[ it never used to bother him, and it's always been true. it only started to rankle after — everything. after letting ash go and realizing that was his role. ]
It would be preferable to my staff if we pretended we were dating, actually. Not just fucking.
[ this seems both promising and not, somehow at once. he leans into her touch, letting go of her wrist only so he can trace his hand down her arm, feather light. ]
I'm not the queen. I don't have a hundred incredibly irresistible dogs that'll flock to my dead body in the event of a demon killing me.
Fine. Fine, until I can figure out who's got it out for your administration. That's only, what, fifty percent of the country or something?
[ Sighing, she lifts a hand to straighten the collar of his shirt. How does this always happen? She makes a sensible decision like "don't work for royals" and yet. ]
So are we going to be fucking while we pretend to be dating, or ... ?
[ hey, at least he's not actually an inbred royal. he's just rich and happens to be holding office, the true american way. ]
And that depends on you.
[ his fingers snag on her torn dress again, gripping the fabric and giving a sharp tug, threads snapping as the tear widens, her sleeve slipping down her bare shoulder. he leans in, his lips ghosting along her collarbone. ]
Though if you want my input, it would definitely sell the act better.
[ In spite of her earlier protests about not letting him pimp himself out just to secure her services, it is sounding like a pretty decent perk. She tips her chin to the side to give him better access to her decolletage and throat, her breath coming a little deeper. ]
I know you're getting me a new dress, but you don't have to tear all my clothes off first.
[ She puts her gin down on the floor and brings her hands to the buttons of his shirt, undoing the top two. ]
'Course, trying to smuggle me off the ship naked might distract people from whatever they might find in the supply closet, huh?
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no subject
It would be preferable to my staff if we pretended we were dating, actually. Not just fucking.
[ this seems both promising and not, somehow at once. he leans into her touch, letting go of her wrist only so he can trace his hand down her arm, feather light. ]
I'm not the queen. I don't have a hundred incredibly irresistible dogs that'll flock to my dead body in the event of a demon killing me.
no subject
Fine. Fine, until I can figure out who's got it out for your administration. That's only, what, fifty percent of the country or something?
[ Sighing, she lifts a hand to straighten the collar of his shirt. How does this always happen? She makes a sensible decision like "don't work for royals" and yet. ]
So are we going to be fucking while we pretend to be dating, or ... ?
im sry about my slowness work has ended me
[ hey, at least he's not actually an inbred royal. he's just rich and happens to be holding office, the true american way. ]
And that depends on you.
[ his fingers snag on her torn dress again, gripping the fabric and giving a sharp tug, threads snapping as the tear widens, her sleeve slipping down her bare shoulder. he leans in, his lips ghosting along her collarbone. ]
Though if you want my input, it would definitely sell the act better.
omg no worries! very happy to backtag
[ In spite of her earlier protests about not letting him pimp himself out just to secure her services, it is sounding like a pretty decent perk. She tips her chin to the side to give him better access to her decolletage and throat, her breath coming a little deeper. ]
I know you're getting me a new dress, but you don't have to tear all my clothes off first.
[ She puts her gin down on the floor and brings her hands to the buttons of his shirt, undoing the top two. ]
'Course, trying to smuggle me off the ship naked might distract people from whatever they might find in the supply closet, huh?