No. 13. I'm on a roll it seems.
May. 4th, 2003 06:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessI can't take them ANYWHERE. Gah, if I took them on a tour of the Sistine Chapel they'd be making out behind the alter!
Cancelling Darren's lease was surprisingly easy. Personally I think Darren had a 'private word' with his land lord. Would explain the pile of rotting fungus where his desk used to be... see? Bureaucracy does work!
So with all the extra time we had (and Darren stalling about going home - heh, I won't forget! Waking me up that early is a sin) I decided to drag Darren shopping - that basic black look may look cool, but please, loosen up occasionally! It's not like paparazzi are going to ambush us or anything, is it? Darren was real keen on this - why does that sound ominous? We hammered out a deal - he'll let me take him shopping, if he gets to take me shopping. Hey, what's wrong with my clothes?
And now we're here. Some shop - if it is a shop, in the middle of nowhere.
"Darren, there're no clothes. I think we've come to the wrong place." Well there were some, but no racks, just the odd suit, not even on a dummy.
"That's because it's a tailors, barbarian. They don't sell clothes, they prepare ensembles exclusively for each person. I can't believe your entire wardrobe is off the rack!"
Well fuck. You'd think I was wearing hessian sacks the way he's going. Fine, I'll play along.
"Hey, this looks nice!" A bit boring, but it's a navy blue suit, what more do you want? Of course, I got it wrong again. Everyone - that's Darren and the two flunkies who run the shop, all look at me like I'm Hitler reborn or something. Ok, I'll say it's fucking hideous then, better? "What the fuck's wrong with it?! You're all acting like a leper died in it. If it's so fucking ugly, why is it on display?"
Oh, it gets better. Now the flunkies are looking the other way, like I'm embarrassing myself or some shit. And Darren? He rolls his eyes once more, once, and he'll be screaming for mercy - and not in a good way. Probably anyway. Oh look, the mogul's going to enlighten me.
"It is not ugly. But it would be on you." I definately have something to say to that! But he actually pushes my jaw shut - I nearly bite my tongue. "Let me finish. You may learn something, unlikely though it may seem." Oh, he's gonna pay for this. Especially for that wicked grin. "That's far too dark for your tanned skin, it'd make you look less tanned, and more dirty." He ran a fucking finger behind my ear and checked it! Keep it up Darren, I'll pay you back for every last fucking word when we get home!
"The cut would hide your muscles and make you look fat. It would also darken you hair, making it look light brown rather than spun gold." Shit, this is gonna take hours does anyone talk about cut and colour and other crap anymore?
"Darren, all this foofy talk about trims and shit gives us lot a bad name, y'know? Stop pandering to stereotypes!" Damn, I hope he isn't seriously camp, don't mind them as friends, but drag queens seriously aren't my type; there's only so much mincing I can deal with.
"Stereotypes? Magick users don't... oh, being gay." The eye roll again. Just you wait Darren. "Fine. Tomorrow we can act all butch; hang around in unwashed underwear, drink bad beer and watch sport while belching obnoxiously at the overly huge TV. Hey, we can lean out the window, spit and make lewd suggestions and wolf whistles to passing women.
"Today, we act gay and choose clothes that actually look good and not like someone has covered several feet of polyester in glue and thrown it at us."
What could I do? I just collapsed laughing. By the time I could even breathe properly again, he'd dragged me further into the shop, and produced a tape measure from somewhere. Hey, aren't the flunkies supposed to be the one's measuring?
By the heat in his eyes, I think he changed the plot. Shit, he looks hot with his eyes burning like that. That predatory smile, like he's considering what I'll taste like, and how far I'll run. Laughter dies; you cannot laugh in the face of that... He starts taking measurements, hands smoothing everywhere. Even through my shirt I can feel their heat. All the time that burning gaze as he measures my chest - arms wrapping so close, his breath breezes past my ear. He measures each arm, stretching it out and subtly feeling each muscle, I instinctively flex as his hands pass over. He grins, so hot I expect the cloth in the room to catch fire. Shit... He measures my collar, fingers dancing around my neck; my pulse thunders against his hand. There's a lump on my throat, it takes everything I have not to push him to the floor and fuck in the middle of the shop. The look in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what I'm feeling.
He measures my waist. So close I feel him pushed full length against me. His hands are on the measure. His fingers dance around it, lightly brushing below the waist. I'm breathing like I just run a marathon. If he keeps this up we're so gonna have to find somewhere more private. Shit, at this rate, somewhere public will do!
Then he kneels down. There are lots of measurements he has to take down there. Long, soft measurements, which take a long time... He manages to catch me and make it look subtle when my knees buckle. Fuck, Darren, this is too cruel. And hot.
Then he walks away! Argh, I'm bursting here! And starts talking colours! I'm in a daze as they start pulling out all this gold and brown cloth. The babble about fitting and measurements goes over my head as I struggle to make sense of what's happening. Fuck, it's been a long time since anyone could affect me like that!
"Pay the man, Rick, I'll meet you outside." He starts to walk off - and he does have a mega-sexy walk. Wait, me pay?! "How come I'm lodged with the bill?"
"I don't have any money on me. 'Tis a sign of class not to carry money." Oh, I guess... hey!
"Are you saying your classier than me?!" He says nothing, just bows. I love that bow, it looks so graceful, so natural. If I did that I'd look like some amateur dramatics freak, but he just made it pure class. Ah, fuck, he just won there didn't he? Still... there's always the counter attack. I bring out my strongest hillbilly hick accent.
"Well, shucks, Bobby-Ray, ah got me ah right classy boy!" I can keep this up for hours, if I need to.
He breaks about 5 feet from the entrance (alright I bring out the big guns "Look, pa, road kill! We's a-eating dinner tonight. Someone call Lurlene an' her shovel!")
He starts apologising. He can make it up to me perfectly... I grab him and duck into the alley next to the shop - don't tease unless you're ready to follow through Darren.
He was ready. Oh, fuck, was he ready.
Cancelling Darren's lease was surprisingly easy. Personally I think Darren had a 'private word' with his land lord. Would explain the pile of rotting fungus where his desk used to be... see? Bureaucracy does work!
So with all the extra time we had (and Darren stalling about going home - heh, I won't forget! Waking me up that early is a sin) I decided to drag Darren shopping - that basic black look may look cool, but please, loosen up occasionally! It's not like paparazzi are going to ambush us or anything, is it? Darren was real keen on this - why does that sound ominous? We hammered out a deal - he'll let me take him shopping, if he gets to take me shopping. Hey, what's wrong with my clothes?
And now we're here. Some shop - if it is a shop, in the middle of nowhere.
"Darren, there're no clothes. I think we've come to the wrong place." Well there were some, but no racks, just the odd suit, not even on a dummy.
"That's because it's a tailors, barbarian. They don't sell clothes, they prepare ensembles exclusively for each person. I can't believe your entire wardrobe is off the rack!"
Well fuck. You'd think I was wearing hessian sacks the way he's going. Fine, I'll play along.
"Hey, this looks nice!" A bit boring, but it's a navy blue suit, what more do you want? Of course, I got it wrong again. Everyone - that's Darren and the two flunkies who run the shop, all look at me like I'm Hitler reborn or something. Ok, I'll say it's fucking hideous then, better? "What the fuck's wrong with it?! You're all acting like a leper died in it. If it's so fucking ugly, why is it on display?"
Oh, it gets better. Now the flunkies are looking the other way, like I'm embarrassing myself or some shit. And Darren? He rolls his eyes once more, once, and he'll be screaming for mercy - and not in a good way. Probably anyway. Oh look, the mogul's going to enlighten me.
"It is not ugly. But it would be on you." I definately have something to say to that! But he actually pushes my jaw shut - I nearly bite my tongue. "Let me finish. You may learn something, unlikely though it may seem." Oh, he's gonna pay for this. Especially for that wicked grin. "That's far too dark for your tanned skin, it'd make you look less tanned, and more dirty." He ran a fucking finger behind my ear and checked it! Keep it up Darren, I'll pay you back for every last fucking word when we get home!
"The cut would hide your muscles and make you look fat. It would also darken you hair, making it look light brown rather than spun gold." Shit, this is gonna take hours does anyone talk about cut and colour and other crap anymore?
"Darren, all this foofy talk about trims and shit gives us lot a bad name, y'know? Stop pandering to stereotypes!" Damn, I hope he isn't seriously camp, don't mind them as friends, but drag queens seriously aren't my type; there's only so much mincing I can deal with.
"Stereotypes? Magick users don't... oh, being gay." The eye roll again. Just you wait Darren. "Fine. Tomorrow we can act all butch; hang around in unwashed underwear, drink bad beer and watch sport while belching obnoxiously at the overly huge TV. Hey, we can lean out the window, spit and make lewd suggestions and wolf whistles to passing women.
"Today, we act gay and choose clothes that actually look good and not like someone has covered several feet of polyester in glue and thrown it at us."
What could I do? I just collapsed laughing. By the time I could even breathe properly again, he'd dragged me further into the shop, and produced a tape measure from somewhere. Hey, aren't the flunkies supposed to be the one's measuring?
By the heat in his eyes, I think he changed the plot. Shit, he looks hot with his eyes burning like that. That predatory smile, like he's considering what I'll taste like, and how far I'll run. Laughter dies; you cannot laugh in the face of that... He starts taking measurements, hands smoothing everywhere. Even through my shirt I can feel their heat. All the time that burning gaze as he measures my chest - arms wrapping so close, his breath breezes past my ear. He measures each arm, stretching it out and subtly feeling each muscle, I instinctively flex as his hands pass over. He grins, so hot I expect the cloth in the room to catch fire. Shit... He measures my collar, fingers dancing around my neck; my pulse thunders against his hand. There's a lump on my throat, it takes everything I have not to push him to the floor and fuck in the middle of the shop. The look in his eyes tells me he knows exactly what I'm feeling.
He measures my waist. So close I feel him pushed full length against me. His hands are on the measure. His fingers dance around it, lightly brushing below the waist. I'm breathing like I just run a marathon. If he keeps this up we're so gonna have to find somewhere more private. Shit, at this rate, somewhere public will do!
Then he kneels down. There are lots of measurements he has to take down there. Long, soft measurements, which take a long time... He manages to catch me and make it look subtle when my knees buckle. Fuck, Darren, this is too cruel. And hot.
Then he walks away! Argh, I'm bursting here! And starts talking colours! I'm in a daze as they start pulling out all this gold and brown cloth. The babble about fitting and measurements goes over my head as I struggle to make sense of what's happening. Fuck, it's been a long time since anyone could affect me like that!
"Pay the man, Rick, I'll meet you outside." He starts to walk off - and he does have a mega-sexy walk. Wait, me pay?! "How come I'm lodged with the bill?"
"I don't have any money on me. 'Tis a sign of class not to carry money." Oh, I guess... hey!
"Are you saying your classier than me?!" He says nothing, just bows. I love that bow, it looks so graceful, so natural. If I did that I'd look like some amateur dramatics freak, but he just made it pure class. Ah, fuck, he just won there didn't he? Still... there's always the counter attack. I bring out my strongest hillbilly hick accent.
"Well, shucks, Bobby-Ray, ah got me ah right classy boy!" I can keep this up for hours, if I need to.
He breaks about 5 feet from the entrance (alright I bring out the big guns "Look, pa, road kill! We's a-eating dinner tonight. Someone call Lurlene an' her shovel!")
He starts apologising. He can make it up to me perfectly... I grab him and duck into the alley next to the shop - don't tease unless you're ready to follow through Darren.
He was ready. Oh, fuck, was he ready.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-25 08:00 pm (UTC)and yet, it is still as wicked as one might suspect--wicked in the hot, screaming fun sort of way.
i would say poor rick--but he seems quite able to take care of himself. *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-07-25 09:01 pm (UTC)Darren's sense of humour's a little cruel, but hye if it vents the dark nastiness, it's safe right?
Rick: safe? Molesting me is anything but safe *wicked grin*