Love writing these things. Based on a Tumbler add to a 'Guess the Dress' Post. I'm hoping this is the equivalent to playing in the minors for writing. Prepping for the Major Leagues i.e. LIFE and THE ARRANGEMENT! xAx
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BETA'D
Bad Things 1/1
When you came in the air went out
And every shadow filled up with doubt
I don't know who you think you are
But before the night is through
I wanna do bad things with you - 'Bad Things' By Jace Everett
He's gotten into this habit, lately, of desperately needing her...sexually...particularly when she's occupied with someone who isn't him.
He knows it's a problem.
He knows where it comes from and why ; that innate fear of losing her to someone else, anyone else that isn't him. It has nothing to do with her and her nature and entirely everything to do with his. And as deeply irrational a fear as that is for him to have at this age and time and place, when he's sat in an extravagant fitting room with intense lighting and lavish drapes - more like a hall than an actual room - and watching her be pandered to by several over excited Fashionistas, it still exists.
Except now, where it used to be framed in annoyance and held back gestures and impulses and a heavy gruffness.
Now, it's altogether another level of behaviour.
He can touch her now. Kiss her. Make love to her and even just fuck her should the opportunity arise and she be willing. Which he has to hand it to her, she almost always is.
The ripe need and possessive nature that rises up in his gut can now be vented into her and for her; dually filling the void in him whilst claiming her to himself should he ever feel the need as long as he gets her off at the same time. It fuels their union. Where he used to be a womaniser, keeping her on the side, she is now - except for the law - his primary focus.
And god forbid anyone get in the way of that.
Except for…the person involved, that is…
He watches as several more Attendants enter in an unnecessary flurry around her, gabbling nonsense about the dress and her hair and 'Oh my god, how amazing she's going to look when she takes the Runway…'
Donna Paulsen. His Donna Paulsen, is in a fashion show.
New York Fashion week to be precise. She will be gliding down the catwalk in a new feature, on the Important Women behind very Important Man.
He is not. Thank God. Despite a few jokes from Donna about his razor cheekbones and his natural swagger, he has absolutely no urge to take the stage. Ever.
He literally paid for Tom Ford to reconsider having any of the male counterparts on the Runway.
And instead,
Focus solely on The Women.
The better halves.
"Okay, my Darling," A man steps forward, with a sharp jacket and boldly mono-striped trousers - he forgets the guy's name, having not cared enough about it to listen the first or second time - and slides his hands against Donna's shoulders. Despite the slight twitch that it encourages in his own face, he reminds himself that the guy is very much a….fan of his 'own' sex.
"What do you think?" The man asks Donna, as she turns to the many mirrors surrounding her.
"Hmm…" She ponders deliberately, observing her silhouette.
He nearly laughs. She ridiculous. It could be the Queen of England asking her about the Hope Diamond and she'd still play hard to get…
"And it's going to be…this exact colour?" She enquires lightly, observing the voluptuous frills and seeming softness of the many fabrics wrapped around her form.
"Oh, Donna," The man grabs her shoulders again, piquing Harvey's interest once more. For a moment the idea of the guy batting for both teams flashes up in his mind as a viable and rather worrying option. "If we change anything, you'll be back here for a fitting. I promise. But I must tell you. There will be very little that won't look good on you."
"As long as it's not Orange," She chimes, giving the man a shrewd look that turns into a sly smile when he chuckles lavishly, drifting down the corridor with an entertained tone.
"So…what do you think?" She asks, her eyes squaring on his form as she turns to him.
He's up and off of the round, overly soft seat faster than his knees can even protest, as he circles her for a moment.
It doesn't take much to arouse her suspicions.
"Harvey," She warns. "You better not be thinking what I think you're thinking." She reams off, her hands sliding onto her hips in a rather wifely fashion. Add to that the dramatic waves of the dress and her hair in vibrant curls and she's a rather disarming picture.
He smirks, standing in front of her as his hands slide into his pockets and his chest puffs out with masculine purpose. "What am I thinking?" He enquires, a twisted smile peaking out of his falling attempt at a leer.
"Harvey," She repeats then, heavier, her eyes flashing as she steps forward to close up their centre of attention as her voice hushes. "I have given you more 'jobs' in more fitting rooms then I care to account for,"
He gives her an unimpressed look, his mouth popping. "That's bullshit,"
"YSL, Prada, Holston Heritage, Givency, Diane von Furstenburg," She reams off, her hand slashing out between them to count each one on her fingers before she adds her second hand. "And Tom Ford. Twice. And the only time - I hope - that he ever gets to see your ass." She adds, giving him a look.
That was a weird experience. With two very hot men and her in a very precarious position.
"Let's not pretend that you didn't get a little…something in return…" He adds, his hips swagging towards hers as his fingers dance at the prospect of touching her.
"Harvey. It has to stop." She tells him, sighing. "I mean…I'm all for having sex in random places,"
"And god knows, you initiated most of them," He counters.
"That is a damn lie," She protests, her eyes widening. "It was one time, when I was drunk and horny and you were-"
"Daniel, Gotham Bar and Grill, Nobu…" He lists. "And the Cheers Bar, during which you even managed to get us-"
"Okay. Fine!" She bites off, silencing him. "Touche." She relinquishes, as her hands slide into a disgruntled fold. She glares at him, her right eyebrow arching in a challenge as they stand off against one another.
But it doesn't last long, as her frown bends into a smile when he closes the gap between them, his nose bumping rather adorably against hers before his lips drop to encourage hers open for him.
When he hears her moan into his mouth, he knows that he's on to a winner…
"Okay then, let's-Oh," The nameless man enters, his voice peeling in shock as Harvey stills against her.
"Dammit," He mumbles into her hair, the feeling of his arousal suddenly becoming uncomfortable. He leans back, giving her a pointed look.
"See you in the car?" She offers, her eyes widening in unkempt humour.
"Be quick." He demands heavily, before kissing her cheek chastely and sliding passed her, his right hand sliding down her left one as she resists his leaving.
She stands there then, smiling at the rather awkward looking Assistant.
"Sorry, he uh…" She gestures vaguely, suddenly lacking an explanation or the want to.
"Don't worry." The man encourages with a non-committal shrug. "We've heard all the stories." He says, sliding up to her with a secret smile. "I hope you don't mind…I just…I have to ask," He says, gushing slightly. "Is it really true that he flashed Tom Ford?" He asks then, his face bursting with excited possibility.
Her interest piques then, the power of words becoming all too suggestive.
She straightens slowly, taking on a coyness.
"I'm afraid Mr Ford is an…extremely important Client." She says, restricting her growing smirk. "I couldn't possibly divulge such information." She shrugs purposefully, her eyes widening slightly to chart an innocence.
She watches the man's face drain of expectation and be replaced with utter awe at her reply. He gulps for a moment, seemingly lost in his creative thoughts, before checking himself.
She turns towards the mirror, watching as the man unzips her out of the wonderful creation.
"Interesting." She hears him sigh, occupied with his thoughts.
She smirks into the mirror like only a female villain would.
This fashion show will be…very fun indeed, she thinks to herself.
Totally didn't beta this enough! And onto the rest... A~