Mascara

Author: fruits of Eos
Contains: humor, OOC, silliness, 3+4, inferrence to limish situations, plotless
Disclaimers: you dare touch me with any form of a legal suit and i'll kill you slowly with a spork.

=Mascara==


The calming, monotone clicking under his fingers blended into the still quiet of the room, until there was only a silence he could identify. The clicking lost its individuality in the bloody battle of invariablility, and formed its own collective silence that could be easily tuned out. The stereo next to the computer was sitting, looking pretty, with no actual use. Since the day Duo burned the wiring in the stereo with one of his heavy metal musics at an ear-killing 110 decibals it has been sitting on the clean white computer table, being a decorative piece for the sake of completing the image. It was sad that no new stereo was bought to replace the old one, but many of the pilots quickly agreed the silence and droning of the harddrias mas much more favorable to Guns and Roses on a volume setting usually heard at rock concerts.

He tossed his head so his long golden bangs were tossed also to the side, though as he placed his eyes back on the screen his bangs fell over his deep aqua eyes again. Quatre sighed and began blowing his bangs in every which way, giggling in an absent-minded sense, his mission report still unfinished. He ignored the blinking cursor on the processor screen, and continued to dully play with his hair. He was bored in every word, syllable, sense, meaning of the word. The mission he was writing up was the one they completed yesterday, and consisted of staring at a base for 10 hours and documenting the activity, which they finally determined, after 14 hours, to be non-existant. The base, they found out, had been abandoned and left to rust 4 months before. And yet the scientists insisted on a write-up of their findings. So here was Quatre, sitting in front of a glaring computer screen, playing with stray hairs and trying to come up with a half-effort bull-shit response to satisfy a report on a base long since left to rot. My brain feels like rotting too, he groaned.

Finally he stood up, blinking away solid boredom collecting on his eyes and left the computer still on, deciding to come back when the sun shone brighter on his little hell. As Quatre stretched his tight muscles he contemplated all he could do with his break. Finally he decided that his tortured brain would function better with a little brain exercise: eating. So off he went to the kitchen to grab himself a snack.

The change of scenery and circulating air did wonders on his sleepy head and Quatre seemed to wake up almost immediately. Inside the kitchen Duo was being chased away from freshly-baked cookies by Trowa, who looked absolutely ferocious protecting his hard work. Quatre giggled and stepped aside, letting Trowa push the unwilling braided pilot out the door. With a victorious sigh Trowa wiped his hands on his navy blue apron and turned to Quatre with a small smile. Quatre beamed back.

“Don’t worry, I’m not here to eat your babies.” Trowa chuckled and went back to his cookies, placing them on a rack to cool. Quatre looked through the fridge, deciding to indulge on a cold-needy impulse when he heard the phone ring. After the third ring he sighed and straightened up, intending to get the phone, but Trowa had somehow gotten there first. But before Quatre turned away he saw Trowa’s face go confused, then filled with panic. He saw the usually calm pilot nod at an invisible person, then set the phone down, staring blankly at the opposite wall.

Slowly Trowa turned to Quatre, biting his lip, nervous and on the verge of panic. Quatre became extremely worried and ran up to Trowa.

“What’s wrong?! Is it Cathy?”

“Yeah,” Trowa replied, “it’s Cathy.”

“Well what’s wrong?!” Quatre was nearly pressed against Trowa, desperate to know what plagued his friend’s mind. He saw Trowa take a deep breath.

“Cathy needs me to get mascara for her before her performance, which starts in an hour, and I don’t know what mascara is.” A blank stare slowly formed on Quatre’s face, and with a slow teetering motion he face-vaulted onto the floor.

“WHAT? You’re upset over THAT?! I thought Cathy died!” Trowa bit his lip.

“But Cathy has this ridiculous mindset that she wouldn’t look pretty without it and if she doesn’t have it she probably won’t go and perform. Kind of how you won’t go to work if you can’t find a tie.” Trowa smiled and winked. Finally, after a long pause, Quatre sighed and looked up at Trowa.

“I don’t know what mascara is either, quite frankly. I tried to stay away from my sisters.” Trowa looked sunken, and Quatre quickly thought of an idea. “Hey, how about if we looked it up on the internet?” His friend’s face lit up and smiled. But Quatre’s face seemed to get dismal suddenly.

“What’s the problem Quatre?”

“The computer is a really old version. It supports internet and other programs, but only one at a time. It can’t do two tasks at the same time.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“I’m working on the report of yesterday’s mission.” This time it was Trowa’s turn to face vault onto the floor.

“You’re still working on it?”

“There’s nothing to write on it! It has to be this 5 page report on a rotting chunk of metal!” Quatre huffed, and it was also Trowa’s turn to be enlightened. It was indeed a problem. Trowa needed the mascara for his sister and Quatre needed to finish the report by tomorrow. It was quite a predicament, which they decided to solve once Trowa’s cookies were firmly locked in the cookie jar, for Duo was already sneaking up on the cooling confections again.

Once Trowa’s cookies were safe the two of them returned to the computer room and locked the door, intending to keep all outside disturbances out so they could concentrate. They agreed to work on the report together, bouncing ideas off each other on how best to bull shit an important-sounding report.

“Um, how about something like ‘the base was metaliferous and contained signs of a chemical reaction to the gaseous mixture surrounding the earth’.” Quatre giggled when Trowa looked genuinely confused. “It basically means the base was metal and was rusting.” Trowa smiled.

“Maybe we could add in some rambling description of the surroundings.” Quatre beamed at the suggestion and started typing away, using the thesaurus in his head to change words, like sand to granular silica. Anything to make the report sound like it was important. Which of course it wasn’t. As they laughed over the ridiculous words they made up Quatre saw a part of Trowa he was never exposed to before. It seemed as if their play let Trowa relax and open up, letting a more light, happy person run free. This relavation made Quatre positively beam.

Fourty minutes later though the both of them were staring at the screen, panicking. They had less than twenty minutes to finish the report, discover the identity of mascara, buy it, and deliver it. And even though they were gundam pilots who performed even the most ludicrous, most dangerous missions, this mission hardly seemed doable.

They had run out of ideas, and still had half a page to go. They looked at each other, desperate for a brainstorm. Quatre looked around the room, wrinkling his nose at the white room. Some inspiration. He looked at the computer screen, with its drab black and neon green text, and the blinking green cursor. Quatre huffed and turned to Trowa, who looked back. His eyes are such a beautiful dark green, like ivy, he mused. His gaze shifted away to the face. He has a very european pointed nose, he admired, and golly he has nice cheek bones! Quatre couldn’t help but also notice the even tan highlighting all the sharp features, including the defined chin. The lips were a slight pink blush, and were parted slightly, and suddenly Quatre realized he was staring much longer than he should. He turned his head quickly. He was sure the lights found his deep red blush flushing his cheeks anyway.

Trowa’s eyes widened when he saw the blushing. Quatre’s staring had been a tad too long to account for normal glancing, but his blushing revealed a more intimate emotion. He bit his lip. Maybe something good could actually come out of this nasty predicament. He smiled and placed his fingers gently underneath Quatre’s fair chin, lifting his face until he could see the deep aquamarine eyes staring at him, shocked. His fingers moved and gripped the chin, then brought his face to Quatre’s, letting his lips lightly brush the blonde’s, relishing the sudden heat in Quatre’s face as the poor pilot blushed bright red.

He pulled away, too soon for his taste, but it was worth the withdrawl to see the bewildered look on the blonde’s face. Quatre pursed his lips together to keep the heat of Trowa’s lips on his own, then with a definitive movement leaped onto Trowa, hauling them both onto the ground and kissed him firmly back, failing to remember the report. After a lip struggle Quatre pulled away when Trowa’s hands began pushing him away.

“Why? You don’t like me?” Both of them were panting and flushed, obviously enjoying their cuddle but Trowa had a more serious look, which unnerved Quatre.

“I do, but the report?” The blonde suddenly blushed and crawled off Trowa’s legs to the chair that was knocked over when he assaulted him. The report was still on the screen, almost laughing at him. He wanted to cry.

“Why did you have to do that? Graa, all I want now is you!”

“Because I hoped it would induce a few creative ideas.” Quatre’s eyes widened.

“It did though! But they all currently involve you.” Trowa blushed. Quatre bit his lower lip and thought. Damn, he only wanted to help, and here I am thinking of a naked Trowa. Whoo, better not think about THAT for a while. Quatre blushed and turned to the report. He turned to Trowa who suddenly had a devious grin on his face. Trowa leaned forward, pinning Quatre against the table.

“I can see you’ve got me on the mind. If I kiss you again, do you promise to finish the report?” Quatre swallowed and nodded, squeezing his eyes shut and forcing all his thoughts onto the report as those delectably soft lips melted against his. But they didn’t pull away as he had done at first. Instead they lingered against the flesh, his mouth parting and his tongue gently licking the blonde’s lips. But before Quatre could open his own mouth Trowa had already pushed his way in and was playing with the pilot’s tongue, lapping at the textured walls. It was nearly half a minute before Trowa pulled away, panting and grinning wildly. Quatre’s chest was heaving, his face beet red and a wide smile on his face. With a renewed determination he whirled around to the computer screen, sneering.

For some reason the ideas came easier this time. His mind had snapped awake and whirred almost as quickly as Quatre’s typing fingers, offering ideas to previous writer’s blocks. Suddenly he could think of several different ways to write “the base was abandoned” and found a very eloquent way to write “this mission was an inane waste of time”. In five minutes the report was completed and sent off to the professors. In less that time the meaning of mascara was uncovered and without a word to the confused pilots around the coffee table the two rushed to the store, buying several tubes of it. As Quatre paid for the makeup he ignored the bewildered look on the cashier’s face.

When they arrived at the circus, Trowa noticed they had less than thirty seconds left. Time to go into Bond mode, he noted. He grabbed the bag of makeup and took one out, then ran to the main performing tent where he saw Cathy, sulking and arguing to the ringmaster about never showing her face. He could hear the crowd cheering behind the curtain.

With one fluid motion he had stolen a small mirror from a passing clown and jumped atop a trampoline, flipping in mid air. As he could see Cathy stomping back to her trailer he called her name and threw the objects at her, somehow still flipping and defying gravity in that wonderful Trowa fashion. Cathy caught the makeup and in less than five seconds had the black goop all over her lashes and ran back to the tent. She threw a wink at her brother who finally landed next to the tent entrance. He looked at his watch. Exactly zero seconds.

He smiled at Quatre who finally caught up to him, nimbly avoiding a slap but unable to avoid the pouting expression on his blonde’s face. Oops, I left him behind, huh? He could only chuckle at the adorable face, then turned and ran to the car, unable to surpress his laughter, turning his head to see his irritated friend following in pursuit. When he reached the car Trowa whipped the passenger door open and hopped in, then locked the doors. He stuck his tongue at Quatre who was panting and moping outside the car, and threw his head back, laughing like crazy. Trowa didn’t notice Quatre walking around the car to the driver’s side.

He was practically rolling in laughter, still remembering the adorable cherub face pouting like a child when he heard a click and saw Quatre get in the car. Abrubtly he stopped his chortling and stared, quite afraid, now that he had been caught. Shit, I wasn’t expecting him to get in. Instinctively he pressed his back against the passenger seat door, trying to distance himself from the fuming pilot. “But how did you get in?” He saw Quatre hold up a pair of keys and jangle it like a bell. Trowa’s eyes darted to the ignition. Shit, but how did he get the key?

“When you dashed off like that I grabbed the keys before following. Don’t you know it’s bad to leave the keys in the car?” The blonde sneered evilly, tossing the keys in the backseat and slowly crawling to the bewildered brunette. Quatre purred as he crawled over the gap between the chairs and let his body straddle the taller pilot’s legs. “Mmmm you know, all that running and frustration sure has me worked up. Perhaps you could relax my muscles and ease the tensions?” Trowa struggled to swallow. His eyes couldn’t help but follow the delicate hands rubbing his thighs, panting and trying not to moan. Almost painfully slow was Quatre’s lips advancing upon his own, but could not lean forward because those exploring hands were against his chest now, pressing him against the door. Just before they touched Quatre paused, tormenting the squirming pilot beneath him, the warm breath from his parted lips driving Trowa insane.

“Hm, I’ll have you know I’m paying you back for what you did earlier. It’s my turn to get a laugh.” He grinned and teasingly lapped at the soft lips, but never getting closer. Trowa was getting frustrated and growled his discontent, trying to push Quatre up and claim the top, but as he placed his hands on Quatre’s chest the blonde pulled back. He wagged a finger at Trowa and smiled teasingly.

“Now now, I told you I’m going to make you suffer Trowa Barton, and there is no way I’m letting you get any until I’m done with you.” His hands twined with the other pilots and brought their hands together. His hands left the hold, and Trowa grumbled the absence, then yelped when he felt cold steel on his wrists. Quatre had cuffed him to the passenger door. Where the hell did he get handcuffs?! Dammit, now I can’t touch him! Graaarrr. As Quatre’s hands began rubbing his muscled stomach with slow, leisurely circles Trowa finally realized they were doing something really sexual looking in a car, next to a highly populated attraction in broad daylight. Shit. Whyyy did it take so long to realize that? Quatre’s tongue was tracing curves in his neck. Oh, that’s why. Stupid Quatre, why does he have to feel so good?!

Trowa grumbled his rising frustration and tried to ward Quatre away by shaking his head, but to no avail. The blonde’s eyes only increased in a passionate intensity and dipped to explore the many crevices and pleasure spots this muscled body had to offer. It did feel good and Trowa was going crazy not being in control. Dammit I don’t like being the uke, and I’m still chained to the door and I’m still involved in a sexual act in broad daylight, and I’m still enjoying every fucking touch. Christ. My morals and decency have gone out the window. Oh well.

Quatre was now starting to tug on the belt that held the tight jean pants up and with a yelp Trowa jumped, a sharp light piercing his eyes. Christ that was good. But we’re still in public. Shit.

“Quatre…oooohhhh…Quatre we need….oohh stop…..we need to go somewhere private….ahhh…” Quatre just shined a predatory smile upon his victim, letting his fingers lazily sweep inside the pant seam.

“Oh, I know that. You’ll see.” Trowa could barely see. Sparks of insane pleasure were being emitted from his eyes, and at this point, he really didn’t care about any people that might be staring. Except for Cathy maybe…oops. Hm, but she’s performing. Yay.

Quatre’s fingers were now playing with the zipper, a playful grin on his face. But he didn’t pull down and unzip the pants. He only played. And that was driving Trowa insane. He wanted Quatre, now. And god dammit he wasn’t getting Quatre NOW. Oh…he realized…this is the suffering, the torture he’s making me endure. Oh shit. Now I really wish I didn’t tease him. This is cruel and unusual punishment for just teasing him! Geez.

Suddenly Quatre sat back, admiring the irritation in the tall pilot’s face (and groin XD), then reached behind the seat to the backseats where the keys lay. He picked it up and straightened out, winking at the still frustrated pilot, then slid the key into the ignition and turned. Now Trowa was bewildered. They were driving somewhere? But wait! He was still handcuffed to the car! No no no!

Quatre backed out of the circus, not explaining a word to Trowa, then drove onto the freeway, almost as if he was driving aimlessly. Trowa shifted uncomfortably in his seat to keep the handcuffs from digging into his skin. They weren’t put on tight, but they were snapped onto awkward places in the car.

At last he exited the freeway, and continued driving. Suddenly Trowa knew where they were headed off to. Quatre’s mansion! But why would they go there? They couldn’t have sex there without attracting the attention of…oh. Quatre’s still playing that game. Dammit, why can’t he be as frustrated as I am?

They reached home and Quatre finally released his prisoner from the handcuffs. But before Trowa could launch himself at Quatre the blonde stepped out of the car and walked away. As Trowa looked after he could tell the blonde was swaying his hips teasingly. Dammit, he growled. Quickly he crawled out of the car and followed the pilot into the house.

Inside the house he found Quatre eyeing a foreign package on the dining table. Quatre looked up as Trowa approached him, who noticed Heero on a laptop on a couch in the living room, Duo humming loudly in the kitchen, and Wufei meditating by the livingroom window. Heh, Quatre thought, this is so much fun, and with luck, the present might be useful. Trowa reached the package and looked at the tag. It was from Cathy. He found a note on the table and read it:

“Hey Tro—sorry I couldn’t give you this in person. I actually had it wrapped a couple days ago but didn’t find the time to give it to you. Thought you might need this; I saw the lions chewed up your old one. Love you and thank you for the mascara!


Love Cathy”
Trowa guessed someone from the circus delivered it.

He opened the package somewhat gingerly, not knowing really what was inside. When he took off the cover and saw what his sister gave him, his face blushed bright red. Quatre, curious, peeked inside. Immediately he grinned predatorially and began plotting horrible plots. Normally this object wouldn’t cause such a disturbance between the two pilots, but after that afternoon’s “adventures” it suddenly had much more meaning.

Cathy had given Trowa a new leather whip.

It was meant to be used for the lions act, but now it suddenly had many more uses, and both pilots knew that. As Quatre reached into the box to inspect the whip Trowa didn’t know whether to thank Cathy or stab her to death for sending it to Quatre’s house. Oh well, he thought, either way I’m still going to get some. It seems like Quatre can’t resist anymore. Good.


The ringing phone was a dull vibration in the back of his eyes and Trowa struggled to open his eyes enough to discover the location of the irritation. The figure snuggled up against his naked body definitely was not enjoying the unpleasant noise, and after several moments of swaying his heavy sleep-ridden head around he found the telephone on the dresser next to Quatre. Gingerly he reached over and took the reciever off, trying not to wake his sleeping boyfriend.

Trowa stared at the reciever for a moment, trying to remember which end he was supposed to talk into. For some reason it was extremely hard to differentiate the difference between the ear piece and the mouth piece, and finally after hearing a disgruntled yell from one end decided to talk into the other.

“Mmmyeah?” he grunted groggily, “What?” As he heard the caller his eyes widened. Eep.

“Errm, I slept in…eh heh got home late. Yeah, went to go see…a movie! Yeah, a movie. Wiiiith…Quatre and…Duo! Eh heh heh. Yeah. Of course I’m not lying…Of course I’m not doing anything illicit! How could you think such a thing?”

As Trowa continued to word-wrestle with the person on the other side Quatre stirred, then slowly opened his eyes. He had been waken up by Trowa’s talking and really wanted to do more snuggling, so with an irritated grunt he nestled his head on Trowa’s abs, wrapping his arms around the slender hips. Trowa heard it go silent on the other side for a moment.

“Trowa, who is with you? Are you in bed?!” Eep. The professor did not sound happy.

“Uhhh, no! I am in bed, which is why I’m so tired. Eh heh. Nooo no one’s with me. Why would you think that?” A weak grin.

“Because I hear noises coming from someone other than you. Trowa, if you picked up some girl at a bar last night I don’t care, alright?”

“Ahaaa! Nooo I didn’t go to a bar! And no I did not take a woman home!” He could almost see the caller on the other side rubbing his temples.

“Alright. I won’t ask. Just make sure to get that report in, ok? Your last one was…interesting. Good, but interesting.” Trowa smiled, thinking about the report that landed him a new whip and a boyfriend with an incredible libido.

“I will. Later.” He reached over to hang up the reciever and found that Quatre was snuggled comfortably on his stomach, sleeping off the insane night and yesterday. It had been fun, Trowa thought, and the whip certainly has been broken in a few times--although explaining that to Cathy is going to require some pretty creative excuses--but I think we should refrain from doing that every night. Whoo, we’d be so exhausted every morning we’d never survive in the battlefield. Oh well, he added as he looked down at the content sleeper, until then we’ll just sleep off last night.

Trowa scooted down so he was laying on the bed, then brought Quatre’s blonde head up so it was laying on his chest. Content, he closed his bleary eyes and dreamed of golden blonde angels and flying mascara victories.

fiN


‘Ces fin. it had no plot, no direction, was basically the scariest pwp ever, and was utterly inconceivable. but I had fun with it, and I hope you had at least one smile reading this. ^____________^ otherwise Trowa will be depressed after all I’ve put him through in this.