Disclaimer: GW = not mine

Author's Note: All right, so Polite Acrimony's going to get off the ground with this first ficlet. This'll run for six ficlets. Wish me luck on this endeavor.

Polite Acrimony
by mistress amethyst une

Reciprocation—"You owe me."

"For an executive of your caliber, you sure are easy to subjugate," said Dorothy, smirking down at the blonde caught between her and the polished surface of her oak desk.

He smirked back, making her squeal in surprise as he somehow turned the situation in his favor. Without warning, he gripped her and rolled, effectively placing her beneath him. The fact that neither of them tumbled down onto the floor bordered on miraculous. Certainly, it would take nothing short of severe skeletal system trauma to put a stop to this display of desk debauchery.

"A mere consequence of politics," he snorted, leering down at her with his best impression of menacing. "Feigning defenselessness has always been an integral part of the act. You know that better than anyone."

This time around, they did tumble to the floor. Dorothy landed atop him, quickly locking his hands above his head with her own as she stole a kiss. Quatre silently thanked whoever invented carpeting and loose-fitting pants.

"Of course I do," she shot back.

Somehow, he managed to slip his hands out of her grip. Another roll. She regretted the sleeveless top she'd opted to wear. Carpet burns were a pain.

"Pleasing the people is practically in the job description," he sighed. "You can't fault me for that."

She struggled beneath him, unable to muster the appropriate maneuver to gain dominance once more.

"The people?" she taunted. "Oh please...I hardly consider your clients the people. And the amount of time you waste pandering to each and every one of them is-"

He gently nipped at her mouth then, unable to suppress a chuckle as he drew a moan from her.

"Jealous? No worries. You're one of the people, aren't you?"

"Technically speaking," she said breathlessly. "Part of the public sphere..."

"Then I aim to please."

"I hope to high hell you don't please the rest of the people in any way resembling the way you please me."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he laughed. "Of course, to guarantee that, we'd need a binding contract."

She rolled her eyes. "It's called a marriage contract. We've had one for five years."

"Just reminding you," he chortled.

"Memo received," she groaned as his lower extremities moved in ways that were not the least bit conducive to maintaining her sanity. "Now take those damned pants off already or I'll make certain payback's more of a bitch than I am."

Ficlet finished. :)