Authors Notes: Some people may not like this pairing, but I have to admit it does hold some fascination with me. There is a bit of citrus in this. I don't know how you would count it, but it's somewhere between a lime and a lemon (I guess you could call it a Limon). Other than that, please review, especially this part. It's not my first writing a sensual scene, but it is one of my favorites because the characters seem so needy. Okay, ::steps off her soap box:: thanks J
Disclaimer: Damn the Man, I don't own Gundam Wing
The house was dark. Everyone seemed to be sleeping or at least attempting sleep after the rather strange and hectic reunion. She couldn't sleep; something was bothering her. Maybe it was the strange deep-seated emotions in his eyes, or maybe it was just her female intuition, but her mind wouldn't stop racing. Then she heard it, the sound of faint music playing somewhere inside of this frightening compound. She got up from her bed, grabbed a silk robe and searched through the house for the music.
The house was intimidating at night. The way the darkness and the shadows played upon the walls. She felt as if she were in some kind of horror novel- the wind-blown heroine stupidly searching around the castle for the monster- but there were no monsters here; well no mythical monsters. There were, however, many skeletons among inhabitants of this compound. Even she held some secrets that she'd rather keep tidily locked away. She knew that this would never happen, that she would have to unlock her closet door and allow someone to see inside even just once.
Her feet seemed to lead the way having learned the rooms and obstacles so quickly in the past three days. She kept hearing the music, hoping that its lament wasn't a dream or some other figment of her imagination. Homes filled with ghosts such as this one tended to play tricks on one's mind. Her mind was the last thing that someone needed to trick. She was a strong woman, but she would freely admit that she was only one step away from being committed… again.
Yes, she'd traveled down that road of insanity once, a few months after her encounter with Quatre on the Libra. She couldn't handle life without the war, having been all that she was taught during her childhood. Her paranoia, anger and bitterness caught up with her in the wonderful, terrible peace that settled in after Marimeia's first conflict. Wonderful because that's what the world needed, terrible for those in which war was all they new, what they lived for. It was those few months after the war that she was at her lowest and being so low forgot that life was important.
Then she was in the hospital learning how to live again, how to love, how to cry. It took them more than a whole floor of therapist to convince her that she did deserve peace and that it was okay for her to be emotional for her to cry. But the one breakthrough she had was when she couldn't sleep one night, thinking about that time on the Libra and all the things that he'd said to her. She didn't understand until that night months and months after that confrontation; he saw her. He saw past her façade of harshness and looked deeply into her soul and pulled all the wonderful qualities that she'd forgotten she'd possessed. By thinking about his words and his unconditionally caring actions she learned how to love again and rejoined the land of human beings and reveled in the peace. She even married, which proved to be disastrous more than lucrative, and it wasn't entirely her husband's fault.
Deep in her mind she always remembered the kindness shown to her and felt as if she had a debt to repay. Her marriage suffered in love and in happiness because her mind wouldn't let go of one sole thing… Quatre. She wouldn't admit it to herself, but when Marimeia attacked her home she ran to where she knew he would be… the desert. She knew in her heart that he wouldn't have returned to L4, it was too loud and crowded for him. He was a natural soul, he loved the earth, the colonies were too manufactured, too artificial, too insincere. She also saw her expulsion from her home as emancipation; her husband's death hurt, but her freedom to run to Quatre and prove to him that she had the ability to love to accept, and that she'd healed was what she wanted. She wanted to thank him, to hold him, to love him, because she could now free of impediment and fear.
The closer she got to the music the more she realized that the mournful music was him. His violin sang through the heavy wooden door. She knew the song, it was Chopin and was usually accompanied by a piano, but the violin was the single most signifying sound in the room. Stepping towards the heavy oak doors she pushed it open, trying not to interrupt him. There was no problem; he was lost in his music. She slid herself through the crack of the door trying not to make a sound. She watched him; he was standing by the large window the violin poised under his chin, his eyes closed and tensed, his whole body tense as he stressed each note to clear perfection. The moonlight poured over him, dripping mournfully through the thin curtains and onto him, illuminating his pale skin and flaxen locks. Even at night there was no dark in this room, this was the only place in the whole house that held white curtains; the one place, she was sure, that brought him pleasure, which made him feel secure.
He was alone, or so he thought; he was alone with his feelings, his anger, his resentment and confusion. He was alone. In a large crowd of people he could feel nothing but lonely and utterly despaired. He stood in the middle of his music room, the only place in the house that gleamed with innocence and purity. The white curtains that would dangle during the day and shine at night put him at ease and told stories of childlike happiness. Before there was war, anger, fighting, death, destruction there was his violin and his own personal world. When he was younger and he needed to get away he would wake up in the middle of the night, walk outside and play the same song over and over, Chopin. It was his favorite. If someone listened closely to it, they could feel his emotions through the notes that gentle rose from the violin. His heart and soul went into this song, more than that, everything he was enveloped itself inside of this one piece. He was the notes, the music, the instrument, the moonlight, the sadness. He was everything in that moment and no one could take that away from him. When he held his violin he was in control. When he played he was the master, the leader, the king. Through the music he was passionate, he was charming, he was handsome, he was brave, nostalgic, he had inner peace. His music offered him hope and support, faith when everything else was doubtful. The music spoke to him and he spoke to her, telling her a tale of his own soul, baring himself to the depths and not looking back. Shakily he drew the bow across the strings, drawing out one last solemn note, one last piece of himself. In that moment he was painfully aware of his loneliness of his depression. He felt the hot tears that had been sliding down his cheek during his musical elation. His eyes were clenched tight and the tears continued to fall as he clutched the violin to his chest. His breath was ragged, radiating like thunder in his ears as he tried to slow it. He was shaking from the emotions that wracked through him and he clutched himself falling to the ground and curling into a ball in the corner. He only felt the cool wall against his back and the thud of his violin as it hit the floor. He cried, a sob wracking his body as he shook and rocked back and forth in his own desolation.
All of sudden, warm arms were around his neck and smooth, warm lips against his own. He didn't dare open his eyes, lest this one kiss be a dream, some kind of vision that he couldn't bear to leave. Tighter he gripped the person, man or woman he cared not at that moment, he needed to feel this way. He only knew that someone had heard the music and understood his pain, understood him fully. The kiss ended and when the person pulled away he felt a loss a pain almost as bad as losing his violin.
"Open your eyes," she said breathily. He leaned his head against the pale wall and opened his aquamarine eyes. They looked like the deepest depths of the sea; indigo, warm browns, green all swarmed together to create an emotion in his eyes. Fear, she could see it shimmer in his eyes. But what was he afraid of?
His hand that had held the bow brushed the soft, pale flesh of her cheek, the pads of his course fingers brushing against her ear and through her blonde hair. He trailed his forefinger around her ear and down her neck lighter than butterfly wings fluttering across her skin. His hand, moving from neck down to her shoulder removed the silk robe, letting it slide down her creamy white shoulder. His touch became more demanding and he jerked her neck towards his and claimed her shoulder with his lips and teeth. He nipped slightly at white skin, leaving small pink marks in place of its flawless cream.
She was heady, the feel of his lips on her neck and his hands navigating her body. She lifted her hands up to cradle his head, her thin, pale digits weaving through his flaxen locks and softly tugging his head up so that they're lips could meet again. Seeing the growing lust in her dusty blue eyes, he leaned in close his warm breath teasing against her lips. Shivers of lust ran down her spine and Quatre could feel the goose bumps form under his fingers. A smirk threatened his lips but he suppressed it, lest she think him smug for causing her shivers. He dipped his head down and took her lips in between his teeth nipping the full pink petals then soothing them with his tongue. She pulled away and lowered her head, lightly nipping and licking at the sensitive skin of his ear then traveling lower to his throat and sucking on the prominent Adam's apple. They both relaxed in each other's arms and Quatre lowered his head and took her lips in a searing kiss. Lips moving confidently against one another, tongues winding into each other's mouths, massaging, feeling, memorizing every inch of each other.
Quatre's hands continued to work their way over every inch of her fevered skin. He massaged her back, stroked her hair and started to work on the black, satin bra that she was wearing. He wanted to see her. He felt the snap on the bra come a loose and let the hindering article drop to the floor. Without hesitation he stepped behind her, kissing her neck and slowly darting his tongue out as he did. He trailed his hands down from her face, the sides of her body and back up to cup her ample breasts. He pulled her back to his chest and she could feel his need pressing against her back. Her mind was cloudless; she could feel every sensation that he was giving her, every emotion he was expressing. He was treating her like the violin he'd played so lovingly, so adeptly, she was his newest piece and he wanted to make her sing lovely notes. He was in control and he knew it. He massaged her breasts gentle, taking the coral-colored nipple between his thumb and forefinger and gently squeezing eliciting a moan from her kiss-swollen lips. He bent down and nipped at her ear lobe, darting his tongue in and out of the shell-shaped ball of nerves.
"Dorothy, you're so beautiful." He whispered into her ear then turned her head so that he could kiss her. He curved his left leg around the front of her body; tripping her into his arms and picking her half-naked form up and gently laid her on a green leather sofa. Her hot skin was cooled by the feel of baby-soft, green leather upon her back. She shivered in response to the temperature change, loving every bit of this moment, every sensation. She'd waited for the last seven years for this moment; she wasn't going to allow anything to slip away from her mind. The look in his eyes, the smell of his skin, the paleness of his flesh and hair were all imbedded in her brain.
He was on top of her, his kisses everywhere on her body, burning her flesh with heated desire. His lips were soft on her neck, forceful on her lips, his teeth nipped her chin and ears and he bit her nipples eliciting moans of pleasure-pain. He kissed his way down her body stopping just to dip his tongue inside her
navel and blow cool air over the wet residue his tongue left causing her more shivers. He nuzzled her stomach with his nose and lowered his head down to her thighs, sighting the creamy white flesh of the inside of her legs and slowly, lightly kissing her. She moaned as she felt soft lips glide inside her thigh, warmth breath teasing her. She ran her fingers through his thick blond locks and slightly pulled him up to see his face. Their lips met in another searing kiss, his tongue invading her mouth while his hands roamed over her body. She, in a passionate haze, assaulted his silk pajama shirt, attacking the buttons with fury and almost ripping the fine cloth from his body. She threw the tattered piece of clothing to the floor; it joined her silk robe and her black bra in small pile of clothes that would no doubt get larger. Her hands ran down the taut ridges of muscle in his abdomen and chest then to the strong muscles of his back, then back up to his head to deepen the kiss. He pulled back from the kiss and began the same trail down her body that he'd started earlier; his tongue trailed a line down the middle of her breast to her navel and stopped at the hem of her panties. Hooking his fingers into the black satin he pulled them down, her fragrance tinged his nostril spurring him on. Following his lead, she undid the silk tie of his pajama pants slowly and dipped her hand inside stroking him. He stopped her, gripping her wrists and placing them above her head. He removed his pants quickly throwing them into the pile and leaned over her dipping his neck down in a kiss. With one hand he held her wrist above her head, while the other stroked the sensitive ball of nerves that lay between her legs. A moan escaped her lips and she tried yanking her arms away but he held her strongly. His mouth latched onto her nipple, his mouth sucking and his teeth nipping softly. He lifted his head to catch the moans of pleasure escaping her mouth. He looked down at her eyes, they were tightly closed and her head was thrown back in ecstasy, her newly freed hands gripped the leather of the couch and her nails were leaving scratch marks. She stiffened in his arms and let out a fevered sigh then she was perfectly still.
Her breath was hard to catch; no man had ever made her feel this way or had taken his time to pleasure her with such intensity. Her eyes blinked open, like a newborn baby seeing the world for the first time and they landed upon the deepest, lust-ridden aquamarine eyes she'd ever seen. Both of them stared deeply at one another, each not able to fathom what had just taken place and what was about to happen.
"I love you, Quatre," her voice was no higher than a mouse whisper as she rubbed a stray blonde tress from his sweat-slicked forehead. He was supposed to smile, take her in his arms and make love to her for the rest of the night; this was not to happen. His expression changed and his eyes suddenly became distant the same stoic frown that he'd been wearing every since that first day of her arrival reappeared on his face. He got up from the couch and quickly pulled on his pajama pants and ran a nervous hand through his hair.
"Get out of here, Dorothy," he said searching frantically for his shirt. She sat up, her hair matted to her back and tears threatening her eyes.
"What?" she asked trying to cover herself from shocked-embarrassment.
"I said, GET OUT! And cover yourself for Allah's sake!" he said grabbing a blanket from the sofa and wrapping it around her shoulders.
"But… I thought," tears were falling down her cheeks.
"Don't think anymore, just get out of here. Go back to bed. Don't think about this night ever again," he walked away from her and towards the window, picking up the previously forgotten violin. She stared at his back as he said those words and walked up behind him and put a nervous hand to his shoulder. He pulled away forcefully.
"Don't run from me, Quatre, I love you" she said. He turned around, dropping his violin back to the ground and grabbed her wrists. There was something frightful in his eyes a danger that she'd never seen in any man.
"I don't love you and I never will, so get that word off your tongue and the thoughts about us out of your head. Go to bed, your sniveling is nerve wracking." He let her go and she fell to her knees tears rushing down her face. He waltzed past her, picking up his prized violin and walked out of the door.