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"Philosophers and Conquerors"Written By: Dentelle_noir Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing AC or the
characters. GW belongs to Bandai, Sotsu and associated parties. This
is a work of fiction and written for fun, not profit Rating: NC 17 Warnings: AU, language, lemon Pairings: 3x4 Summary: Stripping wasn't exactly a 'safe' job
by any stretch of the imagination, but Trowa kept himself safe and
stuck to the rules. Until a blonde CEO decided to push his boundaries. "Philosophers and Conquerors" Chapter Two Angry and frustrated and horny as hell, Quatre walked back to the party and found a couch near the back and got ready to drink his hunger away. The dancer had just left, leaving Quatre gaping and wondering what he had said to make him turn from flirting and smiling to pulling out the mace and driving off so fast that he'd left rubber burns on the pavement! He found himself another strong martini and tipped it back easily. He supposed drinking away his emotions would work well enough tonight. He might even pull out his little black book of the elite agencies around town and have someone come over tonight to relieve him a little. To be honest, he would rather pay for sex than deal with gold-diggers and media-whores. He was sick and tired of all the fake smiles and underhanded cash-grabs. He liked things clear cut and easy to work with. He liked Trowa's style, his attitude, his intelligence and sharp wit, and Quatre's libido had sure liked his looks. And, damn it, he liked how Trowa's every move made Quatre's body wake up from hibernation and hum for attention. He would have liked to know what in God's name he said to make the man physically flee from him as if he were some crazed axe murderer! He just invited him to a weekend getaway! Quatre went on these things all the time, and most evenings he spent alone. He would have liked to have someone to go to dinner with, or someone to comment on the shows. Or hell, it would have been nice even just to have someone waiting for him to walk through the door! Trowa was intelligent, and quick-witted, and educated as well as being gorgeous, sexy, and brutally honest. Quatre thought that he would have been good company. Any other dancer would have taken him up on that offer in a heartbeat (as he knew from experience) but Trowa? Trowa had gone frigid and lost all sense of humour. One little joke and suddenly Quatre was having the mace pulled on him as if he was some psycho criminal? The rejection had been a real hit to his ego. Quatre had never really thought that he was the perfect man. He was no Prince Charming, but he was generally good looking wasn't he? And he had some conversational ability! At least he thought he did. He had always been told that he was handsome and charming, but, perhaps that was just fake too? Quatre found himself walking up to the little mini-bar set up inside the smoking room and contemplated another martini. He was going pretty strong on them, but, he supposed that his reputation could withstand one night of over indulgence. There was a pretty girl behind the bar with curly, bouncing red hair, spangled earrings, and a tight brown tube dress that barely covered anything. She was leaning against the counter with a phone to her ear and a frustrated look on her face, "No. Calm down! You're being paranoid again little brother," she was saying into the phone. "No crazy blonde guy is trying to hit on me and disguise my murder with a fake trip." Quatre's face paled a little, his attention focusing on the telephone and whom he suspected was on the other end. The girl kept talking, "Seriously. You're reading too much into this. He was just coasting for a free fuck. They always do! All the CEO's are like that, and you know it. They didn't get rich by actually paying people for their services, now did they?" Trowa, whom Quatre suspected was on the other line, said something that made the girl roll her eyes. She spotted Quatre and flashed him a disarming smirk that looked exactly like Trowa's. The relation was pretty clear now that he was looking. She flashed him a 'one minute' finger and hummed into the phone, "It was just a joke. He's not stalking you, baby brother. Cool off. Look, I have to go, I got a customer waiting. ... yeah you too, Tro. See ya in a few hours." Then she hung up. With a little sway of her hips that reminded Quatre of Trowa's swagger (and made him want the male dancer so much more) she walked up to him and smiled, "What can I get you, sweetheart?" Quatre licked his lips and tried to paint on a harmless smile. "How about a Martini?" he asked, taking a stool at the bar to signal he was willing to wait, "And an explanation perhaps?" She had been smiling when he sat, but now she frowned tightly. Her eyes flicked over him and suddenly she wasn't playing anymore. She had put two and two together and wasn't liking the result. Quatre had the sinking feeling that she kept a little can of mace on her too, and he was about to meet the business end of it if he didn't play his cards right. But if Quatre was anything, it was smart. And very good at thinking on his feet. He sighed wearily, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude on your call or anything. I really didn't. But I heard you talking and I assume it was Trowa." Quatre tried to look as innocent as he could, "Whatever I did to offend him, could you maybe tell him that I'm sorry?" His kicked-puppy face usually got him pretty far with ladies, but if she shared genes with the bi-polar dancer, her reaction could be anything. Thankfully this time it worked. She poured the martini and handed it to him. She was still looking wary, but she wasn't edgy like Trowa had been. She was clearly waiting for him to talk and wasn't about to give up the higher ground voluntarily. She knew that she had information that Quatre wanted, and she wasn't about to just blurt it out. Smart girl. Quatre tipped her a twenty for the martini and tried to look casual. "I don't know what I did to offend him so much. He was flirting with me one second and the next he was pulling out the pepper spray and making me back up to the curb like I had just threatened his life! I wasn't trying anything." The girl was looking Quatre over, sizing him up as she slipped the twenty into the top of her tube dress and down to sit securely in her bra (it was purple. Quatre could tell because the tips of it were showing over the top of her ridiculously low dress). She wasn't quite talking yet. Quatre slipped another twenty her way, "What did I say to offend him so much?" That twenty followed its predecessor down into her bra, and only then did she start to talk, "...Trowa's my brother. He and I work at a circus seasonally. Your joke? Wasn't a joke to him. He's actually one of our star jugglers. He thinks you're stalking him or something now." Quatre gave her an incredulous look. "I'm not stalking him! I just invited him for a little getaway!" She glared back at him, "Look around you, Rich-bitch. Does it look to you like people working here are particularly SAFE? Whenever there's an unexplained killing, who's dead? A stripper or a hooker. When people just disappear, who is it? A stripper or a hooker. Trowa always seems to attract the crazies. And I mean the 'following you around and taking the bubble gum you throw away to make an effigy, then try to slip things into your drink and kidnap you' sort of crazies. And do you think the cops ever try to help him out? He and I get tossed in jail just walking down the street around here. Do you really think any one of us is really going to trust some rich guy promising the world? Give me a fucking break." She moved back behind the bar to cash out another customer, and flipped Quatre a look over his shoulder, "My brother doesn't do freebies. And he certainly doesn't do them on the promise of some trip. And really, if you weren't so tiny, I'd think that you had more sinister things in mind than just angling for a free fuck throwing around offers like that. If you want him, you can pay just like everybody else." He didn't like what he was hearing. She was too pretty to be saying such harsh things. If he wasn't into guys, he might have taken a liking to her himself. She was truthful, brutal, and devastatingly beautiful. Just like her brother. And Quatre wanted Trowa in his bed –and his life—pretty badly. He was even more determined to win over Trowa. He could conquer his heart. He was Quatre Winner for God's sakes. He could conquer anything. "What if I want to be more than a client?" Quatre asked with a haughty sort of glint to his eyes. He wasn't a man who took rejection well. The girl shook her head, "You never stood a chance for anything else, darling. To Trowa, you're either family, or you're a client. He's pretty jaded that way. He doesn't believe in happily ever afters or any of that stuff. He's seen too much of the bad side of life. He doesn't date. And I doubt he appreciated you trying to sweep him off his feet." Quatre though, was already starting to hatch a plan. If what the sister was saying was true, then he still had a chance to get the bi-polar dancer in his bed. And maybe more if he played his cards right. He knew what he'd done now. He had crossed a line with his invitation to New York. Trowa seemed to be a man all about lines. He had many faces and personas and it was becoming quite clear to Quatre that he did not like any of them to be fucked with. He was a performer to the core. Quatre had tried to remove his mask, threatened to break the proverbial fourth wall and move out of the audience and into his life, and Trowa reacted violently. No wonder he had been denied so brutally! Although, that was no excuse to try and mace him! But Quatre had not yet begun to fight. He had tricks up his sleeves yet, and now he knew what he was getting into. A battle plan began to form in his head, and he felt much more prepared than before to storm the fortress that was Trowa. He showed the girl a crisp one hundred dollar bill and then sweetly asked her for the name of the strip club they worked at. After a moment, she took it, and gave him the business card. He knew what he wanted now, and he wasn't about to let anything stand in his way.
The bar was pumping, and Trowa was having a good time passing out drinks. The girls were dancing tonight and caught most of the attention from the rowdy group. But Trowa didn't mind the few pairs of eyes that wandered his way, especially when he bent over to get the ice or reached high to grab a wine glass and flashed his abs. He liked working there. The atmosphere was hungry, but the place was classy. The girls were generally fun to be around and they liked to tease and flirt and have a good time- just like Trowa himself did. Around normal people, hard-working everyday sorts, Trowa wasn't quite as prickly as he was with rich-bitch types. He liked to talk to some of the patrons, would pour them drinks and let them pour out their souls while he raked in the tips. All he had to do to keep the job was give a few private dances here and there and step in to help the other bouncers if things got too rowdy. The boss was good to him and didn't cause a fuss when Trowa left for a few months every year to do the circus. It was a good job. And a job that he knew was threatened as soon as the stalking philosopher-king stepped through the doors with a fake smile on his face and Armani on his ass. A guy like him would get preferential treatment and members-only access with nothing more than a smile if Trowa didn't cut him off right away. "Security!" Trowa hissed, waving over all three of the guys working tonight. He wasn't "panicking" so much as... "extremely agitated". They picked up on his distress in seconds and were over there with frowns on their faces and muscles bulging from their tight T-shirts. Trowa just pointed to the blonde and off they went. Quatre was surrounded by three huge goons within seconds of walking in the door. He saw, just for a second, a peek of Trowa behind the bar before he was blocked by the bouncers. "You need to leave, sir." One of the men said. "I'm harmless. I just want to talk to him." He tried to reason with them. Charm usually got him all sorts of places, without ever having to throw around his title or money. "You need to leave now, sir," the guy repeated again, not giving an inch. Quatre was cornered and surrounded, and his only way to move was a step backwards. But he was too damn stubborn to let some muscle-heads get in the way of his conquest. Charm wasn't working, so he continued through his battle strategies. No one stopped him from getting what he wanted. And at the party he had decided: He wanted Trowa. It was time to play hardball. Quatre painted on his best shark-smile and put his hands up to show he was harmless (flashing his Rolex while he was at it). He went into his front pocket and retrieved his business card. "Could I speak to the manager, please?" The bouncers glared, and one spoke up again, "You need to leave, sir. Or we'll make you leave." "I really think you should talk to your manager before you do that." Quatre cooed. He knew how to throw his weight around if he had to. "I'm of no harm. I'll stand right here while someone goes to get him." And he handed the one bouncer who seemed to be in charge his business card, "Just give that to your manager? See, I'm the CEO of Winner Corp, which owns a company that owns a company that basically owns the company that, well... Owns you." The bouncers sort of flicked their eyes at each other, gauging the others' reaction. One of them flicked his eyes towards the bar. Trowa was working there, obviously unable (or too stubborn) to duck out. He glared at the bouncer and served another drink. Quatre could see the fury racing up the back of the bartender's spine and flooding his face red. Oh, he was PISSED that Quatre was getting preferential treatment. And he looked absolutely gorgeous all riled up and angry like that. Quatre took that as his own little victory. Score one for Quatre. While Quatre understood the dancer's motives now, that didn't change the facts: The dancer had thrown a bitch-fit and threatened to mace him. Quatre wasn't about to let him off easy for it. The bouncer in charge sent one of the others to get the manager and moved to cut off Quatre's view of Trowa (as if he knew exactly where Quatre was looking). Damn. The dancer had just been about to reach for something and Quatre had only wanted a little peek! And as mad as he knew the performer was, he thought he knew how Trowa worked; he figured that the dancer would appreciate Quatre's eyes on him. Not being able to do a little flirting was setting his plan back. But, not enough to make him change course. A few minutes later the bouncer came back with a man beside him. He carried himself like he owned the place and wore too-bright of a shirt under his slick leather blazer. It wasn't too bad of a look, really. Classy-- for a pimp. Quatre could tell right away who this man was. He had a snake-charmer's smile, quick hands, and a glint in his eyes that told Quatre that he wasn't a man to be fucked with; Perfect sort of guy to run a strip-bar. He smiled at Quatre and took a second to look at the business card as if he wasn't terribly impressed. Cocky. Quatre kinda liked that in him. He let the pimp make the first move. "So, what brings you to our establishment tonight, Mister Winner?" he asked with a lifted brow. Putting on his charming smile again, Quatre started "I was at a private party tonight, watching your dancers." He saw the pimp's eyes widen a bit in recognition. "And I met your dancer there." Quatre pointed to Trowa, who looked LIVID as he stood behind the bar and watched his boss chatting Quatre up instead of kicking his ass out. The pimp flicked his eyes to the angry-looking Trowa, and then to the Armani and Rolex on Quatre. He considered things a moment, and then nodded his head towards Trowa as he kept his eyes on Quatre (And the money in his wallet) "...He's an expensive one, you know." That seemed to be the last straw for Trowa. Quatre hadn't anticipated the manager whoring the irate dancer off so quickly. Before Quatre could warn the man, Trowa vaulted the bar in an impressive show of strength. He came stomping over to the group of them with fire in his eyes. "NO! Get him OUT of here! He's stalking my ass! I don't want anything to do with him!" The pimp looked angrily at Trowa. No doubt, he was thinking about his cut of whatever Trowa would make off of Quatre. The plan wasn't going too well, and Trowa was just getting angrier. The manager grabbed the dancer around the waist tightly and whispered into Trowa's ear. Whatever he said only pissed Trowa off more and he tossed the man off him, "I will NOT settle down! I want him GONE! I won't so much as TOUCH that asshole!" Trowa's eyes turned to Quatre. He was so angry that he was seeing red and every muscle in the dancer's gorgeous body was corded and ready to strike. It was breathtakingly hot, in Quatre's opinion, but he knew better than to share that with the irate dancer. Not right now. Now it was time to perform. This was his opportunity. Trowa was looking at him, angry yes, but waiting to hear what he was about to say. Quatre hoped he got things right for once. He remembered what Trowa's sister said, and figured that if he went at him like a client, he might get somewhere? "Two hundred bucks for an hour with you?" "How DARE you proposition me you stalker-asshole! Asking me for an hour of my time after you walk in here like you own the place!" Trowa let him have it as loud as he could, not even caring that the other patrons were watching the exchange. One of the bouncers piped up, "He kinda does own the place." Ah crap! Quatre could have lynched the guy for saying that! Trowa's body shook in suppressed rage."Yeah? Well. You don't own me, and you never will!" Quatre tried to keep his face neutral and vaguely apologetic. Truth was, he had no flipping clue who owned this bar, and he had bullshitted that little spiel earlier. It got him the manager, didn't it? But it only pissed off Trowa more. Damn it to all seven hells! His plan had backfired in a major way. The manager turned to Trowa and tried to calm him down, or at least keep him quiet. He touched his arms, and chest, and hips with familiar sorts of massaging caresses to try and sooth the performer and hummed into his ear... it seemed to work a little. Jealously, Quatre wondered if they were screwing. Was that why Trowa had turned him down so brutally? He was fucking his pimp?! Trowa shoved the manager's hands off him, though and turned to Quatre with a hissed, "No!" He shouldn't have said anything. He should have kept his cool, but... seeing the other man touch Trowa like that? Feeling the burn of rejection again... He acted out of spite. "Three hundred." "No!" "Four hundred." Quatre bartered, getting a sick sort of thrill out of pissing off the man who had so coldly spurned his sincere attentions and then let that greasy pimp run his hands all over him! He wasn't Prince Charming. He had a good streak of spite in him and a temper that burned hot. "Fuck you!" Trowa spat again, "Money won't get you everything, you egotistical prick! Go fuck your centerfold wife in the back of your million dollar car, Asshole!" "I don't have a wife, and a car that expensive is ridiculously excessive, don't you think?" Quatre asked, pushing his hair out of his face and smirking cruelly. He did so enjoy having the upper hand. Trowa was intelligent, sure. But so was Quatre. This was payback after the mace stunt earlier. "Five hundred." The manager was licking his lips and obviously hoping Trowa would capitulate soon. The pimp probably got 30%. Trowa was visibly vibrating in anger now. He didn't even yell 'no' this time. The dancer just shot him the finger, but then his eyes began to flick around the room... Looking for an exit? "He'll do it for a thousand," The Manager slid in, greed shining in his eyes. "I'd rather QUIT!" Trowa spat, moving to untie his bar apron. He was shaking so hard that he couldn't seem to loosen the knot. Getting even was fun, but Quatre could tell that he had pushed it to the limit now. Trowa wasn't playing his game. He was seriously angry, and obviously feeling cornered. Quatre had hoped that coming to Trowa as client was the way to go to get him alone. But Trowa was too pissed off to accept him, and the manager was only compounding the problem. This had passed the point of just getting the dancer riled up and Quatre could see that Trowa was feeling genuinely threatened. If their roles had been reversed, Quatre would sure be wondering what some guy wanted with him if he was willing to pay that much for an hour. Being a stripper wasn't exactly a 'safe' job by any stretch of the imagination, and, Trowa's sister had made it clear that Trowa had been on the receiving end of 'crazies' before. He could understand Trowa's very real fear spiking his voice as he threatened to quit. This had gone way too far! Quatre needed to put a stop to this if no one else would! "No." Quatre growled. He pushed his hair out of his face and took a breath, "Fuck. No. I only came here to apologize! This is getting ridiculous!" The Manager looked like he was about to say something, but Quatre turned to him and glared, "You aren't helping. Stay out of this, please." That shut him up with an almost audible snap of his jaw. "Trowa? I'm sorry! I didn't mean to push you so far. I was just trying to flirt. It was all a miscommunication." Trowa slowed in his movements, and shot Quatre a look that said 'do you think I'm an idiot?' THANK GOD. Quatre finally was getting somewhere! Honesty, it seemed, was a good policy with the performer. It hadn't been part of the original plan, but Quatre was improvising as he went, and it was working a little. He decided to continue. "I was just making a joke back at the party. Your sister told me what I'd said. I had no idea! It was just a stupid joke. A misunderstanding." Trowa didn't seem pleased, but, he wasn't leaving, or throwing anything, or macing him. Quatre licked his lips, "And okay, maybe I was out of line inviting you to New York, but, you can't blame a guy for trying! You're gorgeous!" Quatre let his eyes flick up and down Trowa's body appreciatively. "Your dance left me.... Wanting more. A lot more. You're very sexy." That last bit had been a gamble. Highest chance was that Trowa would kick his ass to the curb, but there was a small chance that he would be flattered. Quatre had caught on that Trowa had an ego that liked to be stroked. Perhaps a bit of an inflated ego? If the man wasn't at least a little vain, how could he take his clothes off for cash the way he did? Playing to a personality flaw that he wasn't sure Trowa had was chancy, but he hoped it would work. He had to risk a little to win the war, right? Trowa crossed his arms over his chest and flicked out his hip a little. He still looked irate, but he didn't look frightened anymore. "I don't do freebies." Quatre could have CHEERED. It worked! Two points for Quatre on calling out the performer's vanity! Suddenly, the plan was back in working order. He had an opening. Now, he just had to work it right. "I can tell that now. I was willing to pay whatever you charge. But, look, if you want me to leave. I'll go. I came to apologize and now I have." Quatre almost had him. He knew he did. But he had to close the deal. He wasn't a shark in the boardroom for nothing! Quatre turned to the side and gave a little sigh of regret as he moved towards the door, "It was very nice meeting you, Trowa." "Wait." A grin just about broke his whole act, but he managed to keep it in. Three points. The goal of Trowa in his bed didn't look too far away now. He turned to Trowa and blinked innocently. "Yeah?" Trowa glared, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like he wasn't sure if he was being played like a fiddle, or if Quatre was sincere. Unfortunately, it was a bit of both. "...I'll give you a lap dance. Twenty minutes. Fifty bucks. Take it or leave it." Quatre DID smile then. Finally he was getting somewhere! But something was still bothering him. Quatre flicked his eyes towards the bar where the prices were posted. He crossed his arms and cocked a hip, mirroring Trowa's haughty stance. "That's more expensive than the price posted." He added. Upping the price seemed unlike what Quatre thought he knew about the tall man. Either something else was going on, or he didn't know Trowa as well as he thought he did. Trowa snorted, lifting a brow in challenge, "No shit. But that's what I'll lose in tips for not working the bar while I give you a dance." 'Prick' seemed to be tagged to the end of that without being said. That didn't mean Quatre didn't get the hint. Trowa was relenting, but he wasn't pleased about it. But Trowa hadn't been just upping the price because of Quatre's money. It relieved that fear, at least. Trowa's lack of greed was one of the features that most appealed to Quatre. He would take whatever Trowa was willing to give. A lap dance was better than nothing, right? Quatre was so hungry for the man that he figured anyone watching them could see just how hard he was just from being in the same room as Trowa! It was embarrassing! Maybe a private dance would at least get him some relief? And while his Master plan of conquest involved a little more than just Trowa rubbing on his lap, he would take what he was given right about now. "Done. Fifty bucks." Quatre took out his wallet and pulled out a shiny platinum card. Trowa took the card with a flick of his wrist and sashayed over to the bar. He rung that up and swiped the card, then handed it back to Quatre. "Fine. I'll be in the private room in two hours," he said tightly. With that he moved back behind the bar, popped the top off a Corona, and took a long swig. ...two hours? Fuck!
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