originallutece | (no subject)

[She is, actually, into it, and she is also into not discussing such things at dinner, no matter how red her ears have turned.]

What color is his mark?

[ Oh, maybe he's hit a mark. Or perhaps she's easily embarrassed. ]

Pale pink. [ Clearly not ideal. He takes a steady sip of his tea, trying to keep his frustration with the matter under wraps. ]

Good lord. I'm surprised you could afford the fish. That's a bit more than middling.

I've never believed in keeping all my funds in one spot. And we're ah, working on it. As much as I'm loathe to curtail his behavior in any way.

[ Those headstrong qualities are one of the reasons he liked him to begin with. ] It's a bit of a process. Though thankfully, we've had quite the experience in dodging authorities in the past, so this is just testing some slightly rusty skills.

For a thief, you're really quite upfront about it. Aren't you supposed to be secretive? Or is that just in the films?

I know you aren't stupid enough to think that telling me is harmless.

Depends on the film, on the person.

If we're to be caught, we're to be caught. What is it you gain from saying anything? You're already in the Up, it's not as though you'd need the status boost. And if you do decide to say something, I suppose I'll know where it came from.

As if I care about status. No, I was more thinking along the lines of blackmail. I suspect I'll have need of a thief soon-- but I'd just as soon employ you honestly rather than force you into helping me.

Well then, you only need to ask; my skills are at your disposal. My partner's skills, however, you'd have to take up with him, though I could certainly pass an idea along.

Is that really your only price? That I ask?

I suppose monetary details can be negotiated. If this nonsense with the stripes lasts overlong, money may be more of a pressing issue.

It also depends on what you're asking me to take.

Chemicals. Chemicals and drugs, more specifically. I'm going to run out soon; I need them in more quantities than people are comfortable selling them to me.

I'll need a list; I'm familiar with most chemicals and their non-public facing names. Get me the type and quantities, I'll do the research on where.

Depending on the risk, the cost will be more than just being asked nicely.

Give me an idea as to what it might be. So I'm prepared.

I'll do a bit of legwork and get you an estimate. Though being owed some kind of favor is something to put on the table.

I'd rather a favor than money.

[She shrugs.]

But. I suppose we'll see when we get there.

[For now: her meal, already halfway gone. She half-wishes she'd brought over wine, but that can happen when they go to bed. If they go to bed.

It's a decent meal. She really is quite impressed; she's going to have to ask him to come over more often. She ends up grabbing the wine anyway, pouring them both glasses, growing a little less tense as it courses through her system. When they finally finish, she smiles faintly, considering him over the rim of her glass.]

Are you going to give me a cheesy line about dessert?

[ Dinner goes well, idle chatter and catching up filling in the rest of the space. Rosalind has a unique point of view, a sharp tongue, and naturally he's drawn into that particular trait.

Maybe he needs to get out more.

Eventually, she breaks out the wine, which dulls any awkwardness or tension. He can practically feel her relax from where he's sitting. ]

I could, if you really wanted me to. I'd rather just cut to the chase and offer to eat you out.

[Oh. Well, and though her ears go red again, she isn't displeased, not at all.]

So . . . offer.

[ It's pretty endearing how she gets embarrassed from the straight forward talk. Not what he would've expected. ]

Let's change venues and I'll happily lick your pussy. Fair? You can even sit on my face, if you'd like.

How generous.

[She stands, scoffing softly, and leads the way to her bedroom. She walks slowly enough, her hips swaying, perfectly confident he'll follow in her wake. It's a neat room, red with gold highlights, books stacked to one side and a notebook with illustrations opened on the desk. Rosalind turns, sits on the edge-- and then, pointedly, beckons.]

On the bed.

[ And she has every reason to be confident that he'll follow, as that's exactly what he does, a polite step behind. If he appreciates the sway of her hips, he doesn't make mention of it.

(Though he certainly does).

Once they get into her room, he glances around, a quick intake of his surroundings. A habit he could never shake; he barely notices he does it anymore. His focus snaps to her immediately though, a grin overtaking his features, something on the edge of rakish. ]

As the madame wishes. [ On his way, he's going to toe his shoes off, leaving them at the edge of the bed. Cheekily, he sits close to the side, gesturing expansively– he's on the bed, after all. ]

[She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she shifts back, resting her back against the headboard. Her fingers go to her shirt, tugging at the buttons there, letting it fall open, revealing her lace bra. Her skirt is next, shimmied out of easily, dropping to the floor.]

Do you need me to tell you how to do everything?

Well my dear, you did simply say to get on the bed.

[ Of course he has to take that literally to annoy her.

In the same breath, he's gladly stripping. Belt and trousers first, letting them drop over the side of the bed. Next he's unbuttoning his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. He takes a moment to sweep his gaze over her, noting the lace on her bra with a satisfied hum.

One finger traces over the strap before he settles the expanse of his palm on her shoulder. Then he's ducking his head, kissing under her jaw and down the gentle line of her neck. ]

[Her eyes slide slowly over his body, her gaze going darker as she takes him in. She wants badly to touch him; instead, she bites lightly at one finger, the motion ostensibly demure but in truth leering.

She inhales slowly, her head tipping back, eyes closing lazily. It's not the start she's used to here, rough and fast and frantic, but it's all the more intense for it. She's already eager, a shiver running down her spine, her nipples peaked against the thin fabric of her bra.

Her fingers card through his hair, and she leans back a little, intent on lying back on the bed.]

[ Well, he certainly isn't going to deter her from looking all she wants.

Nor does he shake off her own start—the fingers in his hair are welcome, wanted. A different touch than what he's used to.

(More delicate fingers, longer nails).

When she leans back, he chases the movement, planting kisses to her collarbone and between her breasts. His free hand sweeps down her side and then back up, skimming along the underside of her bra. ]

[She likes this. She really does. It's sensual, leaving her arching up, pushing into into his skimming touches, and god knows it's been a while since she's felt any sensuality. But there's a reason for that, and it's this: she's impatient at the best of times, and she instantly wants more than she has.

Her fingers tighten in his hair, pulling him pointedly to one side. Move, she wants his mouth on her properly, even if there's a layer of fabric between them.]