Desires of the Heart
Chapter 10
By zapenstap
Relena thought about Heero as stared at her reflection in the mirror. She looked ridiculous. Her hair was rolled up in heated curlers and pinned to her head, bits of tissues sticking out from behind her ears where the curlers would otherwise be too hot against her bare skin. She sighed, envisioning the final result that would be worth all this trouble. Her looks never used to concern her much, but now that there was someone special to dress up for, she found herself wondering if she was pretty and how she could make herself prettier. It wasn’t that she thought a woman’s most important asset was her beauty, not by any means, but society strongly suggested that attractiveness was an asset, and why not utilize an asset if you could?
Besides, Heero was taking her out tonight, in public, where important people would likely recognize her, and she wanted to look her best. Yesterday she went to a make-up store and bought expensive make-up that she usually didn’t wear. Her face was always made up before she went on the air, of course, but that was done by beauticians. Recently she had been paying attention to how they did it. Though she wasn’t sophisticated enough to learn all their tricks, and not glamorous enough to spend her money on all those different brushes and shades and tones and colors, she picked up what she thought she could do for herself.
Now it was time for a test.
She started with a clean face, removing all the dirt and sweat and anything else that might be clogging her pores. Then she applied concealer, covering her few blemishes with a stick of thick, lipstick-like paste that was the same tone as her skin. Relena also used a little concealer around the under part of her eyes. She sometimes had shadows from lack of sleep, and the concealer hid those. That alone was a dramatic improvement, and because Relena had a good complexion she was lucky enough to not have to use it elsewhere very often. That was just the first step. Further facial make-ups, Relena discovered, came in all kinds. There were foundation primers, foundation creams, foundation liquids, powders, loose powders, pressed powders and powder-liquids in one. The only thing she knew for sure was that whatever you used, it better not be something that made your face look orange. The most important thing was getting the right color, even if you had to spend a little, but better yet was taking care of your face so that you didn’t need it at all. Relena personally didn’t like face makeup. She didn’t mind wearing it when she was put on camera because if did smooth imperfections and take away the shine on her face that resulted from the glare of the stage lights, but wearing it just around was a little too much work for her. She had tried applying it, but even using sponges, the experiment resulted in lines and powder clumps and cracks that made it too obvious that she was wearing a lot of make-up. When the beauticians did it, it looked great, but Relena decided to just leave the stuff alone for personal use. The concealer was enough for the worst days, and if her face was shiny, she had a little bit of powder she preferred not to use.
Relena worked on her eyes next. Because it was so difficult for her, she applied eye liner first. She only wore eye liner if she was going somewhere at night because the result always startled her otherwise. Relena’s choice of eyeliner was liquid black and even when applied correctly the black lines drawn around her eyes made her look a little more made-up than she wanted. But in combination with eye shadow, it also made her eyes look luminous and mysterious. Applying it was difficult. She leaned close to the mirror on her vanity, balancing on her elbow, and pulled lightly at the corner of her eye with her ring finger. Then, using her other hand, she painted the strip just above her eyelashes with the tiny brush. She had to stay perfectly still during the process, painting that one thin line quickly and efficiently. If she messed up, she could sometimes correct it, but more likely she would have to start over. When she finished with both eyes, she was careful not to blink while it dried, and instead went to work under her eye using the same technique. However, under her eye she only painted from the middle outward. Otherwise, she would look like a raccoon. As she waited for the liner to dry, she adjusted one of the curlers in her hair. They were cooling nicely, but she didn’t want them to cool completely because that would be a bit too curly.
Heero was taking her to an opera tonight. Relena had been to operas before with her mother, but Heero had never been to one. Still, when she expressed interest he agreed to take her. She warned him that it was expensive, sung in German, religious and that he may not like it, but he told her he was taking her and that was the end of the conversation. They were seeing Faust, Goethe’s version, and Relena promised that there would be subtitles so that they could understand the words as well as feel the action through the music. She called the theatre just to be sure.
When the eyeliner was ready, Relena applied an eye shadow base that was close to a cream color with just a bit of a silver hue to it. She applied it over her entire eyelid and all the way up to her eyebrow. Next, using a brush, she applied a dramatic, golden, glittery eyeshadow over just her eyelid. Applying the shadow dimmed the effect of the eyeliner, to her satisfaction, and made an immediate difference in her face. Next, she applied a dark rose color in the crease of her eye, which brought the combination to life. It was just a little bit, enough to accentuate the effect she wanted, but she smiled in satisfaction as she sat back. After the eyeshadow, came the mascara, which only took a bit of patience and a steady hand to apply, but it made her lashes seem as if they had grown a full centimeter. The lower lashes were a little tougher, but watching them lengthen was worth the sweat. Again, she was careful not to blink, but instead gazed into her reflection, smiling at herself. Her eyes were luminous, and lovely, without being overdone. She thought with amusement that her eyes would never be as pretty as Heero’s, but as long as she didn’t tell him that it would probably be all right.
After the eyes and face, the rest was easy. Relena used lip liner around her lips to make them look fuller, then colored them in with a pink lipstick that brought some color to her face but still made her look natural and innocent. She doubled her pink eyeshadow for blush, fond of the bit of sparkle it put to her cheeks. She only used a tiny dab, a little dark rose rubbed vigorously around to give her cheeks a flushed, healthy look that was not even close to clownish. The final touch was clear lip gloss smoothed over her lips. She used the flavored stuff that Heero liked so much because it tasted like sugar. She wore it every time she saw him since he had told her that.
When her make-up was done, Relena proceeded to take her curlers out of her hair. They were the large rollers, used for making waves, thought she tended to use a heated iron for the little strands around her face. As she took the rollers down, her hair cascaded over her shoulders bit by bit. They were a little too curled in some places, but that could be fixed with a flatiron. The final result was a wealth of curls around her shoulders, bouncing and swinging when she turned her head. Half of it she gathered on top of her head, twisting and tucking with pins until a crown of curls framed her head and the rest framed her face. She set the whole thing with hairspray, applied liberally, and then glanced in the mirror to marvel at how pretty she could be if she set her mind to it. Two hours preparation, including her shower. Not bad.
The dress was next.
It was hanging on her closet door, sheathed in a plastic bag, turquoise silk gleaming as the caught the light from the lamps in her room. Relena unwrapped it carefully, mindful to keep the plastic bag intact for storage later, and removed the dress. She was dressed only in her underclothes and nylons and had been for hours. She wore nylons to keep the silk from clinging to her legs when she walked. Luckily, this dress could be pulled over her hips so she wouldn’t damage her curls. Otherwise she would have had to do her face and head while crinkling the silk. She pulled the dress on without trouble, and turned to make sure the crossing in the back had not tangled. It hadn’t. The thin straps were right too, arching delicately over her shoulders to connect a slightly curved bodice to the back. The silk smoothed fluidly over her hips and as long as she walked with a straight back and kept her tummy tucked in, it had a very elegant and slimming effect.
Her shoes were silver, a subtle glimmer that covered her toes and created the illusion of lengthened legs. Her jewelry was silver too, set with real turquoise of a brilliant hue. Her earrings dangled, three stones in round settings hanging one from the other. Her necklace was a choker with one giant turquoise resting in the hollow of her throat. She touched it with her fingers, and smiled. Her fingers were clipped, polished and manicured. Everything was done.
The
doorbell rang at exactly
Heero was all dressed up. She had told him it would be a dress-up sort of event, one reason some people went to the opera at all, though not everybody dressed up these days. But Heero had dressed up at her behest, and because he knew she would want to dress up. He wore a tuxedo, elegant and not out of place on him. Heero could fit in anywhere and look himself in anything. He could look good in anything. She had seen him do it a hundred times.
He offered her his arm. She closed her door behind her and locked it, then took his arm with a smile. When he didn’t compliment her on her appearance, she wondered if it was because he was waiting for a better moment, if she was not that attractive, or if he just didn’t consider doing such a thing. She didn’t mean to, but on the car ride down to the theatre she fretted about it, playing with the silk on her legs, feeling less and less confident at every street light they stopped at. She knew that looks weren’t really important, but she had spent so much time on her dress and her hair and her make-up, skills she wasn’t good at, that she couldn’t help feeling a little cheated. It had taken a little more bravery and confidence than she was used to exerting in everyday matters. She had reached behind her boundaries for him, all to appear beautiful for him. And he didn’t say anything.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her when they were nearly there.
“Oh, nothing,” she said. How silly, to complain that he hadn’t complimented her on her looks. She tried to smile. It was nothing to get upset about.
His eyes narrowed. “What’s bothering you?”
He could tell that she was troubled even when she tried to hide it. It made her feel strangely warm. Well, she might as well get it over with or spend the rest of the night fretting. “How do I look?” she asked, trying to appear casual as she tilted the mirror. Now she felt like she was fishing for compliments and that was not what she had wanted at all.
“You always look beautiful,” he told her pointedly. “You don’t have to get all dressed up and do your hair and wear make-up. You naturally very pretty, just as you are. You don’t have to spend money on trappings you don’t need.”
She tensed, her emotions mixing in a hazy maze of confusion. Surely that was a compliment. But was he saying that all that work was for nothing? Was he saying that she looked no more lovely now than she did when she rolled out of bed in the morning, or the other way around? Had he even really looked at her, or did he just always imagine her the same way? She decided to take it as a compliment, since that was how he had meant it, and because he had used the word beautiful, but the dress and the hair and the make-up that she had had such fun choosing and applying with him in mind seemed like such a waste now. Mixed emotions. Of course, if she complained he would do that typical man-thing about not being able to do anything right. She didn’t want that. She wanted to be gracious, and it was Heero after all, so she ought to be able to allow some leniency in his not understanding some social matters. He had told her she was beautiful. That was what she wanted, right?
“Was that really all?” Heero asked her.
Now she felt stupid.
“What is this opera about again?” Heero asked her.
She was thankful for the distraction and reached into her purse for the pamphlet that had been sent with their tickets. Turning it over, she summarized what she read on the back. “It’s about a man named Faust who makes a pact with Mephistopheles… uh, that’s the devil, I think, to have a life filled with riches and treasures in exchange for his soul. Faust meets Margarete, immediately falls in love with her, and demands Mephistopheles to help him seduce her. Margarete forsakes her moral scruples for love of Faust and uses a soporific that Faust gives her to pour into her mother’s nightcap so she and Faust can meet in secret in her mother’s house. When Margarete’s brother Valentine discovers the affair, he accuses Faust of ruining his innocent sister and challenges him to a duel. Faust kills Valentine and then he and Margarete are forced to flee the town…”
“Are you going to tell me the whole story?” Heero asked her.
“Not if you don’t want,” Relena said, still reading for her own benefit. “It helps sometimes, because the story can be hard to follow. You want to be able to pay most attention to the music. The set and costumes are always really beautiful too.”
“The plot sounds pretty old fashioned.”
“Well, it is,” she laughed. “It was written in the 1800s. But it’s supposed to be a good opera. All opera plots are pretty simplistic. The story is told through music, and it’s supposed to be more of an emotional than a mental exercise.”
“Hmm. How many have you been to?”
Relena flipped her wrist over to look at the time. “My father used to take me every year since I was old enough to sit through it,” she said with a sigh. “Since he died… I don’t know. I just haven’t wanted to go by myself.”
Heero didn’t say anything.
They parked the car in the underground parking lot in silence and climbed their way to the theatre. Relena still held onto Heero’s arm, her fingers lightly touching his wrist. Their tickets were taken at the entrance. They didn’t get balcony seats, partly because Heero was paying and partly because Relena didn’t want to single them out as important guests.
Heero sat stone silent throughout the first act, with his arms crossed and his eyes glued to the stage. Relena rested easily in her chair, watching him occasionally and wondering what he was thinking, but too enchanted by the colors, the orchestra, the vocals of the singers to worry about it much. It amazed her that such sound and singing was possible. Even had it been in a language she knew, she wouldn’t have been able to understand the words, but the words were not what mattered. The action of the stage was tributary to the music. It was the music that told the story, though the subtitles and the summary in her pamphlet certainly helped.
During intermission, Heero stayed in the theatre, silent, while Relena visited a ladies room the size of a bathhouse. Then she strolled around in the upper lobby. Inevitably, she ran into people she knew.
“Why, Miss Darilan, what a pleasure it is to see you at the Opera tonight.”
“Vice Foreign Minister, what brings you to the theatre?”
“Why Lady Relena, if only we had known you had tickets.”
There were politicians and debutants, school teachers and just ordinary people who enjoyed musical productions. She was kept busy greeting everyone until the lights blinked, alerting everyone that it was time to return to the theatre, she turned to see Heero standing in the shadows. She was shaking hands with Mr. Greenwich, a business owner and financial supporter of many of her causes, when she saw him. Heero had his arms crossed still, watching her with those intense eyes as he leaned against the wall. She smiled at him, and beckoned him over with her free hand so she could introduce him, but by then it was time to go back inside. Not terribly disappointed, she thanked Mr. Greenwich for his patronage and instead joined Heero to go sit down for the rest of the show.
“Are you liking it, Heero?”
“Hm.”
The lights went black, the curtain went up, and the music began.
After the production, Heero leaned over and kissed Relena on the neck. “I would never abandon you in prison,” he whispered. His kiss and breath was seductive. Relena shivered, closing her eyes. She remembered what Heero had requested the last time she had been to his house. To stay over, to stay the night. She imagined how it would feel to have Heero cuddle her in the dark, to have him close to her, able to touch her… She felt warm, and her eyes kept drifting to look at the man beside her. She wondered what she was thinking.
They weren’t on the road again until
“So does Faust go to hell?” Heero asked her as they stopped at the next light. “That was a little confusing. Didn’t he go to rescue Margarette in prison? Why was she in prison anyway? She kept talking about some baby.”
Relena scrunched her brow and flipped through her pamphlet. “Margarette was accused of murdering her illegitimate baby, one she had with Faust, I guess, and also her mother. I guess the sleeping drug Faust gave her to give to her mother was a poison. When Faust finds out about Margaratte’s fate, he curses Mephistopheles and then enlists his help to rescue her.” Relena turned the pamphlet over. “In prison, Margarette bemoans her fate, and then hears Faust calling her. She renews her love to Faust, but she shrinks from Mephistopheles and refuses to go with them. She then admits to doing wrong and pleads to God to save her. When Mephistopheles pronounces Margarette damned, the angels pronounce her saved.”
“So what happens to Faust?”
Relena frowned. “Well, he sold his soul and tried to get the devil to make things right. He was unhappy with the way things turned out, but I’m not sure if he ever admitted any guilt. I think he just goes with Mephistopheles at the end.”
“That seems kind of unfair.”
“I think there are other versions of the story,” Relena said helplessly. “Faust was a real person, but historically I think he was just some kind of radical philosopher that people were suspicious of. The story about him is supposed to be dramatic and morally educational.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“Did you like it, Heero?”
“It was too long,” he said. “I did like the music and the story was more interesting than I thought it would be, but I don’t believe in any of that stuff about sin and the devil and being damned for leading a pleasurable life or being saved for admitting you’re a bad person. All that stuff.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “I grew up with strong, Christian principals, I guess, so maybe it makes more sense to me.” She shrugged. “Are you going to take me home?”
“Only if you want to go home.”
“Well…” She paused.
“Do you want to come over?” He asked. He eyed her out of the corner of his eye when he said it, and she saw the pulse in his throat quicken. “You could stay over.”
There it was again, the same question. He must have been thinking about it too. “Heero,” she said. “I don’t have anything to wear, and…”
“You can borrow some of my clothes,” he said. “I have t-shirts and shorts that will fit you. And a sweatshirt if you get cold.”
“I…” Her heart fluttered, like butterfly wings beating in his direction, delicately. She wanted to. Oh God, she wanted to go to Heero’s and stay the night. She wanted to feel what it was like to have his arms wrapped around her, what it was like to cuddle up close to him in bed. Only… what she had told Heero was true. She had grown up with strict morals and what Heero was suggesting seemed so unclear. She was afraid to ask for clarification, afraid of scaring him with too many demands, or extorting anything from him that was insincere. Still, she wanted to stay over. She just… “What is our relationship, Heero?”
He was quiet. “I don’t know.”
“We’re not friends.”
“No.”
“Are you seeing other girls?”
“No.”
She bit her lower lip, looking out the window as the cars passed by. “Do you want to…to keep seeing me?”
“Yeah,” he said, so resolutely her heart thudded.
“Then… why can’t I be your girlfriend? Or…” Her cheeks were red, her face hot. “I just don’t know if I would feel comfortable staying over and wearing your clothes and… I don’t know. Maybe it’s not a big deal, but I just would like to know where I stand.”
“Girlfriend?” He said the word quietly, with surprise, and didn’t say anything more, but she could tell he was troubled by it. He drove with too much intensity, both hands on the wheel, reading every sign in the dark, watching the lines in the road, eyeing the other cars. “I just don’t know if I’m ready for that,” he said after a minute. “It’s…It’s not you, Relena. I really like you. It’s just…”
“Okay,” she said, understanding immediately, or trying to. “I really don’t mean to be pushy, Heero. I’m just confused. And… I really like you too.”
He nodded. He was thinking hard. She could see it in his face.
“I would be happy to come over,” she said. She felt she owed him that.
When they got to Heero’s house, he offered her something to drink and then went upstairs to find her something other than silk, nylons and high heeled shoes to wear. He came back down with exactly what he had described in the car: shorts, a t-shirt and a sweatshirt too big for her. She changed in the bathroom, took down her hair and washed her face using whatever rudimentary soaps Heero had on his counter. When her face was scrubbed clean and red from rough soap and rough towels, she emerged into the kitchen feeling decidedly odd in shorts and a white t-shirt. Heero smiled at her, though. She felt unattractive, but he seemed to like seeing her wearing his clothes and gestured for her to sit by him on the couch. That couch was becoming very familiar.
When she approached he took her into his lap, settling her across his knees and reaching up to push back her curls—falling apart now—and kiss her face. The touch of his lips scorched her and she felt her stomach give a little flop as a line of desire coursed through her. She didn’t realize how much she had wanted to get him alone. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pushed her body against his, caressing the back of his neck with her hand and rubbing his hair. She kissed his jaw and then his neck, closing her eyes as the heat between them seemed to gather energy, one from the other, flaring brighter and hotter with every touch. When she mumbled nonsense, he grasped her legs under the knee and shifted suddenly, his other arm snaking behind her shoulders as he laid her down on the couch and gently fell on top of her.
“Relena…” he whispered heatedly.
His hands stroked her hair away from her head, brushing
away the hairspray as he kissed her. She
kept her eyes open at first, staring into his face, breathing hard, and then
gave up as she felt his tongue ask entry into her mouth. She was aware of how intimately they were
positioned, but nothing in her body protested the proximity. Indeed, it felt wonderful.
She pushed at his shoulders, a little panicked. It took him awhile to take the hint. His eyes were filled with lust, hazy with a desire she had never seen in any man’s eyes before. It filled her with a flush that made her think of hues of red and pink, warm and soft and lovely, but he got off her, though he held onto her hand.
She almost asked to go home on impulse, but looking into his eyes, she felt she couldn’t ask that. She had changed her clothes already, after all, and all he wanted was for her to sleep over. He would take her home early tomorrow morning. Besides, her body ached for him, pulsed for him. It was so strong she felt a little dizzy, almost like she was buzzed on alcohol.
“If I’m going to sleep here,” she said, and swallowed. “If I do, we can’t…”
He leaned in to kiss her cheek. “I know,” he said, and she felt his long, heavy lashes tickle her face as he kissed her down to her jaw, holding her chin gently in his hand. “Don’t worry. I can control myself. It’s not…” He traced his other hand over her stomach and she shivered, but then she smiled. She liked feeling this way. She liked the look she had seen in his eyes when he looked at her, that sexy, aroused look. He was staring at her stomach now, his hand hovering over a strip of bare skin where her shirt—his shirt—had come up. She looked at his face and was amazed to see how entranced he was, how completely drawn to her body his eyes seemed to be. She had never really been able to imagine Heero like that, enthralled by such biological needs, but he was a boy, older now, wanting now, and she was here, feeling the same thing in ways she never was sure she would. “It’s not a problem,” he finished.
She believed him because she always did.
His hands slipped under her shirt and she flinched, breathing deeply. He didn’t go anywhere. He just touched her stomach with the flat of his palms, and circled around to her back. But oh, how easy to reach up to her shoulders and pull her shirt off, or around to the front where her breasts were already so close to him. His hands stayed low, caressing her skin in areas that were not off limits any longer, not since she didn’t protest, but Relena’s head was shortly swimming in a haze of physical need. Growing more aggressive, she kissed him, leaning down to take his lips and renew their game of deciding whose tongue would inhabit whose mouth. Before she was even sure what she was doing, she had reversed their earlier position. Grasping her with a smile, Heero slid them both down on the couch so that they faced each other. Relena was cuddled in Heero’s embrace, her hands drawn up under her head as if she was praying in her sleep. His hands were around her waist, still on her bare skin, caressing her softly.
“It was hard not being able to touch you at the Opera,” he whispered.
“Why couldn’t you touch me?” she asked back, so comfortable, so…awake.
“Too many important people watching, people you work with.”
She was quiet a moment, reflecting on that. Was that also why he had waited to kiss her when she got off the plane the other day? Heero was being conscientious. She smiled into his chest.
“Heero,” she whispered. “I’m cold.”
She wasn’t really cold at all.
He reached up and pulled down the blanket that hung over the back of the couch. It settled over both of them. Now that they were under covers, Relena relaxed, leaning her head on Heero’s arm, her face turned toward his chest, and closed her eyes. He held her close, caressing her, and she concentrated on letting go of her fears and falling asleep.
TBC
Wow. Chapter 10 already. You know, this wasn’t supposed to be a long story. When I started writing it I didn’t think it would be much longer than it is now, but haha, jokes on me…that’s not how it worked out. But then, Temper the Soul wasn’t supposed to be as long as it turned out either. Oh well. And yes, we’re going to get into some rated R material fairly shortly… Thanks for everything! Tune in next chapter.