12: Striptease

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     ’Why did this all start?’ Mind asks as they move lazily up the stairs. Perhaps, just perhaps, she’s hungry for adrenaline. Her companion is a wanted man, after all. Wanted by the reagent and the entirety of the guard, with posters all over town — though you can’t see his face behind the mask of his Whalers. Such a situation is bound to lead to an overflow in adrenaline; after all, what she has planned is sure to be a thrill. 

     Or maybe, and definitely most likely, it’s the wine. Sweet Tyvian wine that tastes of berries and matches the hue of her dress. At the insistence of the ball’s host, she downed more than her functioning capacity in that delectable liquid, leaving her dizzied and yet feeling quite mischievous. It was in this state that the assassin sweeps up her fellow, pulling him into a drunken waltz. When the music lulls to an end does her gloved hand clasp his own calloused one and, with a sultry glance of molten hues, pulls him off the floor and towards the stairwell. 

     Heels give a repetitive clack that eventually grates nerves and, with a heaving sigh, are hastily kicked off and left to tumble down the stairs. With the removal of shoes, Ira turns on her companion, hands setting upon him; slipping along his clothed chest, cupping his face, drawing him down. Rising upon tip-toes, lips lavish a great deal of wet kisses to the flesh directly behind his ear. Turning cranium ever slightly, fleshy lobes are tugged betwixt rows of teeth, nibbling and suckling at the skin. Releasing it with a noisy plop, tongue traces the shell of his ear before settling flat upon feet. 

     Grabbing hold of his jacket sleeve, the assassin is nearly dragged up the stairs by she. Turning on a bare heel, she rounds to the first door and swings it open with a fury. Eyes are greeted with the sight of a study, but the manner of which room it was matters little. With a strong tug, the male is pulled in and the door is instantly kicked closed. 

     When finally, the two assassins find themselves alone, she is upon him once more. Pressing her chest against his own, the woman continues to push until his back meets the sleek surface of the door. Maroon-hued shawl slips from bare shoulders, strung swiftly around Daud’s neck. Grasping both ends of the cloth, she uses it to pull him to her level, face closing the space between the two. But she has other plans and, before their lips meet, she releases and steps away hastily.

     Turning once more so back is facing the male, fingers sweep along the curve of her waist lazily, coming to rest at her lower back. There rests a string, tied neatly into a small bow, that holds the bodice of gown together. She wastes no time tugging said bow undone. With the bow freed, the string is pulled from various loops, held aloft in air once fully tugged free. Scrap of cloth is dropped as dress begins to sag around figure, hands coming to grasp it at chest to keep it up. 

     Once more is space between both bodies closed, but not completely. Stopping but inches away, hands push the top of her dress down as a sluggish pace. Inch by agonizingly slow inch is pallid skin revealed to his sight. Golden oculars lock with his own in a seductively confident gaze, the corners of lips turning skyward just so slightly. 

     Once cloth passes bust, clad in corset, it’s released all together. The heavy material drops almost instantly, feathering down bare waist and into a pool of silken layers at her feet, leaving the being clad in naught but corset, gloves, garter and stockings, all of the same ebon-hue. 

     Instead of covering scar ravaged flesh, gloved hands slip along it’s contours, feeling it beneath wandering phalanges. Palms smooth along bare hips, garnering attention to prominent hip bones and bare regions. And, with a purse of lips and half-lidded gaze, she turns from him to take swaying steps towards the back of the room, eyes set upon the desk. 

     With grace does she clamor upon the heavy wooden desk, turning so bottom is flat upon cool surface. One leg crosses elegantly over the other, foot swaying back and forth slowly. Head tilts back, smile leveled upon him and, with her best ‘come hither voice’, playful question rings forth from painted tiers.

               ❝Did you enjoy the show, sir Daud?❞