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[Ficlet] Down in Mexico
Down in Mexico
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Trowa/Quatre
Summary: It was the tequila what made him reach for his phone.
---
It was the tequila, Trowa told himself, the tequila and the music and hot Mexican night. It was intoxicating. The people were all lively, singing loudly in time with the mariachis. He didn't understand every word but the feelings of the song were clear enough in the melody, in the tone of the singer filled with heartache.
It was usual for those sitting in the front row like Trowa was, in table all by himself, to fill a shot glass for the singer and place it at the edge of the table. Trowa did it and filled his own three or four times before the mariachi drank his. It was stuffy and hot in the bar and Trowa undid the top buttons of his shirt.
It was the tequila what made him reach for his phone. He didn't exactly remember what he had said. He hadn't wanted to call but learning that Quatre was in the city… it had driven him to the bar that night and it had made him call.
He was sucking on a lemon when long fingers grasped the shot glass at the edge of the table. Trowa followed that hand with his eyes and watched Quatre down the drink. He was still wearing his day clothes, the tie nowhere to be seen, the shirt untucked with the first buttons undone and the expensive suit jacket hanging just by one shoulder.
Quatre dragged a chair and sat beside him. He ordered another shot glass, another bottle and calmly poured the tequila. He didn't speak. He held the drink in is hand while he listened to the song and downed his drink before clapping with the rest of the patrons.
The next song was lively, the trumpets and violins leading a powerful melody while the people clapped. "It's been a while," Quatre finally said. He turned to look at Trowa and his eyes seemed to shine in the dimmed light of the bar. "Is this were you've been hiding?"
When Trowa spoke his voice was raspy. "I've been traveling."
"I didn't expect you to call." Quatre put his jacket on the back of his seat.
"It was the tequila," Trowa said weakly.
Quatre snorted and poured himself another drink. "Then you should have started drinking tequila before." He lifted his glass in a silent toast before drinking the alcohol and slamming the glass on the table.
The mariachi approached their table, sang a couple of verses to them, winking once or twice before taking the glass that had been poured from him and drinking it. When he moved away Quatre refilled it and his own glass.
He drank this one slower that the others, taking the time to savor the alcohol and then he took a slice of lemon between his fingers and sucked it slowly. "Now I can blame the tequila too," he said, throwing the lemon on the ashtray. "I still love you."
Quatre held his eyes and Trowa felt himself sober up. It was the tequila but now Quatre was here, sitting before him and looking at him the way he had years ago, before Trowa left.
"You don't have to answer," Quatre said, filling Trowa's glass and then his own. "Just drink one shot with me."
Trowa lifted his glass, his eyes still on Quatre, and with a nod he drank. They both slammed their glasses on the table at the same time and when Trowa looked up again Quatre had turned back to the stage and was watching the mariachis in silence.
The singer was holding a note while the people around him clapped and cheered. Trowa looked at his empty glass at then at Quatre. "It wasn't the tequila," he said.
Quatre turned to him slowly.
"I've been running," Trowa confessed. How much time it had been? How many cities, how many roads? "I'm done." He took the bottle and poured them two more shots.
"And now what?" Quatre asked, curling his fingers around the shot glass.
"Now I stay. With you, if you'll let me."
Quatre's lips slowly curved into a smile. "Of course." And he downed his drink.
Trowa smiled back before doing the same. On the background the song ended with a high note and the people cheered.
- The End -
Um, if anyone wants the songs I used as background while writing these just let me know and I'll upload when I come back *is in a hurry* *loves*
Rating: PG13
Pairing: Trowa/Quatre
Summary: It was the tequila what made him reach for his phone.
---
It was the tequila, Trowa told himself, the tequila and the music and hot Mexican night. It was intoxicating. The people were all lively, singing loudly in time with the mariachis. He didn't understand every word but the feelings of the song were clear enough in the melody, in the tone of the singer filled with heartache.
It was usual for those sitting in the front row like Trowa was, in table all by himself, to fill a shot glass for the singer and place it at the edge of the table. Trowa did it and filled his own three or four times before the mariachi drank his. It was stuffy and hot in the bar and Trowa undid the top buttons of his shirt.
It was the tequila what made him reach for his phone. He didn't exactly remember what he had said. He hadn't wanted to call but learning that Quatre was in the city… it had driven him to the bar that night and it had made him call.
He was sucking on a lemon when long fingers grasped the shot glass at the edge of the table. Trowa followed that hand with his eyes and watched Quatre down the drink. He was still wearing his day clothes, the tie nowhere to be seen, the shirt untucked with the first buttons undone and the expensive suit jacket hanging just by one shoulder.
Quatre dragged a chair and sat beside him. He ordered another shot glass, another bottle and calmly poured the tequila. He didn't speak. He held the drink in is hand while he listened to the song and downed his drink before clapping with the rest of the patrons.
The next song was lively, the trumpets and violins leading a powerful melody while the people clapped. "It's been a while," Quatre finally said. He turned to look at Trowa and his eyes seemed to shine in the dimmed light of the bar. "Is this were you've been hiding?"
When Trowa spoke his voice was raspy. "I've been traveling."
"I didn't expect you to call." Quatre put his jacket on the back of his seat.
"It was the tequila," Trowa said weakly.
Quatre snorted and poured himself another drink. "Then you should have started drinking tequila before." He lifted his glass in a silent toast before drinking the alcohol and slamming the glass on the table.
The mariachi approached their table, sang a couple of verses to them, winking once or twice before taking the glass that had been poured from him and drinking it. When he moved away Quatre refilled it and his own glass.
He drank this one slower that the others, taking the time to savor the alcohol and then he took a slice of lemon between his fingers and sucked it slowly. "Now I can blame the tequila too," he said, throwing the lemon on the ashtray. "I still love you."
Quatre held his eyes and Trowa felt himself sober up. It was the tequila but now Quatre was here, sitting before him and looking at him the way he had years ago, before Trowa left.
"You don't have to answer," Quatre said, filling Trowa's glass and then his own. "Just drink one shot with me."
Trowa lifted his glass, his eyes still on Quatre, and with a nod he drank. They both slammed their glasses on the table at the same time and when Trowa looked up again Quatre had turned back to the stage and was watching the mariachis in silence.
The singer was holding a note while the people around him clapped and cheered. Trowa looked at his empty glass at then at Quatre. "It wasn't the tequila," he said.
Quatre turned to him slowly.
"I've been running," Trowa confessed. How much time it had been? How many cities, how many roads? "I'm done." He took the bottle and poured them two more shots.
"And now what?" Quatre asked, curling his fingers around the shot glass.
"Now I stay. With you, if you'll let me."
Quatre's lips slowly curved into a smile. "Of course." And he downed his drink.
Trowa smiled back before doing the same. On the background the song ended with a high note and the people cheered.
- The End -
Um, if anyone wants the songs I used as background while writing these just let me know and I'll upload when I come back *is in a hurry* *loves*