Disclaimer: Yaoi! Lemon! Kawaiily drunken Gundam pilot! If you can't handle kawaiily drunken Gundam pilots, then don't read. Gundam Wing isn't ours - don't we WISH!!!
Pairings: 4+3/3x4 (sort of a mixture.)
PINA COLADA
By: Ketsurui (Ketoru) and Quoth the Raven (Torowa)
Email: MakuraKetsurui@aol.com
Website: http://anrui.homestead.com/main.html
"If you like pina coladas
And getting caught in the rain
And the feel of the ocean
And the taste of champagne
If you like making love at midnight..."
"Escape (The Pina Colada Song)" by that group who's name no one can remember but everyone knows that song anyway!
**************
"C'mon, Quatre!" Duo exclaimed, a bundle of raw energy. "It's practically illegal to go to a party and not have at least *one* drink! And before you start protesting, you're not underage any more, so that excuse won't cover you any more!"
"Well..." Quatre looked a little hesitant.
"Come on!" The braided boy insisted brightly, shoving a cup into the blond's hand. "I mixed this one myself."
"Well, I suppose one couldn't hurt..."
"That's the spirit!" Duo crowed. Grabbing two drinks, he ran off to the other side of the room, where Heero and Dorothy's debate on tactics was beginning to heat up. "Hee-chan! Lighten up! Have a drink! Here!"
Sniffing the concoction, the Arabian sipped it slowly, surprised at the sweetness that rolled over his tongue. [It's good...] Swallowing, he took a larger mouthful, trying to identify the flavours that lingered lightly on his tongue. [I'm sure that's pineapple... and that's coconut...]
He was surprised at how quickly his drink disappeared. It hadn't seemed so small when he'd first looked at it. Shrugging, he reached for another, different drink that sat on the table...
***************
An hour later, Quatre was leaning against the wall, grinning madly. The room seemed as though it was covered in cotton candy, all cloudy and soft. From somewhere in the haze of his mind, he heard Trowa speaking to him.
"Quatre?" Trowa asked softly, concerned. He was obviously drunk -- he'd known that as soon as he'd gotten hold of Duo to find out where the blond boy was -- and one glance at him had confirmed the fact. Glazed eyes and a whimsical smile told Trowa that Quatre was lost in a world of his own. [No doubt it's a beautiful world. Anything created by his mind couldn't possibly be ugly.] "Quatre? Can you hear me?"
"Of course I can, Trowa," he replied, voice slurred. His dull eyes shifted to his lover, smile turning sloppy. "Great party huh?"
"Yeah, great party." [Duo, when you wake up tomorrow, I hope you have a hangover that's even worse than his will be.] Trowa knew that the Arabian had never so much as touched a drop of alcohol before in his life, and now he had had several drinks too many, thanks to Duo's urging. His first hangover was going to be a nasty one. "Are you feeling all right?" the taller boy asked gently. Quatre looked like he was feeling just fine, but Trowa couldn't help but worry, even though he was almost melted by the uninhibited sweetness of that smile.
"Of course Trowa!" He threw his arms around the taller boy, nearly knocking them both over. "I love you! And I love Duo and I love Heero..." He went on like this for a few minutes, naming quite possibly everyone he'd ever met "...and I love the nice lady who does our laundry..."
Trowa sighed softly, and gave the sweet-scented mop of blond hair a kiss before gently trying to prise the glass out of Quatre's grip. "Quatre, how much have you had to drink tonight? What did Duo give you?"
"Oh, some very nice pink stuff in the bowl. I only had some little, really." He blinked at his lover, the perfect picture of innocence.
Trowa regarded him from behind his auburn-brown bangs. "How much is "a little", Quatre? How many glasses?" He hated to push his bewildered lover like this, when he was so obviously feeling euphoric, but that wouldn't last too long and Trowa needed to know. "Can you tell me how many glasses, Quatre?"
The smaller one furrowed his brow, obviously in deep concentration. "One glass, but I put more in it when in was empty."
Trowa sighed. [Crap.] Quatre had completely lost count of how much he'd had. "All right, Quatre. It's been a very nice party, but do you want to go home now?" he asked in as persuasive a tone as he could muster. "We can go home and lie down. I think that would be a good idea if you lay down."
"I don't wanna lay down! I wanna dance!" So saying, he wrapped his arms around his lover's waist, swaying clumsily.
Stumbling back under the unexpected movement, Trowa struggled to keep them both balanced. The Arabian could barely keep his feet, but was apparently determined to dance. Sighing softly, he gave in and supported Quatre's tiny frame, holding him tightly and rocking gently from side to side in vague time with the music, hoping to appease his beloved.
Suddenly, the blond giggled and attempted to spin himself, with the results of pushing Trowa into Heero, and ending up on the floor, staring at the ceiling. "Oww..." He said faintly before giggling again.
"Sorry, Heero," Trowa apologised quickly while checking that Quatre wasn't injured. Judging by his laughter, he didn't seem to be. Heero and Trowa stared at Quatre for a moment, skin flushed and giggling helplessly on the floor, then looked at each other, the same thought in their minds. "Home." Heero stated.
"Home." Trowa confirmed.
Quatre attempted to drag himself up off the ground. "What? Home? I don't wanna go home! I'm having fun!"
Catching the unsteady boy in his arms, Trowa knelt down on the ground, feeling helpless. Soon Quatre was going to go from feeling very, very good to very, very bad and if he didn't get him home by then... In desperation, he bent his head so that his mouth was next to Quatre's ear, and whispered, "But love... I want to go home. I really, *really* want to take you home." Holding his breath, he waited to see what Quatre would make of that, whether he would respond positively to the suggestion or not.
A little gleam was in the smaller boy's eyes. "Ohh, really? You can't wait to take me to bed?" He giggled, grabbing Trowa's face and kissing him sloppily.
A few of the people in the tipsy crowd that had gathered around the fallen boy tittered drunkenly at both the words that had been spoken with complete lack of consideration for who might be listening, and the clumsy, unashamedly passion-filled kiss. Trowa flushed a little at the laughter -- mainly for Quatre's sake, not his own -- and quickly whispered, "Yes, that's right, Quatre. That's exactly it. Now please, come home with me?"
"Okay, Trowa!" He snaked his arms around the brunette's neck. "Carry me," he demanded, batting his eyes.
"I will, I will," Trowa soothed his intoxicated, overexcited lover. As he lifted Quatre easily in his arms, to the accompaniment of cheers, wolf-whistles and more laughter from the people around them, the taller boy hoped desperately that Quatre would not remember any this in the morning. [He'll be so embarrassed. And it's not his fault he didn't know his limits.]
"Can I drive?" He asked eagerly as Trowa carried him to the car, shutting his eyes as the ground seemed to tilt.
"No! I mean, no, love," Trowa amended, quickly softening his tone from the alarmed outburst. "I'll drive this time. You can drive next time, when you carry me. All right?" [Maybe fuzzy logic will work in his fuzzy mind... I hope so!] The mere thought of Quatre driving in his condition made him shudder a little as he bundled Quatre into the passenger seat and started buckling the belt.
The Arabian giggled and kissed Trowa's ear before his lover walked around the car to the driver's side, then began fiddling with both the heat and radio dials.
"Leave those alone," Trowa scolded lovingly, gently moving the pale hands from the dials. "You could break them, doing that. Find something else to play with." If Trowa had been thinking about anything other than getting home as quickly as possible, he would probably have thought better of that last sentence.
"Okay!" Before the European could react, a hand had slipped onto his thigh, working its way up to the zipper of Trowa's khaki pants and pulling it down.
With a yelp, Trowa forced himself to keep his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road. "Quatre! No-not while I'm driving! Wait till we get home!"
"But you said I had to find something else to play with," came the bemused reply, slender digits working their way into the slit of the driver's boxers.
"Yes, but I didn't mean -- look Quatre, don't..." With a relieved gasp, Trowa pulled into the driveway of their house. Firmly removing the questing hand from his pants, he zipped them back up and tried to look stern before giving up at the look on Quatre's face. "Come on, love. Let's get you into bed."
"You're no fun," he pouted, staggering and falling against Trowa's side.
With a mixture of soft, coaxing words and a steadying grip, Trowa managed to half-carry Quatre into the house, past the gaze of a surprised Rashid, and up the stairs. Halfway up the stairs, Quatre began to giggle again -- he was definitely a happy drunk. Lurching upwards unsteadily, he planted a series of sloppy kisses on Trowa's neck, giggling all the while.
"What are you laughing at, my Quatre?" Trowa asked him, softly serious.
"Everything's so pretty!" He breathed, stumbling to a stop and forcing Trowa to halt as well. "C'mon, let's have sex-right here!" He leaned against the taller boy, pinning him to the wall of the stairwell and kissing his mouth.
"Quat-mmph!" Trowa raised his eyebrows in surprise at the sudden move on Quatre's part. He could taste the sweet liquor in Quatre's mouth as the Arabian took a distinctly hungry approach, if not exactly subtle. "Quatre," he gasped, pulling away. "We can't make love here, Quatre!"
"Why not?" He purred, reaching up to run his hands over his lover's chest, teasing his nipples lightly.
Grasping for a workable excuse, Trowa finally whispered urgently, "Rashid's just downstairs, Quatre! We can't make love on the stairs -- what if Rashid wants to come upstairs?"
"He can step over us," Quatre replied as though it were perfectly logical, hands straying towards the fly of his lover's pants once again.
"Mmmph! Quatre!" After a few more ignored protests, Trowa finally, in desperation, swept Quatre off his feet and into his arms, cradling him as Quatre's arms stayed around his neck, Moving quickly, he started taking the stairs two by two. [I have to get Quatre into the bedroom before he embarrasses himself in front of someone. I had no idea alcohol would have this effect on him... I'm never, EVER letting him drink in public again!]
"You don't have to carry me, Trowa. I can walk," he slurred, squirming slightly in his lover's arms.
[I don't think so, love.] "Don't you like me carrying you, Quatre?" he asked, feigning a little bit of sadness. [Anything to distract him... almost there...]
" 'Course I do! I just wanna walk." The blond pouted lightly, not noticing where he was heading.
"Why? Why walk when you can be carried in my arms? I like feeling you in my arms, Quatre. I like feeling you close to me..." Finally reaching the bedroom, Trowa fumbled as discreetly as he could with the door handle while still balancing the squirming blond -- not an easy task.
Lazily, the Arabian's hand fell on his lover's, helping him turn the knob, giggling when Trowa blinked in surprise.
Trowa stared at Quatre for a moment, before quickly bringing him inside and closing the door. Once in the room, he gently laid Quatre down on the bed and divested him of his shoes before stroking the flushed, slightly sweaty forehead and bangs tenderly.
"Trowa," he murmured with a smile, covering the long-fingered hand on his face with his own. "I wanna make love, here."
The tall boy stared at him, still slightly worried. "Are you sure, Quatre? You're still feeling all right?" [His inhibitions are gone, his hormones are out of control, I can't take advantage of him in this state!] Then his rational side took over. [Look at him. With the amount he's had to drink, he'll probably fall fast asleep in a minute. It shouldn't hurt to go along with what he wants until he does. There can't be anything wrong with doing that.]
"I'm fine, Trowa." He gripped the hand under his and used it to pull the European downward, kissing him. Allowing his eyes to flutter closed, Trowa let his blond lover pull him into the kiss, tasting of pina coladas and other sweet drinks. [At least this is one thing he won't regret in the morning. Mmm... so sweet, my Quatre.]
The smaller boy wrapped his arms around Trowa's neck and pulled him close. Even in his blurry state of mind, his need and love of the taller boy was clear to him.
Moaning slightly into the kiss as Quatre deepened it, the brunette could only think [How did I manage to win his love? How could someone like him love a nameless creature?]
Unsteadily, the blond rolled his lover over so he was on top, slightly sprawled. " 'love you," he muttered between kisses.
"I love you too," Trowa whispered as he stroked the fine blond hair and looked into the glazed, beautiful eyes above his own. [Quatre... I do love you...] Gently, he allowed Quatre to take the lead, to do as he liked, encouraging the blond boy with soft murmurs and delicate touches to relax.
"Trowa, 'm a little drunk," Quatre whispered as though it were a big secret, running a hand slowly up the European's side.
"I know, love. I know. It's all right." Trowa dropped a light kiss on Quatre's flushed cheek. "Just relax." Bringing his arms up, he began to massage the petite Arabian's shoulders as gently as he could, rubbing his back through the soft shirt.
"Mm, feels good," the blond murmured, his eyes slipping half-mast. Sighing in contentment, he nuzzled against his lover's neck, soft hair tickling the underside of his chin.
Wrapping his arms carefully around his precious lover's frame, Trowa whispered loving, soothing words, quietly telling Quatre what only the blond ever heard him say, the tone of voice only Quatre was ever privileged enough to hear. He felt Quatre relax in his arms, and let a little of his own tension dissipate, thinking that now Quatre was drifting off, would hopefully sleep through the worst of the hangover. He wasn't prepared for what the Arabian did next.
The clumsily stroking hand slid over his thigh, slipping between his legs and squeezing lightly. "Trowa," he whispered "I want you."
Trowa started in surprise. "Wha... Quatre...?" He'd thought his lover was drifting off to sleep. [The party, the stairs, here...] "Quatre..." Stroking his hands over the pliant form lying above him, the taller boy squirmed a little as Quatre's unsteady ministrations began to affect him.
"Please, Trowa," he whispered, breath warm against his lover's skin, "want you so bad..." His uneven stroking and squeezing became a little firmer, a little more insistent.
"Quatre," Trowa whispered softly, "you're drunk, love, I can't... don't ask me to do something you might regret tomorrow. Don't ask me to do something *I* could regret. Please." Reaching, he tried without success to capture Quatre's dancing hands.
"I won't regret it," he replied softly, too-cloudy eyes pleading. "Trowa..."
Closing his eyes, Trowa bit his lip. What should he do? Surely Quatre wouldn't regret this... but was it right or fair to let Quatre's drunkenness rule his decisions while he himself was still sober? After a few moments, the European made his decision.
"All right, Quatre." With a gentle kiss, Trowa lay back to allow his lover to do as he liked.
Sighing happily, the Arabian pushed Trowa's shirt up his chest, struggling when it wouldn't come off. Giving up, he stroked his hands over the flat stomach, up to the pert nipples, which he pinched lightly. With a slightly fascinated look, he began toying with the nubs, rubbing and pinching them to see just how hard they could get.
Trowa gasped softly as Quatre played with his nipples, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt them tighten and harden to a level of painful pleasure. Reaching up, he began to gently strip Quatre of his clothing, undoing the buttons on his slightly sweaty shirt.
The blond smiled and shrugged out of the shirt, lowering his head and nuzzling along his torso slowly. Once he came to the waistband of the khakis, his teeth closed on the zipper, drawing it down.
"Uhn..." A soft moaning sound slipped from Trowa's lips. "Quatre, love..." [I love you, I don't say it often enough, but I love you so... please forgive my worrying for you...] "Quatre, love... please be sure. If you want to stop, just say so..."
"Shh." Looking up, he bumped a finger against the brunette's lips and smiled. His eyes shifted downwards as he worked his love's pants down to midthigh, gentle, if a bit clumsy, fingers touching Trowa's erection.
"Ah!" Trowa's head tipped back as those hands, normally so sure and smooth, danced experimentally over him as if they had never touched him so intimately there before, yet with a strange kind of confidence in what he was doing. An intoxicating, odd mixture that Trowa could not help but savour.
Quatre had a faintly satisfied look on his face as he saw the look of tortured pleasure on the European's face. Eyes shifting to the hardness under his hand, he saw a shining drop of liquid on its head. Leaning down, he swiped it up with his tongue, savouring the salty taste.
"Q-Quatre..." [It's strange. He's drunk, and I'm sober, but I'm the one who can't talk straight. Or control himself. How odd...] "Ohhhh..." A groan slipped out as he felt that soft, familiar, loving tongue swipe at the aching heat that tormented him so sweetly. Quatre's eyes lit up, as though struck with a brilliant idea, and he ran his tongue over Trowa's length, caressing and tasting as though it were a candy stick.
The response was a low cry and a movement of the hips that Trowa tried desperately to control, even as his hands snaked down to bury themselves in that sweet-smelling blond hair. Giggling slightly, the blue-eyed boy took the tip into his mouth, gently sucking and nibbling on the heated flesh. There was pure joy in his eyes as Trowa writhed under him, and he hazily decided that giving his lover pleasure gave him pleasure as well.
"Mmmn... Quatre..." However quiet Trowa may have been outside their room, he was surprisingly vocal in bed, a fact Quatre had discovered much to his delight. Not loud screams and howls, but low, sexy growls, purrs and moans that sounded beautiful in their passion.
Quatre listened to the erotic noises his lover made, guessing by those sounds how far gone Trowa was. He added a few more licks and... backed off. When the brunette cried out in protest, he whispered "I want you to make love to me now," while removing his pants.
Trowa gasped, watching Quatre fumble with his pants. Reaching up with shaky hands, he helped Quatre with the bothersome clothes, then reached into the drawer for the lube, caught between desire so strong it was dizzying and a fear of hurting his beloved that still lingered. Kissing his beloved down onto the mattress, he caressed the smaller boy, needing to feel his body, his warm skin.
Moaning, Quatre writhed against his lover, pressing their mouths together in a heated kiss. More than once his dance of pleasure shifted his body away from Trowa's hands that sought to prepare him, almost as though teasing him. A little frustrated now, Trowa finally pinned his laughing lover to the bed with a hand held firmly on his hip, while the other slipped tenderly to the entrance to his body, tickling and teasing before finally easing one finger inside.
"Ohh." Quatre wasn't laughing now; his eyes had shut and his head rocked back, moaning softly at the intimate touching. Trowa bit his lips softly at the sight of his lover this way, and slid another finger into him, softly probing and questing for that special spot inside that would send sparks down his Quatre's spine... And was rewarded with his smaller lover arching off the mattress, making a sound that was almost mewing in his throat. "Trowa," he purred breathlessly, moving against his hand.
Trowa carefully added a third finger, even though at this point Quatre was so aroused and so relaxed by the alcohol that he probably didn't need that much stretching for preparation. He refused to take the chance with his precious one. Smiling, he gently brushed his fingers over that small spot inside, over and over, revelling in the sight of Quatre's passion, the sounds Quatre made, and was unaware that he was groaning himself, whispering his love over and over.
"Trowa, please," the blond said, nearly begging "please, I want you, I can't wait any more." The rather frantic movements of his hips punctuated his words, thrusting up as though there was an invisible lover above him. A moaning purr sounded in Trowa's throat at those words, and he gently manoeuvred himself into position, taking hold of Quatre's hips. Carefully, watching his lover for any sign of discomfort, he slowly began to push into that lovely tight heat.
The Arabian's loud, short pants turned into soft sounds of pleasure as he was filled by the taller boy, his fingers curling into the sheets. "Love you, Trowa," he panted softly.
"I love you too, Quatre." Small words. A universe of meaning behind them. Holding him tenderly, the taller boy began gently thrusting into his blond lover, kissing him, murmuring loving sentences over and over, occasionally moaning or purring in pure pleasure as he saw Quatre groan and writhe beneath him in an erotic, uninhibited dance. The blond was arching up in time with his lover's thrusting, making a similar purring noise, though he sounded like a kitten compared to his lover's lion-like buzz of pleasure.
Breathing heavily, Trowa reached between them with one hand and began caressing Quatre in time with his strokes. "Love you," he panted. "Love you, love you, love you..." He felt like his world was burning down, but he had to stay focussed, place Quatre's pleasure first. In his drunken state, the angelic boy couldn't control himself or his reactions, and soon succumbed to a shuddering orgasm, crying out Trowa's name. That was all the taller boy needed for his universe to explode in fiery pleasure, and he cried out before collapsing next to his love, shakily pulling out and holding him tight.
"Trowa," Quatre murmured. He smiled and leaned in for a kiss, but before their lips met his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out.
"Quatre?" After checking him over worriedly, and realising that it was simply a case of exhaustion and heavy drinking catching up with his lover, Trowa sighed in affectionate exasperation before slipping quietly into the ensuite bathroom to find a washcloth and a towel. Soaking the washcloth in warm water, he cleaned Quatre, himself, and the wet spot as best he could before curling up beside his faintly snoring lover and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Sleep well, Quatre," he whispered.
********************
The next morning, Quatre was sitting at the kitchen table, holding his head and groaning. Rashid had made a cup of tea for him, but he couldn't bring himself to put anything else inside his body after spending his waking moments worshiping the porcelain bowl. "Keep the lights off," he moaned as Trowa entered the room.
Trowa repressed a chuckle, knowing his life could well depend on it. Quatre hungover was almost as cute as Quatre drunk, but he was miserable, which took much of the fun out of it for the brunette. "The lights are off, Quatre," he said quietly, modulating his voice to a muted whisper in deference to Quatre's pain as he came up behind him and began to massage his shoulders gently.
"Trowa," he muttered, slumping over the table, "if I ever drink again, please kill me." He closed his eyes, wincing as someone slammed a door down the hall.
"What possessed you to drink so much, anyway? I thought you didn't like alcohol." Trowa knew perfectly well that it had been Duo's urging, but he wanted to hear his lover say it. Partially because he wanted to know how much Quatre remembered from the night before -- he'd be so embarrassed if he did remember his behaviour, but if he didn't remember no doubt there would be so many questions...
"Duo talked me into it," Quatre replied quietly, "and it tasted really good, like fruit punch."
Sighing affectionately, Trowa said, "I know it tasted good, Duo would have given you sweet drinks to persuade you to have them, right?" At Quatre's wordless nod, he continued, "But you really have to know your limits, Quatre. Drinking is okay, but drinking too much is dangerous. You can easily hurt yourself or embarrass yourself if you're drunk."
"I don't really remember what happened last night," Quatre confessed. "Did I do anything embarrassing?" He turned his head slightly to look at Trowa's face.
Trowa hesitated slightly. "Well... you're a very happy drunk, love. That's a good thing, really -- I don't know what I would have done if you'd been an angry drunk or a violent drunk. Though really I can't imagine you being either of those." [He's not going to be distracted by my changing the subject, but it can't hurt to try...]
"But, what did I do?" Quatre persisted. "Did I do anything stupid?"
Deciding that it was better that Quatre find out what happened from him than from friendly teasing that would exaggerate his behaviour too much, Trowa said gently, "Not really, Quatre. When I found you, you were leaning against the wall already drunk, and I made sure you didn't have anything else to drink. I tried to get you home, but you wanted to dance, and you ended up falling over and when I suggested taking you home again, you decided I couldn't wait to get you into bed." Trowa blushed a little at the memory. "A few people thought it was quite funny, but don't worry, they were drunk themselves, they won't remember it either." [I hope.] "Anyway, you made me carry you to the car, wanted to drive, tried to get into my pants when I was driving, wanted to have sex on the way up the stairs, and when I carried you into our room we made love because you, um, insisted, then you fell asleep, and you woke up this morning feeling like you do now."
Quatre was blushing darkly. "I-I forced you?" He asked meekly. "I... raped you?" He looked horribly upset.
Realising his error, Trowa said quickly, "No, no, sweetheart. Not at all. It was the other way round, in fact. Feel your ass, love." Holding his lover in a loose embrace, he whispered, "You didn't force me to do anything. You were just a bit... uninhibited, and you startled me. Okay?" After a moment's pondering, he said, "I do have to say, though, that you're not just a happy drunk, you're a horny drunk as well. You were very insistent on what you wanted. I hope I didn't hurt you."
If Quatre was red before, he was positively scarlet now. "Horny drunk? Oh, I s-see." He looked like he wanted to sink through the floorboards.
Trowa couldn't help but smile a bit. "It's not so bad, really. You're not alone -- everyone's an idiot when they've had too much to drink, Quatre. In fact, the whole reason I didn't drink at the party wasn't so that I could chaperone you home -- until I couldn't find you and questioned Duo I had no idea you would even touch any. It was because, well... I don't hold my alcohol much better than you do. And you're not the only one who's a horny drunk. I was afraid of making... uh... quite a show and embarrassing you. And there's no way you could have controlled me, or persuaded me to go home until I was ready." By now Trowa's cheeks were as red as Quatre's were.
He looked up a little. "R-really?" He asked timidly, wondering if Trowa was just humouring him.
The taller boy nodded, looking at him. "Really. Ask Catherine what happened that time the circus had a party to celebrate a good season. According to her, after about seven shots of tequila I told everyone that I didn't wear any underwear, then proceeded to prove it. And apparently that was one of the milder things I did. After that night, everyone locked up the alcohol far away from me."
Quatre covered his mouth with his hand, trying to smother a giggle at the thought of a drunk Trowa. "Oh," was all he could say.
Trowa shook his head in remembered embarrassment. "I can vaguely remember someone commenting on my circumcision status... that's about it. Trust me, my first experience with alcohol was a lot worse than yours. And I wouldn't have cared if you'd danced naked on the tables. I would have still taken you home and loved you with all my heart." Giving Quatre a gentle kiss on the cheek, he mused, "Now, how to get revenge on a certain man with a braid...?"
Quatre had a vicious little glint in his eye. "Gladly," he almost-growled.
Trowa smiled. "And from now on, considering we're both horny drunks, let's keep the drinking to the bedroom, shall we?" he teased softly.
Quatre blushed again. "That's not funny."
"It wasn't meant to be a joke." A distinct playful gleam in his eye told Quatre that indeed he was not. "The only place either of us ever has more than one drink again is inside that bedroom. Now, I do believe Duo has an antipathy for opera singers, and he's bound to have a hangover that matches yours..."
**OWARI**
Tequila - The Sequel To Pina Colada
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