09-22-2013, 06:59 PM
Jaxen followed Jon's line of sight to the open area. A burlesque house was a far cry from a dancing club. Few couples came together, and Jaxen doubted few couples truly left together. There were plenty of shitholes around the red light district for that kind of sport. For the guys not willing to play the game, there were plenty of places that delivered. Almost as handy as take-out.
The ridges of a frown downturned his mouth. The stage beyond transitioned from one occupant to the next, and Jaxen just knew that Jon was on the verge of bending him over the ledge and fucking him dry. Grotesque imagery of pointe shoes, spandex body suits, and pirouettes spun through his head. He closed his eyes and looked down. This was not worth--
Surprised, Jon's oration pulled him back, and once more his gaze narrowed while deciphering the cryptic speech.
Fuck me sideways. Jon wanted him to beg Oriena for a dance? Was this the Dark Ages? Ballet would be better than this.
His eyes rolled off Jon and back to Oriena.
Alright. Jaxen was a charming guy. Pretty damn good looking too, with the tousled hair, smirking lips, and long elegant hands. Oriena didn't strike him as the kind of girl into roses, poems and spooning. She didn't like being treated as arm candy. And she clearly wasn't here to work for tips. How the hell to ask her to dance.
Studying her, an idea took flame, and a curl of a smile touched his lips. Fuck it.
He pushed to his feet. Pieced his hair a little. Then flicked a few invisible specks from each sleeve. He stretched and made a bit of a show of showing off his silhouette, slender and elegant. The sort of shape that slithered into crawl spaces and shimmied up repelling ropes with ease.
Without saying a single word, he turned and snaked his hand around Oriena's palm and pulled her to her feet. Intending to lead her away before giving her the chance to protest.
The ridges of a frown downturned his mouth. The stage beyond transitioned from one occupant to the next, and Jaxen just knew that Jon was on the verge of bending him over the ledge and fucking him dry. Grotesque imagery of pointe shoes, spandex body suits, and pirouettes spun through his head. He closed his eyes and looked down. This was not worth--
Surprised, Jon's oration pulled him back, and once more his gaze narrowed while deciphering the cryptic speech.
Fuck me sideways. Jon wanted him to beg Oriena for a dance? Was this the Dark Ages? Ballet would be better than this.
His eyes rolled off Jon and back to Oriena.
Alright. Jaxen was a charming guy. Pretty damn good looking too, with the tousled hair, smirking lips, and long elegant hands. Oriena didn't strike him as the kind of girl into roses, poems and spooning. She didn't like being treated as arm candy. And she clearly wasn't here to work for tips. How the hell to ask her to dance.
Studying her, an idea took flame, and a curl of a smile touched his lips. Fuck it.
He pushed to his feet. Pieced his hair a little. Then flicked a few invisible specks from each sleeve. He stretched and made a bit of a show of showing off his silhouette, slender and elegant. The sort of shape that slithered into crawl spaces and shimmied up repelling ropes with ease.
Without saying a single word, he turned and snaked his hand around Oriena's palm and pulled her to her feet. Intending to lead her away before giving her the chance to protest.