IrvingConte for the drabble game? :D
send me a terror character/ship & i’ll write a drabble about them
When Henry comes up behind him and purrs, “Excellent wings, little angel,” John nearly jumps out of his skin.
He turns on his heel, face beet red from both the drinking and the fact that Henry is altogether too close to him, and stumbles backwards. “I— er— thank you,” he stammers, politeness winning out over all else, and he wishes he knew how to tell Henry to keep his distance.
Henry, of course, does not keep his distance, and saunters closer, hooking his fingers into the ropes criss-crossing John's chest to keep him from escaping again. "Did you tie these yourself?" he asks, and his tone is light, but in this dark corner that John had thought he was alone in, with his body so close to John's that he can smell the drink on his breath and his touch ghosting over John's too-hot skin through his clothes, it feels sinfully intimate. It feels like a solicitation.
"Yes," John blurts, for lack of anything else to say. "George—that is, Lieutenant Hodgson—helped with a couple of the trickier ones, where I couldn't reach, but mostly, yes." Henry's eyes are piercing, and John sweats. "He's a very— a very good friend, George is. A very good man. Devout. Godly." He hiccups.
Henry raises an eyebrow. "He's dashing around outside, three sheets to the wind, in woman's dress."
John flounders, and the first thing he can come up with to say is, "So is your captain."
For a long moment, Henry stares at him, and John begins to silently fret that he's overstepped. But then, Henry laughs, and he yanks on the ropes of John's costume to pull him flush against his body. "Well," he replies, slow and honey-sweet, "that just means that there's nobody here to tell us off, hm?"
John tries to speak, but the only noise that comes out of his mouth is a pathetic, desperate squeak.
