A/N: A belated Halloween fic.

Warnings: angst, language, sexy times

Pairings: 2x3

Trick or Treat

The beer tasted like shit. But maybe that was because Trowa had never had beer before.

Either way, after five Solo cups of the stuff he felt confident it wasn't going to start tasting better.

It also wasn't making this very stupid, very boring, very crowded, very loud Halloween party any better.

He shouldn't have come, and he wouldn't have, except that he had forgotten tonight was Halloween and he had made the grave error of taking a nap in his dorm room after his last class instead of running away to hide in the library. And of course Quatre, his roommate, had woken him up, had hugged him and said he was so glad Trowa remembered and would come with him to the Halloween party that night, the party that the soccer teams were hosting and Quatre, a fellow freshman and one of the few underclassmen who actually got playing time on the team, had to go but he didn't have many friends on the team yet and Dorothy, the forward on the female soccer team who he desperately loved but was too afraid to talk to was going to be there too, obviously, and with Trowa there as his wingman surely Quatre would have the -

Trowa had stopped Quatre's seemingly endless rant/plea with a groan and a fine that, despite sounding as though it had been dragged from Trowa's marrow with rusty nails, made Quatre grin and thrust both hands into the air in triumph.

But of course Trowa didn't have a costume, and couldn't be bothered to care - but Quatre had a solution, had an extra $20 and Walmart was on the way to the house in any case and since it was Quatre's money Trowa let him pick out the costume and he obligingly used the disgusting Walmart bathroom to change into it and when he emerged as a pirate Quatre attacked him again, smeared black makeup around his eyes - because apparently that completed the costume - and Trowa felt ridiculous and irritable but Quatre grinned again and honestly, if it made Quatre happy, it wasn't that much of a hardship to go stand around and ignore everyone for a few hours while Quatre tried to get the love of his life to look at him with something other than loathing.

Not surprisingly, as soon as they showed up, Quatre was pulled away by the rest of the men's soccer team and thrown into a pool - some ritual hazing that Trowa was sure went against school policy, but the team laughed and even Quatre, sputtering and dripping everywhere as he clamoured out and tried to rearrange his Robin Hood costume, was grinning and laughing with them.

So Trowa shook his head and accepted the cup of beer someone passed him.

And the next, and the next, and the next and finally, as he emptied his fifth cup he started to wonder if there was any point to his remaining at the party any longer.

Quatre and Dorothy had disappeared into a bedroom upstairs an hour ago, and all around Trowa there were couples dancing and grinding against each other as ear-shatteringly loud music played in the background, and -

Trowa's internal listing of all the things he found boring and disappointing was forgotten as he saw her across the room.

Talking to another soccer player - Heero? - Trowa thought that was him, had seen him and Quatre hanging out, as the only two freshmen starters they had become companions by default.

But she was looking at Trowa, her wide, glossy lips curved upwards in a smirk and her blue eyes, large and bottomless and so huge in her face, probably from all of the eye makeup she wore, were looking right into his eyes.

Trowa found himself unable to look away from her.

She was some kind of slutty school girl - with thigh high socks and an obscenely short plaid skirt and a white shirt that was completely open but tied together just under her breasts and her long brown hair was pulled back into a braid that was almost as long as her skirt.

And she had a tattoo of a dragon wrapped around her belly button and it looked cool, and sexy, and she was still looking at Trowa.

And then she was walking towards him, stepping away from Heero and sauntering across the room like she owned the place and Trowa felt like a deer, like some kind of prey trapped in the gaze of a predator. He was unable to move, unable to breathe. Unable to think.

"Hey."

Her voice was low and husky and it sounded like sex. If Trowa had to identify any sound in the world as sex - it was this. It was that one word in her voice.

He had to clear his throat twice, had to cough, found himself blushing and feeling like a completely useless and utterly incompetent moron before he finally managed a response.

"Hey."

She smirked, and Trowa had the undeniably gutter worthy thought that her wide lips would feel amazing wrapped around his cock.

He instantly felt guilty for the very thought, felt himself blush even more, and he wished he could just turn and walk away but he was still trapped, still caught in her electric gaze.

"Wanna go somewhere quiet and talk?"

No one came to parties to find someplace quiet to talk. And even Trowa, who had only been to two other parties this year - the first night of classes, which had been a mistake because the party had been shut down after all of ten minutes by RAs and the vodka and rum confiscated before Trowa had even had the chance to try it; and the night after midterms, when Trowa had gone on a date with Hilde from his history class and he had tried pot for the first time and woken up the next morning with a sour taste in his mouth and Hilde's head cutting off the circulation to his left arm and the awkward promise to call each other that never manifested - even Trowa knew that no one actually wanted to talk when they said something like that.

"Yeah," he agreed immediately and she smirked even wider and reached out, grabbed Trowa's hand, and tugged him after her as she expertly navigated her way through the house, upstairs and into a bedroom.

She closed and locked the door behind her.

"So, I like the costume," she said and plucked at the open collar of his shirt.

"It's from Walmart." He winced. That sounded stupid. He sounded like an idiot. He was an idiot.

She didn't seem to care. She snorted a laugh.

"Didn't realize Gay Pirate was a costume Walmart would sell."

Trowa frowned, then remembered. The stupid eye makeup.

"It's not. I don't - I think it's just a regular pirate."

She laughed.

"Yeah. I know."

"You forgot to wear a tie."

She arched an eyebrow and Trowa gestured to her neck.

"Oh." She shrugged. "I didn't think I needed to be all that accurate. After all, this sure as fuck isn't what the good sisters at Saint Anthony's made me wear every day."

"It is a little short," Trowa had to agree.

She laughed again and it was rich, dark - like velvet or chocolate or whatever the fuck a really nice laugh was supposed to be like. Sex and velvet and chocolate. That's what she was.

"Among other things, yeah, it's a little short."

Trowa's tongue felt thick and useless in his mouth and he wondered what the fuck he was doing, how the hell he had thought it would be a good idea to come upstairs with this - this fucking goddess, who was so far out of his league it was laughable and really, he should just walk out now before he embarrassed himself further and -

She more or less tackled him to the bed, her hands wrapped around his head and her mouth on his and suddenly Trowa's tongue didn't feel so useless, not when it was wrapped around hers, not when the wet heat of her mouth enveloped him and holy shit this was the best kiss he had ever had.

She nipped at his lips, made him groan he he wanted to touch her, wanted to feel her body but he hesitated, wasn't sure where he should put his hands and then she solved the problem for him, grabbing his hands and planting them on her ass and that was fine. That was great.

He held onto her firmly, urged her closer and kneaded her ass and she felt amazing, smelled amazing and -

Something hard rubbed against his cock.

Something hard and cock shaped rubbed against his cock.

She sensed his confusion, his shock, his abrupt lack of involvement in the kiss and sat back on her heels, gave him a confused look.

"What?"

Trowa reached out, lifted the hem of the absurdly short skirt and there it was, straining against the tight, pink cotton panties - the outline of a hard cock.

"You're not a girl."

She snorted.

"Ah, no. I'm not a girl."

Trowa had to stare, at the cock, at the girl - at the boy straddling him.

The boy's jaw dropped.

"Holy shit. You really - you thought I was a girl."

"I'm not the only one. Other guys were staring at you. You're hot."

She - he smirked again.

"Well thanks, babe."

"Heero - you were talking to Heero and he was looking at your chest and -"

"He was looking at my chest because he thinks I should have gone all out and worn a bra and stuffed it or something."

The boy tugged at his shirt until it came undone, until it fell open and revealed his naked torso and there was absolutely no reason for that sight to make Trowa's heartbeat start to race again.

"He's the asshole who dared me to wear this costume in the first place."

"What?"

The boy nodded.

"Said he'd do my laundry for the rest of the year if I wore this and I'm not an idiot - one night of cross-dressing is totally worth it."

"The rest of the year? Til the end of this term or the end of spring semester? That's technically a different year."

The boy's eyes narrowed.

"Son of a bitch. I didn't even - that fucking asshole."

Someone tried to open the door, and the sound startled Trowa into sitting up. It upset the other boy's balance, however, and he started to slide off, backwards towards the floor, but Trowa caught him and held him upright.

"Occupied," the boy shouted.

Someone muttered something on the other side of the door and then walked away.

The boy turned to Trowa, and he was smirking again.

They stared at each other and Trowa had no idea what he was supposed to do. Was he supposed to just - shove this guy off his lap and run for it? Was he supposed to politely ask him to get up and please never mention this to anyone and please ask Heero not to say anything about it to Quatre? Was he -

The boy leaned in, brushed his lips over Trowa's, soft and teasing and holy fuck it felt good. Trowa kissed him back, opened his mouth and let the boy's tongue enter him again and his entire body felt flushed, felt like it was pulsing with heat and arousal.

"Should I stop?" The boy breathed against his mouth.

Trowa shook his head and kissed him, pulled him close and the boy's lips curved into a smirk.

Trowa let his hands drift downwards again, grabbed the boy's ass again and pulled him closer and it didn't matter, didn't matter that there was a cock against his and - and in fact, Trowa shifted, moved so that their cocks were aligned and the boy rolled his hips and fucking hell. That felt amazing. The heat and the friction and - he did it again and Trowa groaned into his mouth.

He felt the boy's fingers tighten in his hair, tugging until Trowa released his mouth with a gasp and the boy started kissing his way down Trowa's throat, kissing and biting and sucking and Trowa groaned and found himself thrusting upwards, humping against the boy's cock and the boy moaned.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered and he stopped rolling his hips, stopped teasing and started thrusting back against Trowa until they were both breathless, until his hands were painfully tight on Trowa's hair and Trowa was sure he was gripping the boy's ass hard enough to leave bruises but it didn't matter. It felt so fucking good, so hot and hard and so close. So fucking close that just one more -

"Fuck. Fuck what the fuck am I doing?"

The boy was gone, Trowa's lap empty and his hair released all in one second.

Trowa almost reached out, almost reached for the boy now standing beside the bed, head buried in his hands, a stream of cuss words flowing from his mouth.

But Trowa didn't reach out. He didn't do anything. He sat there. He sat there and he felt stupid and useless and he ached, his cock throbbing and his chest tight and his eyes burning and his throat constricting.

"I'm sorry."

The boy turned to him, straightened up, straightened his clothing, drew in a deep breath.

"I shouldn't - I told myself I wasn't going to be one of those stupid assholes who dresses up and hooks up with some random drunk hot guy on Halloween and what the fuck am I doing? I'm hooking up with some random drunk hot guy and -"

"I'm not a random guy."

The boy arched an eyebrow.

"I -" for some reason, Trowa deeply resented the idea that he was like everyone else, that he was just as random as the jocks who filled this house, that he was the same as all of the rest of them. He wasn't. "I'm Trowa," he said and it felt lame, sounded lame. But he couldn't put all of it into words, couldn't express his anger.

"And I'm Duo, but that doesn't change the fact that I have no idea who the fuck you are, aside from being a drunk hot guy - a drunk, hot straight guy, and fuck - that's why you said you weren't a gay pirate. God. I'm a fucking idiot and I -"

"Is that a wig?"

Duo looked at him as though he was crazy, so Trowa gestured to his hair.

"No. It's real."

"It's really long."

Duo rolled his eyes.

"How fucking drunk are you?"

Trowa shrugged.

"I've only had five beers - whatever kind was in the Solo cups."

Duo shook his head and groaned.

"That wasn't beer - those were boilermakers. Beer and whiskey mixed together. You had five?"

Trowa nodded.

"They taste like shit."

"No kidding. But they get you nice and drunk really quickly - which is why these idiots pass them out like candy."

"This is what it feels like to be drunk."

Trowa had wondered. He held out his arms, tried to feel how heavy they were, and they didn't seem that different, didn't feel that weird - well, his right arm felt heavy, felt slower than his left but -

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"I wanted to see if my arms were heavier. I think my right one is."

"Oh God." Duo was shaking his head again. He sighed and tied his shirt back together. "Come on. I'll take you home before you pass out or wind up drowning in the pool."

"They threw Quatre in the pool."

"They threw Heero in it too. They do it to all the freshmen soccer players."

"I'm not a soccer player."

"I know."

"So why would they throw me in?"

"I didn't - you know, you're right. Flawless logic. Now, Einstein, stand up and let's go."

Trowa frowned. He felt certain that Duo was making fun of him. But his logic had been flawless. And Einstein was smart. So, surely - he tried to stand and the room started to tilt and then to spin.

"Fuck. It's okay. I've got you."

Trowa felt strong arms around him, holding him up and steadying him.

"You're strong for a girl."

"I'm not a girl," Duo reminded him.

"You're still hot."

"I doubt you'd be saying that if you were sober. Now, before the liquor catches up with you even more - where do you live?"

"Boatright. Room 312. Quatre's my roommate."

"Right. Well, I saw Quatre and Dorothy leaving the party before you and I even came upstairs, so I think he might have forgotten about you…"

"Everyone does," Trowa shrugged. "It's no big deal."

Duo was giving him a funny look. Or maybe he wasn't, and he was just as tilty and spinny as the rest of the world - Trowa couldn't tell.

They made it down the stairs, and outside and the feeling of the cool, crisp air on his face made Trowa smile and look upwards, at the dark night sky.

"You can see the stars."

"Yep, you definitely can," Duo agreed. "But you can also see the ground under your feet if you just look down and - there we go. Okay, let's just casually walk this way, no, no, this way. There we go. And keep walking and keep - okay. Here's my car. Just -"

"You're drunk!" Trowa looked at Duo, leaned in close to see his eyes. "Aren't you?"

"What? No. I had one of those boilermakers about two hours ago and that's it." Duo held his index finger out and then used it to touch his own nose. "See? Sober as a judge."

"How does that prove you're sober?"

"Fuck if I know, but that's what the cops have you do."

Trowa frowned as he considered that.

Duo sighed.

"Look, if you don't feel safe, I can call a cab and -"

But Trowa suddenly felt tired, felt really unable to keep his eyes open and maintain his balance any longer and Duo's car was right there, the passenger side door already open and he sat down, swung his legs inside and leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. This felt good.

"Jesus Christ." He heard Duo say.

-o-

When Trowa woke up the next morning he felt like dying. Or maybe he was dead - maybe the pounding headache, the intense nausea - the everything, maybe the everything were symptoms of being dead.

He managed to make it to the bathroom, managed to sit there puking until his entire body ached and he was heaving up only air and his own snot and tears and then he felt something cool and wet pressed against the back of his neck.

He looked up to see Quatre standing over him. He looked exhausted, his skin pale, his eyes dark and red-rimmed, but he was offering Trowa a sympathetic look.

"You had a lot to drink last night," Quatre said.

Trowa nodded, and the motion made him vomit again.

Shockingly, his body managed to find something, somewhere in his body, to expel.

Quatre grimaced.

"Hang on. Let me get a glass. You need some water."

Trowa slumped down on the floor beside the toilet. He was so grateful Boatright had private bathrooms. So grateful that the entire hall wasn't around to hear or see him look like this.

Trowa accepted the water from Quatre and drank it slowly. It burned, but he knew it would be good for him. Knew he needed to drink the whole glass and he did.

"So… at least you had a good time?" Quatre gave him a smile and a wink.

"What?"

Quatre gestured to the mirror.

Scrawled across the glass in what looked like lipstick was a message:

Give me a call if you are interested - DM 702-892-5555

Trowa frowned and he tried to think, tried to remember, tried to -

Holy fuck.

He remembered.

He remembered the hot girl, the hot girl who kissed like Trowa's fantasies and who felt amazing and who was actually a boy. A very hot boy who had a cock and still kissed like Trowa's fantasties, still felt amazing and -

Holy fuck.

"You brought her back here?" Quatre asked. "She must have left before I got back this morning."

"I… I don't remember."

Quatre arched an eyebrow.

"You don't remember bringing her back here or you don't remember when she left?"

Trowa shook his head.

"I don't remember any of it."

What if - what if the boy - Duo. What if Duo had brought him back to his dorm and - fuck. What if Duo had kissed him again? What if Duo had sat in his lap and humped against him and what if he hadn't stopped that time? What if Duo had ridden Trowa until they both came and what if Trowa had forgotten the best sexual encounter of his life?

That gave Trowa pause. That made Trowa clench the glass in his hand and close his eyes.

Fuck.

It would have been. It had been - it undeniably had been.

Duo was the sexiest, most intense, most amazing sexual encounter of Trowa's life. And Duo was a guy. And Trowa was straight. Trowa liked girls. Trowa had been trying to think of ways to ask out Relena from his math class that didn't sound lame but he hadn't been able to think of anything and -

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck Relena - Trowa knew, even without data for comparison, that kissing Relena would never feel like kissing Duo. Having Relena dry humping him would never feel like having Duo dry humping him. Relena's ass in no way would feel like Duo's. And Relena didn't have a cock. Duo had a cock. And Trowa -

Fuck.

Trowa liked that. Trowa liked the way that had felt. Liked the hardness pressed against his own and he wondered what it would feel like to touch, to suck, to -

"Well?"

Trowa opened his eyes and found Quatre still standing over him.

"Huh?"

"Well, she said, if interested, call her. Are you interested?"

Trowa stared at Quatre for a second, and then looked past him to the lipstick message.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I'm interested."

-o-