Pretty Electric

Disclaimer: Mobile Suit Gundam Wing is copyrighted to Bandai, Sunrise, and The Sotsu Agency.

Pretty Electric
by Raletha

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Chapter 4: Dinner with Friends
Where Quatre suffers Duo\'s company, and the androids talk about art.

I opened to door to Duo\'s smiling face and his android\'s very... Unsmiling one, was my initial impression. \"Hi,\" I said, smiling at them both and hoping my harried flush had diminished. \"Come in.\" I swung the door open further and dabbed, as discreetly as I could, at the splatters of cream on my shirt with the dampened corner of a tea towel.

\"Hey, buddy,\" Duo said, hoisting a six pack of imported beer in his hand as he comes in. \"I brought beer.\"

Heero followed him inside, but the android did not speak to me. He simply observed my foyer, his cool gaze sliding over the accent table and the antique landscape photographs hanging in a triad above it, the iron coat-rack opposite, and the hand woven Chinese rug upon the hardwood floor. I received only a cursory inspection, but I openly studied him, curious to see what Catherine had designed for Duo.

Heero was exotic looking: Asian—Japanese maybe—but for his colouring: brown hair and blue eyes, so he ended up looking like a cross-cultural blend. I remembered that one of Duo\'s past boyfriends had been Korean, another Chinese American, and a third Afghani. So this was consistent with Duo\'s predilection for exotic looking men. But Heero\'s features were also very sharp—intense—which I found a surprising contrast to Duo\'s smiling affability and still somewhat adolescent looks.

\"So where\'s yours?\" Duo asks.

\"My...?\"

\"Your android, I want to see him.\"

\"Oh,\" I said, \"Trowa\'s in the kitchen.\" I made a gesture for Duo to precede me into the kitchen. \"I\'ve opened a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, so put the beer in the fridge.\"

Heero remained standing, motionless now, in my foyer.

\"You can go sit down in the living room if you want,\" I told Heero.

\"Holy shit!\" I heard from the kitchen—Duo\'s voice.

I grinned at Duo\'s exclamation, and Heero looked at me blandly. I pointed as if directing a dog, \"In there,\" I told him. \"Go sit down.\"

\"You must be Quatre\'s friend, Duo,\" I heard Trowa say.

\"Damn, Q. I always did say you had better taste than me. He\'s fucking gorgeous.\"

Relieved to see Heero at last move, marching stiffly into the living room, I headed to the kitchen, before Duo could do anything typically Duo-like with or to my android.

Duo had Trowa backed against the counter, and he\'d scooped up Trowa\'s hair from his face to study his features. Trowa didn\'t seem to be taking offense, but I didn\'t like it. It looked wrong, like Trowa was some kind of victim. I didn\'t care if he didn\'t care. I didn\'t like it when Duo puts his shoes on my sofa either.

\"Don\'t touch him like that,\" I said to Duo, sounding more peevish than I meant to. Then I cast a glance over the bar to see that Heero had indeed taken a seat. I tried smiling at him; he stared back at me. I looked away, back to Duo. Maybe Heero wasn\'t accustomed to meeting Duo\'s friends. Or maybe his functionality really was that limited.

\"Feeling possessive already, eh?\" Duo asked as he left off his poking at Trowa. He grinned at me, while Trowa, in a very human looking gesture of vanity, finger combed his hair back into its usual style.

\"Hey, what smells good?\" Duo asked, peering into the darkened wall oven. \"Did you finally hire a new chef?\"

\"No. Not yet. Trowa helped me cook tonight. It\'s lasagna.\"

\"You made lasagna?\"

\"Well... like I said, Trowa helped.\" I glanced at Trowa, who had truly done most of the work. I\'d only provided my tongue for tasting and a supervisory role. But Trowa didn\'t object to my words.

\"Still.\" Duo flicked on the oven light to take a closer look. \"I\'m impressed. It even looks right.\"

Trowa remained silent, standing by the counter where Duo had left him and watching us.

\"Why don\'t you go sit with Heero, Trowa? He\'s Duo\'s android. He\'s, um, he\'s like you.\"

Trowa inclined his head and untied his apron. \"All right, Quatre,\" he said and neatly hung the apron on the hook by the fridge. I watched him go and couldn\'t help but think Heero really didn\'t seem all that much like Trowa. Not to me.

\"Actually,\" Duo said, straightening from his oven inspection. \"Heero\'s the previous model. Yours is the latest. Better skin simulation and some techy algorithm shit I can\'t remember.\"

Duo grabbed his beer from the counter and opened the fridge to stow it while I fetched a couple of wine glasses and poured us each a glass. Over the counter I could see Trowa next to Heero on the sofa. The two androids had their heads turned to face one another, and just sat, regarding each other in some wordless robotic exchange.

\"I was thinking I might trade in Heero for an upgrade when the next new model comes out—you can do that, you know. Anthrotech provides lifetime support and upgrades.\"

\"That\'s nice to know,\" I replied. I was more interested in the androids though. They seemed so absorbed in looking at each other. Then I saw Trowa\'s mouth move. He was asking Heero something. I couldn\'t quite make out the words, but the intonation was clear.

\"So, how are you enjoy—?\" Duo started.

But with a wave of my hand in his direction, I shushed him. \"Look at them, Duo,\" I gestured toward Heero and Trowa. \"They\'re talking.\"

Duo chuckled, coming up next to me and taking his glass from the counter top. \"Maybe they\'re sharing sex tips?\"

I raised an eyebrow and shook my head.

\"Hey,\" Duo whispered to me, epiphany in his utterance. He jerked his head in their direction.

The talking looked like it was turning into an actual conversation, a scene which impressed me with its surrealism. Heero nodded to something Trowa said, and Trowa smiled his odd little half smile before speaking again.

\"Do you think we could get them to have sex with each other?\" Duo said.

\"What?\" I turned to look at him. He wanted to stage live robot porn in my living room? \"Are there any perversions you don\'t pursue?\" I asked dryly, collecting my wine glass and taking a long swallow. \"You\'re not using my PA to indulge your fetishes, Duo.\"

\"I\'m sure they\'d do it for us.\" He waggled his eyebrows in what I supposed was meant to be a cajoling gesture of, \'Hey, Q, you old fart, relax and have a little harmless fun!\'.

It did not make me feel more inclined to play along, however. It disturbed me. \"Duo...\" I protested.

He gave me his \'You are an old fart, you know\' eye roll and grin, and then called out to Heero. \"Hey, Heero, come here for a minute.\"

\"I said, no.\"

Duo ignored me, and Heero approached. He entered the kitchen his attention fixed with expectation on Duo.

\"Heero, this is my friend, Quatre,\" Duo said to him. \"You should say hello to him. This is his home.\"

\"Hello, Quatre,\" Heero dutifully said to me.

\"Hi, Heero,\" I said, glancing at Duo to see what he was up to.

\"What do you want?\" Heero asked Duo.

I stifled a chuckle with another sip of wine.

Duo laughed too. \"He\'s not nearly as courteous as yours, is he?\"

\"You like rude men?\" I asked.

\"Apparently,\" Duo answered. Then to Heero he said, \"What were you and Trowa talking about?\"

\"He asked me how often you use me for sex.\"

I blinked, and my gut twisted in a peculiar, not quite nauseated manner. \"He asked that?\"

Duo chuckled. \"Maybe yours isn\'t so polite after all,\" Duo said to me, and then again to Heero he spoke, \"What did you tell him, Heero?\"

\"Everything,\" Heero said seriously.

Duo laughed, and slapped the android on his (very nicely formed, I noticed) arse. \"Bullshit,\" Duo said. To me, he clarified, \"I told you he\'s sarcastic. They have blocks in their communication algorithms, to keep them from ratting out the details of their owner\'s private lives.\"

\"Yeah?\" The supposed joke didn\'t seem very funny to me.

A quizzical look answered me. \"You haven\'t read Trowa\'s manual have you?\"

\"Um, no, not really.\"

\"Typical.\" Duo shook his head. \"That\'s all, Heero. Go sit down again,\" Duo said.

Heero returned to the living room.

Duo watched him for a few moments before addressing me. \"Well, just \'cause they don\'t talk about it, doesn\'t mean we can\'t. How are you enjoying Trowa? He\'s pretty hot, and those hands... I bet he\'s good with them.\" Duo leered at me over the rim of his wine glass.

\"I haven\'t used him like that,\" I said, leaning back against the counter and glancing down at my shoes. There was a blob of cream drying on the toe of one. Why would Trowa have asked Heero that?

\"You haven\'t fucked him, or...?\"

\"No.\" I felt myself scowling. Duo tonight, rather than being a companionable presence was becoming an irksome one. I didn\'t want to talk about this with him. I never did, really, but especially not now. I sighed. But Trowa, on the other hand, was curious about Duo\'s sexual habits. I was surrounded by two perverts—and an antisocial, sarcastic, and entirely not funny Heero.

\"Why the hell not?\"

I shrugged, wondering what I could say to get Duo to abandon interrogating me. \"It doesn\'t feel right,\" I replied. \"He\'s not real, Duo. He\'s a machine.\"

\"Yes, Quatre, you\'re right. He\'s a high tech sex toy. How many girls do you think court their vibrators?\"

But Duo, being Duo, would of course drag me into this conversation whether I liked it or not. I didn\'t like it when he took that patronising tone with me either. \"That\'s not the point. It\'s not the same. I\'m not... I\'m not courting him, anyway.\"

\"Good—since he\'s a sure thing. But what the hell are you doing with him then?\"

\"He knows how to cook. Sort of. So I\'m helping him develop that skill. He\'s the one who really made dinner. I only helped.\" I smiled this time. Cooking with Trowa had been fun tonight. \"And he likes art,\" I said. Ah, yes, this was more interesting than robotic sex. My android liked art.

\"Maybe you should introduce him to edible body paints,\" said Duo.

\"Oh, for the love of—\" I ran a hand through my hair and glared at the ceiling in exasperation. Sometimes I forgot how hard it was to have a real discussion about anything with Duo.

\"Okay, fine. I get it. No pressure, he\'s yours, do with him what you want. Just, come on—cooking? If I\'d meant to get you a domestic model, Quatre, I would have.\"

I let out the breath I\'d been holding and set my glass aside. Returning his earnest look from beneath my bangs, I matched his serious tone. \"I don\'t understand why my sex life matters to you so god damned much.\"

\"Because your life matters to me, buddy.\"

Not this again. I crossed my arms over my chest and chilled my gaze. \"I\'m fine, perfectly happy and content with my lot, you know.\"

\"So you say, but I\'m not fooled that easily. Give me a little credit.\"

\"Credit for what exactly?\"

\"Knowing you, being able to tell when you\'re about to explode from frustration, and having a clue about how to help you bleed off some of that pressure.\"

\"And you think sex is the solution.\"

Duo shrugged. \"Why not?\"

\"God\'s sake, Duo. Why is everything about sex with you?\"

\"The same reason you\'re such a prude?\"

\"Just because my existence doesn\'t revolve around my cock...\"

\"I have other hobbies,\" Duo said. \"But it still doesn\'t change the fact that you need a good fuck.\"

\"I like to think I\'m a little more evolved than that, Duo.\"

\"Think what you like.\"

We fell silent. It wasn\'t antagonistic, but nor was it exactly amicable either. Duo studied me, his expression fallen into something more like sincerity.

\"Seriously. Cooking?\" he asked, this time not so much mocking as saddened. Disappointed? It was at least more sympathetic.

I smiled sheepishly. \"Yeah.\"

\"Look, Q. I\'m sorry, really.\" He slumped against the counter next to me, and smiled. \"I thought it\'d be a good gift for you. If you want to exchange him for a domestic, I won\'t be offended. Promise.\"

\"Thanks.\"

\"Think about it,\" he said. \"But before you decide on anything, will you do me a favour?\"

\"Maybe. Depends.\"

\"Let him touch you—it doesn\'t have to be sex if you don\'t want—just see what it\'s like.\"

I shook my head. \"You know, it\'s funny. I don\'t actually know if he wants to. He hasn\'t really tried to.\"

\"Nah.\" Duo shook his head. \"He can\'t want or not want to—he is a machine. He does as he\'s programmed, and since he\'s programmed for you, maybe the hard-to-get thing is to get you more worked up?\"

\"I doubt it. None of my past partners were that coy.\"

\"And exactly how many of them did you not break up with?\"

\"None of them.\"

\"See?\"

\"See what?\" I asked, deliberate in my obtuseness.

\"The PA\'s are designed to appeal to your deeper— even unconscious—desires, so maybe this is significant to you, having a sexual partner who\'s not so selfish or controlling?\"

\"Maybe. I—\" I broke off. Trowa approached just as the kitchen timer beeped.

For a time conversation revolved around action: Trowa asking me where he might find a trivet for the hot casserole dish, Duo complimenting us on a dinner that looked credibly edible, Heero being asked to sit at the dining table. It was a relief to make small talk with Duo and to talk about things of a less personal nature. I asked him after his week at work, and we discussed current affairs. The food had turned out well too. Duo deemed the lasagna a very good first effort, but he thought the sauce could have used more garlic, and the layers should have been thinner and more numerous. He also recommended the use of fresh pasta rather than the dried stuff.

I excused myself to get a second bottle of wine. When I returned, I found Trowa addressing Heero. \"What do you think of this painting, The Death of Socrates?\" he asked. It hung in my dining room, a reproduction of the 1787 Jaques-Louis David painting.

The other android turned his head to view the painting. He studied it for a time. \"It depicts Socrates about to drink hemlock.\"

\"Do you find it beautiful?\" Trowa asked, all childlike inquisitiveness. It made me smile.

\"It\'s art. Its purpose is to be beautiful,\" replied Heero flatly.

\"It\'s also an image of defiance in the face of futility and doom,\" Trowa said, and I suppressed an odd swell of pride. I hadn\'t explained this painting to Trowa when he asked, but had left him to research it and form his own impression. And he had. \"Do you find that beautiful?\" he pressed Heero.

\"I don\'t know how I would make that determination.\"

\"What about you, Duo? What do you think of the painting?\"

Duo emptied his wine glass before he answered. \"I don\'t think Q acquires any art not called \'The Death of some Greek dude\'. He\'s quite mad, you know.\" Then Duo winked at me and held his glass for me to fill.

\"I\'ve also noted repeated themes of death in Quatre\'s collection, what do you think of this painting?\" Trowa addressed this question to Duo.

\"It\'s morbid. Especially when he hangs one of the damned things in his dining room. Although, I\'ve always thought this one was strangely appropriate.\"

I laughed as I returned my napkin to my lap and scooted in my chair.

\"In what way do you find it appropriate, Duo?\" Trowa asked.

\"It\'s a good metaphor for the way many of us feel about Q\'s cooking.\"

\"The people in the painting appear to be afraid and sad.\"

\"You got it in one.\"

Trowa frowned.

I placed a hand on the android\'s forearm and said, \"He\'s making a joke at my expense, Trowa. Don\'t worry about it.\"

\"You like looking at Q\'s art, huh, Trowa?\" Duo asked.

\"Yes, I do.\"

\"You should check out the ones he\'s got hidden in the back of his closet.\"

\"Duo...\" I warned. I could easily anticipate where Duo was going with this.

\"Yes, Quatre...?\" Duo asked sweetly.

Heero ignored everyone, and Trowa smiled his little half-smile at me. I wondered if that was becoming his new default expression. I hoped not. His looking at me like that all the time would be disconcerting at best.

\"Why do you hide art in your closet?\" Trowa asked.

\"It\'s not hidden. I don\'t have room for it all on the walls,\" I explained to Trowa.

\"What about the vintage porn, Q? Or that creepy Dutch one?\" Duo asked me.

\"I\'d like to see the art in your closet, Quatre,\" Trowa said.

\"Fine. Sure,\" I said to Trowa. \"Not now though.\" My prior excitement and pride for Trowa\'s curiosity was dwindling into impatience.

\"Quatre bought me coloured pencils today,\" Trowa said to Duo.

I saw Duo\'s brain working on that one, trying to turn it into some sort of dirty comment or sexual innuendo. I was grateful when he came up blank, and simply asked, \"What for?\"

\"Well,\" I explained, waving a forkful of lasagna for emphasis. \"I thought he might like to try drawing.\"

Duo gave me another one his looks, this one I identified as the \'Quatre, you are a dumb ass moron\' look.

\"You said Heero builds your models,\" I said, a little defensively. \"And you said you like to talk to him.\"

\"He doesn\'t talk back or pester me with questions. And the models are a mechanical thing. Nothing creative.\"

\"So what do you think that signifies about your unconscious desires?\" I asked him.

\"He\'s a machine. A machine. You know, like your entertainment unit.\"

\"There\'s much more complexity in my neural net than in the programming of Quatre\'s entertainment system,\" Trowa interjected.

I laughed. Trowa took my cue and smiled his full smile. Duo looked flummoxed. Heero was actually paying attention now, though he said nothing.

\"Whatever,\" said Duo, and changed the topic of conversation to the new Aston Martin DB9.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly and uneventfully, though the oddity of a dinner party with half of those in attendance being AI\'s persisted. Trowa helped me clean up after Duo and Heero left. I didn\'t try to engage him in conversation again. Too many things were causing me discomfort: Trowa\'s touch in the kitchen, what he\'d talked about with Heero, Duo\'s insistence that I try using him, Heero\'s perfunctory personality—if one could even call it a personality.

I went to bed without wishing Trowa a good night.

And somehow I felt like a stranger in my own bedroom. The feeling had been persisting and worsening since Trowa had arrived. I think I was even getting used to my nightly ritual of silent undressing and nervous anticipation. Tonight was worse than usual. I was reminded too much of my Trowa\'s purpose.

Part of my mind rebelled at the designation \'my\'. But as Duo had pointed out, like my computer, entertainment system, and other technological gadgets, Trowa was my possession.

After the sounds of friends, food, and entertainment, the air felt unnaturally still, unnaturally quiet, with every sound I made jarring and abrupt: The skid of an opening drawer as I selected a pair of pyjamas hung in the room. The low gravelly hiss of my zipper, I was sure, echoed down the hall. I wondered now, as I had wondered on each of the six nights previous: How keen was the android\'s hearing?

I moved stealthily, breathed shallowly, and winced at the *fwhump* my bedding made when I pulled back the sheet, blankets, and duvet. \"Lights off,\" I whispered, and the room fell into darkness. I remained preternaturally aware of the thud of my heart, the rasp of my breath, and the *hrush* of my limbs shifting under the covers. My fingers curled around the top of my sheets as if I were a child afraid of the dark, and my ears strained for any hint of any sound not having myself as its origin. What did Trowa do after I\'d gone to bed? Watch the vid? I couldn\'t make out the mumble of voices or muted threads of music.

Would tonight be different? Would he come to me tonight?

No, surely not after I\'d asked him to leave me alone at night, or at least to not sleep with me or use my bedroom. But that wasn\'t the same as being left alone. Would he hear me tossing and turning with my breath too rapid and irregular for sleep and assume I wanted him to come to me? And why hadn\'t he offered? I didn\'t buy Duo\'s explanation—that the coy act was meant to attract me more. Trowa said he knew his purpose, so why hadn\'t he made some kind of overt pass at me, or at least a polite offer of sexual gratification. Of course I would decline, but wasn\'t that what he was for? Not talking about art or asking uncomfortable questions or cooking, but—to put it crudely—fucking, or being fucked?

That unwittingly led my mind to those twin possibilities. If I did use Trowa, how would I use him? Previous sexual partners of mine had preferred my submission for the most part. I believed it had something to do with them feeling intimidated by my social stature, and since I didn\'t like the thought of overwhelming my partners, I allowed them more control in the bedroom than would be my strict preference.

With Trowa I had no need to fear this—him feeling somehow inferior or powerless next to me. With Trowa, I could explore possibilities.

My imagination was assailed by images of Trowa—naked, willing, and tempting... so tempting.

But, no, he wasn\'t willing. Not at all. It was an illusion, and what would be the point of taking advantage of a machine programmed to submit to my desires?

What would be the point? My pleasure, I supposed. Yes, that was Trowa\'s primary function—attending to my pleasure. However, the idea of a programmed lover rather than a willing one (no matter how convincing the simulation), brought me no pleasure to contemplate.

No. I didn\'t want to use Trowa for sex. I felt like a deviant for even letting myself imagine it. I really should consider exchanging or returning Trowa. I would search through the Anthrotech catalogue of Domestic Android models in the morning to find something better suited to the tasks for which I was using Trowa.

That decision was enough return me to my senses. I relaxed enough for sleep.


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