Grandma Winner's Chocolate Cake
A Gundam Wing fanfic
Greetings, everyone! This bit of sillyness came about after making one
too many chocolate chiffon cakes. I won't say any more, just read and (hopefully)
Words of warning: This fic contains YAOI, so if you are not into that
kind of stuff, please head on back. Also, major OOC alert! If you still
don't know who from the title, you just haven't been watching enough GWing.
Please send fan mail, junk mail and black mail to firstname.lastname@example.org
Standard Disclaimer: The characters appearing in this fanfic belong to
Sotsu Agency, Sunrise and Bandai (who owns Sunrise). Please don't sue, I'm
in this for the fun, that's all. Grandma Winner is my own creation, though
Quatre probably has one himself somewhere.
A bout of mad laughter bounced around the sound-proof, flame-proof
and explosion-proof metallic walls like a ricocheting bullet. The cavernous
laboratory was shrouded in a ghoulish half light, punctuated with the occasional
flashes of electric blue from the massive van der Graff generator in a corner,
surrounded by menacing contraptions full of whirring gears, benches piled
with bubbling beakers and mice in treadmills.
The source of the unearthly laughter was hovering about one such
bench, grabbing flasks and bottles of yet unknown substances and pouring
their contents into the bowl in front of him with reckless abandon. Another
round of protracted maniacal cackling emanated from the lab-coated figure
as he fished out a small blue glass bottle from his pocket and added just
one drop of the brown fluid to the mix. At last, it was almost ready! The
figure rubbed his hands with devilish glee. He had been waiting for this
moment since he found the old, leather bound book in one of his many attics,
containing the most fantastic secrets long forgotten by the rest of his
family. Secrets that he would use to his advantage.
Quatre was interrupted from his power trip by a polite cough from
the doorway of the lab.
"If you don't mind, Mr Winner, that will be two hundred and
fifty thousand four hundred sixty two dollars seventy nine cents plus tax,
insurance, gas, electricity and miscellaneous fees for the rental of my
lab," the short, bespectacled redhead spoke in a crisp accent that
Quatre guessed might be Polish(1).
"Okay!" he chirped, "Just collect the cheque from
Rashid at the door." Quatre resumed his dramatic pose in front of the
bench. All it needed now was a thorough heating and it would be ready. A
soft giggle erupted into a full blown guffaw as the simulated lightning
from the van der Graff arched across the lab, lending that extra touch of
B-grade movie kitsch to the sterile domain of the lab. He snapped his welding
visor down over his face and raised his blowtorch with manic zeal, bringing
it down with fiendish delight to the thick brown mix.
An hour later, he stepped back from his masterpiece, ripping off
the welding visor and mopping his sweaty brow with a satisfied sigh. He
grinned wildly at his creation sitting in the middle of the bench.
A perfectly frosted chocolate cake.
* * *
A knock at the door made Trowa look up from the book he was reading.
He made a face as he was just getting to the good bits. He snapped the book
closed and opened the door of his room with the tiniest of sighs.
Quatre stood at the door with the sweetest smile on his face holding
the most delicious looking chocolate cake Trowa had ever seen. He stepped
into the guest room he had let Trowa have for the time that he was in this
part of the world.
"Trowa, I made some cake, would you like to have some?"
He beamed at the taller boy.
"Umm... I'm not that hungry really..." Trowa thought it
might be best to politely refuse his host. After all, he'd been in this
desert mansion for quite a while already and did not want to overstay his
"Aww, Trowa, I made it just for you," The angelic face
broke out in a pout. "Please have a little, and tell me what you think!
For me, Trowa?"
Trowa felt his resolve melt under those huge blue eyes. No one could
say no to Quatre. With a weak grin, he broke off a chunk of the cake and
ate it, watching the golden glow of happiness blossom over the blonde's
face. He noticed that Quatre's smile widened with every bite he took, and
deciding that he kind of liked that, polished off two whole slices. Though
something niggled at the back of his mind that Quatre was being just a bit
too happy about something as trivial as cake. He didn't dwell on it too
long, well actually, he couldn't, as a sudden wave of extreme relaxation
overtook him and he passed out on the couch.
Quatre giggled as he fished out a pair of handcuffs he had kept hidden
in his back pocket. Now for Phase Two.
* * *
"Grandma, what's that you're making?"
"Why, it's my secret recipe chocolate cake, darling."
"Ooooh, can I have some please?"
"No, Quatre-honey, it's for your father. It's a very special
"What's so special about it that I can't have some?"
"Well, let's put it this way. Why do you think you have so many
"I still don't get it, Grandma."
"Don't worry about it, darling. I'll tell you when you're older.
Now run along and play, dear."
"Okay!" The kindly old dame watched as the little golden
head bobbed out of the kitchen door and into the sprawling oasis outside.
"Ah, sweet innocence," she chuckled.
* * *
Quatre checked the handcuffs again to make sure they were firmly
anchored to the headboard. After satisfying himself that they were indeed
escape-proof, he stepped back to admire his handiwork. Relieving Trowa of
his cumbersome clothes had been easy enough, it was lugging him from the
couch to the bed that was hard work. That part was done, however, now it
remained to wake the sleeping boy from his involuntary siesta.
He pulled out a small green bottle from his trousers. Grandma Winner's
Smelling Salts Formula 619 (cue ominous organ chord)! It was the second
part to the magic recipe, good old Arabian spice. Gingerly, he waved the
open bottle under Trowa's nose, and watched as he was lulled into the waking
world once more.
Trowa awoke to a strange, woody smell. He was still feeling more
relaxed than was legal in these parts, but not so much that the sensation
of being restrained escaped him. In a panic, he started to thrash wildly,
but the friction this caused started to raise the most unusual tinglings
that rushed through him like... well, nothing he had felt before. He stilled
for a moment, enought to notice that there seemed to be a weight on his
stomach. The blurry figure resolved itself into something humanoid, with
bright blue eyes and a head of platinum blonde hair. It looked a lot like..
"Quatre!" Trowa yelled and sat up, or rather, he tried
to. The handcuffs Quatre had so kindly supplied pulled his arms back and
slammed him into the sheets. Quatre was, well, indecent to say the least.
He was sitting on Trowa's stomach, wearing a brilliant smile and... nothing
else. Trowa's jaw worked up and down a few times in a vain attempt to take
stock of the situation, but failing that, decided to hang open instead.
"Hmm, Trowa, it would appear that you're glad to see me,"
Quatre purred, running his index finger in seductive circles on Trowa's
chest(2). He whimpered, shaking his head mutely. "Tsk, tsk. Looks like
I'll have to convince you of my, ahem, affections. Itadakimasu!"
Let's just say Quatre was very persuasive.
* * *
Several hours later, after all the attendants had gone to sleep,
no doubt helped by the industrial-sized earplugs they were wearing, two
figures lay entwined in the bed in the guest room.
"Was it as good for you as it was for me?"
"Hmm... but next time you'll have to put on the handcuffs."
"I can't wait."
The two settled down to a peaceful slumber in the blessed night time
silence, interspersed only by their quiet breathing and the sound of Grandma
Winner turning in her grave somewhere.
Heheh... Quatre with Kodachi tendencies... (shudder)
(1) Dexter and his lab are property of the Cartoon Network and Hanna
Barbera. I couldn't resist!
(2) If you know who I'm talking about, you're special. :)