Site hosted by Build your free website today!


Miss Kitty


Quatre sighed, it was the third or fourth time he'd done so, he'd been in
six different Social Studies classes this year, and he couldn't see why every
single one of the teachers had the same monotone voice. Dutifully, he took
his notes, though he and his tutors had gone over the French Revolution ages
ago, he figured the horrors of extremism was probably an important lesson for
him to learn... even if it was twice.

    Besides, there wasn't much else to distract him. Their classroom was an
old lecture hall, built in a semi-circle to draw focus inevitably to the
front of the room, and tiered so that even the back of someone's head to
stare at was denied him. There were no windows, no decoration, nothing but
the blackboard and the teacher. The only plus was the old construction.
Rather than individual desks, each student sat with a partner at a larger
desk than they were accustomed to, and the drop to the next row meant that
the back of the desk in front of them, blocked any view of their legs.

    As the teacher droned on about the kind of atmosphere present in
pre-revolutionary France, Quatre lost all will to write, but there was one
distraction he'd missed. Trowa shared this class, his lover sat beside him,
still taking notes as he'd noted the lack of anything else to do, too. Quatre
kept his eyes on the front of the class, as he carefully moved one leg over
to touch knees with Trowa. The other boy paused, his eyes sliding briefly to
Quatre and then back to his paper. Quatre sighed, Trowa was a loving partner
but sometimes he just didn't get it. Rather than try to explain the concept
of footsie in a note, he decided to try something else.

    Giving up on taking notes, he put his pencil down, and put his hand under
the desk. Discreetly he tugged Trowa's left hand down with him, lacing their
fingers together. This pleased him for a time, and he devoted his full
attention on their joined palms. Idly, he rubbed his thumb over the back of
Trowa's hand, tracing the tendons, and smooth skin. He periodically laced and
unlaced their fingers, and reveled in the occasional squeeze Trowa sent his
way. Eventually, his fascination faded, and his palm got sweaty, he broke the
contact, and started to wipe his hand on his pant leg when he got a much
better idea.

    Biting his lip to quell a laugh, he put his hand on Trowa's knee, slowly
sliding upwards, snickering softly when Trowa dropped his pencil. A look of
gentle warning past between them, and Quatre removed his hand... for a time.
Avoiding eye contact, he started to drag his fingers up and down Trowa's
inner thigh. At first Trowa resisted, shifting, subtly pushing the wandering
hand away, but his own body got the best of his sensibilities and he sat back
against his chair, legs falling open.

    Quatre glanced around the room, those who weren't asleep were still
taking notes, and no one seemed to be casting any curious glances their way.
He felt safe enough to scoot closer, keeping a presentable distance, but
getting close enough to whisper into Trowa's ear. "Do you think they'd stop
us if I just decided to bang you right *now?*" he whispered.

    Trowa finally turned his head, "Quatre, you shouldn't-" his words hitched
in the back of his throat as Quatre slid his hand up again, only this time he
didn't stop until he reached the growing bulge in Trowa's pants. He smiled
angelically at Trowa's subtly stunned expression as he traced one finger,
then two over it. When he coved Trowa's groin with his entire hand he spoke
again, "I wish I could just throw you down and..." he trailed off, not
trusting himself to keep his voice down if he continued. Instead, he began
slowly massaging, wondering just how far he'd get before something stopped

    "... Mr. White?"

    Quatre gasped when he remembered that was his assumed name, this mission.
Whipping his attention back to the teacher, he quickly stilled his hand.
"Anou..." he said, trying not to sound flustered. "Could you say that again,

    The teacher sighed, and asked again, "What heading are we under, Mr.

    Quatre's mind was so fogged with other things, he couldn't begin to
decipher the question, "Heading?" he asked meekly.

    "Yes, the new heading to the new page of notes?" he asked, crossing his

    "Ah,... eto..." Quatre's mind was thinking semi-logically, and he came up
with a reasonable answer, or so he thought. "Causes of the French

    The teacher rolled his eyes, "We've moved on from that, Mr. White, and
are now on the *effects* of the Revolution. Please try to keep up."

    "Hai, sensei."

    "Sensei?" Quatre looked over to Trowa in surprise, for a minute terrified
of what was going to be said next. "May I be excused briefly?

    "What for?"

    "Bathroom, sensei."

    The teacher sighed, "Hai, hai, go on, but take the hallpass."

    Trowa stood, discreetly readjusted himself and headed to the front of the
class leaving Quatre about to cry in frustration. //I'm hard to you know!//
he thought sullenly. "Sensei, I'm having trouble staying up, could I get a
drink of water to wake me up."

    The teacher looked as though he might refuse, then shrugged. "Very well,
but there's only one pass..." he began.

    "We could go together, it wouldn't take very long." Quatre offered, with
his every thought he willed the teacher to agree.

    "Yes, fine, Mr. White, but do hurry, and stop stalling the class."

    Quatre would have been embarrassed by such a condescending tone, but he
was far too pleased with his good fortune to notice. He quickly caught up
with Trowa who was trying to put some distance between them. Once the door
closed Quatre caught Trowa's arm.

    "Why are you running away, koi?" he asked, pretending to be hurt, but
still walking quickly towards the bathroom.

    "Anou, Quatre," Trowa sighed, "School isn't the best place for something
like that."

    "Exactly," Quatre replied flashing a mischievous smile. He pushed open
the door, and tugged Trowa in after him. He let go briefly, glancing at the
sinks, and then under the stalls to make sure there was no one with them. As
luck would have it, they were completely alone.

    "Ne, Quatre, I *could* wait," Trowa tried again to convince his lover it
was a bad idea as he was pulled into the far stall with Quatre.

    "Well, I couldn't," Quatre insisted. He crowded Trowa against the door,
and claimed a kiss before another protest could be made. Trowa stiffened, and
Quatre began to wonder just how deeply Trowa was against this. As soon as he
parted the reluctant lips, there was a soft sigh of defeat. He rubbed small
circles over Trowa's chest, rumpling his shirt, and moving ever downwards.
Their lips clung together, not even parting to take a breath, rather they
panted into each other's mouths. They were quickly overcome with the urgency
of the moment, both of time, space, and their own desire.

    Quatre thought about giving Trowa a hicky, if only to incite a little
scandal about who was going with the quiet new kid. He thought better of it
though; there was no guarantee that nobody suspected they weren't adverse to,
well, doing what they were now. He gave a few parting thrusts of his tongue,
and then broke the kiss. Trowa's green eyes met him evenly, his serious
spirited lover was never one to completely lose himself in the moment, unless
given a good enough reason.

    He decided it was time to give him that reason, going down on one, and
reaching up to undo Trowa's belt. He licked his lips unconsciously, and
pulled down the zipper with his teeth.

    "We could really get caught this time," Trowa said breathlessly,
shivering as Quatre nuzzled and blew upon the rise in his boxers playfully.
He fell back, palms flat against the door, leaning almost his full weight
against them.

    "You always say that," Quatre teased, as he pulled Trowa's boxers down,
fingers briefly clenching his buttocks. He heard Trowa take another breath to
say something more, but as he fitted his mouth around Trowa's erection, and
plunged down the same breath was simply rushed out as a pant.

    Quatre fell into a familiar rhythm, wishing he could do more just to hear
Trowa make the noises he loved. It didn't matter what was said, his name,
vague unconnected phrases, just so long as he could hear that so rarely
inflected voice dripping with desire, with pleasure he was inflicting.
Working quickly, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small,
non-descript tube. He lubed his fingers with two thick beads of what he
squeezed out, and moved his hand around to the familiar tight opening of his
lover. Trowa did his part to dispel any further doubts of his compliance,
scooting his legs apart, and leaning back until only his shoulders were
against the door.

    Quatre slipped in one finger, letting Trowa adjust before quickly
thrusting in another finger. He sped his strokes to Trowa's length, hearing
his hot, stifled pants keep time with them. He pushed in a third finger,
wishing he could take more time, when he heard Trowa grunt under his breath.
Another noise reached his ears, the unmistakable sound of a door closing.
Quatre blinked, pulling his mouth away and listening intently his whole body
tightening. The moment dragged on forever, but there wasn't another sound.

    "Someone... *left?*" Trowa whispered.

    Quatre was silent a moment longer, considering risks of staying, and the
drawbacks of leaving now. "I suppose we'll have to work quickly then," he
said finally. He resumed his careful stretching, and Trowa's eyes widened
visibly, while Quatre's other hand undid his own trousers.

    "Quatre, you can't be-" his words were cut off by a gasp as he was lifted
by his thighs. Automatically, his hands went up to catch the top of the stall
door, supporting himself enough to rest softly against Quatre's hips.

    "Perfect," Quatre murmured, briefly moving one hand to guide himself to
Trowa's heat. He buried himself partway, and then went back to support Trowa
with both arms, thrusting in as deeply as he could.

    Trowa lost the war to remain quiet, uttering soft cries with each of
thrusts. It didn't seem to matter if they got caught now. All their focus was
on the completion of the moment, the fulfillment of desire. Quatre let his
grip on Trowa slip, jackknifing the taller boy's body a bit more and letting
him drive in at just the right angle to hit Trowa's most sensitive spot.
Trowa's head snapped back, lolling against the door that rattled with their

    "Help me out... just a little," Quatre panted, and hefting Trowa's weight
a little.

    Trowa obliged him, tightening his grip on the door, and pulling himself
up enough to let Quatre move one hand again, this time to stroke Trowa's
erection in the same rhythm as his thrusts, speeding up both. Trowa's whole
body tensed, the intensity of time, place, and sensation quickly overwhelming
him. He a final shuddering gasp, he came, the hot, sticky seed quickly caught
by Quatre's hand.

    Trowa's body became so tight that Quatre lasted only a few more strokes.
He bit his lip to keep from proclaiming the pleasure that hit him so hard his
knees almost buckled. He waited until they had both recovered before letting
Trowa down again. The taller boy wobbled slightly, but Quatre caught him
around the neck, supporting him as they kissed a few more tender times before
admitting the necessity to clean up and get back to class.

    "This is a bad hobby of yours," Trowa chided softly as they left the
bathroom, more than just a little late.

    Quatre smirked, "You seem to enjoy it, all things considered." He leered
at his lover suggestively and finally noticed how stiffly Trowa was walking.
"Oh," he breathed, "Gomen, Totorowa{1} I'll be more careful about that next
time." He lifted himself onto his toes to plant a kiss on Trowa's cheek
before they entered class. Quatre schooled his features, and smirked when he
Trowa straighten his rumpled dress shirt.

    He pushed open the door, and stepped inside, immediately confronted with
his teachers figure looming over them. "Just where have you been?" he
demanded. "I sent a student after you and all he could say was that you were

    Quatre's mouth hung open for a minute, then he swallowed hard for sure
they had been caught this time. His mind scrambled for a decent explanation,
he didn't think he'd ever find an excuse when suddenly everything snapped
into place. "We had to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall," he said

    The teacher blinked, "Why?" he asked warily.

    Quatre blushed, and leaned a little closer. "Well... I don't how polite
this is, but there are two people doing some *highly* inappropriate things in
the one at this end."

    This time it was the teacher's mouth that dropped, "You're... you're

    Quatre nodded, looking quite shocked, but also vaguely pleased with
himself. "Can you imagine the sort of hentais that must go to this school for
*that* to be taking place?" He moved past the teacher, Trowa following as
quickly as he could, to sit back at their seat.

    The teacher scratched his head, then sighed heavily, "Well, never mind
that, let's get back to the lecture."

    Quatre and Trowa sat in silence for a long moment, both breathing small
sighs of relief. "That was close," Trowa whispered.

    "Wasn't it though?" Quatre said, a bright smile forming on his features.

    "You really are a hentai," Trowa teased.

    "It's why you love me, ne?" Quatre whispered back.

    Trowa considered that for a moment, "It's as good a reason as any."
{1} As before, whoever understood that gets a cookie. ^_~

Return to Reiko-chan's Dirty Books