Category: drama
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, or the setting. Just non-profit fanfiction.
Dorothy Catalonia had never claimed to be anything other than a complex person. She didn’t believe in the black and white of right and wrong. If truth was to be told, she didn’t believe in much of anything. Or at least, she didn’t use to. Principles were restraints holding her back from greatness and so were attachments. She had never asked for anyone to care about her. She didn’t need anyone. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need him to look at her like that, as if every single carefully constructed layer of defence was jelly, to be easily cut through with that penetrating gaze. Like he never saw and identified her through her actions, the way other people did, but rather instinctively grasped a part of her she had all but forgotten herself. And the harder she fought against him, the more she ended up revealing herself to him. It was a no win situation. Dorothy knew that knowledge was power and Quatre, was a man who had power over her. If only she could silent that gilrish voice inside of herself that liked it...
The bedroom was dark save for the pale moonlight trickling through the transparent curtains; carmine at day, black come night. Every now and then they fluttered faintly from a gust of wind brought in through the open window. She had left it open, like she always did. Comfortably tucked in underneath the heavy down comforter her back was turned to the windows, eyes closed, pretending to herself and the world to be attempting to fall sleep. It was a vain self-deceit. She was waiting for him, of course. And no amount of denial would change the fact that if she didn’t want him to come, it would be as simple as closing the window. The room was becoming increasingly chilly. She should close it. But she couldn’t make herself get up and do that any more than she could banish her feelings.
She remembered seeing Quatre for the first time. It had been during summer, in the Sank Kingdom at miss Relena’s school. Back then, she hadn’t paid any attention to him at first. Someone like Heero Yuy easily became the centre of attention, despite his best efforts to do the exact opposite. And while she had taunted and provoked Heero, Quatre had stood quietly in the background, watching her, contemplating. She berated herself still for discounting him at the time. She of all people should have known the dangers of judging people by what was on the surface. When they had met again aboard Libra she had held all the cards. Zero system had had her intoxicated with power. Perhaps that had been her mistake. When she had stabbed him with her rapier, by all rules of the game, the victory should have been hers. How had he somehow still turned it into a defeat? He wasn’t playing by the rules. He just barged into a game and changed them, as if that was something you could do...
Her eyes were closed, but she could hear the scraping sound of someone climbing the parapet, a muffled thud as feet hit the fitted carpet of her bedroom. Her heart skipped a beat; she was sure of it. Her throat felt dry, a familiar tingling at the pit of her stomach. She had known he would come, he always did when he’d been out drinking. Even as he approached the bed, she could already imagine him reeking of alcohol and smoke. And she... She always let him in. It was a silent mutual agreement of sorts, though their motivations differed. His, she knew little about. She could only guess that there were suppressed parts of him, surfacing when under the influence, that he didn’t want to expose his boyfriend to, things he could only do with her, someone he felt nothing for. As for her... Petty revenge. She was at least that honest with herself that she could admit it. The truth could be ugly.
As he slid in underneath the comforter, warm breath tickling her neck, she turned around and wound her arms around his neck, moaning his name.
“Trowa...”
She was wearing a flimsy, laced negligé of the kind she wouldn’t wear unless she expected company in bed and a moderate splash of a sensuous, very expensive perfume. She wasn’t sure why she bothered with these things for his sake when he was no doubt too drunk to care about them anyway, if he even did to begin with. It just seemed to fit the atmosphere of frenzied, meaningless sex.
Dorothy had never given herself over to the adolescent crushes popular in her age. When miss Relena had lost her head over a mysterious Japanese boy she didn’t even know, Dorothy had always kept her head level, always evaluating the situation cunningly, considering how best to benefit from it. Oh, it wasn’t that she never dated – she did every now and then, just to keep things from getting dull. She had never had any trouble finding men. The point was that she kept her distance, because it was the smart thing to do if you were a young girl who had to look out for yourself. She liked it that way. She didn’t feel deprived, didn’t wish to be one of those other teenage girls, mooning over some boy who probably barely knew they existed anyway. So why did Quatre have to come and wreck it all? Damn him for making her feel something...
Long bangs fell aside to reveal a too handsome face as Trowa angled his head sideways to kiss her. It was a daring, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue swirling around unabashedly inside of her mouth like he had every right to it. He tasted like vodka and cigarettes and she didn’t even want to guess at how much he’d had to drink tonight. Most likely far more than she could drink without passing out. Yet he had managed climbing the facade and she had no doubt that he’d be able to perform satisfactory anyway. He had never disappointed her before.
By silent agreement, no questions were asked when they came together like this. And afterwards, they didn’t kiss and tell. It was the rules of this particular game. As depraved as it was, at least it was one Dorothy knew how to play and played well. For whatever the reasons which brought Trowa here were, he kept returning. It was proof enough that he found something he liked. Though Dorothy didn’t like to contemplate it, in a way they were the same. Both of them grew up learning that you did what you had to survive, that in the end nothing was holy. And both of them had known some of the basest sides of mankind first hand and had not gone from the encounter unaffected. With Trowa, there was no need to pretend that she was better than she was. It was a comfort to know that he didn’t care about anything she did, as long as she was here, accessible to him, an easy fuck available to him whenever he had the urge. That gave her the liberty to despise his crude ways even as she craved them.
He was on top of her before she had the time to consider what to do next. He was still fully dressed; old army pants and a grey shirt. And already she felt his hard-on pressed up hard against her pubic bone though they had hardly gotten started yet. There was that hunger about him when they met like this that made her feel desirable. He needed something and it was hers to dish out.
Her hands managed to squeeze in between their bodies, tearing impatiently at the buttons of the shirt. He was brawny, especially for someone so young and though it wasn’t entirely necessary for the act, she liked to see and feel his heaving chest. The tanned skin was marred by multiple scars, one especially right below one of his collarbones that she wondered about. He never talked about it, she never asked. But she still wondered. Did he wonder about anything about her? Perhaps not. He was the kind of man who lived in the present. But when Dorothy felt like flattering herself, she imagined that he found her mysterious too. In truth, he knew nothing about her. She intended to keep it that way.
Dorothy wasn’t sure when she had realized that she had it in good for Quatre. If she had bothered with some introspection, she would probably have known it right from the start. But she didn’t much like digging deep inside herself like that. It usually ended up with a lot of conclusions she didn’t like at all. Better not start poking at the bee hive. Most likely, it was when she had seen the two of them together, Quatre and Trowa, on one of Miss Relena’s famous parties that she had felt her insides constrict in a most disturbing manner. They hadn’t done a lot really, it was just the way their heads were close together as they talked, the expressions they wore and the way Quatre would touch Trowa at every chance, that had clued her in. Her own reaction had caught her off guard, enough so that she had left the party with some pathetic excuse she couldn’t remember if she tried to. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling. She wanted nothing more than for it to go away, nothing more than for him to hold her in his arms...
Their hands were all over each other. He was squeezing her breasts, reaching underneath the negligé between her legs, fingers probing inside of her. She explored the length of his back and buttocks, hard and hairless, playing with his hair, letting the soft masses slide between her fingers. He was nibbling at the side of her throat, her head thrown back as she gasped. It wasn’t so much what he did as the way he did it that turned her on. His self-assured countenance, the determination, the raw desire. No shame, no restraint. She had never met a man like him before.
The sheets wrinkled underneath her as she grabbed a fistful of them when he unzipped his pants, getting to the main event. Anticipation alone created a tingling feeling in her nether regions. Oh, get on with it already! Suddenly strong, callused hands were grabbing her hips, turning her around. Struggling to keep up her balance, Dorothy planted her palms against the mattress, spreading her thighs apart. It was just what he wanted. Something warm jostling in between her legs, nudging at the opening, pushing inside while she still had her face pressed against the pillow. Pleasure, pain, pleasure - - -
It was so pathetic. She knew it. That was why she made such effort to keep up the charade. The first person who had ever shown her kindness when she didn’t deserve it – and she usually didn’t – and she fell for him. What a needy little goose. She never asked for him to enter her life! She never asked for his compassion. It stung and it soothed at once. He had given her more than anyone could ever be expected to and yet, as the greedy person she was, she wanted more.
Trowa was rocking inside of her, deep, slow thrusts. From this angle, he could get so deep inside of her that at times it felt like he would split her in two. Yet she wouldn’t have it any other way. Lifting her head she arched her back, raising her chin, smiling recklessly. His hands were in her hips, holding them in place as he pounded into her. There was no position more primal than this one and it wasn’t lost on her, nor was she one to start yelling about euqiality between the sexes or degradation of women. There was a certain appeal in the animalistic aspects of it all. Could she help it if it felt good, that she eagerly pressed her bottom back up against him?
Eventually the thrusting became harder and swifter, the kind of speed only a desensitized drunk man could keep up for any length of time. She could hear his breathing become more strained, but other than that, he never made any sound. It didn’t stop her. Clawing at the sheets, she moaned loudly whenever he hit the right spot. It wasn’t the kind of sex that brought her orgasm, but she didn’t care. It had a different attraction. He would scrape against her insides in a way that sent jolts through her entire body and occasionally made her lose her breath.
When he was close he pulled out of her. He always did. She could have told him that her getting pregnant wasn’t an issue, that she was on the pill, but she wasn’t sure that was the reason he did it. A few moments of feeling empty, listening to his ragged breaths, then she felt something soft and warm splatter down her back, accompanied by a sharp hiss. She dutifully bit her lip, whispering his name with a sultry voice.
“Trowa...”
If that even was his name. Did it really matter in the end whose name she was calling out during the act if she was thinking of someone else entirely?
He lay down beside her, giving her a last, intense kiss before resting. His pants were still undone, as was the shirt, but he didn’t seem to care. She was used to it by now. It wouldn’t take long before he fell asleep, made careless by the alcohol. For her, it would take a lot longer. She would remain awake, watching his sleeping form, wondering what they had done and why, not finding any simple answer. Life was never simple. Sometimes she felt guilty, at other times; malicious pleasure.
Dorothy had never handled defeat gracefully. For that was what this was. Quatre had penetrated past her defences and cornered animals was a dangerous thing. It would all blow up in her face eventually, she knew that. She feared and anticipated it. She had always been like that, contradictory, complex. She loved Quatre for being who he was and hated him for making her care in return. After all, the line between love and hate was thin. Who was to say you couldn’t walk both sides of it at once?