Philosophers and Conquerors 3/3

By: Dentelle_noir

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. 3x4. Rated: NC-17 for very mature subject matter and language.
Chapter 3 of 3.

Written as a bribe for Chapter 20 of Candlelight. Since it's been posted on , I will post my last chapter for her! Here you go Osco!

Thank you also to writtenidealist for her beta work and editing on this. She really helped polish this fic. I've learned so much! And to f0r3v3ryw0rd for doing an interactive read-through of the fic and helping me work out what I didn't like about the second chapter! Thanks so much both of you!

Chapter Three

Trowa would let the blonde CEO sit and rot for all he cared. He worked the bar and drank his beer while he settled down. And he was damn well charging that beer to Quatre's account, too! The manager was pissed at him for turning down the money to turn a trick for the blonde, but Trowa knew he'd get over it. What was fair for one was fair for all, and if he charged one hundred bucks to anyone, it was one hundred bucks to everyone. He wasn't going to change his mind and charge Quatre a thousand.

Even if he DID want to make Quatre pay for putting him on the spot like that.

So he had. A guy like Quatre? Rich and influential? Money was no object to him. The only thing more important than cash to a guy like him was time.

His parting shot was agreeing to the dance, and then letting him wait it out. Two hours was right at the end of his shift at the bar. The blonde could damn well wait until Trowa was ready to dance for him; he refused to be hurried just because the CEO flashed some cash and threw around his last name.

And the more he thought about the whole situation, the more he knew he'd been played like a fucking violin! The blonde knew exactly what he had been doing, and he kept on weaving his little web of words until Trowa fell right into it and agreed to give him a lap dance.

Then, the manager went and complimented the jack-ass a private room! Usually a private lap dance was triple the price, but not for Quatre. He was too good to get a dance out in the bar like anyone else. That pissed Trowa off to no end. Quatre wasn't even paying for the private dance! No one should be getting special treatment just because they had money.

But no more. Trowa was onto him now. No one manipulated Trowa Barton and got away with it! And all he had agreed to was a dance. And everyone knew that a lap dance had rules. No touching. And the dance ended when the dancer wanted it to. Everything was up to him. He didn't have to give that CEO with a King complex jack-all. And he didn't plan to.

Quatre wanted to play games with him? Well, he'd just play him back.

And that started by peeking through the one-way glass in the backrooms that looked into the private rooms. It was there so the bouncers could keep eyes on things as they walked by every little while. Trowa took a moment to look in and watch his newest client squirm.

Trowa usually liked meeting new people. He liked to dance, and he was known around the club for always giving a little extra bang for someone's buck. He liked regular sorts of people. And he liked to be treated well. If he was good to his clients, they were good to him, usually. But Quatre?

Trowa was already pissed before he even walked in. Watching the blonde sitting there, in his complimentary room, an empty martini glass beside him and the fancy sound system all set up for the dance, it just pissed the dancer off. Didn't a guy like Quatre have enough already?! Why did everyone have to bend over backwards for people like him?!

Well, everyone except Trowa that was. Trowa made that CEO wait good and long for a piece of him, and he was glad to see that Blondie didn't look too happy about it.

Quatre sat in the chair with false-composure and tried not to drum his nails on the brown leather arms. He looked really worked up; it was clear that he was rock hard inside those Armani pants. And he'd obviously been tugging at the Italian silk tie for a while; It was off kilter. He wasn't reading the magazines lying around, but Trowa wasn't shocked. They were all skin-mags anyway filled with centerfold chicks and the beautiful people who would do anything for more money and fame. But the blonde CEO wasn't actually looking at them at all. And he had waited. For TWO hours. He must have really wanted a piece of Trowa to wait that long. He was either really stuck on him, or really stubborn.

Trowa figured it was a bit of both.

With that in mind, Trowa got ready for his dance. He mussed his hair and freshened his eye liner. Trowa didn't see a reason to change his clothes; He had no intention of giving the guy any relief. The dancer was just going to tease him until the 20 minutes they agreed upon were up and then he wouldn't owe that manipulative prick a damn thing.

That Rich-Bitch ought to know better than to piss off the dancer he wanted in his lap if the guy wanted anything but air for the dance. Idiot.

Trowa walked into the room with a swagger to his step and a CD twirled on his finger. He tossed it into the player that was conveniently patched into the room's sound system and his favourite pulsing dance songs began. Usually Trowa liked to make a little small talk before he began to get up-close and personal, but he didn't think he needed that get-to-know-you time with Quatre. He already knew the guy was a jackass.

Trowa straddled the chair and began rocking his hips to the song. He looked above Quatre's head with a bored air and leaned back to roll his body and work his belt off. He was FEET away from the blonde jack-ass and had no intention of giving Quatre anything. He would have ended the dance before it began if he didn't know that his manager would have an aneurysm about it if he found out that Trowa hadn't shown. Slowly, Trowa got closer so that he could at least go through the motions of a lap dance properly. He got on Quatre's chair and began to tease his shirt up a little to the sound of the music.

"Thank you for doing me the honour of this dance," Quatre said politely. His voice was strained a little, his eyes glued to Trowa's slowly rolling hips, and he couldn't seem to stop licking his lips, but he was still trying to charm. Always working that rapier tongue. That sort of polite thing usually flattered Trowa and would almost always ensure his client got a little more for his time, but not with Quatre. No way. No how.

"Do you ever stop talking?" Trowa retorted, yanking the belt off with a SNAP behind the chair that made the blonde jump—and accidentally grind his crotch against Trowa's leg. Trowa was knelt on the chair, straddling Quatre's hips, touching Quatre's stomach with his pelvis and hovering his fully-clad ass over Quatre's fully clothed cock. That didn't mean that he would allow him to grind against him. Trowa grabbed his shoulder and pushed him down, "WHOA buddy, I don't care who you are. No touching."

Quatre pinned himself down to the chair, a flush as red as a tomato coming over his face at that, "I didn't mean..." He stammered just a second before he regained his composure and that fire in his eyes was back, "I was startled! You can't blame me for that."

Trowa felt himself smirk cruelly. He had the guy off-guard now. And he didn't think he'd ever seen anyone blush so RED. Take that, prick. Point for Trowa. "I'll let it go this time. But don't break rules again, or not even your Rolex will save your ass from being kicked out of this club." Trowa rolled his hips again and began to slide his hand up against his own stomach. He tugged the shirt up a little more to give the blonde a little peek at his muscled abs and rolling bellybutton.

Quatre's eyes were glued to the dancer's body, and he nodded to Trowa's rule and let the man roll and gyrate to the music over his hips. There was no grinding, though. Trowa wasn't being that nice to him yet. He was still angry. Quatre tried to remember that this was only one step of his plan. He hadn't lost yet. Trowa was being cold to him right now, but Quatre had not yet begun to fight!

Trowa pulled over the table that was nearby so it was directly behind him. He straddled the chair arms above Quatre's hips again, facing the blonde, and put his elbows on the table and leant back to show off how much he could arch. Then he began long body rolls to the music, lifting his hips high so they were right in the blonde's face (the way he had his eyes glued, it wasn't hard). But he wasn't giving him even a whisper of contact where he knew the blonde wanted it.

Trowa rolled and flicked his hips a little more as he pulled his shirt off higher and unbuttoned the top fasting of his pants, then he turned over with speed and flexibility of a performer. He switched positions so that he faced the wall now, his forearms on the table and his ass just a foot away from Quatre's chest. He figured a King like him would enjoy seeing Trowa bowed for him. He could look all he wanted. Think about the ass he was never gonna get to fuck. He was waiting for the blonde to do something to piss him off. All he needed was a reason to end the dance. He hoped the blonde grabbed his ass or something just to justify kicking him to the curb.

But he didn't get to. Quatre was a perfect gentleman. He kept his hands out of the way and just let Trowa roll and dance and flick his hips. He didn't ask him for anything, and didn't make any sort of lewd comments.

The dancer slid down the chair and then dipped low to Quatre's knees. The rules were that Trowa could touch, but Quatre couldn't touch him. He could do what he wanted now. He snapped Quatre's legs open and slid in between as if he were going for a blow job.

Quatre stifled a moan and tried his damndest not to react too much. He knew enjoying the show was part of this, but he didn't think embarrassing himself in his pants was exactly up to etiquette. And really, he would never let the dancer get that much over on him. He had more he wanted from him. Trowa wasn't like any dancer he had ever met, and he had set his sights on having him in his bed. He wanted Trowa so badly that he was willing to put up with some frustration in order to have more later. But the motions and movements the beautiful dancer was making right now were just adding fuel to the fire. He was so hungry for the dancer that he was ready to grab onto his hips and just BEG for him! But that wouldn't do. Not at all.

Quatre gulped and tried to will himself to cool down; But it wasn't easy.

Trowa grinned when he saw that reaction, and he slid himself up through the blonde's legs. God, he had gorgeous legs. And his face looked pretty hot, all turned on and just about to moan. Trowa wanted to see a little more, so he nudged the blonde's inner thighs with his hips and sides as he slid up through those legs. He made the blonde gasp out loud. Another point. It was so sexy, watching Quatre trying to keep in control but losing it. Trowa could see that the blonde sure liked Trowa between his legs. As he nudged and rolled against Quatre's inner thighs, instead of moving to grab Trowa, or thrusting up against him like most guys did, the blonde let out a needy little moan and spread his legs a little more, as if inviting him in between. Just the thought of that began to make Trowa start to get hungry.

Trowa was often looked at, lusted for, but usually men liked looking at his ass. He was the performer. The eye candy. Their bitch. They didn't really like knowing that Trowa wanted THEM bent over. Seeing that Quatre was a bottom was...fucking hot. But he wasn't about to let Quatre know that he was starting to enjoy the dance a little.

"I can see why you make a great dancer. You're very flexible." Quatre's voice hummed softly, catching Trowa's attention. His voice was strained, breathy, and deep. But he was trying to sound in control, when it was so clear to Trowa that Quatre wasn't in control anymore at all. Not since the moment Trowa had walked through that door.

"Hm." Trowa responded just enough to say he was listening, but he continued to shift and arch, rolling his stomach between those pretty little legs. He wanted to grind and make Quatre spread those legs more. He wanted to see Quatre with his head thrown back and his arms around Trowa's neck, begging for it harder. Trowa's mind was going into the gutter now, and he wanted in between Quatre's legs in the worst way. He wanted to fuck that gorgeous little blonde CEO philosopher king into oblivion and back again.

But the dance wasn't about what Trowa wanted. He knew that. Nothing was about what Trowa wanted in a place like this.

Removing temptation was needed right now. Trowa needed to give they guy what he paid for and that was it. He moved away from between those gorgeous legs and turned, looking at the wall instead of Quatre. He mounted the chair again and put his elbows to the table and his knees on the arms of the chair, doggy-style, showing Quatre his ass and rolling and grinding as if they were fucking. He even made that little moan sound; It made most patrons go nuts.

"And I can see why you're a great bouncer. You're very intimidating... Not just because you're strong, and you're heartbreaking beautiful, but because you are sharply intelligent." Quatre's voice was soft, husky, and it didn't have that frantic edge of hunger like before, or that sarcastic I'm-better-than-you air. "You put CEOs to shame. I bet you'd make any professor drool to have you in a class."

Trowa flicked his eyes over his shoulder to look at Quatre and lifted a brow, "I'm not in school..."

Quatre smiled tightly (he seemed stressed. The aching cock in his lap probably wasn't helping) but he spoke anyway, "You should be. You're very intelligent. And beautiful."

Trowa was... flattered. He heard 'You're hot' enough times, or such catchy drunk-phrases like 'You've got more leg than a bucket of chicken,' but he didn't really tire of hearing that he was beautiful. And it wasn't often that someone called him intelligent: especially not someone as intelligent as Quatre himself. Trowa smiled gently, feeling the chip on his shoulder lessen just a little.

The blonde didn't follow up with anything to piss him off, and Trowa began to really get into his music. He liked his songs, and he liked to dance. He slid his legs off the arms of the chair with a slow sort of slide that made the blonde gasp quietly. He straddled his lap properly now, brushing the man's lap with his thighs and crotch every so often as he moved, rolled, and flicked his hips to the music.

He was rewarded with a stifled sort of moan from the blonde. The Philosopher King was losing control. Trowa could hear it in his voice, and feel it in his body.

He was slumped back against the chair now. Whatever plan he had was gone. All he could focus on was the feeling of Trowa's body whispering across his thigh and brushing his lap in ways that made Quatre's brain fry. "You're so beautiful, Trowa." Quatre moaned again with that husky, hungry sort of purr.

It sent a little shudder up Trowa's spine. He sounded really hot like that.... Really, really hot actually. Trowa wanted to hear it some more, so he began slow sort of circles with his hips that gave a little more contact with the blonde's cock. He figured Quatre would like that. And really, Trowa kinda liked that too. It was easier on his muscles than some other dances, and it gave Trowa's body a little friction while he was at it. Trowa's body was still aroused from dancing between those gorgeous legs. If Quatre wasn't rich? Trowa would do him. Oh yeah. If Trowa wasn't a stripper and Quatre wasn't a client, Trowa would have loved to tap that pretty little ass of his. All night long. Make Quatre scream for more. Beg for it harder. Harder and harder and HARDER. Trowa could imagine just how good it would be to see Quatre's pretty little face under him, his nails digging into the back of his neck. Oh GOD his mind was quickly falling into hot-fantasy territory, and that was not a good place to be when he was supposed to be working!

Usually Trowa didn't break the rules, but, just this once... He wanted to hear it so bad! "You can moan if you want... No one's gonna hear you but me," he offered with a little moan of his own. He could admit it. He loved to hear the mighty rich-bitches moaning for him like a whore. It made him hot to hear it. And right now he was already so hot already, a little more couldn't hurt.

Trowa grinded and flicked his hips against the blonde's thigh again, knowing his ass was grinding right against the man's cock now, and giving him a lot more contact than he was really supposed to be giving for the price Quatre paid. But he didn't care. It felt so good: For both of them! So the-hell WHAT if he was breaking a few rules.

He was rewarded with a deep, guttural moan from the CEO that sent thrills up Trowa's spine and made him grind harder. Then, he felt the man's hands grab onto Trowa's thighs unconsciously and the pretty little blonde was rolling up into Trowa's hips.

He should have stopped him; He should have moved his hands at least! But he didn't.

He kept moving against the blonde, arching his back and then kneeling upright to roll his shirt higher and higher. He liked giving Quatre a little show, and it was hot to undress for someone specific. While he was mad that Quatre was given the private room for free, he wasn't mad about it right now. He knew no one was watching them, and no one was watching him bring Quatre to the edge. He brought the shirt up and over his head, and then he tossed it to the side of the room.

Quatre gave another little groan of appreciation and let his eyes roam over the dancer's body. His hands slowly caressed his thighs where they stayed unobtrusively on the dancer's jeans. Trowa wasn't pushing him off.

Quatre knew he'd managed to get back on Trowa's good side when he started to feel Trowa's body giving him what he wanted. Staying still was the hardest thing he ever had to do, but he managed it. He didn't think Trowa would appreciate him acting like a boorish pig for his dance; thrusting and grinding and begging like he wanted to was not classy. And Trowa seemed to really like classy.

The more Quatre behaved, the more Trowa seemed to give him. He kept turning up the heat of his dance until the gorgeous man was grinding against Quatre's lap deep and hard while Trowa's hands slipped between their bodies and ran against the bulge in his pants as if curious how much Quatre was enjoying this. From Trowa's angle, staring at the wall with his back to Quatre, the dancer couldn't really tell except for the moans he was ripping from Quatre's throat.

Quatre let out a whimper at that touch, the pressure sending his brain into shock and his body rolling just a little into the touch. But the dancer didn't move away. He gave him a little more pressure and let out a little moan of his own. It all became clear to Quatre: Trowa was enjoying this. He liked his job. Trowa really was a natural performer. He craved the spotlight, but he played behind masks and walls to protect him from the outside. Quatre thought that he understood the performer a little, now that he'd spoken to him and his sister. And the more time he spent with the complicated performer, the more pieces began to fall into the puzzle.

There was just one thing that didn't sit right with him. Why was he so against Quatre offering to buy him things? Or trips? "Trowa... Do you really not like nice things?"

Trowa's movements slowed, and he flicked his eyes over his shoulder. He was scowling a little. "I don't need money to be happy. I'm a natural gypsy. I live cheaply. I'm not like you-"

But Quatre cut him off before Trowa worked himself up to anger. "I didn't say 'expensive' things. I said 'nice' things. There's a difference." Quatre's voice was soft now, low and purring. The manager had known the trick to dealing with Trowa, and now Quatre was using it to his advantage. A little bit of touch and some whispered words: Flirting.

It worked. Trowa calmed down and he continued to rub and slide over Quatre's lap... He was listening.

Quatre licked his lips and continued. He ran his hands down Trowa's legs a little, "Like... real leather pants instead of that fake plastic stuff. Or shirts made out of cotton instead of polyester. The real Count Chocula cereal and not Value Brand Chocolate-Bits. Sheets of Egyptian cotton, and wine from France. I thought you would be a man of taste. Of quality. It's not about expense. Do you know what I mean?"

Trowa did. He didn't like to admit it, but... He knew exactly what Quatre was talking about, and he knew that he had a taste for that sort of thing. He made due, though! He didn't need that sort of thing, and he didn't like Quatre throwing his vices in his face! Before he could feel affronted though, Quatre continued talking to him. His hands kept petting his thighs with that soft, sexy grip and it was hard for Trowa to stay mad when his body was being given so much attention.

"It's not shameful," Quatre's voice kept that sexy purring lilt even as the CEO's body began to rock up to meet Trowa's rolling hips in the dance, "You have high standards. There's nothing wrong with that."

Quatre could feel his breath getting more shallow. His body was enjoying this dance. He wanted release. Badly. And Trowa seemed willing to give it to him now. Quatre was pretty sure their twenty minutes were nearly, or already, up. But he just kept rolling against him and talking. His words seemed to keep Trowa interested; seemed to keep the man rocking against him deep and hard...

Quatre could tell that Trowa was the kind of man who would enjoy being pampered, or being taken care of. As long as he never felt tied down. That was the key. If Quatre could find a way to spoil him without making Trowa feel trapped he might be able to get this sort of treatment more often. Maybe even more that just a lap dance, too. He didn't just want Trowa for one night. He wanted him all the time. He wanted to come home and see Trowa lying naked in bed, waiting for him. He wanted Trowa sitting in the seat beside him on his private jet, he wanted Trowa sipping martini's with him in his house's banquet hall and he wanted to see Trowa in Armani and skin-tight Guess jeans (and see how nice Trowa would treat him for buying him something like that).

The dance was getting really hot now. Trowa wasn't mad anymore, and he was gripping the sides of the chair so he could use all his muscles to blow Quatre's mind. And Quatre knew he really was going to blow soon. His whole body was shaking now, begging for the release that he'd been denied ALL night. He could barely string together a thought. The need was overwhelming!

Thankfully, Quatre had prepared for this while he was stuck waiting for two hours. He had a business card in his front jacket pocket and it already had his personal cell written on the back-- And a nice one hundred dollar tip waiting. He had to let go of Trowa's thigh to retrieve it. The dancer was leaning back against him now and rocking up and down on Quatre's hips, mimicking riding him hard. Trowa had serious strength in his body; he would be amazing in bed. And Quatre was desperately aroused by now. He was going to cum. In moments.

He took the card in his hand with the hundred wrapped around it, and took the chance to slide it down far into Trowa's front pants pocket.

Holy HELL!

Quatre nearly came right then. He figured that dancers got hot during work, but he could feel Trowa through the pocket of his jeans. He was rock hard, and if Quatre extended his fingers enough to brush the edge of the dancer's considerable bulge, he could feet a slick wetness of pre-cum wetting through the material. This was far more than mildly aroused. Trowa was close to cumming himself!

Quatre managed to hold himself back a few more minutes. He ran his finger tips over the length hidden in the performer's pants and listened for the reaction.

Far from kicking the blonde out for that blatant breaking of rules, Trowa let out a gasp and rocked his hips right against Quatre's with intensity. The dancer seemed stuck between Quatre's fingers and his hips, and Trowa was enjoying every second! If he thrust up, he got more from that hand, and if he thrust back, Quatre's length was poking into his hips and making the CEO gasp. The dancer was panting now, giving Quatre all the sugar he could handle and taking all the enjoyment that he was being given. The moan that ripped out of the dancer's throat sounded suspiciously like 'more!' but he covered it up well, just continuing to move and thrust and grind against Quatre.

That was the missing piece of the puzzle. It finally clicked into place and Quatre let out a moan. Trowa loved sex. He loved experiences. And art, and dance, and learning. He loved nice things, and quality, but most of all he loved sensations. He turned down men with money, because money usually meant no attention. Quatre knew how true that was. Most of his CEO friends bought presents instead of visiting their lovers, and kept them happy that way. Trowa wasn't the type to live like that.

But neither was Quatre.

Trowa was being so cold to him because he thought Quatre would take what he wanted, then leave Trowa hanging. Trowa thought that Quatre only cared about himself. There was only one way to prove him wrong.

In Trowa's words, "What was fair for one was fair for the other," and if Quatre wanted to get off, he was gonna bring Trowa with him.

Quatre palmed Trowa's length and stroked as best as he could within the confines of the tight jeans. The dancer gasped and arched back against Quatre almost submissively. The aggressive, moody, prickly Trowa was practically BEGGING him, rolling up and down Quatre's body like a Tom Cat and thrusting his hips against Quatre's wandering hand. The invitation was too delicious. Quatre pulled his hand out of the dancer's pocket and went for the zipper of Trowa's jeans. Trowa had already popped the button and lowered them a little during his dance; it was laughably easy to get his hand into Trowa's pants to free his cock and give it a few good strokes.

That was all it took to make Trowa turn wild. The dancer arched forward, giving himself better leverage against Quatre's hand and rocked back and forth so he was thrusting but still moving against Quatre to get him off. A hungry, growling sort of moan ripped from the gorgeous man's throat as he pistoned between Quatre's hips and his hand. Quatre had almost forgotten about himself in the thrill of making the dancer moan, but the need was coming back with a vengeance now. Quatre thrust up against the friction of the dancer's ass one more time.

That was all it took. He was totally undone. Quatre let out a wailing sort of moan as he slammed against the friction and lost control, making a mess of himself in his pants. He gripped the dancer's cock harder as the pleasure washed over him and Quatre rode it out, gasping in bliss.

Trowa was panting hard now, and thrusting into the hand furiously, almost as if he expected Quatre to stop because he had cum now. But Quatre wouldn't do that. He wasn't the kind of man Trowa through him to be. He could see it all right now. He could see what Trowa expected...

Quatre leant forward and pressed a kiss between Trowa's shoulder blades and then stepped up his ministrations, "Let me make you feel good. I won't stop until you're finished. I can take care of you. Give you what you need. Everything you need." He whispered. And He meant it. Every word. He understood what Trowa really needed now, and he was trying to give it. Trowa needed someone watching out for him, someone to care about what he was doing and why, he needed someone in his life to challenge him, but love him anyway. Someone to keep things interesting. Someone who would make sure he always got off in bed. Trowa needed a lover. He needed someone who paid attention to HIM, not just themselves.

He fisted his cock and pumped. "I want you in my bed. And I want you between my legs. And I want to keep you in my bed for as long as you'll have me. And I PROMISE you, if you choose to have me as your lover, I'll make sure that I'll always leave you satisfied." Quatre growled, low and hot.

Trowa let out a ragged cry and bucked against his hand, his whole body tightening... then he released with a growl like a wild thing! Trowa's hips pistoned forward in a frantic thrust as his body gave over to orgasm; his seed spilling out and coating Quatre's hand as Trowa shook and shivered from the intensity of it. If Quatre could have cum again, he would have just seeing Trowa like that. He was so sexy; Quatre couldn't help but want him even more.

Finally, the dancer calmed, coming down from the high of orgasm slowly. He rocked on his knees, tipping backwards to lay the back of his head on Quatre's shoulder, panting, giving Quatre a gorgeous view of the dancer's sculpted chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath.

Quatre pressed a soft, affectionate kiss to Trowa's neck, and then pressed gentle kisses all the way down his shoulder as he retracted his hand and discretely used the Kleenex provided in the private rooms for just such emergencies to clean up Trowa. He couldn't stop the grin from tugging at his face. He had just made the irate, prickly dancer cum. The man might call him a philosopher-king, but right about now? He felt more like the conquering hero.

Trowa didn't say anything other than a mumbled 'Thanks' when Quatre cleaned him up. The dancer was smiling just a little out of the corner of his lips in a way that made Quatre's heart beat faster and his mind work to memorize every detail of the sight. After a few moments, though, Trowa slowly sat up and slid off the chair.

Quatre took a moment to clean himself up, checking Trowa to make sure he hadn't ruined the man's pants or anything. But Trowa looked fine; Sexy as always, and even more gorgeous with that just-fucked glow and a content smile on his face (even though Quatre had never gotten the particular pleasure of fucking him yet).

It was just Quatre who had embarrassed himself in his pants. The dancer bent down swiftly to grab his shirt and he pulled it over his body, taking the time to roll it down real slow... In Quatre's opinion, watching Trowa put it back on like that was almost as sexy as watching Trowa take it off.

Trowa turned then, having taken a minute to compose himself, and he sashayed over to the blonde. He straddled the end of Quatre's lap for lack of anywhere else to sit, and faced him.

Digging into his pocket, Trowa pulled out the one hundred dollar bill and the card. Separating them, he tucked the cash back into his pants, and then Trowa made it a point of looking at the card. After a second, the dancer leaned forward and flicked the card back at Quatre with a mischievous smile. He grinned playfully, then tweaked the blonde's nipple, making Quatre gasp instead of respond to having the card tossed back at him.

Trowa stood after that, sparing Quatre an over-the shoulder look. He walked with a flick of his hips towards the door. "Don't come back here, Quatre," He said clearly; his voice had no-nonsense.

Quatre looked stunned at that development. He hadn't expected his card to be given back to him, and he certainly didn't expect to be told to leave! He thought he had figured the dancer out!

Apparently not! He was totally thrown off-kilter by that response! "T-Trowa.... I-"

That was when Trowa turned around, a slow sort of smile on his face still and something resembling... affection? in his eyes.

"I don't date clients." Trowa said softly, "So if you're going to offer me a ride home tonight, you'd better not be a client. I leave in half an hour. And don't forget what you promised me."

And then he was gone; he had ghosted out the door as if he had never been there at all.

Quatre sat, blinking, just for a moment. He looked from the empty room, to the card laying, denied, in his lap. But slowly, he felt himself smiling as he rewound the exit in his head.

Quatre had to applaud. If he wasn't so turned on again, he would have. He had never seen a better exit even on stage. And he had never felt like he had been bested quite as thoroughly as Trowa had just bested him. This game went to Trowa, hands down and inequitably.

And the worst part was that Quatre had fallen for it; And him.

The CEO licked his lips and pulled out his cell phone, calling up a driver to get him and Trowa outside the club in half an hour. He was looking fulfilling his promise already: He was going to make sure that Trowa was satisfied. But Quatre knew for a fact that it was going to take a long time to discover everything there was to discover about the dancer; Trowa knew how to use the cardinal rule of a performer:

"Always leave them wanting more."

End.

AN: Thanks for reading! I worked a lot on this fic, and I love the end-result! please let me know what you liked, what you didn't!Please review! Even if it's just 'I was here!"