04_after | (no subject)

(no subject)

Quatre's spends most of five minutes removing his suit in a stall of the men's restroom and scrubbing himself free of glitter. A thick ring had collected around his neck, where his detachable collar had kept it in place, but the skin's soon pink and mostly glitter free.

(He's gives up on his hair after the first fifteen strokes with a finetoothed comb. It's better, at least.)

He changes into the clothes he got from the bar--a pair of thick linen pants in navy blue, practical shoes in black, a dark grey long-sleeved soft dress shirt, and light-grey-and-navy zip up sweater--and drops his bundle of carefully folded formal clothes on the Bar for safe keeping, pocketing his planner (just in case).

"Oh, and could I get that back without the glitter?" Quatre asks, nodding at the note that appears (as the clothes disappear), and accepting the two additional plastic flashlights with an amused grin, before looking for Trowa.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"I would have rolled my eyes," Quatre explains, palm up, "but the angle was wrong."

Trowa's lips twitch.

"All right."

You know, since it's efficient. And stuff.

Quatre's watching him from an angle with a soft smile, which is how he notices the specks on Trowa's sleeve. After a moment of confusion, he traces them up to--

Oh, the glitter. Right. (More pertinent: where it's fallen)

He clears his throat, quietly, and glances away and up.

At Trowa's glance: "Don't mind me," he says, faintly. "I was just admiring your jawline."

Oh.

Well. Okay.

(Trowa is not used to thinking of himself in those terms. Only for monitoring a stranger's reactions, to more efficiently manipulate, and that's different; that's not a friend, and there's no personal involvement at all. This is different.)

"I don't mind," he says, just as quietly, after a moment's pause.

It's true. He may be slightly startled, and not quite sure what to say back to that, but he definitely doesn't mind.

"Good to know," he says, honest, with a brief touch to Trowa's hand with his own.

"I really hope you don't mind if I kiss you," he says, trailing his hand up Trowa's sleeve as he turns to look back at him with a half-smile.

Amusement sparks at that, even if you'd have to know Trowa very well to see it.

"No," he says placidly -- responding to this sally, unlike the previous, has become very easy -- and lets his weight shift a little closer.

Quatre knows he didn't need to ask, but there's a certain level of gratification at hearing Trowa's response.

His smile broadens, shifting sideways so that he's facing Trowa on the haybale, left hand lightly gripping Trowa's arm and right resting on Trowa's left leg as he leans in and kisses him.

(It's possible, as the kiss deepens, that his left hand moves to lightly cup Trowa's face, thumb stroking his jaw.)

Quatre is likely to get some glitter on this outfit too.

But he'll probably be okay with that.

Eventually, they'll go back inside. And eventually, they'll head their separate ways, to the farflung colonies of L4 and (currently) L1.

But for right now, the hayloft's a pretty nice place to spend a while.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only