This is a work of fiction, very, very loosely based on the real person, Russell Crowe. I wrote it for my own entertainment, and entertainment is its only purpose. No insult or injury is intended.

This story is for readers over the age of 18 only, and contains explicit adult language and sexual references.

Meant To Be

(or not meant to be, that's the question!)

A Quentin Finch story

©2007 by: Jackie

Chapter Nineteen

Quentin drinks his beer, munches through a whole bag of crisps in record time, zaps back and forth across the channels a couple of times, but he can’t seem to settle.

‘Taz, luv, I need to make a few phone calls. Can I use your phone for a bit? I’ll have to ring my people in Sydney and…’

‘Sure you can, go ahead, phone’s over there…’ I cut in, and curl up with a fleece blanket and a pillow, watching the telly and listening in to Quentin’s phone conversations with half an ear. He walks up and down the room, talks about damage control and security, and asks if his new mobile is arranged for yet. Apparently, it’s waiting for him at his hotel. He sounds very businesslike again, not at all like the Quent I know. I will have to get used to that part of him, I’m thinking; it’s just one of the things we’ve never had the time to learn about each other.

Halfway through his talks, he comes to sit on the armrest next to me and he softly strokes my hair, fiddling with it, winding the locks around his fingers. I lean my head against his side and I feel his concentration slip as that glow we share begins to course through us. It’s making me smile and I nuzzle his tummy. He smells so nice and his shirt is very soft.

‘…yeah, yeah…’ he goes, then he’s silent for a long time, his hand moving my hair to one side and softly touching the skin of my neck and shoulders. ‘Yeah… uhhuh… uh, what’s that again, mate?’ he mutters, at which I can hear some grumbling on the other side. ‘Yeah, sorry, I’m distracted,’ Quent says, shaking himself out of it and getting up again to resume his pacing.

My smile is glued to my face as I watch him walk up and down my living room. He’s really big in my small flat; he looks sort of weird here. But at the same time he doesn’t, at the same time he looks like he belongs. Like he belongs to be wherever I am… I can’t really put in into words. I love it that he’s here. I know we need to think about things, we should take it slow, we should take our time to build our life together, but now that he’s here, stuck in my flat because of the journalists outside, I just… love it. Moreover, I’m beginning to think I might not be so worried any more about him committing to me only because of the pregnancy… he is committing, isn’t he? I know I’m going against my own bloody principles here, but I just… love him so much… I tried to get away from him and it was almost unbearable, wasn’t it? And he came after me, and now he’s here, and he arranged for this magnificent lunch, and he gave me his ring… I don’t think we’re engaged for real, I mean, it’s just a figure of speech, just a bit of fun, but it feels really good all the same. I fiddle with the ring, turn it around and around on my finger, as Quentin ends his phone call and plops down beside me.

‘There. All done. Hey, you OK, luvvie? You look broody… I’ll pay your phone bill if that’s what you’re worried about… or… um…’ He turns to me and touches my hair again. ‘Or are you uncomfortable with me here? I mean, fuck, I was supposed to just take you home, you know, go back to my hotel, maybe meet you tomorrow, if you’d feel like it… Now you’re stuck with me here… Or, um, was it the…’ he eyes my hands. I’m still turning his ring around and around. ‘If you feel bad about the, um, you can just take it off, it’s not like, um…’ he dips his head and his voice peters out.

He’s so mercurial. One moment he’s all business, the next he’s completely insecure, the next he’s splayed about and oozing sex, the next…. I could go on forever. He’s a kaleidoscope of emotions.

‘Quent… I don’t mind you’re here; don’t be silly. How could I possibly mind? Here, you want me to get you another beer?’ I smile at him, and lean into his hand. He’s softly stroking my hair, looking at me intently. ‘I told you how I feel about you, didn’t I?’ I whisper to him.

He nods. Leans in and kisses my lips ever so softly; then looks at me to gauge my reaction. I smile at him and touch his lips. ‘No more beer?’

‘Yeah more beer, but more Tazzie as well,’ he grins against my fingertips, and he kisses me again. Slow, lingering, and then deepening as our tongues meet. My fingers disappear into his hair and his arms snake around me. He turns to me and pulls me closer, sliding down a little, still intoxicating me with his kisses. I can’t possibly resist him, I can’t, I can’t possibly stop this. He pulls me on top of him, wants to lie down with me, but there’s just not enough room, and suddenly we slide right off the settee and onto the floor in a tangle, me landing on top with a squeal.

‘Ow, Taz! You’re heavy,’ he complains, and he looks so tortured that I can’t help but giggle until I see him grin as well.

‘You ok, luvvie?’ he wants to know, and he sits up on the floor with me in his lap, his back against the settee. I squirm until I can wrap my legs around him as well as my arms, and I relax against him and tuck my face against his neck.

‘Mmm,’ I hum, ‘more than OK…’

He gives a satisfied grunt, grabs the remote off the settee and flicks through the channels again until he finds a bit of cricket. He settles on that, quietly commenting on what’s going on in the game as his hands softly stroke circles on my back and his lips brush against my forehead.

I think cricket is a stupid, mindless thing to watch, but I don’t care, I’m not watching. Instead, I’m burying my nose in Quentin’s hair, right behind his ear. He smells particularly nice there, and I try not to think about anything for once, I’m just enjoying this wonderful feeling of being close to him. I climb into him a bit more, trying to get even closer, and he groans softly: ‘Taz… oh fuck Taz, you’re makin’ this really hard on me…’ His arms tighten around me and now I feel his arousal; he’s clamping down on it as hard as he can, but still it throbs against me through his jeans. ‘Luvvie… I can watch cricket until I’m blue in the face but it’s not goin’ to help if you’re right against... my… uh… Taz…’ he mutters, and then we’re kissing again, heatedly, passionately kissing, and writhing against each other for all we’re worth. His hands are pulling at the zipper on my back and I moan into his mouth, I want him so badly, I don’t know how I even managed to walk away from him and get on the plane, he’s so… so… I can’t think any more.

He lies back down with me on top of him and hitches up my dress with one hand while he fumbles at his jeans with the other, all the while kissing me and moaning, growling my name, ‘Taz… uh, come here, Taz…’ and I feel myself go soaking wet for him, I want to feel his hand against me and I squirm and undulate until I feel his fingers rubbing me through my panties. I nearly come there and then but he stops just in time, looking at me with eyes clouded by desire. He’s not wearing any shorts underneath his jeans, as usual, and he’s hot and ready. His fingers hook around the damp crotch of my panties and he impatiently pulls the fabric aside, then pushes me down until his tip teases my entrance and I feel myself contracting in anticipation.

‘Oh, Quent, what are you doing…’ I breathe into his ear, shivering from wanting him so much.

He blinks and seems to come to his senses; he sits up in one fluid move, trying to hold me close as he does so, but whether he wants it or not, the end result of that is that he just slips inside me like he belongs there. There’s nothing we can do to stop it and I gasp and fall against him as he fills me up.

We sit very still, Quent with his back against the settee again. We look into each other’s eyes. It feels too good to stop, but at the same time not entirely right to go on.

‘I didn’t want to…’ he mutters, trying very hard not to move. ‘I was tryin’ to give you space…’

‘I know,’ I softly stroke his cheek and follow the bow of his upper lip with my finger.

‘I just can’t control it… luvvie… You’re drivin’ me… You’re so hot, so soft, so… wet…’ he sighs, eyes closed, head back a little.

And then my muscles contract, all on their own, and his eyes fly open and he latches onto my mouth, devouring it, and I’m riding him, and he puts a hand under my buttocks, lifts me up and gets on his knees without even breaking stride, his strength turning me on even more, and he carefully positions me on the floor beneath him and then drives right into me with a primeval growl.

It doesn’t last very long and it feels really great, and then we lie in a post-coital puddle on the floor until our breathing calms and it gets a little uncomfortable.

‘Love, you’re crushing me,’ I mutter in his ear.

‘Oh, shit, sorry sweetheart, come here then,’ he mutters right back, rolling off me, reaching behind him, grabbing my fleece blanket off the arm rest, and then wrapping it around me as I sit up. He looks down my dress. ‘I’ve messed up your frock, luvvie,’ he grins, almost satisfied. ‘Lookie, there’s a smear.’

‘I’m sure it’ll come out,’ I smile at him and settle under his arm, leaning against the settee. On the telly, the cricket match just blathers on but we can’t be bothered really.

‘You do know, Tazzie, I didn’t intend to…’ he says very softly, ‘I wanted to, you know, show you I was serious, show you I was gonna keep my promise, for once in my fuckin’ life… I do wanna be with you, Tazzie-luv, but honest, if you need to be on your own and have a bit of a think about it all, I’ll not get in your way… I just… I’ll wait… But then, you’re just so… I can’t seem to… Bloody hell…’

‘Bit of fucking’s always been great for your eloquence,’ I grin against his neck.

‘Yeah…’ he concedes, remaining quite serious, cuddling me and pulling me close for a bit. ‘But you know what I mean, luvvie…’

‘Yes, I do… but it’s like you said to me on our last night at Nana, we probably just needed it, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah,’ he sighs, and kisses my face a coupe of times. ‘I needed it... I need you. I won’t pressure you though; really, Taz, I mean it… I’ll just go, tonight, soon as I can shift my arse, and you can tell me if you want to see me again, and when…’

‘Don’t be absurd, Quent, of course I want to see you again,’ I softly say, cupping his cheek in my hand and kissing him back. ‘Now, something else we need to think about; something of a more... practical matter: what do you want to do for dinner? I don’t think there’s enough in the fridge, so we’d better order something... Um, let me see...’ I get up, the fleece blanket around my shoulders like a cape, and I dig around in a pile of old newspapers until I find a small wooden box stuffed with pizzeria flyers and the like, then I sit back down with Quent.

Quentin looks at the flyers with a frown.

‘What, you don’t like pizza? It’s nothing compared to your brilliant lunch, I know that, but, um, unless you’ve got a better idea...?’

‘Oh it’s not that. I love pizza, and beer, and, uh, watching a bit of cricket,’ he waggles one eyebrow (amazing, how does he do it) in a very suggestive manner, ‘but, luv, what do you think is goin’ to happen when I open the door to pay the bloody delivery guy?’

‘Uh... I could pay him?’

‘Yeah?’ he grins at me, with another waggle.

‘Hm, ‘ I say, the memory of how the journos pounced on me when I tried to get into my flat still very, very fresh in my mind. ‘Oh I know!’ I brighten up, ‘I’ll ask Rafiq. I’m sure he’ll love to help out. Now tell me which one you want…’

He wants a really big pizza with as many ingredients on it as possible. I can only smile; that’s just so like him, he’s like a kid in a candy store really.

I bounce down the stairs and knock on Rafiq’s door, and when he opens it he comes out with a high-pitched ‘…oh-my-Go-o-o-d, you look so well-fucked!’

I blush a profound shade of purple and feel my whole body heat up in embarrassment, and I need to swallow before I can ask him if he’d please order our pizzas for us.

He’s of course happy to do so, and back in my own flat, I carefully open the window when we see the delivery guy approach and Quentin and I lurk under the windowsill, grinning, to listen to the roar that flares up as Rafiq opens the door. The journalists fire one question after the other at him, but he’s as slippery as a politician and doesn’t give them anything to go on.

‘Whoa, good thing that wasn’t me opening the bloody door,’ Quent chuckles in my ear, and I have goose bumps all over just from the sound of his voice.

Then, Rafe comes to the door with our pizzas, and we watch the news, eat pizza, and Quent sucks back the lagers. I of course drink mineral water; the wine at lunch was quite enough, thank you. Besides, Quent argues, I’m not allowed any more alcohol anyway, since it makes me act funny, and he wants to eat his pizza instead of having it draped over his head.

‘Chicken,’ I grin at him.

‘Don’t you call me a bloody chook, Tazzie!’ he retorts, and a round of tickling and pillow fighting ensues, until we’re both breathless and giddy, lying in each other’s arms on the settee.

‘I keep forgetting how much fun y’are, sweetheart,’ he smiles at me, suddenly full of tenderness, stroking my cheek. ‘We’ve had a bad patch, hey, but we’ll be OK now. Right? We’ll take our time, and we’ll be fine.’

I nod, and he kisses me, slowly, lovingly, filling me up and warming me with that red glow that is inside him.

When the snog finally peters out, I ask him, my hand buried in his hair: ‘What’s with the sweetheart all of a sudden, love? You never called me that before…?’

He frowns, thinks on it a little, then suddenly there’s an AHA! on his face, clear as day, and to my surprise, it’s immediately followed by a Quentin Finch patented blush. The tips of his ears go bright red, the rest of his face turns rosy. He looks absolutely adorable. ‘…you’ll think it’s stupid…’ he mutters, avoiding my eyes.

‘No I won’t, honest, just try me!’ I have never seen him blush before; I didn’t even know he had the capacity. God, he looks sweet.

‘Well I… I always thought, when I was little, that I’d call my wife sweetheart, and I swore an oath – I was bloody serious about it, you know, I wrote it on a piece of paper and went outside in the back yard and burnt it and buried the ashes and everything - that I’d reserve that word for the woman I got to marry. Fuck, Taz, I was only ten or something, you know? But I guess it sort of stuck, because I… Now that you mention it… I didn’t even do it consciously, but I just… never… said it before.’

‘Not to anyone?’

‘No…’ he says with tinge of dismay, still not looking at me.

‘Oh Quent…’ I whisper, and smile at him, and I lift up his face until I can meet his eyes. They shine a suspiciously bright aquamarine, and he blinks at me a couple of times. And suddenly he hides his face against me and holds me really, really tight, and I can feel him shake slightly, from deep within.

Again, I feel so incredibly close to him, it’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced before in my whole life. I shudder with him, and can’t really tell where he ends and I start. It’s such a huge feeling that my eyes spill over.

An eternity later, he raises his head and looks at me, sheepishly, still blinking. ‘You don’t mind?’ he whispers.

I shake my head. ‘How could I? You’re such a romantic, how could I mind… I’m just melting into a puddle all the time, sweetness, Quent… hey…’ I kiss his face.

‘Yeah, but I’m scared shitless that I’ll do something to mess it up… again… Told you before I’m a fuck-up waiting to happen? And you… just… get right to the, the… you just see right through me, you know, my cool doesn’t work with you, Tazzie-luv…’

‘Shhh,’ I say, and I kiss him again. ‘Listen, Quent, the last thing I want is you tiptoeing around me, worrying you’ll get it wrong somehow… because you know, there is no wrong or right. I don’t know either. I just know now that I don’t like it at all to be separated from you. Hurts like hell, that. I do think we should take our time, but I don’t want to be half a world apart ever again if I can help it… I don’t want to… I, I felt absolutely awful when I was alone at Nana, and I felt even worse when I came back here on my own, knowing you were still in Sydney. I really think though we should… you know… just… date. Go out, spend time together, and be friends as well as lovers… get to know each other properly…’

‘I want you to know me, luvvie… sweetheart…’ he says it on purpose now, ‘I wanna spend my life getting to know you…’ And we exchange all these lovely, soft, nipping kisses, mixed with an occasional little lick that has us giggling softly. Finally, I settle against his shoulder and drowse, from all the emotions of the day, and the lovemaking, and the pizza…

Next thing I know, Quent is carrying me into my bedroom and putting me into bed. I’m still half asleep, but it amazes me every time how strong he actually is. He walks around with me as if it’s nothing. He tucks me in and kisses my forehead, and whispers: ‘Here, Tazzie-luv, go get some sleep now… I’ll be over there, got the telly on, and if and when those blokes outside fuck off home I’ll sneak back to my hotel… I’ll come in here to kiss you goodbye, yeah?’

‘Quent…’ I sigh, and sleepily pull on his hand. I want to be close to him.

He softly strokes my hair and I feel myself slipping back into dreamland…

…to emerge again what only seems five seconds later as I feel Quentin’s hair tickle my face and his lips grazing my cheek. I roll over, stretch out my arms and wrap them around his neck, and he sort of topples against me with a soft ‘oomph’.

Lying on top of the covers, his face next to mine, he strokes my cheek until I open my eyes and look at him. I smile, I can’t help it.

He smiles as well, he has the sweetest smile… ‘Tazzie… sweetheart…’ he rumbles at me, ‘I gotta get going… street’s finally empty… it’s like 3 a.m. and I fell asleep on your couch… but now the coast is clear, so I thought I’d…’

‘...no, stay...’ I mutter, my sleepy mind can’t bear the thought of him leaving. I pull him closer and tug on the bed covers weakly, wanting to cover him with them as well.

‘Oh... shit, Tazzie...’ Quent sighs in my ear, ‘...you sure you want me to... Tomorrow they’ll be back, outside... and it’ll get even worse if they know I’ve spent the night here with you... I’d have to get you out of here...’

‘...don’t care, just... stay... mm...’ I snuggle up into his shoulder and try to go back to sleep, and I just feel his resolve evaporate into thin air. He toes off his shoes, wriggles out of his jeans and shirt and crawls under the covers with me, and we cuddle up.

‘Ohhhhh... finally...’ he softly mutters, and then we’re both dead to the world.

Chapter Twenty