The Arabian Doll (Part Six)

Quatre was quiet when he entered Trowa's apartment. Duo was nowhere to be found having mysteriously disappeared the day before only with word of a meeting with old acquaintances. Trowa did not mind the absence, especially since he was preoccupied with somebody else.

"Do you need anything before we start?" Trowa questioned. After a number of sessions, he became accustomed to preparing anything his model requested. Whether it be extra logs in the fireplace or a hot drink, no request within his capacity was denied. Whatever Quatre wanted, Quatre got. Of course, there was still the matter of what he requested in return. Although more permissive, his model continued to be obstinate.

"How about a trip to somewhere warm this time of year?" Quatre suggested. He was just teasing, but with the way he shook in response to the cold weather outside, he supposed that Quatre was half-serious. His teeth were chattering as he rubbed his arms. All that came to Trowa's mind was how fast he could get Quatre to warm up so he could strip. Too much clothing was covering him, leaving only his eyes available for viewing.

"Let me get you a cup of hot cider," Trowa said instead of responding to Quatre's request. He was thinking along the lines of serving Quatre alcoholic cider but decided against it. It was almost as if he heard the voice of Duo saying that doing so would be illegal in some parts of the world. He didn't exactly want to get in trouble, especially when he still had a job to finish. The slow process of sweet-talking Quatre into getting into rather uncomfortable positions would have to do for the time being.

"Make sure it's non-alcoholic," Quatre voiced from the living room.

Trowa almost dropped the mug he'd taken from the cupboard. It was eerie how Quatre seemed to have read his mind. Retrieving a small pot and a bottle of cider, Trowa let the stove burn before preparing the drink. Some cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and spices were added to the liquid before he left it alone to boil. It smelled delicious and he knew it would taste just as good. Living in the cold for far too long had taught him how to find ways to make the temperature more bearable.

Leaving the liquid to heat up, Trowa peeked past the kitchen to check if Quatre had settled down. Unfortunately, his model remained standing. Even more unfortunate was that not one piece of clothing left his still shivering body.

"Go ahead and make yourself comfortable," Trowa said before going back to check on the pot.

"I can't. My jacket's too bulky," Quatre responded. Trowa sympathized with him. It looked like Quatre could topple over if he were pushed the tiniest bit. It didn't help much either that he was wearing equally bulky gloves that made the use of his fingers practically useless.

"Here," Trowa said, after turning the flame off the stove. He left the liquid to cool down for a bit while he helped Quatre.

Approaching the other, he made sure to let him know that he was just behind him before taking out the scarf that was covering his neck. Trowa then pulled the gloves out and proceeded to unfasten the huge buttons of the cumbersome jacket, unmindful of the fact that Quatre could now do it himself. He continued with the bulkiest layer only to find that there was another jacket inside.

"You seem to like undressing me," Quatre observed while he remained where he stood. He made no move to help Trowa with the task.

"Anything it takes," Trowa answered dryly. Actually, his hands were agitated having been exposed to the cold earlier that day on his trip to the bakery. They needed the warmth that they had gotten used to and the warmth that only his current model could provide.

Quatre did not answer and continued to remain where he stood with his arms planted to his sides and his eyes watching the movement before him. Trowa continued with his task, getting down to the sweater underneath the second jacket before stopping. There were limits and Quatre's unvoiced command said just that. His eyes, although neither accusing nor cautionary, gave him only one option. Before Trowa could do any more, he went to the kitchen to retrieve the warm cider.

Trowa kept his observation of Quatre's potent ability to himself and offered his model the cup of soothing liquid. The apple cider, he knew for a fact, would make Quatre feel cozy and more comfortable in the quickly warming apartment. The fire coming from the hearth felt plenty warm.

"Thanks," Quatre said when he was handed the mug. He took a sip of it and sighed in content. Trowa was pleased that his recipe was appreciated. After having discovered it for the sake of Duo's endlessly chattering mouth some cold winter days ago, he had learned how to appreciate the value of fine flavors. He had the potential of becoming a great cook and wouldn't mind changing professions if the doll business ever went bad. His clients have been few and far between recently, but at least they paid well. For the time being, his hobby could remain his business.

"This hot cider is pretty good," Quatre murmured into the hot liquid. He took another sip from the steaming mug; unmindful of the burning sensation the heat was causing his tongue.

Trowa sat across from him and watched him enjoy the drink. He noticed Quatre's cheeks turn bright pink after being exposed to the cold and then the heat. No matter what extreme temperature, it seemed, his cheeks always resulted in the same hue.

"He wants it in color," Trowa said out of the blue, remembering what his client's specifications were.

Quatre blinked and then turned his head to look at him quizzically.

"Excuse me?" Quatre said. He looked confused, like he'd missed the question while concentrating on his drink.

"You won't do," Trowa said next. He leaned back on his seat and examined Quatre again. "You're not even Arabian."

Quatre seemed offended by his statement as he placed his mug gently on the coffee table before frowning at him. The crease that appeared between his brows made the prominence of his blonde hair even more pronounced. The hair on his eyebrows was just as bright as the hair above his head, reminding Trowa that he may have been doing far too much leisure out of what should have been a job. After a full night of evaluation, he realized that Quatre just wouldn't do.

"How would you know that? You haven't even checked my identity to disconfirm that I'm not," Quatre protested. Why he seemed bothered by it, Trowa could not tell, but he did like the slight pout forming on the other man's lips.

"I haven't confirmed it either. There is currently no reason for me to accept your claim," Trowa responded, before standing up to examine his model. Indeed, he wasted far too much time perfecting a replicate of this specimen he couldn't even present to his client. His mind told him that Quatre should have been tanner, should have had darker colored hair, and should have had the face of someone accustomed to the sandy deserts he'd only seen in picture books. Still, there was much to consider. He didn't exactly know how Arabians should have looked like to begin with. All the references he's received from Duo were caricatures and odd renditions meant to popularize a certain aspect of a region's people.

Quatre crossed his arms in dismay.

"You've been working with me for weeks now," he said, himself leaning back on his side of the couch. "I don't see why you've continued despite having your doubts about me. I don't ever remember you questioning my lineage."

"I rather enjoy feeling you up," Trowa responded in earnest. Normally, such statements were barred by Duo as obscene, but Duo was nowhere near them and what Duo didn't know about didn't matter.

Rather than being offended by the statement or blushing in embarrassment, Quatre put a hand to his face and laughed. He seemed genuinely amused by the statement, his eyes lighting up in mirth. Their intensity, after being emphasized by the burning fire close to him, doubled. It forced Trowa pay closer attention to his face.

"I'd be offended if I'm not already used to you," Quatre said after a good round of laughter. "But as it is, I know for a fact that I'm exactly what you're looking for."

The statement, emphasized with a smirk, caught Trowa off guard.

"If I may say so, I believe that you don't have the ability to pick the models out yourself despite the fact that you're very skilled when it comes to recreating them. Duo, for instance, must have instinctively put himself before you when you were looking for a subject for that sculpture you made for the town square."

Trowa became guarded, his normal reaction to being so easily analyzed. He felt as though Quatre knew more than he let on. For him to figure out that the graceful body exuding bare flesh displayed at the town square was the same, clumsy Duo who was more boisterous than poignant was uncanny. Nobody had known it was Duo save for the family who so effortlessly disinherited him for taking part in what they considered to be scandalous activity. Apparently, the wealthy Maxwell family deemed the result of his work more indecent than discovering their son with another man. Trowa was aware that he had some modesty issues to deal with, but some people were just ridiculous.

"He would rather not have me mention anything to do with it," Trowa responded, momentarily disregarding Quatre's observations of him. Duo's one and only modeling job was a bit of a difficult subject.

"I see," Quatre answered, picking up his quickly cooling drink. "Must be family problems," he murmured next. His guess was dead accurate, but Trowa had no intention of letting him know that.

Instead of fueling Quatre's curiosity further, he quickly changed the subject.

"I have something to show you," he said, foregoing to need to begin their session. Anything to get Quatre's mind off Duo was necessary. He'd been adamant about showing Quatre some of the results of his work, but decided to do so anyway. If Quatre saw how far he'd gotten, the other just might allow him to delve a little deeper and explore a little further. It was a long shot, but anything that would help his cause as soon as possible was fine. His client did not mind the wait, but his hands were certainly itching for more of his ever-reluctant model.

"Oh," Quatre said, finishing his drink. He proceeded to the kitchen to take care of the used mug before coming back to join Trowa once again. He did not sit and instead remained standing as if waiting for a surprise that Trowa was sure to deliver. Trowa decided not to make him wait.

"Follow me," he said as he walked toward the closed off-section of his apartment that no one save for Duo had seen before. It was his private area, the place where he did his real work during the wee hours of the night when he could not sleep. Most of the time, his rush of inspiration came at the oddest hours.

Quatre followed close behind him and Trowa noticed his companion for the day checking his surroundings. Trowa felt a little conscious as the object of his next masterpiece looked around the old, dusty room. There was a sprinkle of dust covering the room while remains of stone sectioned out from his still unfinished sculpture littered the floors. A hammer and a stone pick were placed on top of his work desk where other pieces of jagged shaped stone also rested.

"I'd always believed that you worked near the fireplace," Quatre voiced, looking around the room as if inspecting it for the unimaginable. "I don't see any of your other works," Quatre said next. He was careful to avoid the discarded materials on the floor.

"I don't like to keep a lot of my work much, unless of course it suits my eyes enough to remain where it was created."

"Really?" Quatre asked with doubt.

"Really," Trowa responded dryly. He pulled a stool out of the dusty desk and offered Quatre the rickety seat. It was old and well-used, but at least it would do the job. Quatre, seeming to be used to the antiquity of all the materials he came into contact with in Trowa's apartment, easily took the proffered seat.

Satisfied that his spectator was more or less comfortable, Trowa approached the only covered object in the room. Underneath the large, white cloth in the middle of the room was something he was reluctant to show Quatre. Trowa couldn't tell exactly why that was. The life-size figure underneath was one of his most favorite masterworks.

"This is you," Trowa said, before pulling out the dusty cloth.

Quatre coughed for an instant, not prepared for the dirt that was sent his way. Waving his hands in front of his face to fight the dust's assault on his lungs, Quatre coughed a couple of times. Trowa shrugged to himself. Perhaps he didn't expect the dust to be that bad. He'd been working around it for too long.

"I didn't think you'd even started yet," Quatre said while continuing to wave his hand in front of him. He seemed to be trying to adjust his eyes to the dusty atmosphere.

"Some of your evaluations of me are rather off-putting," Trowa responded, before folding the cloth he'd used to cover the sculpture. He was waiting for Quatre's judgment of his work. The other seemed to believe that he was skilled, but his reaction to this particular piece would decide all.

"It's," Quatre said. He sounded like he was having a hard time trying to find the right words.

"That's a rather dismal response," Trowa said, turning towards Quatre and expecting to see a look of awkward, if not outright, hesitancy. Instead, Quatre looked shocked. Trowa supposed that it was better than disgust.

"That's not me," Quatre said after what seemed like ages of staring.

"I'm good at what I do," Trowa replied. "And that is who I say it is."

Quatre continued to gawk and gawk at his replica no less. He was speechless as he reached his hand out to touch the figure without actually making contact with it.

"This is what I feel with my hands," Trowa explained. He placed his right hand on the sculpture since Quatre seemed reluctant to do it himself. "These are how your muscles feel like," he continued, tracing his fingertips on the bicep area of the replica.

He went closer to the sculpture and placed both his hands on the carved chest. Using his palms, he explored last night's work, letting his fingers dance along the cold that was so unlike the warmth and suppleness of the real thing. Closing his eyes and imaging the warmth, Trowa continued to investigate every single inch of Quatre's body without touching the real thing.

"Your neck is my favorite," he voiced out loud. "It's so majestic, so passionate in its reluctance to bow down to anyone or anything."

Trowa continued, this time, with Quatre's neck before moving both his hands down though the flat stomach until just below the stone sculpture's pelvis. Still with his eyes closed, Trowa paused before going further. This time, his hands surveyed finely shaped thighs all the way down to the ankles that were just barely finished. The figure, in its entirety, was almost complete save for his calve and foot areas.

"I could imagine you dancing in fugue, in a frenzy of carefree movements controlled by restrictive muscles that force exquisite shapes on your limbs," he said before quickly moving his hands back up until they reached the junction just between his thighs and his groin. His other hand was strategically placed against the outward curve of Quatre's behind.

"How?" Quatre said, he almost sounded frantic although Trowa could not tell why because his eyes remained closed. "How did you? My... my--" Quatre said, unable to say what it was he wanted to say.

Trowa opened one eye.

"You mean this?" Trowa said, shamelessly groping that which was the most taboo of all places to touch. Secretly, Trowa enjoyed the way Quatre's eyes went wide and the way his cheeks flushed. He knew it was not because of the heat in the apartment or the cold brought on by the outside weather. Quatre was merely expressing his trauma at having been handled so brazenly. His replica might as well have been him.

"That--" Quatre said. He was again speechless as he stared at where Trowa's hand was.

"I happen to remember you kicking me with a foot for going that far," Trowa answered with a slight upward turn of his lips. Whenever Quatre became difficult, he did like to cause the other a little bit of discomfort. That way, they were even.

"You went there just once," Quatre said in a voice that almost made it seem like he was screaming.

"For some regions, once is more than enough, especially when examining more than once will become a difficulty," Trowa answered. He let go of the part they seemed to be discussing the most about and watched the drama that was Quatre unfold.

"I," his model said before abruptly standing up. "I forgot that I had an appointment today," he said. "I better get going."

Trowa noticed that despite avoiding eye contact, Quatre's head remained facing upward. After all he'd done to catch him off guard; it seemed that Quatre continued to hold his head up high. It made his suspicions about the other even more plausible. This outwardly humble man had obviously been brought up by the wealthy who seemed to have the knack for refusing to bow down to anyone no matter how grave the circumstances. Quatre's neck, Trowa's professed favorite, remained straight and proud.

Unfortunately, Trowa had managed to drive the other away too soon by going too far. Quatre looked too embarrassed to stay and too scandalized to give Trowa the chance to save that day's session. By the time Trowa finished covering up his sculpture and following Quatre out, the other was already bundled up and ready to leave.

"We haven't finished today's session," Trowa said, leaning against the doorframe leading to his private room. His arms were crossed in subtle accusation.

"We have to cancel for today," Quatre responded. The way he said it made it clear that he would not take no for an answer.

"Suit yourself," Trowa answered nonchalantly while watching Quatre head for the front door. Quatre did not say any more, at least, until he reached the front door. He'd opened it to find a blizzard outside. Not only that, there was also too much snow that it was almost impossible that he'd get far enough without freezing to death first.

"I'm snowed it," he said with horror. Trowa didn't think he was bad enough to deserve Quatre's unspoken need to avoid. It was obvious that his hired model didn't want to be around him at the moment.

"I'll get some extra pillows and a blanket," Trowa said. The wall clock read 8pm and it was unlikely that Quatre would walk home at that time of night in that bad a weather. It was only unfortunate for his model that their session was scheduled late that day. Quatre mentioned something about not getting out of his day job until later.

"Why are you assuming that I'm staying tonight?" Quatre said, turning to face him. Although the door was closed, he continued to remain standing next to it while his hands sought the comfort of his warm armpits. He looked like a giant snowball tinted dark blue.

"Because you have no other choice," Trowa replied before going into his room. After retrieving a bag labeled 'Duo's emergency extras', Trowa pulled his reluctant tenant for the night toward the warmer area by the couch. "Here, these should keep you warm," he said. Quatre took the offered blanket without question. He looked a little awkward with the bulky jacket and gloves still on him.

Quatre stood where he was and stared at the fireplace. Trowa couldn't tell what was going through his mind. Not knowing what else to do, he watched his model for any indication of what else he wanted. His covered body with only part of his face showing made Trowa think of the Arabians in the picture books he'd seen. Some men were covered, only part of their face showing from their covered bodies.

"Undress me," Quatre said all of a sudden after what was at least five minutes of silence.

"Excuse me?" Trowa asked. He felt as though he didn't hear the question correctly.

"Take off my clothes," Quatre commanded and his voice was unwavering in its insistence. However odd it may have been, it was undeniable that Quatre was ordering him to strip him. Trowa, never one to refuse opportunities such as those, complied immediately.

Slowly, as if the opportunity would never arise again, Trowa worked on taking the layers of clothing off Quatre's confined body. Jacket after jacket came off before his guest for the night was down to the sweater. Trowa was surprised when Quatre did not order him to stop and lifted the warm wool from around his neck. All the while, Quatre continued to stare at the flames as if a doll being cosseted by its master. Trowa thought it eerie but did not care as the shirt, the last layer, joined the sweater and jackets on the floor to expose his chest. The blindfolds he used at their sessions deprived him of Quatre's flesh for far too long, so Trowa reveled in the new experience.

"Continue," Quatre ordered with a distant voice. His eyes looked calm, never blinking as it was illuminated by the iridescent flickering of the fire he was staring at.

Trowa followed orders, but not before taking the time to run his hands through the flesh he'd already memorized with his hands. It was a delight to supply his hungry eyes with the sight it was refused of for so long. His hands, guided by his sight, eagerly devoured every surface it could come into contact with. That was, until they landed on a pant button which was bitterly cold against his fingers. It was a sign, more than any other sign that it had to go. Anything and everything keeping him from seeing that which he was supposed to recreate in its entirety had to go.

Trowa had just gotten Quatre's jeans halfway down when he suddenly heard somebody tumble in through the window.

"Burr, it sure is cold outside," their newest companion said. Snow was trailing behind him and was continuing to come in while the window remained open. It seemed that Duo had yet to realize that he had interrupted something.

"So I was trying to walk in through the front door when lo and behold, the snow was way too high, so I decided, hey, why not come in through the window if there wasn't any big-ass snow build-up around it..."

Trowa had to cough to catch Duo's attention. Meanwhile, Quatre was no longer staring at the fire.

When Duo finally decided to take notice, he blinked a couple of times.

"Hey Quatre," he said with a wave of his hand. "Whoa, you really are a natural blonde!" he said, pointing at the slight bush of hair sneaking out of Quatre's boxers.

Trowa opened his front door, picked up a bit of snow with his bare hands, and then threw a snowball at Duo which hit him right on the face. He made sure that it was the last session Duo would ever interrupt and the last inconvenience his poor hands would ever experience.