(in) Geology 4/5
pairings: 3+4, future 1+2 hints a wee widdle bit angsty (I guess)... .
Disclaimers: GW--not mine. Utena and Anthy (of Utena)--not mine. Wolfwood
and Vash (what other _gorgeous_ blond would Wolfie be walkin' 'round with,
huh?)--not mine. Yuuhi (of the Chopsticks 'O' Doom fame) and Shuro (she
was _so_ much cooler in the Ayashi no Ceres _manga_)--not mine. Kusakabe
Maron (aka Kaitou Jeanne, occasionally kamikaze)--not mine. Anybody seeing
a pattern here?
Physical (in) Geology +
"So you slept with him?"
Quatre shrugged. "We didn't actually, well, you know. But we, um," he
"Fooled around?" Midori asked.
"That makes us sound like two teenagers groping each other in the dark,"
"Which is inaccurate how?"
"It wasn't like that, Dor," he said. "It wasn't like that at all."
"So am I off the hook as your date to the SGA dance this weekend?" she
Quatre hissed. "I totally forgot about that." He eyed her. "I couldn't
drop you like that at this point."
"Yes, you could," she said.
"No, no, I don't think that Trowa would want to," he said.
"I think he would."
"But you bought a new dress."
"Nope. Borrowed it from your sister Octavia. The green one."
"I just don't think that we're ready."
"So I was thinking maybe we could go out somewhere this weekend," Trowa
said. "My friend Milly Thompson is in that play on Friday. I promised
I'd go see it. Would you come?"
"I, uh," Quatre said.
"You can think about it," Trowa said. He leaned back against the edge
of his bed and lifted his book once again.
Quatre, sitting at the other boy's desk, couldn't force himself to go
back to his econ homework. "Trowa... . ?"
His face lifted; the expression in his eyes was inscrutable. Quatre's
throat tightened, and his vocal cords froze.
The phone rang.
Ten minutes later, Trowa hung up. "My sister, Catherine," he explained.
"She travels with the circus."
Quatre smiled, noticing that after ten minutes of speaking in some language
-- all Quatre could say for certain was that it hadn't been Arabic
(the language his father still regularly cursed in) or (he winced) Japanese
(the language that Duo studied. And worshipped. And muttered in his sleep.
Quatre really wasn't sure which was worse -- the fact that Duo
frequently muttered phrases like "Watashi wa gakusei desu" and "Fuyu wa
samui" in his sleep, or the fact that Quatre knew what he meant --
yes, Duo was a student, and yes, winter was frequently cold) --
Trowa's accent had thickened. He found it... well, rather sexy. "Catherine,"
he repeated. "Is she your only sister?"
Trowa nodded, sitting down with a panther like grace. "She is all the
family I have. Our parents died when she was four and I was an infant.
She stayed with the circus, and I was adopted. But my adoptive parents
were killed during a time of trouble when I was ten, so I eventually found
Catherine and went back to the circus."
Quatre leaned forward; he could tell that Trowa did not frequently talk
of this, and would have preferred to not talk of it at all. But it was
something important, and Trowa (his insides felt sparkly with the knowledge)
trusted him. "How long did it take you to find her?" he asked.
Trowa met his gaze directly. "Four years."
Quatre's eyebrows nearly shot off his face. "Four years! But what did
you... I mean... ."
Trowa shrugged, his body moving with a ease that made Quatre's mouth dry.
"The men who killed my parents -- my adoptive parents, the Bartons
-- were fought by other men. Some of them took me in, and took
care of me until I could find out where I came from."
Quatre's eyes narrowed; his gut clenched. "But why would they do that?
Just take care of you?"
Trowa studied him. "Not for any reasons like what you're thinking." The
blond drew back; Trowa seemed to be studying him almost sadly, pityingly,
as if Quatre should have had more faith in humanity than to leap to such
a conclusion. "They took me in because I was a child alone and homeless,
without family; they took me in because too many of them had seen their
parents or their children dead. And they took care of me as if I was a
son, and taught me to look after myself." There was a wealth of meaning
in his simple words; Quatre was suddenly very sure that if need be, Trowa
could take care of just about anything.
"So how did you get from there to here?" he asked.
"From mercenary to clown to geology major?" Trowa asked, a bit amused.
"My sister wanted me to go to college. As for geology, well, I liked rocks."
He liked rocks.
Quatre thought of the million reasons behind his choice of schools and
majors and the billion factors that reinforced him as a business major
every day -- and fell in love with a boy who majored in geology
because he liked rocks.
"You liked rocks," he repeated, an undoubtedly silly smile tugging at
Trowa shrugged. "And volcanoes." His mouth curved wickedly. "Though I
must admit that I don't think about earthquakes in quite the same way...
since I met you."
Quatre's smile got even sillier.
"Though I really do wonder... ." Trowa's voice was low and pulled at the
blond, sending heat flashing down in a v along his lower abdomen --
he had a sudden vision of a bright red arrow pointing to his crotch.
"What do you wonder?" he asked, his voice so hoarse as to barely be recognizable.
Trowa's eyes were hot as he raked them over the other boy. "I wonder...
," he said, coming closer, "exactly... ."
Quatre moaned as he felt breath against his neck. "Hmm," he breathed.
"What it is... ." His hands went for the buttons of Quatre's shirt; the
blond arched his back.
"Yes?" he prompted, wishing that Trowa's hand would move just a little...
bit... down... .
"That Duo writes... ."
"Huh?" Quatre pulled back and gave Trowa a quizzical look.
"In his religion papers."
Blue eyes widened; the blond didn't stop laughing until Trowa kissed the
air from his body.
Later, after they had satisfied one appetite and worked up another, they
dug into the Chinese food that Quatre'd had delivered.
"I've got a ton of sisters," Quatre said, licking his chopsticks clean.
"A ton. My father is the second son of a very rich man in a country where
having more than one wife is only polite. He had nine daughters with his
first three wives -- my father, this is -- and then he met
my mother, divorced the first two, and defected to the United States.
He runs the American side of the business. Oil, at first, and then he
"Where do they live?" At Quatre's blank stare, Trowa added, "Your parents."
"Oh," the blond said with a bit of a nervous laugh. "Well. My mother died,
giving birth to me. My father maintains residences in New York, Los Angeles,
Atlanta, Houston, and Toronto, but I mostly grew up in the Massachusetts
house. It's about an hour from Boston. My sisters and I are still in and
out all the time."
"You know them? I mean, they didn't stay with their mothers?" Trowa asked.
Quatre shrugged, maneuvering more rice into his mouth. "Janan, my father's
first wife, died, and her daughters came to stay with us when I was a
baby. Zaynab, his second wife, came and stayed for a while when I was
younger, but she remarried when I was five. Ava, his third wife, was American,
so she's always been around. We get along well. My sisters have been in
and out. There are a few I'm especially close to. Iria's the oldest --
she was almost like my mother. Thao's second oldest -- I've don't
know her as well, but she's been very helpful with everything. Then Teddy
-- Theodora -- is not quite a year older than I am, and
Octavia is only three months older than she is, so the three of us were
always quite close. And Paola, and Bianca... but it's Tav and Teddy that
I," and he shrugged, faintly embarrassed, "can tell everything to."
He raised his eyes and saw Trowa looking at him with that level glance
that seemed to take in and understand everything. "Sisters," the other
boy said, "can be good. But," and the he launched off into some convoluted
anecdote about one time when it hadn't been so good to have a sister that
had Quatre laughing until he hurt.
Duo stood still in the middle of a path.
"Yup," Quatre said. "Very funny."
"As in ha ha, funny? Makes you laugh, funny? Not like, mime funny?"
"Mimes are funny?"
Duo shrugged. "I've never found them to be so, but then, I've never found
them to be scary, either, and supposedly many people do. I'm guessing
you don't -- otherwise you never would have gone for one."
"He's not that quiet, either," Quatre said, staring off into space. "He's
just a little shy, a little self-conscious about his accent."
"Why? It's sexy as hell."
After delivering a thump to Duo's head, Quatre went back to his favorite
pastime of late. Thinking of Trowa. "And he had an unusual upbringing."
Duo snorted. "Hell, I grew up in a fucking church, but you don't see me
running around being quiet."
Quatre laughed. "That's an understatement. But Trowa's different. He's...
"And I'm not?"
"If the shoe fits... ."
"It doesn't. I think it's too shallow."
"I was almost ready to forgive you. Then you just had to come out with
an absolutely idiotic joke like that... ."
"And now you're completely ready?"
Quatre shot his roommate a gaze out the side of his eyes. "I think that...
you know me too well."
Duo didn't let Quatre see the smirk that played across his beautiful features.
"Kit-Kat, I know lots of things better than you think I do."
"Shallow waters run deep?"
"And you can drown in a deep green eye."
"Eyes. He does have two."
"Sure he does. Do you suppose there's a name for that?"
"Huh? For what?"
"You know. Like Cyclops-philia?"
"I don't know... . but how 'bout this word? Roomate-a- cide."
"Nah. Sounds too much like a bug spray--ouch!"
"If the shoe fits," Quatre said again, and smirked.