11-Aug-2000
Title: Mardi Gras
Author: TB
Category: yaoi
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: 2+4, 3+4
Warnings: none
Spoilers: none
Disclaimers: We all know that I don't own them. :( So,
no bones about it, I defer the rights to HE who does :)
Notes: Thanks to Marsh for betaing ^_^
Duo knocked on the open door.
A blonde head peeked out from behind the kitchen arch; then a huge smile broke over the pale cheeks and a small body hurtled the distance of the foyer and landed in Duo's arms. Laughing, Duo lifted Quatre off his feet and spun him around, hugging hard.
Quatre was beaming at one-hundred-fifty watts when Duo let him down. "I'm so glad you came! But why are you here?"
Duo laughed again, and dropped his backpack to the floor. "Mardi Gras. Never seen it before, and you know my philosophy on parties."
"If you're not there, it isn't really a party," Quatre repeated dutifully, grinning.
"Exactly! And anyway, I have to do *something* fun, before I head back to L2." Duo stretched, then hugged Quatre again. "So, will you be my date?"
The blonde wrinkled his nose. "You mean, your designated driver. I know you, remember?"
"Ha! If we're not *both* totally smashed by the end of the day, I'll slink back home with my tail between my legs in utter defeat."
Quatre drew his friend into the kitchen, where a pot of cooking noodles was boiling over. "I'm flattered you came to ask me." He grabbed a spoon and stirred frantically, lifting the pot a little off the burner until it cooled a tad. "When are we going?"
"Tomorrow morning, bright and early. You up to it?"
"Sure! I mean, I guess so. It sounds like so much fun."
"Great. We'll take a shuttle to New Orleans at six, and be there just in time to get some partying done before the heat." Duo took the cheese grater that Quatre handed him and grabbed the chunk of mozzarella set out on the counter, and a bowl. He perched on the counter beside his job and set to work as he continued outlining his plan. "You should probably wear sunscreen. You're awfully pale. For lunch we'll stop at one of those nifty jazz places, and it's my treat by the way, you're not allowed to pay for anything, and don't even think about opening your pretty little mouth on that one. My treat. And then, of course, there's the parade. We won't miss that action."
Quatre agreed, smiling. The noodles were dumped, steaming, into a large bowl, tossed with spices and light oil dressing, and sprinkled with the cheese from Duo's grated pile. Quatre had made enough for a small army, which ate almost as much as Duo, and so he was well prepared for the unexpected visit. They had unthinkingly fallen back into their old patterns; it had been nearly two years since they'd made an awkward attempt to further their friendship and force it into romance, but old habits were still instinctive, and their affection was untarnished. Dinner was eaten in between teasing conversation and light-hearted gossiping about their shared friends. Duo was a card, and Quatre always knew what was going on even in the remote ends of the earth and colonies. It made for interesting conversation.
Later, they watched the news together, and then Quatre showed Duo to the guest bedroom and pointed out the bathroom down the hall, laying out fresh towels. Duo hugged him hard again, and kissed him amourously, and Quatre only laughed and gently shoved him away.
"Q?" Duo said, as Quatre moved to shut the door behind him.
The blonde Arabian paused. "Yes, Duo?"
"I missed you. We don't see each other any more. I'm glad we're doing this."
Quatre smiled. "Good night, Duo."
Quatre had never been so painfully aware of his fair skin before in his life.
All around them, visitors from the colonies were easy to pick out-they were the ones with the fantastic sunburns, despite dozens of dollars spent on sunblock lotions. Duo was no less pink than him by the end of the day, but Duo had always burned easily, having grown up with the heat of L2's faulty construction and long ago having accustomed himself to ignoring it.
However, Quatre had to admit, the day had been worth it.
Being out anywhere with Duo was always fun, but the festivities around them were richly flavoured and exciting and amazing, to a boy conditioned from birth to be wary of excess. Quatre had never seen anything like New Orleans on his home colony, where extravagance was limited to the occasional black-tie dinner. The sheer theatre of the celebration was a rare treat to him, and he drank it in with surprised delight.
By ten, even Duo was starting to droop. The braided colonist had settled for walking, instead of running, and he seemed content not to dash off at every new sight; instead, he and Quatre walked arm and arm, safe from uncomfortable staring in the crowd, looking for an open bench somewhere cool. It was Duo who saw the small open green where a group of acrobats in flashy costumes where performing; there was plenty of room to stand and rest, and masked mimes moved through the audience carrying drinks and flowers and brightly-coloured beads to bestow. Together they took up a station near a stand selling cold drinks. Duo seemed distracted by the display, and Quatre fell into a contented silence.
Less than five feet from him, slender dancers wove and twisted their bodies together in an elegant performance. The music pumping from nearby speakers was slow and heady, almost sensual. Hoods and paint covered the acrobat's faces, and the flashing lights distorted the scene into an unearthly dream-concoction.
Duo interrupted Quatre's staring with a poke to the ribs. "Look," he said, nodding his head to Quatre's left. The blonde obediently turned to see.
One of the mimes was drifting toward them. He was tall and graceful, his slipper-clad feet ghosting over the ground as though he were floating above it. He was dressed all in dark green velvet, with golden trim, to appear like a Renaissance nobleman, and his face was hidden by a full black mask that revealed only his startlingly green eyes. He carried a single white rose.
"The Lover," Duo guessed. He laughed softly. "Think he's coming for *you*." Abruptly the braided man was stepping subtly back, leaving Quatre alone to face the mime.
The Lover stopped smoothly just before the blonde as Duo had predicted. He said nothing, of course, but his quiet seemed loaded, intense. He did nothing for a long minute, except stare unblinking into Quatre's eyes.
Flustered, the blonde dropped his gaze. He couldn't explain the immense attraction that he felt suddenly for a man whose face he couldn't even see, and thought dimly that he was *supposed* to feel that way, of course, that was the man's job. The mime exuded sexuality. Of course the man was aware of that, and he singled out people in the crowd who looked likely to react. Of course.
Something soft brushed over his cheek. Startled, Quatre looked up. The mime lifted the rose again, and this time, drew the satiny petals across Quatre's lips, tenderly, slowly.
Quatre blushed so furiously that even through his sunburn, the spreading colour was highly visible.
There was no way to tell behind the mask, but the mime's posture changed just slightly, relaxing just a tiny bit, as though he were pleased, and smiling. The rose changed hands, and then gloved fingers were raised to Quatre's flaming face, cupping the curve of his cheek. His thumb rubbed gently over the blonde's lower lip, following the path of the flower, and then the mime stepped closer. Mesmerized, frozen in shock and desire, Quatre stared up at him.
With profound formality, the mime lowered his head, and the velvet mouth of the mask pressed against Quatre's. When he drew back, the man's deeply green eyes were dazzling. And then, leaving Quatre breathless and staring, he turned and walked away.
Duo spoke quietly, reluctant to shatter the moment. "Q, I don't know if you have your signals crossed or what, but that was a 'come hither thou' kiss, or my name's not Duo Maxwell."
Quatre shivered slightly, though he was suspiciously warm and not the least bit chilled. "But-" His voice came out a squeak, and he cleared his throat hastily. "But, it's just pretend. He's supposed to do that. He probably does that to everyone-"
"I love you," Duo said, and it seemed odd that Duo would choose now to tell him that; Quatre listened dazedly as Duo tugged on his braid in a familiar nervous gesture and repeated that. "I love you. Listen, um, just go after him, right? You like him, right?"
Quatre blushed again.
Suddenly Duo grinned, and the taut tension of his body disappeared with the strange mood that had darkened his expressive eyes. "Just see where fate leads you, Q."
He found the Lover waiting for him around the corner.
The tall man straightened from where he leaned against the wall, and held out a gloved hand. Quatre took it uncertainly, and allowed the man to lead him around the back of the building to a small, unoccupied porch.
The rose lay on the steps, gleaming white in the bright flashing lights of the party in the streets that was suddenly a million miles away.
Quatre bent, and picked it up. He turned and found the mime watching him; his cheeks were burning again, but his hand was steady as he held the bloom out to the man. "Yours, I believe," he said, barely above a whisper.
The Lover took his hand, closing his fingers around the stem, and then tugged lightly until Quatre found himself in the man's arms. His chin was tilted deftly so that all the light was behind the man's body; a little blinded, Quatre could only tell that the man was removing his mask. When full warm lips took his, he kept his eyes open, trying to see the man's face, but their positions made it impossible.
The kiss deepened as a slick tongue fluttered against his teeth, asking entrance; and then the man was holding him tighter, exploring the taste and depths of his mouth, and Quatre dizzily anchored himself by reaching up to thread his fingers through soft short hair.
"Angel," the Lover whispered, breaking away.
The sound of the man's voice startled Quatre into full consciousness. He blinked the dazzlement from his eyes, and looked up. The man kissed him again, trying to coax him back to the magical unreality of their surreal intimacy, but this time, Quatre resisted. "Who are you?" he asked, only to have his question swallowed by the other's mouth.
Again and again he asked; again and again the Lover did not reply. Quatre was holding onto his query as the only solid thing in this strange new universe that included only himself and this man who was slowly, surely seducing him. He refused to be put off, not by the heated shivers that raced up his spine at each new caress, not by the twitching tightness in his groin, not by the slide of that wet amazing tongue sparring with his.
Eternities later, the Lover pulled back. "Thank you," he said, and lifted his fingers to Quatre's cheek again. "Keep the rose, angel. Remember me."
Quatre shook his head. "Wait," he pleaded.
The man replaced his mask, and the mantle of the unearthly silence slowly transformed him again into a mystery. He backed slowly away, and finally turned his back and left Quatre alone on the porch.
Duo watched the Lover walk by; their eyes met, Duo's inquiring, the Lover's carefully blank. And then the mime was gone.
It was late. Most of the crowds had dispersed, gone back to their hotels and well-stocked mini-bars. Duo and Quatre walked slowly through the streets of the city of endless celebration, holding hands and saying little.
It was, predictably, the irrepressible braided pilot who broke the silence.
"You know," he said. "You know, I think sometimes that maybe if I'd tried harder, I could have fixed all our problems. *Our* problems, you know what I mean, and it would have been really good, between us."
Quatre shook his head. "Don't, Duo."
"Listen, I never got to say these things before. There were too many reasons to keep my mouth shut back then, when saving our friendship was more important than telling you that I-" He cut himself off, glaring dimly at the confetti-littered street as though it was somehow the concrete's fault.
"Tell me what?" Quatre asked. He examined Duo's face. "That you wanted me back? You were the one who broke it off, Duo."
"Because I knew I had to, if I wanted to keep even the slightest bit of you. I couldn't let you come to hate me." The American ran a hand through his bangs, and his fingers tightened around Quatre's. "But just let me say this. I love you. Always will, I think. There isn't anyone like you in the universe. You're special, and you're special to me, and I wouldn't let just anyone fall in love with you, you know, I mean, anyone that you-that you would love back."
Quatre bit his lip. "I don't understand."
"That guy. The mime. Did he say anything to you?"
The blonde man flushed, and glanced away. "Not really."
"I knew he wouldn't. He's too scared." Duo made a sound that was half sigh, half snort. "If I took you back there, and you saw him again, what would you do?"
The question, coming as it did from nowhere, flustered Quatre. "I-" He stopped walking, and Duo turned to look at him. "I-I don't know. I don't know anything about him. He's not real, Duo, he's just an actor... I didn't even see his face."
"If you did, what would you do?" Why was Duo pushing so hard with these questions? Bewilderment became frustration. "I don't know!"
"Come on." Duo grabbed tightly at the hand still in his possession, and took off down the way they'd come in long-legged, determined strides. Caught off guard again, Quatre stumbled in trying to keep up.
"What are you doing?" he exclaimed, finding that he had to jog to keep pace.
"Taking you back."
"Why! This is insane. Duo, stop. I don't want to go back there!" Quatre pulled hard, but Duo only kept going, dragging him along. "This is ridiculous!"
"Look, you don't have to do anything, just go back with me, okay?"
"Why is this so important?"
"Just trust me!" Duo exploded. He stopped dead, and Quatre slammed into him. Stunned, he stared up at his friend.
Duo had a strange look in his eyes. Quatre knew that look. He'd seen it when Duo had told him that it would be better if they didn't see each other for a while, until they could be friends without being angry. It was hurt.
"D'ya trust me or not?" Duo demanded. "If you trust me, then let me do this. And if you don't, then tell me now, and we'll go home, and that'll be the end of it."
Quatre took a sharp breath. Slowly, but with all his heart, he replied, "I *do* trust you, Duo. I'm sorry. Let's go."
Duo nodded. He let go of Quatre's hand, and this time, they walked side by side, all the way back to the green where the acrobats had performed.
The show was over now. A young woman with red hair and a buxom figure and a grey-haired man who wore the flashy costume of the performers were counting money out of the pots that had been placed around their natural stage; small groups stood drinking toasts to a long day of hard work and good return. A few couples were creating private scenes of affection in the shadows.
And the Lover stood talking to one of the acrobats, his back to the approaching pilots, his gold threads in his costume still sparkling richly in the dimming lights.
Quatre drew a deep breath. "What should I-"
"Wait," Duo said.
"For what?"
The Lover turned, perhaps alerted by their voices, perhaps sensing them. His green eyes widened as they settled straight on Quatre-and then he lifted a hand as though to hide his face, as a soft curse tumbled from his lips.
"Trowa!" Quatre exclaimed.
"For that," Duo answered, a tired smirk crossing his face.
Trowa hesitated; then, visibly steeling himself, began to walk towards them, ignoring the calls of his companion. Duo lightly touched Quatre's shoulder, not really expecting a response from the staring blonde. "I'll be in touch with you," he said. "Good luck, Quatre. I hope to God you don't need it, though. It was great seeing you." He left quickly, not wanting to stay and watch what he was sure was going to happen between his two friends. He may have set it up, but he could never lie, especially to himself. He didn't want to stay and watch.
Trowa stopped at a respectful distance from Quatre. "Hello," he whispered. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands; he finally crossed them behind his back.
Quatre shook his head. "I don't understand," he said helplessly.
The other man looked down at his shoes. "I shouldn't have done that," he managed. "I'm sorry. I won't bother you again. If you hurry, you can catch Duo-"
"Trowa, stop apologising," the blonde interrupted. "I don't even know yet if I'm angry. I just know that-that I don't know what happened, or why, and I want to know."
The L3 pilot looked up. "I kissed you," he said, softly. "You seemed to like it. You didn't protest."
Quatre swallowed hard. "All right," he agreed. "That's the what. And the why?"
Trowa's eyes flickered nervously. He wanted to retreat into the confident aura of the Lover, of the mystery, but held himself from doing so. He had come this far; now was the time to face Quatre as himself, not the masked man.
"I've watched you for a long time," he confessed. His voice was barely audible, yet Quatre had no trouble hearing him; they were once again alone in the universe. The distance between them, however, was a gulf, and Trowa had to bridge it, or lose the blonde man. "I watched you at first. Then I loved you. Then I fell in love with you."
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"There was Duo," Trowa shrugged. "I knew that he loved you also. But..." Prompted by the understanding in Quatre's face, Trowa finished the sentence. "But mostly, I was afraid that you wouldn't want me."
"You didn't worry about that tonight, obviously."
Trowa waved a hand. "Tonight was different," he tried to explain. "I wasn't me... I was-someone else, someone strong and sure and-and he could go to you and take you in his arms the way he's always wanted to, and kiss you as he's always wanted to, and taste your soul." He struggled to put it into words. "It's-a mask. It's all a mask, Quatre, for hiding your inner fears."
Masks. They understood masks, the young men who had fought a war too young and lived through it, scarred and tested by fire, but living nonetheless.
Quatre took a shallow breath. "Then do it without the mask," he said. "Be yourself. If I love you, it's for *you*-not for the Lover, or whoever he was."
Trowa stepped toward him. "If you love me?"
Shyly, Quatre replied, "I watched you too, you know."
Trowa leaned forward, and kissed him. It was a very different kiss from their first one; it was softer, awkward, new and testing.
Quatre said, "How long are you here for?"
"As long as I have a reason to be," Trowa answered.
Quatre blushed a little. "Am I a good enough reason?" he tentatively asked.
Trowa relaxed. "Yes," he breathed.
The End
(:./erin/mardi)
