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Greta triple-checks her reflection, her lower lip caught between her teeth as she bites back a nervous grin. Krem has finished her bespoke suit, which turned out to be a little more than just a suit in the end. There are two blouses, one with looser sleeves that pairs well with just a waistcoat, and one for wearing beneath a jacket. This is her first time trying any of it on at home, and she turns, craning her neck to make sure everything is as it should be without Nina or Krem there to make minor adjustments.
She looks good -- or she thinks she does. It's a sentiment that's already been echoed by several other parties (Krem and Nina have been downright effusive), so she's inclined to believe it. It's just that... well, this isn't entirely about her own opinion. It's about whether Thomas thinks she's possessed.
That's partly why she's started with just the waistcoat. The blouse itself, with its wide sleeves that gather at the wrists, isn't so different from the others she already has hanging in their closet. She can sort of... ease him into it.
As if there's any 'easing into' the sight of her in trousers.
It may or may not be helping that she's felt compelled to send a steady stream of vague, preparatory warnings through the locked bathroom door as she readies herself -- a lot of 'it's very different's and 'sort of a lark, really's and 'you might think it's... odd's and so on, until she's run out of both warnings and excuses to dally.
Still, she hesitates with her hand on the doorknob. "You have to promise not to laugh at me," she says, a faint quaver in her voice, as if he hasn't already promised twice.
She looks good -- or she thinks she does. It's a sentiment that's already been echoed by several other parties (Krem and Nina have been downright effusive), so she's inclined to believe it. It's just that... well, this isn't entirely about her own opinion. It's about whether Thomas thinks she's possessed.
That's partly why she's started with just the waistcoat. The blouse itself, with its wide sleeves that gather at the wrists, isn't so different from the others she already has hanging in their closet. She can sort of... ease him into it.
As if there's any 'easing into' the sight of her in trousers.
It may or may not be helping that she's felt compelled to send a steady stream of vague, preparatory warnings through the locked bathroom door as she readies herself -- a lot of 'it's very different's and 'sort of a lark, really's and 'you might think it's... odd's and so on, until she's run out of both warnings and excuses to dally.
Still, she hesitates with her hand on the doorknob. "You have to promise not to laugh at me," she says, a faint quaver in her voice, as if he hasn't already promised twice.
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Date: 2019-02-26 12:42 am (UTC)From:"Well," she ventures, one hand sliding up his arm and over his shoulder before curling around the back of his neck, "I don't know how much creativity is really necessary." She leans up as if to kiss him, but pauses a scant inch or so from her goal. "You might just take them off."
Then she kisses him, the tip of her tongue caressing the tender skin just inside his lower lip as her other hand works its way between them, palming him through the fabric of his own trousers.