A/N: So, I was thinking a lot about the scene towards the beginning where Satine goes through the different "types" that men have when it comes to women with Zidler and got to thinking about this hopelessly fluffy oneshot. :) So, please read and review.
This probably takes place during Christian and Satine's "happy" time… during that week or so where they were having the affair and no one knew about it. Otherwise known as that perky little montage of scenes. ;)
Disclaimer: I don't own Moulin Rouge.
Satine was awake before Christian, as always, and was perched carefully in a ratty chair next to the bed. She had her robe pulled around her body tightly against the chill of the early morning and was gazing at him, not really staring but just sort of looking.
He really was a sweet man. There was no denying it. He was as sweet as they came.
This was Satine's problem. She had never really known a sweet man before, hadn't even known that one existed. It had hardened her outlook on love and on men and she couldn't help but have a nagging suspicion that Christian was just as bad as all the rest deep inside. She couldn't shake the feeling that all of this, the secret romance, was just too good to be true.
As Satine was thinking about this, Christian began to stir. He rolled over to where she was supposed to be next to him and reached out to see if she was there or not. As always, she was in the chair, but she couldn't help but notice the brief panic that crossed his face when his palm met the mattress instead of her shoulder or her hair. Even bleary with sleep, Christian worried about her whereabouts.
"I'm right here," she sighed and slipped back next to him under the blankets, smiling. "I was just sitting for a minute and watching the morning."
"Of course," Christian muttered, his face still clouded with sleep. Satine had to hold back a chuckle at his expression. "And how is the morning?"
"It's lovely, as always," she informed him and allowed his arm to rest on her shoulders, pulling her somewhat closer. "Christian," she began, smiling ever so slightly. "I've been curious about something."
Christian rubbed the sleep from his eyes quickly and when his face returned to hers he was alert and ready for her question. "And what were you wondering about?" he asked with a smile.
"What's your type?" she asked innocently, reaching up to touch Christian's hair.
Christian's brow furrowed in confusion. "My what?"
"Your type," Satine repeated. "You know, the kind of girl that you're attracted to."
"I'm not sure I'm following you," Christian admitted with a frown.
"Well," Satine paused before diving into her explanation. "Are you the kind that is attracted to a sweet and bubbly girl?" she asked and fluttered her eyelids sweetly. "A mysterious girl?" At this description she raised her eyebrows and gave him her best mysterious expression. Christian laughed. "Or are you the kind of guy that goes for a smoldering temptress?" she asked in a deeper voice and arching her eyebrows. "Or anything else that describes a girl's trait that applies."
"I don't really know," Christian replied with a laugh, catching on to Satine's meaning. "I've never really thought about it before. I've never been in love either."
Satine looked genuinely surprised. "A man as obsessed with love as you has never experienced it?" A small smile of disbelief spread across her face.
"A man is always obsessed with something that he knows nothing about," Christian explained, rolling his eyes in annoyance with mankind.
Satine could sense an analysis on humans as a whole coming on, a drawback to romancing a writer. She knew she had to redirect the conversation or else she would never get her answer. "Well, think about it then. What kind of girl lights your fire?" Satine asked again, smiling coyly at him.
"I don't know," Christian repeated as the early-morning sunlight began to hit against their bodies on the bed. "I don't know," he said again, softly. His train of thought on mankind was lost for the moment.
Satine waited patiently while Christian thought it over. She recognized the characteristic far away look in his eyes and the way he absently picked at the blanket. She knew he was thinking about it and decided not to pester him anymore with questions. In the long, stretched out silence, her mind began to wander as well.
"You are," he finally surrendered and looked up at her.
"I'm what?" Satine asked, surprised at his sudden answer and pulled herself away from her separate thoughts.
"My type," he explained, lifting his palms upward in a defeated gesture. "I don't know how to describe it. You're my type."
It was at this moment, looking at his loving and sheepish gaze, that Satine knew for sure that she and Christian were in too deep. She was falling for him and he was falling for her. The force of gravity was pushing them together and it was wrong. It was all, horribly wrong and unfair to the both of them. Satine didn't want to have her heart broken again and she didn't want to hurt Christian either. It was all wrong.
But it was also at this moment that Satine stopped caring. If Christian could have a blind faith in her, then she could have a blind faith in fate.
She leaned in and kissed him sweetly, reminiscent of their first kiss. "And you are mine."