I guess... stuff to me. Or - or stuff to you, too.
Both, maybe.
[He seems to remember that he's meant to be eating - perhaps that they're going to be here until he's done eating - and reaches for another chicken tender with an unsteady hand]
[She leans in, arching an eyebrow as if to side-eye him, for as haughty as she can pull off while so obviously amused and even more obviously flushed and interested)]
So, foreplay's optional with you? Something I could do, if I felt like it, for a treat?
[He flushes darker, at the comment about the bump in the ruffles - darker still, when she mentions being stuck to the seat - makes his way to his feet, as well, decidedly less steady]
You think, uh. You think I oughtta wipe it down...?
[He groans, softly, at the path her hand takes; underneath the petticoats, he has indeed been heating up, and the spots between the leather straps are decidedly damp as well. He presses into her touch, quite unable to help the way his hips rock forward - aware, too, of the way she's pressed up against his back, the warm line of her through the flimsy dress]
[Perhaps he can feel the speeding of her heart as she allows more of her weight against him--lets her hand drift around the petticoats to drift over that damp leather]
[He sucks in a soft breath, at that - lets it out in a quiet curse, hips shimmying to try and get more pressure from her wandering hand]
[It takes him a beat, to scrape together a reply:]
Y-yeah. I probly better...
[But he makes no move to fall to his knees yet - can't, maybe, too lost in the feel of what little of her touch he can feel through the crisscrossing leather straps]
[She doesn't give him any more pressure, but doesn't pull away. Perhaps it's the mindless rock of his hips or the nudge of him under her fingers, even through the cage, but her breathing is heavy when she nips at the shell of his ear]
I mean. Staying like this, you're prolly gonna make an even bigger mess. That what you're into, here in front of everybody...?
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[Takes another bite]
How would you wanna take care of it, if nobody was here?
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H-how - ?
Like...?
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[She shifts, uncrossing and recrossing her legs]
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[His voice is very soft; his cheeks are very, very dark]
Like, I'd jerk myself off. And you... you could do stuff, too.
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...What kinda stuff? Stuff to you? Or...?
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Both, maybe.
[He seems to remember that he's meant to be eating - perhaps that they're going to be here until he's done eating - and reaches for another chicken tender with an unsteady hand]
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Both how?
...And you can talk and eat together. Don't mind seeing you with your mouth full.
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Both, like... you know.
[He shifts again in the chair,]
Touching me and touching you, too.
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What, like, on the hand? On the toenail? Paint me a word-picture. You into belly buttons?
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Y-you know, like - like. Between my legs. And between yours.
[His cheeks have somehow found a way to become an even deeper red; he squirms a little, in the chair]
But I guess - you could touch other stuff, first. Like - build up to it, kinda.
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[She leans in, arching an eyebrow as if to side-eye him, for as haughty as she can pull off while so obviously amused and even more obviously flushed and interested)]
So, foreplay's optional with you? Something I could do, if I felt like it, for a treat?
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I - I mean. Building up to it's - real nice.
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I mean. You're good enough at it. But if you ain't really your jam, that's up to you...
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[Another shift - a twitch, at the prod]
It's kinda my jam.
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[Prods him again, a little higher]
...You ready to get outta here?
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Yeah. I, uh - real ready.
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[Maybe, maybe not; either way she licks her lips and pushes to her feet]
C'mon, if you ain't stuck to the seat by now.
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You think, uh. You think I oughtta wipe it down...?
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[Flushes herself, biting at her lip]
...Could bend over and take a look.
[Comes up closer behind him to do the same,]
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[There is indeed a damp spot, a smear of clear fluid,]
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You really were heating up, weren't you...
[Her voice is a little impressed, honestly, and she can't keep from resting her hand high on his hip--drifting up under the petticoats, to see]
What're we gonna do about a mess like that...?
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Guess - guess I better clean it up.
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Mmm... Guess you better get on your knees.
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[It takes him a beat, to scrape together a reply:]
Y-yeah. I probly better...
[But he makes no move to fall to his knees yet - can't, maybe, too lost in the feel of what little of her touch he can feel through the crisscrossing leather straps]
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I mean. Staying like this, you're prolly gonna make an even bigger mess. That what you're into, here in front of everybody...?
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