Post by Shhasow on Apr 25, 2013 4:05:11 GMT 10
Title: The Lengths To Which George Will Go (#2)
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 671
Pairing: G/R
Round/Fight: 1C
Summary: George goes under cover again... Warnings for cross-dressing and sexuality.
For once, Roger arrived on time to the ballroom. Usually, he was fashionably late, but on this occasion he hoped to catch the eye of a certain Lady. She had caught him off guard last time, but her sultry hazel eyes and bouncing blonde hair - and magnificent breasts, most of all - had caught his attention. Teasing woman that she was, she had left before he could even get her name. Such a thing would not happen again.
Having positioned himself in a corner for the best vantage point, his cool blue eyes searched every woman who entered the doors. He noted with disgust that his cousin entered with the Eldorne girl on his arm, though he was highly amused and intrigued when Squire Alan watched the pair with more than a hint of jealousy. Well, wasn't that interesting.
A breathy sigh at his arm made Roger turn to see the woman he had been waiting for the past hour. Yet again, she had managed to surprise him, but he was determined to get the upper hand this time.
"There you are, my dear." He bent over her hand and kissed it, letting his lips linger for a pause longer than was customary. "You left me the other night quite alone before I could secure your hand."
A thin eyebrow raised, the woman replied, "Don't you think it is a bit early for such a declaration, Your Grace?"
He almost winced at his foolish misstep, but recovered quickly. "For a woman of such beauty and charm? Never. And you, dear, I insist that you call me Roger. Such formality between us shall never do."
She laughed a throaty chuckle. "Perhaps I enjoy such formalities, your Grace. I find that they lend a certain, excitement, to intimate tete-a-tetes, do they not?"
She brushed by him, letting her clothed bosom graze his arm, and Roger felt his blood boil most pleasantly. Yes, under certain circumstances, formality could be quite delicious indeed.
George glided through the ballroom, his blue dress – the shade of Roger's eyes, and that was no coincidence - swishing around his heels. It had taken practice to learn how to walk at all, let alone with the grace necessary. He had practiced in the privacy of his own room, the door locked and the keyhole carefully plugged so that no one could see the Rogue trip about.
"Is he following me?" He leaned up against one of his fellow rogues, a nondescript man long used to his role and who could pass quite serviceably as a countrified noble.
The rogue smiled a welcome. He glanced over George's shoulder at the Duke. "No, but he is watching you very closely."
"Give me your arm, then. Dance with me."
The man's eyes danced with amusement. "Of course," he drawled. "You know how much I have been pining for such an opportunity as this."
"Do shut up," George growled. He let the rogue lead in the waltz, but purposefully made himself appear disinterested. His eyes gazed around the room and locked with Roger's for a bare second. "5, 4, 3, 2..."
"A thousand pardons," came Roger's voice, blatantly insincere, "but I fear that I shall have to steal this dance from you."
"Of course, Your Grace," the rogue said as he handed George off to the Duke.
"I do love a man who knows what he wants, and who doesn't give up," George said in a breathy voice.
"Unlike that dandified ponce?"
"Who? Oh, I had forgotten him already." George made a note to tell the other rogue not to dress so brightly. He leaned closer to Roger, whispering in his ear, “The way you take charge, Your Grace, makes me weak at the knees."
"I'm sure I can think of other ways to make you go weak." Roger wrapped an arm around George's side, one long-fingered hand resting on his bum.
"Oh, your grace," George sighed as Roger's hand squeezed. "I feel, overcome. Perhaps we should retire to someplace more comfortable?"
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 671
Pairing: G/R
Round/Fight: 1C
Summary: George goes under cover again... Warnings for cross-dressing and sexuality.
For once, Roger arrived on time to the ballroom. Usually, he was fashionably late, but on this occasion he hoped to catch the eye of a certain Lady. She had caught him off guard last time, but her sultry hazel eyes and bouncing blonde hair - and magnificent breasts, most of all - had caught his attention. Teasing woman that she was, she had left before he could even get her name. Such a thing would not happen again.
Having positioned himself in a corner for the best vantage point, his cool blue eyes searched every woman who entered the doors. He noted with disgust that his cousin entered with the Eldorne girl on his arm, though he was highly amused and intrigued when Squire Alan watched the pair with more than a hint of jealousy. Well, wasn't that interesting.
A breathy sigh at his arm made Roger turn to see the woman he had been waiting for the past hour. Yet again, she had managed to surprise him, but he was determined to get the upper hand this time.
"There you are, my dear." He bent over her hand and kissed it, letting his lips linger for a pause longer than was customary. "You left me the other night quite alone before I could secure your hand."
A thin eyebrow raised, the woman replied, "Don't you think it is a bit early for such a declaration, Your Grace?"
He almost winced at his foolish misstep, but recovered quickly. "For a woman of such beauty and charm? Never. And you, dear, I insist that you call me Roger. Such formality between us shall never do."
She laughed a throaty chuckle. "Perhaps I enjoy such formalities, your Grace. I find that they lend a certain, excitement, to intimate tete-a-tetes, do they not?"
She brushed by him, letting her clothed bosom graze his arm, and Roger felt his blood boil most pleasantly. Yes, under certain circumstances, formality could be quite delicious indeed.
George glided through the ballroom, his blue dress – the shade of Roger's eyes, and that was no coincidence - swishing around his heels. It had taken practice to learn how to walk at all, let alone with the grace necessary. He had practiced in the privacy of his own room, the door locked and the keyhole carefully plugged so that no one could see the Rogue trip about.
"Is he following me?" He leaned up against one of his fellow rogues, a nondescript man long used to his role and who could pass quite serviceably as a countrified noble.
The rogue smiled a welcome. He glanced over George's shoulder at the Duke. "No, but he is watching you very closely."
"Give me your arm, then. Dance with me."
The man's eyes danced with amusement. "Of course," he drawled. "You know how much I have been pining for such an opportunity as this."
"Do shut up," George growled. He let the rogue lead in the waltz, but purposefully made himself appear disinterested. His eyes gazed around the room and locked with Roger's for a bare second. "5, 4, 3, 2..."
"A thousand pardons," came Roger's voice, blatantly insincere, "but I fear that I shall have to steal this dance from you."
"Of course, Your Grace," the rogue said as he handed George off to the Duke.
"I do love a man who knows what he wants, and who doesn't give up," George said in a breathy voice.
"Unlike that dandified ponce?"
"Who? Oh, I had forgotten him already." George made a note to tell the other rogue not to dress so brightly. He leaned closer to Roger, whispering in his ear, “The way you take charge, Your Grace, makes me weak at the knees."
"I'm sure I can think of other ways to make you go weak." Roger wrapped an arm around George's side, one long-fingered hand resting on his bum.
"Oh, your grace," George sighed as Roger's hand squeezed. "I feel, overcome. Perhaps we should retire to someplace more comfortable?"