? You're beautiful, Quatre, let me… let me…" With that, Trowa's lips descended on Quatre's, kissing the boy hungrily, and Quatre couldn't help but give in. He'd dreamed of being kissed like this since he'd imposed his own kisses on Trowa, but the ones they'd shared before were nothing like this. This kiss was different, possessive, protective, demanding. It was everything he ever wanted, and Trowa was giving it to him, as Quatre, and not as the Queen!

Just then, he heard noises outside of the barn, coming from the direction of the front of the Saloon. The bar must have been closing and he couldn't afford to be caught like this. "We can't Trowa!" he whispered harshly, as he began to panic. He shoved Trowa away with all his might, dropping his beloved violin in the process and ran out the back entrance of the stables. He ran all the way into the building, up the stairs, and into his room, his heart thumping madly in his chest.

Yes, he'd told Trowa, as Q-baby, that Trowa could have them both, but now that he was faced with the reality of potentially being caught as a man, with a man, he didn't think he could handle it.

"You, Quatre," he whispered to himself as he made his way to the bed and flopped down on it, "are an idiot."

Jess' Rant:

Just one more chapter to go, people! Again, thank you to the lovely Dentellenoir for being my lovely beta, without whom, this chapter (heck, this STORY) would not be possible.

Flying Fish: I'm glad you noticed the rift in Quatre's personality. It's a coping mechanism and a legitimate (and rather common) psychosis in strippers and other nocturnal entertainers .

Also: I reply to all reviews as long as I have somewhere to reply… FYI.