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"Here There Be Dragons"Written By: Honor Disclaimers: I own Gundam Wing (and its bishounen),
polka dots have pin stripe suits, and mermaids live in Arizona. Rating: R. Pairing: 3x4, existing 1x2 Spoilers: Nada. Warnings: AU, yaoi, lemon, romance, some angst,
sap, dragons, clairvoyants, and cats with attitudes. Author’s Insane Ramblings on Who Knows What: DEATH! DEATH I SAY! Off with all plot bunnies
heads! I’ll slaughter them all! Shigeki: Just ignore her. She’s always like
this. "Here There Be Dragons " Chapter One: No! The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed. Carl Jung (1875 - 1961)
“So read it,” I answered absently. Where had I put that tin of varnish? “You expect a cat to open your mail?” I looked over my shoulder at my lounging cat. She was sleek, and the perfect color of the sand and rock found in the desert, hence her name. “Sandrock, I know for a fact that you open my mail on a regular basis and send scathing responses to any young lady propositioning me for a night of pleasure.” She licked a dainty paw, being innocent as only a cat can. “I don’t write letters in response.” “No, you get Iria to help you with that,” I responded wryly. I went back to hunting for my varnish. One of these days, I really was going to organize my workroom. Sometime when I have a few more projects finished, and before the end of the world. Maybe. There was a put upon sigh…rustling of paper on cloth…then the rip of paper. I grinned at the shelves (they wouldn’t tattle on me) and picked up the elusive can. I just knew she couldn’t hold out against the curiosity. “So what does it say?” “Dear Quatre: I don’t have much time, so I’ll make this short. I hope you’re not busy right now—” I groaned. I hate it when my sister says that— “—because I really need your hands. Can you come to old Castle De’Gregora?” --because it was inevitably followed by something like that. “I’m a musician,” I groused to no one in particular. “Not a craftsman.” “You’re good at that too,” Sandrock told me without an ounce of sympathy. “You’re good at hunting mice, it doesn’t mean you want to do it all the time,” I shot back. “Besides, Iria never pays me very well and I’m usually hounded by the local women.” “My heart bleeds for you.” Sandrock resumed her personal grooming, this time giving serious attention to her ear. Why, oh why do I have a cat familiar? It’s not like I was a witch or anything. In fact, I’m a clairvoyant. So why am I stuck with a grouchy feline that does not appreciate my artistic talents? “It’s not like you’re doing anything vitally important.” I glared at her darkly. I almost, almost retorted that I could organize my workroom, but I don’t even believe me when I think it, so I know she won’t buy it. And I could hardly break down and whine that I just didn’t want to. There has got to be a good reason for me to back out of this… + “QUATRE!” Iria cried in delight, rushing down marble steps to fling herself at me. I felt slightly guilty for not wanting to come help her. But only slightly, because I knew what was going to happen as soon as she stopped hugging me. “I have a week to get this place show worthy,” she started, dragging me along with her. “I’ve given you the master bedroom and its connecting suite, the music room, and the library to clean out. If you see anything that needs replacing, tell me, and I’ll get it for you. Other than that, you should be fine.” “Do I get paid this time?” I let her tug me up the stairs, Sandrock following docilely behind me, no doubt snickering in a cat way. “Yes, and quite well. The new lord of this place is very generous.” Well that was something. We went up a flight of stairs, down a hallway (apparently Iria had already worked her magic here, it was in an updated color scheme and you could eat off the floor) and into the master suite. I winced as soon as I saw it. “RED?” “Oh…dear. Quatre?” “No,” I responded immediately. “Please?” “No.” “But there’s no one else I trust to do it right.” A small tear brimmed her eyes. “Pleeeaaaasssseee?” + I hate painting. Sandrock was lying in a patch of sunlight, outright laughing at me. “You have paint in your hair.” And that’s why I hate painting. No matter how careful I am, I just seem to get into paint and I always wind up with it in the weirdest places. Grrr. I was satisfied with my progress, however. The red color scheme had disappeared. Gone were the garishly red walls, the red tapestries, the red accents in the room, and the orange-red trim. Iria had agreed that the heavy black furniture had to go, and we had splurged on a lighter golden oak. She was still hunting for the appropriate bedcovers to go with the bed. I was in the process of painting the walls a very cool and soft green. There was a very light tan to go as an accent for the trim work. Once the first coat was on—a second one would definitely be needed—I went to the music room. There, I didn’t have as much of a problem. It was clean, and freshly decorated, but the instruments… I winced when I touched a key of the piano. Right. I did take a minute to dart to my room and clean the worst of the paint off. I’d left my shirt off while painting, wanting to avoid ruining most of my clothes, and I decided after washing to just leave things that way. I was staying mostly in this wing, after all, my sister the only person who dared to approach this area while I was wielding a paintbrush. No one would see me running around half-naked. Clean enough, I darted back to the room and spent about three hours tuning all the instruments, leaving the piano for last. The piano alone took a good hour. Once it was done, I decided to play an old favorite and see just how well I had tuned it. The piano purred under my fingertips, responding in beautiful harmony. I smiled in pleasure, eyes slipping closed as the music just poured out of the beautiful instrument. Finally the song closed. Ah well, I really should get back to that second coat of paint anyway. “So which are you? Musician or painter?” I spun sharply toward the doorway. A very tall man with broad (sexy) shoulders, dark auburn hair falling over half his face, dark green eyes (gorgeous eyes, yum) and a lithe (mouth-watering) body casually propped just inside the room. I yanked my jaw back into place by sheer force of will. Just when did he show up?! “Musician. I was skillfully manipulated into being a painter. And you are?” “Trowa Barton.” The owner of this castle. Oh cripes. “Forgive me, but you weren’t expected for another three days.” He shrugged casually at this and walked further in, eyes raking over me. I was abruptly and somewhat embarrassingly reminded that I was half naked, with paint splotches over me. I was about ready to try sinking into the floor when a part of my mind took over and made me look, really look, at this man. Great…good…gods. “You’re a dragon,” I whispered, torn between awe and disbelief. He stopped dead, eyes flying back up to mine. “How did you know that?” “Uh…your soul. Your soul is shaped like a dragon.” “Soul,” he murmured softly. “You are a clairvoyant, then?” “Yes.” Something in his eyes flared, and the air went from being taut to smoldering. I take it back, I don’t want to sink through the floor, I want to head for the door at high speeds. I don’t know what that look in his eyes means, but I really don’t want to stay and find out. “What is your name?” “Quatre Winner.” He paused again, and this time he seemed to really look at me, instead of my body. “Of the Winner princes?” “After a fashion. I’m a son of a concubine.” “Even if you are, that does not explain why you are here. You are a Winner.” “Ah. Well, there is a long story behind that—” Before I could blink, the dragon scooped me up, sat down on the piano bench, and then comfortably settled me on his thighs. “Wha-what are you doing?!” I tried to tear free of his hold, but I didn’t even budge. It wasn’t until this moment that I realized just how much bigger (not to mention stronger) he was than me. Trowa leaned in, breathing in deeply. “You smell fantastic. Tell me this story.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and prayed for patience. “I smell like soap and paint.” “Mm,” he agreed. “And spice and musk. The story?” “You,” I growled crossly, “have a one track mind.” Trowa didn’t seem at all disturbed by this observation. Actually, he looked rather amused by it. Fine, if he wanted to know the story, then what harm could it do to tell him? “I was in line to inherit one of the princedoms. When I was about thirteen however there was this huge uproar in the family about who should really inherit it. I was one of the few male children, but at the same time I had an older—and legitimate—sister that was without a dowry. By rights, it really should have gone to her. It was a bloody mess before the whole thing was sorted out, and to this day some people in the family won’t talk to other people. In the end, Serena was given the princedom.” Trowa started smoldering. And I mean that literally, I could literally see fire flickering in his eyes. Did I mention that his eyes weren’t normal? They were shaped more like a cat’s. “That was not right. It was promised to you.” “Simmer down,” I murmured, somewhat touched at his indignation. “Honestly, I was glad it went to her. I never wanted to rule people. I could probably do the job, but my heart wouldn’t be in it. She does want to rule, and she’s a very fair person. I think it was a better choice all around. Besides,” a small grin toyed at my mouth, “you should have seen the faces of those three people that really orchestrated the whole thing. After it was all said and done, I went up to them and profusely thanked them. They looked like landed fish. Apparently it hadn’t occurred to them that they were doing me a favor by removing me from the inheritance.” The fire flickered then faded. “You really mean that.” “Sure I do. Governing people takes a lot of work. I’d much rather spend that energy on something I enjoyed doing.” And I still wasn’t entirely comfortable with the fact that I was sitting in his lap. “Now that you know all my sordid history, can I go put a second coat of paint on your bedroom walls?” “That still doesn’t explain why you are half covered in paint.” Well, maybe it didn’t. “My father endorsed his children if they wished to do something with their lives besides politics. I studied music, and set up my own shop. Iria, one of my older sisters, studied art and decorating. She chose to apply it to houses, though. Since you hired her, I guess you know her reputation.” “Indeed. She drafted your help?” “She usually does if she bites off more than she can chew.” I shrugged, smile rueful. “I don’t mind, I guess. If you don’t mind my asking, why are you here so early?” “I wanted to see how much progress has been made. Your sister has done a great deal in a very short time span.” He tilted his head slightly, eyes softening. “It just might be possible.” He enjoys saying cryptic statements. “What might be possible?” He slid a hand around the nape of my neck and pulled me close to him. “Wait! What the—mmph.” For about two seconds it didn’t connect. I could count on one hand the number of times I had been kissed. His lips were so soft, and smooth…mmm…and he certainly knew what to do with them… My eyes fell closed so I could concentrate on what he was doing to my mouth. There was a flick of something hot and wet against my bottom lip, and his thumb was gently working over the edge of my jaw, coaxing it to open. Hesitantly—I wasn’t at all sure where he was going with this—I opened my mouth a little and nearly jumped when his tongue slid in. Still, as odd as it felt…he tasted so good. I flicked my tongue around his, curious and wanting to feel more, taste more. A touch of dragon fire sizzled along my nerves. I nearly jerked off of him, but he held me fast, and another touch of fire passed over me. I realized in astonishment that it didn’t hurt. Actually, it enhanced the whole kiss as far as I was concerned. I opened my mind to his power, and finally relaxed in his embrace. It was like embracing a roaring fire. I’ve never felt such pleasure or power in my life. My bones were going to melt, I was sure of it, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go. I grabbed his shirt with both hands, tugging him closer to me, sliding my tongue demandingly against his. He groaned softly— --and pulled back. I blinked at him stupidly. Why wasn’t I being kissed? Where had all that fire disappeared to? What the hell was I thinking?! I nearly fell, I scrambled off his lap so fast. And I didn’t stop until I had a nice safe five feet separating us. “What are you doing?!” Trowa, I was gratified to see, was panting a little and his eyes were still on fire. “You are a dragon’s mate.” Eh—uh—what? “Only a dragon’s mate can accept their fire without harm. You did more than that—you returned my own fire to me.” “If you think,” I had to really focus to enunciate, “that I’m going to be your mate, you’re crazy.” His brows snapped together. “You are going to be my mate.” “No, I’m not.” He took in a deep breath. “Why are you against this?” Good question. Why was I against this? It took a second for my rational self to overrule my hormones so I could give a logical argument. “I have my own plan for my life, Trowa. And being a dragon’s mate—just because I have the ability—isn’t on that list. I don’t know you, and I don’t plan on being here for more than a few days. You’ll have to find someone else.” He rose from the bench and walked closer to me. My whole body tingled as he came closer, but I stood my ground. I wasn’t going to let him intimidate me, no matter how sexy he was. “You are the first person that I’ve wanted in eight hundred years,” he growled. “And you can be my mate. I will not allow you to just walk away from me.” Put like that…I can kind of see his point. “Trowa, this is ridiculous. I’m human. I know that dragons are immortal. Do you really want a mate that’s going to die a few decades from now?” “It wouldn’t matter when you died,” he retorted softly. The fire died in his eyes, and they seemed…almost sad. “My life will be tied to yours.” Because we would be mated. I backed up another pace. “Then you really are crazy. You should mate with someone who is immortal.” Trowa glared at me, highly frustrated. His nostrils flared, and he looked like he was going to breathe fire for a second, but fortunately he didn’t. The carpet would probably have been scorched, and my sister would have had my head. “You are obstinate.” “So are you. I’m sorry, Trowa, but I won’t agree to this.” I didn’t give him a chance to respond, just turned and left the room before he could embroil me in an argument. + I didn’t mention what passed between Trowa and I to anyone. I finished painting the bedroom, cleaned up the paint supplies, and walked down to the kitchen for a late supper. Iria was there, ravenously clearing a plate at the rough wood table. She swallowed quickly as I entered. “Quatre, did you see the lord? He dropped by to see how things were going. He’s absolutely dreamy, just your type.” Iria knows my sexual preferences, not that I’ve ever been able to indulge those preferences. And she was right…Trowa was exactly my type. Too bad he wasn’t mortal. “I saw him briefly. Did he approve of our decorating choices?” “Very much so. He might come by again tomorrow. He told me he’s at loose ends right now, and he plans to stay here while we finish.” I had a sinking feeling that Trowa had fed my sister a line. Maybe he hadn’t given up on me, and intended to pursue the matter. “Oh.” I filled up a plate of my own and dug in. “The master bedroom isn’t ready for him yet.” “I told him that. He said it was fine, and he’d choose a bedroom we had finished for the interim.” My spoon paused half-way to my mouth. “So he’s still here?” “No, he went to go do something.” Iria watched me, not a little puzzled. “Is something wrong?” Wrong? No, not at all. I just had a sexy dragon that could melt my kneecaps after me, who was determined to be my mate, never mind what I thought about the situation. Nothing wrong with that, now is there? “If you must know, he caught me half-naked and covered in paint.” Iria winced. “Not the best first impression.” Although he hadn’t seemed to mind, actually. “No, not really. Anyway, the master bedroom is finished. I leave the curtains and bed stuff up to you.” “Right. The music room?” “Everything in there is tuned. I haven’t had a chance to look at the study yet. What’s the situation there?” “Lord Barton sent a lot of books to be put in there. Mostly it just needs cleaning and the books put on the shelves.” “Right. I’ll get on it tomorrow.” The sooner I could get out of here, the better. + Sandrock, being Sandrock, followed me to the study and curled up on top of the desk so she could watch me work and properly gloat that she didn’t have to work. Brat. “So what are you not telling me?” I didn’t even glance at her, preferring to keep dusting. “That’s a broad question. What are you referring to?” “Don’t give me that. You walked into the bedroom yesterday with smoke coming out of your ears and your lips bruised. It was obvious you were kissed. So who kissed you?” She was much too observant for my peace of mind. “Someone that shouldn’t have kissed me.” Sandrock had the absolute gall to snicker. “I see. You being chased again?” “You could say that.” It wasn’t what she was assuming, however. “Right now, I just really want to get this done.” “Don’t be grumpy at me,” she grumbled. I let out a pent up breath. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” I’d gotten practically no sleep the night before, and it was showing now. My mind and body had been too fixated on remembering Trowa—the solid heat of his body, the feel and scent of his skin, the taste of his mouth, and how alive I’d felt while he was kissing me senseless. It wasn’t helping my resolve any to stay away from him. I’m nineteen, I’ve known for at least four years that I like men (preferably naked and in my bed) but I’ve never met anyone that I was willing to be intimate with. Well, I should say that I was willing to be intimate with that also shared my preference. I very much craved such intimacy, but I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my morals or sink down to someone else’s level to get it. The door clicked open. I knew without turning exactly who it was. “Quatre, I need to talk to you.” Even his voice is sexy. It really isn’t fair. Putting my dusting rag down I turned to face him, glad that this time at least I was wearing a shirt. “Alright. You have my attention.” Trowa looked mouth-wateringly yummy in a dark green shirt and black pants. He closed the door behind him, glancing at Sandrock as he did so. “You are?” “Sandrock,” she replied with cool interest, as only a cat can. “I thought you were a clairvoyant, Quatre.” So he could see what she was? Or sense it somehow. “I am. Sandrock was born in a witch’s house, and was meant to be someone’s familiar. She prefers me, for some reason.” “He’s easily trained,” Sandrock explained. She stretched and lightly descended from the desk. “If you’d open the door?” Bemused (and probably a little amused), Trowa opened the door for her. “Thank you.” Trowa closed it behind her, brow quirked. “Is she normally that bossy?” “That’s mild, you should see her at six in the morning when she wants breakfast.” I had a feeling that this talk would take a while so I maneuvered around the boxes and boxes of books and sat in one of the stuffy armchairs. Trowa sank into one near me, settling comfortably. By my manner I assured him that he had my full attention, and let him set the pace. “What things are you planning?” I blinked at him. He really does love to start in the middle of a conversation. “I’m sorry?” “You said that you had plans for your life yesterday. What are they?” According to my teacher and colleagues, dragons are notorious for being arrogant and uncompromising. The fact that he was even here asking that question spoke volumes. I had to grapple with myself for a moment to give him a coherent answer. “I want to build up a reputation in music, for one. More practice in being a clairvoyant, as well. I know there’s more to learn, I just haven’t found another teacher.” He followed my words carefully before replying. “You can do those things here.” I did mention dragons are uncompromising? “Oh no, you are not going to argue me into this Trowa Barton. I know what dragons are like and I have no desire to get tangled up with one, I don’t care how sexy you are.” Belatedly my mouth snapped shut. Why was it, that whenever I was truly upset, my mouth tattled on my private thoughts? His eyebrows lifted slightly. “So you refuse because I am a dragon?” “No, I refuse because you are a dragon and are thereby arrogant and domineering. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone like that. Now, if you will excuse me, I want to get this done.” Without waiting for a reply I climbed back to the shelves and started dusting with grim speed. Don’t ask me how he did it, but without making a sound he somehow crept up on me until he was right at my back. With low heat he whispered, “I can change your mind about that.” “You lay one finger on me,” I warned in a growl, “and I’ll break your nose.” He lifted his hands away, spread to either side. “Alright, I’ll stop pushing. Do you mind if I stay and help you?” He wanted to stay and help me? Hm. Even if it was a ploy to spend more time with me, it meant the job would be done faster, and that meant that I could leave sooner. “No, I don’t mind.” “I’ll start putting the books up, then.” I watched out of the corner of my eye as he bent and lifted a box up onto the desk. I had to catch myself before I started drooling. He really was sexy. It’s a shame his personality didn’t match that sexy exterior. If it had, I would have been sorely tempted to cuddle up with him. As it was… I let out a sigh and continued dusting. All I had to do was finish this room, and then I could walk out of Trowa Barton’s life and back into mine. That couldn’t happen too soon. ~*~*~*~*~ Honor: I’ve got it!
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