dizzy_land | SECOND ANNUAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! (Open RP)

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SECOND ANNUAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! (Open RP)

Crowley awoke, not in his comfortable bed inside Club 33, but disoriented and hung over on a bench in front of the castle, an empty bottle of rum still clutched in one hand, mouth fuzzy, and head pounding.

"Ngk."

He brought up the other hand to guard his bleary, uncovered eyes from the glaring sun. It took him a moment to realize that there was a great deal more frilly sleeve around his wrist than there should be. After a perfectly still moment, Crowley ever so cautiously moved his hand down slightly to discover a mustache and double braided beard.

"Bugger."

It wasn't what he meant to say.

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...That would probably tinge his view of her cooking forever. "Good ter know ye be in such a charitable mood," was the response he gave though, and so the thought was pushed away for the moment. "'eart of a saint ye got."

For a man who did not flinch in the face of brutal violence, prudishness was actually something he had in spades. Perhaps it was the fact that there had been only two women present in his life until he was twelve, and they had both been aliens. Or the fact that his father hadn't really had the time to go over the how 'How To Talk To Girls' speech. Perhaps it was his distaste toward using people's bodies after spending too much time around crime lords like the Hutts.

Regardless of that fact, his hands seemed to have an entirely different opinion on the matter, and once her jeans were down his hand was trailing from the inside of her knee, up and up....

His view, nothing: that would be scarring her for life. Definitely the most horrifying thing she'd found herself saying so far, since all the rest, absurd and humiliating as it was, hadn't really had much to do with her. "Ye've got a rare notion of sainthood, t' be sure, me lad."

Wherever his hands were getting their opinions from her nerve endings were in thorough agreement, and the attention her neck was receiving was also doing interesting things to the mass of short circuits that was currently her brain. (Actually, having a bit of an oversensitive neck was worrisome for more than one reason, here, but she was trying not to think about that.) She tried to step her way out of her jeans but, because somehow she'd failed in all this excitement to remember to shuck off her shoes, only managed to throw herself off-balance and fall backwards.

As long as he didn't make any comments about locking her up in holding cages, he would be fine. Or binding her hands. Or handling weaponry. All right, the amount of innuendo that could be garnered from his occupation was beginning to worry him now. "All's the better fer ye then, I think."

Fortunately for her neck and her mind, he wasn't one for biting; ravaging teeth put him uncomfortably in mind of both Sarlaacs and Trandoshans, a decidedly unattractive combination to conjure at a time like this. His hand had been thoroughly enjoying its explorations of so much skin he could hardly recall what to do with it when she shifted and tripped, and he got tangled, and the world slanted-

Well, that was one way to lie back.

One hand was trapped under Sunshine's back (rather painfully so), so he could only hoist up on his opposite elbow to get a look at the damage. "Are ye hurt, love?"

Oh, the amount of innuendo that could be found about anything was always frightening. That was probably the First Law of Innuendo. Just the number of dough-rising metaphors was disturbing.

She'd fallen at a somewhat awkward angle for her legs, which were bent a bit painfully and still hobbled together at the ankle, and his weight on top of her all at once had knocked her wind out a bit, but - "I think I'll live ter sail th' seas again," she said, kissed him, and arched her back a bit to let him move his trapped hand.

And there was that laugh again from somewhere in the pit of his stomach when she kissed him, so apparently some part of his brain found this whole farce amusing. But the arch of her back brought that up short when his body seemed to become overaware of the differences in female anatomy currently pressed against him. He removed his hand, rotating his wrist until it cracked loudly.

And then he did what he would normally do in a situation like this: he checked her over for damage from the fall. Which was a completely sound thing to do, or it would have been, had he not been using his lips to do half the inspection.

He was also fairly sure that he could not assess hip joint injuries with his tongue. But if there was even a possibility, he should be certain, of course.

She had no particular desire to fault his first-aid techniques just now, being a bit distracted with trying to take off her shoes and hopefully, eventually, solving this whole jeans-around-ankles dilemma.

Not wanting to dislodge him with too much wiggling - well, it seemed rude - she sat up a bit on her elbows and tried to toe off her sneakers. She seemed to be grinning a lot. She didn't seem to be able to help it.

Well, he could multi-task. It was a sort of requirement in his line of work. Nearly amused at the fact that he seemed to be slightly more organized in the order of clothing removal (wasn't that supposed to be the other way around?), he used fingertips to urge her to bend her knees so he could help with the footwear.

Distraction was not normally a problem for him, but he caught that grin out of the corner of his eye, and it prompted him to raise his head. "An' what could be runnin' through yer head to make ye smile so like Fortune spinnin' her wheel?" And yet another something that made no sense in his frame of reference.

Oh, you always did the tricky or time consuming prep work first: sifting the flour before starting with the mixing. Her clothes weren't complicated: just sneakers, jeans and panties, counting from the feet up. She bent her knees obligingly to allow for the unshoeing.

"Arr, I be on that wheel as surely as ye be," (the reference did in fact make sense to her, if of a somewhat abstruse kind) "and if I be smilin' 'tis only the spinnin' makin' me dizzy." She sat up a little bit more so she could kiss him again.

Having both lips and hands occupied almost put him at ease; there was efficiency to it, and each step at the moment was an obvious one. One shoe tossed aside, then the next, then untangle her ankles and get jeans out of the way. He glanced down and narrowed his eyes on bare feet; not much left to the imagination at this point, and that was truly jarring for him.

"Me lass is freed t'would seem," he murmured against the corner of her mouth. He had a suspicion that she had been eating her fair share of those cookies today, tasting a trace of something sweet at the edge of her mouth.

"Freedom be a fine thing indeed," she agreed, that corner of her mouth turning up. (She always ate her own sweets. That was part of the job, and a big part of why she liked the job.)

Now that her legs were free, she thought she should make an demonstration of exactly why that was a desirable state of affairs. She decided the best way to do this was to move them up around his back.

((How would you feel about going to a fade-to-black, here? My pr0n bizarre-o-meter is encouraging my tendency to procrastinate, I think...))

((That's a-okay with me. Although, I'm thinking a morning-after thread should be done. XD))

((Oh, absolutely. Here, or in a new post?))

((I'm thinking new post. Do you want to start, or should I? XD))

((You go. XD I'm dying to see his afterthoughts. The pirate-y-ness should have worn off at midnight...))

((You got it. I'll have it up in a few minutes. XD))

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SECOND ANNUAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! (Open RP)

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