Disclaimer: They are not mine.

Pairing: Heero/Duo, Quatre/Trowa
Warning: AU, sex, language, Duo POV, angst

Author Note: This story sort of took over my life a couple of weeks ago... and a few friends I was able to con into reading drafts for me. *grin* This story so matches this 80s request Kanzanhanzai made. Behind the Wheel lyrics. Enjoy!

Watch Me Spin
Part 4
By Merith

The Market District never closes. Those who lived and worked here were everyday citizens in daylight; they could have been mistaken for anyone from any other part of the country. Come nightfall, it was a different story. Come nightfall, it got fucking weird.

We left the coffeehouse, and he led the way, his hand on my back guiding my steps. Stopping for a moment, he pulled out a pack of gum, grabbed a stick and offered it to me. I shook my head and watched as he slid the unwrapped piece between his lips. When it disappeared, my eyes darted up to his and realized he had done it deliberately, to see what I'd do, or say, I dunno. But I'd never wanted to be peppermint gum so badly as I did then.

He smiled and we continued up the street. We must have walked a block before he said anything, and by then, I'd almost forgotten what he was referring to.

"You work fast."

A gyrating, twisted fucker had been holding my attention for several steps. I'd assumed it was male, thinking the bulge gave it away and no tits to speak of, but dressed as it was in full body leather, complete with leather mask ala Leatherface, I wasn't sure. Only hearing his voice, I glance to the side, blinking at him. "Huh?"

"You didn't mean what you said?" he sounded a little hurt. Said? Fuck! That's right, I would like to see him spread before me, naked.

I grinned. "Oh, I meant it. But I thought that's where we're headed eventually." He gave me one of those confused frowns again. "As part of the therapy, I'd think you'd have to strip sometime." An image flashed in my head of him crouched behind me, wearing what he was now with the fly of those slacks undone, and him getting ready to shove his dick in me. I stepped back away from him, a little freaked, and wondering why I was hardening.

"Duo?" He stepped with me, his hand reaching for my wrist. "You okay?"

His eyes really were fantastic, even in very little light. I nodded, thought about telling him what I'd just envisioned. S'yeah, right! He already thought I was crazy or sick or something. Let me just add some gas to that fire. Though when he turned and started to walk away, part of me wanted to know if it would have made him harden to hear it and part of me wanted to feel him behind me, touching me.

Up ahead, there was a large crowd milling around in front of a building; some oppressed body of humanity needed to lament their woes to all and sundry. I'd been hearing a squawky voice almost since we'd left the coffeehouse, but hadn't paid too much attention to it, given this was the Market District. Now, it was a little hard to ignore.

"Speaking of the therapy, Duo," the doc was yapping, and even walking right next to him, I could barely hear his voice over the bullhorn, the chanters and their detractors. I looked at him and nodded, but the activity in front jerked my head about. "I really need to tell you before we go much farther. It's been bugging me all night..."

A man in a security guard uniform, looking like a demented Curly from the three stooges came from the building and started yelling at the woman? screeching into the bullhorn. "Uh huh," I sort of mumbled, not able to stop watching as her friends left picket lines to form a protective barrier around her.

"...psychiatrist, and while I might be a doctor, I don't..." That guard was getting mad. Shit! I was grinning watching the guy. "...art gallery a few blocks..." He actually stomped his foot! Believe that shit! Grown man, wearing a fucking uniform, stomping his foot and throwing a fit just like a five year old. "I only hope you won't be too mad at me."

Wait. What? Back the truck up. "What?" I demanded. "I couldn't be mad at you. Shit. You've been great all night." And I grinned at him, taking his hand in mine to give it a squeeze.

He seemed to instantly relax and even grinned back. We were level with the crowd scene, now, and talking became impossible. Skirting the edge of the group, I almost lost the doc when the mass of bodies surged, and forced themselves between us. Fuck this shit. I stepped out into the street, got honked at, jogged around two or three cars and went back to the sidewalk. He was waiting on the other side, trying to find me in that mess.

I couldn't help myself. Stepping up close, I put a hand on his hip, and whispered in his ear, "miss me?"

A hand clamped over mine and he spun around in my non-existent embrace. "Yes," he said simply. We were close, and I could smell the gum he'd been chewing. I really fucking thought he was going to kiss me. I parted my lips a bit, hoped they weren't too chapped, and sure as hell hoped my breath wasn't as bad as I thought it was.

But he only turned me, pushing against my hip with his, and, with a hand around my wrist, he dragged me away. "This restaurant is another five or six blocks, off Pike." He was watching me under his brows. "You going to be okay with that?"

When he didn't do what I expected, I was surprised. If it'd been me in his place, I would have. Now I was just a little pissed and was glaring. "Yeah," I said shortly and jerked my arm out of his grip. I moved my bag from the far side to my other hand, putting it between us. He stared at it for a moment and then back at my expression.

"I should have got a cab. I forgot about your bag."

Snorting, I laughed. "For a measly ten blocks? I don't think so." I hefted the bag in my hand. "And this, I've been carting it around for so many years, it's like an extra limb. Don't even notice it any more."

"Do you do a lot of traveling?" he asked as soon as we resumed walking.

I nodded. "During the season, it's almost weekly. Sometimes just for a day, mostly two out of every week." I grimaced. "Come October, this bag disappears and I don't see it for four months." Come October, all I wanted to do is crash in bed for weeks, order out and vegetate.

"You don't travel between seasons?" He kept darting these little looks at me as we walked, his hand kept reaching for mine and then he'd pull it back.

"Not really." It was getting amusing. Dance of UST fairies. I'd assumed the doc was at least bi, but most likely gay, and I was sure as hell gay, and ever since I laid eyes on him, all I wanted to do was fuck him. It was weird trying to wrap my mind around it being him fucking me.

"...Switzerland, but think I enjoyed the Italian side more."

Shit. He'd been telling me something and I missed it. I nodded like I knew what he was talking about, and made a little vow to pay more attention to what he was saying rather than how his mouth moved. Talk about your unmatched sex temptations. Shit. What I wouldn't give to see those lips wrapped around my cock.

"...I've already scheduled Greece." Fuck! What the hell was he saying? "Have you ever been overseas?"

"Went to Paris once." My lip curled slightly. "It was kinda... dirty."

He only laughed. "You have to look beyond the surface, you know. A lot of older European cities are like that. They hold a lot of history." His hand landed just above my elbow, fingers barely circling. I was getting the idea he had a thing for touching. And for a change, I didn't mind at all.

"You've traveled a lot, then?" I looked around, beginning to wonder just where the hell this place was.

"Between seasons," he chuckled. "Though my seasons only last a month or so. Business will take me abroad every other month. Sometimes more often."

I made some sort of agreeable sound. "After baseball season is over with, I don't want to move for a week." I grinned in the dark. "And no one gets me on another plane until Winter Camp is called."

"What if there was someone who wanted you to go with him?" he asked softly.

My step faltered. Really. I almost fell on my fucking ass. Turning to face him, I saw he was serious. "Hey, Doc. Isn't that a little ahead of the game? I mean, you can think World Series, but don't book your hotel room until the pennant's nailed on the wall."

He only looked at me in this unwavering stare. Suddenly his fingers tightened on my arm and he moved. There was the sensation of a mini-vacuum, and he was kissing me. My bag hit the concrete. And my hands rose to wrap themselves around his neck of their own will, cause it sure as hell wasn't mine - it having hid the moment his flesh touched my flesh. And then it was over.

For a moment I thought I'd gone blind and then opened my eyes. I was pretty sure if he hadn't been holding me, I would have fallen on my ass. And I wanted more. I leaned forward, intending to fulfill that need, but he held me away, even stepping back. "Consider that my room deposit."

It took me a few seconds to realize he'd started walking again. Fuck me... Can't say I'd ever felt like a dizzy virgin experiencing her first kiss before. And damned if my head wasn't spinning. It took me two tries to even find the handle to my bag.

When I caught up to him, he had his hands in his pockets. He glanced at me, I thought to judge how I was taking it, but I wasn't sure. I gave him a little smile anyway, and carried my bag on the outside.

"Blue," he announced.

I almost stopped again, that coming out of the ...well - blue, like that. "Huh?" Oh so witty and intelligent I am not.

"I thought that we should get to know one another, and we could start with the simple things." He shot another look in my direction. "My favorite color is blue."

"Oh." Yeah, great conversationalist. "Well, uh, I guess mine would be..." I racked my brain. Did I even have a favorite color? I liked variety, but if I had to choose... "Black?"

"You don't sound too sure," the bastard was actually smiling.

"I guess I don't really have a favorite, but I sort of like wearing black mostly." It sounded lame, even to me. I wondered why it was suddenly important that I had a favorite color. It didn't matter, did it?

"Picture your bedroom." I nodded. Yeah, okay. "Tell me what color are the walls."

"A sort of cream color - off white." I grinned. "Egg-shell, I think." It'd been a couple of years since I'd painted, but I remembered the mess and how hard it was to clean off the floor.

"What color's the carpet?"

"No carpet," I responded, eyes lost envisioning my room. "Hardwood floors, but I've a couple throw rug things." I grinned at him again. "Only they're multi-colored." He smiled back, a sloeful look in his eyes.

"Tell me what color your bedspread or comforter is." He was a demanding bastard.

"Green, a dark green like a fir." And I frowned. My couch was pretty green too, and the rug under the coffee table was green. Breaking into a wide smile, I couldn't stop laughing. "Okay, I'd have to say my favorite color would be green. Not like grass or an emerald, but yeah, a darkish green." I couldn't understand how I didn't even know that for myself.

The doc stopped and smiled at me. "Good. Green is a great color. One of my favorites." When he didn't move, I looked at the door we were standing in front of. It was some sort of café. "We're here," he announced and held the door open.

Smells assaulted me the moment I stepped inside. But in a good way. I felt like standing there just sniffing some more, but the doc prodded me in the back. It was an open room, with maybe a couple dozen people sitting in groups of twos, threes and fours around wooden tables covered in white linen. The lighting was dim, warm and lent to the overall ambience of the place.

An elder man bustled from the back, working his way around tables. "Heero!" he cried, holding his arms out wide, and one of the biggest fucking smiles on his face I'd ever seen.

Doc shifted around me. "Dion, how've you been?" And then he was wrapped in a hug. Whoa. I'd never been hugged by wait-staff before.

And then it hit me. Heero?

I was sure Quatre had told me the guy's name was Chang Wufei, using the old formation style. But this guy, this maitre d' person rolled that other name off his tongue with r's like a Scotsman would say. It sounded awfully odd for a nickname. And I eyed the doc again. Some sort of joke with a play on Superman or something?

The two broke apart and the old guy looked at me then back at the doc. "You bring a friend." He'd turned his smile on me and his arms went wide. Shit! I took a step back, reaching for the door and the doc grabbed an arm.

"Let's skip this part, Dion. I'm hungry tonight."

This Dion person swung about immediately, clapped his hands and called out over his shoulder at us, "come, come. Your table is empty, so it's good, no?"

"It's good." The doc looked at me and nodded his head towards the old guy. "Come, come, our table awaits." He grinned, knowing how stupid that sounded I'm sure. I met his eyes and blinked. What the fuck was it with the eyes? I mean, sure, eyes are one attractive feature on a person most of the time, but with this guy, I couldn't get enough. I thought I would be able to look at them all day and still want more.

His hand went to my wrist and I allowed him to pull me into the restaurant in pursuit of Dion. I followed a couple of steps behind, and discovered I liked the way his pants fit. When he stopped, I almost ran into him I'd been watching where I walked so intently.

"...that'd be good to start," the doc was saying as he slid into his seat. He did one of those head bob things, meaning I should sit and asked, "Do you prefer beef, lamb, pork or chicken?"

Kicking my bag under the table, I did a quick scan of the restaurant. Other than some fantastic smells, I didn't have a clue what kind of place we were eating at. "Chicken." It was a pretty safe bet. Rarely was chicken botched so badly to deem it uneatable. I sat and stared at the table, wondering what the fuck I'd gotten myself into.

"Bring us two of the usual, then," the doc was ordering and I looked up frowning. The usual? "Do you want something to drink, Duo? I can recommend a wine, or if you'd rather, Dion has one of the best beer selections in the city."

I shook my head. "Nah, I'd better stick to water, I think." I grinned weakly.

Dion nodded. "Good! Water is good. I will be back." He turned and was gone, leaving me with my mouth open and eyes blinking.

"To hear him speak, you'd think he hadn't lived here for forty years." I nodded, listening but looked to see what the other patrons were eating. "This is his restaurant. Good place, good people and the food isn't bad either."

Just about the time I thought I recognized what the hell was served here, that Dion guy came back with a tray over one shoulder. With an efficiency of many years practice, he sat our drinks down, put a couple plates on the edge of the table with another large-assed plate piled high was flat bread. He used an empty table to hold the tray and pulled out a book of matches. I shot a glance at the doc, who only watched what the guy was doing. I looked back to see him set fire to a serving plate. Whoa. Last time anyone ever burned my food was me. In my own oven.

"As always, Dion, fantastic job!" What the fuck? Was this some sort of flambee dish or something? By the time I stopped staring at the doc, the fire had gone out and the serving plate put in the center of the table.

"Good. Good." Dion stood at the table, rubbing his hands and looking between the two of us. I watched him for a moment before looking at the doc. Damn, I was beginning to think I was in some kind of foreign film without a script. What the hell was going on? "The Giants!" Dion's shout startled me and I almost dropped my water.

Fuck. The last time I wear this shirt in public again. I nodded, smiling. Had to be good to the fans; boss didn't like it when I pissed someone off. "Yeah, the Giants."

"You play, no?" He was ...well, beaming at me. Like a human sun, his whole face shone with some excited mutable light.

"I play, no." I shook my head, a bit of a twisted smile on my face. "I coach."

"Ah, good. Is very good." he rubbed his hands together again. "That Jose Conseco, I like him very much. Good player."

On the other side of the table, Doc was sputtering in his water. I only gave Dion another smile and corrected his assumption. "Jose's a good player, but he plays for the A's."

"Jose," Dion's lip curled in a cruel way. "He no good. I spit on him." And fuck me if he didn't actually spit on the goddamn floor. "Giants, they San Francisco's team! They good team." He nodded vigorously.

"Thank you. They are a good team and I like ‘em too." Things like this happened all the time. Overexcited fans, or someone wanting to impress or be noticed. But damn, it doesn't happen to me - not really.

Dion patted the doc's arm. "Enjoy, my friends." And he was gone. I wondered how the fuck he moved so fast.

"Try the saganaki. It's good." I focused on the doc to see him dip a fork into the gooey mess on the serving plate, pull out a bit and put it on some of the flat bread. Not that I didn't believe him, but I sort of got stuck watching him bite down on that triangle slice of bread and chew. Damn. His lips were as fatal as his eyes.

I nearly knocked over my water glass reaching for bread, but at least I didn't get the goop on anything scooping it up. And you know, he was right. This sagnaki turned out to be a hunk of flavored feta cheese, fried on the outside, seasoned and served with this tomato garnish. I was suddenly very hungry. Doc laughed when I snatched up another piece of bread. Which reminded me.

"Heero?" I asked, watching him, but now expertly smearing cheese on my bread.

The doc nodded. "My friends do call me that," he said it with his lips all twisted up on one side. I nodded and munched on bread.

"That's cool, Doc," I said it slowly, watching what he'd do.

Some expression flashed, and he frowned at me. "You can call me Heero."

"Whatever you say - Doc." I held a straight face for two seconds and started to laugh. He threw a piece of bread. Picking it up off my shirt, I dipped it right into the cheese goop. "Thanks, buddy. Needed another slice."

The usual turned out to be gyros with marinaded chicken, rice and a side salad. It was good and Doc - Heero, kept a running conversation going through the entire thing. At one point, the sauce from his gyro dripped from his lips and ran down his chin. Oh fuck. I went instantly hard and couldn't breath. All's I could think about was my dick in that mouth, and my come spilling over those lips. If he hadn't spoken, I think I would have dived over the table and licked it off.

"Duo? Is something wrong?" No, not at all. Other than the fact you're over there, and I'm here and we're in a public place where I can't do what I want to do to you.

"No, nothing at all." Just to prove how unwrong things were, I took a big bite of my own gyro. And if cucumber sauce ran down my lips, how was I supposed to know.

"You're a messy eater," Doc was saying. Could I help it that he was a bit breathy ‘cause I licked my lips clean? "Maybe I should get you a bib." He was grinning, and handing me more napkins. I'd fucking dropped the back part of my gyro on my shirt.

Grumbling as I swiped at running goo, I told him, "spank me and start calling me baby, and it's over between us."

"Then I'll cross that one off my list." List? Jerking my head up to look at him, I almost dropped the napkins back in my lap. Fucking bastard was laughing at me.

"Why don't we go back to the getting to knowing each other for a bit?" he asked, and I was looking for a place to toss the wadded up mess in my hand. "What kinds of foods do you like best?"

"Ethnic or American?" I wound up putting the lump close to the wall.

"Whichever. What do you eat the most of in a week's time." He seemed genuinely interested, posed over his plate with his eyes on me waiting for my answer.

"Most of? Stadium food." I chuckled softly. "Seriously though, if we're talking American, I like a good steak, hamburger or pizza."

"Pizza's Italian."

"Nah, pizza's American, unless you know where to go." I stirred the rice on my plate, glaring at the leaves in it.

"And I suppose you do?" I didn't have to look at him to know he was laughing at me again.

"Of course," I told him, stabbing a large piece of diced tomato. Deliberately sliding the fork between parted lips, I pulled it from the tines with my teeth. Take that, Mister Suave-ay. "Maybe some day I'll introduce you to ‘em."

""Italian would be your favorite ethnic, then?" Oh yeah. He was liking what I was showing.

"Bingo." I tossed in a wink just to make sure.

"Are you more a lasagna man? Or a manicotti?" He brought his water glass to his lips and took a drink.

"A month ago, I would have said..." I trailed off watching his tongue catch droplets off the glass rim. "...uh, would have said lasagna. But since then..." Shit. Now he was sucking an ice cube. "I've been introduced to the best fucking linguini this side of Sicily." I could tell eating a meal with this guy was dangerous.

Dion showed up about then. "I have nice galaktoboureko or some kadaifi. You want, no?" What? I looked at the doc for interpretation.

"Desserts. Glaktoboureko is a custard pastry. Kadaifi has honey and nuts - like baklava, only different."

A custard pastry sounded great, but I really couldn't eat any more. "I don't think so," I told Dion. "The food was too good. I can't eat another bite."

"Wrap two galaktobourekos to go," Doc said. My mouth snapped shut and I stared at him for a moment.

"Good. Good! I bring right back." And Dion did his bustling thing again, only I wasn't watching him this time.

"Unless you'd rather call it a night, I think we should move this conversation somewhere a little more comfortable," Heero said. I swallowed and felt the lump slide all the way down.

"Sure," I croaked, and took a hasty drink of water. "Your place ...or mine?" Fuck what a God awful line. If only so many sleazy guys hadn't used it before me.

Just by the way he was smiling, I was sure he knew what I'd been thinking as I said that. "I had thought my apartment. But if you'll be more comfortable at your place, we should go there."

I shook my head. "Nah, I'm good. It's the company, not the location."

Dion came back carrying a paper sack and the bill sleeve. Both Heero and I reached for our wallets. Doc glared at me. "This is my restaurant, my treat."

"Is that how it works? So, if I take you out to breakfast, it'd be my treat?"

He was nodding and it hit me. I expected to see this guy in the morning? I didn't have time to think about it then. Heero had already stood, and was saying goodbye to the old guy. I snatched one last olive from the plate, and grabbed my bag from underneath the table, doing my own goodbye thing with the great food and all shit to Dion. Then we were outside, and the doc was waving to a waiting taxi.

We were on our way somewhere and I kept sneaking looks in Heero's direction. He wasn't paying attention to me, but had leaned forward to give the cabbie instructions, and seeing his profile from the street light, I caught my breath. There was something about him that made me want to see how he was in the morning. To watch him wake up; find out if he was a grouch or was the perky sort or had morning wood. Yeah, and though my heart was hammering like a woodpecker to an infested tree, the thought was very nice.

on to part 5

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