Challenge #34 - Flattery

title: Get You Nowhere
author: windsor blue
pairings: 3xD, implied past 4xD (yes, really...quit looking at me like that!)
rating: R-ish
warnings: swearing...and I was in kind of a mood when I wrote this, so it's kind of...um...let's say snarky. Yes. Snarky.
word count: 750



"You really are the most beautiful man, do you know that?"

Trowa staggered slightly, trying to keep Dorothy from falling flat on her ass. "I'm sure that would be a lot more flattering if you weren't too drunk to stand."

She laughed lightly and waved her hand, a gesture that only made her look even more drunk. "It's all true, I swear. I'm just usually too retiring to say so. Whoops!" She slipped backwards, her knees wobbling with the step she'd taken, and landed right into Trowa's arms. He just managed to catch her in time, but she landed heavily enough to knock a soft 'oof' out of his chest. She hung there for a moment, with his arm around her waist to steady her, and a much darker laugh bubbled up from her throat. She wriggled her hips against him and purred "If you've ever given a thought to taking advantage of me, now would be the time."

"Dorothy, cut that out!" Trowa exclaimed, pushing her away from him to stand, wobbling, on her own feet.

She turned around a little too quickly and fell forward, throwing her arms around his neck as she did. They were nose to nose, and she met his shocked, uneasy gaze with a slow, sultry smile. "Oh, don't be such a virgin. Or are you saving yourself for Quatre?"

"Don't start, Dorothy," Trowa growled, his hands staying stiffly, resolutely, at his sides.

She pulled herself forward, dragging her body in a sinuous line against his, wrapping her left leg around his right. "Come on, Trowa - isn't one blue-eyed blonde just as good as another? We both know you'll never work up the guts to try to get Quatre into your bed..."

"It's not like that."

"Isn't it?" She moved one hand down his chest, slowly trailing to his abdomen, pausing to yank his shirttails out of his waistband. "Tell me how it is, then." She pressed her hand to his skin and pushed his shirt up, dragging her fingernails along his flesh. "Don't try to tell me you don't desire him. I'm drunk - not stupid."

"What I feel for Quatre," Trowa replied through clenched teeth, "Is none of your goddamned business." He reached up to grab her wrists, forcibly removing her arms from around his neck. "Now, take your hands off of me, go into your apartment like a good girl, and sleep it off."

Dorothy leaned back against the door, arching her back and looking coyly up at him. "I fucked him once, you know. Best weekend of my life. I had no idea he was so deliciously twisted. We did things to each other that are illegal in most of the Americas." She licked her lips and grinned at the open-mouthed expression on his face. "What's wrong, Trowa, hm?" She reached out and tripped her fingers upwards from his waist to his sternum. "Surely you didn't think that Quatre was saving himself for you in return, did you?"

Trowa grabbed her hand and held it tight enough to hurt. "Shut up," he snarled, his voice low and devastatingly quiet.

"If it makes you feel any better, he was screaming your name while I pegged him."

"Shut up!" he hissed, shoving her hand back against the wall behind her. The move brought their faces close together once again, close enough for her to tilt her head forward and lick his cheek. With an angry growl, he grabbed her chin and held her face steady for a moment, and in the next moment they were devouring each other.

She opened her mouth and sucked his tongue inside, nipping it with the sharp points of her canine teeth. Their teeth bumped together as they tried to steal each other's breath. Dorothy laughed, and Trowa swallowed the sound, his grip on her chin strong, bruising.

They finally broke apart, and Trowa jerked back from her as if it hurt to do so. He grabbed her arm with one hand, shoved open the door of her apartment with the other, and without preamble pushed her inside while he remained out. "Go to bed, Dorothy." His snarl had lost some of its bite.

"Aren't you coming with me?" she all but purred.

"Not this time," he replied quietly, pulling the door shut between them.

She listened to his footsteps, resolute against the carpeting in the corridor outside, and when she could hear them no longer she smiled.

"Ah, Trowa Barton, you really are the most beautiful man."