“Fine,” he huffs, not at all sure why the thought of somebody else touching Chris’ breasts (for many other people have touched Chris’ breasts, she tends to shove them at people and yell ‘touch my breasts!’ with an alarming amount of glee) is suddenly so faintly wrong to him, “but I refuse to take all my clothes off.”
“Do you even have a chest?”
“Yes, everyone is born with a chest, Chris” …Or most people, anyway. God, this is the wrong time to be feeling horribly guilty about such things! “We should also probably move.”
“Should we?”
He glares again, he rather hopes that it carries off more than the impression of a faintly annoyed gerbil, “I am apparently a spy, I’m not superman.”
“…True, but wouldn’t you have a really big-?”
“Chris.”
…And finally they move! With a bit of grumbling and Chris almost stabbing him in the foot with one of her absurdly pointy heels (God knows why she usually chooses to wear heels, it’s probably so she can tower over society in actuality as well as just spiritually) and him almost elbowing the wall. They end up in a reversed position, Chris slipping one leg smirkingly over his hip as he sighs down at her in sheer resignation.
“Well?”
He obediently, for she has apparently trained him and that is an entirely worrying thought, reaches for the third button on her shirt-
“No” …And is slapped away. Which is most unfair, when you think about it. Incredibly and hurtfully and rather bafflingly unfair, “if I don’t get to undress you there’s no way that you’re getting to undress me, Timmy boy!”
…Timmy boy, “then how-?”
He supposes that his eyes convey his sheer disappointment at not getting to see her admittedly rather nice breasts again. She pats his cheek, fondly, beams up at him in much the same manner as an insane woman obsessed with apples and the divide between life and death, “maybe next time, Tim. How what?”
“…How are we supposed to shag if I can’t remove a single piece of your clothing?”
She blinks at that very good question for a moment, actually taps a finger to her lips and gives it the true treatment of a philosopher(/person who has little better to do) “…Well, knickers should be alright.”
“Great.”
“And you’ve hitched things up before, right?” She beams at him for a second, frowns at him for another, tilts her head for yet another that has him wanting to find a different wall and bang his head against it (but, then, he was having such desires last time – it’s obviously just Chris) “…Probably.”
“I have,” he grumbles, with as much dignity as he can muster.
“Get on with it, then!”
…Alright.
He slides his fingers up under her skirt, a little awkwardly for he has never really done this with so many clothes before, and removes her underwear after a few awkward false goes. Slides them down her legs and waits awkwardly with them a second until-
“Here,” she grabs them from him affectionately, and waves vaguely at his belt as she shoves them into a pocket, “go on, keep getting on with it!”
He does… Still obediently, oh God, “I haven’t got-“
She holds up the condom pocket triumphantly, just as he gets his boxers down low enough to actually pull his cock out.
“…You’re wonderful at times.”
“All times,” she corrects, leaning back against the wall and passing him the packet with as much politeness as Chris can muster in any situation (very little at all, he’s used to it by now), “admit it, you have to start calling me a goddess now.”
“I do not,” he says firmly, as he slides the condom on.
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timeasmymeasure
UNPROMPTED: Next Monday Morning, Female!Chris/Tim, NC-17 [3/4] [Spy]
Date: 2011-10-24 01:47 am (UTC)“Do you even have a chest?”
“Yes, everyone is born with a chest, Chris” …Or most people, anyway. God, this is the wrong time to be feeling horribly guilty about such things! “We should also probably move.”
“Should we?”
He glares again, he rather hopes that it carries off more than the impression of a faintly annoyed gerbil, “I am apparently a spy, I’m not superman.”
“…True, but wouldn’t you have a really big-?”
“Chris.”
…And finally they move! With a bit of grumbling and Chris almost stabbing him in the foot with one of her absurdly pointy heels (God knows why she usually chooses to wear heels, it’s probably so she can tower over society in actuality as well as just spiritually) and him almost elbowing the wall. They end up in a reversed position, Chris slipping one leg smirkingly over his hip as he sighs down at her in sheer resignation.
“Well?”
He obediently, for she has apparently trained him and that is an entirely worrying thought, reaches for the third button on her shirt-
“No” …And is slapped away. Which is most unfair, when you think about it. Incredibly and hurtfully and rather bafflingly unfair, “if I don’t get to undress you there’s no way that you’re getting to undress me, Timmy boy!”
…Timmy boy, “then how-?”
He supposes that his eyes convey his sheer disappointment at not getting to see her admittedly rather nice breasts again. She pats his cheek, fondly, beams up at him in much the same manner as an insane woman obsessed with apples and the divide between life and death, “maybe next time, Tim. How what?”
“…How are we supposed to shag if I can’t remove a single piece of your clothing?”
She blinks at that very good question for a moment, actually taps a finger to her lips and gives it the true treatment of a philosopher(/person who has little better to do) “…Well, knickers should be alright.”
“Great.”
“And you’ve hitched things up before, right?” She beams at him for a second, frowns at him for another, tilts her head for yet another that has him wanting to find a different wall and bang his head against it (but, then, he was having such desires last time – it’s obviously just Chris) “…Probably.”
“I have,” he grumbles, with as much dignity as he can muster.
“Get on with it, then!”
…Alright.
He slides his fingers up under her skirt, a little awkwardly for he has never really done this with so many clothes before, and removes her underwear after a few awkward false goes. Slides them down her legs and waits awkwardly with them a second until-
“Here,” she grabs them from him affectionately, and waves vaguely at his belt as she shoves them into a pocket, “go on, keep getting on with it!”
He does… Still obediently, oh God, “I haven’t got-“
She holds up the condom pocket triumphantly, just as he gets his boxers down low enough to actually pull his cock out.
“…You’re wonderful at times.”
“All times,” she corrects, leaning back against the wall and passing him the packet with as much politeness as Chris can muster in any situation (very little at all, he’s used to it by now), “admit it, you have to start calling me a goddess now.”
“I do not,” he says firmly, as he slides the condom on.
“Do too.”
“Stop saying that.”