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[Fiction] Quanta - The Sweet and the Sour


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This fiction is a mature fiction with graphic sex described within it's story. If this offends you, please do not read it - though you should, it's damned good!

Submitted for canon consideration.

Quanta sometimes sensed the world in tastes and scents. It wasn’t something she shared often with others, but she used it to her advantage. She could associate scents with people, and tie them to food, something she understood instinctively. Sean, for example, smelled of tart apples to her, the ones which are bitter and needed supplements to taste good. It wasn’t a bad taste; indeed, in the right dish, it was very good indeed.


Now, tonight, she tasted oranges and honey as she stared over the table at her dinner companion, the echoes from his last remark hanging taut in the air between them. In retrospect, she knew this was so obvious; she ought to have seen this coming. She was thinking of green apples when she said yes, but it was the taste of oranges and honey overwhelming her tongue.

* * *

“A private dinner?” Maggie asked uncertainly, her blue eyes worried.


The smell of home-cooked meatloaf filled Quanta’s nostrils as she moved closer to Sean’s mother; she gave the older woman a reassuring smile as she murmured, “The count is a perfect gentleman. He does not have an ulterior motive. He is rich, and the rich enjoy these little frivolities. It pleases him to have me cook for just him, and it pleases me to have his money for the privilege.”


Maggie was silent for a moment; the smell of home-cooking increases before the baseline asked, “Do you have an ulterior motive?”


Quanta had laughed it off, but when his hand rested on hers on the balcony railing, she knew that she wanted this, green apples or not.

* * *

Iharra and her scent of caramel were waiting for Quanta when she went to dress for dinner. The girl sat on her bed and silently watched her dress. Quanta had attempted to engage the girl, but the Peruvian native was recalcitrant. “Is something wrong, honey?” Quanta finally asked, even switching to Spanish to make it easier to speak with her.

“You’re wearing strange clothes,” Iharra said, her eyes and voice downcast.

Quanta hid her sigh as she hugged the child. Iharra had lost so much, so quickly, that she tended to view change, even small, meaningless changes, as threats. And knowing why she was so upset made it impossible for Quanta to get angry at her. “I am going to work, and I have to look nice,” Quanta lied a little.

“Ok,” Iharra said, wrapping her thin arms around Quanta. The smell of caramel nearly gagged Quanta, but if there is one thing that goes well with caramel, it’s green apples. As if on cue, Sean stood in the door. “Hey,” he said, smiling shyly.

His smile has none of the arrogance she’s seen in old pictures of him. Normally, she liked it, finding comfort in the fact that Sean doesn’t have to pretend with her. But, tonight, it was the arrogance and pure confidence in another’s honeyed smile that made her heart race.

* * *

“So, this is just a business dinner?” Sean asked, his voice hesitant.

Quanta didn’t pause in her application of her makeup. Despite the nasty chemical taste in the lipstick, her voice was unaffected by her distaste, “Yes.” She glanced over her shoulder, smiling coyly. “Sean, are you… jealous?”

The tart, fruity smell increased as he looked away from her. “It doesn’t matter, because this is a business thing,” he said softly. “It’s not personal.”

“Of course not, Sean,” she said, smiling at him. “Would you help me carry some of my cookware to the warp point?”

“Sure,” he smiled, giving her that effortless grin that warmed her to her toes. And as she walked past him, he put his hand on her lower back to guide her, and she can smell apples again, just as she tastes oranges and honey when another hand guided her from the balcony back into the bedroom.

* * *

He lies back on the bed, pulling her down with him. Her legs come down on either side of his and her hands were on either side of his chest, just under his arms. His hands slid expertly under her skirt, his fingers playing over her skin. Quanta leaned down, favoring her injured leg. The taste of oranges, honey and her own bitter-sweet saffron scent flood her mouth and tongue.

Raoul moaned with pleasure, his hands sliding up and down her legs. This silky material of her slip caressed and stroked her legs, followed immediately by the heat and strength of his hands. Quanta leaned back and rested her weight on his legs. Her hands were shaking a little as she unbuttoned his shirt; he smiled gently, and the scent of oranges floated up to her.

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his, and it broke her dam of hesitation. The kiss built in heat and tension, flooding her nose and mouth with oranges. But when his tongue slipped between her lips, she thought she could taste green apples…

Surprised, she drew back. “What’s wrong?” Raoul asked, his voice concerned.

“Nothing,” she whispered before leaning back down and kissing him again. This time, Raoul stayed Raoul, even when she broke off her kiss and slid her head down his body, kissing and licking his chest. His chest tasted of spiced oranges, and Quanta lightly drew a nipple into her mouth. Raoul hissed with pleasure, his arms curling around her reflexively.

Cradled against his chest, Quanta felt warm and happy for the first time since Ibiza. It was a false security, but it was free of the doubts she had with Sean, about whether he’d ever grow up enough to be worth her love. And that was assuming that he ever became sophisticated enough to move in her social circles.

Raoul interrupted her thoughts with a tug on her dress, a little smile on his face. Quanta returned the grin and slipped the skirt of her dress up over her waist, allowing him to pull her dress up over her head. The smell of saffron suffused the air as her skin was exposed to the room, but that didn’t have Quanta’s attention. The dark look in Raoul’s bitter-chocolate eyes, the look of desire and lust, held her attention. Those eyes rolled down her skin, almost a physical touch as he looked at her in her undergarments.

Quanta started to remove the bra, but Raoul stopped her. “No,” he murmured, “I want to remember you this way, later – so beautiful, so sexy.”

She nodded, but reached down and started to tug his shirt away from his body. He smoothly sat up and pulled the shirt over his head and Quanta joyously ran her hands over his skin. Raoul murmured softly, maybe her name, maybe endearments – Quanta didn’t care, because his thumbs were rolling over her nipples, the silken bra adding to the sensations coursing through her body. The scent of saffron grew thicker as her arousal spiced the air. “Raoul…”

His answer was to push her hips down against him, against the hot bulge on the front of his body. Quanta gasped at the feeling… and the realization that soon there would be no clothing; nothing, save his body pressing into hers.

With a groan, Quanta lightly scraped her nails down Raoul’s chest, releasing the scent of oranges into the air. Raoul’s hips bucked lightly, popping her up and forward. “I need to get these pants off,” he murmured, his eyes darkening even more with desire.

“I don’t know about that,” Quanta laughed. “You seem to be doing fine so far.” Still, she shifted off of him, letting him sit up and strip out of his clothes. Her eyes hungrily drink in his body, from the swell of his shoulders to the hard planes of his lower body… and to the hard, eager length of him nestled against his stomach.

“Then you are definitely going to love what I’m doing next,” Raoul murmured, rolling gracefully to his hands and knees. Quanta watched him crawl toward her; when he reached her, he gave her a kiss that left her knees weak. He pushed her back onto the bed and Quanta let him, falling onto her back. He slid his hands under her hips, lifting them up and scooting her underwear down her legs.

Quanta was suddenly having trouble breathing; the count didn’t help when he crawled over her body, between her legs, so that he rested hot and hard against her belly. His head bent down to her bra, and then his hands were behind her back, and the bra was off her body. Raoul’s gaze was intense, wondrous… and Quanta had never felt more attractive.

His head dipped to her waiting breasts, and Quanta whimpered as he pleasured her nipples with his lips and tongue. Before too long, she was quivering like a taunt bow-string, ready to be loosed from the bow. That was when Raoul slipped lower on her body, and his head dipped between her legs. Quanta cried out with the first stroke of his tongue, and the world drowned in the scents of saffron and sugar and hot peppers and oranges, which doubled and doubled and doubled again until it all exploded into sensual, savory bliss.

Before she was done shuddering, he buried himself into her, giving her orgasm his flesh to ride and extending the climax with a rush of saffron. Quanta came back to her senses as he was rolling into and out of her in a smooth motion, his mouth and hands on her breasts again. Her hands finally managed to move and started to caress his arm and back, giving him some small measure of the pleasure that he was giving her.

With a smile, Raoul settled into a strange rhythm that built Quanta up again, making her writhe and cry out again all too soon. Only when her body was ravaged by pleasure the second time did Raoul throw his own head back as his body went rigid. Then he was groaning and trembling and spilling himself forth in a stream of oranges and honey.

Quanta feel back on the bed, temporarily expended; Raoul sat up with practiced grace, keeping himself nestled inside of her. “My god,” Quanta murmured in Basque, running her hands over her body, shivering at the tingles caused by her own hands. “That was amazing.”

Raoul laughed, a male, possessive sound, the sound that men make after sex. “We’re just starting, my dear,” he laughed, and Quanta smiled as oranges and honey flooded her tongue again.

* * *

Quanta walked in the door early in the morning, lugging the remains of her supplies. Between herself and Orzaiz, she hadn’t brought any food back with her. She placed the cookware on the counter, making a mental note to return it to the restaurant later. As she turned to go to her room, a piece of paper caught her eye.

Turning, Quanta picked up the paper, recognizing Sean’s handwriting. With a slight frown, she read it to herself.

Hey, Anna,

I was waiting up for you, but I guess that the Count is keeping you late. I hope that you had fun cooking for him. And despite how that sounds, I mean that. I know we’ve talked and stuff—

Oh, man… I’m screwing this all up. Look, I just want you to be happy. Just be happy, ok, Anna?


And Quanta was left in the slowly-brightening kitchen, with the scent of green apples teasing her nose.

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