4 Aug 2003
Well, I thought it would be 5 parts when I started posting this, but it seems to have grown somewhat...
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 her 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. I also do not own the rights to the Speedo name or brand.
The Factual Truth - The Lowdown on the Upper Crust, OnlineCOPYQUAT
How far would you go to guarantee the comfort of your family? What would you do to ensure the smooth running of a huge company employing almost a million people Sphere-wide? What if the economic stability of your entire colony depended on your decisions? Would you kowtow to outdated company rules which specified that only a direct male descendent of the business's original founder could inherit the reins of power and billions of credits? What if male heirs were few and far between, or even non-existent?What if you were a bit of a rebel? What if you had repeatedly risked your life during the war, and had learned well the arts of camouflage and deception? Once peace was declared, would you allow your family's company and your home Lagrange point to dissolve into chaos? Or would you take on the most daring role you've ever attempted?
Compare the two photos below: 'Quatrina' at the age of 10; and 'Quatre' at the age of 19 (note the pink shirt.)
Half-eaten toast dropped, unnoticed, to the breakfast tray. Quatre looked back and forth between the picture of his mother and the one of himself in shock. He had to try a few times before he could get the words out. "The- They're saying... I'm a girl???"
Trowa snorted as he peered over Quatre's shoulder at the vid-screen. "Well no, they are carefully not saying that, but that is the impression they're trying to give."
"But... but... that's outrageous!"
"It certainly is," Trowa replied promptly. "You should have told me years ago. Imagine how I feel, finding out like this. And Wufei will never forgive you for being a mere onna."
That startled a laugh out of Quatre, and he relaxed a bit. Surely no one would believe this nonsense. Really, what would this strange reporter think of next?
Trowa whistled softly. "I have to admit, though, the resemblance between the two of you really is startling."
Quatre shook his head helplessly. "Iria always said I looked like my mother; I just didn't realize how much."
"It's more than just the same hair and eye colour, or the matching facial features. It's the way you hold your head, the expression in your eyes, the little quirk in your smile. In fact, if I didn't know better..." Trowa's voice trailed off, and Quatre felt warm hands slide around him, one slipping inside his shirt and stroking smoothly over his chest, the other burrowing into his lap.
"Trowa," Quatre said dryly, looking down at the fingers busily opening his pants, "trust me, I'm male."
"Just checking," Trowa purred in his ear. "But perhaps a more... thorough... examination is in order."
"Oh... ahh... really?" Quatre found his concentration slipping a bit as his lover's lower hand found its target and began fondling him.
"Mmhmm. You might have been deceiving me all this time. Maybe this," Trowa's hand closed around him tightly, "is a prosthesis. Does it come off?" A firm pull had Quatre squirming with pleasure.
"OHH! Trowa!"
"You can protest, but I won't stop, not until I can prove that this," a teasing squeeze, "is a fully" an electrifying stroke, "functional" another stroke, "penis. I feel it's my duty to the public."
"Ohhhhh... yesssss..." Quatre's head sagged back onto his lover's shoulder. "By all means... ughn... do... your duty..."
Quatre slipped inside the suite, shut the door, and leaned limply back against it.
Trowa looked up from where he was sprawled on the bed, reading. " I wasn't expecting you back for lunch. Tough morning?" he continued, amused, as Quatre proceeded to bang his head several times on the wood panel behind him.
"You could say that. People weren't quite as obnoxious about the revelation of my supposed gender as they were about the threat of plague - although maybe that's just because I've become used to being harassed this week - but I kept... um...."
"But you kept what?" Trowa pressed, curious about the shamefaced little smile playing around his lover's lips.
"Well... people kept suggesting that I would be wise to be examined by a doctor - as if I can't tell what sex I am by myself, or something - and I kept thinking about your 'exam' this morning...
Trowa started to smirk. "Ahhhh. Let me guess. And those thoughts led to rather emphatic physical evidence of your, ah, manhood?"
"Exactly," Quatre nodded, blushing slightly and grinning back "Which of course I had to hide, since I didn't want to embarrass myself in public any further this week, thank you." He shook his head ruefully. "All in all, it's been a rather trying morning."
"Poor baby."
Quatre pushed himself off the door. "Of course, I'm not in public right now."
Trowa caught the gleam in Quatre's eyes and felt the familiar swoop of anticipation in his belly. No one feeling the heat of those blue eyes, seeing that lithe body practically prowl across the room, and smelling the tang of the blond's arousal, could ever mistake him as anything but totally male.
Trowa was, however, quite willing to make his lover prove that assertion to his satisfaction. Just to be sure.
"...and he's such a good dancer, even if I do say so myself!"
Quatre smiled politely and tried to edge away from the Duchess of Gainsborough. She had been talking about her son for the past twenty minutes, and Quatre was getting restless. Not only was the topic becoming increasingly embarrassing, but he really needed to go to the washroom before the next conference session began.
The Duchess leaned in confidentially. "He would make a wonderful husband, dear. He's quite liberal," she emphasized, looking at Quatre meaningfully, "and would certainly allow his lady-wife to... run her own businesses..." the old besom had the audacity to actually wink at him! "if the girl in question would support his political career?" The dowager looked expectantly at Quatre.
Quatre didn't know quite what to say. Fending off second-hand marriage proposals from people who believed you to be a woman masquerading as a man hadn't been covered in his etiquette lessons. "I'm sure you'll find..." was all he managed before he was interrupted.
"Your Grace, Mr. Winner," Relena said, smiling graciously. "I wonder if I might intrude; I need to check a few of the L4 trade figures before the panel convenes tonight. If you have a moment to spare, Quatre?"
"Oh, yes, of course," Quatre said, hoping he didn't sound too desperately relieved. "If you'll excuse me, Your Grace...?" He didn't wait for her response, but smiled charmingly and slipped away, Relena following in his wake.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Relena, from the depths of my soul." He led his rescuer towards the edge of the room, aiming for the washrooms just outside.
Relena smiled, her eyes dancing. "You're welcome. You looked about ready to bolt - was she boring you?"
"No, she was offering her son's hand in marriage to me - well, to the girl she supposes me to be," Quatre said, still feeling traumatized.
Relena faked a cough, hiding an unladylike grin. "Don't do it, Quatre. I've met her son, and Trowa is a far better catch."
Quatre snorted and finally smiled, his frustration evaporating at the thought of the handsome lover he had left sprawled sleepily amid the tangled sheets. "I won't. Thanks for the advice," he said wryly.
"My pleasure. Have you given any more thought to the other advice I gave you?"
"About the swimming? Well..." Quatre blushed and bit his lip. He didn't want to have to admit that he was still putting off picking out a new pair of trunks.
Relena laid a hand on his arm sympathetically. "You know, Milliardo and Lucretia have been going to the pool every day right after the conference meetings, before dinner. They say it gives them a break from Earth's gravity, since they're used to Mars now. Perhaps if you went at the same time, you might not feel quite so much like a solitary target."
Quatre thought about it for a moment, uneasily skirting the issue of what he would have to wear if he went, and then nodded. "You're right, Relena, having company would make it easier. Thank y-"
"There she is!!" The excited comment split the air as they stepped out into the hallway. A thin, intense-looking woman bore down on him, flanked by several followers. Stopping right in front of him, the newcomer started speaking in a loud voice, her eyes bulging slightly with fervour.
"Ms. Winner, I am Lady Mildred Bridgewater, and I represent the organization Society Ladies Opposing Prejudice. We just wanted you to know that we support you 120%, and we are marshalling our resources to help you. We have a lawyer standing by, ready to lead the charge in your fight to challenge the archaic mindset of Winner Enterprises, and a devoted support network to help you escape the gender straightjacket you've been forced into."
Quatre felt his jaw drop and his face heat as every person within hearing distance turned towards them. "I don't-"
"No longer will you have to bind up your body's natural shape beneath layers of clothing..."
Quatre stepped back hastily as a gesturing hand grazed a little too near his body for comfort. Surely she wouldn't grope him to prove her point? He retreated another step, just to be sure.
"No longer will you have to hide behind that unconvincing façade of masculinity..."
"WHAT?!?" Quatre's outraged squawk was lost beneath the woman's enthusiastic rhetoric.
"No longer will you labour under the delusion that you have to be male to be taken seriously! We will guide you through the legal destruction of Winner Enterprises, we will give you psychological counselling, we will provide you with hormonal therapy to recover the lost female inside you!! Reveal yourself, and take your place in our sisterhood with pride! We will support you, we will fight to the finish, we will storm the bastions of social prejudice and triumph!!"
Really, it was most unfair, Quatre thought. Give him a just cause and he could argue logically and passionately, convincing even the most stubborn to listen to reason, but make the question about him personally, and all his powers of persuasion deserted him immediately.
He blinked, wracking his mind for inspiration. Really, what could he say?
"Thanks, but no thanks," he blurted into a pause in the ranting, then turned and dove into the men's washroom, feeling rather like a rabbit diving into its hole.
He did not pause to avail himself of the facilities - at this point he didn't dare hope that no one would follow him inside. Remembering the layout from previous forays, he ran lightly past the few other conventioneers to the end of the long room, where another door connected to the hall on the opposite side of the conference room. He felt a pang of guilt at leaving Relena behind like that, but he wasn't about to risk another loud and embarrassing meeting with Mildewed Bilgewater, or whatever her name was.
He really had to do something about this situation, he thought as he walked quickly toward the elevators. Maybe going swimming in front of a photographer wouldn't be so bad after all. He could always hide in the water if he felt too exposed. He would just refuse to look at the pictures when they were published. And if he went when Relena had suggested, there would at least be some friendly faces around to help take his mind off the ordeal.
He felt his pulse slowing a bit as he began to feel more in control of his life again. Yes, that's what he would do. It couldn't be any more embarrassing than what had just happened.
"Turn around again," Trowa suggested, his voice just a touch husky.
Quatre was wearing the swimsuit Trowa liked best - a blue-green Speedo with small gold lightning bolts all over it - and nothing else. He looked, in Trowa's carefully considered opinion, entirely fuckable.
"I don't know, Trowa, it still feels too small." Quatre frowned at his reflection in the suite's full-length mirror, obviously not noticing how aroused his lover was getting. "I know you took my measurements with you when you picked out these suits for me to try on, but they're all so... clingy."
"Yeah," Trowa agreed, enjoying the way the lycra stretched over his lover's delectable rear, barely smoothing over his natural endowments in front. Maybe he could persuade Quatre to wear this outfit in the bedroom if he didn't want to wear it in public.
Quatre was plucking nervously at the waistband, and Trowa knelt, gently pushing his hands aside. "If you don't like this, we can always try something else." He began to peel the offending garment down, nuzzling and kissing the flesh thus revealed.
"Oh!" Quatre gasped, squirming a little. "Well... I can... think of several... 'something elses' I'd like to try."
Trowa smirked up at him. "Pick a swimsuit first."
"Spoilsport," Quatre muttered.
Trowa reached for one of the more persuasive arguments he'd selected today. He tapped one of the bare feet in front of him, and Quatre obediently lifted each foot in turn, allowing Trowa to slip the next candidate up his legs. Trowa took ruthless advantage of that trust, sliding his hands over Quatre's rear in an unsubtle caress as he adjusted the straps.
Quatre glanced in the mirror and froze. "TROWA! That's... that's...."
"A thong?" Trowa supplied helpfully.
"I know what it's called!" Quatre stared at his reflection in horrified fascination. "But I can't wear that!! It's far too small!!!"
"Well, you've turned down everything else you've tried on." Trowa sat back on his bare heels, striving to smother his laughter and sound judicious. "It's within the range of currently acceptable swimwear, the colour suits you, and it exposes the most amount of skin to show that you're disease- and fat-free." He smiled crookedly. "And you definitely don't look female."
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!" Quatre quickly skinned out of the tiny scrap of fabric and threw it into a corner, as if its touch would contaminate him with the urge to run around naked in public. He grabbed his robe and hurriedly pulled it on, belting it firmly as further protection against the evil thong.
"I agreed that I would wear something a little more daring, but we'll have to find some sort of compro-" Quatre broke off, his eyes narrowing suddenly.
Trowa kept his expression neutral, but his lover saw through him anyway. "You jerk!" Quatre swatted him on the shoulder and turned away, crossing his arms over his chest. "You never intended for me to wear that thing! You just wanted me to feel like I was winning ground when you reluctantly gave in."
Trowa grinned unrepentantly. "Well, I did learn from the best negotiator in the business. And besides, you looked incredibly sexy in it."
Quatre snorted, his back still turned.
Trowa rose and laid his hands comfortingly on Quatre's shoulders. "Love... You know I wouldn't really encourage you to wear something inappropriate. Any of the other suits are quite respectable, and will show off that gorgeous body of yours perfectly."
"That's easy for you to say," Quatre huffed. "You're not the one who has to parade around in public wearing a tight, skimpy little thing that barely covers your privates."
"Well, actually..." Trowa stepped back and pulled his shirt off over his head in one swift move. "I picked up a little something for myself today..." He noted with satisfaction that Quatre was peering over his shoulder, suspicion gradually giving way to appreciation as Trowa slowly undid his jeans. "...just to keep you company." He pushed the denim down over his hips, then stepped out of the legs and leaned nonchalantly against the table.
Trowa smirked. He could actually see Quatre's pupils dilating with lust as they roved up and down his body. He knew he looked damned good in the green and russet swimsuit, cut in the same style as the one he hoped Quatre would wear.
"Trowa, that's... you look... Wow."
"I felt the same way when you wore the matching suit."
Quatre licked his lips and swallowed. "You did?"
"Mm-hm."
There was a pause. "The one with all the lightning bolts?"
"Mm-hm." Trowa's smirk widened. It sounded as though Quatre were having trouble concentrating for some reason.
"All right," Quatre said distractedly, "I'll wear that one."
Trowa straightened up into a stretch, flexing slightly just to watch the way Quatre flushed. "If you want something to focus on to keep your mind off the photographers, I can do some diving off the spring board."
Quatre's eyes glazed over.
Hiding a triumphant grin, Trowa turned away from his lover, bent over at the waist, and reached for his discarded shirt. The merest scuff of a bare foot over the carpet was all the warning he got before a warm body pressed against him, and even warmer hands caressed him. "It's a lovely swimsuit, Trowa. Take it off."
Not bothering to straighten up, Trowa reached back and ran a hand up under Quatre's robe, finding his erection easily. He chuckled. "You were right, Quatre. That thong would have been far too small..."
TBC
(:./wingnut/expose3)
