Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Love Life Arc ❯ Insensitive ( Chapter 1 )

Insensitive: Part One in the Love Life Arc

Summary: Quatre wonders why Trowa is with him

`blah' denotes song lyrics

`blah' denotes memories/dreams

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing or the song Insensitive- Jann Arden

Insensitive

“Mr. Winner, the head of Andros Enterprises is on line two for you.”

A pale finger hit the buzzer on his com link with a weary sigh.

“Tell him I'll be a moment longer please, Anita.”

“Yes, Mr. Winner.”

Quatre Raberba Winner bit back another sigh as his secretary left him alone for another five minutes of peace. He needed to concentrate and finish reading the summary of Friday's meeting, the one he missed to spend the day with.........

A groan sounded though the head of Winner Corps' stylish office, followed by the thump of something hard hitting the sturdy oak desk. Quatre sat, hunched over the reports he needed to read to prepare himself for the conversation with Charles Andros, his forehead pressing against the papers as if hoping the information would simply seep into his mind and push out all thoughts of Trowa Barton.

An undignified snort made the blond's shoulders jerk.

How did one go about forgetting Trowa Barton?

 

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How do you cool your lips, after a summer's kiss?
How do you rid the sweat, after the body's bliss?

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When the war ended, Quatre had been told, quite sternly by practically everyone he knew, that it was time to grow up and stop his rebellion against his father. He was needed at Winner Corps. Time to hang up the goggles and don his striped suit and tie. He was a Winner and the heir to the family; act like it.

So he did just that.

Then the Barton Uprising happened and, with those neglected goggles back on, Quatre joined the fight to help keep the peace. He failed his first test and ran off to war, disappointing so many while secretly itching to grab Sandrock and flee. Flee from L4 with its Winner Corps and its endless paper work and his twenty-nine nagging sisters.

Quatre wanted to run away to the circus.

It had freedom, fun and most importantly Trowa Barton all in one shot. The same Trowa who had impulsively become Quatre's lover during the war before sending him back to L4 and taking the blond empath's heart with him in his cold hands when he'd left.

Without a sound, Quatre sat up and stretched, wincing as his stiff muscles pulled and twinged. The throb of a migraine had taken up residence in his forehead at the predicament between himself and Trowa.

Apparently L4 was where Quatre Winner belonged, not with his lover on L3 or in the Circus. They were too young for any kind of actual commitment and war made people do strange things.

Although Trowa Barton had no trouble showing up every few weeks without any warning and making Quatre fall for him all over again.

Sex was fine, as long as there were no commitments or expectations. Trowa would happily pay the six hundred credits round fair trip to L4 for a little nookie but couldn't be bothered to do the same for someone he cared about.

Ignoring the flashing red light on his comm.-link, Quatre let his thoughts drift back to that Friday. He'd just been about to meet his board of executives about collaborating on a project with Andros Enterprises when Trowa turned up and made his colony tilt on its thrusters.

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How do you turn your eyes,

from the romantic glare?
How do you block the sound
Of a voice you'd know anywhere?
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Quatre was piling stacks of official looking pamphlets into his sleek, black leather briefcase, absent-mindedly mumbling about spread sheets and case-and-effect ratios. The Board was spilt on whether to sign on this project, mainly because Andros Enterprises would benefit less than one percent more than Winner Corps. Quatre thought the debate was ridiculous; it was AE's idea in the first place, the man was simply reaching out to the son of his old friend and business acquaintance.

The Board members were, in his opinion, more paranoid than Heero Yuy at a Terrorists' Convention.

Distracted, and rightfully so, Quatre was surprised to find his comm blinking red. Anita knew he had a meeting, why would she buzz him?

“Yes?”

Anita sounded frazzled and disapproving. “Sir, I've told him already you're busy but Mr. Barton insisted I call.”

Quatre froze, his papers forgotten as he looked at the small speaker rising out of his desk top. In his mind, he could just picture the scene outside his office with Anita torn between glaring sourly at Trowa and trying to keep her professional calm while the tall man stood against the wall, his long legs stretched out in front of him........

“Tell him I'll be down in a minute.” For some reason, Quatre felt dirty and shameful.

“Mr. Winner you have a meeting with the Board in twenty minutes! You-”

Quatre cut her off, thinking quickly. “I'll read the report. They can blather on about how they dislike this project but it's my company and I'll do what I damn well like.”

“.....Yes, Mr. Winner.”

The disapproval in Anita's voice stung as Quatre deftly emptied his briefcase again and grabbed only that night's work. He probably wouldn't be back in the office until tomorrow but that didn't mean he couldn't work himself into an early grave.

Besides, Quatre knew he'd need something to take his mind off of what would inevitably happen between himself and Trowa Barton tonight.

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Oh, I really should have known
By the time you drove me home

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Trowa had been standing right where he'd thought the taller man would be, head bowed. His bangs covered his eyes, throwing his whole face into shadows.

Quatre paused just before him. “Trowa….”

It was like watching a flower bloom as slowly those long, lean limbs were unfurled and emerald green eyes opened to stare down at him.

The blond was sure his heart was pounding fast enough for the whole of L4 to hear it as Trowa gave him a deliberate once-over and nodded.

“Quatre.” He then turned to the blushing secretary and gave a mysterious half-smile.

“Miss Anita.”

Quatre felt a surge of insane jealously. Never, not once, had Trowa ever smiled at him- their meetings were always cold and almost professional in their politeness.

That feeling of being dirty returned.

Anita cleared her throat, making Quatre's wandering mind snap back to the present. Trowa was already half way out the door.

He dashed to catch up.

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By the vagueness in your eyes,

Your casual good-byes

By the chill in your embrace
The expression on your face, told me
Maybe, you might have some advice to give
How to be insensitive, insensitive ooh, insensitive

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The papers from his briefcase were scattered all over the room. Fuzzily, Quatre wondered how that had happened.

A spreadsheet on the bed crackled with Trowa's sudden movement and the Winner heir quickly forgot about his scattered work. He was burning- what did work matter?

The places where Trowa's hands touched his skin tingled, and he half expected to find a physical marking of where those hands had been.

Only Trowa made him feeling his way, Quatre thought as his short blunt nails left scratches on his lover's back. The pain seemed to urge him on, making his slow, patient thrusts come harder and faster.

His eyes drifted closed as his toes seemed to tingle and go numb. His breath came in pants as the spiraling heat in his groin tightened and rushed through his body.

Trowa stilled over him, contributing his own warmth to the blond as their mutual climax drifted down like a falling feather.

“Trowa….” He whispered softly, his mind nearly spilling his secret thoughts. `Don't leave.' Wanted to cross his lips. `I love you. Stay with me. Don't go.'

Teal eyes opened to the cracked ceiling of the motel they'd rented and his thoughts stayed just that- thoughts. Quatre had wanted every time they met like this, to take Trowa back to his home, to his room and his bed but the other man wouldn't allow it.

He felt his lover slip out of him and watched in a stony silence as the clown crossed to the bathroom and grabbed a washcloth.

Quatre caught sight of the red marks he'd left on the taller man's back with a wince.

“Sorry about the scratches.”

The cloth was cold as Trowa quickly wiped down any mess they had left from the blond's chest before answering.

“It's fine. Catherine has a cream I can use to cover it up.”

The cold mask was firmly back in place. As usual Quatre felt nothing from his lover-no they weren't lovers. Lovers implied there was an emotion other than lust between them.

And sometimes, Quatre wondered as he watched Trowa get into bed and roll over onto his side, if they even had that.

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How do you numb your skin, after the warmest touch?
How do you slow your blood, after the body rush?
How do you free your soul, after you've found a friend?
How do you teach your heart
It's a crime to fall in love again?
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They'd made lo- had sex multiple times that weekend, and each one had been just as amazing, just as passionate, just as……..insensitive as the last. Trowa was the best at simply being there and not really being there at all.

It was only during those brief few seconds as they climaxed together- and they always climaxed together, always- that Quatre had any trickle of true, pure emotions from the man.

Then it was back to a frigid politeness and forced conversations. The hours after sex were the ones that made Quatre wonder why they even still knew each other. Why did Trowa come back again and again to Quatre, just to leave him feeling dirty, used and burned by the icy absence of feeling from the L3 native?

It was ironic, the blond thought, sitting in his chair at the office, that Trowa could be so cold and so aloof when everyone expected this ruthlessness, this inner well of calm nothing from a business man.

Maybe Trowa would have some advice for him on how to be insensitive?

Or not.

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Oh, you probably won't remember me
It's probably ancient history
I'm one of the chosen few
Who went ahead and fell for you
I'm out of vogue, I'm out of touch
I fell too fast, I feel too much
I thought that you might have some advice to give,
How to be insensitive

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There was that dizzying feeling of déjà vu as the red comm. Link button began flashing. Anita……Trowa.

Steeling himself, he hit the button. It was his turn to be cold.

“Yes?”

Anita's voice was full of irritation and anger as she spoke, all of it he knew, was directed at the man listening in at her desk again.

“Mr. Winner, Mr. Barton is back. He insisted that I call on you again.”

There was an almost expectant silence on her side as Quatre swallowed past the lump in his throat.

Then he spoke.

“Please tell Mr. Barton that I'm busy, Anita.”

“Busy?” The woman parroted and the sound of cloth shifting caught Quatre's attention. He gave the comm a small wan smile as he continued.

“Yes, busy. Please do not disturb me for the rest of the day.”

“……Of course, Mr. Winner.”

Her voice was confused, but there was an undertone of…relief in it as she disconnected.

Quatre blinked at the sudden feeling of letting go. Freedom was a close name to it. Freedom was supposed to mean happiness, right?

So why did it hurt so much?

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Oh, I really should have known
By the time you drove me home
By the vagueness in your eyes, your casual good-byes
By the chill in your embrace
The expression on your face, told me
Maybe, you might have some advice to give
How to be insensitive, insensitive ooh, insensitive

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