by Windsor Blue
Notes - Happy birthday, Anne! *glomps* The song "Queer" is by Garbage, track 2 on the "Garbage" CD.
God, this is boring.
I roll my shoulders as subtly as I can, trying to work out the kinks without looking like I’m fidgeting. Okay, so I’m fidgeting. I can’t help it – Quatre’s board meetings are boring. Even Quatre looks like he’s about to fall asleep, face-first into his briefcase.
I smile a little to myself. I can think of a way to wake him up. Hell, I can think of a few ways to wake him up. He never falls asleep on me...
Hey boy, take a look at me
Let me dirty up your mind
I'll strip away your hard veneer
And see what I can find
His eyes flick over to me, quick as a hummingbird’s wings. He knows what I’m thinking – he heard me, in his head. I smile a little more and turn my gaze to the floor. The look I just got – that was the ‘stop it’ look.
Maybe I don’t want to stop it, Quatre. Maybe you don’t want me to, either. In fact, I’m pretty sure you don’t.
The queerest of the queer
The strangest of the strange
The coldest of the cool
The lamest of the lame
His shoulders and neck – every muscle is as tense as a ceasefire, bunched up in hard balls of tissue that beg to be relaxed. If I use my imagination, I can feel them loosening under my touch, and my fingertips twitch with the need to be on his skin.
The tiniest quiver of his hand tells me that his fingers itch, too. Well, well, well...
The numbest of the dumb
I hate to see you here
You choke behind a smile
A fake behind the fear
The queerest of the queer
I roll my shoulders again, more exaggerated, this time. I make a show of looking around the room for potential security concerns. Don’t mind me – just the CEO’s bodyguard, doing my job...and if my eyes happen to linger over the CEO’s soft hair or his fine cheekbones or the way his jacket hangs just perfectly across his shoulders, well...who could blame me, really? He’s beautiful.
His lip twitches exactly once. He can feel my eyes on him.
This is what he pays me for
I'll show you how it's done
You learn to love the pain you feel
Like father, like son
In my mind, I picture my hand sliding over the hair that curls just above his shirt collar. I think of how perfect that little patch of hair feels when I roll it in between my fingers. I see my touch trailing down his neck, along his right shoulder, all the way down his arm. I imagine myself bringing his hand to my lips, kissing his palm, drawing a finger into my mouth and gently sucking it.
His grip on the armrest of his chair tightens. It appears my diversion is working.
The queerest of the queer
Hide inside your head
The blindest of the blind
The deadest of the dead
I let my eyes rest on him while I remember what he looked like while he was getting dressed this morning...the way his hands smoothed lint off the back of his pants; his long, slim fingers fastening his cufflinks; his chin lifting up as he tightened the knot in his tie. I lay on the bed and watched him get dressed, thinking all the while how much I wanted to get him undressed.
I still want to get him undressed, right here and now, but for the moment I’ll settle for undressing him with my eyes.
You're hungry 'cause you starve
While holding back the tears
Choking on your smile
A fake behind the fear
The queerest of the queer
There’s that look again – stop it, Trowa. I smile at him. Make me, Quatre.
I know what's good for you
You can touch me if you want
I know you're dying to
You can touch me if you want
I bring my hand to my collar and adjust the knot in my tie. I drag my fingertips down the silk – slowly, pulling on it a little, straightening the clip. I imagine that my fingers are running down his chest instead, undoing his buttons, brushing the smooth skin. I think of the way he shivers a little when I touch him there, and how that shiver intensifies when I use my tongue instead of my fingers.
I can taste him on my tongue, and he licks his lips.
I know what's good for you
You can touch me if you want
But you can't stop
I cross my arms over my chest and imagine he’s wrapped within them, pressed against me, holding me fast to him. I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, his breath against my neck. I’m warm in his arms, like I am nowhere else. His body fits against mine like the gears inside a clock. Were he not there to keep me going, I would simply stop.
His spine relaxes a little, like it does when I hold him.
The queerest of the queer
The strangest of the strange
The coldest of the cool
The lamest of the lame
I let my arms fall quietly to my sides, and imagine what it’s like to submit to him; to let him touch where he likes and take what he will; to feel his lips, his mouth, his teeth against my skin, my neck, my thighs...
He crosses his legs and reaches for his water glass.
The numbest of the dumb
I hate to see you here
You choke behind a smile
A fake behind the fear
I picture myself stretched out on the conference table, on my back, shirt open, pants down, with him straddling me, riding me, holding my hands above my head with our fingers intertwined. He’s always so marvelously in control, even when he lets me pretend I am. Nothing ever happens to Quatre – it happens with him or because of him. I picture myself naked and open to him, bent over that table while he pushes into me, my back arched in my haste to meet him.
The queerest of the queer
The strangest of the strange
The coldest of the cool
He clears his throat and looks at his watch. "Gentlemen, Ladies," he begins, "We’re well past lunchtime. I think we’ve accomplished enough for one sitting. We’re adjourned until next week."
You're nothing special here
A fake behind the fear
The queerest of the queer
He makes a show of organizing his files as everyone else clears out of the room, and as the last person leaves he gets up and closes the door. He levels me with a look, and I smile.
"Was that really necessary?" he asks.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," I lie.
I know what's good for you
I know you're dying to
With a low, vicious growl, he grabs me by the necktie and pulls me down to meet his kiss. I don’t fight him. He steps close enough to let me feel how much he wants me, and it hits me like a ball of steam from an open shower door, warm and welcome.
I know what's good for you
I bet you're dying to
Lips together, he uses my tie like a leash, pulling me over to the conference table. He puts his hands on my shoulders and pushes me down hard. My butt hits the table top, our kiss breaks, and the look in his eyes makes me gasp.
You can touch me if you want
You can touch me if you want
"You’re not mad, are you?" I ask.
"Oh, no," he replies, crawling onto the table over me, crouching over my lap, his fingers picking apart the buttons of my shirt. He puts a hand to my chest and shoves me so I fall back, sprawling on the table. He smiles, slowly and hungrily.
"I’m not mad at all," he purrs.
His lips touch mine, and nothing else matters.
You can touch me
You can touch me
But you can't stop