A distraction is a fascination to an inappropriate attraction.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

[Sunday, June 13th (Day 378)]
[Noon, The Sacred Whore]

Ah, boredom.  My old friend.

It's slow, even for a Sunday, and by the time I've finished with all the little tasks that must be done - sweeping, dusting, reordering the clothing racks, and tidying the displays - only a few hours have passed.  And there's nothing left to do.  It's times like these that having the two assistants is more a burden than a boon, and I actually toss Winnie a look when she moves past.  

I throw some money at them and send them away.  Buy something, go take a nap, I don't care, just go.

I'm minded to flip the sign to closed after that, as everyone else has the good sense not to be open on a Sunday, but I don't.  Anything could happen, anyone could show, anyone at all...  I keep the bedroom door open, to listen for the bell, as I move back to change.  It's humid today and I'm not dressed for it, I've suddenly realized.  And my other shirt was a little dirty, from the cleaning.  Yes.

In a moment, though, I'm back to sitting on the counter, glancing around the shop and near-to-tears with nothing to do.  It's ridiculous I know, but with three of us here all the time, and two so hard-pressed to be busy little worker bees, there doesn't seem enough activity to go around.  That's it, that's the rub - they are just bothersome, underfoot and annoying.    If a customer came in they'd both be sure to just run over, before I even had the chance to give a go.  Start a conversation.  Maybe have some lunch.  Socialize. 

Hmph.

And you think they could have left me a bit of alteration to do in the meantime, something, to break up all this waiting.  All this god-awful wanting (nagging) to go do something foolish.  Like I even need any more supplies.  

Though I wonder if the General Store is even open on Sundays.

[Open to Jane]
[Continued http://estdeus-innobis.livejournal.com/446918.html]
[And there is sexy time...]

Comments

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

I haven't been to see Lucien again, nor have I sought out Jamie. I've simply tried to continue my life as usual, working and sleeping and in the spaces between trying to think a little. I have some time. I have, well, months and months really. No one will notice, not with my shalwar kameez and baking coats and aprons. No one will notice anything.

I thought about that yesterday, as I sold my pies and made conversation, and this morning, as I walked into town to work the counter at the Bakery. No one noticed me before, not even Jamie. It took another strange thing happening in town to leave us married, even if it only was for a few days. I remember my wedding sari, I remember the way he looked at me as I rode toward him. I wonder if he remembers too, because it never happened. My cousins never danced around us, and my mother never decorated my hands and feet with mehndi.

If I go to Jamie again, it won't be in a sari.

I've never been in this shop before, because it's call the Sacred Whore, for goodness sake, but the things in the window looked very fine, and there is no one around to tell my mother. A small bell rings over the door when I go in, and at first there seems to be no one around. But no, there he is, lounging against the counter. He's far too thin. I wish I'd brought a pie to start the bargaining with. "Hello?" I smooth my tunic (http://fashion4chill.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/Latest-Casual-Salwar-Kameez-e1304073986593.jpg) down a little. "I wonder if you could help me pick out a dress."

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

By the time the bell over the door chimes, I've all but given up on customers, and I glance over half-distracted, the bit of cloth I'd been toying with still in hand. "Hello?" No, it's no one I recognize at all. There's a momentary flash of disappointment, I think. I push it aside. "I wonder if you could help me pick out a dress."

"That and more." It's all rote just now, the flirting. My smile is forced, there's no warmth in it, though I doubt she notices. No one ever does. I toss aside the cloth and move over to greet the woman. She's pretty enough, I imagine. "Dorian," I say, offering my hand. "What sort of miracles are we working today, my dear?"

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He greets me with a flirtatious little smile and shakes my hand. I tell him my name and look around, trying not to feel awkward. He's wearing cologne, and I probably still smell like the bakery. "Um," I start, which is just a wonderful beginning. "Something...nice." Even better. "Nothing with pink and green together, and, um, a short skirt but not too short." I'd like to look as if I actually have legs, for once. "Nothing like this." I catch the hem of my kameez to keep from fidgeting.

I blink at him, feeling like I've made an enormous idiot of myself. "And, um, can I pay you with pie?" It's not a good way to start out, especially considering I haven't even tried anything on yet, but he really looks like he should eat something, and pies are easier for me to come by than cash.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"Nice..." I repeat, watching her, and I feel my put-on smile relax into something closer to a smirk. Heaven help me if I ever actually bore of pretty, stammering little girls. "Nothing with pink and green together, and, um, a short skirt but not too short. Nothing like this."

"Of course not." It's nicely colored sack of a top, but it's still a sack. I glance around the shop, already trying to recall what I have on the racks, when I realize she's talking again. "And, um, can I pay you with pie?"

I do not laugh. If I laugh, turned back to face her with an eyebrow raised, then I know she'll leave. And oh, that would just spoil the fun of whatever this is, wouldn't it? So no, I don't let myself laugh. "Well, I don't know, Jane," I say, once I think I can manage. "Is your pie any good?" Oh God, I suddenly wish Iago were here.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He just looks at me for a minute after I mention payment, his mouth twitching a little. It's the way I said it, I'm sure, nothing like the way a cosmopolitan sort of person like him would go about discussing things.

I feel very small with him smirking down at me in his fine suit and asking if my pie is any good, which is really very rude of him. "Of course my pie is good," I snap back. "Ask anyone in town." I find my arms are folded across my chest. "It's how I make my living. Are your clothes any good?"

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"Of course my pie is good. Ask anyone in town." Oh God. She's upset with me. Arms crossed, eye lighting... How on earth am I to be expected not to laugh when she's actually upset with me? "It's how I make my living. Are your clothes any good?"

"My clothes are the best thing that will ever touch your skin." No, that isn't habit at all. Then again, no surprise, I rather like it when they get their feathers all ruffled. "Ask anyone in town." I chuckle, I can't help myself, but it comes out strangely good-natured and, when I'm done, my smile is a little warmer. "And yes, pie will do just fine." I can't believe I just said that.

"Now..." I don't step toward her, not exactly, but more to the side and around, so that I can get a good look before I come to rest just beside her, hand on her elbow. "Are we going to get you out of these clothes or not?"

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He seems to think a lot of himself and his clothes. Well, he'd better justify his confidence rather quickly and stop laughing at me. I don't think he'll be able to produce anything as light and soft as Jamie's mouth sliding over my skin, anything that tickles as deliciously as his beard.

I slide my arm away from Dorian's hand, resisting the urge to inch away from him. "Mister--" I don't actually know his surname. Maybe he doesn't have one. He seems like that sort of person. "Dorian. I'll take my clothes off when you give me something better to put on instead." And I'll do it in the fitting room with the curtain closed, thank you very much.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"Mister-- Dorian. I'll take my clothes off when you give me something better to put on instead."

This is just all a little too rich, I have to say. But I was looking for a diversion, a distraction even, wasn't I? "Then let's get down to work, shall we?" I smile again - it's the sort of thing that always feels that much better when the other person is scowling - and move over toward the rack of summer dresses. Tis the season. "Beyond 'short but not too short' and 'no pink mixed with green', what other helpful hints can you give me?"

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He steps away from me, still smirking. I really don't think he has any other expressions. After a moment i follow him over to the dresses, keeping the rack between us. I don't even know how to wear some of these. Draping a sari has to be easier.

Dorian peers at me over the clothes, asking about my preferences in the most condescending way imaginable. "My mother says I look good in green," I mutter. "I don't like green. I like red and yellow and dark blue." Even telling him about my favorite colors feels like opening a door he's bound to insinuate himself through. "And I want to make an impression on-on someone."

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"My mother says I look good in green." I listen, of course, but once she's actually being useful there's no real reason (at the moment) to look her way. I rummage through the dresses instead, not looking for anything in particular but looking all the same. "I don't like green. I like red and yellow and dark blue."

"Nothing green, then," I say before glancing up. "It makes this whole ordeal pointless, doesn't it? If you don't walk away with an impractical little something that'll probably annoy your mother?"

"And I want to make an impression on-on someone." Hmm. But I expected as much. The Sacred Whore isn't a place most people come to regularly. There's most often a reason behind it.

"In that case, no red. It's too obvious." I move to the other side of the clothing rack and give her another glance over on the way past. Yes, I may have something in mind, the rough sketch of an idea at least. "You don't want to seem desperate, do you?" Of course not. "A darker blue would suit you, but not in June."

I wonder, idly, who has caught her eye. I'll find out eventually, I'm sure, so it's not the most nagging curiosity. Yet. "So yellow it is. Now exactly how short is not too short? As you can imagine, we may have different ideas on that." Not that I wouldn't love to see her face as she walked out of the dressing room in a thin babydoll number.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

I don't think my mother is ever going to see me wear this dress, but I don't correct him. He's more or less grasped the idea. And I'm almost glad he turns down red. I got married in red.

I'm not desperate, not the way he thinks. Not desperate for Jamie. I am desperate to get some kind of a hold on my life again, though. I'm tired of things happening to me. Weddings and babies are all very well if you decide on them, but I didn't. I can certainly decide about dresses, though, and Dorian is going to help me, one way or another. "Above the knee," I tell him when he asks about length. "But not too much. I want--I want something that says I'm not just the pie girl, all right?"

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"Above the knee," she says, which is just about right for what I would have guessed. It's a good length, at least. Something I can work with. "But not too much. I want--I want something that says I'm not just the pie girl, all right?" That's a sentiment I can at least understand, no matter that I've never been there myself.

"All right," I say after a long moment looking at her, gauging her really, before I toss what few things I've managed to find over my shoulder and start towards the back of the shop. Not just the pie girl, indeed. Well, that at least I can do. "Go on, then. Into the dressing room and take off your clothes." Though I could wish that she followed direction a little better. "I'm going to hand you things to try on."

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

It seems that he approves of what I've said, because he starts gathering up clothes like he's picking fruit. He does own everything, but really, it's very careless. Once he has an armful, he just stares at me, and I can see ideas clicking together in his brain. It's a very uncomfortable thing to watch, so I stare right back, clicking together things about him as well.

He's very, well, very. Everything about him. He's very tall and very thin and his cheekbones and chin are very sharp. His eyes are very pale and very bored and lazy. His suit fits him very well. All of him is very beautiful, though I wish he would stop being so rude. He practically orders me into the dressing room, but I go, because it's where I want to go anyway.

When I'm down to my camisole and kachera, I hold my hand out through the curtain. "I'm ready. Don't you dare come in here, though, or you can't have any pie."

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

I fetch my tailoring supplies from the back room and when I return it's just in time to see Jane hold her hand out through the curtain. "I'm ready. Don't you dare come in here, though, or you can't have any pie." I laugh at that. We're beyond any sort of self-control that would keep me from it. Besides, she's already undressed, and much less likely to storm out. "Best behavior, I promise." As though that's saying anything.

The first dress (http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v40/risen_one/excolo/?action=view&current=yellowsundressrufflespintuckslacehem1.jpg) I hand over is the shortest of the lot, a sheer sort of yellow cotton with a low neckline and a lace border around the bottom. It is, of course, the sort of thing she'd be terrified to walk out of the shop in. Which is the point.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

I can hear him laughing through the curtain, and I think it would be a nice laugh if it weren't at me. I'm not sure how much his promise of good behavior is worth, either.

He passes me a dress, an insubstantial lacy thing. I hold it out at arm's length and stare at it. It's the kind of thing wispy little girls like Tiffany go around in on market day. I, on the other hand, have had too much in the way of chest since I was thirteen, coupled with hips my mother is sure will carry dozens of her grandchildren.

I thrust the dress back out at him. "No." He cannot actually make me put the thing on, after all. "You'll have to do better than that, Dorian."

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

Almost as soon as I pass her the dress she's holding it back out. So much for an adventurous spirit. "No. You'll have to do better than that, Dorian." I raise an eyebrow, no matter that she can't see it, and give a quick glance under the curtain. Hmph.

"All right, one moment," I say, leaving her still holding out the dress. Her clothes are on the floor at her feet and it's nothing to reach under to grab them, already standing again by the time she can realize what I've done. "You can stay in there all afternoon, if you like. Or you can try on the dress." It won't suit her, I know that already. But that's not why I want her to try it on.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He agrees, and I relax a little. The next dress can't possibly be worse. What happens next is, though. A long, pale arm shoots under the curtain and grabs up my clothes. I snatch at them, but he's quicker than I am.

I grit my teeth, unwilling to let him hear my frustration. Once I've composed myself, I gather the curtain around myself and poke my head out. "Dorian." I make sure my best smile for the worst customers in firmly in place. "Are you trying to humiliate me?" I think I could teach him a thing or two about selling things.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"Dorian. Are you trying to humiliate me?" The look on her face is just priceless. My own smile is as close to innocent as I can possibly manage, standing just out of her reach with her clothes in my arms.

"Oh, Jane. If I were trying to humiliate you, it'd be a bit more obvious." And by God it would. "I'm trying to do my job, which sometimes involves dramatic intervention." I set her clothes on the counter and come back, arms crossed. "If transformation were easy, everyone would do it. Now if you want to stay 'just the pie girl', I'll give you your clothes back and you can be on your way. If not, stop being so damn stubborn and just try on the dress."

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He drops my clothes on the counter, talking at me all the while in that infuriating drawl. I can feel myself getting angrier by the second. "Whether or not you're trying to, you have," I spit at him.

Giving up on propriety all together, I sweep the curtain aside and march over to him, crossing my arms and glaring up at him. "I'm already not just the pie girl, and if you can't see that, then you're blind and stupid as well as being an enormous ass." I don't make a habit of swearing, but really, he's being dreadful.

"That dress won't fit me, and both of us know it." I stop for breath, suddenly aware of how little I'm wearing. Well, I've gone this far. No sense in stopping now. "Stop being so damn stubborn and take my measurements if you have to. That's your job."

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

I look down at her, standing there as she is in (what say may stoop to call) her underwear. "No. The dress will fit you just fine. Will it suit you? Probably not, but that wasn't the point of all of this." Uh, I really hate having to explain myself. But it's not as though she looks due for any miraculous insight just now.

"You see, the dress I want to send you home with is something you never would have chosen for yourself. It would have made you uncomfortable, no matter what you said about wanting to try something new, and you would have left without it." I slip past her to the dressing room and pick up the discarded dress from the floor. "This dress, while trust me it's your size, is too short. The neckline is too low. You would have put it on and been appalled, vowing never to set foot from the dressing room in it... Which, as I said, was the point."

She's still just standing there when I return, slip of a dress over my arm. "So that, by comparison, the dress you should be wearing wouldn't seem that terrifying at all." It's quite like saving a drowning person, this fashion business; they all need to flail and fight before they let you help. "And I don't need to measure you, I know your measurements just fine." My smirk creeps back to my face, for all the seriousness of before, as the conversation turns. Not that I can see too much, with what she's wearing, but... "I may be an ass, but I'm not stupid." I give her a once over. "And I'm sure as hell not blind."

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He gives me a long and patronizing speech about how it was really a good and sensible thing he was doing, even going so far as to pick the dress up and bring it back to me. I stay right where I am and fume, trying to ignore the warm air on my bare arms and legs.

His eyes as he finishes tell me he's not ignoring anything. I can feel my face getting hot as he looks me over, but I'm still far more angry than I am embarrassed. "So this has all been a-a manipulation, just to get me to pick the dress you want?"

I can't believe anyone in their right mind would do something so convoluted and rude to someone to whom they were trying to sell something. "That'd be like me giving out free samples of a pie I'd overspiced and then begging people to try the plain ones in hopes that they'd buy those."

He is stupid. "Just give me the dress you think will suit me and...and whatever I need to wear under it." I can just see his opinion of my underwear forming behind his eyes, and I don't want to hear it.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

I roll my eyes. "Everything's manipulation, Jane, you're only upset because you haven't figured that out yet." Honestly. But she wants the dress, fine by me. This'll get old soon, I imagine, so it's best to move it on towards it's natural conclusion.

Though I still don't understand why people can't see it's the journey that's all the fun.

The dress (http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v40/risen_one/excolo/mishka-designs-dress.jpg) I had in mind is hanging near the counter where I left it and I take the time to swing by the lingerie section before returning, dress is one hand and bra and panty set in the other. The bottoms she's wearing now are almost as long as the dress and it's not as though the top is doing any great favors. Hopefully she'll get the point.

"Here you are," I say, polite as can be, before handing it all over. "Don't beat yourself up too much, when you realize I was right." At that I just move away, putting the first dress back on the rack and tidying a bit while I wait for her to change.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He hands over a dress the color of daffodils and the nicest underwear I've ever seen. "Thank you," I tell him very primly and retreat to the dressing room. It takes me a little time to work out how it all stays up, but once I have it on and have taken a good look in the mirror, I'm quite pleased. It is a nice dress, comfortable but trim, flirtatious without seeming garish. I imagine it will take me some time to get used to showing this much of my shoulders and back, but I'm sure I'll manage.

Steeling myself, I pull the curtain aside and step out, turning slowly in front of him. "What do you think?" I can't manage to sound indifferent, but I can at least hide my pleasure at the success of the outfit.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

I turn from the folding I've busied myself with and smile. "I think that I'm a genius, obviously." I move over to where she's standing and do a quick walk around, just to make sure everything fits properly. And it does, of course. "You want to make an impression, this is how you do it."

We're not done yet, though, not nearly. I motion for her to wait as I collect a pair of sandals, a knitted shoulder shrug, and a hair tie. When I return, I pull her over to the mirrors. There's no point in all of this if she can't see herself.

"You see, every good outfit has at least one secret weapon," I say, sweeping her hair from her shoulders and tying it to one side. "This is yours. The legs, everyone will notice, you have nice legs. But what you need to remember is just here-" I touch the curve of her neck just slightly, smiling at her in the mirror. "This is grace and beauty and sex rolled into one, without ever having to show much of anything at all."

I slip the shrug around her shoulders at that and laugh. "Everyone always forgets that. It's the small and subtle things that get the attention."

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He sizes me up again, talking all the while, of course. I roll my eyes and try to stand up straight while he brings me more things. I like the shoes, though they're not practical in the least, and I have a nicer hair tie at home, but I'm not going to tell him any of this. I slip on the heels and let him pull my hair back. He's very quick and clever with his hands, which I already knew. I'm glad he's being nice with them now, though.

"Thank you." That's all there is to say, really. I'll remember what he said about the secret weapon. That's important, and I didn't know it before. Turning around as he finishes adjusting the knitted thing, I lean against the mirror. I'm not small and subtle, just short and sensible, but I think, I think I've got his attention.

I square my shoulders and tilt my head, watching him watching me watching him in the mirror. "Dorian. Are you very good in bed?" Is he happy and poised like this, I wonder, or smug and infuriating like he was earlier, or all of them together? I could ask Glass, but I'd like to find out for myself. It would take my mind off Jamie, certainly, and it's not as though I'm in danger of getting pregnant.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

A slow grin eases onto my face, I can feel it. "There's only one real way to find out." Things have taken an unexpected turn, I'll admit. And oh, but those are my favorite sort of afternoons. "Are we done shopping now?" There's the urge to move forward, I think she'd like me to, but I stay where I am for the moment. It's part of the fun, seeing exactly how this will go without pushing one way or the other.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He doesn't smirk, for once. This is mostly a real smile, if very lazy and smug still. "I'm done shopping," I tell him very firmly. "And I've already taken my clothes off any number of times for you." He couldn't see me, but I don't really care. "I think you should take off yours. In the dressing room."

I fold my arms and look at him expectantly. I think this is a game I can play.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

Oh God, she's serious.

I laugh, I can't help it. "In the dressing room? Well that hardly sounds like fun," I say, starting to unbutton my shirt. "Are you sure I can't just take them off right here?" Of course, we are technically still open for business. The door's unlocked and either Winnie or Damien could be back at any time.

I slip out of my shirt and toss it her way.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He doesn't go quietly, of course. I catch the shirt he tosses me as I eye the lean lines of his chest. "You should eat more. You're far too thin." But I can't help smiling as I say it. I won't mind baking him pies at all.

I point towards the dressing room. "You can prance around your shop all you want, but that's where I want you to make me forget my ex-husband." And oh, Dorian, I really, really do.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"You should eat more. You're far too thin."

"What can I say? I'm a man half-starved," I say. "In obvious need of Excolo's finest pies." Oh God, if Iago were here...

"You can prance around your shop all you want, but that's where I want you to make me forget my ex-husband."

"Prance? I don't prance." I'm still smirking a bit though, of course, backing towards the dressing room. "Strut, yes. If you're very lucky."

My shoes, my socks, they're easy enough to take off and kick into the corner once I'm behind the curtain. There's something amusing about all of this, especially now that she can't see me.

I toss my pants out of the dressing room.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He's teasing me again, but I like the way his mouth curves around the words as he backs into the dressing room. And of course he'd pull the curtain shut once he's inside.

I give him a minute, not wanting to seem desperate, but then his trousers come flying out. I pick them up. They're still warm and they smell like cologne and hot iron and just the faintest trace of sweat. Not at all like honey. I drape them over a rack before I poke my head inside the curtain.

I should have known he'd be wearing something silky that drapes just perfectly over his thighs. It's obvious he's not the least bit shy, either. "You can have all the pie you want," I promise him. "Are you going to kiss me?"

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

After what seems like just a little too long - at least I'm without my clothes indoors this time - Jane peeks her head into the dressing room. It'll be nothing but pie jokes for days, I just know it.

"It was part of my plan, yes," I tease, stepping forward to slip an arm around her waist and pull her inside with me. The curtain closes behind her and the light's low again. "There's more to it, of course. But it's as good a starting place as any."

I kiss her then, at first no more than my lips brushing hers, feather-light kisses as I smile, until it feels I've waited just past long enough and I pull back to look at her.

There's an ex-husband to be forgotten, that suddenly comes to mind. I don't know him, I don't think I'd care if I did, but the sentiment is familiar enough. And when I kiss her again it's with our bodies pressed together, my tongue teasing her mouth open, and my hand resting just at the curve of her neck.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He talks a bit as he pulls me inside, of course, but then he does kiss me, just light little tickling kisses. I wrap my arms around his neck and stand on tiptoe in the wonderful new dress he found me. I'm about to tell him to really kiss me when he does, holding me against him. Our tongues have a small skirmish.

"You promised, mmm, to be on your best behavior." Now that we've started the kissing I can't seem to stop, but I manage a word here and there. "And then you made me very angry." I'm not angry now, as I'm sure he can tell, but oh, I was. "What are you going to do about that?"

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"This is my best behavior," I tell her in between kisses. "Trust me." She was angry before, which is partially why all of this was so unexpected; thinking of it just has me kissing her again, mouth moving slowly down the side of her neck as I ease off her shrug. "I liked you angry."

I chuckle in her ear, straightening again to slip my hands under her dress, fingers moving up her thighs until I hook my thumbs into either side of her underwear. "A little fire suits you."

The underwear come down to the floor with me, but I pause once I'm there kneeling, looking up at her. "You see, the dress looks even more amazing from this angle." The dress, the shoes, I'm very pleased with myself just now. I wonder if she'll keep them on for me, as I push the skirt to her hips and start kissing up her thighs.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

"If that was your best behavior, you must be a very bad man." He's being very pleasant now, though, and it's hard not to forgive him when we're kissing and flirting. And apparently he plans to take my clothes off by way of apology. "All I wanted was a nice dress."

On his knees in front of me and he's still complimenting his own tailoring. Doesn't he ever stop being smug? But he is on his knees, so I lace my fingers in his hair and whisper his name over and over again as he kisses me.

I think he must be very experienced, from the sureness of his movements and the easy grace in all the lines of his body. It is so wonderful to watch him and not think of anyone else at all.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

Very bad man? That's amusing in it's own right, isn't it? I keep that to myself, though, occupied as I am nipping at her inner thighs and so close to her, the scent of her, the taste of her, that there's a dull ache to keeping away. Half the fun, always, is the wanting.

Finally, finally, I press my mouth against her, licking in long slow strokes until her fingers in my hair start to tighten. I laugh, I think, and look up. "I don't think it's a nice dress you're after anymore," I say, licking my finger with my eyes boring into hers, before slipping it inside her and taking her with my mouth again.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

I have new dress and a new lover, and it is a new world, where I do things like throw my head back and stroke my fingertips over the perfect ears of the man with his head between my legs. Part of me worries about what he might see or taste or smell, but most of me knows he's done this before to women and men, if the rumors are true. He wouldn't be doing it to me if he didn't want to.

And oh, he is very good at this, every movement slow and wet as he licks into me. When he laughs I can feel it all up through me, like bubbles in a spring. He looks up at me, his gray eyes not bored anymore. "No-o, not a dress," I agree breathlessly as he wets a long finger.

I know what he's going to do with it, of course, but it's still the loveliest shock to feel the manicured crook of it deep inside me. Not fumbling or forcing, just rubbing with the most perfect rhythm. "Just-just an orgasm."

Well, that's what it's called, isn't it?

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

"It's a start," I say after a moment, before standing to kiss her, my hand still between her legs. I'm smiling, again, and it's such an odd thing for me. Even odder still that I don't question it, the contentment that goes so well with the amusement I'm used to.

I continue to work my fingers inside of her at a steady pace, the slow rhythm building as I trail kisses from her mouth along her neck and collarbone. My other hand's at her waist, up eventually to cup her breast against the smooth fabric of the new dress.

She's close, and the small gasps in my ear have me hard against her by the time she tightens around me, a few last strokes as she shudders and finally melts.

I take a step back, really all that the small space will allow, and bring my hand to my mouth again, watching her as I lick my fingers clean.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

His voice is strangely gentle as he gets to his feet, managing to keep his rhythm steady inside me all the while. Everything fades, even the soft movement of his mouth on me, as I make myself relax, feeling the climax build. I'm still learning how to do this. Jamie helped a great deal, but what Dorian lacks in familiarity with my body he makes up for in what is either learned skill or natural talent. He takes me down slowly, just the way I want to go, and I hang on that wonderful edge before my center twists and I'm whimpering into his shirt.

It's the best thing in the entire world just then, and I ride it out as I clutch at him. When it's finished and everything is buzzing and delicious, I can't open my eyes or stop smiling for at least a minute. When I can finally look at him, it's to see him taking those long, perfect fingers into his mouth again, licking them languidly. Tasting me.

I hear myself make a short little sound like a strangled laugh, and then I'm hugging him, fiercely and tight. "Thank you," I whisper into the warm, smooth skin of his chest. And then, more uncertainly, "What next?" He's aroused; I can feel it as I press against him. I'm just not sure what he'd like me to do about it. In the meantime, I take his hand and replace it over my breast.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

We're just looking at one another, both wondering where this will go next is my guess, when she hugs me. The smell of sex is in the air and she's clinging to me so tight I imagine I can feel her heartbeat pressed against my skin. And yet... And then...

And then she thanks me. I blink at her, grasping for some sarcastic comment to brush it all away, but nothing comes immediately to mind.

"What next?" I look down at her, letting her place my hand on her breast, and shake my head. For a moment it's all I can think to do, because I don't think I've ever been in the situation. Or, to the point, I don't think I've ever noticed, ever given a damn. Hmm.

"Whatever you want," is what I finally decide on, other hand on the curve of her waist. It's a little hint of madness; it's quite obvious what next, isn't it? And still, she looks so lost now, so unsure, that I... Well, I just don't know.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He doesn't say anything for a long moment, so finally I look up at him. There's a strange expression in his eyes, like he's lost his way suddenly. Oh dear. If he doesn't know what to do I'm not sure I can manage.

He's asked me what I want, though, and so I have to think a minute about what that is. "I want to make you pies," I finally say, though that isn't what he meant at all.

To make up for it, though, I reach inside his shorts and begin to stroke him steadily. "You're so thin!" I can see all the muscles over his stomach. "Don't you ever eat?" I think I've found the right pressure and way to pull. "What's your favorite kind of pie?"

I curl into him and keep my hand working. He feels smooth and wonderfully strong, and when I decide I want to watch I slip his shorts down with my free hand. This is just very nice, if a little strange.

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

There's just that uncomfortable silence then. Damn it all. "I want to make you pies," she says after a while and that at least makes me laugh, though what tumbles out starts as more undignified snort than anything else. I'm still laughing a little, in fact, when she steps forward and puts her hand in my pants.

Oh.

"You're so thin! Don't you ever eat?" There's a joke to be made there but I just smile, a slow and heated thing now that we seem to be back on track. I like her better like this, I realize: sure of herself and in charge. I should tell her, once we're done. "I'm not used to people cooking for me." I could get used to it, to these visits.

"What's your favorite kind of pie?"

What a question? I almost laugh again, but manage to hold it back, worried she might think she's doing something wrong. (What a thing to be concerned over!) "Potato and onion is nice."

My boxers are at my ankles so I step out of them, not moving beyond that as she seems intent on watching. I wonder, suddenly, how many other people she's been with.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

When he's laughing and talking a little it's easier to be with him and not just be rubbing him. I wonder what he cooks for himself, what he does when he's alone. Oh, I'm going to make him pies and pies, and maybe he'll pick out more dresses for me.

I'll bring him meat and potato pies, though, with suet in the crusts. All of his body is so hard, I think, sinking to my knees. It's lovely to look at, but also somehow uncomfortable. I put my mouth around him slowly, licking round and round. I want to get better at this. "Am I doing this right?" I ask, looking up at his face in the dim light. I'm not worried, but this seems important to get right. I want to please him as much as he did me. "Will you show me how you like it?"

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

Jane goes to her knees and I'd just tell her to get up again, if she didn't look so damn earnest about the whole thing. Earnest, yes, that's the word that comes to mind as she takes me in her mouth, warm and wet despite all the hesitation, with those big eyes looking up even before she pulls back to ask, "Am I doing this right?".

God help me.

"Will you show me how you like it?"

As amusing as it would be - or should be, if my mind would just cooperate - to lean back, eyes closed, and laugh at some fumbling girl on her knees, well, it just doesn't seem the day for it. No, not at all.

"No, not really," I finally say, because she damn well asked, though I'm still smiling. The idea of trying to explain the whole thing to her is amusing, in it's own right, but there's something in the air today and I imagine I'll get a few sentences in - Have you ever had a lollipop? - before laughing again. "You just need practice is all."

I pull her to her feet for another kiss. "How about a drink?" I ask her, arms still wrapped around her waist to pull her close. The dressing room's fine, really, but it loses some of its appeal when it's not a heat of the moment sort of thing.

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

I don't think I'm doing very well, but he's mostly kind about it. He doesn't exactly laugh, but he looks like he's holding it in. Well, that's polite at least. And I suppose I do simply need more practice. It can't be that hard.

He lifts me to my feet easily, very strong even though he's so thin. Holding him and being held is very pleasant, just a little awkward because I'm still mostly dressed, and he isn't at all. When he asks if I'd like a drink, I nod into his chest and then step back, finding his shorts and holding them out to him. My own underwear isn't far away, so I put it back on too.

"Thank you for the dress," I tell him quietly, following him out. "And...everything else."

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

I slip my shorts back on, mostly for her benefit, and gather my other clothes as I move. The shop is still as quiet, as vacant, as we left it and it's a wonder. Perhaps Winnie and Damien actually took my advice to find something to do with their afternoons? Stranger things have happened.

"Thank you for the dress. And...everything else."

Hmm. Well this is getting a little sentimental, isn't it? I show her to my room, tossing my clothes on the bed before turning on an extra lamp and fetching the liquor. I barely have enough rum left for one drink, which is a pity, so I take down the brandy instead. "Oh, don't think I've forgotten you still owe me for the dress, Jane," I tell her, pouring two glasses. "I expect to be having that pie for dinner tomorrow night."

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He retrieves his clothes as we head to the back of the shop, but doesn't put them on. I'm getting used to seeing him without them, and since we're not interrupted I quite enjoy the view, nearly as much as I enjoy my new dress swishing around my legs.

The apartment in the back of the shop is small, but very nicely furnished. I think Dorian must be rich, even though he's just a shopkeeper.

While he pours the drinks I get as close to his bookshelf as I dare and try to read all the titles. There are so many, and most of them look old and expensive. I pull my eyes away when he hands me the glass, thanking him again. It's an alarming amount of liquor, but I take a sip.

"Of course I'll bring you a pie tomorrow," I assure him primly. "But I do think that altogether this is worth more than one pie." I gesture vaguely at the complete ensemble he arranged so perfectly for me, well aware that this is not the proper way to bargain. "You will let me know when you're feeling hungry in the future, won't you?"

[dorian-excolo.livejournal.com]

I leave her there by the bookshelf - she's looking out of place again, which I don't like for some reason - and recline myself on the bed, drink in hand. "Of course I'll bring you a pie tomorrow," she says, which is amusing in its own right. She's taking this all so seriously. "But I do think that altogether this is worth more than one pie." I raise an eyebrow, at that, just as she gestures at her dress. Oh yes. Of course.

"You will let me know when you're feeling hungry in the future, won't you?"

"Feeding my appetite would be a full time job, I'm afraid." I'm only half joking. "But I'd never turn down the offer." It's a different sort of fun, this mild back and forth. Even if I feel I'm the only one getting the joke at times, poor girl.

I set my brandy on the nightstand and pull out my cigarette case. "Jane, will you sit down already?" I finally say, after lighting my cigarette and looking up to see her still just standing there. "You act as though it's the first time someone's gotten you off in a dressing room..."

[janeveniver.livejournal.com]

He arranges himself on the bed with boneless grace. Yes, very pleasant to watch. The brandy burns down my throat, but it's also very pleasant. I will keep him in pies, so long as everything continues to be pleasant.

He is not very polite when he asks me to sit down, and after that some of that smug rudeness from before shows through his manners. "Of course it's--" I start, indignantly, and then stop. If I take offense I think he will get even worse, and then I won't learn anything at all. "You made me feel wonderful," I tell him mildly, which is perfectly true, and then I start to undress.

The shoes first, and then the dress over my head carefully, so it doesn't wrinkle or tangle around my neck. I can't bear to be completely nude in front of him just yet, so I join him on the bed in nothing but the lovely new underthings he gave me. "I'd like to return the favor, too."

I curl my legs under me and reach out to touch his cheek. "I will need some advice about the best way to do that, though."