Work Text:
Monday 6am:
The sound of the alarm woke Quatre and he rolled over, mechanically slapping his hand on the snooze button even though he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. It was Monday, the best and worst day of the week. Best, because it meant that he could look forward to spending five days in close contact with Trowa Barton, lead animator and his boss. Worst, because all five of those days would be full of opportunities to touch and taste Trowa, something he had sworn he would not do. An oath it was getting harder to keep.
Tuesday 7pm:
Trowa shifted in his chair, trying to get comfortable. No matter what he did he couldn't get rid of the residual glow and the lingering feeling of desire that went with it. The food was good and the conversation better. Quatre had a way of catching the double meanings of all his comments. While he didn't throw them back, the blush and stammer was enough. The attraction was mutual for sure. It was just a matter of getting him away from work so he could stop thinking about Trowa as his boss and start thinking about him as his lover.
Wednesday 12:00pm:
/Hump day./
The words kept echoing around in Quatre's mind. He was going to kill Duo for having that conversation with Trowa. The fact that he was Quatre's best friend really did not even play into the equation at this point. Oh no, Duo was going to die, slowly and painfully because even now, hours later, Quatre couldn't get the sound of Trowa's husky tenor saying the words 'I like hump…day' out of his head. Not to mention the resulting hard on which absolutely refused to go away. Trowa, on the other hand seemed amused and completely unaffected. Damn them!
Thursday 4:30pm:
Ducking his head, Trowa feigned working on the drawing on his desk. Quatre had actually agreed to go out with them after work for drinks to celebrate Heero's birthday. Even better, he had done so on the condition that he was riding with someone else. This had potential. A couple of beers to relax him and ten bucks to bribe Duo into letting Trowa be the one to drive Quatre back to his car. This could very well be the opportunity he had been waiting for. Trowa smirked; he planned to grab it with both hands when the moment arose.
Friday 6am:
The sound of the alarm woke Quatre and he rolled over, mechanically slapping his hand on the snooze button even though he knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. He stretched, then let his arm relax to drape around Trowa's waist. He toyed with the idea of calling in and making a long weekend of it, but that would make things a bit obvious. He would just have to find a way to keep his hands to himself for eight tortuous hours. There had better be no crisis today because he had plans that commenced at 5:01