Excuse Me, Trowa

Author: Reverand Maynard
Warnings: R (for language and inuendo); yaoi themes
Disclaimer: I have no legal rights, only stock in perversion.
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“Call now and get a free . . .”
-click-
“. . . we have just three of these beautiful amethyst. . .”
-click-
“and now back to Toonami’s Midnight Run . . .”
-click-

Trowa Barton flipped thought the channels, utterly disinterested. He muted the volume and continued to flip, somehow it was more interesting that way.

He had been lying there for an hour now, trying to see just how brain-dead one had to be before watching re-runs of Jerry Springer. He couldn’t sleep. Insomnia was not something that hit him often but when it did, it hit hard.

He was sprawled, bare chested, across the lush sofa, one long leg sweeping the floor, the other thrown over the arm of the couch, bent at the knee, when his eyelids began to grow heavy. The channel surfing slowed and at length, long fingers relaxed, dropping the remote control onto the floor. This was why he had started watching T.V. It always put him to sleep. His mind began to drift into unconsciousness and the world grew dark around him.

So he didn’t even see it coming.

Duo Maxwell, armed with a glass of milk and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, jumped over the back of the sofa to plop down in its comfort and enjoy his snack and the late, late show. Instead he plopped square onto a sleeping Trowa.

“Ohughhhh!” came Trowa’s pained cry at having a bouncing bundle of Duo land on his stomach. His legs drew up reflexively toward his belly and Duo jumped up hurriedly, spilling milk over them both.

“Wow. Sorry Trowa, didn’t see ya there.” He grinned through every word and his voice dripped with merriment.

Trowa was holding his stomach, waiting for the pain to subside.

“Geez, Trowa, how bad did I hurt ya?” The laughter was gone from his voice but Trowa still sensed mirth there, something wicked.

Duo knelt beside the couch, now eye-level with the taller pilot.

“I’m fine Duo,” Trowa managed, breath somewhat wheezy, “just watch out next time.”

“Sorry, Trow. You know,” Duo paused and looked down at Trowa’s state, taking in his bare chest, “it must be kinda yucky being all wet like that” he regarded the milk he had spilled. “And it was my fault,” the wickedness was growing in his voice and a smile spread across his face. “Why don’t you let me help.” Duo finished and before Trowa realized his intentions, Duo leaned forward, and began lapping the milk surrounding Trowa’s nipple.

Despite his recent abuse, Trowa jumped up like a frightened kitten, standing now on the cushions of the couch.

“What the . . . ?” his voice was almost hysterical, not at all his usual stoic self. “What do you think you’re doing?” His hands went protectively up to his chests rubbing at the spot where Duo’s tongue had recently been, a schoolgirl response. Duo found it absolutely adorable.

“Just helpin’ a friend in need, Trow. You know, you’re wound a little tight, you should loosen up.” Duo began to stand, but Trowa wasn’t waiting around, he jumped over the back of the couch, a wild look on his face as if the devil himself were after him.

“You stay over there!” he shrieked, pointing his finger at the braided pilot so as to make his point clear.

Duo sighed and picked up his PB&J sandwich not minding that it had been squashed in Trowa’s escape. He took a bite.

“Whatebber you sday man, I god uthher sduff to do anybay!” With that, he spun around and flopped on the couch, turning the sound to blaring and losing himself in the mind-numbing glow.

Trowa stood, bewildered. What the hell was that?, he thought to himself, did Duo have a thing for him? Of course, this was *Duo* he was talking about. The braided maniac had the self control of a rabid wolf and the libido of a pack of them.

Trowa decided not to dwell on the subject too much. Duo was right about one thing, it was yucky being covered in milk, perhaps a shower would clear his mind, help him sleep.

He headed up the stairs throwing a glance in Duo’s direction now and then, making sure the boy was staying put. He reached the bathroom safely and began stripping his sticky shorts. He turned on the water, not too hot, not too cold, and stepped inside. The water beat on his scalp and shoulders, massaging Trowa’s worries away and he found himself groggy once again, closing his eyes under the blissful shower. That is, until a wandering hand began slowly stroking his inner thigh.

Trowa’s eyes snapped open wide and he slid to the back of the shower almost slipping on the tub’s slick bottom.

“Duo! What is your problem?” He demanded shrilly and cupped his manhood in both his hands so as to hide them from prying eyes. It was not Duo.

A raven-haired head popped through the curtain. Chang Wufei eyed the naked pilot with undisguised lust and Trowa shuddered as the same wickedness from Duo’s voice was mirrored in the Chinese boys eyes.

“Oh, excuse me, Trowa. I didn’t know you were showering.” Despite his apology, he didn’t avert his eyes.

“What did you think I was doing, Wufei? Relaying the tile?” Trowa was outraged at the boy’s forced entry but couldn’t help blushing under his scrutiny. “And why in the hell were you copping a feel?”

“I was just looking for the shampoo, Duo asked me to help him wash his hair.” Wufei feigned innocence, giving Trowa his best puppy eyes.

“This,” Trowa gestured at his groin “is not a shampoo bottle. Now would you leave and let me finish my shower?”

Wufei stared.

“Now!?!”

The Chinese boy’s head finally disappeared behind the curtain, and Trowa, gave a sigh of relief.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help washing your--”

“NO!” Trowa shouted and held his breath until he heard the door click shut. What was with these people?

After that, his shower was uneventful, for which he was glad, and he decided it was well past time to retire to bed. He needed to lock himself in his room away from these maniacs.

He walked into his room, or actually, he ran. He decided it to be the best choice considering that he wore only a towel around his waist and that there were certainly freaks out and about. After entering his dark room he quickly locked the door behind him and leaned against its heavy bulk.

Peace at last.

He dropped the towel onto the floor, not bothering to turn on the lights, he knew his way around well enough, and walked, naked, to his bureau. He chose a suitable pair of boxers, slipped his impossibly long legs into them, and pulled them up over his hips just as a nasally baritone voice came huskily out of the darkness.

“It’s a waste to hide such beauty.”

Trowa started at the voice but couldn’t see where it was coming from. “Heero?” he guessed, “what are you doing in my room?”

“You’ll have to excuse me, Trowa. I only came to discuss the next mission, but now that you’ve come to me like this . . . naked and wet, well . . . I have other plans.”

Heero was closer now, he could feel the man’s breath on his neck, Trowa lunged forward feeling for the light switch and once found, turned it on.

Heero stood in the middle of the room, staring intently at Trowa. Trowa couldn’t help but stare back. Heero was completely and gloriously nude.

“Uhh,” Trowa began, nervous under Heero’s lustful glare, “ummm, I think I left . . . ahh, a pie in the oven. Be right back.” he turned, opening the door and pitching himself out, shutting it behind him.

“Hurry back, koi,” he heard muffled through the door.

Trowa was truly frightened now. Everyone had gone insane, even the untouchable Heero Yuy had been infected with this mad disease. There was only one safe place to go, the one person Trowa knew would be oblivious to the rampant hormones that were invading the house. He headed in that direction.
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Duo and Wufei watched from further down the hall. They had heard the entire exchange with Heero and had to stifle their giggles as Trowa went to Quatre’s room.

“Shut up, Baka!” Wufei reprimanded, giving his lover a quick jab in the ribs for his noisiness, “this is gonna be the best part.”

They watched as Trowa knocked on Quatre’s door and, before getting a response, entered. They listened intently to the conversation that ensued, muffled by the heavy door.

“Quatre, thank God its you. You wouldn’t believe what the other guys . . . hey Quatre, what’re you doing? Quatre, where are your pants? What are the handcuffs for? Oh Quatre, not you too! Quatre, no - stop. That tickles. Quatre, I . . . Ohhhh Quatre!”
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Reverand Maynard--03/2001