Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.
Friday morning, July 17, 1801, the Serenity Inn
It would be much later until Quatre would wake up, his body still rather sweaty and his room still smelling of the telltale traces of sex; the musk of bodies and fragrance of Dorothy's perfume. He began to dwell on what happened last night, his first physical act of love. But it really hadn't been about love, though. Perhaps it was lust, on Dorothy's part, and maybe after some whispered sighs and fleeting touches on his own part, but did he really want it to have happened? True, he wasn't experienced and had nothing else to go on, no precedents to guide him. But it hadn't been anything like he had thought or wanted it to be.
His sisters had told him of the beauty of a union. Of sparks and stars and the most unbelievable feeling of being whole. Even though he was the only boy of the family, and therefore different from his sisters, he had decided that that was what he what sex was like (albeit his innocence). But what did he feel last night? Used? Robbed? Raped? Perhaps nothing that bad; he didn't regret it, even if it was his first time. Still, there was something missing, that ever so popular feeling of being whole. Yes, that was what he had wanted. Well, that and tenderness. He rubbed his aching wrists. Still, the idea of being controlled was kind of a turn on, no matter how much his wrists were bothering him.
Wholeness. That was what he had wanted. That was what his sisters always said love was like. But it wasn't love; he had already established that. But now it was time to figure out Dorothy's intentions toward him. If she was now thinking of him as some kind of personal harem boy, then she was mistaken. He may have been innocent and shy, but damn it, he was nobody's personal "fuck toy."
Quatre blushed even as he ran the thought over in his head. He rarely swore, and even more rarely swore in his thoughts. He was, after all, a respectable scholar. Quatre forced himself to push the thought away as he continued pulling on his clothes, determined to confront the Catalonia girl even if he wouldn't being enjoying her "hospitality" much longer.
The young blonde descended the staircase that led into the dark, down-to-Earth luxuriance of the lobby. Which in turn, was yet again deserted. What are the odds? Quatre's sees surveyed the area, finding it just as quiet and immaculate as before. The lobby was a small room to the right of the staircase, a dark red carpet with intricate designs of jade and navy running through it, matched by dark wooden walls. A couch and small, low-lying table created a kind of sitting area along with two other chairs. It was abandoned, and in fact it looked like it had not been used in quite some time.
Quatre looked away, his eyes crawling over the small desk by the front door. The book was still sitting there. Closed now, but still there. A rush of curiosity surged through him as he remembered what he had seen the night before. He shrugged it off, reminding himself of his kind and well-bred mannerisms, not wishing to be caught snooping again. Instead, he decided to look for Dorothy outside.
Behind the inn was a small large-ish deck leading to a small courtyard surrounded by trees. The boy stepped out before he realized that two of Dorothy's friends were outside, and at recalling the rather half-assed introduction last night, spun around on his heel and was already gripping the door nob the hurrying back indoors before-
"Hey! Aren't you that kid from last night?"
-he was spotted. Thanks, Allah, really.
Quatre blushed, and turned around, muttering a barely audible apology. He stared at his hands, but when the silence became to great, he cautiously looked up find out who it was that had caught him. To his great surprise, it was the braided one, and the young man with the fall of hair over his face.
Quatre was surprised at the transformation. In the light of the morning, the boy's face was clearly visible, the piercing forest green eyes, the proud aristocratic features of his face, the reddish-auburn highlights in his dark brown hair. He was wearing much the same thing as he did last night, but in the semi-bright light of the outdoors, Quatre could tell he was lean, but heavily muscled. The blonde boy gulped, knowing he was staring and not doing anything about it. He didn't want to. He could've stared the whole day. And he would've, had not the braided young man spoken up.
"So! Quatre, is it? I think..."
"Er- yeah. It's Quatre," the blonde boy stammered, blushed and averting his eyes. The boy he was staring at, however, seemed to not notice, or care, and in one swift fluid movement, he stood up, heading for the inn. His friend called after him.
"Aw, Trowa, where ya going?"
The other muttered something Quatre didn't catch before heading inside, leaving him alone with the braided one. He motioned for Quatre to take the other's seat, and he complied, staring down at his hands. Quatre wasn't a very good conversationalist, no matter all his etiquette. He simply did not have the confidence, being different for so long. The only boy, the precious heir, the scholar. He spent so much time with his head in the books, he didn't know what to say when he was without them.
The boy continued to stare at his hands, bravely raising his eyes to face the braided one, who continued to stare at him, amusement flickering in his blue-violet depths. Quatre flushed again, vexed that he couldn't control his blushing. The blonde boy warily looked up again, the young man staring back at him, a smirk playing up on his lips.
"I'm Duo, by the way."
"S-sorry?"
"Du-oh," the boy said again, pronouncing his name for the blonde boy's sake. Quatre blushed again and nodded, holding out his hand for Duo, who merely studied him in perverse amusement, his eyes crawling over the boy's slender form. Quatre blushed brighter, pulling his hand away, feeling dejected.
"I'm sorry I couldn't remember your name."
"Aa, no worries. I had nearly forgotten yours. I guess you're entitled to it."
Quatre swallowed, nodding, staring at his hands for the umpteenth time that morning.
"Er, I was- er..... I was looking for Miss Catalonia. Have you seen her around...?"
Duo's lips twitched slightly, curving into a semi-smirk, and Quatre flushed slightly, wondering if he knew what had went on last night with the Catalonia girl. He reached up, pushing chestnut-colored bangs out of his eyes with a careless flick of his wrist. "No," he finally replied, his gaze becoming more and more piercing. Quatre shifted in his seat.
"Okay," he mumbled, and stood up, walking towards the door-
-when the boy grabbed him, pressing him against the wall, crushing his lips against Quatre's.
The blonde boy's eyes widened in shock, his arms flying up to try and push Duo away, but the other boy was much stronger than he, and kept him pinned, by virtue of his warm bulk. Quatre had never been a very religious person, but he was taught that there were evil men that would lay with other men, and that was a sin that would surely cast him in the fiery pits of Hell. Boys weren't meant to kiss others boys, and Quatre wasn't meant to kiss him back. Yet as Duo started to shift his hips in a soothing yet rough rocking motion, Quatre's thoughts began to turn fuzzy; religion be damned.
"Do you want to know why you're here?" Duo asked when he finally pulled his mouth away from the blonde's, his hands flying up to Quatre's color, untying and unbuttoning, and running his hands over the heated flesh of the boy's smooth chest. "Do you want to know why she did it?"
Quatre answered in a breathless moan, nodding before throwing his head back as waves of ecstacy surged through him, Duo turning his assault on the boy's tender neck instead, reveling in the sounds his ministrations wrenched from the boy's sweet lips.
Duo smirked, pressing his lips to the boy's ear. "You're going to die."
Quatre's breathes were coming out in short, spasmodic gasps, which quickly subsided into nothing as the boy held his breath, his mind trying to wrap around Duo's latest comment. What?? His mind raced as he struggled to come up with an idea or an answer of some sort, but nothing came to mind, nothing but those four words running in mantra in his mind. His chest began to hurt, and suddenly, he realized that he'd been holding his breath.
"Wuh- what do you mean by that?" he asked, his breathing once again returning to quick pants.
"Exactly what you heard. You're--"
Suddenly, a giggle erupted from somewhere come by, at the edge of the fuzziness in Quatre's mind, and he turned his head to see the girl with the russet curls standing in the doorway, a look of no small amusement playing up on her pale features. Quatre blushed, trying to pull away from Duo, who held him still. The boy was now quite confused, wouldn't she have been angry at finding her lover seducing another, and another boy no less?
Abruptly, Duo let go of the blonde and took a few steps back, wiping his sweaty brow with a sleeve, leaving Quatre to button up his shirt and tie it at the top. Duo walked towards the girl, stopping to look back at Quatre.
"Yeah, Cathy, this is Quatre. He's alright," Duo snickered, as if it were some kind of perverse inside joke. He then stepped up to Catherine and kissed her, a deep passionate kiss before retiring indoors. Catherine smiled an impish grin, her grey eyes roaming over Quatre's person critically. Then, without a word, she flipped her curls behind her head and left.
Quatre was still struggling to control his breathing as well as his blush, finding it hard to do both as he tried to figure out what the hell just happened. He had watched Duo and Catherine's weird preternatural courtship play itself out, and he couldn't figure it out. Hadn't Duo had his hands wrapped around another boy last night? Catherine didn't seem to mind, not even when she walked in on Duo practically jamming his tongue down his throat. The boy scratched his head, but decided not to waste anymore time on it. He had to get his things together and find that elusive Catalonia girl and get the hell out of this place.
The blonde wandered indoors, checking through the lobby before heading upstairs. There were a half a dozen other rooms decorated as sparsely as his own. Dorothy was no where to be found. Quatre, feeling defeated, wandered downstairs again, wondering if perhaps she had decided to step out for a bit. That proved problematic; he wanted to pay her for his night's stay before calling a coach. He was needed at his father's side; he should have been in London at least three days ago. He was willing to forget what he had seen and done, and these residents' odd behavior if only he could get out.
The blonde boy considered waiting around for Dorothy, but he wasn't sure how long she'd be out. He carefully surveyed the downstairs once more, his soft pink tongue slipping out to wet his lips when he saw it. The door to the basement. Of course. Dorothy had to be down there. Quatre smiled slightly, gripping the iron handle of the rotting wooden door and beginning his descent.
The basement was as he remembered it before, the expensive intricate tapestries hung up and the equally expensive and intricate rugs lying on the floor, the ratty couches all complete with mood lighting. Quatre turned around once, to take it all in, shivering at the eeriness of it all, vaguely wondering what kind of psycho would want to hang out down here. Dorothy was possibly psychotic, yes, but what of her compatriots? Duo... well, he was a bit of a playboy, sure, but crazy? Somehow Quatre couldn't bring himself to believe he was crazy. Catherine, well he didn't know her that well enough to make that assumption. There was definitely something odd about her, but not crazy. And what about that other boy he saw this morning? Trowa What's-His-Name. Quatre had only seen him for a minute or two, but he seemed more taciturn than anything.
The boy simply couldn't figure it out. Either way, he didn't much care. The Catalonia girl wasn't down here and the place was giving him the creeps, so he had ought to just-
"You shouldn't be down here."
Quatre whirled around, and speak of the Devil, Miss Catalonia was standing behind him, one foot still resting on the staircase, the look of wicked amusement long gone, giving way to an angry frown which bordered on a snarl. Quatre gulped. She was pissed.
"Pardon my instr--"
"Yes, yes, yes!" she snapped, motioning for him to follow her up the stairs. "What is it you want?"
"Miss, I'd like to pay for my room and then hail a coach. I'm awfully late as it is, and I need to get going by nightfall."
Dorothy stopped and whirled around, looking stricken. "But, you can't leave!"
"M-Miss?"
She must've realized the pathetic and yearning look on her face, and just as quickly slipped back into her unfeeling mask. "I mean, you can't leave. To call a coach, he must sent word to the next town over, and that will take a day at most, for the coach to get back here. I will send word right away, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait."
Quatre plodded up the stairs, dutifully following Dorothy when she resumed her ascent. "But that- that's not possible," he murmured, thinking of his father, lying sick on his deathbed at that very moment.
"I'm dreadfully sorry, Master. But If you'd only told me the night before you needed a ride right away--"
Quatre smiled at her as she shut the basement door, locking it for good measure. "Yes, I know. I'm terrible sorry. But, could it possibly get here by first light?
Dorothy smiled. "I guarantee it."
Quatre sighed, letting his book fall into his lap. He was propped up in his bed, one hand behind his head and the other holding onto one of his precious school books, whiling away his time until dark, when he could go to sleep and await the morning.
He dog-eared his page, shutting the book and leaving it on his bed as he sat up and stretched before strolling out onto the balcony. The sun was beginning to set now, and the vermillion rays were just starting to mix into the pinks and violets of twilight. Quatre had always been a sucker for beauty of nature, and especially sunsets. He caught them as often as he could, which unfortunately, was only rarely. Thus, he wasn't going to let such an opportunity pass him by and quickly drew the balcony curtains shut, lightly tripping out of his room, heading for the courtyard, were the view would be even more spectacular.
The blonde boy rushed out into the courtyard, the cooling night air that smelled of pine tickling his skin, ruffing his hair slightly. It was cool, but still humid and warm, all and all a pleasing atmosphere. The young blonde tripped lightly down the porch steps to the courtyard, staring in awe at the waning sun. It was glorious. The sun set the sky on fire with vivid pinks and oranges and reds and violets. Clouds shifted overhead with neon underbellies. Quatre was so absorbed in the scenery he failed to watch where he was walking until-
"Ouch! Hey, watch it!!"
-he stepped on someone's hand. Quatre immediately sputtered apologies, staring down at the irate figure currently holding his left hand, and feeling his heart skip a beat.
It was the boy from earlier.
Still as stoic, calm, and quiet as Quatre had seen him before, he stared back up at the blushing blonde while holding his sore hand, his face betraying no emotion but his emerald eyes stormy with vehemence. He was dressed in the same laid back and immodest dress, possibly even more so. Quatre gulped and prepared to slink off back into the inn, disappointed he was to miss such a beautiful display.
"Wait- where are you going?" the boy asked with a cocked eyebrow, staring up at Quatre and momentarily forgetting his sore hand.
"Er- I-- uum...." Quatre stuttered, berating himself, as it wasn't the most intelligent thing to ever escape his lips. But the boy didn't seem to notice, or care, he simply stared up at Quatre from his position laid back on the grass, blinking slowly, waiting for a response.
"You seemed rather captivated by the sunset. It's what you came out to see, yes?"
"Yeah," Quatre mumbled mechanically, but not after swallowing a few hundred times. Suddenly, the nice atmosphere was getting hot, much too hot for comfort, and his throat had gone unbelievably dry.
"Then why are you leaving?" the boy asked again, in the same lazy manner, thick eyelashes swooping down to cover his eyes as he blinked again. He sat up and reached up for Quatre hand, holding in one of his much larger ones, staring intently at the blonde's face which was taking on that charming adorable rosy hue as he blushed again. "I'm not mad, if that is what you are worried about."
Quatre said nothing, he simply stared at the boy's face, then to his hand grasping his own, then to his face, and to his hand again, and so on. Finally, the boy swallowed yet another hundred times and sunk slowly to the ground beside the boy.
"By the way, may I ask of your name? I'm afraid I wasn't paying much attention last night."
Quatre swallowed, staring at the boy's hand which still held his own. "Q-Quatre Winner," he replied, his voice only cracking on the first two or three syllables.
"Quatre," the boy repeated, the blonde in raptures at hearing him speak his name in such a way. "I like that. You can call me Trowa. Trowa Barton."
Quatre nodded, now more entranced with the person beside his than the scenery. The glowing reds of the sunset seemed to get caught in Trowa's long bangs, giving him an even more feral appearance. The light turned his eyes dark jade as if he were in the height of passion, and as those black eyelashes dropped down to his cheeks, Quatre realized at once he was staring again.
"'M sorry..." the blonde began, but was stopped in mid self-deprecation when Trowa pressed a finger to his lips. Quatre cautiously looked to meet his stare, and was surprised to find the boy smiling.
"Although you are adorable when you blush, I already know you seem to blame yourself with too much. It's fine, I don't mind," Trowa whispered, now just inches from the blonde's face. Quatre didn't know whether to blush again or flee, but he knew what he wanted to do.
The two spent the rest of the sunrise and a good couple of hours afterwards talking about all sorts of things (which really would have surprised the hell out of anyone who really knew Trowa), and whiling away time staring up at the stars. Quatre was still well aware of the close proximity of Trowa's body, but had become much more relaxed, chatting on and off about whatever pleased him at the moment. They had just finished a discussion on astronomy and whether or not it was possible to lay out your future according to the stars and were enjoying a comfortable silence when Trowa suddenly spoke up.
"Quatre, do you believe in love at first sight?"
Quatre cocked one fine blonde eyebrow and looked up at Trowa who was now hovering above him. The boy looked earnest though, and Quatre resorted to chewing on his bottom lip (as was a habit of his when deep in thought) as he contemplated whether or not it was possible.
"I'm not really sure. I've never been in love, so I don't know what love at first sight would feel like."
"Never?"
"Nope, never."
Trowa shifted his position until he was nearly on top of the little blonde, pinning him to the ground. "So you don't think it's possible for two people to fall in love within the course of three hours?" Trowa purred, nuzzling the side of Quatre's neck.
The blonde boy gulped a few times, struggling to process this new information. However, what Trowa was doing to him was making him quite heady, and he found himself unable to issue forth an answer which Trowa would be able to understand. He felt as he did just the other night with Dorothy, and yet so very different. He felt tenderness. Wholeness. And dare he say it- love.
"Yes," Quatre was finally able to gasp out as Trowa nibbled and licked at his earlobe. In a brief, desperate, and brazen move that would have done the little hussy proud, he grabbed Trowa by either side of his face and redirected his tongue into his mouth. Trowa was taken by surprise, but was clearly delighted as he fumbled with Quatre's shirt buttons.
"Well," he murmured when the kiss was broken. He stared down at the blonde who was already flushed and panting. "Well, I guess there's only one way to find out if it's true or not."
Quatre threw his head back and gave voice to the night as Trowa continued his ministrations, so tender and sweet it made Quatre into nothing more than a quivering mass capable of screaming nary more than one word. So this was what all the fuss was about. He could get used to this.
"My love," Trowa whispered, parting Quatre's thighs.