Disclaimer: Standard disclaimers apply.
Author's Notes: I was originally just going to end after part two, but then I had an ideas. Yes, that 's' is supposed to be there. As always, feedback of any kind is appreciated, including but not limited to: death threats, flames, virtual bombs, real bombs (Because that requires talent. You know, you have to find out my name, where I live, etc.), compliments, candy, money, and videos. Vaguely limey. Thank you and goodnight.
She rolled over. The bed was soft. So soft. She rested on one arm, her hair pouring like rainwater over her shoulders, down her back. She watched him. Watched him sleep. He was so beautiful, especially when he slept. His hair, like golden silk, lay finely spun on the pillow, and his eyes, so bright, like sapphires, were closed to the world. She looked at his lashes. Fine dark threads on pale skin. Smiling slightly, she lay back on the pillows, half asleep. She looked up at the bright ivory of the ceiling, looked at where the moon shone in on the ivory and blue of the covers.
The past few months had been a dream. No, more than a dream; they had been wonderful. Even the parties she hated so much had been bearable with Quatre at her side, holding her up, making her feel safe...He was so kind to her. She had her own room in the Winner mansion. She had a bathroom with a tub the size of a small lake in it; she had everything. She had him. That was enough.
It was early morning. Quatre looked at the ceiling. Still that off-white color. He looked at the walls; still there. The sun was still bright, he was still himself. But it all seemed different somehow. He sat up, looked around. That was why...last night had been their first night together. He cherished the memories he now had. The feel of her bare skin on his bare skin, like silk and velvet. The soft, almost leathery feel of the callouses on her hands. She had been scared, and not wanting to admit it. He had been scared and not shown it. But here they were.
He watched her sleep. In the bright morning light, her hair looked like moonlight that had been carelessly forgotten on his bed. Her eyes had closed their stormy blue depths, and her face had relaxed. As beautiful as she was awake, she was twice as lovely asleep, he thought. No ghosts shadowing her eyes, no haughty glances. So soft. So vulnerable. He gently leaned down and kissed her on the eyelids, then padded out of the room, to shower. The thick ivory carpet. Same color. Same texture. Yet it was different. He had her. That changed everything.
When she awoke, he was gone. There was a faint hiss nearby, which she finally discerned to be the shower running. He must be showering. She leaned back, turning her head so she could see out the window. The beautiful gardens below. They were so bright. Shivering at the sight of the snow coming down, she snuggled deeper into the soft blankets, feathers keeping her warm. She thought back to what had happened the night before.
She was tired. Nothing was ever the same as it should be. She had Quatre. But it didn't seem right. He was so rigid. Even around her. In private. Like he couldn't relax. And sure enough, she wanted to help. She loved him, though was afraid.
They fenced. Violent, fitful fencing. Dashing and darting and swinging and jabbing and lunging and dodging. Her foil flying at him; a parry; a lunge; a dodge. Shouted insultes. But the smooth way he moved. So distracting. Her mind was a fog; not trapped in a fog; she was the fog. Her muscles felt slow. Then he collapsed. She fell to his side. A whispered conversation.
"Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine. Don't worry."
"Yes...my muscles are just a bit sore."
"Along my neck."
He remembered the feel of her hands on his neck. Smooth and rough at the same time, pushing and probbing, devoted to him. To healing him. The tightness relaxed. They were in the sitting room outside his bedroom now, seated on the couch, comfortable again in slacks and shirts instead of tight fencing garb. Somehow though, there was a certain amount of tangible tension in the room. He felt he could reach out and touch it. That was when he felt something new. His shirt was slipping off one shoulder, guided by a soft pale hand. Lips of comparable softness made contact with the base of his neck, where it met his shoulder, and he leaned back against her. The girl nibbled his ear, a sensation half pain and half...half he didn't know what, but it caused tingles down his spine. He turned, and Dorothy slid into his lap, their lips connecting in a passionate kiss, growing more and more heated until he suddenly pulled back, breathless.
"We should stop. We might get carried away."
"Quatre..." Dorothy looked almost hurt, and he leaned in again, his lips making contact with hers, parting and closing. She pushed his back again. "You're right...we should stop. This might be too much..." she leaned against him as his lips brushed her ear, then moved down her neck.
"Yeah..." he agreed, finally stopping. She stood, and he looked at her, dishelved but still beautiful. She looked at him with a look that said more than words ever could and turned to leave.
She started for the door, praying all the way that Quatre would stop her. She wanted this to happen. To feel his strong muscles, to join with him in the most intimate way...she wanted it so bad it ached. Simply would be cold showers for her, she figured as she opened the door, half-enjoying the smooth cold feel of broze under her palm. She padded softly down the hall and around the corner, where she narrowly missed colliding with Relena.
"Oh, hi Miss Relena!" Dorothy said, her voice nervously over-enthusiastic.
"Er...hi Dorothy," Relena replied, a bit worried about her friend's sanity. "Are you...are you ok?"
"Yeah, just fine...just going away now," Dorothy said, regaining her confidence. She started back towards Quatre's rooms.
"Are you going to Quatre's room?" Relena asked as Dorothy cursed the Vice Foreign Minister's perceptibility.
"Yes, Miss Relena, and I'd appreciate if you don't tell anyone."
"Of course," Relena said with a knowing wink. "Have fun!" She ran away and for a moment, Dorothy considered following. Instead, she opened Quatre's door again, not even knocking.
He hid his smile as Dorothy returned. He'd been wondering if he should simply go to her room and maybe they'd take it up again.
"You came back," he stated, sounding vaguely pleased.
"I got to the end of the hall and...oh hell," Dorothy said, flinging herself into his arms. They kissed again, her leaning up, him down, heads tilted just so, his hands around her back, her arms around his waist. They parted slowly, almost regretfully. Slowly, Dorothy began. "I want you, Quatre Rebarba Winner. I love you. I want this."
He was shocked, visibly. He'd known she wanted him, as much or even more than he wanted her. It was her blatant confession of love that shocked him. While she'd said it before, it hadn't been for months.
"I love you, too, Dorothy," he murmered, trailing a hand down her jawline, coming in contact with her lips, and softly playing his fingers over them. As he continued, she kissed the tips of his fingers slowly while still listening. "And I want you, too...I want this. All this. I want the two of us to be together..." He pulled her towards the bed, where he sat, and she straddled him as before. The last thing he saw as they disappeared into a tangle of limbs, blankets, and pillows, was the moonlight streaming in from the window.
She started, a pale ghost of a shiver. He couldn't help but smile. He didn't know how long he'd stood there, watching her watch the snow. So like that night. The wonderful night. He quietly padded over, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
She started. How long had he been standing there, watching her? He was smiling though; couldn't be anything bad. She felt his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him. His hair was still damp from the shower and he had a pale blue towel around his waist. Feeling self-concious, she wrapped the sheets tighter under her arms and stood.
"Don't," he stopped her. "Stay, just a little longer."
"You mean it?" She asked, feeling almost lost.
He brought his lips down on hers, gently silencing her. She absorbed herself in the kiss for a moment, probing with her tongue, then pulled back, still relishing him. He tasted like cotton candy, she thought.
"Would I say it if I didn't mean it?" He teased gently. "If you want a shower, go ahead. I'll dress and wait for you. We can go down to breakfast together," she smiled. He was so sweet. She held him close for a moment, then grabbed the back of his towel and pulled hard. She darted into the bathroom and smiled at his indignant calls. After a moment, the both collapsed into fits of laughter, one on each side of the bathroom door.
"Quatre?" She asked.
"I meant what I said last night. I do love you."
"I love you, too." She smiled as she climbed into the shower. She cut the water on, and twirled in the hot fizz that bounced with small "ping"s off the ivory and blue tiles. What she wouldn't give to move into his room; into his life, for real. What she wouldn't give to marry him. Dorothy Catalonia Winner. She loved the sound of that, she thought.
A couple weeks passed, and he looked nervously at his watch. She had been supposed to meet him at the resturant ten minutes ago, and he was getting a bit nervous. He sat inside, at a table by the window, watching the snow fall. He was dressed in his best; a fine black tuxedo, complete with red bow tie and cummerbund. A small orangey rose was tucked into his lapel; just the color Dorothy loved. He was about to get nervous when two ivory gloved hands slid over his eyes.
"Guess who," the most beautiful voice heds ever heard whispered in his ear.
"Someone I love?" He guessed teasingly.
"Someone who loves you," the voice responded, brushing her lips against his ear, then stepping back. "Sorry I'm late; traffic. What I wouldn't give for Epyon or Sandrock during rush hour!" She kidded. Quatre was still in shock. She looked lovely wearing a new gown, a beautiful ivory silk he'd chosen for her, no jewelry, her hair up in a beautiful twist.
"You look...wonderful. Worth the wait, I'd say," he grinned as she sat down.
"Quatre Winner, one would think you were trying to seduce me," she teased.
"Perhaps I am. Or more than that..." He smiled slightly as she raised one of those peculiar dark brown eyebrows. Carefully from inside his coat, he pulled a small black box. He handed it to her ceremoniously. Curious, she opened it, and those eyes opened wider than the bow. She looked up, speechless. He relished the lost expression on her face.
"Quatre--I don't...what...I don't know..."
"How to construct complete sentances?" He gently teased. She threw a napkin at him, a small soft projectile of burgundy polyester.
"What do I say?" She asked, looking at the simple silver band, a few small diamonds, opals, and ivory chips adorning it.
"Try 'yes'. It'll make your date _very_ happy."
"When did you become so sharp?" She asked.
He gently took up her hands, rubbing the gloved palms with his thumbs. "Since I practiced saying this for over a month."
"Oh my...Quatre...I don--Yes. Always yes."
"Would I say it if it wasn't true?"
"Want me to answer that?" He joked. She smiled.
"Come here, you," she laughed. They leaned in across the table, lips about to meet.
"May I take your order, Meestahr Weenahr?" A distinctly French voice asked.
"Er...yes, of course," Quatre responded as he and Dorothy slipped apart. "I'll have the...um, the..."
"He'll have a filet mignon, medium rare, with the first side. I'll have a chicken salad with italian dressing," Dorothy interjected. The waiter nodded, gave them a suspicious look that spoke volumes, then left. "Sorry...just wanted him to leave."
"But yes...I will marry you." They clasped hands.