[fic] Paramour
Pairing: Quatre x Dorothy
Genre: Humor/Romance
Rating: T
Summary: Dorothy finds out who Quatre's "mistress" is.
A/N: for my beta frostbittenlove , (the friendliest tweep/4xD addict/sleepless beauty on the planet) and wolfspeaker01 (at FFN, who contributed an idea to this ficcage).
Whatever Dorothy’s game would be tonight-apparently one that he was more than willing to play, as confirmed by her “costume”- he was positive he would emerge as the loser. And he was not feeling bad about it.
There she was, all curves and yellow tresses and wicked smiles, arched like a cat to block the doorway. Her panoply was a tad peculiar compared to the ones she donned the previous nights: almost-translucent plies of tissue paper, encircled loosely about the swells and hollows of her ivory flesh, round and round, blooming into riotous crepe crumples on places she knew were his favorite. He liked it.
Quatre arched a brow. “A little late for Halloween, are we?”
She just chuckled at that, snaking her hand around his tie to tug it undone. Quatre took this as a signal to prepare his “armor”- his birthday suit-for the brewing battle. But he would let her take care of that later. He jailed her in his arms and stole a brushing kiss, and when she didn’t respond, he drew back and teased: “Throwing in the towel early in the game, little mummy?”
“The game’s not even started yet,” she laughed and pushed him away. “And please don’t try coquetry, dear. Wipe that lopsided smile away. It doesn’t and will never suit you.”
He caught her again in a one-armed hug. “So you want me to pretend I’m innocent and all? I thought you like it when I’m being the real me.”
“You mean what I thought was the real you?”
Something in her voice pulled the edges of his mouth down. “Is there something wrong, Dorothy?”
“Is there something wrong, Quatre?” she mocked, slipping her arm off the spiral of onion skin-thin paper. She did the same with the other arm. “You should know.”
These sensually wheedling tactics, that glint in her eyes that made them look like thorny stars, a sudden change in her…bedroom fashion…well, that was her very way of saying something was wrong. And that it was all about him. He steeled himself for her next words, knowing that Dorothy was a walking dichotomy in times like this. With actions, she would make him want her so badly; with words, she would irritate him, even make him want to strangle her.
“What did I do this time?” he sighed while she slowly unwrapped her long, shapely legs.
“Who is she?”
“What?”
“How long have you been together?” she tipped his face and placed a butterfly kiss on the cleft just above his upper lip. “Will she get mad if I wash her kiss away with my own? Or will you get mad because you want her to be your last kiss before you sleep?”
His brows scrunched together in confusion. “Dorothy, you sound like a jealous wife. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sound like a bad actor playing a bad actor.”
Oh yes, he would lose this game. A voice inside his head was saying this was serious, but he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on it with Dorothy teasing him, uncovering one bit of milky skin after another. He slid his arms around her waist despite himself, pushing her against him, inhaling a lungful of perfume on her neck. She slipped off his arms like an eel before he could even press his lips against the soft skin he spied below her ear.
“Why don’t you set up a little tea party for the three of us?” she shrugged and a strip slid down, exposing her shoulder. “I’d love to see her face drenched with boiling Earl Gray I will prepare myself. My tea is the best-muriatic acid’s the main ingredient.”
Quatre would have laughed at that, especially when Dorothy punctuated it with her face flashing all sorts of mute death threats, but his body was hell-bent on getting this over and done with. She let him spin her back into his embrace when she turned around, planting a kiss here and there, his hands everywhere.
“Paper,” whispered Dorothy as he tore a sash of her costume away. “Isn’t it so easy, Quatre? Break through the thinnest barriers and you’ll get what you want. I have to say that I didn’t see this coming.”
“Didn’t see what?”
“This,” said Dorothy. “Us. Our paper relationship.”
Paper relationship? Quatre stepped back.
“Just because you managed to get in, just because you know what I feel for you…you…well, this!” She threw her hands in the air. “I don’t have to explain this, do I?!”
Quatre was completely lost. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, so you can be a real dunderhead?” Her unperturbed demeanor was completely gone now. “Or perhaps she’s making you take acting classes before going to me?”
“Who’s she?”
She ignored him. “Fine then, let me act as if I don’t know you’re acting. I’m talking about our relationship, Quatre, how I’ve given you…practically my everything, and now how you’ve got yourself a doxy, making me feel I’m here just to give you instant sex life when you’re not with her-”
“Dorothy, you’re blathering,” he flopped himself on a chair and rubbed his temple. “I don’t know who you’re jealous of.”
“I’m not jealous! I’m merely stating the truth.”
“I know nothing of the truth you’re blabbing about. Where on earth did you get the idea that I’m here just because I’m not with whoever the hell you’re referring to? Dorothy, I’m never that kind of guy! I don’t even remember finding another woman beautiful when I saw you again after Libra…”
“That would’ve been music to me if I didn’t hear you sighing her name in your sleep. I decided to break my eardrums that night.”
I what? Quatre raked his fingers through his hair. The dreams he could remember were about the War. There was nothing about women in them. “And what name is it?”
“Sandra.”
There was a long pause.
Then it hit him hard, so hard his spleen hurt instantly. He laughed like there was no tomorrow and gripped the sides of the chair for support, enjoying Dorothy’s flabbergasted and puzzled countenance.
“What’s so funny?” she crossed her arms over her semi-exposed chest.
“Well,” Quatre managed after ceasing his laughter, “you certainly shouldn’t be jealous of her. While I do love her, I still prefer to be hugged by someone with soft arms, not with Gundanium limbs. That automatically makes sleeping with her out of the question.”
“Gundanium?”
“Dorothy, it’s not Sandra. It’s Sandrock.”
It didn’t take long for Dorothy to realize her mistake. A raw blush suffused her cheeks and Quatre chuckled once again, pulling his suddenly shame-paralyzed girl to his lap. She hit his chest with a well-you-should’ve-pronounced-it-more-clearly-you-idiot punch before claiming his lips. He giggled at her kiss and clawed the remaining plies of tissue paper away.
Tonight, unexpectedly, he was the winner.
Genre: Humor/Romance
Rating: T
Summary: Dorothy finds out who Quatre's "mistress" is.
A/N: for my beta frostbittenlove , (the friendliest tweep/4xD addict/sleepless beauty on the planet) and wolfspeaker01 (at FFN, who contributed an idea to this ficcage).
Whatever Dorothy’s game would be tonight-apparently one that he was more than willing to play, as confirmed by her “costume”- he was positive he would emerge as the loser. And he was not feeling bad about it.
There she was, all curves and yellow tresses and wicked smiles, arched like a cat to block the doorway. Her panoply was a tad peculiar compared to the ones she donned the previous nights: almost-translucent plies of tissue paper, encircled loosely about the swells and hollows of her ivory flesh, round and round, blooming into riotous crepe crumples on places she knew were his favorite. He liked it.
Quatre arched a brow. “A little late for Halloween, are we?”
She just chuckled at that, snaking her hand around his tie to tug it undone. Quatre took this as a signal to prepare his “armor”- his birthday suit-for the brewing battle. But he would let her take care of that later. He jailed her in his arms and stole a brushing kiss, and when she didn’t respond, he drew back and teased: “Throwing in the towel early in the game, little mummy?”
“The game’s not even started yet,” she laughed and pushed him away. “And please don’t try coquetry, dear. Wipe that lopsided smile away. It doesn’t and will never suit you.”
He caught her again in a one-armed hug. “So you want me to pretend I’m innocent and all? I thought you like it when I’m being the real me.”
“You mean what I thought was the real you?”
Something in her voice pulled the edges of his mouth down. “Is there something wrong, Dorothy?”
“Is there something wrong, Quatre?” she mocked, slipping her arm off the spiral of onion skin-thin paper. She did the same with the other arm. “You should know.”
These sensually wheedling tactics, that glint in her eyes that made them look like thorny stars, a sudden change in her…bedroom fashion…well, that was her very way of saying something was wrong. And that it was all about him. He steeled himself for her next words, knowing that Dorothy was a walking dichotomy in times like this. With actions, she would make him want her so badly; with words, she would irritate him, even make him want to strangle her.
“What did I do this time?” he sighed while she slowly unwrapped her long, shapely legs.
“Who is she?”
“What?”
“How long have you been together?” she tipped his face and placed a butterfly kiss on the cleft just above his upper lip. “Will she get mad if I wash her kiss away with my own? Or will you get mad because you want her to be your last kiss before you sleep?”
His brows scrunched together in confusion. “Dorothy, you sound like a jealous wife. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You sound like a bad actor playing a bad actor.”
Oh yes, he would lose this game. A voice inside his head was saying this was serious, but he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on it with Dorothy teasing him, uncovering one bit of milky skin after another. He slid his arms around her waist despite himself, pushing her against him, inhaling a lungful of perfume on her neck. She slipped off his arms like an eel before he could even press his lips against the soft skin he spied below her ear.
“Why don’t you set up a little tea party for the three of us?” she shrugged and a strip slid down, exposing her shoulder. “I’d love to see her face drenched with boiling Earl Gray I will prepare myself. My tea is the best-muriatic acid’s the main ingredient.”
Quatre would have laughed at that, especially when Dorothy punctuated it with her face flashing all sorts of mute death threats, but his body was hell-bent on getting this over and done with. She let him spin her back into his embrace when she turned around, planting a kiss here and there, his hands everywhere.
“Paper,” whispered Dorothy as he tore a sash of her costume away. “Isn’t it so easy, Quatre? Break through the thinnest barriers and you’ll get what you want. I have to say that I didn’t see this coming.”
“Didn’t see what?”
“This,” said Dorothy. “Us. Our paper relationship.”
Paper relationship? Quatre stepped back.
“Just because you managed to get in, just because you know what I feel for you…you…well, this!” She threw her hands in the air. “I don’t have to explain this, do I?!”
Quatre was completely lost. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, so you can be a real dunderhead?” Her unperturbed demeanor was completely gone now. “Or perhaps she’s making you take acting classes before going to me?”
“Who’s she?”
She ignored him. “Fine then, let me act as if I don’t know you’re acting. I’m talking about our relationship, Quatre, how I’ve given you…practically my everything, and now how you’ve got yourself a doxy, making me feel I’m here just to give you instant sex life when you’re not with her-”
“Dorothy, you’re blathering,” he flopped himself on a chair and rubbed his temple. “I don’t know who you’re jealous of.”
“I’m not jealous! I’m merely stating the truth.”
“I know nothing of the truth you’re blabbing about. Where on earth did you get the idea that I’m here just because I’m not with whoever the hell you’re referring to? Dorothy, I’m never that kind of guy! I don’t even remember finding another woman beautiful when I saw you again after Libra…”
“That would’ve been music to me if I didn’t hear you sighing her name in your sleep. I decided to break my eardrums that night.”
I what? Quatre raked his fingers through his hair. The dreams he could remember were about the War. There was nothing about women in them. “And what name is it?”
“Sandra.”
There was a long pause.
Then it hit him hard, so hard his spleen hurt instantly. He laughed like there was no tomorrow and gripped the sides of the chair for support, enjoying Dorothy’s flabbergasted and puzzled countenance.
“What’s so funny?” she crossed her arms over her semi-exposed chest.
“Well,” Quatre managed after ceasing his laughter, “you certainly shouldn’t be jealous of her. While I do love her, I still prefer to be hugged by someone with soft arms, not with Gundanium limbs. That automatically makes sleeping with her out of the question.”
“Gundanium?”
“Dorothy, it’s not Sandra. It’s Sandrock.”
It didn’t take long for Dorothy to realize her mistake. A raw blush suffused her cheeks and Quatre chuckled once again, pulling his suddenly shame-paralyzed girl to his lap. She hit his chest with a well-you-should’ve-pronounced-it-more-clearly-you-idiot punch before claiming his lips. He giggled at her kiss and clawed the remaining plies of tissue paper away.
Tonight, unexpectedly, he was the winner.