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[originallutece]

Rosalind Lutece

Doctor of physics, professor at Recollé University.

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[roseblooms]

I don't know if I've ever seen you in yellow.

I expect it's a flattering color on you, but without a concrete basis for it, I don't want to offend you with my empty flattery, either.

[originallutece]

I look best in greens and reds, in my opinion, but I've a yellow dress I've yet to use much this summer. Whether I look good in it is up for debate; it's certainly not on for me to praise myself.

[roseblooms]

What does it look like?

I don't mean a picture. I mean describe it for me, as best you can.

[originallutece]

It's a bit old-fashioned. Sleeves that go down to my elbows, the hemline reaches my knees, and a V-neckline. It's one piece, but built to look as though it's folded over itself. There's a matching length of cloth that acts as a false belt.

[roseblooms]

What color yellow? Pale, saturated, closer to orange or to green?

[originallutece]

Golden. I tend to wear it with my hair down, when the mood to be carefree strikes me.

[roseblooms]

I'd like to see you in pale yellow — almost champagne. Something with ruffles, that moves when you do.

[originallutece]

Is that right.

Any particular reason why?

[roseblooms]

...

Because I want to have something to look forward to, when all this is over. An image in my head to think of, when next I'm down there contending with whoever knows what.

[originallutece]

Then I'll buy that dress, so long as you get a suit.

And when this is all over, we can go dancing, you and I. Any kind you like.

[roseblooms]

What color suit? Black and yellow?

[originallutece]

Black. You can match your tie and cufflinks to my dress.

Shall I teach you how to dance formally? You'll have to teach me the opposite.

[roseblooms]

You should.

And I will.

[originallutece]

Promise me.

[roseblooms]

I promise.

When all this is over. I promise.

[originallutece]

Tell me, then.

Tell me how you'll show me to dance. And I'll tell you the same.

[roseblooms]

Describing club dancing isn't a particularly romantic prospect, you realize.

[originallutece]

Yes, Christopher, I'm more than aware of what club dancing entails. But given this is to be a fantasy of anticipation . . .

Unless you're prefer to stick to waltzing.

[roseblooms]

I'm just saying I think it runs the risk of spoiling the mood if I start lovingly describing our bodies intertwining while in the background Nate Dogg croons about how he gets more ass than a toilet seat.

1/?

[originallutece]

[originallutece]

[originallutece]

i'm still not done

[originallutece]

Now we're only going to waltz.

I was all set to lust after you and you spoiled it, Christopher. You could have kept the mood perfectly intact while granting my request.

one more tag after this

[originallutece]

You could have spoken about how lovely it will be to finally get your hands on me after all this time, and how much you've longed for the press of my fingers and the taste of my lips in the past few months. You could have talked about how much you've dreamed of my body pressed against yours again, and how much more of an excuse you'll have to touch me while dancing in a club as opposed to waltzing. You could have compared the two; you could have pointed out how while both dances will be both intimate and in public, one will be decidedly more intense than the other.

You could have talked about how fantastic it will be, getting to run your hands over me in public, how you'll finally have full permission to touch me as you like when you're behind me and you've got your arms around me. About how you'll take me by the throat, one arm around my hips, just to be sure I don't leave you now that you've finally got me. About how you'll push your fingers in my mouth and leave me whining for more, for you, because I've been so very desperate for you all summer.

You could have told me how you'll show off-- not just show me off, but finally have an excuse to show off to me. I know you're good at dancing, and given how bloody flexible you are, I can only imagine how that will translate to the dance floor. You could have told me about how I'll only be able to say your name by the end of the night, and how I'll beg you to take me to a dark corner now that keeping things a secret doesn't matter anymore.

You could have spoken about how much you'd like to see me in not only that yellow dress, but something sweeter, something tighter, something high-cut and with a low collar, all the better for you to bite me as you like.

You could have requested something else beneath, too, for you to find later on.

and now i'm done

[originallutece]

We could have had a frankly fantastic set of images to satiate us for the next few weeks.

But no.

No.

You chose a frankly horrid set of lyrics instead.