10-Oct-2004
Title: Carnivale
Author: Mookie
Pairing: 3xD
Rating: NC17
Warnings: graphic het sex, implied m/m sex, light (nonangsty?) angst, spoilers
Notes: Gift fic for Mephisto Waltz. Takes place post-EW.
Dorothy Catalonia fingered the tent flaps for a moment before closing them and walking away. He was magnificent, once again. She'd had no doubt about that. Graceful, limber, and full of self-assurance - the latter especially made the young man alluring. Those same qualities had certainly drawn her to Heero Yuy, although not in quite the same way they'd affected Miss Relena.
Perhaps that's why she'd hated Quatre Raberba Winner so very much. His assurance was for all the wrong things. Naive, foolish, and so ready to believe that there was something worth redeeming in everyone.
Despite everything that had happened, Dorothy could not deny that she still admired the beauty of war. There was no other way to get people to act the way they did other than to threaten their lives and their homes - their very way of life. Her grandfather, Quatre's father, and Treize Khushrenada, all casualties of the very act that made Dorothy feel alive.
When the circus troupe had come into town, Dorothy had remembered the young man from aboard the Libra. Quatre was foolishly trying to play the part of the peacemaker. Peace was not attained by pretty words and heartfelt speeches. It was little more than a molto decrescendo or a fermata. The exact length of the time that peace held could be altered by anyone bold enough and daring enough to re-orchestrate the events that allowed peace to reign.
She stayed in the shadows, as she'd done for the past several nights, while the animals were fed and scrubbed down. Her eyes followed every move made by the young man she'd been watching. This was the one who had nursed Heero Yuy back to health and had assisted Quatre off of the Libra after Dorothy had tried to get the Winner heir to stop his incessant stream of words. Quatre did not understand her; his family had had a long tradition of being passive aggressive, and there had still been traits of that in Winner's only son.
Dorothy could not help but admire the lean lines of the young man's upper body. He'd stripped off his bright colored circus attire and was now only wearing a slim, faded pair of jeans that hugged his hips and thighs. And, she noted as he turned his back towards her, his firm buttocks as well.
This was the one who had actually been working for OZ at one time, and the one that Quatre Raberba Winner had tried to kill. What the relationship existed between Quatre and the young man who went by the name Trowa Barton was unclear to Dorothy, but she knew that Trowa cared for Quatre very much.
It was very hard to reconcile the quiet ex-soldier who was gently stroking the ears of one of the lions with the Barton family name, especially when the real Trowa Barton was so closely tied with Mariemeia Khushrenada.
The Bartons were no different, really, than the Winners, with their stubborn determination, no matter how altruistic the latter family had tried to be. The Winner patriarch had foolishly attempted to make a stand against the people. Revolution occurred because people were dissatisfied; it was the natural order of things. No matter what was provided, mankind could not remain content with the status quo for long.
Dorothy watched as Trowa stood up and stretched, arching his back in a way that had her convinced his body would bend over backwards and he'd look at her from an upside down vantage point, but it hadn't happened on any of the other nights, and tonight was no different.
He moved quietly to one of the tents, and Dorothy waited until he'd had enough time to settle on the crate near the lion's cage and play the flute.
She'd been surprised. Heero Yuy's handling of a foil had been exciting, but not unexpected. That Trowa Barton was musically inclined had been the last thing she would have listed in a summary of his talents.
The Pied Piper of Hamelin - a story she'd read a long time ago, one that had been around long before the first colonies - came to mind as she crept silently to the tent where Trowa had retired at the end of each night.
Tonight the familiar strains of Berceuse No.1 did not float out from the tent flaps, and Dorothy realized that it would be foolish indeed to hope that Trowa Barton would remain blithely unaware that she'd been stalking him for some time now. She peered into the tent nonetheless, struck by Trowa's relaxed pose. He was leaning against the lion's cage, his head bowed and his arms folded across his chest.
"Civilians are not allowed backstage," he stated without looking up at her. "It's not safe for you to be here."
They both knew that Dorothy had a penchant for staying put when the wisest course of action would have been to retreat, so Trowa had not expected her to do anything but to walk toward him and halt just ten feet away. She waved one hand around, gesturing about the interior of the tent. "A stage is any place you make it," she said. "You should know that, Trowa Barton."
He would have just as easily gone back to being No-name, but Quatre had suggested he keep the name by which the others knew him, and he supposed that counted for something, even if the name 'Barton' wasn't exactly guaranteed to make a good first impression.
It mattered not a whit to the others at the circus at however. This "Trowa Barton" had been with them long enough to make his own name for himself, figuratively speaking, and the identity he'd adopted became a little more real every day. He'd gone from using the traveling circus as his cover and more and more considered the entire troupe, especially Catherine, his family.
All of them were people who would miss him if he died. That was something that had been difficult for Trowa to wrap his head around. He'd been expendable; his value measured only in what he could do as a soldier. He had always considered himself dedicated to his missions, but meeting Heero Yuy had shown him that he lacked the conviction needed. Catherine had talked him out of self-detonating his Gundam, with her words and her tears.
He had wanted to follow Heero's example in many ways, but in the end it came down to the simple fact that he was not Heero Yuy.
Trowa glanced at Dorothy from beneath the fall of hair over his eyes. "I prefer to think of it as a carnival, rather than a stage. A continuous masquerade and indulgence of excessive behaviors. I'm surprised you didn't think of that first." He lifted his head and looked her in the eye. "You, perhaps, have been the most reckless of us all."
She smiled at him. "Is that a compliment, Trowa Barton? Or is it the insight of a fellow mummer? You surely must be tired of it all." Her fingers traced along the ceramic half-mask lying on the crate nearest her. "Mister Milliardo's mask was transient, much like this one." She picked it up and cradled it in her palm. "Is there kindness in you?" she wondered aloud. "Your friend seemed to think there was a little bit in everyone."
"You don't know Quatre at all," Trowa snapped at her, surprised at his vehemence. "Why don't we abandon this facade of civility. Why are you here?"
Dorothy held the mask over her own face. "You hide your true self away, Trowa Barton, but you fail to put enough effort into it to pull it off entirely. You Gundam pilots were all true soldiers and it is a shame that the pantomime is over. Why do you suppose you all still continue to erect such a flimsy camouflage of civilian life? A facade isn't the same as a masquerade..." she trailed off quietly, half of her smile visible as she bowed her head for a moment. She removed the mask from her face and held it to her heart, clasping it with both hands.
"You must miss the Gundams," she said. "Was it an extension of your own body? I imagine it was nothing like being a puppet master of mobile dolls." She took several steps toward him. "Having a front row seat for the pantomime was something I cannot regret. It was beautiful," she said, her voice carrying a faint lilt of passion. "It was like a dream come true, and you were all the finest troupe of players. You could have killed me," she continued. "You were a fool to listen to him."
"And what of you, Dorothy?" he asked. "I understand that you have sought the kindness within yourself. It seems that you are guilty of hypocrisy."
"It's only hypocrisy," she corrected, stopping just two steps away from him. "If you act in a way contrary to your beliefs." She extended her hand, palm up, and waited.
He reached out for it and slid the fingers of his left hand underneath to accept the offering, grazing the palm of her hand as he scooped up the harlequin mask and then held it aloft. "Comedy and drama," he said. "If I cared, I would wonder which of the two you came here wearing, although I suspect that you, Dorothy, would find it difficult to separate them." He lowered his hand and looked directly into her eyes unblinking.
"State your business," he said quietly, "and then leave."
"I might be interested in telling you," she said, lifting one hand and placing it on his chest. "If I knew." She could feel Trowa's heartbeat beneath her palm, and the slight dampness of perspiration, and this was as close as she thought she might get to the same rush she'd gotten on Libra.
Dorothy was not one to flee when what she wanted was within reach, not even when danger loomed, and she pressed her lips against Trowa's softly.
He did not respond.
She didn't pull back, instead letting a small smile tease the corners of her mouth right where it was. "If this didn't intrigue you," she murmured, "you would not be standing here. I've seen you move, Trowa Barton, and we both know you've been in much tighter situations. How often have you yielded to sudden impulse?" Her mouth felt dry and she ran the tip of her tongue over the inside of her lips, carefully avoiding contact with Trowa's.
"Quatre Raberba Winner felt the prick of my foil," she breathed. "Heero Yuy did the same, except he did not allow one who was physically weaker to best him in battle. He could have killed me, too." Her smile curled a bit more. "When Heero's blade pierced my helmet, he was forced by circumstance to let me walk away. There are no witnesses here, Trowa Barton. Will there be a little death on the stage here tonight?"
The mask fell to the ground as Trowa's fingers let go. His hand splayed upon Dorothy's lower back and he parted his lips to allow Dorothy's tongue to slip into his mouth.
She'd known all the right buttons to push and he'd allowed her to goad him into this, but it was nothing more than the feel of her mouth upon his that had him reciprocating, sliding his tongue against hers and wriggling it into her mouth.
The sum of Trowa's sexual experience was a bit of mutual groping with Heero Yuy and a clumsy kiss or two with Quatre. He'd been privy to the mechanics of sex between a man and a woman; the mercenaries had not been a celibate lot by far, but he'd never expected to actually live long enough to participate in the act himself.
His right hand slid behind Dorothy's head and he deepened the kiss. If she had any complaints about it being wet and messy, as he knew it was, she kept them to herself. He could feel himself becoming aroused as the pads of her fingertips dug into his back.
He wasn't sure why he allowed her to affect him this way. Heero had been his partner, however temporarily, during the war, and with Quatre he'd had an inexplicable bond almost from their first meeting.
Dorothy, however, was one of the last people Trowa would have ever considered touching like this. He slid his hand down her back and cupped her derriere, and felt his cock come to full attention as she lifted a leg and pressed her raised knee against his hip. He fumbled with the hem of her skirt a bit as her lips grazed his cheek and moved to his ear, and then he was supporting her weight with his hand on her silk covered bottom.
Trowa had known it would be different from the time he'd stroked Heero's length and had his own fondled in return. The silk was warm and damp, and one of his fingers rubbed it where it clung to Dorothy intimately. She bit his lip in response, and his finger grew bolder, moving in slow, small circles, centering on that one region. She raised her leg slightly, and his fingers were now probing another area just millimeters from where they had been, but if the sounds Dorothy was making were any indication, it was a rather significant distance.
He slipped his fingers underneath and felt the slick texture of Dorothy's folds. She arched her back and clutched at Trowa frantically, letting his name escape as a whisper in between a few soft gasps for breath.
His fingertips searched, giving her more until she thrust her hips forward, seeking more of his touch, before they retreated.
This was not the same Dorothy Catalonia that Trowa remembered, the one who had sided with Zechs Marquise and gleefully controlled the mobile doll fleet. The one that Quatre had insisted was a kind person.
It angered Trowa, for those had been his words to Quatre when he'd nearly gone mad from the ZERO system. He slid a finger into Dorothy and heard her answering hiss.
He tore his lips away from hers. Kissing was far too intimate to share with the likes of Dorothy Catalonia. He moved his hand from behind her head to the front of his pants and unfastened them.
He knew that his reasons for letting her control him the way she'd controlled the mobile dolls were disdainful at best. She'd wanted a reaction, and he'd given it to her. He'd picked a hell of a time to follow Heero's long-ago advice. He only wished they'd been loftier emotions.
He tugged at his pants until his erection sprang free and then he moved his hand to Dorothy's lower back. She was still gyrating against his hand and he added a second finger, thrusting them into her a bit more aggressively. Her hands slid from his back to his upper arms as she bent over backwards, her hair trailing behind her as her chest jutted forward.
His mouth covered one linen covered breast and he carefully sucked on it, his saliva dampening her blouse and the bra underneath. He bit her nipple gently, and his cock throbbed insistently.
"Do you want this?" he asked. "Is this why you came here, Dorothy?" His thumb accidentally grazed a small hard nub and she bucked against his palm. He repeated the action. "Is it?"
"Trowa," she said, her voice thin and needy.
He had wanted to force her to say it, to admit she wanted it, but she stubbornly refused to say anything more. Trowa knew she was ready; his knuckles were thoroughly lubricated by now and her body clenched around his fingers as her hips urged his thumb to continue pleasuring her.
He pulled out his fingers and wrapped them around his shaft, fighting for a moment with her skirt and then pulling aside her panties before the head of his cock nudged at her entrance.
"Trowa," she breathed, causing his arousal to slip out of position and poke at her inner thigh. He guided it back into place and she tilted her body backwards, raising her pelvis just enough to enable him to thrust into her in one clean motion.
He cupped her buttocks with both hands and lifted her up, allowing Dorothy the opportunity to wrap her legs around his torso. The sounds coming from her throat were ones that Trowa recognized from those nights when he'd been out tending to the animals near some of the trailers.
His body strained with the effort of driving in and out of her in this position. He turned them both around slowly until the crate was behind her lower back. She kept her legs firmly around him as he used his newfound leverage to increase the speed of his thrusts.
The teeth of his zipper pressed against his balls, but the discomfort was not enough to dissuade him, not when she was practically writhing against him. She used her ankles, locked together behind his lower back, to pull him closer, and it was nothing like the mutual masturbation sessions he and Heero had indulged in. This was hot and wet and their bodies fit together perfectly.
He could feel the familiar tightening in his scrotum, and he thrust a few more times before pulling out, ignoring Dorothy's frustrated cry of protest. He jerked himself a few times until his hand, and part of Dorothy's skirt, was covered with thick white fluid. He could feel it seep between his fingers before he finally removed his hand and wiped it on the leg of his pants.
Dorothy stood up and reached under her skirt, adjusting the elastic of her underpants and then letting the rumpled folds of her skirt fall. She smoothed them carelessly and raised her head to look directly into his eyes.
"I don't know why," she said. She tossed her head slightly to flick away a stray lock of hair that had plastered itself across her cheek and the eyelashes of one eye. Her flushed skin glistened with a faint sheen of perspiration. "I should thank you," she said. "You've proven to be a formidable partner."
"Get out," he said quietly, fastening his pants. He crossed his arms and waited, giving a pointed look toward the tent flaps.
She smiled at him and bowed her head slightly, then turned and left.
It was a surprisingly short walk to the edge of the circus grounds. Dorothy turned her head and looked toward the collection of tents. A rueful smile teased her lips, and she turned all the way around and curtsied before continuing on her way, toward the waiting limousine.
Trowa ran a hand through his hair and stared at the open flap. It had been incredible, the sex, but although his body tingled with a pleasant post-coital buzz, he felt hollow - almost dead inside.
He'd known Dorothy had been watching him for days, and he'd tried to ignore it, tried to pretend she was just another civilian in the audience. There were many people that he should have hated, but didn't. Why Dorothy got under his skin when so many others hadn't - that bothered him more than the fact that she had forced him to acknowledge that he disliked her personally. Her actions and her attitude reminded him of another young girl - one who, once upon a time, had had a young nameless mercenary soldier unwittingly betray his comrades.
He silently made his way to the nearest trailer equipped with a vid-phone and held his hands over the keys for just a moment before closing his eyes and punching in a number he knew by heart but rarely used.
"Trowa." It was the familiarity of that calm, assured voice that had Trowa opening his eyes to meet Heero's somber expression.
"Was it good for you?" Trowa's words came out in a rush, surprising himself with the vehemence with which he asked the question. He hadn't known what he'd planned on saying when Heero answered, but it certainly hadn't been to bring up that particular aspect of their shared past.
Heero raised a dark eyebrow slightly, and Trowa knew he was thinking of a proper response. It shouldn't have made a difference, how it had been back then compared to how it had been with Dorothy, but he needed to know.
Several heartbeats later, Heero lowered his own eyes and shook his head, then looked up at the screen again, his eyes blazing with more color than the last time he'd been there in person.
"You already know the answer to that, Trowa," he said at last. "Did you need anything else?"
Trowa shook his head. "No. Thank you, Heero."
Heero reached for the disconnect button, then paused.
"It gets easier," he said quietly, "following your emotions. That doesn't mean the results are always going to be what you'd hoped." Just when Trowa thought the conversation was over, Heero added, "but that doesn't mean that you'll always regret the outcome either, even if it didn't live up to all of your expectations."
The screen went dark, and Trowa stared at it for a moment before walking out of the trailer. He looked up at the sky, trying to pinpoint the location of the various colonies, one of them in particular. There it was, a faint glimmer among the stars, the atmospheric gases making it seem like it was winking at him.
Sometimes, on nights like this, the universe didn't seem quite so vast.
The End
(:./mookie/carnivale)
