Title: Dancing Queen -- part 2
Author: Jade
Pairing: 1x2
Warnings: yaoi, crossdressing, lemon, exhibitionism
Disclaimers: Don't own, don't sue, don't ask, don't tell

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Heero was currently wearing a black leather micro-miniskirt, and Quatre had suggested accessorizing with black seamed stockings. Unfortunately, the seams wouldn't lie straight, and Quatre was currently on his knees in front of Heero, running his hands up Heero's legs, ostensibly trying to straighten the seam but actually trying to look up Heero's skirt to see if he was aroused.

That was when Trowa walked in.

+

Normally, finding your boyfriend, visibly aroused, on his knees on the floor groping another boy, who was dressed in drag, would be concerning. But this was Quatre, beneath whose angelic exterior beat the nymphomaniac heart of a true hentai, and Trowa was well aware of this. He and Quatre shared everything, including their occasional lusts for their gorgeous partners. Trowa trusted Quatre implicitly, but decided to have a bit of fun.

"Little one!" Trowa tried to force a mock-scolding tone into his usually even voice. "What are you doing?"

Before Quatre could react, Heero had spun around, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Trowa was stunned. He had never imagined Heero in a dress would be so incredibly sexy. Trowa felt his own body react involuntarily as his green eyes traveled all over the Perfect Soldier's lithe body.

"Trowa!" Quatre exclaimed, playing along. "You weren't supposed to be home until tomorrow!"

"Obviously," Trowa answered, stalking towards the two boys.

"Trowa, this isn't what it looks like," Heero stated.

"I certainly hope not," said Trowa evenly.

Heero tensed, ready for violence despite his attire. "Quatre was just helping me prepare for a mission," he explained.

Trowa raised an eyebrow. "Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

Quatre put on a worried look. "Don't worry, Heero, he's not that mad. He actually likes to watch."

"Watch?" Heero said, then understood. "Quatre! Trowa! We, I mean, I, wasn't..." Heero trailed off as Quatre burst into a fit of giggles. Even Trowa's mouth quirked up slightly in his version of a smile. Heero frowned. "You're not serious." It wasn't a question.

"Don't be mad, Heero," Quatre managed to say. "We were just playing."

"And you two looked so..." Trowa trailed off, eyeing Heero with obvious enjoyment.

"If you're quite finished playing, I have a mission to prepare for," Heero snapped.

"Why didn't they send Duo on this mission?" Trowa wondered. "He seems more, uh, suited to this type of mission."

"No!" Heero nearly shouted. "I mean, the mission was assigned to me. Don't you think I can pull it off?"

Quatre said, "I think he'll do great. He's not supposed to look like a girl, after all, just a pretty boy in drag."

Heero blushed at being called pretty, and before he could retort, he felt their eyes roaming all over him again, and Trowa said, "Well, he certainly is that." Heero decided to let that comment go.

Clearing his throat, he said, "Ok, I'll go with this outfit. What else do I need?"

"Boots," Trowa and Quatre said simultaneously.

Tall, black leather boots were chosen after some consideration, which was more fun for Trowa and Quatre than Heero. They had a flat heel so Heero wouldn't stumble. Trowa and Quatre stood back and regarded the vision before them. And regarded. And regarded. Until Heero began fuming and demanded, "Well? How do I look?"

Trowa and Quatre looked at each other, then back at Heero. They grinned. And Quatre said, "One more thing."

Heero scowled. "What now?"

"Makeup," the blond answered.

Heero cursed in multiple languages.

"Now, now, Heero, just sit down here, I'll take care of it," soothed Quatre. "My sisters taught me everything about makeup. If I could make some of them look good, your beautiful face should be no problem."

Heero looked confused. "Beautiful? Me?"

Quatre looked at Heero. "You really don't know, do you?"

Heero shook his head.

Quatre looked deep into the cobalt eyes. "You, Heero Yuy, are beautiful. Incredibly, sensually beautiful." Quatre knew how Duo felt about Heero, but had been sworn to silence by the braided boy. "And I'm not the only one who thinks so. Now hold still." With that, Quatre began to apply makeup expertly.

Heero sat, stunned by Quatre's words, wondering at the cryptic comment but afraid to ask. He decided not to ask.

Quatre fussed with Heero's face and Trowa watched. Finally, the blond seemed to be satisfied. He stepped back so Heero could see himself. Heero started at himself in the mirror. And gaped.

Quatre had rimmed each of Heero's cobalt eyes with a deep blue kohl, which made his already luminous eyes appear even bigger and more piercing. His lips were enhanced with a deep plum colored shade that made them appear even fuller and more sensuous. A slight brush of plum blush on Heero's high cheekbones completed the effect; no more was needed. The effect was subtle, but effective; Heero was drop-dead gorgeous.

Heero stood up, and turned around to face Quatre and Trowa. "Well?" he asked. "How do I look?"

The two boys just stood there for a moment, taking in the full effect.

Heero put his hands on his hips impatiently. "I look ridiculous, don't I? You can say it."

Quatre found his voice, "No, no, Heero, not at all. Quite the opposite, in fact."

Trowa nodded.

Quatre added mischievously, "Are you sure you don't want to stay home and play with us instead?" Trowa smiled slightly.

Heero looked astonished, then blushed deeply as the implications of the blond's words sunk in. He dropped his eyes in embarrassment, and ended up staring at the two boys' pants; pants that bulged with evidence of the sincerity of Quatre's offer. He quickly raised his eyes again.

"I have a mission," he said quickly, gathering his clothes and fleeing the room. "Thank you for your help."

Quatre called after him, "If you ever change your mind, you know where to find us!"

Heero didn't answer.

+

Heero steeled himself as he approached the hotel room door with trepidation. He knew, was absolutely certain, that he could physically handle anything a roomful of drunken OZ officials could throw at him. But that wasn't the point. It was the psychological pressure of projecting the image that he was supposed to project. It was so unlike his usual missions that he felt unsure of his ability to carry it out. Then he remembered Quatre and Trowa's reactions, and some of his self-confidence returned. He knocked on the door.

Heero's acute hearing detected music, glass and loud voices behind the door. Footsteps approached the door, and it was thrown wide open.

In the doorway stood a tall, thin, middle-aged man. He was balding, and his uniform was in disarray. He clutched a half-empty glass in one hand. His beady eyes swept over Heero lasciviously, leaving Heero feeling unclean. Heero held his breath and tried to look enticing. Apparently, he passed inspection, because the man's pale face broke out in a wide grin, he stepped back and shouted, "Hey, guys! Dessert's here! Come on in, honey, it's cold outside."

Heero stepped inside, narrowly avoiding the man's wandering hand grabbing for his ass. He sighed mentally. It was going to be a long night.

The room was a large suite, lavishly appointed and obviously intended to impress. Heero automatically noted all possible exits and the layout of the room as he entered. He also noted the surveillance equipment. There were seven men in the room, all nearly identical in their crumpled uniforms and state of inebriation. Several were gathered around a video screen that was showing a video of dubious legality; they were obviously enjoying themselves.

At Heero's entrance, all eyes swiveled around to look at the new attraction. Heero tried not to scowl too much as he stood there. He felt like a piece of meat. He really would get even with Dr. J for this.

The brief silence worried Heero; but then, the men regained their voices. Whistles, catcalls, approving comments and propositions flew at him from all directions.

"You did good this time," one of the men stated to the man who was obviously the organizer of this sordid affair.

"Come here and sit on my lap, baby," offered one of the men. Heero refused to look in their eyes. He wouldn't be able to give accurate descriptions of the men, but he would just leave it to the cameras. If he didn't look at them, he could do his job, pretending it was not really happening.

"No, me first!" cried another faceless man, and other voices joined in the protest.

"Now, now, this sweet boy is here to dance, and dancing is all you're getting. For now," the leader said with a leer in his voice.

Groans of disappointment echoed around the room. Then someone put on some music with a slow, sultry beat, and the men looked expectantly at Heero. He sighed inwardly. Showtime.

Just then there was another knock at the door. Heero had his back to the door, and sought out a mirror to let him see what was going on. This wasn't part of the plan; no one else was supposed to be there. Then he heard the voice of the newcomer.

"Hey, hey, Daddy Warbucks, hands off for now," a cheerful, very familiar American voice rang out. "You'll get your chance."

Continued in part 3