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The Twelve Days of Quatre	By : presserkun Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Yaoi - Male/Male > Trowa/Quatre Views: 752 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing or its characters. This work of fiction is written and shared freely without any attempt to profit financially from it.

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When Quatre returned from his business dinner, he found Trowa in the master bedroom, propped back on pillows in crimson silk sleeves and swathed in matching sheets under a white goose-down comforter. The ghost-blue Warner Bros. logo for The Dark Knight was frozen on the ceiling-mounted Sony Bravia above him. It provided the only light in the room, and gave Quatre's lover the ethereal appearance of having been painted by a post-modernist.

"Oh," Quatre said softly as he entered the bedroom.

"What?"

Trowa breathed in deeply after he spoke. As he stirred from half sleep, the sheets fell to his navel to expose well defined abs below full pecs undulating slowly with each breath under smooth skin that was as delicious to touch as to taste, as Quatre knew well.

"You're incredibly --" Quatre sighed quietly. "You're beautiful. Did you know that?"

Trowa's shy smile was barely visible. He spoke softly.

"How was dinner? Close the deal?"

"Yeah," Quatre said, kicking off his shoes. He shrugged out of his dinner jacket and began to undress, happy to leave polite society behind for the rest of the evening. He loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt, but kept it on as he removed his belt and pants. Wearing only dark dress socks, plain white boxers, and his button-down with tie, he stepped to the bed. Trowa slipped his arms from under the sheets and held them out toward Quatre, who put one knee on the edge of the bed and slumped into his tall, muscular boyfriend's arms.

"God," Quatre said, exhaling heavily.

"Tired?"

"Yeah. Going to dinner may sound like a pleasant thing to do, but when multi-million dollar deals are on the table..."

Quatre yawned. He cuddled closer to Trowa, missing his knowing grin.

"Still up for The Dark Knight?"

Quatre looked up into Trowa's face. He smiled lazily.

"Yeah, I guess." Pause. "As long as it's with you."

"Get rid of your shirt."

Trowa tugged at one end of Quatre's tie as he sat up, slipped off his shirt, then swiveled away from his lover and removed his socks. He balled them and pitched them across the room in the direction of the bathroom. Trowa looped the tie around Quatre's tummy and drew him close again. Quatre giggled.

"Tickles."

#

Trowa's eyelids fluttered open at the sound of rustling curtains as sunlight played across his face. The covers had slipped from his shoulder as he slept, and he shivered in chill air. (Quatre loved sleeping with windows open in the winter and burrowing under piles of spreads and blankets.) He turned his attention to Quatre's soft breath on his neck and the sound of gentle snoring. He had his arms around the lithe young man he was privileged to call his lover, spooned behind him in his favorite position. He moved to pull the sheets up and brushed the boy's ear. Quatre stirred. Trowa tousled his baby-fine blond hair. His partner turned in his arms, smiled, and yawned.

"Morning."

Trowa crinkled his nose.

"Dragon breath."

Quatre feigned offense and imitated Jar Jar Binks.

"How rude!"

"It's way too early for the lamest character Lucas ever created."

"Oh?" Quatre said with wide, innocent eyes. "And the appropriate time would be --"

"Let me think," Trowa said, cutting him off. "Oh, yeah, that would be never."

Quatre stuck out his tongue.

"How rude!"

Trowa crooked his middle and index fingers and spread them. He reached for Quatre's nose, but the boy slipped out of his grasp and the bed. Trowa lunged in a halfhearted attempt to seize him, but simply fell on his arm, which extended past the edge of the mattress. Quatre turned, laughing. Trowa looked up, smiling.

Quatre wore only the white boxer shorts from his business dinner the night before. His body, though not as developed as Trowa's, was trim, and even though he had just woken, his ample bulge was obvious.

He never wears men's underwear unless --

Trowa's grin became a leer.

"What?" Quatre said.

"Nothing," Trowa said demurely.

Trowa parted his lips and licked them.

Quatre lowered his eyelids and grinned.

"Well," he said in a low growl, "I guess it's never too early for what seems to be on your mind.

A yawn took Trowa, and he embellished it with an all-out stretch, twisting and kicking silk sheets from his torso to expose the emerald bathing suit he donned the previous afternoon.

Quatre's eyebrows rose.

"You slept in a Speedo?"

Trowa shuddered pleasurably in the final throes of his stretch.

"Too lazy to change."

He groaned in satisfaction.

"You, um, I told you the pool's out of --"

"Yeah, I know. I went down to the tanning room."

"Oh."

Quatre tried to cover his relief by faking a cough. His relief grew when Trowa seemed to not notice his nervousness.

"So, exactly who's coming tonight?"

Quatre forced a casual tone.

"Oh, just -- just friends."

Trowa raised an eyebrow.

"Anyone I know?"

"I don't think so," Quatre said, suddenly busy with dressing for the day.

"Maybe."

"Heero, Duo, Wufei?"

Quatre seemed not to hear over the racket he caused by opening and shutting drawers in his closet.

"How many?" Trowa said, raising his voice to be heard.

"Sixty," Quatre called. "Counting us."

Silence.

"Maybe more."

Trowa thought, Now that's a first, Quatre not knowing something -- anything -- exactly, but he didn't say it.

Trowa contemplated what would make Quatre want to keep secret who was coming. He kicked off the covers and scooted to swing his feet to the floor, then stood and stretched a second time. Quatre appeared in his standard non-business clothes: freshly pressed khakis, a pale pink dress shirt open at the collar, and penny loafers. Months before Trowa had mastered the art of suppressing eye rolls and snide comments about his lover's concept of casual dress, which fell just below his own idea of formal attire.

"Well," he said, dropping his arms, "you're obviously planning to lounge around today."

Quatre eyed him for sarcasm, but detected none.

"Rashid must be taking care of everything."

Quatre nodded.

"So, what are we doing today?"

This uncharacteristically took Quatre by surprise. He hadn't planned on Trowa downing seven Pink Flamingos on an empty stomach Monday night, which led to bringing him to the mansion yesterday to recover. The business dinner last night, hastily scheduled to ensure the Logan City deal would stay tight, was also unexpected, and that had forced him to throw the last bit of prep for the finale of his twelve days of presents for Trowa to Rashid. His right hand man was more than competent, and Quatre trusted him implicitly; but it was important to him to oversee his lover's present personally. He silently cursed his weakness in giving in to curling up in bed with Trowa to watch a movie last night without a thought of what he'd do with his tall, handsome acrobat the next day.

"Um, Quatre?"

The slim boy blinked.

"Yes?"

"Wanna come back to Earth?"

"What? Oh. Sorry. Just a lot --"

"S'okay. Actually, I'm surprised you handed off anything at all to Rashid instead of doing it all yourself."

Quatre frowned.

"Rashid's the best there is. I trust him completely."

"And when," Trowa said with a grin, "has that ever stopped you from taking complete control of a project? Unless, of course, you --"

"Oh, stop it," Quatre said, irritation in his voice. "Just because I --"

He stopped in mid-sentence when Trowa winked at him.

"Got'cha."

Quatre put his hands on his hips.

"How rude!"

The pillow Trowa threw landed directly on Quatre's face.

"Bulls eye!"

Quatre stumbled backward, grabbed the pillow before it hit the floor, and rushed Trowa with it. Trowa fell to the bed, pulling his partner with him.

They fell into each other's arms, tickling, giggling, and squirming.

Exhaustion took them, and they pushed away from each other, lying on their backs, breathing heavily. After a moment, Trowa spoke.

"Hey, I just realized you didn't give me a present yesterday."

"I didn't?"

"I got the seven Pink Flamingos on Monday, then you brought me here yesterday morning. Now it's Wednesday."

Quatre kept his eyes on the ceiling and made an exaggerated hm through pursed lips.

"Not that I don't think a night with you in bed isn't special," Trowa said.

"That's more like it," Quatre said. He turned to look at Trowa and grinned.

"So you're finished with the gifts? Or is the party tonight going to make up for the remaining five days?"

Quatre rolled off the bed, hoping Trowa didn't see the amazement on his face at how close to the truth he had come.

"Well," Quatre drawled, "we'll see, won't we?"

"Don't be coy."

"Why, whatever do you mean?" Quatre said in a horrible southern accent.

"You're beautiful, love. You know that, right?"

Quatre turned to face Trowa with bright eyes.

"Except when you try that accent. A southern belle you're not."

Once again Quatre stuck out his tongue.

"How rude!"

Trowa scrambled off the bed and chased Quatre out of the master bedroom.

#

"This? You want me to wear this to the party?"

Trowa had one hand on a hip, a scowl on his face, and one arm straight out, the index finger thrust toward the lingerie ensemble laid out for him on the bed.

"Under your tux, of course. Why? What's wrong with it?"

Quatre stopped in the middle of donning a similar affair: white silk stockings and a lace garter belt with matching panties.

"I'm wearing the same thing."

"But -- but --"

Trowa sputtered. He dropped his hands to his sides.

"Quatre, come on! You're the cross-dresser in our relationship."

And I'm the man hung unspoken in the air between them.

Quatre kept his face and voice neutral.

"Do it for me?"

Trowa stared.

Quatre smiled as he reached for his white lace bikini panties and slipped them up his legs.

"Look, Trowa, I know you're bigger than me, but not by much. And look. These do the job."

Trowa stared at his lover's exposed lower belly, framed by the garter above and panties below, the waist barely reaching up to the base of his cock.

"Really?" Trowa said with a sneer.

"Well," Quatre said, turning to his stockings, "I'm not going to insist, because this is a special night, and I don't want to spoil it for either of us."

He began fastening garters to the top of his stockings.

"Just decide and get dressed. We don't have much time left."

Trowa's eyes flared, then narrowed.

I hate it when he doesn't fight.

He drew a big breath and sighed.

"If I do this, it's just for you."

Quatre turned and smiled over his shoulder as he reached for his white tux pants.

"I know."

#

"There. Now I'm ready."

Quatre pulled his hands away from his bow tie after his fifth attempt to tie it perfectly. He turned and gasped. His boyfriend stood tall and handsome in tie and tails.

"Oh, my. Trowa Barton, you look exquisite."

Trowa gave the slightest nod without smiling.

"Thank you."

"Oh, don't be sullen. Not tonight."

"It might help if you'd tell me anything at all about this party. I assume it's at the pool. Right?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Your white lie about maintenance."

Quatre was silent for a moment.

"You see right through me every time."

Trowa gave the tiniest grin.

"I still don't have a clue about what you're planning, though."

"Good."

Quatre stepped across the room and took Trowa's hand.

"Why don't I show you?"

In dazzling white matching tuxedos, they walked from the master bedroom to the pool in companionable silence.

They turned down the long hall leading to the double glass doors of the indoor pool. Trowa saw that the brown paper covering them was gone, replaced by sheer white curtains. As they drew closer, Trowa made out lights behind them, but they were hazy and indistinct.

They stopped. Quatre turned to face Trowa with shining eyes and took his hands.

"Trowa Barton, I love you. The two years we've been together have been the happiest of my life."

He squeezed Trowa's hands.

"I know my Twelve Days of Christmas presents have been sort of --"

"Discombobulating?"

The corners of Quatre's mouth turned downward slightly as his eyebrows lifted. Trowa rushed to speak.

"No, no, don't misunderstand, Quatre. I've loved each present. Really."

"Even the ganders?"

Trowa swallowed silently and forced a small smile.

"Even the ganders. Who are still, by the way, cohabiting in my garage."

Quatre's eyes widened.

"I forgot all about them. I promise I'll --"

Trowa smiled genuinely.

"I know," he said softly. And it's okay."

He squeezed Quatre's hand.

Quatre drew a deep breath and exhaled.

"Well, I guess it's time for me to give you the rest of your Christmas present. That's what this party is all about."

Trowa took a breath and sighed in contentment.

"Quatre, I don't have words to say how much you mean to me. You know that all of this is completely unnecessary. I know how much you love me."

Quatre hung his head, then raised a sheepish look.

"Yeah..."

"So," Trowa said, shall we go in?"

Trowa put his hand on the door handle. Quatre put his hand over Trowa's.

"Wait."

Trowa's smile turned to puzzlement at the sight of the wince on his partner's face. Quatre spoke haltingly, losing confidence with every word.

"I just want you t- to have the b- best Christmas ev- er, Trowa. I really hope --"

Trowa put an index finger to Quatre's lips. He misread his lover's expression and tone of voice, thinking he was overwhelmed with feelings of love and happiness.

"Shh, babe, it's okay."

Quatre took Trowa's hand and gently pulled it down. "No, please listen," he said. "I need you to -- to understand...something."

"What is it, love?" Trowa whispered tenderly.

Quatre looked down.

"Well, we both know how, um..."

Trowa linked his hands across the small of Quatre's back and pulled his little blond lover to his chest.

"...how...exuberant I can be at times."

Trowa moved a hand to the back of Quatre's head, guiding it to the hollow of his shoulder.

"Mm hm."

"But you know everything I do for you is out of love. Don't you?"

Trowa leaned his cheek against the top of Quatre's head.

Strawberries this time.

"Mm hm."

"And you know I just want to --"

Quatre froze as Trowa stiffened.

"Quatre," Trowa said carefully, "what exactly have you done?"

Quatre looked up into eyes full of suspicion. He buried his face in Trowa's chest.

"Tell me this isn't..."

Trowa's voice trailed away.

"Isn't what?" Quatre prompted.

Trowa leaned back and pulled Quatre away from his chest.

"Exactly what's on the other side of this door?"

Quatre's voice was suddenly nine years old.

"A surprise," he said, looking down.

Trowa crooked an index finger and put it under Quatre's chin, lifting it to see his eyes.

"But it's a good surprise," Quatre rushed to say, then added, "I hope you'll like it."

Trowa sighed again and smiled.

"Just when I think there can't possibly be anymore surprises in our relationship, you astonish me again."

Quatre looked hopeful.

"Okay," Trowa said. I'm ready."

He pulled open the door. Quatre took his hand and led him into what he would soon describe as the surprise of his life.
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The Twelve Days of Quatre