Halloween Bets
folder
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
2,906
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Gundam Wing/AC › Yaoi - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
11
Views:
2,906
Reviews:
9
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 7
At 8:05pm I gave up.
There was no way that this string between my butt cheeks was going to be comfortable. I opened the door and peeked my head out – Sally was leaning against the opposite wall in her medieval Chinese peasant costume and looked up at me. “How on earth do women wear these things?” I hissed at her. She just laughed.
“You know,” she said conversationally, smirking the whole time. “A lot of men wear ‘those things’ too.”
“Bunch of morons,” I muttered under my breath, ducking back behind the door. I made one more, final, valiant attempt to get comfortable. When it didn’t succeed – big surprise – I walked out of my room, head held high as I glared at Sally.
“Just be thankful he didn’t want you to wear heels,” She said brightly, straightening from her position.
“Only ‘cause he wants us to be able to dance without breaking anything,” Trowa tossed in from where he was leaning up against the wall farther down the hall. My jaw dropped. Then I snapped it shut.
“Let me guess,” I said, slowly, with a lot of inflections. “Quatre is going to be dressed as a Sheik.” He replied with a sharp nod. Poor man was in a green harem outfit, complete with a . . .
“Is that real?” I practically shrieked, pointing at his stomach. “He didn’t make you . . .”
Trowa raised a hand to interrupt me. “Yes, the belly ring is real, and no, he did not ‘make me’ as you so eloquently put it, as part of the bet. I’ve had this since after I resigned from the circus.”
Whew, that was scary.
“And Heero,” he added turning away from me. “After you and Duo start laying each other on a regular basis,” he stopped and turned his head toward me. “Ask him to wear a thong for you sometime. It can be quite,” he paused and smirked. “Stimulating.”
My face turned bright red in a flash just imagining Duo in such a thing. And I would also like to note that a skirt is not the best thing to be wearing with a hard-on.
Just then, the apartment door opened and shut with a “thud” and Duo came walking around the corner in a black and grey pinstriped zoot-suit. “Okay, finished,” he declared. And then he saw me. And stared.
I do have to admit that I did look a picture. My hair had been forcibly tamed and combed mostly to one side with the bangs over my forehead. Eyeliner and mascara along with shades of grey eye shadow made what Sally called “an eye popping effect.” Dark lipstick and gloss had been applied, while blush had been withheld as I was already blushing enough – the addition would have simply made me look like a clown, no offense to Trowa. Then there was the outfit.
A midnight blue satin camisole with lace trim for a top, along with a glittering champagne cardigan made me look almost respectable. It was the black leather miniskirt that really made me look the part. Oh, and the fishnet stockings combined with it. The shoes were, well, cute, I guess – black flats with something that is called a “peek-toe” – but I wasn’t finding them cute on me, as my feet are really too big for this kind of thing. But apparently Duo found me attractive enough in this getup. Or at least, he was speechless.
Then again his outfit wasn’t doing much for my brain either. It hugged in all the right places (or wrong, depending!). He looked much more like a respectable business man than a pimp, minus the hat. Then again, now days . . . well, enough said. And in all fairness I looked more like a call-girl or evening companion than an actual bonafide streetwalker. My clothing was much too expensive.
Duo exhaled roughly. “Wow. Um,” he dithered for a moment, which isn’t something I’ve witnessed him doing very often. Maybe once or twice total.
I recovered first and sauntered up to him, took a now painted red finger (nail) and closed his mouth, all with a smirk on my face. I felt strangely liberated in this getup – like I could be anyone or do anything.
There was no way that this string between my butt cheeks was going to be comfortable. I opened the door and peeked my head out – Sally was leaning against the opposite wall in her medieval Chinese peasant costume and looked up at me. “How on earth do women wear these things?” I hissed at her. She just laughed.
“You know,” she said conversationally, smirking the whole time. “A lot of men wear ‘those things’ too.”
“Bunch of morons,” I muttered under my breath, ducking back behind the door. I made one more, final, valiant attempt to get comfortable. When it didn’t succeed – big surprise – I walked out of my room, head held high as I glared at Sally.
“Just be thankful he didn’t want you to wear heels,” She said brightly, straightening from her position.
“Only ‘cause he wants us to be able to dance without breaking anything,” Trowa tossed in from where he was leaning up against the wall farther down the hall. My jaw dropped. Then I snapped it shut.
“Let me guess,” I said, slowly, with a lot of inflections. “Quatre is going to be dressed as a Sheik.” He replied with a sharp nod. Poor man was in a green harem outfit, complete with a . . .
“Is that real?” I practically shrieked, pointing at his stomach. “He didn’t make you . . .”
Trowa raised a hand to interrupt me. “Yes, the belly ring is real, and no, he did not ‘make me’ as you so eloquently put it, as part of the bet. I’ve had this since after I resigned from the circus.”
Whew, that was scary.
“And Heero,” he added turning away from me. “After you and Duo start laying each other on a regular basis,” he stopped and turned his head toward me. “Ask him to wear a thong for you sometime. It can be quite,” he paused and smirked. “Stimulating.”
My face turned bright red in a flash just imagining Duo in such a thing. And I would also like to note that a skirt is not the best thing to be wearing with a hard-on.
Just then, the apartment door opened and shut with a “thud” and Duo came walking around the corner in a black and grey pinstriped zoot-suit. “Okay, finished,” he declared. And then he saw me. And stared.
I do have to admit that I did look a picture. My hair had been forcibly tamed and combed mostly to one side with the bangs over my forehead. Eyeliner and mascara along with shades of grey eye shadow made what Sally called “an eye popping effect.” Dark lipstick and gloss had been applied, while blush had been withheld as I was already blushing enough – the addition would have simply made me look like a clown, no offense to Trowa. Then there was the outfit.
A midnight blue satin camisole with lace trim for a top, along with a glittering champagne cardigan made me look almost respectable. It was the black leather miniskirt that really made me look the part. Oh, and the fishnet stockings combined with it. The shoes were, well, cute, I guess – black flats with something that is called a “peek-toe” – but I wasn’t finding them cute on me, as my feet are really too big for this kind of thing. But apparently Duo found me attractive enough in this getup. Or at least, he was speechless.
Then again his outfit wasn’t doing much for my brain either. It hugged in all the right places (or wrong, depending!). He looked much more like a respectable business man than a pimp, minus the hat. Then again, now days . . . well, enough said. And in all fairness I looked more like a call-girl or evening companion than an actual bonafide streetwalker. My clothing was much too expensive.
Duo exhaled roughly. “Wow. Um,” he dithered for a moment, which isn’t something I’ve witnessed him doing very often. Maybe once or twice total.
I recovered first and sauntered up to him, took a now painted red finger (nail) and closed his mouth, all with a smirk on my face. I felt strangely liberated in this getup – like I could be anyone or do anything.