for asyouwishemma: Lieutenant Jones meets a very naughty princess who likes to ruffle his feathers.
.
.
He was required by law and his code of honor to be polite and respectful to royalty, particularly royalty of countries that were not his own, but this damn princess was going to be the death of him.
She had decided — apparently upon seeing him for the first time — that he was entirely too high-strung for his own good, and that she should fix this by engaging in a lopsided and quickly-escalating plot to make him break form and throw something at her, or burst out laughing, or — as he was now discovering, tactic number three — make him jump her bones.
"But Lieutenant," she said lightly — not purred, no, nothing so obvious, nothing he could immediately and safely dismiss off-hand — and toyed with the tassels on his coat, "when will I ever see you again? You're leaving tomorrow, and I feel like I don't even know you yet."
He was running out of reasons to keep his hands off of her — he'd spent the first hour repeating to himself that she was a princess and putting his hands on her might actually get them cut off… but she was coming onto him, with an appealing glint in her eyes that was captivating and irresistible and gods above, she was beautiful and practically sitting his lap, and no one was around, and if she didn't stop this right now it would become really obvious how much she was affecting him — and then she would win, and after this whole week of enduring her torment, he couldn't let her win.
He was having a lot more trouble convincing himself that walking away from Princess Emma and Princess Emma's wandering hands would, in any realm, be considered "winning".
"Honestly," she went on, more seriously, trailing her hand over his coat and making a show of inspecting the details, "I won't tell."
"I will lose my rank," he hissed, refusing to look at her. "You'll forgive me for being unwilling to risk such a thing."
"Not if I advocate for you," she countered, and he finally glanced at her — she looked completely honest. "Seriously, you think I'd let you hang for this? I'm the one pushing it. And," she went on, glancing down, "you need it."
"I do not need — " he started, more belligerent than sincere, but she cut him off.
"Please," she drawled. "I've never met someone else with such a huge stick buried up their ass, if there's anyone in the world who needs to get laid, it's you."
He glared at her. "You say that as though you believe me a novice at the act," he challenged, giving up the naval officer part of him and stepping closer to her; the look on her face said she did, in fact, think he was.
"Prove me wrong," she murmured, and he was done for.
"With relish," he growled, pulling her with him into the nearest closet.
He'd wipe that smug grin off her face if it was the last thing he did, dammit.