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by rinoastar
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Categorization: Humour, het.
Archive: PRAORPOARI, any that ask
Warnings: OOC, Trippy Trowa, language, het.
Pairings: 3x9
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing doesn't belong to me. I asked for it
for Christmas, but none of the packages are Gundam Wing shaped,
so I doubt I'll get it ^.^ And my sense of humour is downright
stupid, so bear with me. I completely had no idea where to start
E-mail Rinoastar at
with these two, seeing as I'm a 3+4/4+3 fan, so it's kind of a
corny, one-night stand sort of thing. Trowa has to get back to
Quatre, ne? Can't hook them up long-term if I can't see them
together!
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Dark. It was indescribably dark. There was no way he
could see even his hand in front of his face, so how was he going
to see the new occupant of his cell? He just hoped it wasn't
some perverted, power-drugged cadet set on the thought of raping
him. It wasn't that foreign of a concept, believe it or not.
However, with those damned manacles on his arms and his
overdrugged mind barely comprehending that someone else was there
at all, he doubted he'd be able to protect himself from them. You
know, for all the drug training the scientists gave them, it would
have done them all wholly more good to just get the pilots drugged
out of their teenaged little minds every weekend, if only to build
up more tolerance, at least, if you asked him.
But no one ever bothered to ask HIM. Why would they?
Duo would definitely answer, even if it's not one that you want;
Wufei was a scholar! He'd be intelligent, for sure! Quatre was
not exactly the steriotypical dumb blonde; his IQ was outstanding.
Hiiro was the leader; he HAD to answer intelligently. But Trowa
was no one. Trowa was forgetable. Trowa was anti-social, to say
the least. And it pissed him off.
'I could be the leader, ' he mused to himself, all thirty
of his consecutive days of confinement manifesting themselves in
his poor, pathetic psyche right now. 'I could be the one they
adore, that could be my reputation, ' Trowa mentally sang,
humming the tune to himself. Two OZzies looked in the tiny window
at him, sitting in the dark and humming to himself.
"Poor guy. Maybe we should kinda let him out, y'know?
He's gonna go batty in there!" one of the two workers told the
other.
"Nah. Let's just watch him tumble down a spiral descent
into madness, " he grinned, showing a mouth like a jack-o-lantern.
"Where do you get this stuff?" the first asked, wisely
choosing not to mention OZ's outstanding Dental coverage policies.
"Freud. Some old nutcase in the 20th century that analyzed
other nutcases, " the second replied, turning back to the boy in the
cell.
"Well, I for one, think he's drugged out, " a third made
his appearance on the scene. "Must be anti-social if THAT'S how he
reacts to heavy sedatives and lithium mixed together."
"Really? Well, then, pal! Since you know so much about
their drug rations . . . where do they keep 'em?" Jack-O-Lantern
Teeth asked. The three of them continued to discuss what was being
given to the prisoners and where it could be found as they walked
away from Trowa's cell, leaving him with the stranger.
--
She woke up with a hangover. Or at least, it seemed like
one. As she ran a mental list of everything she had taken in the
past 24 hours, she nearly fainted. Not from the list, mind you,
but from her surroundings. She was clean of anything, you see,
but she wasn't in her bed, or even the rehab cooling cell she found
herself in occasionally, like after an office party or every other
Sunday morning.
She was in a CELL. Not just any cell, but a PRISONER'S cell!
Damn it. If there was another prisoner there, she was screwed.
Literally AND figuratively, she thought. Sitting up, and fighting a
wave of nausea, she looked around the cell with wide eyes. In the
corner, she discovered a nutcase humming to himself. Double damn it.
Lucrezia put a hand to her head and faced the boy. "Hey,
could you just shut up over there?" she demanded. The humming
stopped.
--
The other person talked to him. The other person was female.
The other person was pissed.
Trowa made these quick assesments about a full ten minutes
after Lucrezia fell asleep. Thinking further, he realized that she
was familiar. "Miss Noin?" he asked incredulously.
"Kid, I'm trying to sleep here, if you don't mind. I've
got the headache of a lifetime and I'm not about to waste my
strength beating the crap out of you, " the woman replied.
"But you ARE Miss Lucrezia Noin, aren't you?" he asked.
--
Lucrezia snarled out a response and threw her jacket over
her head. "Just shut up, kid!" 'Damn, but this kid is talkative!'
she thought to herself as the he continued to rattle across to her
from the other side of the cell.
Finally, she was tired of him and his incessant chattering.
She stood up and marched over to where he was now singing quietly
to himself, "London Bridge is Falling Down". She grabbed a handful
of his strange hair and hefted him up to his feet.
"SHUT UP!" she blasted in his face and his eyes widened.
She frowned and looked him straight in the face. He looked vaguely
familiar, but she couldn't place him. He grinned devilishly up at
her, a movement that sat uneasily with her, although he had a
beautiful smile. Something in the back of her mind screamed that
since this young man was smiling, the world would come to an end.
The boy then leaned forward and kissed her full on. She
sputtered for a minute, then relaxed. 'What the hell?' she asked
herself. He was an eager, nubile youth with an obviously agile
body . . . this could get interesting! Slowly, their kisses grew
more and more heated, anxious and impatient. Lucrezia's knees
gave way, and they fell to the floor
--
Trowa woke up with a strange feeling in his body and the
worst hangover of his life. Before he opened his eyes, he swore
that he would never do whatever he had done to get this headache;
it was twenty times worse than when Duo decided to get him drunk!
He stretched langorously and shifted his weight before
realizing that something was on his arm. He turned to see what
deadweight could be pinning his poor, defenseless little arm to
the conctrete floor and gaped. His one visible eye widened as he
croaked out, "Oh . . . my . . . God!"
--
Lucrezia sighed and stretched out, yawning. There was a
stick digging into her back, but apparently it hadn't affected her
sleep at all. Then the thought hit her. She was cold. She was
naked! 'Oh, dear God, if what I think happened didn't happen, I'll
come to church every day for the rest of my life; I'll be celibate;
I'll bear your children; I'll . . . ' her thoughts faded as she
looked over, eye to eye with Trowa Barton.
She screamed, like any intelligent girl would do, and began
to jump up and down screaming. He screamed, and pulled on his
pants. She flushed and pulled on her own clothes, blushing like a
tomato. Trowa regarded her with a calm eye. Lucrezia glared at him.
--
Trowa frowned to himself. She was kind of pretty, he
supposed. However, one thing in particular stood out at him. "I
like your hair, " he told her before sitting down on the floor.
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~OWARI~
.::giggles::. Don't ask me what I was on when I came up with this.
It just seemed to be the only way to get these two together! And as
for the quote at the end, c'mon! Tell me that's not the only 'Trowa'
thing you could picture him saying after what happened in the fic
above!
E-mail Rinoastar at rinoa_star@hotmail.com