The bar is fancy, & she's dressed to blend in, not stand out. Still, she looks a million bucks, mostly because everybody else does, too. Her dress is skin tight & hits the floor; with a mile-high slit on the left. There's a little gun hidden away in purse, clutched in gloved hands. Idle finger taps against it as she wait for her Negroni at the bar.
There's two dolled up blondes sitting to her left. Their necklines are too low cut, hem too high, perfume offensive & cheap. They look out of place & she's sure that's what they were going for. Someone big sidles up to her right, plants their hands on the bar. Grey eyes coast to their corners to sneak a peek: no ring. Not that she fucking cares, she's just curious.
She doesn't acknowledge the guy, only moves her attention to the bartender to take her proffered cocktail in a gloved hand & take a small sip. Damn, that's a good Negroni.
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She’s knocked something off the kitchen bench with her tail. It’s swishing hard & wide & excitedly behind her, between her two arms as she’s planted them out behind her for balance. Greer’s biting back a purr as she watches his nose disappear within her orange & black striped fur, their eyes locked as he presses a pattern of zig-zag kisses up her left thigh.
He likes to watch her — she’s usually the one staring so it was a bit jarring at first (Christ, she said last time was the last time — that was three times ago). She’s just chalked it up to the fact that it’s his way, part of the reason he’s so good at this; watching for reactions, learning, always learning. She wonders sometimes what he’s forgetting to keep all this information about her in his head. Sometimes she feels bad, but he always makes her feel so good that she doesn’t linger there too long.
His hands glide up against the grain on her fur on the outside of her thighs. Why should she feel bad anyway? He can say no but he never does. His fingers hook into the waistband of her bikini bottoms, curling between the space of each crocodile tooth hanging off it. He knows her body like a well-worn map. He doesn’t pull them down yet, he just places his chin on the bench between her legs & looks up at her with his big, brown eyes. She can feel his breath against the fabric, she can feel how soaked it is already.
Gods, she’s so fucked.
“The Hell you waiting for?” she asks him. It’s bitey because it’s not the question she actually wants to ask. Why are you looking at me like that? But she can’t ask that because she’s afraid of the answer.
“You ta get frustrated.” he snaps right back, not even hiding the smug smirk on his face. He opens his mouth & huffs a more deliberate breath over her, the fucking asshole.
Greer swallows the whiney, pathetic moan forming in the back of her throat. “I am. I don’t like being teased.”
“Yeah, you keep sayin’ that…” he says, pulling one hand away from her hip. He leans back, gives himself just enough space so he can press the tip of his middle finger against the wet fabric of her bikini bottoms. She growls low as that smirk of his stretches into a crooked, self-satisfied grin. “Evidence to the contrary, babe.”
“I fucking hate you.” she breathes through clenched teeth. He only chuckles in response, finally lowers his gaze from hers so he can focus all his attention on the space between her legs.
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“Please, like anybody knows what you look like under all that, @eideticreflex.” If she could sweat, she’d be doing it right now. She grabs him by the clasp of his dumb cloak & pulls him in close so she can hiss at him.
