Title: Deserve Better
Major pairing: 3x4
Author: The Fablespinner ~*D*~
E-mail: fablespinner@ hotmail.com
Rating: R – mild NC-17
Genre: Romance, AU, Trowa POV
Disclaimer: Trowa and Quatre belong to me (In my dreams). In reality they are slaves to Bandai... Oh! Bondage! *snerk*
Author’s Note: This is a Trowa point of view, following his train of thought as we walk through this little scenario. He is a second year graduate student, age 24/25-ish. Quatre is the same age and in the same situation. What they are studying, respectively, is not important. Make up whatever you wish if you’re so inclined. It’s just the environment and setting that’s of importance.
This is how I see Trowa. I see him with a very active internal sense of humor and healthy doses of cynicism and sarcasm thrown in for good measure. We are peeping into his internal monologue as he walks through this situation I placed him in, if you think it's OOC, I really do not care, this is called a characterization and interpretation. This is how *I* see him *my* analysis of his character.
I really hate frat parties. I have no clue why I let myself get conned into coming to them. I always end up nursing a warm beer in a corner…
Drunken men, barfing on their shoes is SUCH a turn on.
Get me out of here, where the hell did the cretin at the door put my car keys? Half a beer swallowed in three and a half agonizing hours, I think I can drive. Hell I’ll walk if I have to, why, oh why did I come in the first place?
Answer, I needed to see men, real, live, breathing men, not just the underwear models in the JC Penny catalog.
I came, I saw, I saw nothing I want to fuck, or vice-versa, have fuck me -- well there was that one guy with the ‘bod’ that wouldn’t stop in the hot tub, who was also surrounded by women, a no-go, shit. I’m going home.
Ouch! Watch where you’re going ASSHooo---HELLO PAPA!
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there. Um, might I ask, have you seen the way to the bathroom?”
God he’s so fucking HOT. “Not a problem, and the can is up the stairs to the left, I think. But good luck getting in, I’d opt for bushes outside if I were you.”
Butter would not melt in this guy’s mouth. Better yet, cover him in butter and eat him. Oh yeah.
“Great. I don’t know why I let myself get dragged to these things. I just end up getting trampled on or trampling on others. Very sorry about stepping on your foot.”
MMM, manners, looks and he’s sober, my kind of guy. “I said no problem. I usually end up doing the same. I’m not much for these things either.”
So let’s go off somewhere and have a private party.
God I am pathetic.
Blondie, you have about a minute before I jump your bones. You see I’ve not had a date in a very long time, and I think you could technically sacrifice me to a volcano it’s been so long since I’ve had sex. And if you can read my mind, I am a dead man.
When did I become such a letch?
Since big blue eyes ran into me and smashed my big toe.
“Well, as much as I’d like to talk, I NEED to find that bush you mentioned or I’ll burst. I guess I’ll see you around?”
Right the poor guy has to take a leak. Can I hold it for you?
Crap, damn it Trowa you’re going to fantasize yourself into a cold shower in a minute.
But it looks like I’m staying at this party a little longer however. “I was just heading out for a breath of fresh air, if you want, we can talk after you leave a deposit at the bank of Bush.”
Damn he’s beyond sexy when he laughs.
Trowa Barton: one.
Unsuspecting conquest: zero.
“You win, Rendezvous on the porch after my bank transaction?”
I can only nod like an imbecile. Honestly, I’m only good for one witty remark a night. Not to mention I’m too busy checking out your ass as you walk outside. You fill out jeans nice Mr. Blond Booty Man. How I wish I were a bush.
Well without the pissing on me part naturally. Some people may get off on that, that’s just nasty if you ask me.
So here I sit and wait, hoping Lady luck likes me tonight and I get my hands on you. Be that metaphorically and/or physically speaking. I don’t care really, well I do, I’d prefer it to be both actually, you, ‘Mr. Blond with an Ass from Hell Man’, are at least, based on first impression, worth getting to know beyond a one-night stand at any rate.
Trowa, try getting up from the dugout and up to the plate for a change rather than planning a homerun score and living arrangements, complete with the dog, cat and white picket fence in suburbia dreamscapes attached.
Miss Luck, if I just get to stare at him shamelessly for an hour it’ll be a great night. That’s more realistic. I don’t even know if he’s gay or not.
That would suck.
Nix those thoughts right now Trowa Barton you pessimistic bastard.
Here he comes, sashay this way, oh YES.
Make that wish to THREE hours of staring Miss Luck, PLEASE!
“Did you get a receipt?” Oh ho, witty twice in one night, go me. Yes laugh, you’re cuter than shit when you smile like that.
Who came up with that phrase? ‘Cuter than Shit”, I’ve never seen shit that was cute. I’ve seen shit on my shoes, shit on gas station bathroom walls, dog shit on my lawn, but never cute shit.
Why do I think of things like this when I have a gorgeous guy sitting next to me?
Honestly, no wonder I don’t get laid, I’m mental!