The Arabian Doll (Part Five)

Trowa had expected the worst and, indeed, the worst had been delivered. Two hours straight of lecturing conducted by one very irate Duo Maxwell was enough punishment to last for weeks. An attack against his character at that point was more acceptable. Instead, he found himself faced with continual yapping that was a lot harder to bear.

"I should have been there," his long time friend kept on saying as he yammered on about his point while viciously biting down on a rather juicy apple. "I'm telling you," he said between chews, making him look a lot less serious than he actually was. "You could have killed him. Strangling? Since when did you resort to that? Self-control, Trowa; it's all about self-control!"

Trowa, ever the attentive and long-suffering of the pair, continued to keep his mouth shut. He hadn't gotten a word in since he'd told Duo what had happened the day before. Nevertheless, he was content with remaining silent for the time being. No energy was being expended from his position, so no further action was necessary. Once Duo was done, he would surely spend just as much energy defending himself.

"Oh no," Duo said in mock warning, shifting his finger from side to side. "We can't have some pretty face walking around with a bruise around his neck telling passers-by that he'd been working with Trowa Barton. How would that look? All that guy has to do is bat his pretty eyelashes. Those people would hunt you down and castrate you."

"I do hope so if it calms you down," Trowa was able to slip in. He was teasing, but his expression never changed.

"Calm me down?" Duo responded quite dramatically as he delivered another violent bite to the quickly disappearing fruit in his hand. "Nothing will calm me down!"

"I doubt it was his intention to damage my reputation so far that he would display his injuries very openly. He was not the least bit upset when he left. I can assure you that this won't be a problem."

Duo, seeming to tire from yelling, finally decided to take a seat and finish his fruit. Still, it was evident that he would not let the matter go.

"Tro," he said after having calmed down a bit. "You know I trust you right?"

Trowa nodded before sitting back and crossing his arms. It was going to be one of those semi-yelling, semi-serious discussions that he'd known Duo for. Had he been anyone else it would have been in one ear and out the other, but he was a good friend. Good friends braved the onslaught of sermons.

"You're a great guy, a bit on the quiet side, but you are one crazy, sadistic freak."

"You happen to point that out everyday," Trowa said in turn, serving himself a cup of coffee. The hot liquid was not meant for his stomach but for his freezing hands.

"The next time you get your hands on Quatre, he's going to end up looking like a kicked puppy wailing for his mommy to beat the crap out of you."

"And I will do that why?"

"Because he's gorgeous," Duo answered automatically, like it was the most natural answer in the world.

Trowa found himself at a loss for words as he cupped his hands around the warm mug. That truth was undeniable. Even Duo knew his weakness for beauty, for physical extravagance that his hands could not get enough of. His fingers could not help but caress the cup he was holding as if it were a delicate, uncommon object he was going to mold. However perverse it seemed, Trowa was obsessed with minute sensations and he would go far enough to satisfy that craving.

"Most of them are... gorgeous I mean," Trowa answered a little too late. Duo knew him too well.

"But none of them look like the offspring of a Greek god," Duo said, tossing the apple core into the nearest trash bin within his reach.

"He's not that flawless," Trowa whispered in response, sounding as if he did not believe it was true. It sounded like blasphemy on his lips, like an unfair lie spoken for the sake of the argument. The truth was, however, that Quatre was probably not the best representative of the human species. Everyone had their imperfections.

"Oh please, if you were just a tiny bit sexually inclined, you would have jumped him the first chance you got."

Trowa did not dignify the statement with an answer and instead concentrated on warming his hands. The smell of coffee was powerful as it entered his nostrils.

"If I had it my way, you're never going near him again," Duo continued, aware that Trowa was very capable of being the non-responsive side of the conversation when he wanted to. "But... you're an adult. I'll trust you not to do any harm to either of you."

Just in time, a knock resounded from the front door.

"Speaking of the devil," Duo said, leaving his seat to welcome their guest. It was the least he could do when Trowa was attending to his precious fingers. "Again, Trowa, self-control," Duo warned before opening the door. Not a few moments later, in came Quatre bundled up so tightly that only his reddened cheeks were visible.

"Good morning," Quatre greeted, taking his time as he peeled each layer off. It took a good five minutes before he was finally down to a comfortable looking button down shirt and light brown slacks. Duo wasted no time and circled around their newest companion.

"That's one nasty bruise," Duo said after having circled Quatre twice, only noticing the neck injury and nothing else. Trowa did not lie to him regularly or leave out details, but then when Trowa was going nuts, he usually missed some things. Duo thought it wise to check which other areas of the other man he'd injured.

"It's not a big deal," Quatre responded, bypassing Duo and his further scrutiny as he headed for Trowa.

"I'm assuming that I'm still not welcome during your sessions," Duo said, raising an eyebrow at Trowa although the statement was directed at Quatre. It seemed that today, Quatre was being one cold blonde, not that it took away any of his appeal.

Trowa shrugged barely an inch and motioned for Duo to leave without saying a word. It was best to appease his injured model by complying with what he wanted.

"Ok then. I know when I'm not wanted," Duo said, cheerily waving at Trowa. He stuck a tongue out at Quatre who had his back turned. Trowa did not wave back because he was preoccupied with staring at his model.

"You need to smell me," Quatre said as he approached slowly, ignoring Duo's departure.

"Excuse me?" Trowa said, almost letting go of the warm mug cupped in his hands. So far, that had been the strangest suggestion any model had ever put forward. Perhaps the momentary lack of air Quatre experienced the day before was muddling his brain. The shock was a little too much that Trowa forgot that he was not intending to drink the coffee. He almost choked when the bitter liquid touched his lips.

"I said you need to smell me," Quatre repeated as if his first proclamation was not as strange as it sounded.

"But that's obscene," Trowa replied, being unable to come up with a more suitable word to explain how he interpreted the statement.

"And you groping me while I'm naked isn't?" Quatre asked impatiently. His cheeks did not burn with the same intensity Trowa had witnessed days before. It could only be concluded that Quatre was resolute and found no embarrassment in his suggestion. There must have been a reason, but Trowa was currently trying to reconcile the strange suggestion with the man he knew to be sensible.

"Touching is part of the job. Smelling, however, requires that I put my face on your body," Trowa answered. That was as lucid as he could get.

"You can smell that coffee, can't you?" Quatre questioned, tilting his head to the side as if a curious child in need of an answer. To Trowa, it was the perfect tilt and his analysis of it almost made him forget that he had to answer a question.

"Of course," he said, unwilling to take his eyes off Quatre's face in fear that he would forget an important detail. It was only now that he noticed the change in Quatre's eye color as it shifted with the change of emotion on his face. Aquamarine sometimes became deep blue, sometimes dark green, and other times a mixture of both that it became too dark to distinguish.

"If you can learn how to identify me by smell then you might be able to remember not to squeeze too hard... since you won't be able to use your eyes."

"Fair enough," Trowa said after a few moments of consideration. As long as he was able to work on Quatre, he considered the request to be perfectly reasonable. After all, his hands had been itching to touch him since he'd last done so. Any more waiting and he would have to find a different distraction.

"Then it's settled," Quatre said, handing him a black handkerchief before turning away and beginning to undress. For a moment, Trowa considered cheating. He considered delaying the use of the blindfold if only to get a glimpse of the curvaceous back he knew was radiantly white and perfectly smooth to the touch.

When Quatre's shirt came off, he was caught in a momentary trance that rendered him unable to move. His eyes, perhaps hungrier than his hands, danced across muscles along both scapula until they semi-met as the button-down shirt slid off narrow shoulders.

"Now that, I consider obscene," Quatre voiced, breaking Trowa's unrelenting concentration. He pointed to the blindfold that was still on Trowa's lap, refusing to face him as if his back wasn't already being exposed as it was. "Indulging yourself in voyeurism are you?"

"With something like that? Of course I am," Trowa answered frankly, still staring at Quatre's back to follow the minutest movements as the object of his observation turned to face away again.

"I assure you nothing else is coming off as long as that blindfold isn't secured over your eyes."

"You drive a hard bargain," Trowa said as he proceeded to walk toward his work bench. When he was sure that his materials were ready, he placed the handkerchief over his eyes, obscuring his view of everything. His senses automatically heightened to a degree he could vaguely remember from the last incident. Hopefully this time, he would be able to control himself.

Not a few moments later, he felt a cold hand cup around the back of his neck. Quatre, he sensed, was not as nervous as he was the first time. His steady hand was the only clue, but it was reliable. He closed his eyes beneath the already secure obstruction as he felt his head being lead forward. The tip of his nose came in contact with skin before it was guided to within centimeters of the other.

"Your nose is cold," Quatre hissed while continuing to guide his head.

Quatre's skin was warm and smelled clean against his nostrils that he couldn't help but lean down until his nostrils were in contact with skin. He moved his questing head; this time not guided by his hands and found himself positioned in the junction between Quatre's neck and shoulders.

"You smell exquisite," he said although he would never claim to be an expert on smells. The clay, metal and stone that occupied his work area were the only objects he could identify by smell.

Quatre did not say anything, only held his head before breathing in deeply, exhaling, and then letting go of the death grip he had on Trowa's head. Allowed to explore on his own, Trowa reached up with both hands to steady himself. Guided by the expertise his nose could not provide, Trowa's fingers wandered quickly over flesh that grew familiar with time.

"At least your hands are warm," Quatre noted as he stiffened every now and then when Trowa's hands wandered into once forbidden territory. It was obvious that he was trying to control himself from squirming or fleeing from the situation he had unknowingly put himself in.

"I don't want to make this any more unpleasant than it is," Trowa said, refusing to stop his nose from its quest. He smirked to himself, knowing that Quatre had thought it was a good idea. It was too bad that the other did not anticipate that Trowa would take full advantage of the situation. Ten fingers were now joined by a pointy nose that was beginning to love the attention it was being given.

His model remained quiet. Trowa took it as an invitation to investigate further. Grasping a slender arm, he moved his questing head until he found his nose against the ridge between Quatre's shoulder blades. Muscles quivered when his hands attached themselves to the flat planes of his stomach.

"Why did you leave home?" Trowa questioned when he felt Quatre tense for the tenth time since they started.

"I already told you; stop assuming."

Trowa moved his nose until it landed again on the back of a taut neck which seemed to become his favorite feature of his Arabian model. Something about the slender neck, the way it held the proud head up high called to him. The strong column almost challenged him to find out what kept it from curving downwards in the face of near absolute shame.

"Only displaced persons take odd jobs such as this," Trowa pointed out. His hands left their purchase on the flat planes of a resistant stomach and slid up lean arms to land on either side of his own nose. He was back to where he started. The neck was too tempting.

"Then you're saying that all your creations thus far have been nothing but representations of persons forced into odd jobs," Quatre concluded. His voice held the conviction Trowa was becoming familiar with.

"Forced is not the word I would use," Trowa responded, pausing in his actions. "I never ruled out abject poverty as an alternative to taking odd jobs."

Quatre did not speak immediately after. He didn't move either. All Trowa felt was a steady heartbeat against his unmoving palms plastered on the still confident neck. It didn't curve downward, not even an inch.

"Why do you want to find out?" Quatre questioned after what seemed like ninety heartbeats and a breath. "My circumstances have nothing to do with the job."

Trowa's steady hand moved upward, intending to feel the expression on Quatre's face when he revealed his reasoning.

"I want to know what makes you bleed," he whispered into his model's ear.

For the first time since he'd been working with the other, Trowa sensed fear, a deep fear that refused to express itself on Quatre's handsome countenance. His expression remained passive, but Trowa could almost swear that he smelled the scent of unease building up around the Arabian's body.

"Whatever it is that makes you bleed will make you real," Trowa continued, mercifully relinquishing his hold on Quatre. He stepped back, giving the other some room to breathe without leaving his position still behind him. It gave him some semblance of control. He was still the molder and Quatre still the basis of his end product.

"What does that mean?" Quatre asked him. Despite not being able to see anything, Trowa knew that Quatre did not turn to face him.

"What I want from you is raw emotion, emotion that will make your muscles cry, make your ligaments scream with realism. I want your body to tell me that it's angry or sad or pleased. All I sense from you is nervousness and that is a much too common end result in all the other monuments I've seen."

Trowa stopped before he said anymore. Usually, he didn't work as hard to explain himself. Most of the time, he would just make his models cry in shame, agony, or even absolute disgust for him. He'd feel their hiccups, their tears cascading down the curves of their face and then, he'd console them. After that, he would touch them again to try to gauge the minutest changes as they calmed down and accepted his apologies. They would then be pleased after being treated gently, so Trowa would touch them again. When the circle of emotions had reached its peak, he'd do it all over again until he got the details of his work down perfectly.

"You're trying to manipulate me," Quatre said. He didn't sound like he was accusing, only contemplating the information he'd been given. "You want to break me down to pieces by turning me into an emotional wreck."

"That is precisely what I'm doing," Trowa answered with no remorse. The models, they all hated him for digging too deep into their personal lives. Causing them physical pain was not the only reason why Duo had to keep him in line.

"You've got no fear," Quatre said with an amused laugh, finally turning to face him. Trowa heard the sound of flesh sliding against the wooden stool as he moved. "Since you're so keen about bullying displaced persons taking odd jobs, I find it only proper that I challenge you."

"Because you are one of those displaced persons?"

"You won't get the answer out of me that easily."

For someone who didn't want to be seen naked despite the nature of his job, Quatre was very bold. Trowa had to admire him for not falling for his strap so easily. He supposed Quatre had an advantage what with his foresight to ask what he was intending to do to him. Still, he sounded like a formidable opponent who would not easily give in to his demands. He was relieved that he didn't have an absolute deadline. Otherwise, he would be scrapped for time.

"I take it you're not going to tell me why you took this job."

"I already told you," Quatre answered. Trowa could swear he could feel the other smile. "I took the job because your friend was whining very loudly at a street corner about not being able to find a model for his friend."

"You know that's not what I mean."

Under the circumstances, Trowa would have been irritated by the response, but he was oddly pleased.

"Well then, if you want to dig deeper then you're going to have to work harder," Quatre said. Trowa could not help but cross his arms. "I bet you never expected non-compliance from me."

"You were never compliant to begin with," Trowa replied as he remember all the times he had to coax the other into taking his clothes off.

Quatre was about as easy to work with as a giddy five year old on a sugar high. Still, the challenge in him was interesting, exciting even. It brought a spark of something out of him, something he hadn't felt in so long if he ever did feel it. It had not only his fingers looking forward to the interaction, but had his entire being wanting to partake of the experience of exploration.

"Easy is boring," Quatre said. Trowa was then pulled forward unexpectedly. "It's time to get back to work."

With his hands replaced in its former position against his model, Trowa resumed feeling his way around Quatre. Just because the other did not give in did not mean that he could still make something out of what he'd been memorizing. He'd seen enough emotion off of Quatre. All he needed to do was feel it. With an acceptance of momentary defeat, Trowa happily continued the process of feeding his fingers sensual information.

"No wonder your works look so real," Quatre said after a while. "You really do recreate the living person. Your inanimate recreations are alive. I've never seen your dolls, but I've seen at least one of your sculptures. I must say that I was entranced by the sight of it."

Trowa nodded, taking in the compliments without showing any signs of delight at the mention of his work in a good light. However, he was satisfied with the response he received. Quatre's flesh was practically bouncing with joy as he spoke. He didn't even notice it. Perhaps his model would have to show him agony at a later time, but for now, he was being demonstrated his model's version of enthusiasm. It was good enough.

The trick, Trowa knew, was to catch them off-guard. He would have gloated if he were the type to do so. Instead, he remained indifferent and concentrated as he continued moving his fingers across the expanse of smooth skin. Catching Quatre off-guard was tricky, but he'd successfully exploited one weakness. Quatre was more responsive when he wasn't aware, more emotive than he let himself out to be. That was the most electrifying aspect of Quatre. His lips twitched up the tiniest bit.