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"Ok," they both said, in unison, while they smiled and watched her. Neither got up to move.
"Boys! A lady, n-needs... t-t-to..."
"You know we've seen you naked right?" Matt said.
Art, complete with a nod and a dismissing wave, grinned. "Lot more than that."
She couldn't deny that. The three of them had been all over each other for many nights now, to the point it was interfering with her work. But it was hard to stop! God, she had no idea how addicting sex could be, when you found someone you fit with sexually, an ebb and flow where everything just sort of lined up naturally.
She was supposed to be looking for a new place to sleep too, somewhere more secure, while Barry's death was being investigated. The Prince had offered her one of her many guest rooms in her tower's underground bunker, so perhaps she should just bite the bullet and sleep at the Prince's? But then, what about Arturo and Matthew? She didn't want them to stop visiting her, and they very well might if she was sleeping in Elysium tower.
"Fine, f-fine! Fine." Glaring daggers into her two boyfriends, she started taking off her t-shirt. Boyfriends, plural. Hehe.
Both guys leaned back, and watched, hunger in their eyes. She could see the growing thirst on their faces, how their muscles tensed slightly as she finally got the shirt up over her head, and pulled it down past her long dark hair. Topless, wearing nothing but pink pajama bottoms.
She looked down at herself. A tiny body, little breasts, a flat stomach and a skinny waist, but not very curvy hips. Antoinette's words sprung up from her memory though, reminding her of what she'd said, about her, her size, her attitude and personality, and wearing pink in front of the boys. And, it was working. The two of them looked ready to tackle her, grab her, pin her to the bed, pry her open with their fingers, and—
Stop thinking about it! At least she didn't have the blush of life going, so the arousal running through her mind wasn't manifesting, otherwise her nipples would be diamonds by now. And with the two boys staring at her and her breasts, she knew they'd both be devouring them. Her. Everything. She shook her head, hard, so her hair flew about a bit as she forced the thoughts from her mind.
"Showing off for us?" Art said.
"What? N-No, just... nevermind." They were tempting fate, watching her change, but she'd told them no sex until later and she was going to stick to that. So, she slipped out of her pajama bottoms, and walked over to her wardrobe. A glance back showed both men had tilted their heads to the side, in unison, to stare at her butt. She frowned at them, but when she looked back to her wardrobe and pulled open a drawer, she smiled where they couldn't see. They liked her butt.
Maybe... maybe she could do a little teasing? Just a little. She had to be careful, cause she knew if she pushed the two wolves too hard, they'd just jump her, and to hell with the party. Which was tempting too! But, the Prince would be very angry with her if she didn't go. It was her job to learn things, discover things, learn about the Uratha and the Begotten at the party, meet people and develop connections. The Danse Macabre. So no teasing. Control yourself.
She dug through her underwear drawer, and reached for a boring pair of white underwear. But, Antoinette taught her to not wear white underwear with a white — ivory — dress. Either black, with specific intent to let people see it, or something the color of skin, to hide its presence.
Or none at all.
She shivered. No underwear, at a ball? Well it wasn't like she'd be the only one. She'd been to one of these parties before, and the sexual atmosphere was almost palpable, with women wearing clothes straight off the runway that exposed breasts completely, and men more than happy to show off some muscle. Vampires didn't sweat, didn't give off body odor — except for maybe a little stale air from being a walking corpse — so it wasn't like they couldn't take advantage of clothes humans couldn't. Full suit of leather? Jessy wore that on a regular basis, because she had no reason not to. Corsets? Lot of women wore them, absurdly tight too; no need to breathe after all.
Jessy would tell her to wear a black thong, and let people know she had a butt, a nice, tight little butt. Her words. But that wasn't Natasha either. She liked being secretive, and she liked being playful, behind closed doors.
She closed the underwear drawer, nothing in hand, and walked back to the boys. Managing a tiny smile, she slipped the white dress on over her head, and tucked down on the hem to get it snug to her body. Down and down it went until it covered most of her legs, but the dress itself was quite tight, to contrast the conservativeness of the length. Antoinette had suggested it'd go nicely with her 'secretly sexy' vibe she gave off.
Both boys jawdropped, and stared at her. "Wow." Again, in unison.
"It's so... t-t-tight, I can barely move. And..." She looked down, and frowned. The fabric wasn't very thick, but not see-through. Still, it hugged her breasts tight enough to give the subtle hint of her nipples, despite their softness, as she was not blushing life.
Like some sort of four-armed monster, the two men reached out for her, took her hands, and pulled her closer to them.
"H-Hey! We... no no, we can't."
"We won't," Matt said. But, even saying that, he kept her hand in his, and set one hand on her hip as he pulled her in until she was standing between the two sitting men. "Just, damn." And, as the giant smiled at her, he leaned in, and set his lips to hers.
"You are the most petite little piece of delicious." Art, devil smile carrying the corny compliments and all, leaned in as well and started putting kisses on her neck, her collar, and her bare shoulder.
Two big guys, boys, men, touching and kissing and—
No! She slapped their hands away and frowned. Frowning didn't work so well, earning only more smiles and chuckles from them, but at least they stopped kissing and touching her. Later, she could indulge later.
"Who else from your p-pack is coming?" she said.
Art shrugged and looked at Matt. "Clara is, and Mason I think has a date with some girl from the Carthians."
"... he does?" She skipped over to her nightstand and grabbed her phone. Note: Mason Harding has a date with a Carthian Kindred.
"Keeping tabs on us?" Matt said.
"Um... yeah. Y-You know, cause... yeah, my job. Part of it-t-t... anyway."
They laughed again, and watched her from the bed as she stepped into the bathroom across the hall. The doors lined up, so they could see her as she pulled out her kit and got to work.
"Easy to forget sometimes that you vamps are still vamps," Matt said. "It's a really nice place here, Dolareido. I mean damn, hadn't expected to hear Mason be happy for a while, but that girl sure put some smile on his face."
Natasha peeked out from the bathroom to look at the boys. "D-Do you know her name?"
Matt nodded. "Yeah, think I heard it was... Tilly?"
"Oh." Yeah she knew of Tilly. Mischievous woman, that kind of reminded her of Rebecca. Well, good riddance to Rebecca, but Tilly seemed nice enough. "Hope... he enjoys himself. She's v-very pretty."
"Not as pretty as you." Again, in unison!
"Ok, that w-w-was practiced! You two can't speak t-together like that all the time... d-do you?"
Art shrugged and gave Matt a bit of a shove. Matt returned it, and being a bigger guy, forced his friend to fall off the bed with a loud thunk. Art of course got up and shoved Matt back harder.
"We've been buds for decades," Matt said. "Just happens with time."
That made sense, and there were plenty of things about her and Jessy that were automatic, knowing each other as long as they did. Natasha nodded and resumed her work. She needed a better foundation setup if she was going to put on her ballroom face. Mascara, lipstick that fit her pale skin with a bit more boldness, and she had to do something with her hair. Normally she'd just do a simple ponytail, or leave it loose, but maybe tonight she'd try something fancier.
Art poked his head in, but before he could speak, she turned to look at him, and tilted her head to the side.
"W-What should I do with my hair?" she said. Asking her boyfriend what to do about her hair was a secret guilty pleasure she'd long wanted to indulge in. Maybe he could do her hair too? That'd be perfect.
"Hair like yours? Think we could get away with some lavish shit. C'mere and I'll try some fancy ponytails out."
Oh my god he could actually do her hair! She almost squealed.
"H-How do you know how to do ponytails?"
"Wouldn't you like to know." He winked at her, and guided her back into the bedroom.
Before she knew it, she was holding a mirror in her hands, while Art was doing her hair, and Matt watched, offering occasional comment. It was too perfect.
Boyfriends, plural. Hehe.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~Jack~~
Well. Damn. Everything right down to the music, she guessed correctly.
"Now presenting, Alder Antoinette of the Ordo Dracul, Prince of Dolareido. And her companion, Master Terry of the Invictus."
Oh god damn it. Jack turned his head just enough to glare at the man calling out titles, master of ceremonies or whatever, and made sure the man realized he was upset. But Antoinette slipped her hand down to hook it with his arm, and started to walk them down the stairs into the grand room of the Invictus ball.
Massive chandeliers, enormous paintings on the walls of figures that must have been gods, red-lined chairs around the tables, each table covered in a red table cloth with gold embroidery. And on the other side of the grand room, two stairways that curved up and in toward a balcony that overlooked the ball room. But this time, instead of Viktor and Garry have a conversation on said balcony, Jack could see the movement of a dozen hands playing instruments. A small symphony, playing the night's music.
Grand, beautiful, and extravagant. The Invictus did love to throw their money around. But who was he to complain, or compare, when the Prince did the same thing at her balls.
The whole room turned to face him. As was custom, the Prince arrived fashionably late, and since he was her date, that included him. The Invictus preferred punctuality, but hopefully they'd understand in this circumstance.
"You use the title Alder? I remember that from before," he said as they walked down the stairs into the grand room.
"It is not meant as offense to the Invictus, but a statement of force. I am here, and as much as your superiors love to feel they own the city, it is only because I let them. Jacob indulges the title as well, for the same reason."
"Jacob thinks he owns the city?"
"The old snake does think that. He does not, but, I would be a fool to bring strife over his harmless delusions."
Jack strongly doubted the man's delusions we're actually harmless, and Antoinette must have known that. He looked her way a little longer, long enough to catch a hint of doubt in her eyes. He understood, completely, that Jacob was the x factor in her life, her city, the unpredictable element she couldn't get rid of, who was just too damn strong to remove. If she'd truly wanted to make it happen, she could probably force out the Uratha, and the Begotten, but Jacob? Man was too smart.
And, maybe, once upon a time, the two of them had been friends. They'd come to the city together, after all, so long ago, worked together to make it a reality, and succeeded. That must have meant something to her, to him.
Jack looked out to the crowd. They'd acknowledged his appearance for a moment, but by now his relationship with the Prince was becoming a normal thing; or at least, normal enough to not gawk at. Instead, older Kindred came up to the Prince, and thus began the Danse Macabre, the subtle manipulations, the dialogues meant to tease out information or plant subliminal misdirections.
First were the Invictus. Jack lowered his head as they approached.
"Master Terry," the triumvirate said.
Ghost lady was wearing a white dress, like usual, but with a corset and a wedding veil, along with long sleeves, white gloves, and such. Covered her disfigurements, without ruining the aesthetic of the ball. Mister big bad McDonald was wearing his usual suit, except he had no tie and the shirt was undone a few buttons to show some skull tattoos on his chest. And of course Julias was there, wearing a similar suit to McDonald, open shirt, with some jewelry Jack hadn't expected. A couple of subtle rings, and a necklace that had a small design he didn't recognize hanging against his sternum.
"Your excellencies," he said, and bowed his head.
"Good evening my Primogen," the Prince said. She used the word 'my' with a touch more emphasis than he expected, not dissimilar to how he used to have to say 'my Prince' to her, when they first met. Guess she was driving home that she was their ruler, and currently dating the man they were all looking down at. Not looking down at him really, but maybe Antoinette was feeling a little defensive for him.
Should he be offended by his girlfriend defending him? Ha, fuck no.
"Prince," the three said, eyebrows raised a touch as they caught onto the vibe she was laying down. Yeap, his girlfriend was subtly scary when she wanted to be.
"A delightful gathering!" The Prince raised a hand and made a sweeping gesture to the glorious display around them. "And, dare I say, the Kindred here seem relaxed."
They did at that. Jack took a moment to look around more, and smiled as he started spotting faces. Sitting down was Amanda Pol and her sire Gloria Jenning. Very attractive ladies, wearing some dresses that hugged the body nicely, thin fabric too. In a seat beside them was another woman, not a vampire, and she was holding her wrist out while Gloria indulged. Openly feeding on kine already? The night was young, and if this was any indication, the party was bound to grow into a buffet.
Next to them were Isabella Leauvion and Hella Vendram, along with some of their troupe. While Vendram wore a rather sporty looking suit, it had an impressive amount of skin on display with how the suit jacket was open, she had no shirt or bra underneath, and the only thing keeping the jacket from spreading apart to expose her breasts was a tiny silver chain. Leauvion on the other hand wore a corset, and a lot of leather. Leather gloves, leather boots up to the thigh, and the corset itself created enough cleavage to drown in. All of them were drinking glasses of blood, and chuckling, laughing even.
Garry Tones and his Carthians were mingling; which was a very good thing. The whole Mirrden business had put people on edge, but it wasn't stopping the covenants from interacting. Garry was wearing suit pants, but instead of the open jacket look, he was wearing a shirt, black, that reeked of that dark and handsome vibe the dangerous man liked to put on. Many of his covenant men did the same, suit shirts with power colors and with the first couple buttons undone. Many of them had glasses in their hand, and a couple of the more daring ones even had a thrall or ghoul by their side — also dressed in the half suit ensemble — with wrists out or necks exposed. The female Carthians did as Julias predicted, wearing cocktail party dresses that were both eye catching, and sexy. A lot of backs and stomachs, a lot of cleavage and legs, and more than one woman wore a dress with loose cleavage that let the breasts nearly expose themselves with movement.
None of them held a candle to Antoinette. More and more of the eyes in the room fell on the Prince, staring at her, the amount of skin she was exposing, and they made occasional glances to the little guy beside her. He felt proud, but not because of the huge breasts his girlfriend had. Much as he loved those too, it was how he and the Prince, two people so vastly different, had been in a relationship for so long. He hadn't dared dream that this amazing woman would be in love with him, and he her, and for this relationship to survive. No one else in the city had expected it to either, from the looks he got.
Not exactly the right time to be monologuing the changes of his life in his head. Bad Ventrue habit.
He looked back to the council and the Prince. They were talking about political affairs, and—
"Do not think I am unaware of your interference," Antoinette said. "You have courage to perform such measures without my permission."
"Thought it'd be better to ask for forgiveness than permission, my Prince," Julias said. "We needed to act."
The Prince made a small, quiet snort, something between a chuckle and a groan. "We will speak of it later, but be content knowing I am not angry over your actions. Upset you did not ask me first, but I would have agreed nonetheless." She turned, and smiled down at him. "Jack my love, please feel free to mingle with your companions. Perhaps speak with the Uratha? I must do my rounds."
The rounds, where the Prince went around and spoke to everyone. No new Kindred since Jack's embrace, but that didn't mean the Prince didn't want to look every single vampire in her city in the eye, to make sure she knew them, and they knew her. And of course, she'd carry the air of a monolithic deity with each conversation, to make sure they all knew who was boss.
How she'd be able to do that, with her breasts nearly hanging out, he couldn't really fathom. Maybe it was just him, who couldn't help but be distracted by the large amount of skin her dress was exposing? Her, and a lot of the other women too. Mingling wasn't going to be easy.
McDonald and Turio bowed and left as the Prince stepped away, but Julias stayed behind, and grinned down at him.
"... yes sire?"
The man laughed. "She's a beautiful woman."
Jack caught the man's grin, and matched it with his own. "The dress is killing me."
"Completely understandable. I'm still waiting for Triss to show up, and I imagine Jen will be with her." The two of them fell into step, and started to wander in a slow walk by the tables. Nods were offered to Invictus Kindred they passed, and Jack made sure to catch Amanda's eye before offering her a small wave. She returned it, the glow of a fresh meal on her skin.
Isabella got up from her table, and Hella followed, holding her hand. Jack never picked up on the relationship vibe from the two of them at work, but now that he'd seen them together in their private home, the clues were a lot more obvious.
"Master Terry, Mister Mire," Isabella said. Jack had to try hard to not stare at where the corset was pushing her already large breasts into balloons. Could have sat her wine glass on one of them without issue.
Jack offered his most official, Invictus-approved nod of respect. "Madam Leauvion. Enjoying the ball with Madam Vendram?"
The ice woman nodded, subtle grin and all. "We are. Though, I think perhaps no one is enjoying the ball quite as much as your friend the Begotten. Fiona Young, I believe?"
"Fiona's here?" He stood up on his toes, but even that still kept him below a valuable viewing height.
"She is. A charming young lady, too be sure. Like champagne." That icy grin melted a bit, and she looked to her lover.
Hella nodded, and made a gesture to a group of people in one of the corners. "Girl is a Begotten? One of those monster things you were talking about? Girl seems as bright and fun as a college chick with too much beer in her." It was a large group, with hustle and bustle and some rather loud voices of joy. Sounded like something Fiona might cause.
"I think I'll go say hello, if you don't mind," he said. And he waited until Julias, Isabella, and Hella each gave him a nod. Always about respect, showing it, keeping it, and using it as a currency in the Invictus. Once they exchanged with him the currency of the realm, he moved across the room toward the other side where the commotion was.
