Mischief
By: Kitty E.
Quatre sighed, it was the third or fourth time he'd done so, he'd been in six different Social Studies classes this year, and he couldn't see why every single one of the teachers had the same monotone voice. Dutifully, he took his notes, though he and his tutors had gone over the French Revolution ages ago, he figured the horrors of extremism was probably an important lesson for him to learn... even if it was twice.
Besides, there wasn't much else to distract him. Their classroom was an old lecture hall, built in a semi-circle to draw focus inevitably to the front of the room, and tiered so that even the back of someone's head to stare at was denied him. There were no windows, no decoration, nothing but the blackboard and the teacher. The only plus was the old construction. Rather than individual desks, each student sat with a partner at a larger desk than they were accustomed to, and the drop to the next row meant that the back of the desk in front of them, blocked any view of their legs.
As the teacher droned on about the kind of atmosphere present in pre-revolutionary France, Quatre lost all will to write, but there was one distraction he'd missed. Trowa shared this class, his lover sat beside him, still taking notes as he'd noted the lack of anything else to do, too. Quatre kept his eyes on the front of the class, as he carefully moved one leg over to touch knees with Trowa. The other boy paused, his eyes sliding briefly to Quatre and then back to his paper. Quatre sighed, Trowa was a loving partner but sometimes he just didn't get it. Rather than try to explain the concept of footsie in a note, he decided to try something else.
Giving up on taking notes, he put his pencil down, and put his hand under the desk. Discreetly he tugged Trowa's left hand down with him, lacing their fingers together. This pleased him for a time, and he devoted his full attention on their joined palms. Idly he rubbed his thumb over the back of Trowa's hand, tracing the sharply defined tendons. He periodically laced and unlaced their fingers, and reveled in the occasional squeeze Trowa sent his way. Eventually, his fascination faded, and his palm got sweaty, he broke the contact, and started to wipe his hand on his pant leg when he got a much better idea.
Biting his lip to quell a laugh, he put his hand on Trowa's knee, slowly sliding upwards, and snickered softly when Trowa dropped his pencil. A look of gentle warning past between them, and Quatre removed his hand... for a time. Avoiding eye contact, he started to drag his fingers up and down Trowa's inner thigh. At first Trowa resisted, shifting, subtly pushing the wandering hand away, but his own body got the best of his sensibilities and he sat back against his chair, legs falling open.
Quatre glanced around the room, those who weren't asleep were still taking notes, and no one seemed to be casting any curious glances their way. He felt safe enough to scoot closer, keeping a presentable distance, but getting close enough to whisper into Trowa's ear. "Do you think they'd stop us if I just decided to bang you right *now?*" he whispered.
Trowa finally turned his head, "Quatre, you shouldn't-" his words hitched in the back of his throat as Quatre slid his hand up again, only this time he didn't stop until he reached the growing bulge in Trowa's pants. He smiled angelically at Trowa's subtly stunned expression as he traced one finger, then two over it. When he coved Trowa's groin with his entire hand he spoke again, "I wish I could just throw you down and..." he trailed off, not trusting himself to keep his voice down if he continued. Instead, he began slowly massaging, wondering just how far he'd get before something stopped them.
"... Mr. White?"
Quatre gasped when he remembered that was his assumed name, this mission. Whipping his attention back to the teacher, he quickly stilled his hand. "Anou..." he said, trying not to sound flustered. "Could you say that again, sensei?"
The teacher sighed, and asked again, "What heading are we under, Mr. White?"
Quatre's mind was so fogged with other things, he couldn't begin to decipher the question, "Heading?" he asked meekly.
"Yes, the new heading to the new page of notes?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"Oh,... eto..." Quatre's mind was thinking semi-logically, and he came up with a reasonable answer, or so he thought. "Causes of the French Revolution?"
The teacher rolled his eyes, "We've moved on from that, Mr. White, and are now on the *effects* of the Revolution. Please try to keep up."
"Hai, sensei."
"Sensei?" Quatre looked over to Trowa in surprise, for a minute terrified of what was going to be said next. "May I be excused briefly?
"What for?"
"Bathroom, sensei."
The teacher sighed, "Hai, hai, go on, but take the hallpass."
Trowa stood, discreetly readjusted himself and headed to the front of the class leaving Quatre about to cry in frustration. I'm hard to you know! he thought sullenly. "Sensei, I'm having trouble staying up, could I get a drink of water to wake me up."
The teacher looked as though he might refuse, then shrugged. "Very well, but there's only one pass..." he began.
"We could go together, it wouldn't take very long." Quatre offered, with his every thought he willed the teacher to agree.
"Yes, fine, Mr. White, but do hurry, and stop stalling the class."
Quatre would have been embarrassed by such a condescending tone, but he was far too pleased with his good fortune to notice. He quickly caught up with Trowa who was trying to put some distance between them. Once the door closed Quatre caught Trowa's arm.
"Why are you running away, koi?" he asked, pretending to be hurt, but still walking quickly towards the bathroom.
"Anou, Quatre," Trowa sighed, "School isn't the best place for something like that."
"Exactly," Quatre replied flashing a mischievous smile. He pushed open the door, and tugged Trowa in after him. He let go briefly, glancing at the sinks, and then under the stalls to make sure there was no one with them. As luck would have it, they were completely alone.
"Ne, Quatre, I *could* wait," Trowa tried again to convince his lover it was a bad idea as he was pulled into the far stall with Quatre.
"Well, I couldn't," Quatre insisted. He crowded Trowa against the door, and claimed a kiss before another protest could be made. Trowa stiffened, and Quatre began to wonder just how deeply Trowa was against this. As soon as he parted the reluctant lips, there was a soft sigh of defeat. He rubbed small circles over Trowa's chest, rumpling his shirt, and moving ever downwards. Their lips clung together, not even parting to take a breath, rather they panted into each other's mouths. They were quickly overcome with the urgency of the moment, both of time, space, and their own desire.
Quatre thought about giving Trowa a hicky, if only to incite a little scandal about who was going with the quiet new kid. He thought better of it though; there was no guarantee that nobody suspected they weren't adverse to, well, doing what they were now. He gave a few parting thrusts of his tongue, and then broke the kiss. Trowa's green eyes met him evenly, his serious spirited lover was never one to completely lose himself in the moment, unless given a good enough reason.
He decided it was time to give him that reason, going down on one, and reaching up to undo Trowa's belt. He licked his lips unconsciously, and pulled down the zipper with his teeth.
"We could really get caught this time," Trowa said breathlessly, shivering as Quatre nuzzled and blew upon the rise in his boxers playfully. He fell back, palms flat against the door, leaning almost his full weight against them.
"You always say that," Quatre teased, as he pulled Trowa's boxers down, fingers briefly clenching his buttocks. He heard Trowa take another breath to say something more, but as he fitted his mouth around Trowa's erection, and plunged down the same breath was simply rushed out as a pant.
Quatre fell into a familiar rhythm, wishing he could do more just to hear Trowa make the noises he loved. It didn't matter what was said, his name, vague unconnected phrases, just so long as he could hear that so rarely inflected voice dripping with desire, with pleasure he was inflicting. Working quickly, he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, non-descript tube. He lubed his fingers with two thick beads of what he squeezed out, and moved his hand around to the familiar tight opening of his lover. Trowa did his part to dispel any further doubts of his compliance, scooting his legs apart, and leaning back until only his shoulders were against the door.
Quatre slipped in one finger, letting Trowa adjust before quickly thrusting in another finger. He sped his strokes to Trowa's length, hearing his hot, stifled pants keep time with them. He pushed in a third finger, wishing he could take more time, when he heard Trowa grunt under his breath. Another noise reached his ears, the unmistakable sound of a door closing. Quatre blinked, pulling his mouth away and listening intently his whole body tightening. The moment dragged on forever, but there wasn't another sound.
"Someone... *left?*" Trowa whispered.
Quatre was silent a moment longer, considering risks of staying, and the drawbacks of leaving now. "I suppose we'll have to work quickly then," he said finally. He resumed his careful stretching, and Trowa's eyes widened visibly, while Quatre's other hand undid his own trousers.
"Quatre, you can't be-" his words were cut off by a gasp as he was lifted by his thighs. Automatically, his hands went up to catch the top of the stall door, supporting himself enough to rest softly against Quatre's hips.
"Perfect," Quatre murmured, briefly moving one hand to guide himself to Trowa's heat. He buried himself partway, and then went back to support Trowa with both arms, thrusting in as deeply as he could.
Trowa lost the war to remain quiet, uttering soft cries with each of thrusts. It didn't seem to matter if they got caught now. All their focus was on the completion of the moment, the fulfillment of desire. Quatre let his grip on Trowa slip, jackknifing the taller boy's body a bit more and letting him drive in at just the right angle to hit Trowa's most sensitive spot. Trowa's head snapped back, lolling against the door that rattled with their movements.
"Help me out... just a little," Quatre panted, and hefting Trowa's weight a little.
Trowa obliged him, tightening his grip on the door, and pulling himself up enough to let Quatre move one hand again, this time to stroke Trowa's erection in the same rhythm as his thrusts, speeding up both. Trowa's whole body tensed, the intensity of time, place, and sensation quickly overwhelming him. He a final shuddering gasp, he came, the hot, sticky seed quickly caught by Quatre's hand.
Trowa's body became so tight that Quatre lasted only a few more strokes. He bit his lip to keep from proclaiming the pleasure that hit him so hard his knees almost buckled. He waited until they had both recovered before letting Trowa down again. The taller boy wobbled slightly, but Quatre caught him around the neck, supporting him as they kissed a few more tender times before admitting the necessity to clean up and get back to class.
"This is a bad hobby of yours," Trowa chided softly as they left the bathroom, more than just a little late.
Quatre smirked, "You seem to enjoy it, all things considered." He leered at his lover suggestively and finally noticed how stiffly Trowa was walking. "Oh," he breathed, "Gomen, Totorowa{1} I'll be more careful about that next time." He lifted himself onto his toes to plant a kiss on Trowa's cheek before they entered class. Quatre schooled his features, and smirked when he Trowa straighten his rumpled dress shirt.
He pushed open the door, and stepped inside, immediately confronted with his teachers figure looming over them. "Just where have you been?" he demanded. "I sent a student after you and all he could say was that you were busy?"
Quatre's mouth hung open for a minute, then he swallowed hard for sure they had been caught this time. His mind scrambled for a decent explanation, he didn't think he'd ever find an excuse when suddenly everything snapped into place. "We had to go to the bathroom at the end of the hall," he said finally.
The teacher blinked, "Why?" he asked warily.
Quatre blushed, and leaned a little closer. "Well... I don't how polite this is, but there are two people doing some *highly* inappropriate things in the one at this end."
This time it was the teacher's mouth that dropped, "You're... you're serious?"
Quatre nodded, looking quite shocked, but also vaguely pleased with himself. "Can you imagine the sort of hentais that must go to this school for *that* to be taking place?" He moved past the teacher, Trowa following as quickly as he could, to sit back at their seat.
The teacher scratched his head, then sighed heavily, "Well, Never mind that, let's get back to the lecture."
Quatre and Trowa sat in silence for a long moment, both breathing small sighs of relief. "That was close," Trowa whispered.
"Wasn't it though?" Quatre said, a bright smile forming on his features.
"You really are a hentai," Trowa teased.
"It's why you love me, ne?" Quatre whispered back.
Trowa considered that for a moment, "It's as good a reason as any."
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