…And sitting in only her bra and her very short skirt, right on his lap.
She has, he notes absently, rather nice breasts-
A rather nice bra! A rather nice bra and he’s already snapping his gaze up, already flailing again because he now has absolutely nowhere to place his hands that isn’t soft and warm and remarkably bare, “Chris!”
…Is already smirking in her smuggest way, much is his luck, “I saw you looking.”
“I was not looking.”
“You were looking.”
“I was admiring the workmanship” …Oh God, no wonder his wife left him, his son hates him and everybody he happens to meet immediately considers him a bumbling fool. He half wants to lean forwards and bury his head firmly in-
No!
“My parents did make me well, I must admit,” Chris purrs as he continues to reel in horror, still wearing her very smuggest tone (and little else, which is not helping), “would you like to see how well?”
“…That is the least sexy chat-up line ever.”
“It’s worked before.”
“And furthermore,” he continues, very firmly ignoring that for Chris’ dating life is the kind of story that can only lead to horrified nightmares and loud protestations of ‘but why did she date the guy who could juggle beavers?’, “What would your parents think?”
“They’d probably be pleased that you didn’t make me dress up as various animals.”
“What would Judith think?”
“At least it’d prove that you weren’t skulking around her house sniffing desperately at her left behind underwear.”
“…What would Marcus think?”
“Who cares about what Marcus thinks?” And Chris, taking slight advantage of his still rather addled state of mind, leans forwards – lowers her eyelashes and attempts to look as seductive as she possibly can, “just kiss me, big boy.”
…And he supposes that it says a lot for his levels of panic that he instinctively obeys that instruction.
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timeasmymeasure
UNPROMPTED: One Saturday Afternoon, Female!Chris/Tim, NC-17 [3/6] [Spy]
Date: 2011-10-22 10:20 pm (UTC)She has, he notes absently, rather nice breasts-
A rather nice bra! A rather nice bra and he’s already snapping his gaze up, already flailing again because he now has absolutely nowhere to place his hands that isn’t soft and warm and remarkably bare, “Chris!”
…Is already smirking in her smuggest way, much is his luck, “I saw you looking.”
“I was not looking.”
“You were looking.”
“I was admiring the workmanship” …Oh God, no wonder his wife left him, his son hates him and everybody he happens to meet immediately considers him a bumbling fool. He half wants to lean forwards and bury his head firmly in-
No!
“My parents did make me well, I must admit,” Chris purrs as he continues to reel in horror, still wearing her very smuggest tone (and little else, which is not helping), “would you like to see how well?”
“…That is the least sexy chat-up line ever.”
“It’s worked before.”
“And furthermore,” he continues, very firmly ignoring that for Chris’ dating life is the kind of story that can only lead to horrified nightmares and loud protestations of ‘but why did she date the guy who could juggle beavers?’, “What would your parents think?”
“They’d probably be pleased that you didn’t make me dress up as various animals.”
“What would Judith think?”
“At least it’d prove that you weren’t skulking around her house sniffing desperately at her left behind underwear.”
“…What would Marcus think?”
“Who cares about what Marcus thinks?” And Chris, taking slight advantage of his still rather addled state of mind, leans forwards – lowers her eyelashes and attempts to look as seductive as she possibly can, “just kiss me, big boy.”
…And he supposes that it says a lot for his levels of panic that he instinctively obeys that instruction.