Down to Business
"Yeah - until point five a share, and at least fifty-one percent of total stock. Thanks, Mason." Quatre allowed himself a tight grin, closed the cell phone with a snap and sharply pulled his fist in celebration. A triumph, but...
He glanced at the TV, at the hastily discarded pairs of pants over by the door, at his tie and clip tossed over his dresser. Quatre looked down, past the crumpled, unbuttoned shirt and the damp spot on his briefs - down at his feet, the left sock still clinging onto his toes as best it could when he dangled his feet. He studied the sock, waved it around a little, reached to touch the fresh, still moist hickey at his neck.
Quatre shook the sock off and moved his leg up, hugging his knee. His smile faded, and he tentatively looked over to the other side of the bed, trying to appear innocent and truly apologetic.
All he got was a cold shoulder.
He clenched his teeth and sucked at his lips. He obviously had his work cut out for him. Tentatively, he stretched, crawled in on the bed, reached out to touch his bedfellow's exposed elbow. "I'm sorry about that... where were we?"
At contact, Trowa pulled his arm away, tugging at the covers.
Quatre drew a soft breath, and exhaled slowly. "I didn't mean to break off-" he started, "It was very nice, very..."
"But obviously not good enough," Trowa drawled into his pillow, gripping the top corner tight. "You could have called your broker later."
"Trowa..." Quatre attempted. "Please... I... I really want that shuttle company, Trowa," he said, sitting down beside his lover, cautiously sliding his palm in over a sheet-covered thigh. "I've been waiting for the best time to buy, see. The value of their stock has been falling for months, I thought-" He pursed his lips. At least Trowa didn't shirk away this time. "-but then that news story about the new peace settlement between the oil field warlords came, and you know fuel prices are going to fall as a result, and that again will cause-"
"That's another thing," Trowa growled, finally turning his head enough to glare at Quatre with at least one hard, green eye visible. "That TV set has got to go."
Trowa rolled over, placed a hand at Quatre's hip, long fingers reaching around to his back, touching up recent claw marks. The hand Quatre supported himself on was close enough; Trowa arched his neck and briefly touched his lips to the fading imprint left by Quatre's wristwatch. "You can have that in here with you - or me," he stated, leaving the threat hanging until Quatre met his harsh look. "I don't want to fight CNN for your attention anymore." He paused, caressed fingertips along bare skin, working up the courage to say it. "Choose."
Quatre's jaw worked, but the answer didn't come immediately.
Trowa gave him a quick glare, and rolled back over, settling in. "Good night, Quatre."
He licked his lips. "You, of course," he said, lying down. "Don't be silly, Trowa..." He reached up to touch Trowa's cheek, brushed across the temple and sifted his fingers through Trowa's characteristic bangs. Quatre leaned in to land a kiss at the nape of Trowa's neck. "I love you..."
"...I'm starting to feel like a neglected housewife..." Trowa muttered, albeit not without a touch of sarcastic humor.
"I did offer you-" he started out, smiling faintly.
"I couldn't have accepted. Not like that."
"I know," Quatre agreed, reaching for the remote at his nightstand. He shifted the TV from a 'mute' to an 'off' state, discarded the control and embraced his lover. "You don't mind me being rich and sharing some, though..."
Trowa didn't answer. He did have jobs, but they were sporadic at best. Ever since they'd gone public about their relationship, it'd become difficult to keep a day job for long, and while he had experience tending wild animals, the media circus often turned too much. Their home had become his haven.
Quatre tugged at the sheets, enough to expose Trowa's midsection. He met no resistance. The air in the room wasn't all that cool; they'd both warmed it up along with each other earlier.
At least until CNN had lured Quatre away.
As they'd learned the rough way a long time ago - evils are based on oil, not water.
Quatre's soft palm slipped in under Trowa's T-shirt to rub his stomach in that slow, steadfast way Quatre had found he liked. Despite his seemingly grumpy mood, a faint, content moan escaped his throat. He knew it'd only egg Quatre on.
When Quatre's hand shifted south and slid in under his waistband to grope around, finally hooking his privates, he had no real complaints.
Even so, he let there remain a touch of bitterness in his voice as his boxers were pushed down his thighs. "So... the big businessman jumps from bottom-fishing stock and right to a hostile takeover..."
Quatre moved around, leaned in towards Trowa's exposed erection. "Oh..." he started, an inch away, watching Trowa react to his warm breath. "I had my eyes set on more of... a merger," he said, tapping his hip to Trowa's shoulder. "A big one." He moved in to halfway drape himself over his partner before taking a tentative lick, smiling as Trowa's hips jerked. It was all the sign he needed; he took Trowa's dick into his mouth and commenced a series of soft bobs, putting tongue and cheeks to expert use.
The smile turned into a grin around Trowa's cock when he felt his ass being copped, his briefs being pulled down. He shivered as the familiar squirt of cool gel hit the top of his crack, not quite on target - though Trowa's fingers were quick to fix that, one long digit pushing slowly inside him.
Quatre knew what was coming, and it would satisfy more cravings of his than just the one for forgiveness.