30-Jul-2003
Title: Exposé
Author: WingNut (wingnut629@yahoo.ca)
Archive: Gundam Wing Addiction; anywhere else, please ask
Category: fluff, humour, lemon-lime
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: gratuitous lemons and limes, silliness, some pilot stereotyping
Spoilers: none
Blurb: A gossip columnist has Quatre in his sights.
Notes: Spring 2002 - Summer 2003. Yes, I am that slow.
Disclaimers: I don't own the characters from Gundam Wing; Bandai, Sunrise and Sotsu do. This is a work of non-profit fanfiction.
Quatre moaned around the gag in his mouth. He wasn't sure how much more of this blazing pleasure he could take.
The position he was tied in was slightly awkward - he was balanced on shoulders and widespread knees on the bed, with each wrist bound to the corresponding ankle. This left him submissively face down and invitingly ass up - a fact that Trowa had been taking advantage of, slowly, deeply, and repeatedly, all evening.
When they had first tried this a few months ago, Quatre had not thought that he would enjoy being bound, but he had discovered to his amazement that being physically restrained resulted in a corresponding emotional freedom. He didn't have to plan, or cooperatively work with his lover, or worry about whether he was making said lover happy. Instead, he was literally forced to simply accept every delicious thing Trowa did to him. And ohhhhhhh, the things he did...
Quatre moaned again as his partner changed his angle of attack and began to speed up slightly. Allah! Never... this intense... yessss... right *there*...
He focussed on the minor discomfort of a slight crick in his neck, trying to stave off his inevitable climax and prolong this dizzying delight. Even that tiny anchor was slowly eroded, as Trowa's increasingly fierce lunges gradually inched the blond forward until his chin eased over the side of the mattress and he could straighten his neck.
Trowa had tight hold of his hips and was pounding him hard now. Quatre was moaning continuously, his control slipping, desire and need winding tighter and tighter, until a last vigorous thrust pushed him over the edge of ecstasy...
...and unfortunately, over the edge of the bed as well.
"You're going to have a bit of a black eye," Trowa said regretfully. Quatre winced slightly, and Trowa's heart sank even further. "I'm so sorry, Quatre. I should have been more careful, should have seen what was happening. You might have broken your neck."
Quatre sighed and reapplied the icepack to his left eye. "But I didn't. And if there's blame to be assigned, I have to take my fair share - I was the one who suggested the whole thing. We'll just have to be more careful next time."
Despite his genuine remorse, Trowa felt a distinct uplifting of his spirits at that last sentence. Quatre couldn't be too upset with him if he were willing to consider a 'next time.' And Trowa deeply wanted there to be a next time, and a time after that, too. The sex, up until the rather surprising conclusion, had been terrific.
Quatre shook his head and groaned softly. "I just hate to think of what that gossip rag is going to make of this. I can see the headline now: 'Quat and Mouse.'"
Trowa chuckled. "No, I think it'll be more along the lines of 'Quat Fight,' with the article detailing how you flattened several innocent patrons in a bar brawl."
Quatre snorted. "I wish. At least then the other delegates might be too wary of my temper to tease me about it."
After a moment, Trowa said thoughtfully, "There is another option. What if the reporters didn't know you'd been injured?"
Quatre sat on the toilet seat with his eyes closed obediently. "Are you sure this will work?" he asked, sounding a bit nervous.
"Quatre, I work with makeup at the circus all the time," Trowa replied patiently. "Trust me - no one will be able to tell you have a black eye."
"But Trowa, you're putting it on the wrong side, I-"
"Calm down, love. The foundation has to be applied evenly to both sides or it'll look unnatural."
Quatre sat quietly for all of two minutes before he spoke again. "You're not going to paint a clown face on me, are you?"
Trowa chuckled. "Perhaps if you were Duo. I still haven't gotten him back for sneaking up and putting bows in my bang the last time I took a nap in the hammock."
Quatre smiled, his eyes still closed. "So what you're saying is that I just haven't annoyed you lately."
"Quite the contrary, mon chêr," Trowa murmured as he leaned in to steal a quick kiss or three. "Quite the contrary."
The Factual Truth - The Lowdown on the Upper Crust, Online
READY FOR THE QUATWALK?
In every generation of teenagers, there are those who hope for a professional career on the runways and catwalks of the world of high fashion. It could be that this desire is what prompted a certain young CEO, who has been much in the news of late, to make an appearance at the Earth Sphere Trade Conference yesterday sporting a subtle application of foundation and blush. Could it be that he aspires to the world of haute couture? Does he dream of a different kind of spotlight? Or does this unusual behaviour have a more sinister cause?
Circled in the photo below is a clear lesion on Mr. Winner's neck, in an area normally covered by his shirt collar. There are many disfiguring and contagious diseases which could cause such a blemish, such as neo-scabies. While the urge to use cosmetics to hide the unsightly evidence of such a contagion would be understandable, surely shareholders, political supporters and fellow delegates deserve to be apprised of such afflictions as they occur.
"Quatre..." Trowa said patiently.
"No." Though slightly muffled by the door, the emphatic tone was clear.
"Love..."
"Forget it!"
"You can't stay locked in the bathroom for the rest of the conference."
"Sure I can - this hotel has room service!"
Trowa glanced upward in supplication, secure in the knowledge that no one could see him. "Where would you sleep?"
"The bathtub is more than big enough for me to stretch out in, and the towels are large enough for blankets and fluffy enough for pillows. I stayed in worse safehouses during the war."
Trowa thumped his head gently against the door, smiling reluctantly, and played his trump card. "But... I would miss you," he said softly.
There was short silence before the bathroom door opened and Quatre stepped out, immediately wrapping his arms around his lover's waist and burying his face in the shoulder of Trowa's sweater. "I hate it when you do that," came the muffled complaint.
"I know, love," Trowa nuzzled the sweet-smelling hair tickling his nose. "That's why I save it for special occasions. But look on the bright side - no one noticed your black eye."
"That's because they were all looking for signs of plague- infested lesions. And when I scratched my head without thinking during my presentation, half the audience started to whisper, and the other half started to laugh."
Trowa hugged his lover close, offering wordless comfort. "I am sorry about the photo - I didn't think that hickey would show up so clearly."
Quatre shrugged, still embracing the taller man tightly. "I didn't either. It was probably only visible when I turned to look over my shoulder like that. And besides, if I remember rightly," he cocked his head, one no-longer-quite-so-despondent eye peeping out and meeting Trowa's gaze, "getting that hickey was quite enjoyable."
"Ohhh, yeah..." Trowa felt his eyes glaze over slightly at the memory of curving his body over his bound lover's, biting down on the smooth skin of his neck, marking him even as he laid claim to the blond's exquisite body in the most intimate way possible.
Quatre sighed and laid his head back down on Trowa's chest. "I suppose I won't actually *die* of embarrassment, will I?"
Trowa smiled into the bright golden hair. "No, I don't think so."
"Damn."
A knock on the door had Quatre lifting his head warily from the presentation material he was reviewing. "If that's another person suggesting that I provide them with a clean bill of health signed by my doctor, I'll... I'll sic Rashid on them!" he muttered fiercely.
Trowa shook his head in amusement and crossed to the door. "Yes?"
"It's Relena, Trowa. May I come in?"
Trowa raised an eyebrow at Quatre; the blond shrugged and nodded in reply.
The acrobat eased the door open, alert for any roaming paparazzi. Relena squeezed through the narrow opening as soon as she could, obviously familiar with the methods of frustrating the more intrusive press.
She stopped dead when she saw Quatre's face. "Oh dear. I came by to see how you're holding up. It's not *that* bad, is it?"
Quatre sighed, and waved her to sit in one of the chairs. He didn't have to ask what she meant. "No, I suppose it really isn't. It's just..."
"...as frustrating as trying to fight fog?" Relena finished.
"Yes!! I tried to track down and reason with the reporter, but the articles were submitted by a new freelancer via email through a network café, and she hasn't let them know where to send the cheque yet. My attorneys have read over the articles, but since everything in them is either literally true, or posed as a conjecture or a question, there's nothing I can do to prevent more of the irritating things from being written!"
"Well... if it's really bothering you..." Relena said a bit hesitantly. "I did think of one thing that might work."
Quatre immediately took a chair opposite her. "Please, tell me." He knew that Relena had been through the rumour mill a few times before, yet she had a wonderful public image, and was well-versed in keeping the virulent press at bay. Anything she had to say would likely be worth listening to.
"Well," Relena began, smiling a little at Quatre's eager expression, "most of the stories about you have been focussed on physical things - your weight, skin diseases, that sort of thing."
Quatre's face fell in disappointment. "I'd already thought of getting my doctor to write up a report. The problem is that the press are under no obligation to publish it, if they even believed it in the first place."
"And wouldn't going to that trouble give too much weight to the original stories?" Trowa interjected quietly.
Relena nodded. "Yes, you're both right. An official denial will actually make it look like you *are* hiding something." She leaned forward. "The trick is to make it obvious that they're wrong, without even acknowledging that you've noticed their allegations."
Quatre raised his eyebrows. "And how, exactly, would I do that?"
Relena dimpled at him. "It's simple: go swimming."
Quatre blinked.
"Look, there's a pool in this hotel. All you have to do is appear there wearing a skimpy bathing suit, and the rabid photographers will do the rest. I assure you, at least one of the pictures will be published."
"But, but..."
"A picture is worth a thousand words, hm?" Trowa mused thoughtfully.
Relena smiled reassuringly at Quatre. "You could deny those stories until you're blue in the face, but nothing will stop those rumours quite like a revealing photo. It will be completely obvious that you're not overweight or diseased without you having to say anything. Use the reporters' habits against them."
Trowa nodded slowly. "Simple and appropriate. I like it."
"But..." Quatre looked a little wildly from one to the other. "But I don't... There might be other people at the pool!
"There would hardly be any point to this exercise if there *weren't* other people there," Relena said, smiling. Then, when Quatre didn't smile back, her expression changed to one of surprise. "Quatre Raberba Winner, are you saying you've never worn a swimsuit in public before?"
"No! Well, I suppose, yes, that's what I'm saying." Quatre could feel his face heating. "I've never gone out in anything less than a shirt and shorts. Long shorts, not those tiny things Duo wears."
Trowa frowned thoughtfully. "But you swim..."
"At home, yes! In private, not out where anyone could be looking. I'd be too embarrassed."
Trowa quirked a wry look a Relena. "I suppose that would explain the rather long, baggy trunks he favours."
Relena hid a smile, not very successfully. "I, ah, don't think you need to worry about any observers disparaging your body, Quatre."
Trowa shook his head emphatically. "No, you don't. You're gorgeous. But you'll need a new swimsuit - something a little more revealing."
"TROWA!!"
"And before you say you'd be too embarrassed to wear something like that," Relena cut in, "think about how much more embarrassed you would be by another of those awful stories."
Quatre bit his lip, torn. "Well... I'll think about it."
TBC
(:./wingnut/expose2)
