Two years prior
It was absolutely hideous. Most of the things he gave her were, but he had really outdone himself this time. He was always on her for looking so pallid; she could hardly believe that pairing yellow with it would make it any better.
She wasn't sure exactly when he had started leaving her dresses, but it was irritating at best. They pinched in all the worst ways, were mostly itchy, and worst of all, usually kept her arms close by her sides. How was she supposed to exist without lifting her arms?
This monstrosity at least was free from that. She actually had a decent bit of mobility, save for the ribs. The fabric was thick, almost canvas-y in weight, and when she had forlornly stared at her reflection in the mirror, her awkwardness had only became more and more clear. If she didn't know better, she'd mistake herself for a depressed lemon pastry. Given an inch of freedom she would have changed into anything else, but he had made his thoughts on the matter very clear, and this wasn't a battle she wanted to fight.
He had said this dinner was "very important," but he said that about every one. Either they had another petty heist or an even worse production to plan; whichever it was, she wanted no part of it.
It was a very important dinner. He had made sure she knew that. He needed to re-inspire his subordinates, to get them ready to follow him on this next heist. And of course, she played a role, however unwillingly, in this small scene of persuasion. It helped his argument to have his finest trophy serving dinner, a perpetual reminder of his wit, every bit the perfect hostess. He'd dressed her to fit a man of his status, of course. She had no eye for such things, always preferring her boxy, oversized clothes. He'd tried to persuade her away from them as of late, giving her nice things that actually complimented her figure, but she always made things so difficult.
Finally, she came through the kitchen door, food in tow. Her face was set in her typical manner, expertly masking whatever it was she may be feeling. She was a perfect, garish display of all of his might, and he couldn't resist pressing a kiss to her hand as she moved past him. She didn't say anything, pulling her hand away quietly, but the men responded exuberantly, always ready to laud him, and rightfully so. Just a touch of color showed in her face. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was embarrassed, but time had taught him to discern her anger. Good. It was a good look on her.
The dinner seemed to be going well for him. Good. Maybe she could retire early. They were all so eager to buy into whatever he was saying. It made her feel so silly, to be trounced around like a medal or a trophy. She moved between them, refilling glasses, hoping to expedite the process of their drunkenness. Maybe they would pass out sooner. She poured extra in, for once glad for their thirst for the liquor.
A wandering hand brushed her knee. She sidestepped it, refilling the glass of a very forward squat man, who had a few thoughts of his own to share. With any luck the bastards would be out soon.
He watched them, already boisterous in their eventual victory. They were so easy to lead; all they needed was his genius. He sat back, watching it all contentedly. His dear wife wove between them, a spot of brightness in the mix. The dress really was a work of brilliance on his part. He may not have her just yet, but just looking at her was a damn fine experience. The fabric pulled tight over her chest, spilling over her hips in soft folds, practically inviting you to find out if she really was as soft as she looked. The skirt flowed around her legs, an intriguing, darting question of bare skin hidden under all that cloth. The things he'd give to run his fingers along the backs of those legs, push all that fabric up out of the way, feel the tight tension of the bodice over her skin as she lost her breath, as he made her come undone.
Unfortunately, his men seemed to feel the same way. They were all exuberantly drunk tonight, and apparently brave in their lack of inhibitions. A pallor of fear colored her otherwise steady face as one man slunk his arm about the small of her back, hands wandering just a bit too far to be allowed. Quickly, he snapped his fingers to her, pointing at his own cup. She stepped out of the man's grip, hurrying back over to him.
After giving her a moment to actually refill the glass, he pulled her back by the hip, balancing her on his leg. She protested lightly, but he waved her words off, trying to hide the gleefulness of his fingers from his grip. His hand rested right at the curve of her waist, and as she sighed, he could see the swell of fabric tighten over her chest. He drank from the glass quickly, wanting very much to distract himself from the weight of her body against him.
She hadn't realized how much they had drunk. This was infinitely worse. They were awake, but more brazen than ever. She was almost glad for his protection—heaven knew she didn't want to be back within that mess—but still, there was the cold clamminess that came with it. He never did anything without motive, and his protection couldn't be trusted. She managed to suppress a wince as his fingers dug into her waist, not particularly wanting to anger him at this moment.
He put the glass back down, placing his other hand upon her leg, tightening his grip ever so slightly against the fabric. She didn't move, not wanting to provoke him. Softly, he tugged her back, sliding the hand that had been on her waist up to her abdomen.
"Relax—it's a party, for god's sake."
Begrudgingly, she allowed him to steer her weight against him until she was leaning her arm on his shoulder. There was a pleased smolder in his aura, his hands sliding back over her waist.
She leaned against him, her arm laced behind his neck, hands folded over one another on his collarbone. She was so stiff, but at least now she didn't look like she wanted to die. Gently, he played with the fabric of her dress, trying very hard not to think about how it would feel to take it off her. He tried not to think about how warm her skin was, how soft and beautiful. Quickly, he reached for his cup, only to find it empty.
"I'll get it," she snatched it from him quickly, retreating to the kitchen. He frowned at the loss, but allowed it. She'd return, but even so, the best things always were so fleeting.
She reappeared a bit later, evidently having had taken her damn time. He looked away, not wanting to seem too eager.
She was only steps away when there was a quick yelp, and the flurry of her hands beating offending reaches from the inside of her skirt. Her face was concentrated in fear, the glass making a loud sound as it hit the ground, though it was hardly able to be heard above the already present din.
Not thinking, he stood quickly, sharply hitting his hands to the table, "Everybody, out!"
They stared at him, blank confusion on their faces. He had never thrown them out before, had never discouraged them from acting as they might. He couldn't risk showing them any weakness. Thinking quickly, he moved behind her, scooping her up in his arms bridal style. "I need to sleep with your Hostess right fucking now!"
The announcement was met by a spattering of cheers and generally amicable noise, and what only could be described as a look of sheer terror on her part.
He stayed until the last of them had left before folding back into his chair, massaging the bridge of his nose.
"You're a terrible actress, you know that, right?"
Her grip on the table was tight, terrified as she forced herself to stay upright, "I understand that- I mean- I-"
"And why on earth would you go so heavy so fast with the liquor? Haven't you learned by now?"
"I don't- I-"
"Not to mention your hostess skills. Really, you'd think someone failed to die."
"Listen, please," she clutched at her throat, feeling her heart beat uncomfortably hard, "I understand that you have- I really don't care what you do with the other women, but I- I don't-"
"Oh, please." He scoffed. "If I wanted to sleep with a depressed maid, I'd certainly pick someone a little less deceased-looking."
"So, you're not-"
"Do you really think yourself so irresistible? Spare me. What, am I supposed to lust after you because you wear a dress and pour wine? What sort of drunk do you take me for?"
"I just meant- I didn't-"
"Backtracking now? Have we changed our mind?" Standing to his full height, he slid his arm around her, pulling her tight to his chest mockingly.
"You wish." She tried shove him off, not able to tolerate his horrid closeness, but he only tightened his grip, keeping her close enough that she could feel the murmur of his heart beneath her fingertips.
"Don't pretend you're more than human, Darling. You'd be lucky to be the object of my desires. It's a position many women vie for."
"They can have it."
"Now, now. I believe the phrase you are looking for is 'thank you.' Now," he dropped her, brushing imaginary specks of lint off his jacket, "I hope you've learned a valuable lesson." Sharply, he turned to leave before stopping for a brief moment, "You'll want to get started on the cleaning right away. You've a lot to do."
Not looking back, he walked off, leaving her feeling very confused and very much alone.
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AN-
Y'all: Pre-Here attraction makes us very uncomfortable
Me: Same
Also me: Embraces the hell