#3xd

Trowa looked up as someone unexpectedly deposited themselves across from him at the table.  

Everyone had just left, moments ago, to avail themselves of the free hotel buffet, but Trowa was not only not hungry, but he wasn’t even remotely interested in the questionable and, frankly, bland-looking food.  So instead, he’d settled himself into his chair, resigned to a long and boring night, with a double gin and tonic.

He hadn’t even wanted to come, but Heero had first cajoled and then bullied him into it, finally throwing down the gauntlet with a reminder that he’d accompanied Trowa to Une’s wedding, and the taller man owed him for that.

Disgruntled, Trowa had been forced to concede the point and now here he was.

At some semi-acceptable 4 star hotel, in a small side ballroom, with a mediocre DJ and a variety of lukewarm finger foods.

At least the bartender had seemed to take pity on everyone, pouring with a very loose sense of what constituted an appropriate amount of alcohol for one beverage.

Two drinks in, he was finally starting to feel languid and relaxed, and moderately concerned that he hadn’t bothered to get a hotel room at the reduced, corporate rate.

Hopefully he could bunk in with Duo or Heero if it came down to it.

When he finally recognized his new companion, he nearly choked on his drink.

Dorothy Catalonia was sitting across from him, glass of undoubtedly expensive wine in her hand, eyebrow raised in something that looked like both a challenge and an invitation.

This was exactly what he’d been trying to avoid.

For nearly a month, in fact.  He’d avoided all possible interactions with the woman.

There’d been a Thanksgiving potluck at the office, followed by Happy Hour at a local bar, followed by his being just intoxicated enough to think going home with her was a good idea.

And oh, it had been good, there was no doubt about that.  Several rounds of excellent, in fact.

And then a morning after walk of shame and the return of his good sense, not to mention Duo’s complete inability to shut the fuck up about it, leaving Trowa awkward and unamused and slightly embarrassed and-

He sighed.

“Dorothy.”  He greeted her cautiously, reaching for his glass.  He was already halfway to intoxicated, might as well go the full monty.  He could take a cab home.  Whatever.

“Barton.”  She smirked that infuriating smirk, sipping the wine.  “I can’t help but notice that you’ve been avoiding me, like a child.”

Trowa bristled, but he also couldn’t exactly deny the accusation.

She barrelled forward.  Because of course she did.  Dorothy enjoyed other people’s discomfort, at least to the extent that she liked to be brash and bold and watch their reactions, and when he was intoxicated that had seemed attractive.

When she was doing it to other people.

He drained the rest of his glass.

She’d meant to make him feel off-balance and awkward, and she’d succeeded magnificently.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Duo making his way back to the table, take in the two occupants, and veer suddenly sideways, catching Heero by the arm and pulling him along, dragging him as he was caught off guard.  The dark haired man looked back in confusion, then his eyes widened in understanding.  There were obviously some heated words exchanged, but Heero allowed himself to be led away.

Traitors.

“Did we not have a good time?” Dorothy drew his attention back to her.  To an amused blue gaze and full lips curved into a sly smile.

Trowa sighed.  “We had an excellent time,” he acknowledged, “but…” he trailed off.  

She waited a beat, but when nothing else was forthcoming, she leaned forward onto the table, giving him a clear view of her smooth, pale skin, the low cut neck of her emerald green dress and-

Dorothy chuckled, and Trowa jerked his gaze back to her face.

The look on her face suggested he’d been caught, and that she was enjoying his discomfiture.

“I thought you were-” he cut his outburst off again, face flushing.  

She eyed him over the edge of his glass.  She knew what he’d been about to say, was obviously aware of the rumors that burned through an office environment.

Frankly, Trowa had thought she was a dedicated lesbian, and she’d done nothing to dissuade him or anyone of that idea.

Except sleep with him.

In various skilled and acrobatic positions.

Jesus.

“I’ve been known to make exceptions,” she said, finally, eyes still laughing.

Trowa swallowed.  That was… well, it was a hell of a compliment, taken at face value.

Not that anything Dorothy did or said could be taken at face value, ever.

“Would you like another drink?” He offered, his own glass empty, hers less than a third full by now.

He’d tipped the bartender an absurd amount of money, so he was relatively sure he could get drinks quickly and without a fuss.

“I don’t know,” she drawled thoughtfully, “is it going to result in another evening we’ll pretend to forget?”

He snorted.  “I got drunk and had sex with you, but believe me when I say I haven’t forgotten.”

She hummed thoughtfully.  “Don’t tell lies, Trowa,” she leaned forward again, the dress gaping even farther than it had before, “you weren’t that drunk.  Your glass had barely more than juice in it.  You just wanted to have sex with me.”

Trowa couldn’t help the laugh that escaped.  

It was true the drinks hadn’t been that strong.

And equally true that he’d always wondered what it would be like to take her to bed.

He hadn’t been disappointed.

Probably wouldn’t be disappointed if it happened again, if he were being honest.

Gesturing towards her glass, he raised his eyebrow in question.

“Alright,” she said, finally, after making him wait a moment.  “Chardonnay.  And not that detestable house blend.”

Snorting, he got up, making his way to the bar where, as he’d predicted, the bartender had a drink ready for him by the time he made it all the way to the front of the short line, and didn’t bat an eye at his request for something more palatable than the house Chardonnay.

Drinks in hand, he made his way back to the table, and, unsurprisingly, found Dorothy still sitting there alone.  Glancing around he easily identified his previous tablemates, carefully crammed into other, surrounding tables.  He snorted.

Cowards.

Sliding into the seat next to Dorothy, he slid his thigh between hers, the already scandalously short hem of her dress riding even higher, and leaned forward just far enough to be firmly in her personal space, presenting the wine glass for her appraisal.

She took a lingering sip, but her gaze trailed over his body with interest.

Trowa hated parties, but he liked looking good, and he didn’t think he’d disappointed her.  Dark, fitted jeans, black v neck sweater over a dress shirt that he hadn’t buttoned all the way up, leaving his throat and part of his chest exposed.

The heated look in her eyes was approval enough.

They turned together as ear-splitting feedback emanated from the wall speakers, looking for the source of the sound.  There was some commotion near the designated front of the room, where a large screen and projector were being set up, undoubtedly for the annual slideshow of work shenanigans.  The CEO was making his way to the podium, and there was the crackle of the sound system being adjusted.

Trowa turned back to Dorothy with a grimace.

He reached out, after a brief hesitation, to rest his palm against the curve of her waist.

“Are you interested in making some new, more varied bad decisions with me tonight?”

She laughed out loud, finally, for the first time since she’d sat down, and Trowa remembered there had been a brief moment in her apartment the last time, where he’d said something she found particularly witty, and had laughed that same, carefree sound.

“Well it can’t be any worse than the performance that will be happening here,” she said, smile still playing along her lips.  

“I aim to please,” Trowa responded dryly, shifting so that she could stand, and the view from this angle was very good indeed.

She turned away from the table, strolling away on sky-high heels, legs for miles below the dark green fabric of her dress, and shot him a heated look over her shoulder.

Abandoning his drink, he followed with a determined stride.

He hoped she had a room.

At least then there wouldn’t be a walk of shame.