Note that when I refer to suspenders, I mean the elastic part of a tux that holds the mans 'pants up by attaching to the front and back of them. Garters are what hold up a woman's stockings. Please, please do not picture Joseph in garters! He's not into that sort of thing and Clarisse would kill him.
Rummaging for Wrinkles
"Oh, not another wrinkle!" Clarisse's exasperated voice carried across the royal bedchamber and into the oversized closet her husband had taken as his dressing room. He finished fastening his suspenders and wrapped the cummerbund around his waist as he walked into the room they'd shared for over a year now.
"I see only my lovely wife," he said, coming to stand behind her.
"There is- it's the second one this week!" Clarisse sighed, moving away from the mirror.
"Let me take a look." He leaned closer and closer, then kissed her cheek. "Nothing."
"Perhaps you don't notice, but I do and-"
"Maybe it's here," he continued, touching her forehead, temple, and lips in turn. He kissed her deeply, pulling her close and felt her relaxing against him. "Lips are still sweet and warm."
A glint came into his blue eyes and he smiled just a little. "I think," he said, sliding his arms around to her back and grasping the zipper of her gown, "that this calls for a more thorough search."
"Joseph! What are you-"
The dress slipped off her shoulders, and slowly settled to a heap about her ankles.
"It will get all mussed!"
"Everyone will think it's a new fashion, my dear- casual formal wear." He guided her to step out of the dress, then tossed it across the bench of her dressing table.
Joseph ran a finger along her throat, then between the swells of her breasts. "Looks wonderful from here," he said, his voice ragged. His fingers skimmed across her black lace bra. "Could it be under here?"
"Joseph…"
He lowered his head and kissed the area just above the lace. She could not speak.
Deftly, he undid the hooks, exposing her ample curves to his palms. "Mmm, my favorites…"
She drew a breath and clutched at his shoulders. "Someone might come in!"
"No one will open that door." He kissed a particularly sensitive spot.
"Darling, really! We just….can't!"
"We are."
Her slip fell to the floor, the rest of her under things following quickly.
"Now, where were we? Oh, yes," he said, taking her by the hand and leading her to the bed. He stripped swiftly, and then knelt beside her, returning his attentions to her pleasure.
"We have guests downstairs. The Prime Minister-
"Motaz will understand." He swept his hands across her thighs, then up.
"The members of Parliament-"
"Most are too old- they probably won't," Joseph laughed.
"The Ambassador!"
"He'll appreciate an extra few minutes to sniff out a willing female among our guests."
He lay down beside her, pulling her close. Just before his lips could touch hers, she whispered, "I'll be late."
"I'll hurry," he whispered in return, shifting his weight atop her.
Clarisse sighed and closed her eyes, losing all coherent thought, not caring if they even made it down the stairs that night. She wrapped her arms around him, her hands sliding down his back, urging him on and then….
…the phone rang, insistently.
"What?" Joseph said crossly into the receiver, out of breath.
"Sir, the guests are waiting. Is there a problem?" Shades asked.
"No, we're coming!"
He slammed the phone down and they did just that.
Ten minutes later, he zipped his wife's dress and let his fingers linger on her neck. "There, my dear, you look perfect."
Clarisse touched her hair, moving a strand into place, then frowned into the mirror.
"You are beauti- Clarisse, my darling, what's wrong?"
"Oh, Joseph…I think I've found another wrinkle!"