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"The Cabin"Written By: Miss Murdered Disclaimer: I don't own the GW characters - am
just borrowing to torment for my amusement Rating: NC 17 Warnings: sexual relationship, supernatural elements,
swearing Pairings: 2x3 Summary: Trowa's debut novel became a best-seller
and now he is failing at writing a follow up. In order to find peace
and quiet to write, he rents a secluded cabin near a small town to
find inspiration. Yet writing becomes hard when he keeps hearing howls
from the woods in the middle of the night and even harder when he
meets a charming diner owner named Duo… "The Cabin"
Then he realised the banging was not coming from his head. It was coming from the door. And with a quick jump out of the bed, Trowa suddenly realised there was shouting accompanying that banging. “Barton!” It was then he grabbed for his phone and saw a sticky note attached to the front of the screen. Had to leave so I could open the diner. Thanks for everything yesterday. Do it again sometime? D xx He smiled briefly then removed the note to see the time (8.34am) and the multiple missed calls from… “Wufei. Shit.” With that, Trowa jumped out of his bed and reached for some crumpled underwear, some rumpled jeans and any t-shirt that was not stinking of sweat or stained. After putting them on without care, he padded to the door noting that there was a trail of mud and clothing leading to the bedroom. He grabbed for his wet clothes, the residue of puddles left on the wooden floor and threw them in the vicinity of the bedroom. His agent didn’t need to know what he had not been writing yesterday and he didn’t need to know about his company. It was not that Trowa was embarrassed, just that Wufei didn’t need to know anything beyond how his writing was going. He opened the door slowly, mentally preparing himself for the stern face and the angry expression. The mental preparation did not help as Wufei stood there in his most inappropriate city clothes with an expression that suggested he was not at all impressed with the length of time it had taken Trowa to open the door. “Did you not hear me? I’ve been here for 25 minutes.” Trowa shrugged. “I was asleep.” Wufei looked him up and down. “I guessed.” “Would you like to come in or do you want to do this on the doorstep?” “In please. There is far too much mud out there.” Trowa couldn’t help the smirk on his face then as he glanced down to see that Wufei’s immaculate light brown loafers did not look so bright anymore, mud from the heavy rain staining them. Once Wufei was inside, he toed off his shoes carefully and removed his cream raincoat, leaving it carefully on the side and smoothing the fabric. “I’m suspecting you did not get my calls?” Wufei said with a sniff as he looked around the mess that was the cabin. “I thought you might’ve tidied up a little if you had known a guest was coming.” The only response Trowa could manage was to roll his eyes. As he had had a guest yesterday who had not cared for the appearance of the cabin. Wufei clearly did but then surely as Wufei worked with creative types, with writers and artists and such, he should be used to people working in a mess in order to create. Then Trowa remembered he had always met Wufei in coffee shops, in restaurants and in his own offices. Maybe he avoided the less clean aspects of the creative process. “I missed your calls. I was writing,” Trowa lied. “Writing? Is there a draft?” Trowa immediately regretted his lie as there was no real draft. Only fragments. And nothing he would let Wufei read as yet. “Not yet. It’s… different,” Trowa said and he walked towards the kitchen, “can I get you a coffee or tea?” He hoped the offer of a drink would be a distraction but Wufei was not so easily side tracked. He was already at the table and had picked up Trowa’s notes and laptop from where they had sat on the chair out of the way during yesterday’s meal. Trowa thought about protesting but at least it now appeared he was working on something so he went to the kitchen to make coffee even though Wufei had not responded. He needed coffee at the very least. “It’s different,” Wufei said while Trowa distracted himself with the coffee making process. “I didn’t think you’d be one for supernatural fiction.” “It’s gay Stephen King,” Trowa said deadpan as finished with the coffee machine that was worth more than his own home. “That’s marketable. Break down some of the stereotypes and critique.” Trowa made a “hmm” noise in ascent. He didn’t think bullshitting Wufei would be so easy but it seemed his agent was eating it up. Or maybe he’d just been so starved for some actual writing from Trowa that any writing was better than nothing. He walked over and popped a black coffee next to Wufei, knowing his preference and took a seat beside him at the table with his own. “I assume you can put together a coherent synopsis and plan within the next week? Something to show your publishers. What you have is good but nothing sellable yet.” The compliment was the only part Trowa heard. He’d thought his ramblings were shit so he was giving himself a mental pat on the back until he realised that Wufei wanted something more tangible. Something like an actual plot summary. “I can,” he said with more confidence than he felt. Wufei smiled. “Then I will get out of your hair so you can work. But there’s someone I think you need to meet and she doesn’t live too far from here. In fact, I’m visiting her after you. Have you heard of R. D Peacecraft?” “Can’t say I have,” Trowa replied, not sure if he was meant to have. “She’s what we call a supernatural romance author and moved to this area due to its folklores and urban myths.” Trowa’s interest was piqued – what did she know about folklores and myths. “She lives near here?” “A few towns over but seeing you both made my trip worthwhile. She is a most… prolific author so I don’t tend to coddle her as much as some of my clients but I need to make sure she knows she’s appreciated from time to time.” “Can I have her address?” Wufei’s eyebrow arched as though he was surprised by Trowa’s eagerness to meet a fellow author. In truth, Trowa usually would not have been interested in meeting fellow authors and Wufei knew this. He had invited Trowa to a gathering with other industry types and Trowa had declined. He didn’t really feel like a “proper” writer himself and didn’t want to pretend he fitted in. This feeling had been compounded by his inability to write the sequel to Flicker Fade . He did not want to be in a room of people asking him about what he had written and what he was writing next. “Of course,” Wufei said smoothly and he found a blank piece of paper among Trowa’s notes. He looked on his phone and then wrote down the address in his neat cursive writing style that contrasted against Trowa’s scrawl. Wufei pushed it over to Trowa and got to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your work.” With that Wufei walked towards the door, Trowa following and loitering as Wufei put his shoes and rain coat back on. As he prepared to leave, Wufei paused and looked at Trowa closely, his dark eyes taking in every square inch of his body. “I worried about this. Isolating yourself to write. But apart from the mess of the cabin, it seems it’s awakening your creative spark. Something different is often what’s needed for a second novell – no need for more of the same.” “Yeah,” Trowa replied, not really sure what he should say. He couldn’t tell Wufei that it wasn’t what he meant to write. That it was all because of Duo that he felt inspired. That he was imagining animal noises and howls around him when he was half asleep. “I’ll look forward to next week.” And with that comment, Wufei left and Trowa watched confused as his agent stepped over puddles to get to his rental car. The confusion only lasted a moment as he remembered what Wufei was looking forward to. He was looking forward to the plot synopsis and the summary and all the things he was supposed to do. Once Wufei drove away, Trowa closed the door the cabin and leaned against it as he looked around the cabin. It was a mess, the debris of his writing and yesterday’s sex lingering. He paused, remembering the feeling of Duo’s skin, Duo’s body, his lips… and then he shook his head. He had to do some writing and so he marched towards the table prepared to do just that. Or at least try. He could manage that at the very least.
Chapter 7
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