Opera
Summary: Quatre and Dorothy, who gives everything a hint of innuendo.
Disclaimer: Don't own GW.
'I don't understand how this is considered suitable for anyone over the age of five,' Dorothy purrs into his ear, taking the opportunity to link her arm around his, not dissimilar to a python playing with its prey. A geriatric – an aunt, he thinks – gives a loud 'shh', which prompts a louder, 'I challenge the mental capacity of anyone who can be entertained so easily.'
Quatre gives a tight smile in an attempt to placate her, but it's as futile as the elderly woman's attempt to hush her. She turns herself toward him fully, leaning forward, and exaggerates places her arms on his shoulders. 'Am I embarrassing you, Quatre?' Her eyes are laughing at him.
He sighs. He's yet to find any evidence of Dorothy Catalonia ever being denied. 'Not at all,' he concedes, because despite Dorothy's pointedly tactless remarks, he's found himself agreeing with each and every one of her observations. 'But I would much rather stay in a nice climate controlled box than out there tonight.'
'You're in luck,' she smiles. 'Because anywhere we can go tonight will be in this massive climate controlled box.' Despite the twinge of bitterness in her voice, he feels himself smiling.
'You said "we".' Immediately he feels ridiculous for voicing the thought, but the brief look of shock that flits across her face tells him she identifies it as being of some significance. 'And here I thought you were one of those mature boys parents want to induct into the family.' She recovers smoothly, as always, smirk in full effect.
She's still leaning into him, still has her arms across his shoulders. His eyes briefly flick to her lips before returning to her eyes, but it's not unnoticed as her smirk deepens. He licks his lips self-consciously, then catches her look and blushes a shade of purple he's sure is wholly unnatural.
'Well,' he tries tentatively, desperate not to sound desperate, 'would you like to go somewhere else?'
'I suppose I could be persuaded to leave this enthralling performance. But only for a very something very special, you understand.'
Another elderly woman – one of Iria's first patients, if he remembers rightly – gives Dorothy a glare that leaves no debate for its meaning. Quatre's quite sure she doesn't notice. He stands as inoffensively as possible – which only attracts a peel of laughter from his date – and mumbles, 'I'll get your coat.'