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Dead in the Water	By : makochan0217 Category: Gundam Wing/AC > Crossovers Views: 1005 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own nothing that is recognizable in either the Gundam Wing/AC universe or the Sookie Stackhouse novels. This is for entertainment purposes only.

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Title: Dead in the Water

Author: Makoto Sagara

Series: Gundam Wing/Southern Vampire Mysteries (Sookie Stackhouse Novels)

Archive: the usual suspects; anywhere else, please ask first

Category: Supernatural, Angst, Romance, Slash, Action, Adventure

Pairings/Characters: Eric/Sookie, Duo/Wufei, Quatre + Heero, Trowa/Zechs, Relena + Heero, Dorothy/Quatre, Treize/Pam, Pam/Dorothy, others…

Rating: R (Later chapters may be more)

Warnings: slash, femme slash, het, blood, gore, non-con (rape), magic, vampires, shape shifters, violence, angst, language, OOC, AU/Fusion, crossover, sexual situations

Disclaimers: I make no money, so suing is pointless. If you think I own GW or the SVM universe, then you need to see someone. I have the number to a nice doctor... Oh, SALLY!

Author’s Notes: Omg, so, I’ve wanted to write this for months now. It started because a friend I have is working on a GW/AB:VH crossover. It’s very good, and even though I haven’t read the AB books, I could follow the plot for the most part because I am such a huge Sookie/SVM fan! And then, I couldn’t get the thought of Sookie and Quatre meeting out of my head. Hence the birth of this. I’ll have you know that I started this chapter the SECOND that I finished my long-standing project, The Matchmaker. Thanks to Yuki and Jokes for their help and encouragement! It means the world to me to have you two in my corner, pushing and prodding the muses along for your amusement!

Chapter One, or How My Life Grew Even More Complicated Than Ever!

“Duo, if you don’t clean up these candles and cards, I’m never buying you any of that Frankincense from Rashid you like so much,” I yelled down the hall to the common room as I looked around our trashed dorm room. Before I could blink, a man my own age, barely nineteen, with a metre-and-half chestnut braid pushed me out of the doorway.

“Sorry about this, Q,” my roommate shouted over his shoulder. “’Fei and I were doing readings, but Josh down the hall asked for help with his Biology assignment.”

“That’s fine, Duo, but if you and Wufei make a mess like this, you should at least clean it up before you leave the room,” I said, feeling so tired after a long day of classes. My roommate, Duo Maxwell, hurriedly picked up his things and tossed them on his bed before dashing out down the hall to go do classwork with his boyfriend and another resident of our hall.

Maybe I should start from the beginning. First, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Quatre Raberba Winner, of the Boston, Massachusetts Winners. I am the only son of Marianne Winner and Mohammed Baruq Amir Kashim. I have five older sisters — Iria, Fatima, Salima, Marwa, and Zamira. My father is an immigrant from Saudi Arabia, if you could not tell by the name, and my deceased mother is American-born.

I come from rather prominent families on both sides. My father is a third cousin to the current Saudi king and my mother’s family runs the shipyards in Boston’s South Side. Therefore, to say that I come from money would be a bit of an understatement. Duo claims that my family is filthy rich and the money just wafts off me like a bad odor. I’m terribly afraid that he might be right.

I just turned nineteen on July fourteenth, and I’m a sophomore at Columbia University in New York City. I have blond hair and blue eyes that I get from my mother. I am the only one. My sisters all have variations of a reddish-brown hair and dark brown eyes. I’m five feet, eleven inches.

And I’m telepathic and empathic. Growing up in a large family like mine was difficult as a child with my abilities. I could tell when my father was lying to my sisters and me about showing up for whatever activities we had or if my sisters were angry at me for stealing all of our father’s extremely limited time at home.

And, if it wasn’t enough that I’m what Duo likes to call “normal impaired” already, I’ve just come to terms with the fact that I’m a homosexual. Nothing special, right? Well, normally, no, it wouldn’t be cause for such an upfront declaration like that, but then again, I have a hateful family.

My mother’s side of the family is full of all die-hard Catholics. Fags burn in hell, right? And my father is an actively practicing Muslim. Five times a day, every day and seven times on Fridays, he praises Allah for being merciful and just. So long as I don’t tell him that his only son and heir is a raging homosexual.

In fact, the only ones in my family that know my secret are my oldest sister Iria and her husband Malik. Since my mother died when I was three of breast cancer, Iria was forced to take care of me. She’s the nicest out of my sisters and the only one who believed me when I said that I could read her thoughts. She’s fifteen years older than me, and she married Malik when I was seven. When my father was out of town, which happened a lot, they took care of me, instead of the hordes of nannies and governesses and such that all of my sisters’ friends had growing up.

It was Iria who convinced our father that sending me to school with my “ability” was a bad idea. Not many people enjoyed a precocious, nearly cherubic child telling them that the thoughts they were having about the gardener were nasty. After the tenth time in first grade that happened, Father caved and had me home schooled with very expensive tutors that overlooked my differentness for a lot of money.

I still did all the normal thing that any rich kid is supposed to do — soccer, field hockey, martial arts, piano and violin lessons, and trips to art museums all over the world.

Let me tell you this, though. Flying in first class does not make hearing the flight attendants checking out your dad because he’s obviously loaded any easier. It’s not like blocking my ears stops me from hearing their thoughts either. In fact, it just makes it harder to concentrate on what it is that I’m trying to do otherwise.

However, things on that front got a lot easier. When I was sixteen, Iria met a very interesting woman who said she was a witch. At first, I wanted to laugh at my beautiful sister bringing a crazy woman into Father’s house, spouting off about spells and energy levels and the like. I teased them both, of course I did, but I had to quickly change my tune when the woman began burning herbs in a bowl and the next thing I knew, the world was a bit dimmer. It was if all the thoughts in my head were finally mine and mine alone. The small, thrumming headache that I’d had for most of my life was gone for the first time.

The woman, who I came to know intimately, was named Sharona, like that horrible 80’s song. Every three weeks, Sharona and Iria would come over to the house to chat and Sharona would recast her spell to make sure that I could function.

When it continued to work after two months, I was finally able to go to a private academy to finish up my precollege education. I graduated as valedictorian, because nothing less was going to be acceptable to Mohammed Kashim. And I took a friend from my field hockey team’s younger sister to my senior prom. She was cute, in that stick-thin, overly done sort of way, but she really did absolutely nothing for me. I took her to a French restaurant for dinner, then the dance, and we went to a few of the after parties, where everyone but me drank too much and engaged in sexual behaviours. I spent a lot of time bored out of my mind and checking out my date’s brother’s ass. It was then that I knew that I was gay.

I was horrified and didn’t bother to take my date home, which was just as well, since she was riding the cock of another member of my field hockey team for everyone to see when I had my revelation. I ran from the house and into my car, driving like a madman to Iria and Malik’s house. When I got there, I pounded on their door until my brother-in-law answered it, his gun in hand. One look at my face was enough for him to call for Iria and steer me into the kitchen for some strong mint tea.

It was then that I spilled my guts to the two people who meant the world to me, dreading their reaction but needing to get it out. I was surprised when Malik just shrugged and shoved the tea cup closer. “I figured, little brother,” was all he said. And just like that, I had their support.

“Quatre, sweetheart, you’re different from everyone else,” Iria had said, patting my hand the way I loved. “We’ve known that for a very long time. This is just another aspect of how different you are.” Her brown eyes were so sad that I thought she was going to cry, and I knew that if she started, I would too.

“What do I do, Iria?” I begged.

“Nothing,” Malik answered, sitting down in the chair beside me. “Quatre, you will soon go to college, yes?”

“Yes,” I replied, wondering where he was going with this. “I start Columbia in the fall. You know that. You’re the one who helped me fill out all the applications, Malik.”

“What my husband is trying to say, and failing, by the way, is that you don’t have to do anything about discovering your sexual identity,” my sister said with a slight glare to her other half. “You will be in New York City. You can do as you wish, so long as you get good enough grades for Father. I just hope that you will meet some nice boy that makes you happy.”

“Why? So I can bring him home for winter break to introduce him to my family? Right, one look at Zamira and Abdul will have him running for his life.”

“One step at a time, little brother,” Malik said with a smile. “Although, you may have a point about Zamira and Abdul; they remind me of terrorists to the nth degree. Even my parents think so, and you know how they are about those stupid assumptions Americans have.”

“Yes, well, why my sister decided to marry an Afghani doctor who is very, very traditional, I will never know,” Iria said seriously. “That’s not the point here. The point is that whatever you decide for yourself, Quatre, we will support you. Sharona’s already looking into someone in the New York area for you to contact about the spell she uses on you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, feeling the relief and exhaustion of a long day taking over me.

“Let’s get you into the guest room and we can deal with other things later in the day,” Malik said, pulling me up by my arm and towards my usual room when I crashed at their house.

The summer passed, and before I knew it, I was in New York City, starting my life independently of my father and sisters. Here, no one expected me to be Quatre Winner, heir to Winner Enterprises Incorporated, or the son of Mohammed Kashim and Marianne Winner. No, at Columbia, I was just some regular rich, gay kid starting college. It was a relief that lasted all of five seconds before I met my new roommate.

He was six-foot, three inches with the body of a dancer and a thick braid of hair that brushed his tight ass. He wore pants that were practically painted onto his toned legs and a mid-shirt that exposed his washboard abs and delightful biceps. When he pulled down his sunglasses to get a better look at me, I could see that his eyes were an interesting shade of violet-blue. His perfect cupid’s-bow lips twisted into a sexy smile and he stuck out a calloused hand to me. “Hi, I’m Duo Maxwell.”

“Q-Quatre Winner,” I squeaked.

“Looks like we’re roommates, Quatre. I’m from Miami. You?”

“Boston,” I said, finally finding my voice. Even with Sharona’s spell, I could read the excitement and buzzing energy from this man’s thoughts and emotions. He reminded me of those old commercials I saw as a child with the Energizer Bunny. “Are you a freshman too?”

“Yeah, I’m actually looking forward to orientation tomorrow, believe it or not,” Duo said, and it made me realize that underneath that laidback Floridian accent was a smooth baritone that made my toes curl and my cock harden.

I was fucked. My new roommate was gorgeous, and I was having difficulty not bursting in my pants as I watched him move around the room.

After shaking my head, I realized that he was unpacking his belongings, and I even recognized some of the unusual things. “Do you have a coven?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

“Oh, yeah, I did back home,” he said with an easy smile as he looked at me with his odd eyes. “I’m going to have to check out the scene before I can say that I have one here.” He stared at me for a few heavy minutes. “You’re not though. I mean, you’re not normal, I can read that, but you’re not a practitioner, are you?”

“Oh, no, I’m not,” I said nervously. There was a hard glint in his eyes that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up in alarm. “I, uh, my oldest sister has a good friend who is, and she’s helped me a lot in the last couple of years.”

“Ah, that explains how you know then,” he said, his smile back to being open and friendly. “That still doesn’t answer as to why you’re not normal. Well, no, I guess not. I get that rich boy vibe off of you. You are, aren’t you?”

“Would you hold it against me?” I asked cautiously.

“Hell no,” he said with a laugh. “So long as you don’t mind me hitting you up for a loan once in a while.”

I laughed at his banter, feeling the tension leave my body for the first time since walking through the door. True, he was good-looking, but he was easy to get along with. I already felt like we’d been friends for a long time. Hell, he was easier to talk to than the kids I went to school with.

That was a year and a half ago. Duo and I managed to make it through last year fine. We only argued about the fact that he’s a human hurricane and he calls me an uptight neat-freak. We each have our own valid points, but in the end we get along. I was relieved when he just came out and told me that he was gay, even though I kind of figured it out by his outrageous attire. He seemed even more relieved when I told him I was as well. He also found it absolutely hilarious when I explained to him just how “not normal” I really was. He kept asking me to tell him what everyone around us was thinking, for kicks he said. When I got him in touch with Sharona, she was only too happy to direct him to one of the few covens in Manhattan, so long as he made sure that I had the spell cast on me every three weeks.

He has been great about that while we’re here.

Since we were two gay guys trying to find our way around the city, we ended up hanging out a lot. He introduced me to alcohol. I introduced him to good Middle Eastern food. We stumbled around the gay bars and experimented flirting with strangers. (Duo is much better at that, by the way.) And, one night, after too many appletinis and vodka shots, we stumbled into bed with each other. It was my first sexual experience. It wasn’t for him. He was great. It was fun. I’d never felt more relaxed and carefree in my life until he’d collapsed on my back after pounding me into his mattress. However, we both knew it wouldn’t happen again. It felt like having sex with my brother or cousin. It was just really wrong.

So, when Duo met Wufei in his spring term Biology class and they started dating, I didn’t feel bad. In fact, I was pretty happy for my friend. Wufei is about five-foot-nine, martial artist lean, sexy brown-black eyes, and pin-straight black hair that falls to his shoulders. He’s as funny as Duo, but his sense of humour tends to lean more towards acerbic, while Duo’s is clownish. He’s incredibly brilliant, considering he’s Pre-Med. And he’s a native New Yorker, Staten Island to be exact. And, it turns out that Wufei is a member of the local coven Sharona suggested to Duo when they talked.

They try to include me in their adventures every once in a while, but it’s really awkward feeling like a third wheel to your best friend and his boyfriend. Sometimes when we go out, I end up being hit on by guys who are more butch than I am with dark brown or black hair and blue eyes. What can I say? I have a type now, Duo assures me. I do happen to like that combination. It’s very sexy.

I was worried about returning this year, since Duo had talked about possibly moving in with Wufei, and I didn’t want to have to share a room with some stupid homophobic idiot. I got lucky when the room assignments were mailed to our homes and saw that Duo and I would be rooming together again. Turns out that Wufei’s parents wanted him to stay with them while he still attended school and save his money. And unlike how most of his friends’ parents from his neighborhood acted, they didn’t freak out when he crashed at our dorm for the night from time to time instead of commuting all the way back and forth to Staten Island.

I have realized the pure and utter joy of a good set of Bose headphones, however. Duo, I’ve learned, is a screamer, and Wufei prefers it that way.

Like I said, we three got along great, even with them knowing about my secrets and trying their hardest not to make me feel left out. But, it was when Duo approached Wufei about going out to a new place for his upcoming birthday that my whole life changed.

TBC
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Dead in the Water