DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…
AUTHOR'S NOTES 9.1: This chapter may contain some scenes, which are not appropriate for immature audiences. Reader's discretion is advised.
CHAPTER 9: SWEETER THAN WINE
"Have another one, Azzy, my friend," Sir Andrew Waltfeldt hiccupped jovially as he poured a liberal amount of red wine into Sir Muruta Azrael's glass.
Sir Azrael, his face red from the wine, waved him away. "I don't wannymore," he answered his voice slurred. "You drink too much, Andrew."
Sir Andrew chuckled as he gulped down his own glass of wine. "Ah," he exhaled pleasurably. "Nothing like some wine to clear your head, eh, Azzy."
"My head doesn't seem so clear, Andrew," Sir Azrael remarked barely able to keep his head up.
"When did it ever?" Sir Andrew chuckled heartily, slapping his hand on the table.
"Thazza 'orrid thing to say, Andy boy," Sir Azrael hiccupped.
"But true," Sir Andrew answered cheerfully.
"Izz still 'orrid," Sir Azrael slurred indignantly.
"But still true," Sir Andrew replied. The wonderful thing about conversing with a drunk was the fact that you could insult them all you want without any trouble; after all, they won't remember much come morning.
"Thazz not a nische think to say about your ne-phyoo…" Sir Azrael slurred back, unaware that his drunken voice was growing in volume. "I'll haff my Lacush kick you out, you…"
"Sure, sure," Sir Andrew said dismissively. He took a gulp of wine, just as a sober and indignant feminine voice called out sharply— "Are you both completely unaware that you are both shouting?" —causing him to spurt out the wine he just drunk—straight into Sir Azrael's face.
"Aisha!" Sir Andrew greeted cheerfully, completely ignoring his uncouth transgression.
Aisha, however, had no such compunctions. "Sir Andrew!" she said indignantly.
"Eh?" Sir Andrew inquired, cocking his head slightly to the side. "What's wrong, Aisha, my love?"
Aisha's cheeks flushed, with fury or embarrassment, it was hard to say, but her next words cleared that up: "Don't you try any of your sweet talk on me right now, Sir Andrew. This is neither the time nor the place."
Sir Andrew gazed adoringly at her pretty features, and said exactly the wrong thing any man could possibly say at a moment like this: "You're absolutely beautiful when you're angry."
A pulse pounded in Aisha's temple. "And you, sir, are an absolute degenerate with no exemplary manners of which to speak off. Look at this—" She pointed towards Sir Azrael.
Sir Andrew transferred his glance towards his friend and let out a gasp. "Good God, Azrael! What've you done to yourself?"
Sir Azrael blinked owlishly at him, seeming to have been doused out of his drunken stupor, yet with absolutely no idea of how he should react as of now.
Aisha opened her mouth for a retort at his oblivious protestations, but Sir Andrew wasn't finished making an ass of himself: "Tsk. I should've known you couldn't handle your drink, my good man."
"Sir Andrew!" Aisha shrieked.
"Good Lord, Aisha," Sir Andrew exclaimed startled. "Did a mouse just run across the room?"
"The only rat in this room: is you, Sir Andrew Waltfeldt!" she said, her body rigid, the pulse pounding madly at her temple. "Sir Azrael," she snapped, turning her attention to him, "kindly pull yourself together and proceed towards your room."
After Sir Azrael ambled drunkenly out of sight, Aisha turns the full force of her wrath towards Sir Andrew. "And you, sir— Had better have a very good explanation for your uncouth behavior in the next 5 seconds, or I will be forced to lower the high esteem in which I regard you as a person and as milady's only remaining relative and guardian. If you care about her at all—"
The rest of Aisha's sentence was abruptly forgotten as Sir Andrew yanked her towards him and pulled her slender body in direct contact with his.
"Sir Andrew!" Aisha cried. "This is highly unacceptable. You are extremely foxed, and—"
"Well, what do you know," Sir Andrew murmured in a husky voice. "I have an excuse to kiss you after all." And with that declaration, he touched his lips to hers.
Though shocked at first, it wasn't long before Aisha was kissing him back. She had always felt a strong affection for Sir Andrew, which she had never expressed to anyone, not even to Lady Lacus, and yet—she had never imagined he had ever seen her as anybody other than his niece's friend and companion.
Sir Andrew was kissing her more deeply now, and pulling her tighter against him. Not that she minded. She had quite forgotten why she was so angry with him, and was pulling him just as tightly towards her. Sir Andrew's kisses moved from her lips, to her cheek, to her neck, and Aisha's knees buckled from the intense feelings that were rioting inside her at this moment.
"Andy," she whispered huskily, abandoning all form of polite address in her impassioned state. Her fingers twined in his soft brown hair, as his lips moved towards the bodice of her gown. He pushed her against the table, and using it as leverage, he nudged her knees apart and settled himself between her thighs. Aisha could feel his heat through the folds of her gown. "This isn't—" she began, only to be cut off as his mouth once more encountered hers.
"You taste so much better than any wine, my dear," Sir Andrew said hotly against her lips.
The mention of wine was like a splash of ice-cold water on Aisha. 'How could I have forgotten?' she thought with mortified humor. 'He's drunk!' Utterly embarrassed and furious at him, Aisha drew back her arm and slapped Sir Andrew full on the face.
The blow caused him to stagger backwards, which gave Aisha enough room to scoot away from him. "You're despicable," she spat, tears glistening in her eyes. "Do you have to be drunk to want a woman?" And with that heartfelt parting shot, Aisha disappeared in a whirl of skirts.
"I don't need to be drunk to want a woman, my darling Aisha," Sir Andrew whispered seductively, and quite soberly, to the room at large. "But I have to be drunk in order to have an excuse to touch you." Reaching for his half-filled glass of wine, he downed the contents in one gulp and let out a curse. "Damn Azrael. I wish he'd just tip his hand, so I can stop hiding mine."
A/N 9.2: Sorry if this chappie was overdue. I'm sorta doing another fic aside from this right now, and I kinds neglected this one a bit. Not to worry, though, I don't plan to jilt this fic. I've decided to take out a character from the original play, which means he won't be appearing in this fic. To those of you who know Twelfth Night, I'm talking about Malvolio, another guy who is in love with Olivia (Lacus). You could say Flay is replacing him as the obnoxious couple breaker in this fic. Hope you enjoyed this short but intense chapter. Ja!
A/N 9.3: Thanks to those 8 reviewers who reviewed the previous chapter. Mrs. Nozomu Sohma: I'm glad you agree with me on the chemistry thing. It brings spice to the story, don't ya think? Glad you also liked the guy fight. An inspired idea, if I do say so myself. purple1: I'm glad you're liking how I'm going with this fic, and thanks for reviewing my Naruto fic as well. TheBetanWerecat: I can't help but smile at your praise and review, it's truly touching and inspiring. Craze Izumi: glad you find it interesting. I do, too. -grins- Cari: don't worry; you'll get it straight in your mind eventually, though you're off to a pretty accurate start. Doctor Kiba: glad you liked Dearka getting bashed and making a fool of himself. One of my fave parts, I can tell ya. Anaid: thanks for the accolade! Muchos gracias! Yukimi noh Daiomoru: uh, I'm really not sure what you're talking about, but thanks for the review. Glad you liked it.