Author's Note: If you're reading this, I hope you have a sense of humor. There's been lots of talk about weddings and garters and garter removal methods lately...so this sprung a little bit from that.
Dedicated: To my friend, Amanda, who recently "celebrated" the wedding of her father. Party hardy. I'm sure he didn't do it at all like this, honey...lol.
Garter by Leila Winters
Brought to you by Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill: Volume 2.
Weddings are very festive occasions. Bouquets on every table in elaborate displays of greenery, baby's breath and bursting lilies. Perhaps if one looked close enough, they'd notice the expensive silk ribbons and...is that just a hint of azalea among the bright cluster of flowers? Yes...yes, perhaps it is.
One thing is certain: weddings are for women. Looking at the frivolities involved...flowers, flowers everywhere and not a single petal for any practical use...expensive tapestries and cloths, sashes, candles sitting upon hand-crafted doilies...
:::snort:::
Women are so idiotic.
Mmm...looks like Shinomori is in for it. The crowd swoops like vultures on the man who looks all-too comfortable in his black tux and long black overcoat.
He eyes the crowd warily beneath his girly-soft bangs, but suddenly there are people there, too, and the Woman laughs her deranged chortle.
"Oh ho ho ho!"
Shinomori has no idea he's marrying a social parasite. Serves him right.
The spiky-haired groomsman with a red bandana to match his red cummerbund reaches out and seizes Cool and Composed by an arm.
"Oh no you don't! You're not getting out of this one, Creepy!"
Pale eyes narrow dangerously at the touch. Yes...he doesn't like that very much, now does he?
The redheaded groomsman quickly snatches up the other arm, smiling kindly as the Early Snow whirls to stare with wide eyes, his black coat whipping through the air with him.
"Shinomori-san, it would be a shame to miss out on tradition...after all, a first wedding is once in a lifetime."
Hmph. He is suspicious of having his arms restrained behind him. As he should be.
The bride is dressed in delicate white, flowing and lacey and sitting upon her throne of dark cherry wood in all her finery. The top half of her hair is done up in a series of ridiculous twists and braids and curls...rather elaborate for only a single night of display. The bottom half of her hair hangs down from the intricate knot with supple curls and waves...and that shine. Mmm. Shinomori married her hair. Lucky bastard.
Poor man struggles as the people place handcuffs on his wrists, his brows furled darkly, his body jerking at the bands.
The bride smiles gleefully at his discomfort, her red, red lips brightly painted and curving sensually against her smooth skin. Yes, perhaps he even married her for those curves, too. Those, too.
:::chuckle:::
The bratty ring bearer scratches his head in exasperation, embarrassment outlining his features at seeing such an intimidating figure being un-manned before his bride. Upset that Shinomori doesn't get to keep his dignity, kid? Yeah, I'm sure he feels the same.
An older man with gray hair and tears streaming down his cheeks steps up to him.
"Aoshi...I do this for your sake."
The groom manages a final glare before the old man places a black blindfold over Shinomori's eyes and secures it. The crowd pushes the defenseless man around until he stumbles to his knees before his bride. The faces laugh good-naturedly, but the beauty in white quiets them with a hand that she holds mildly up in the air, her hands soft and nails elegantly stained a muted peach.
Shinomori tips his head slightly to the side, sensing the presence of his maiden. Yes, how adept you are at your abilities, Morning Frost.
The bride leans forward and runs her hands over the shoulder and back of the exquisitely tailored black overcoat her groom dons so well. She takes pleasure from the firmness beneath her fingertips and the way he stops struggling against the cuffs at her touch.
Savor it, Shinomori.
She leans closer and at the same time tips his head up. Before their lips touch, he breathes reverently into the space between their lips, unable to see her face but imagining the look of her red, red curves.
"Meg..."
Mmm...a kiss even on-lookers can feel, so soft, so full, a giving over of oneself to something bigger. Indeed.
When they part, the crowd hoots like a pack of drunken dogs. People come forward to push the already kneeling groom into his bride's lap.
His will is breaking...hahaha...serves him right.
The crowd chants in a feverish chorus and at last his will crumbles to ash and sand. His head moves experimentally on the smooth texture of the bride's skirt before traveling down the length of it. The crowd coos and jeers when he pauses to get his bearing, already having lost track of where the garment ends.
"Help the guy out already!" yells the impulsive groomsman.
Clearly enjoying the power given over to her, the bride smiles widely, then curls her lower lip into a pout before lifting the hem of her dress over the head of her groom.
Hmph. Play with your kitten, Shinomori. Demand vindication!
The groom appears slightly disoriented beneath the veil of ivory and milky-smooth legs. He reasserts himself amidst the whooping of the crowd and nuzzles her calf. His lips must be running along her natural warmth, stopping to land kisses on her satin skin.
The bride is purring in satisfaction. The groom is playing her game now, and powerless before her...but wait. Is that a blush upon the velvet cheeks of the fair maiden as the groom moves farther up, following the line of one noteworthy leg? Yes. Yes, watch as the faint pink darkens with what must be your mouth against her inner thigh, Shinomori. Surely, you are imagining that perfect skin before your lips.
Yes. This is the proper punishment for your stolen manhood.
Her long, curved lashes blink in rapid succession against the fantastic darkness of her eyes. Her fingers are twitching for you...so close to grabbing your head and maybe punish you some more. And wouldn't you just love that?
Beneath the pale cloth, the groom shifts suddenly. He has it! With deliberate slowness, he slides down her leg once again and emerges from the frothing cream of shifting silk, over the dainty foot of his bride, toenails trim and stained with that wholly feminine peach color.
Proudly, he bares his teeth, sitting full upright on his knees, white lace garter between his feral jaws.
The crowd cheers triumphantly and the bride looks misty-eyed at her warrior. She reaches for his blindfold and pulls it free, the garter forgotten and fallen, the blue of his eyes so sharp in the sudden exposure. The groomsmen rush forward to uncuff him while they share a soft, sweet kiss.
Enjoy it early on, my friend. Kisses do not last.
The bride and groom prepare to leave the festivities behind. The bride turns and smiles mischievously at the eager faces in the crowd.
"Just so you know..." she says, "I've decided not to throw my bouquet. I've hidden it somewhere in this room and whoever finds it...well..."
She laughs that squawking bird laugh as her groom pulls her by the hand out the large doors. The women scramble through the reception area, desperately searching for superstitious luck to befall on them.
Outside, the groom is pulling on black leather cut-off gloves while his bride is unzipping her elegant dress and slipping out of it.
His pale eyes slide to me and he turns to extend a hand. Firm handshake, I'd expect no less from you. You smile your slow, confident grin.
"Thanks for being my best man."
"Anytime, Shinomori."
Your bride is waiting for you in her short white slip, looking ready for bed, beautiful and so soft, her legs completely exposed to the breeze. She's stuffed her dress in a compartment for sidekicks on that shiny black Harley you bought last year.
You nod and join her to help her place the helmet over her lacquered hair, you smile at the way you know she's admiring you behind the reflective visor, you in your stiff tuxedo and overcoat. You secure your own helmet and wait for your bride to slide behind you, her legs brushing yours, her hands clutching at your torso.
You rev the engine with your bad boy hands and allow your sleekly polished shoes to lift off the ground and glide the motorcycle onto the road. What any normal person would do to get their hands on that smooth cat.
I take a long drag of my cigarette and toss the nub into the street. Best man. Of course I am.
End Note: Lol...I hope y'all liked. I don't think Saitou is a voyeur or anything...he's just really observant. Also I like that it's written from a perspective that doesn't romanticize weddings...nay, he almost makes them appear a bit...different. :D
Also...the cuffs, blindfold, garter and motorcycle are all part of my ideal image of a wedding reception. LOL!
Wrote this instead of my 9 page problem/solution paper on obesity...lol. Consequently, Amanda was writing a story about rape at the same time. We briefly pondered combining stories...but the idea of Saitou as best man getting called into a back room of the church and being compromised didn't seem to fly so well...lol!
Cherry Delight, if you ever read this, I swear, I'm working on Mibu Saints!!
Disclaimer: RK is not mine. Quentin Tarantino totally gave me the idea of giving somebody the identity of "The Bride." Thankies! Also...that line about "giving over to something bigger..." I think that might be from the play I did last month ("99 Histories"). If it is, I'm sorry Julia Cho! This ain't for profit so you got no worries...