Disclaimer: Blah, blah, blah, Gundam. Blah, blah, don't own. Blah, blah, blah, don't litigate.
AN/ Warnings: Lemon, bondage, S & M. Some Quatre torture, bastard Duo. Yaoi and non-yaoi pairings. Violence (some graphic), language, and graphic descriptions of sex.
Pairings: Dx4, 2x1, 2xC,semi-2x4, 3x4.
Genre(s): AU, mystery, horror, lemon/lime, angst, death.
Setting: Serenity, a small fictional town a few miles outside of London, 1801
Additional AN: Probably not all the info in this fic is entirely 100% all factually correct, but when you have only two months to finish it, half-assed is the best you can get. I did some research on the 18th and 19th centuries, just enough to get a feel for the era and let Creative License take over from there. Someday later I'll finish up the research and fix any mistakes. (Hopefully.) Anyway, despite any errors, hopefully you'll still like the fic.
Thursday night, July 16, 1801, just outside of Serenity
The rain had stopped not to long ago, but the dark clouds remained low in the sky, concealing the stars and threatening another dousing of downpour. A cool breeze blew into the hot July night as a stifling fog settled into the area, making travel exceedingly difficult. It was with great despondency that Quatre Winner ordered his driver to stop at the nearest town, having to postpone his arrival to London yet another day.
So far the ride had been an utter disappointment. The young blonde had left the respectable Oxford University and had traveled down alongside the Thames River towards London, where his father was lying upon his deathbed at that very moment. He had called upon his only son and heir to his fortune, wanting the boy to be beside him in his last moments. While they didn't get along most of the time, Quatre still loved his father dearly and left his books behind in lieu of his father's final moments. Well, most of them, anyway.
Although Quatre was one of the richest young men in all of England, he was never one to flaunt that aspect. He preferred his studies to parties, and was usually seen with his face buried in a book. Thus, and in several other ways, Quatre was much a disappointment to his father. He was not the strong, proud aristocrat that his father had hoped to raise. He had been born rather petite, from a rather petite mother, and favored a well played game of chess in place of a fox hunt. It had been because of the constant feuding with his father that he had moved to Oxford.
The boy sighed, staring out of the rain speckled window, a heavy volume on his lap. The little blonde rubbed his temples and yawned, resting his head against the coarse blanket he had brought with him. His heavy eyelids closed softly, impossibly long and thick golden eye lashes settling against his cheeks. He was just settling into a much-needed doze when a sudden lurch of the carriage caused him to awaking.
His eyes snapped open and stared out of the window into the eerily foggy landscape, white wisps of mist rising from the dark ground scape, like spectral serpents, coiling into the atmosphere. With a yawn and a shudder, Quatre opened the door to the coach to speak to his driver.
"Sir? Why ever have we stopped here?"
"Pardon, Sir Winner, but you told me to stop at the next town. Has the master changed his mind?"
Quatre rubbed his eyes, staring out into the haze, trying to discern how far off the town was. He jumped slightly as he realized he was at the entrance, in fact on the road that led to town. Before his short slumber, he had seen the few buildings, and had thought that it was some kind of a small outpost, or a diminutive trading post of some kind.
The young heir cautiously stepped out of the carriage, his shiny, knee-high black boots sinking slightly in the mud, the fog washing over him in thick waves, obscuring his vision. Sure enough, it was a town all right, however small. Quatre gathered his meager possessions, a few books, several changes of clothes, the threadbare afghan, and whatever money he had received from his father for the journey. He stepped over to the driver, quickly paid him, and bid him farewell, watching as the rather thin, twitchy man with deep-set eyes jerked the reins, driving off into the night. For a moment, the young blonde wondered why the man had left in such a hurry instead of staying the night. It was after all, fairly late.
Quatre shrugged slightly, maybe he had other places to be. Stifling a yawn, the boy carried his things over to the nearest house, which wasn't more than a wooden shack to inquire where the inn was.
Muttering a seldom-used curse, Quatre tried to juggle his belongs while holding up a lantern, trying desperately not to set his tattered old blanket on fire or worse, drop the lamp and start a raging forest fire. When he had arrived at the quaint little town, he hadn't expected most of it to be in a nearby forest.
Serenity wasn't widely known, but a few small towns on the course by way of the Thames River did. Many people had spoken to him about the loveliness of the natural appearance, the charming and old-fashioned houses, the intelligent and lively folk... but it seemed that the person's entire speech had been predetermined, almost as if they were spouting out the words against their will. Quatre had caught a few people he'd talked to about Serenity, sneaking glances at him, the expressions on their faces.... almost remorseful, but more like pity.
The town was indeed in a forest, sheltered among rotting oaks and birch trees, over grown with black fungus, their skeletal limbs twisting each way and that, sending shivers up Quatre's spine. The little blonde hadn't been in a forest since he was a child, in fact, he hadn't been out of a synthetic environment for some time now, but he was sure forests weren't supposed to look like this.
The trees would sway, his lamp bobbing as he strode, casting odd shadows about him, causing the trees to come alive. The wind howled, and rustled the gaunt branches further, the dead wood creaking and the ancient limbs groaning in protest. To top the macabre atmosphere off, the fog had settled into the woodland, masking Quatre's view till the boy could only see a few feet in font of himself, not even seeing the trees, but hearing the groan and creak of the branches and knowing that they continued their unearthly dance behind the thick sheet of haze.
Quatre tried to shake the thoughts from his head, pulling his thick coat tighter to himself and reaffirming his grip on his possessions. He stumbled over the roots of a tree, pinwheeling his arms for balance, but ended up tripping anyway, his lantern rolling away from him, but thankfully not tipping over, his belongings tumbling out of his hands onto the mossy forest floor in a heap.
Quatre cursed under his breath, struggling to regain his composure (as well as his belongings), when he noticed the noises.
He hadn't noticed them before, between his musings and the howl of the wind, but now, as the wind died down some, he realized how close he had been to falling on top of a pair of lovers.
The boy could barely make out the outline of them, even though they were only a few feet away. Squinting in the darkness, as his eyes adjusted, Quatre could see better, and immediately felt a deep blush creep up his cheeks as his vision cleared.
The girl was pushed up against a tree, her skirts bunched up around her slender waist, her bosom heaving and nearly falling out of her dress. She had her head thrown back, moaning in ecstacy, as the young man, who currently had her pinned against the rotting oak, by virtue of his body, ravished her white throat, occasionally pushing her russet curls out of his way. The boy had a long chestnut braid running down his back, leading to his waist, where the girl had entwined her slender ivory fingers, apparently trying to unfasten his plait of hair.
Quatre felt the heat rise up in his cheeks again as he realized he was staring, chiding himself as he did so. His few years of life had been almost all about school, knowing nearly nothing of sex, or much of anything outside of his studies for that matter. The dance the two lovers had begun to weave fascinated him. Another blush rose up in his face, and he just as quickly tore his eyes away from the scene, giving the pair a little privacy. The boy however slipped on a bit of wet moss and went tumbling ass-over-end, a loud grunt escaping his lips and he landed on a large sharp rock, which happened to be jutting into his stomach. Even so, to boy held his position, not even daring to draw a breath. He was sure they had heard him.
Sure enough, he heard heavy footsteps just a few feet behind him, and he squeezed his blue eyes shut, willing himself not to be seen. The boy called out, his voice harsh and grating. "Who's there?! Come out, coward!"
Quatre lay perfectly still, his chest beginning to hurt as he continued to hold his breath. He heard the boy walk closer, and in just a matter of second he would spot him-
-when the girl called out, luring him away from the terrified blonde, thankfully enough.
"Duo, Duo..."
The blonde waited until he heard the tell-tale sounds of sex before releasing his breath in a long, quiet sigh. He pulled himself off the rock and quickly gathered his things, silently retrieving his lamp and running from the scene as noisy as he dared, and as quickly as he could.
The town's inn wasn't too far away from the lovers Quatre had stumbled upon, and briefly, the boy wondered if they were staying there. The building itself was a large-ish wooden structure with a spacious deck that had several steps leading up to it. As Quatre's eyes crawled over the construct, he noticed two rather good-sized (but not particularly capacious) balconies a few feet up, in juxtaposition with each other. Candle light glowed in the windows, where pale red curtains draped over the panes, giving off a down-to-Earth, homey feel. Quatre decided at once he liked it, and tentatively walked up the porch's wooden steps, his black boots making a heavy thunking sounds with each footfall.
Juggling the many bundles in his arms, Quatre finally was able to grab hold of the knocker, and rapped it upon the door three times, waiting for an answer. He silently prayed that there was at least one vacancy; he was dreadfully tired and wanted nothing more than a good night's rest before he traveled some several miles to his destination. The door creaked, the heavy cherry wood door groaned in protest as it was slowly opened to reveal a young woman.
She was quite tall, taller than Quatre, with long shimmery golden hair that reached past her waist to her knees. Clear ice-blue eyes stared at him, intelligence dancing in their depths. The long flowing dress she wore was white, with black lace that crisscrossed over it, covering her rather well-shaped pale body. A large, split grey eyebrow was raised, and Quatre realized at once he was staring.
The boy blushed and averted his eyes, once again having to maneuver his possessions so he could stick out one hand. The blonde girl smiled, and allowed the young master to take her hand, and with great difficulty, was able to plant a sweet kiss on it before introducing himself as Quatre Winner.
"Well met, young master. I am Dorothy Catalonia," the girl said with a bow. She then stepped aside and with a graceful sweep of her arm, ushered him in.
A price was set for his room, and the young lord was given one of the more luxurious (and thus more expensive) rooms. The room was smaller than Quatre was used to, but it was their best and he didn't wish to appear rude; he gratefully took it, laying his things on the rather sparse bed, bowing to Dorothy before she curtsied and excused herself.
The room didn't leave much to the imagination; there was a bed on the far wall, next to the entrance to the balcony, a plushy chair in the far corner, next to a large chest of drawers set against the wall. An intricate rug covered much of the hardwood floor, the only real piece of eye-pleasing furniture in the entire chamber. Still, he was only staying for a night, and Quatre wouldn't let something as trivial as an unattractive room damper his spirits, not when he knew worse things could be happing. The boy stored a few of his possessions in the chest, and decided he'd like a spot of tea before he went to bed. The ride had been cold, and the temperature outside was still dropping. A little tea would to wonders to warm him up.
As the young master stepped down the wooden staircase, he was surprised to realized that the entire lobby was empty. There was no one insight, not even the Catalonia girl he'd met earlier. No guests, no one behind the front desk, nothing. Quatre had suspected that at least a few guest would have been in the lobby, mingling perhaps, but this was simply odd. The boy looked back at the front desk, and a wave of curiosity surged through him. Well, if the other guests did come down, he didn't wish to appear rude before them. It was polite to know names. Cautiously, he tiptoed towards the guest log, a large heavy volume bound in leather, which looked almost like it hadn't ever been used before. He turned to the first page.
With wide eyes, the boy flipped through the first couple of pages, before throwing the pages back almost violently. No, no that couldn't be. It was impossible.
All the pages, save for only his name on the first, were blank.
How was that possible? It had occurred to him that perhaps the last book had been filled up, and just today they had began a new one. But then why? Why was his name the only one on the list? Surely, there were other guests...... But as Quatre searched his memory, he realized that he had heard to other sounds of guests, seen no sign that would indicate there were other people within the vicinity. But that wasn't possible... Even in a small town like Serenity, a few people would have stayed. After all, it was on the way to a major city like London, and the route was one of the fastest and most popular routes, too. So why did it seem like everyone was avoiding Serenity?
The boy heard someone clearing their throat behind him and jumped, shutting the ancient-looking book with a heavy thud that resounding the empty lobby, a cloud of dust flying from the pages. Dorothy was standing behind him, her pale figure clearly outlined in the dark reds and navies and jades and browns that made up the carpet and highly polished wooden walls. A look of wicked amusement played on her delicate features.
"Pardon me for my intrusion, Miss Catalonia," Quatre choked out, averting his gaze as he felt the heat rise up in his cheeks. He felt insufferable for doing something as underhanded as snooping, and even more rotten for being caught. Hadn't he been taught better?
"Ah, don't worry, your lordship," the girl replied, a crook smile crossing her face. She studied him a little longer, enjoying when he squirmed under her gaze and blushed even brighter. She licked her thin lips before speaking. "Master, would you mind coming along with me? A few friends have gotten word that you were here, and would be ever so delighted to meet you."
Quatre nodded; anything to quell his mortification.
With another crooked smile, she motioned him to follow her, leading him towards the basement.
Quatre's feet fell heavily upon the old, creaking wooden steps that led down. The walls were dirt; Quatre had learned the hard way when he accidentally touched the wall, just to steady himself. The Catalonia girl was in front of him, holding up a small candle melting onto a saucer, which didn't give off much light.
The young blonde yawned again, and became increasingly aware of how tired he really was. Perhaps that had been why he had been so easily swayed into seeing Miss Catalonia's friends. Although Quatre was quite rich, he wasn't a noticeable individual, and thus he hadn't been bothered with his entire journey. Nevertheless, he was recognized, but never disturbed. Word had it that Winner had cut his son out of the will, and hence there was no point. Quatre may have been dapper, gentle, and kind, but still, it was nice to have someone know who you were. It was either that or the fact he was half asleep.
Soon enough, he found himself in a semi-large temple room of sorts, with several torches lining the walls, the bright red-orange flames flickering, casting unearthly shadows dancing about the thick dirt walls. Blatantly expensive rugs adorned the floor, rich tapestries hung between the torches. A table was in the center of the room, nearly completely covered with objects Quatre couldn't make out in the dim light, the far corner offsetting the lavish decor with two moth-eaten, ratty couches.
Five people sat there, four men and a woman, and as Quatre and Dorothy walked closer, the former struggled to suppress a gasp as he realized just who it was staring back at him.
It was the lovers from the woods.
The young woman was sitting closest to him, her auburn curls looking red in the firelight, her pale olive skin looking like porcelain, her billowy white and lavender dress matching perfectly with her, making her appear younger, as if she were a china doll, the only thing keeping Quatre from thinking that idea were her clever grey eyes, shining softly with intelligence, and something else, something that could only be described as evil.
A lanky young man sat next to her, reddish-brown hair falling across his face, obscuring his features from Quatre. His shoulders were quite broad, giving the young blonde the impression of hidden strength. The man was clad in a pair of unbelievably tight and immaculate pants, a pair of shiny black boots, and a dark grey shirt, untied at the top, revealing a glimpse of tanned flesh.
On the couch beside them sat the other three men, one darkly exotic with black hair and eyes like obsidian. His dress was much more demure the others; he wore the same pants and boots like any man, and like Quatre, he had on a dark grey shirt barely visible under a think and heavy black coat complete with scarf.
The next two surprised him. It was the boy from the woods, tall, gangly, with that thick head of chestnut hair and that unmistakable braid, but yet-- he had his arms around another boy.
The boy was slightly shorter than the one with the long plait, and he had piercing cobalt blue eyes and dark, almost black hair that seemed to fall about his head as it pleased. He was dressed similarly as Quatre and the Chinese boy, but without the coat, yet more modest than his companions. The braided boy held him as he would a lover, but Quatre decided to hold his tongue.
By the time the introductions had gone around, Quatre found himself struggling to keep his eyes open. Sleep had been subtly creeping up on him, and now it seemed he was finally losing the battle. He politely bowed to Miss Catalonia and her friends, excusing himself. The young blonde was so exhausted, he failed to notice the looks past around behind his back that were directed at him.
Quatre would wake up some hours later, with a terrible need for a drink of water. Consciousness, it seemed had some trouble returning to his body, but was helped along by virtue of a rather harsh slap to his face, leaving a rather obvious mark and a resounding crack that reverberated in his almost but not quite empty room. Surprised by this, the little blonde struggled to sit up-- only to find that he had somehow managed to get his hands caught on the wrought-iron headboard.
This realization caused the young lord's eyes to snap open as he struggled with the headboard, twisting his arms frantically to dislodge them. Well, what do you know? Someone had tied his hands up to the headboard by a sash, that was the reason he was stuck............. waitaminute!
Quatre stared in horror at his hands, wondering who would do such a thing. And why. Perhaps it was just a trick one of Catalonia's friends was playing on him. Or maybe.... Suddenly, it felt very hot in the room, and Quatre began to sweat. He may have been innocent, but he had at least a little knowledge about sex. Even if it was close to nil, he was pretty sure what was going on.
And he didn't like it. Not one bit. He was used to giving the orders out, and having other people obey them. The only person he answered to was his father, who was about to kick, anyway. He couldn't even remember a time when he had been controlled, but all that same...... he kinda liked it. .....No wait! Shit!! That can't be it, it's wrong, disgusting, immoral....... And oh so pleasurable at the same time. Suddenly, he really wanted that drink.
"So we meet again, I see, Master Winner," came a sultry voice from the darkness beyond where Quatre could see. A shadow detached itself from the gloom, a slender figure stepping forth, the moonlight illuminating her velvety pale skin........
"M-Miss Catalonia??" Quatre asked, his voice cracking slightly, higher pitched than normal. His eyes then went wide, and his cheeks flushed as he struggled to tear his eyes from the scene, Dorothy walking out of the shadows carrying was suspiciously looked like a leather belt-
-and she wasn't wearing anything.
"Yes, your lordship?" the blonde asked playfully, using one velvet gloved hand- the only piece of clothing on her- to toss her shimmery blonde hair back behind one ivory shoulder. She giggled, crossing the room, her normal silvery-blue eyes dusted with a seductive and rather unnerving stormy blue. Silently, and with the grace of a tigress, she slithered over him, pressing her body against his and capturing his mouth in a searing kiss.
It was Quatre's first kiss, and more rough than he had imagined it would be (he being the sensitive type) but not all that unpleasant. While it lacked that prominent "zang" that defined whether or not your current partner was the love of your life, it did carry with it several pent up emotions and dare he say it, desires, having been denied for so long the urges that had come natural with age.
Dorothy's pressure on him brought with a nice warmth, an inviting heat that sent shivers through his body. He was out of breath before her; obviously she had much more experience. Quatre had never much of a leader anyhow, at least when it came to matters of the body. Even so, the blood of generations and generations of noble aristocrats pumped through his veins, and the normally shy and reserved (and quite prudish) boy felt much more confidant during more modest and political activities.
The Catalonia girl finally released him (a good thing, too- his vision was getting quite fuzzy, but whether from desire or the lack of air he didn't know). While Quatre began sucking in mouthfuls of air, she took to running her hands down his body, fumbling with buttons and zippers. Her feather-light caresses sent more shivers down his body, and miraculously, seemed to even effect the very virtue of his pants, which seemed to be shrinking at the moment.
With many nights of torrid passion backing her up, Dorothy divested the young blonde of his clothes in record time, enjoying the feel of his satiny soft skin beneath her fingers, the way he quivered with each touch, the little moans and sighs that escaped his lips as she continued her slow and unyielding torture on his senses...... Virgins were so much fun.
Quatre was in sheer ecstasy as Dorothy continued her assault, devouring him with lips and tongue and hands and teeth. The headboard thumped loudly against the wall he thrashed about, tossing his head back as Dorothy ravished the soft skin of his neck, feeling the blood pump through his pulsing jugular. She bit lightly into his shoulder, and ran a hand down his stomach to grasp his aching length. The less experienced of the two blondes cried out, his body reacting almost immediately as he thrust against her. Even if he wasn't sure what to do, his body did.
Dorothy rubbed her thumb over the tip of his erection, and upon feeling dampness of his precum and the way his body shuddered, she knew he wouldn't be able to hold out long. Damn. And she had planned so many fun things for them to do. What a waist of a perfectly good belt.
She let go of his arousal, the boy letting out a frustrated moan, and then positioned herself before slowly lowering herself onto him, his virginity just a memory. Dorothy bit one thin lip in enjoyment and utter pleasure before looking down at the other blonde, staring up into nothingness with his mouth wide and panting, rivulets of sweat cascading down his face and neck and chest. He whimpered something, his mouth moving ever so slightly before struggling to pump his hips upward, as instinct kicked in. Dorothy smirked and lifted herself up, only to impale herself upon him once again, the luscious friction building up between them.
It was Quatre who cried release first, struggling to come down off his cloud nine even while Dorothy was still keeping up with her up and down motions. She too gave voice to surrender, collapsing on the little blonde, gasping. She waited a moment until she had regained her breath before pulling herself off him and untying his wrists, which she noted with tired amusement, were bleeding slightly, red marks marring the porcelain flesh.
Quatre, still the ever shy and inexperienced boy he was, feel asleep almost immediately after sailing through the stratosphere. Dorothy smirked, despite herself, at the way he looked as he slept, looking ever the part of an angel. She reached down to give him a peck on the cheek before stepping back into the shadows and disappearing into the hall.
So it would begin. He would be the one; she was sure of it.