Dante (justbusiness) wrote in tiberiusswann, @ 2010-03-03 21:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | dante, erin |
Saturday April 12th
Who: Erin & Dante
When: Late afternoon/evening
Where: The city
What: Erin takes Dante to the OPERA.
Rating: NSFW, if you scroll down! LOL
Erin had agreed to retrieve Dante this time, but that was only because she wanted to surprise him with the tuxedo she had rented for him as early as possible. The giant sized suit was still in the plastic it had come from in the shop. She carried it over one shoulder and traipsed through the halls looking like a boutique mannequin. The gown she wore was not quite plain, but not overly complicated, and it suited her dark, dark hair and vampire skin shade rather well. Certain now that her appearance would be appreciated -- if not by Dante, at least by others -- because she was picking the destination, she had girl'd herself up. Her tresses were coiled behind her head Grecian style, a few breezy curls falling through, against her collarbone and face. She wore more makeup than their last date, again, certain it would be appreciate by someone and had lined chilly gray eyes in dark purples and kohl, playing up the narrowness of them. Her lips were a smooth, shiny berry, and her cheeks, dusted with color to maintain a semblance of human palor, were a feminine rosy tinge.
The get-up clashed with the smug expression on her features that appeared when the door opened. She whirled the tux around to her front, eyebrows arching high. "Oh hello. Put this on."
Dante didn't really like Erin coming to get him, but she had said she wanted to dress him so it didn't make much sense him going to her. And sometimes he could be a good sport, so he was flopped on his bed and reading a Playboy magazine when the knock came at the door. Swinging it open, he was surprised at her getup. So, obviously they weren't going anywhere fun with her dressed the way she was. She did look nice, though, not that he was going to admit to that.
Narrowing his brow, Dante stared at the thing she was holding out to him. "A plastic bag?" he said, purposely being obtuse. It was a fucking tuxedo. She was trying to put him in a monkey suit. On the one hand, he could slam the door in her face, could forget the whole night. Wearing a tuxedo was so much worse then being forced to wear jeans. On the other hand, if she took him someplace horrible and he acted like an asshole, she'd be mortified and wouldn't take him anyplace like that again.
Grabbing the bag from her, Dante stepped back into the room, tossed the garment onto Roger's bed and pulled his shirt off over his head, not bothering to close the door. If everyone in the hallway wanted to see him in his underwear, they could help themselves to the view.
---
Erin blinked, still in the hallway, as Dante first took off his shirt and then moved his hands down to his pants. What one earth was he doing? Was he really going to undress with his door open? She looked around, then back to him and whoop, yes, yes he was. She twitched a moment, unsure whether to close his door or not. If so, did she stay outside? No, he'd make fun. Then inside? He'd still make fun.
Suddenly she was inside, and closing the door behind her, a delicate crease between her eyebrows as she leaned against the door and purposely looked away so as not to be ogling his naked form. "Ehm."
---
Dante didn't care who saw him naked. He knew that he was hot, he knew that he was scary looking, and by now everyone knew that this body was not really his, so the autopsy scar wouldn't surprise too many of them. It was ugly, yes, and huge, but not exactly unexpected. So he stripped right down to nothing, looking through Roger's underwear drawer for something clean. If he found a stretchy pair of boxers instead of cotton, he'd be alright.
The little noise from Erin made him turn, a pair of light blue knit boxers clutched in his hands. "What?" he asked her, seriously not knowing what the hell her deal was.
---
Erin, who had looked away when he was just in underwear, now looked over as a reflex to being directly addressed. "I ju--oh. You're naked." She looked away again, one eye closed, the other not focusing on anything. "Ehm. Lovely. I would suggest boxer-briefs, because.. dress pants are not as snug as jeans, and, ehm... " there would be bunching, if he went with loose flowing boxers. She reached up to scratch at the bridge of her perfect nose with a French manicured nail.
---
Yeah he was naked, so what? A cheeky grin spread over his face. She was being bashful. How funny. Walking over to her, he held up the underwear selection he had in hand, making sure his bait and tackle were only a few inches from her. "Do you think this is okay?" he asked seriously, though his shoulders were shaking slightly from stifled laughter.
---
Erin turned her head slowly toward the clean underwear in his hand, then lifted her eyes up to his face with a withering, dry stare. She appeared unamused and dry-mouthed, but her tension was noticeable in the way the muscles in her neck and shoulders were flexed. She flattened herself a little against the wall, exhaling slowly. "Those.. are fine.." she said, her teeth pushed together. "Whatever you want."
He was such an ass. It was so inappropriate, for him to be bare-ass naked while she stood there in an evening gown. She rolled her eyes and slid backward, away from him, trying not to drag her dress along the wall. "Just get dressed, you git," she said, walking into the middle of the room as her eyes started taking in every detail but...his detail.
---
Of course he was being an ass! She had admitted she liked him. What a stupid thing for the girl to do. It was easier for Dante to torture Erin then to sit and think about what it was about him she could possibly like, how she could think he was better to spend time with then, well, anyone else here. So he wanted to make her regret her decision, prove to himself that this was all just a fluke. So he grinned, stepping into his underwear and putting the impressive man bits away.
The rest of the ensemble wasn't as easy to assemble. He knew the shirt and pants, which fit pretty decently, but there was a tie to deal with, and the vest felt constricting because he'd never worn one before, especially not one so fitted. The shoes were not comfortable at all and after he slipped on his jacket, though he looked damn spiffy (yes he had actually shaved), he felt like a total tool. "I look ridiculous," he said shortly.
---
"Bollocks," she said, picking up the tie, which he had seemingly ignored. He wasn't getting out of wearing it. Oh no. She held it out to him with a carnivorous smile. "You look sharp. Here, last bit, put it on."
She approached him slowly on her heels, dress and hips swaying, not giving him an exit path.
---
Frowning deeply, Dante snatched the tie from her hands and slipped it around his neck. Of course, the two ends lay on his chest like snake tails, straight and hanging. He looked at Erin expectantly a moment before finally saying "I don't fuckin' know how to tie this thing!"
---
She started a little as he blurted out profanities after a moment of a quiet eye lock, then let out a soft laugh. "Oh.." she should have known. "Right. Well, sit on the bed." When he did what she instructed, she came at him with her hands up, watching his neck and chest. Her knees brushed his as she moved close, leaning a little until she pushed one leg between his knees, just a bit, to get close enough. "You know when I was younger my mother insisted I learn to do this as part of her daily lesson on how to be the perfect wife to a repressed old clout like my father," she said, her voice soft and distant because she was focused on something else. She smelled like lavender soap and expensive perfume. The only jewelry she wore were diamond stud earrings and a single diamond on a white-gold string necklace. Elegant, but pretty. When her knuckles brushed his neck to adjust his collar, they were just as icy as usual.
She breathed softly, her breath not as warm as it should be on his forehead while she worked.
---
Dante thought about a million sarcastic and suggestive comments to be made as he sat down on Roger's bed, but he refrained from speaking them. Erin had this serious kind of look on her face, and he was a little curious to see what it was about. Sitting as still as he was able, he let Erin fiddle with his necktie, actually listening to her speak. Not that he cared, of course. But for future ammo. Still, her voice was soft and nostalgic, and he couldn't tell if the memory she was repeating was a fond one or a bitter one. Maybe bittersweet. There was a lot about Erin that Dante didn't know, and he was surprised to find that he kind of cared to know more.
The feel of her fingers on his neck made him shiver for more reasons then just because her skin was cool. This was so... what was the word for it? Close up? Personal? Enticing? None of those words seemed to fit. The very expansive word bank in his head seemed to be failing him. Dante's eyes scanned over Erin's features, and then it hit him. Intimate. This was an intimate moment. He had never had one with a woman before. Tense moments, possibly even tender ones, but not quite like this. Even when he and Erin had been on the couch in the common room, it was more aching and lustful than intimate.
When she'd finished, Dante sat back a little and looked down at his chest. "Thanks, I guess," he said, flipping the bottom of the tie. He was thanking her because she'd helped him do it, although he hadn't actually wanted to wear it so he wasn't really all that thankful.
---
Erin didn't move away just yet, hand on her hip, looking down at him with a peculiar smile. "You don't look half bad," she said, then stepped away to allow him to stand. She was glad he'd sat; he was so tall, putting the tie on him while he was standing would have been near impossible. She was still nervous, but doing rather well at covering it. Every so often a tendon in her neck would jump as she moved, but otherwise her stiff walking could have been attributed to the general stick in her area. She checked her cell phone, pulling it from the tiny black purse on her arm.
"It's roughly 5.40pm now, and the... actual date doesn't start until 7pm. So we can eat afterward, if you're willing. I didn't have time to make reservations beforehand." She bit down a little in her smile, dimples appearing. "And no, we're not going to Denny's again."
---
Glancing her over, Dante didn't take in the finer nuances of her posture, instead just noticing how slim and sleek and graceful she was. And how damn cocky she seemed to be. "I look ridiculous," he said again, although once he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, he saw he didn't look as weird as he'd thought he might.
"Denny's would kick us out looking like this," he informed her with a small smile. "We're classy enough for Wal Mart, though." He wanted to ask what the date was, where they were going that required him to wear this getup, but two things were stopping him. One, he knew she wouldn't tell him, because she was seeking revenge for Tuesday night, and two, he was a little worried to find out.
---
Erin had planned on surprising Dante later in the day, but the driver ruined her plans. Not that she minded so much. When the divider came down, a mouthwatering man who looked like the product of a sucessful gene splice between Lenny Kravitz and Vin Diesel leaned back a little to look at her and Dante.
"Hey," he said, with a smile that suggested he was used to charming his way through conversations, "they switched jobs on me last minute and I can't understand the original driver's handwriting ... Where are y'going?"
Erin twitched her lips and glanced askance at Dante smoothly before straightening in her seat. "Kingston Street."
The driver thought about this before flashing pearly whites. "Oh, the opera house?"
Erin bit her lip in a smile. "Yes. Thank you."
"No problem," he replied, before turning around agan. As the divider rose Erin turned toward Dante.
---
The... opera house? The look on Dante's face was priceless. "We'd better be going back in time to watch Lincoln get assassinated," he told Erin seriously. "That is the ONLY way you're gettin' me in any damn opera house!"
---
Erin's face was a mask of nothing, her eyes cool like the rest of her. "Lincoln was assisinated during a play called 'My American Cousin', not an opera."
She leaned back into the seat, at a respectful distance from him, keeping a straight face. Then she crossed her legs at the knee, showing a bit of thigh through the opening in the skirt of her dress.
---
"Technicality!" Dante shot back. "No damn way I'm gonna sit through eight fucking hours of people singing about shit I can't understand!" Of course, Dante had never seen an opera, since there weren't many that made their way to Rhode Island. But he'd heard enough about them, knew enough about them, to know he wasn't going to like it.
With a huff, he crossed his arms (which were hindered slightly by the fitted jacket, and he growled because of it) and flopped back against the seat. Damn Erin. He should have known she'd pick something like this, something he'd really hate, just to get even. She was a vindictive little whore.
---
She gave him a droll eyebrow arch. "Look at you!" Her voice lifted with incredulity. "You look like a child," she said, meaning the crossed arms and huffing. "Are you going to kick your feet and hold your breath? I may have to spank you." Finally, a trace of a smile -- or more of a smirk -- graced her features.
---
Dante's ears perked up at that last part, although he pretended to still be completely miffed. "I don't breathe," he reminded her haughtily.
"At least they had booze where I took you," he grumbled sulkily. "You said," as he put on his best british Erin voice, "Oh, I want to go dancing". He frowned. "And we did. I ain't never said to you I wanna sit in a huge room with a billion stuffed shirts and listen to fat women and hairy dudes belt out in fuckin' Portuguese or whatever."
---
Erin's mouth twisted higher. "Weeelll...you never said what YOU wanted to do, so I took the reins, persay. You may like it. I can translate for you, don't be so concerned. In fact, you shoud be grateful. At first I was considering a ballet....this may be more suited to your tastes."
She leaned onto him then, mimicking the way he had on their second date, forcing herself harder as she tried, probably unsuccessfully, to get him to lean into the door. "Pout pout. Don't be a baby."
---
The ballet Good Lord, she was truly trying to kill him. At least she had been somewhat kind in her decision making.
While Erin was unsuccessful in squishing Dante, he realized what she was trying to do and chuckled despite himself. "I'm not being a baby," he scowled. "I'm being annoyed. Just like you were being annoyed when I took you out. I'm not gonna cheer up until I see hot drunk girls in pigtails covered in paint."
---
"Oh fine, then." She stayed where she was, leaning more lightly now, keeping up the ruse. "I'll have a good time myself. I've seen this one before. Its one of my favorites."
She braced mentally, wondering what his reaction to that would be. She assumed he'd cry out, because now it would seem she was only doing this to torment him. Which was only a partial truth; she really did like this opera.
---
In true immature fashion, Dante simply stuck his tongue out at Erin. If she had seen the damn thing before, why did they need to see it now? Of course, one helpful tidbit came from this. If he hated it, which he would, then he shouldn't tell her how badly it sucked. He could have gone in, unaware that this was something she liked, have totally ripped it apart and then found out afterward how much she liked it. And then she'd have been pissed and he'd have felt like a jackass, kinda.
Spending the rest of the ride in silence, Dante watched out the window as they pulled up to the opera house. Ugh. Old wowen in expensive dresses who wore too much perfume, and old wrinkled men who looked so wealthy they didn't even need to wipe their own asses. Despite the suit, Dante did not fit in here at all.
But he kept his mouth shut. Erin had at least gone into the dance club, so he'd go in too. As they sat down, he looked around at the people he was with. Not only did he look out of place, but there was a strange feeling brewing in his gut. it took him a moment to realize that he just felt out of place. This kind of thing didn't happen to him, because he didn't care what anyone thought of him. but now he just felt weird, like people were talking about him. How in the fuck did women live with being insecure all the goddamn time? It was making him crazy.
---
Erin was nervous. She didn't want Dante to cause a scene. She knew that there was a very great chance of it, but she had taken the risk anyway. She wasn't entirely sure what it said about her or her feelings about him, and she didn't much care to find out. She had found that not over-thinking this entire thing was how it was going to work for her. Otherwise she was going to give up and hide her head in the sand. Her white, perfect, clean, proper, lonely lonely sand.
To her credit, she didn't appear perturbed in the slightest. She walked with her head high, back straight, looking perfect as usual, except for the moment when a latecomer forced her to stand up, so he could brush past her, and then stepped on her foot. In that moment she lost a bit of her lady-like visage because her lip curled and she let out an angry sort of exhalation that would possibly make Dante proud.
Erin didn't feel out of place. There were plenty of young people there, she just didn't know them or care to. She was there to enjoy herself, and anyone else didn't really matter. Which was why she didn't mind leaning in to whisper to Dante, despite what the person behind her might think about her talking during the show. They had reasonably good seats; she could do what she wanted.
"So... " she said, just as the first scene had only began. "He is a loudmouth, and he is a count, and the count loves the girl, Rosina. The loudmouth is Dr. Bartolo -- the girl's keeper -- 's barber. Bartolo plans on marrying her himself. It's like Shakespeare, but with singing, really," she said, her breath warm on his ear.
---
Dante actually cringed at the word "Shakespeare". He had never liked the bard, never would, and wasn't sure if anything could be any duller. Well, maybe Noh theatre, which didn't even fucking talk. But he listened to Erin tell him what was going on, paying more attention to her breath in his ear then the actual words she was saying. After all, whatever Rosy and Bothello and whothefuckever were doing was of little interest to him.
Settled back in his seat, he let some time pass, arms crossed and slumped down. So far it wasn't awful, not completely, although the woman singing was so damn dramatic. And the count, and that drippy, awful serenade? Dante rolled his eyes, leaning over to Erin. "I wanna slug this guy," he whispered, indicating the Count who was belting his heart out to the girl who, frankly, was not all that pretty. "You render men raw, pretty idol? Gag." He snorted derisively.
---
Erin's head turned toward him as if it were a chicken on a rotisserie spit. "....You understood that?" She blinked. "You understand Italian, too?"
---
At first, Dante didn't know what in the hell Erin was staring at him for. Her head just moved, like it was on a pole, the rest of her body rigid but her face suddenly looking at him. He lifted an eyebrow at her. Obviously he'd understood them, they were speaking in plain... His brow furrowed. Not English. "Guess so," he admitted, a little bit freaked out. French and Italian? Who in the hell had this body been? He was remembering someone else's life, like Roger's, only this time he knew nothing about how any of it had gotten there. Though he'd never, NEVER admit it (well maybe to Tad), this was completely terrifying.
"You can keep telling me what's going on," he whispered to Erin, facing dead ahead and trying not to think about how scary his own mind was. "Which one is Fig Newton or whatever?"
---
Erin would surmise, perhaps, in time that Dante wasn't entirely comfortable with this new tidbit. At the moment she was too curious to think about someone other than herself. "I don't understand," she said, eyebrow arching. "Did..he understand Italian, too? That's amazing."
---
Stupid girl. Apparently she didn't understand abrupt subject changes unless they were online. Well, no matter. Dante had a feeling he could end the conversation. "I don't know," he said, voice clipped. "I'd ask him, but he's dead." The rest of that sentence, best left unsaid in public, was And his corpse is sitting next to you.
---
Erin passed her tongue between her lips, wetting them, before glancing back at the stage. Alright. Bad choice of conversation topic at the moment. Noted. She looked back to him a moment later, a crease between her eyebrows. Her mouth opened, then closed, carp-like, before her attention moved back to the play. If he didn't need a translator and or an interviewer at the moment, there wasn't much to say.
Though rapt with attention she was quiet and still until the close of the first Act, when the Count's identity was revealed. She let out a soft chuckle, and then snuggled in against her unnecessary coat as the last song ended. The curtain drew, and she stiffened, wondering if now they'd have to talk to each other. Was he going to complain? Tear it apart? Were they not going to talk about how he could understand all of it? Hell, she couldn't understand all of it. Without practice, one became rusty.
After a torturous five seconds, where everyone else was getting up to mingle, stretch, or visit the lavatory, Erin just turned toward Dante, inhaling, and waited.
---
While Erin had been watching the play, Dante had been understanding the words spoken and sung and trying to see if he could figure out how he knew them. Random flashes came to mind, a dark, wet street and a man smoking a cigarette and speaking Italian, a woman talking to her daughter, a man selling a car. None of it made a damn lick of sense.
But since he'd been thinking so much, of course he'd missed half the play and had no idea what was going on. Suddenly people were applauding, and the house lights came up, and he was without a clue. Looking around, he noticed Erin turning to him, looking expectant. Shit. "It's... not torture," he said after a moment.
---
She blinked, obviously surprised, but quickly regained her composure and offered him a classy sort of practiced smile. "Really?" Then it reached her eyes, and her control slipped a little. "...Well... there you are, then."
She glanced back to the curtain quickly, then back to him. "It gets more convoluted," she says, with a smile. "It's.. not so bad. There's more morbid, twisted ones, but.. " I don't want you to see me cry, ever. "This is amusing."
---
Amusing. She said the word like it was a dagger, a weapon she weilded in her high society tea parties. This play is amusing, and I call it such because I don't want to be too excited for it but I don't wish to seem as though I did not care for it, either. A perfectly diplomatic word that gives no indication as to whether or not I have feeling toward it. He frowned. Perhapsd just seeing her in this setting made him view her in this way, or maybe it was the comment she'd made while tying his tie, the memory about her mother. She'd always acted kind of snobby, but he had yet to see her actually be one. Now he was starting to worry he might.
Time to test drive that theory. Looking calm as anything, Dante leaned close to Erin, whispering very softly in her ear, looking at the stage as though he needed to inquire about the play. "Est-ce que j'obtiens de me reposer entre vos cuisses ce soir?"
---
She leaned in when he did, figuring he was about to say something inappropriate about the play -- that it was lame, or worse -- but.. no. Not about the play. Just inappropriate. However, the sound of French on his tongue -- much different than reading French -- distracted her more than she wished to be distracted. She blinked, her gaze that had been on his hands now losing more focus, and she felt a chill on her spine. She was glad her genetic makeup prevented her from being a blusher.
"J'ai pensé qu'un sujet même quelques fois déjà ce soir," she replied, with the same serious expression he'd given her, before she turned her eyes up to him, dark lashes almost touching her darker brows. Despite her severe jaw and pale eyes she could be coquettish when she tried.
---
Dante expected her to go red with anger, or at the very least be annoyed. Not play along. A huge, dervish grin spread over Dante's face. "I knew you wanted in my pants," he said in a normal tone, loud enough for the older man seated beside him to hear and cluck his tongue disapprovingly.
---
Naturally, even if she did play along, Dante had to kill it. When she heard the fellow beside him cluck her eyes flashed, and she widened her gaze at Dante with a tight jaw. "Ça suffit avant de vous décider pour moi," she hissed, speaking quickly and fluently.
---
Of course he did. There was not a perfect moment Dante could not ruin. With a triumphant grin and a sigh, he was confident in knowing that Erin was not going to become one of these blue blood dipshits. "Oui, cher," he sighed. "Ma vie est mais pour vous entretenir." Then he added quietly, with a smirk, "Sexuellement, naturellement."
---
Erin was seething, and although she was trying desperately to hide it it was becoming more difficult by the moment. This was the longest intermission ever. She sucked her teeth and ignored him for a moment before, just as the curtain began to rise, she said dryly: "..Don't flatter yourself; I doubt it." A challenge? Perhaps.
---
She was funny as hell when she was mad. Dante sniggered, biting the inside of his lip to keep from chuckling. The best part about her, about most of Dante's friends, was that they were so easy to anger. He knew which buttons to push and when. And he knew how to make the entire circumstance even worse. As the curtain rose, Dante sat up a little straighter in his chair, reaching over into Erin's chair space and taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers together.
---
Her heart paused, clearly as confused as she was, and she stiffened under his grip for just a second or three before relaxing visibly. What on earth was he doing? And a better question: why? She looked down at their hands, then up to his face, her expression quizzical.
---
With a grin, Dante looked at Erin, knowing exactly what her expression would be before he even saw it. Her eyes clearly said it- why? Supressing a laugh, he silently mouthed two words- Mind. Fuck.
Turning back to face front, he was just in time for the stage lights to come up, and act two begin.
---
And just like that, her heart started again, heavier, as if to make up for lost time with a ferocity. Her chest wanted to cave under the weight of it, but she said nothing, giving just an almost imperceptible tug of her fingers away from his. If he let go, she would take her hand. To her disappointment, a return to familiarity was less welcome than she had thought it would be. Holding hands with someone while simultaneously being miserable was not new to her. Mind fuck? Oh, ha ha. It was all a game to him. Of course it is. And you're playing right along.
She leaned on the armrest they didn't share, leaning away from him despite their hands, her eyes on the stage.
---
Of course he wouldn't let her go. Truth be told, he wanted to hold her hand. But he didn't want her knowing that he did. Nox was wrong, there were rules here because it was a game. Maybe it shouldn't have been, but if it wasn't a game then it was serious, it was real, and Dante didn't want to admit that yet. He liked Erin, but he wasn't in like with her. As childish as that sounded.
So Dante sat all through act two holding her hand, convincing himself it was because it make her ticked off, and not because her cool fingers fit so well in his.
---
It was hard to hold a grudge because of the opera. The hijinks and madcap humor clashed poorly with petty bitchiness. Midway through the act, when things were getting good, she resumed her original relaxed position. A little after that, her thumb grazed over his knuckles unknowingly as she watched, her chest rising and falling slowly as she drank in the costumes, lights, and beautiful music.
She was so taken and distracted by the display that as the curtain came down and the entire she-bang was over, she was still holding his hand. Until they needed to clap. When she pulled free, she felt the way his heat remained, and her hand felt.. naked. She clapped good naturedly, but was looking at Dante with an unreadable expression.
---
Clapping was expected, and he did so because he was supposed to, which should have told Erin right there that he was invested in her. Following a social more for the sake of it wasn't his style. But he stopped clapping when he saw her looking at him, some weird glint in her eyes. "Che cosa?" he asked, brain still babbling in Italian. "I mean, what?"
---
She couldn't help it. Her ire had been swept away by the finale, and now, when he blurted out Italian, a laugh bubbled out of her. Her eyes danced, and he let her clapping die off, chuckling softly. She was pretty when she smiled; it softened all the femme fatale features. "Nothing," she said, shaking her head. The loose curls near her temples and ear bounced. "Che cosa," she repeated, under her breath, before reaching for her coat and purse after standing.
---
With a shrug, Dante got to his feet, limbs suprisingly sore. He'd been sitting still for almost three hours, which was unheard of. Waiting for the old people to move their old asses out of the way, Dante led them both out of the aisle and off into the grand foyer.
"Can I get outta this monkey suit yet?" he asked her. He felt he'd been damn patient with all this, especially since it was so uncomfortable. How did Erin dress like this all the time, constricted and tight and clingy? Granted, her ass looked fabulous and the slit in the dress was achingly teasing, but still!
---
"Here?" she said, with a smirk. "No. The car should be outside though." Unless Dante requested a specific stop, they were to head back to TJS. She assumed she had pushed him just far enough tonight; she wouldn't torture him any longer.
Once inside the vehicle, she shrugged off her coat immediately and tossed it aside along with her purse. Then she looked up to him, bemused, before giving him a once over. "You look rather human; I don't know what the fuss is about. Tall man in a tuxedo. Nothing wrong with that."
---
"Well I feel stupid," he said flatly, pulling off his jacket as well as possible in the confined space. Next came the tie, then the vest, and he took in a deep, unnecessary breath. "Ah, shit," he sighed happily. "Relative comfort." He unbuttoned the top few buttons on his shirt, then decided he might as well go for broke and undid them all, tugging the crisp material out of the waist of his trousers. He had a white tee shirt on underneath, so at least he didn't look totally scandalous. Or like an Armani model.
"I dunno how you do it," he admitted, resting against the back of the car seat. "Just watching those people and their fake laughs, the tight, constricted clothing and polite conversation and ninety dollar haircuts and small talk about their BMWs. How the hell did you survive in that shit and not put a bullet in your head?" He'd been listening to the crowd as they'd walked through it, observed the people around them when they'd first sat down, listened to people during intermission, scanned the crowd in act two while he'd been pruposely not thinking about holding Erin's hand. It was awful. These people were just awful. How could she stand it?
---
Erin watched him take off items of clothing one by one, trying not to let her thoughts wander. She was unsuccessful. Thankfully, Dante brought conversation to the table. "Well... it's not so bad. They're not all disingenuous. I like the clothing and the flashy cars," she replied slowly, with a delicate shrug of her bare shoulders. "But yes, some of it is boring. That is probably why I tried to stay away from home a lot. And was always in trouble." She smirked. "Granted not the sort of trouble you're accustomed to, nor the sort of rebellion, but in my family it was pretty heinous to go missing from a weekend retreat at the country home because you were off seeing The Who."
She looked over toward him, her mouth settled sideways in thought. "But.. again, boring, yes. Which is probably why I've always been bored with most everything. I have a short attention span." She swallowed, moving her gaze up to his eyes. "Usually. Occasionally something will come along that grabs me."
---
With his clothing littering the floor, the scene looked like the two of them might have just come from prom. Dante did take note of the way her eyes followed his movements, though for now he supressed a smirk. She was talking, really talking and not just making idle chatter, and he wanted to hear what she said. "Well, aren't you a regular renegade," he teased. It was hard to imagine her liking The Who, but then again she was a somewhat unexpected woman.
That last part, something will come along that grabs me... He knew she meant him. He wasn't much one for reading body language, but the way her eyes looked into his... Holding her gaze, Dante slid closer to her, unbuttoning the sleeves of his perfectly pressed white shirt and slipping it off his arms. His hands reached for the bottom hem of the undershirt, pulling it off over his head and dropping it to the floor, where it joined every article of clothing except his pants. Leaning over her, Dante kept his eyes locked on Erin's, his expression less teasing and more serious for once. Confidence had never been an issue for him, so stripping off most of his clothing unprovoked was not really unusual. A confident hand lifted to brush her chin, stroke fingers in her hair. "So what's grabbing you now?" he murmured, of course putting a lewd bit of emphasis on the question.
---
Erin's gaze traveled again as he started unbuttoning his shirt. She watched his fingers move deftly, then watched his forearms as he stripped the shirt off, and then his biceps as he lifted the undershirt. Then he his torso was bare, and she felt her breath catch in her throat as he leaned in toward her. What was he doing? What was his plan? She braced herself where she was, becoming a statue. His hands moved toward her and she took in a shuddering breath through her lips, slow and shallow, as his touch grazed her chin, and then settled into the loose updo she had worked on an hour. She didn't care. She wanted to reach up and pull it out, so he could sink his fingers in all the way.
Her chest rose and fell at a higher pace, and she rested a cool hand on his, again holding it where it was. "I.." her mouth twitched, and she smiled, before casting a nervous glance at the divider. Thank goodness she windows were tinted. It was a stroke of luck on their part; she hadn't specifically requested a tinted car, of course. "What are you up to," she whispered, amused and frightened at once as she slid an inch or two closer to him. Her other hand rose and hooked onto his shoulder, near his neck. She tried to move it to cup his cheek but it stayed where it was, frozen again. She brushed her thumb sideways, against the top of his collarbone.
---
As much as he liked seeing her mad, he also liked seeing her nervous. Really, he just liked seeing her fall from grace, unsure of herself, her icy aloofness wavered. Dante could give a fuck if the driver was watching, if the guy wanted to pull over and enjoy the show. Clearly Erin wasn't all too concerned either, as she was moving closer to him, a delicate hand coming up to rest on his shoulder. The feel of her sent a shiver down his spine. She was close, very close, to his scar. He wondered if she was disgusted by them, if she even considered them. He wondered why he was worrying about something so stupid.
Leaning close to her ear, he pressed a gentle, teasing kiss to it. Normally he was never so soft, so tender with women, but Erin was different. She wasn't some waitress from Denny's, she wasn't some classless ho from down the block who'd blown half the guys in town. She wasn't even some cute coed from the college dorms. She was a woman, an older woman, and to get anywhere he'd need a little enhanced tactics. "I might just be messing with you," he whispered truthfully, since he hadn't quite made up his mind yet. She was a total cock tease, and turnabout was fair play. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe this was sincerity, maybe he was actually going for something right now. "Or maybe I'm just... testing." Testing what, he wouldn't say. The hand on her cheek moved to her shoulder, fingers tracing to the base of her throat. His other hand rested on the seat beside her hip, propping himself up and he leaned even closer, his lips just barely an inch from hers. "You're panting," he pointed out with a smirk. "Is it getting hard to breathe in here?"
---
When he said he might just be messing, she felt a surge of anger and was ready to smash him against the window on his side before he spoke again, and she felt her heart slow down. Testing? Testing what? She let out a slow breath as his hands wandered, and her hip tingled despite the fact he wasn't even touching it, just close to it. You're panting, he said, and she felt embarrassment burn in her throat because she knew he was right and she couldn't help it.
"Big talk for someone who doesn't require oxygen," she said, her voice husky, before she smiled, keeping her nose and lips in the proximity he had created. The hand on his neck slid down, over his chest, and then she suddenly felt the raised flesh of the giant scar. She didn't pull away, but her fingertips did slide down, further, away from the scar toward his ribcage.
---
He noticed the flash of anger in her eyes, the faintest hint of the possibility of an embarassed blush on her cheeks, the tentative fingers on his autospy scar. The fact that her hand had moved lower on his body. His hand did so as well on her body, fingertips grazing just beneath the fabric of her dress before sliding over it again, brushing over where he guessed her nipple would be. No doubt she had worn something to conceal any sign of protrusion, because tonight she was acting like a lady and ladies didn't flash nip in public. Caressing her modest breast for a moment, his palm covering its entirety and then some, he massaged it gently, the faintest of moans echoing in his throat. "You should be grateful I don't breathe," he whispered, words brushing her berry red lips. He didn't need to tell her how that would come in handy, instead his hand moved down her torso, smooth over her stomach, coming to rest dangerously close on her inner thigh.
---
Her body responded miles ahead of her brain, and she thought that perhaps if she kept talking she could possibly slow time down, or, at the very least, slow Dante. She wanted to savor this, even if it was a bit lurid -- the back of a car, for god's sake -- but the divider was opaque and the windows were tinted. Was that so terrible? He was shirtless. Semi-terrible. Was there something wrong with semi-terrible? It was exciting, if anything.
Her hand lay on his, keeping it from moving any closer, her other hand reaching up to flatten on his chest again. She kissed him, her gloss tasting like its color, fruity and sweet, and she closed her eyes and let a quiet sound escape her.
"I knew you wanted in my pants," she repeated, mocking his earlier "joke" before she gently pushed his wrist to slide his touch toward her knee. "I must have done better with this dress than I thought. You can't even wait until we get back."
---
The frustration was going to kill him. The minute her hand touched his, stilling it on her thigh, Dante knew it was over. Maybe not over over, but certainly not going where he wanted it to. His chest fell a little, the irritated growl dying in his lungs. He didn't want her to know how much he wanted her, because by now he should have given up on this. His rule had always been that if the girl didn't put out, she wasn't worth keeping around. And even if she did, sometimes she was useless. But something about Erin made him keep trying, wanting to finally get to that point. Maybe because yes, he did like her. Or maybe because she refused to let him, and Dante didn't like hearing the word 'no'.
Pulling away from her, Dante sat back on his side of the car, resting his head on the seat and looking up toward the ceiling. "You are damn near the most frustratin' woman I ever dealt with," he informed her.
---
She looked at him as she pulled at the top of her gown, adjusting..herself both physically and mentally. "What," she chuckled, incredulous, "because I won't put out in the back of a moving vehicle? Lovey you best get used to that. Besides, we'll back back in less than an hour, I would think." She checked her cell phone, then looked up at him with a smirk. She was flattered. He was so honesty about his eagerness to touch her; it had been quite some time. She was used to those who followed proper societal mores; his teenager-like inability to control himself was a little bit of a turn on. Not that she would admit it. Not now, possibly not ever.
Her grin was a little cheeky, and she lifted her legs and rested them over his one leg, eyes dancing. Hadn't he understood until we get back? He seemed so simple at times, he missed her subtlety. Which made things more amusing when he finally understood. She bent sideways and picked up his shirt, then came back up to gently lay it on her lap.
---
Or at all, he shot back mentally, a sour look on his face. It would be one thing if he thought there was some time in the future it might happen, but this unknown crap was making him nuts. Glancing at her sideways, he folded his arms, then returned his gaze to the ceiling. Less then an hour was enough time. Of course, he didn't grab the implication she left for him. He was too miffed.
At the feel of her legs on him, he glanced sidelong at her again, this time watching what she was doing. She was grabbing his shirt. More then likely, she was subtly hinting at him to put it back on. With a grumble he snatched it from her, pulling the cotton garment on over his head, shifting until he was comfortable in it then flopped back against the seat, crossing his arms again. He really did act like a giant three year old.
---
She stared at him for a moment before a high pitched giggle escaped her, and she slid off him so he could gather the rest of his clothes. At least she wished he would, but knew he'd need some nudging. "I'd really prefer for you to not leave the car looking like that," she said, sounding more amused than stern. "Please."
She picked up his shirt and vest and dumped it on his lap. "Am I in silent treatment now? Because you insist on getting naked in public areas like a fratboy?"
---
With a hefty sigh, Dante picked at the clothing dumped into his lap, grabbing his shirt and pulling it on. "No," he spat moodily. "Because I don't fucking get you. Because you can be in a situation like this, where you're obviously enjoying yourself, where there's no one around and nothing to interrupt and you just... stop. You force yourself to stop because, what, I don't even know. Because it's not a bedroom with candles or what the fuck ever high class females require." Pulling on his vest but not bothering to button it (he'd only done half the shirt buttons anyway), Dante flopped back once again onto the seat, this time turning his face toward his window. "For someone who liked to "rebel" (with air quotes) against her stuck up family and their ridiculous high brow morals, you sure cling to 'em pretty tight."
---
Erin had reached for her phone somewhere after the first profanity, searching for a way to distract herself so he couldn't see her face as he began a tirade. She checked the time, not breathing. She wasn't saying anything, but she listened. How dare he! How dare he throw in her face something she was trying to share with him? When he was done making fun of her, she took in a slow breath. He stared out the window, tight and angry, and she stared at her phone, distant.
"Have you ever considered..." she said slowly, her voice strangely even, forced, with only the slightest hint of a perturbed quaver, "that perhaps I'd just prefer the first time we were together to NOT be a rushed thirty-minute hump-fest?"
---
Turning to look at her, slowly, Dante's eyes were dark. "Have you ever considered," he said, tone icy enough to rival Erin's own abilities, "that I wasn't going to fuck you in the back seat of a car?"