Gift!FIC: Duck Foetus Egg [Gundam Wing, Dorothy x Quatre & Rashid]

[omnicat]

Title: Duck Foetus Egg
Author: Omnicat v''v
Rating: PG
Genre: Humor
Spoilers & Desirable Foreknowledge: None really, but you never enjoy a fanfic as much as when you know what it’s talking about. ;)
Warnings: You might want to save looking at the Wikipedia entry for balut until after you’ve read the fic. XD Also references to upset stomachs and off-screen sexytimes.
Pairings: Quatre Winner x Dorothy Catalonia
Disclaimer: I disclaim. *points at Schiz* It’s all her fault!
Summary: "Why are you so opposed to eating babies?" An inevitable question for every visit to specialty restaurants. Quatre x Dorothy
Author’s Note: Giftfic forschizoid_sprite! Having never seen, let alone eaten, real balut, I’m not sure I got all the stuff about the food right, so correct me if there’s a major screw-up anywhere. Three hundred years may change the way we eat things, but that only goes so far. :P Well, here goes nothing. I hope this is what you had in mind!
 

Duck Foetus Egg

The man on the other end of the vidphone connection took a deep breath.

"It all started several hundred years ago, with the discovery of DNA. Knowledge about our genetic make-up revolutionised the world of medicine. One particular development, related to stem cell research, foetal development and -"

"This isn’t what I meant with ‘tell me everything’."

"My apologies, Lady Dorothy. May I ask if Master Quatre has ever told you how he came to be involved with the Maganac corpse?"

"Not so much told me as squeaked and moaned brokenly after a period of prolonged torture, but yes, I am aware of it. Don’t give me that look, Rashid. Unless there is some particularly foolish part of Maganac culture I am unaware of as a woman, you should know there are times when a man can be tortured without even the slightest suggestion of pain."

Looking somewhat disturbed by what she was implying (an entertaining sight on a face like his), Rashid scraped his throat. "Well then, I’m sure you’ll understand how much it means to Master Quatre to share in our customs and feel he is a part of our culture. He has always taken great pains to accept our quirks, despite not having grown up with them and sometimes having convictions of his own that conflict with ours. Among which... is our cuisine. It is completely our fault, Lady Dorothy. We should have remembered that Master Quatre did not grow up as a Maganac, and known better than to serve delicacies catered to such a specialized demographic!

Dorothy leaned her chin on her hand, a slow smirk spreading over her face. "What did you feed him?"

"Balut. Duck foetus egg."

Dorothy’s grin began to show hints of teeth. "And what did he do?"

"He took two bites and... and threw up, Lady Dorothy."

She let out an unladylike but heartfelt snort.

"Whenever we see him now he is in such low spirits, Lady Dorothy. He feels he has let us down and that his behaviour was an insult to our customs. Nothing we say can change his mind. He seems to have convinced himself that the only way to redeem himself is by eating balut once again, without letting his body reject it. We respect Master Quatre’s wishes, Lady Dorothy, so for the past month we have set up numerous occasions during which he could give the balut another try, but he has been unable to do it. His obvious distress concerns us, but there seems to be nothing we can do about it."

"Are you actually offended?"

"Of course not. We are well aware of the subjectivity of culinary taste."

"Did you tell him you’re not offended?"

"Naturally." Rashid said, frowning at the implications of her question. Understandable, of course, but Dorothy knew better than to take the obvious for granted when it came to people with actual standards.

"And it didn’t work, huh? Then did you try laughing at his foolishness?"

Seeing the look on Rashid’s face, Dorothy gave a lively demonstration.

"Honestly, Rashid, think of your blood pressure." she snickered, wiping moisture from the corners of her eyes. She ran a fingertip along her eyebrow to calm herself down and was soon back to smirks and dangerously twinkling eyes. "I’m serious. Of course it wouldn’t work if just anyone did it; he’d just be offended and stick to his position even more stubbornly. But if he puts enough stock in your opinion to fight his gag reflex, surely he’ll listen to you if you tell him outright that he’s being an idiot."

"Some of the men did voice their amusement." Rashid admitted stiffly. "They were reprimanded after Master Quatre’s leave. He did not change his mind in the mean time, nor afterwards."

Dorothy leaned back in her chair, her fingers interlaced in her lap and her smile sweet as sugar. "Oh well, it never hurts to try. But Rashid, you don’t seem happy with the suggestions I’m making, and I am sure a man of your intelligence did not call me expecting anything different. So what does this - as delightful a story as it is - have to do with me?"

Rashid nodded, all focussed determination. "As I said earlier, we have been looking for ways to help Master Quatre without having to compromise his dignity. Our options are becoming scarce, but we have come to the conclusion that we would have the best chance of success with a plan that requires your assistance to work."

Dorothy raised an eyebrow. "Colour me intrigued."



Dorothy was glad, for once, that she had copious amounts of experience at what was being asked of her. Finally a lifetime of desensitizing her taste buds by eating inedible things labelled as ‘delicacies’ paid off.The restaurant Rashid had picked out for them was a quaint, romantic affair, a traditional foods specialist with atmosphere to match. The lights were dimmed and classical music played in the background. Combined with the imitation-antique furniture and decorations, it was enough to make one start speaking in "thee" and "thy"s. The food, unusual as it was, wasn’t half bad either. Once she got used to the unusual texture and taste of the stuff, she actually found herself liking it quite a bit.

The food and decor paled, however, compared to the horrified yet completely spellbound look on Quatre’s face as he watched her eat, moaning in appreciation of the taste, taking her time to sip, lick, nip and suckle before she bit down, indulging in every arch and contortion her body wanted to make. He didn’t seem inspired to join in quite yet, but oh well. Two out of three was a good start, and at any rate, the night was still young.

"The trick," she said, in between licking her fingers after her second balut, "is to not think about what it is you have in your mouth. You should know this already Quatre, I know how spoiled and tortured you are."

Quatre swallowed thickly. He was pale and seemed (she couldn’t tell for sure in the dim light) to be sweating. "It’s a foetus, Dorothy. How could I just ignore that?"

She snorted, deftly cracked her next balut over the tiny glass provided to hold and sip the broth from, and peeled it before dipping it in thin, spicy dressing. "It’s an egg."

"This is different." Quatre protested, watching in morbid fascination as she prepared the balut, half egg-yolk and half underdeveloped duck foetus.

"No, Quatre, it isn’t. That’s just your oversensitive human morality speaking. Devouring the young of oviparous animals before they’re even born is a time-honoured tradition among both humans and other animals. The only difference is that these ducks had a little less time left to being born than the average chicken."

He looked at her in a way that made Dorothy roll her eyes even in the throes of devilish amusement. Of course she knew that the lines people drew in regards to what they were willing to eat were completely arbitrary, but if he really wished to cling to his random middle ground, she had expected a man like Quatre to at least acknowledge this. Perhaps she had underestimated the power of the gag reflex.

Not that it mattered any to her, in the end. Better a monster with a full stomach than a fool about to faint.

"That’s what I looked like..." Quatre ground out laboriously. "When I was growing in the test-tube. That tiny primordial shape..." 

She heaved an exaggerated sigh. "And here I thought you were trying to get over those issues you had. Every animal on this planet used to look like that. So what?" Narrowing her eyes, she leaned over the table to bring her face close to Quatre’s, and said seriously: "Why are you so opposed to eating babies?"

Quatre turned an unattractive shade of green.

"Oh for crying out loud, you’re supposed to laugh when I make a joke!"

"I’m sorry Dorothy." He pressed the balls of his hands to his eyes and took a deep breath. His smile was marvellously unconvincing. "You went through all this trouble for me, and still I won’t -"

Oh no. No way was he apologizing out of this. The man she had fallen for only apologised when he was about to stab someone.

Dorothy tore into her balut and made a grab for Quatre’s tie. He yelped involuntarily and tried to back away, pulling the noose tighter in the process, before doing the sensible thing and wrapping his own hands around the silk above Dorothy’s fists before she strangled him.

"Kiss me Quatre," she demanded. Quatre froze. Smirking, Dorothy shifted the balut in her mouth. "Come on, Quatre, just a little kiss. What are you afraid of?"

"I know what you’re trying to do." he hissed through his teeth. "And I appreciate the gesture, but -"

"My my, isn’t that impressive. Not just empathy but foresight as well. Tell you what..." she cooed, and stroked the underside of his chin. He started, and she took the opportunity to yank him another bit closer. "We’ll play Russian roulette. You kiss me, a little better each time, and we’ll leave it up to chance whether or not I give you what I have here. How about it?"

Ever so slowly, Dorothy drew Quatre closer, the bit of egg tucked away in her cheek. His expression shifted between hesitant and resolved for a long moment before he simply closed his eyes and let her do it. He still resisted the pull, but not so firmly that their lips did not eventually met. It was a brief touch, and Dorothy pulled back again right away.
"See, what wasn’t so bad, now was it?" she whispered, her voice as close to tender as she could manage without making her own stomach turn as much as Quatre’s must be doing. She kissed him again, and again, and again, a little longer each time, murmuring endearments between every one.

"That’s right, that’s my Quatre. You’re a fighter, Quatre, on the battlefield, in the boardroom, between the sheets, and I love it. Show me that ferocious spirit now."

Quatre relaxed bit by bit as the kisses became more heated, one of his hands releasing his tie to cover Dorothy’s. (She, on the other hand, gripped the garment extra firmly, just in case he was being sneaky.) When her lips parted and he felt the prodding of her tongue against his, his body became rigid for a split second before he complied. Dorothy felt him shiver when the taste of her mouth reached his and tensed herself, ready to pull back and push him out of his chair at the first sign of gagging. No such thing came, though, so she went on kissing him, over and over again, using every oral trick she knew and exploiting his every weakness, until he was a panting, moaning mess, standing over the table with his hands in her hair and his eyes scrunched closed, and didn’t notice she had him swallow the piece of balut until it was already too late.

All his actions came to an abrupt halt, his eyes flew open, his breath hitched. Dorothy let go of his tie and leaned back in her seat.

"See Quatre, that wasn’t hard at all." she said in her most sugary voice. She clapped her hands in delight, took her half-eaten balut, tore off an innocuous enough bit, and offered it to him. "Sit down, silly. Here. It’s actually really good, isn’t it? Open wide..."

As Quatre’s eyes shifted between Dorothy and her extended hand with an unreadable expression, his hand came up to his throat, then touched his lips, then his chest. Dorothy raised an eyebrow.

"I... I think I..."

"We’re in a restaurant, Quatre darling. You’re making a scene."

Not really, since the restaurant was almost empty and what few people who were there were as engrossed in the food and each other as they were, but still, hearing that snapped him out of it.

"I really ate some." he mumbled, and sat down hurriedly.

"Emphasis on ‘some’." Dorothy popped the neglected piece of balut into her mouth. Suddenly there was a bright smile on Quatre’s face. He caught her eye.

"I really did, and my stomach isn’t churning. I finally did it."

"You haven’t touched your own food yet." Dorothy said, but tried not to sound too unfriendly.

"That’s okay. I vowed to myself that I’d eat it again and keep it down, and I did. Now I -"

But she didn’t get to know what now; before he could tell her, the blood drained from his face and his hand clamped over his mouth. He was making a beeline for the bathroom before Dorothy could so much as blink.

"Huh." She took a sip of wine. "Spoke too soon."

Oh well, she thought, feeling only a little sorry for him. He was a big boy, it wouldn’t kill him. Letting him keep his dignity about this was needlessly complicated to begin with. When all logic fails, there are only two things you need: thighs, and toys.
 

PSAN: Having written this, I still maintain that the traditional Dutch way of eating new herring - raw, sprinkled with union, dangling it over your head and lowering it into your mouth hoping the union won’t get up your nose - is the most silly culinary habit in the world. ;)