Everything it seems I like's a little bit stronger

[molotov]

Who| Molotov and Black Tom
What| Dinner
Where| Below Timberline
When| A few days after the end of the Arena
Warnings/Notes| nah

One extremely good part of being friends with Jolie meant never having a lack of animal prints in your wardrobe. Molotov wanted to be a big cat lounging in the trees -- and it wasn't like cheetah print didn't already appeal to the Brighton Beach whore part of Molotov's innate style. Gold bangles and miniskirts and velour everywhere, all the time.

It was easy enough to pull the strings and get a good reservation. Tributes were celebrities by nature, but Molotov's hard work at becoming a public figure really had paid off, as shops and restaurants figured it was fantastic to have someone so recognizable be seen in their doorways.

Her earlier words to Tom were true, though, and she's swept away from the paparazzi into the most private nest before he can even arrive. She waits patiently, long legs curled up next to her under her skirt, sipping at a glass of wine and almost childishly watching for him to round the corner with the hostess.

Comments

[pimpcanes]

"And someone to tailor my suits." She leaves his finger feeling as if it holds an electrical current in it, as if her very touch is not one between humans but between a man and some elemental spirit. She's so beautiful, so powerful, so dangerous.

A man plays with fire knowing full well he may be burned.

"Other than that, we're entirely independent, aren't we?"

[molotov]

"Of course we will spare Jolie," she says with a smile. "So that's clothes and food taken care of. An Avox or two to keep things tidy, and I can't imagine needing anyone else around."

Molotov takes a sip of wine, traces her finger around his knee. "Imagine how much room you'd have for flowers if we had the city for ourselves."

[pimpcanes]

"I'm quite a fan of the architecture. We don't necessarily have to take that all down. Much better than some of the awful modernist buildings I've seen in the past." He ghosts his knuckle over the base of her spine.

"I can't imagine we'll need even another soul."

[molotov]

She can only snort. "Nearly all buildings are nicer than most of what I am used to, the blocs where every was gray and square. But they could do with more greenery around here."

There's a pause, and she turns to nose his cheek. "We'd be set."

[pimpcanes]

"A woman like you shouldn't be deprived of beauty, even as a child. It's hard. Sometimes I forget not everyone grew up in a castle." He smiles softly and bumps noses with her, as if pantomiming the most gentle swordfight, sparring with kisses. "Too bad we both lack the ambition to take over this sad little world."

[molotov]

"You poor, poor man." It's teasing, that growing up in a castle might be a problem simply because he has to remember that other people didn't. "If I am going to be stuck here, all I want is my crown and my own place to live. Somewhere far enough away from the city center that I don't have to be chased by the paparazzi all the time, but close enough to come for parties and events if I want to."

She pauses, brushes her lips against his, smiles widely. "And a garden."

[pimpcanes]

He considers something of a game to catch her lips when they whisper over his, as if he were a venus fly trap closing over succulent prey, but so much more gently. He kisses back.

"And a suitor, perhaps?"

[molotov]

Molotov holds his tie with one hand, capturing him close to her and keeping him there, her food practically forgotten by now, growing cold on the table.

"My bed would be cold without one."

[pimpcanes]

He doesn't mind this tether, doesn't mind that she has him in complete control and that he made the naive decision to wear an actual tie, one that could strangle him. He lets his nose nestle against her cheek, feeling rather than seeing how smooth she is.

"I've heard that I'm quite warm at night."

[molotov]

If she was going to kill him, she'd have done it by now, and so a tie is nothing to worry about, not naive in the least. After all, she hardly needs a tie to strangle him.

"Good, because I've been told I'm like an ice cube."

[pimpcanes]

"Then I imagine it's equally fortunate that I don't mind a little cold." He finally pulls away. "More pasta, dear?"

[molotov]

"Mm, we should finish before they bring the next course, shouldn't we?" She sits back as well, reaching for her bowl.

[pimpcanes]

"I'm keeping my hopes up for lobster." That said, he's in no rush. Good food is to be savored, and the truth is that he's never had someone whose company he actually, truly enjoyed who was willing to take it at a civilized pace. Cain always tossed back whatever he was eating as if it were a beer, no matter what the substance.

"I hope you're enjoying yourself, lass."

[molotov]

"I am. The food is wonderful, as perfect as I expected it to be."

She smirks, only a little, as she takes a bite of pasta and chews it slowly, not willing to immediately give in and say what he wants. She swallows and drinks some wine before adding, "And the company is pretty decent, too."

[pimpcanes]

She doesn't need to say it immediately. He knows he'll get it from her eventually. He manages to look entirely blithe as he eats his pasta and waits for her to say it.

Finally, the main course: kobe beef. The smell alone is something people would pay a hefty sum for.

"You certainly know how to choose a restaurant."

[molotov]

"I can hardly take all the credit," she demurs. "I'm not entirely sure this city has a bad restaurant within its borders. But it has bad people, and I'd rather be with good people and bad food than the reverse."

She spears a bit of beef and smiles at him as she chews.

[pimpcanes]

"Oh, I'm sure there are a few with quality ingredients and questionable culinary decision-making." And yet he entirely agrees with her assessment. "Are you really talking about good people or good company?"

[molotov]

"My definition of what makes a good person is probably a little different than most peoples'." Her smirk makes it clear that she doesn't give two shits if anyone else thinks he's good or bad, like those are anything more than abstract adjectives. "So why can't it be both, hm?"

[pimpcanes]

"I just don't see being 'good' in the eyes of such a deplorable society to be anything worth pursuing, honestly." And that's that, his snobbish rationale for all his bad behavior. He runs his thumb over her wrist. "But if you insist it's irrelevant, I won't mind."

[molotov]

Molotov makes a noise of dissent, waves her hand as she finishes chewing a bite of steak.

"Fuck society. I don't care what they think of me, of you. I want you to be good for me. That's all I ever ask, be good for me. To me. That's all I ever ask."

[pimpcanes]

He understands that her roots are growing into him, that he's willingly yielding himself to her spider's web. And yet he can't help but agree to her terms.

"That seems a reasonable enough bargain."

[molotov]

She smiles widely, pleased, and tilts up to gently press her lips to his cheek.

"I'm glad you agree." That's all she says before she returns to eating.