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You have to get into that gala no matter what; it'll be your only chance to steal a score of jewels that are kept at city hall. You've been planning for days, agonizing over details to the point where your crew has to keep pushing you to eat and sleep between pacing sessions. There's one final thing you need though.
"I can only take one of ya' inside the building with me," you state casually over breakfast, the day before the planned heist. "We're a recognizable group, so I need the least inconspicuous person, that's gonna be Droog." Diamond's eyes snap up, meeting your gaze over the top of his newspaper, an eyebrow cocked.
"Do I have a choice?" He laments.
"Nope! I've already made the arrangements. All you need to do is wear yer' usually fancy schmancy get up with a different hat and we're good to go." His eyes narrow, brow inching up further.
"What about yourself, boss? You're just as recognizable."
"Not in the outfit I've planned I won't be." You quickly move on to explaining the other two goon's jobs before he can needle you for more answers. To be honest, you're nervous about the heist, but not because you're worried it might go wrong. No... You're worried because you signed for your ticket with Droog as a couple. That information doesn't have to be leaked quite yet, you think.
You like Droog, no, you love him. You've been in love with him for centuries; even when he was still the Dignitary you loved him. Actually, you also hate him... And you want to be pale with him- fucking Godhead feelings are complicated. The point is, you've been dealing with this grab bag of vacillation for a long time now. How do you tell someone who's always been at your side that you want to be with them like, romantically, when that could break you apart? If you didn't have Droog, even as just a 'friend' you don't think you'd be even close to the person you are today.
Once Boxcars and Deuce have their orders you stand to go back to your room and make any final tweaks to the plan. Droog grabs your elbow and pulls you over to him. "Don't I get a more detailed plan too?" He's not actually looking at you, he's busy glancing over the headlines for anything relevant to the crew as he always does. At least that makes it easier.
"We're posing as a couple to get in," you start. You swear his eyes widen ever so slightly. "Then we're gonna shmooze our way close to the jewels and let Box and Deuce in while we keep an eye for things going wrong. Then they'll wait for us in the getaway van. That's it, easy peasy." He takes a long breath and sip from his coffee before answering.
"All right then, I hope you have an appropriate outfit," he replies. You know that tone is saying for you to just not wear a tacky suit, but the thought of something like lingerie does make you almost snort.
"Yeah yeah, don't bunch ya' boxers, I got something real nice." He won't know how nice until tomorrow, but he finally let's go. As you stalk away you don't notice that the newspaper has crumpled where he was gripping it. Or, that he swears under his breath and tries to smooth it out but finds its futile. A couple...
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The next day you keep trying to distract yourself with quadruple checking the plan and making sure everyone knows their roles. Evening comes far too quick and you nod at everyone after a light 4 pm dinner and then vanish to your room to get ready.
You've done this before, many times. But you haven't ever worn any of it in public. You're putting makeup on, sitting at your dark oak dresser, and staring at your reflection. It's just going to be a few things to help feminize your face, but that doesn't mean you're not nervous. The dark red and gold you use for eyeshadow start the look off popping. A few shaky attempts at eye liner eventually give you some nice wings. Then it's blush; the bristles are weird against your check plates, but the slight red sheen is a nice touch.
Lipstick you've done plenty of times before. It's waxy, and when some gets on your tongue it tastes like crayons- which you have eaten before- and you pull a 'bluh' face. Nonetheless you highlight and exaggerate the curve of your lips with dark red, and when you look yourself over the full look is something to be proud of.
Corsets are a bit of a struggle. You almost call Duece or Boxcars in to help you, but you manage to get it tightened. Oooh! That accents your waist nicely! You're only wearing it so your chest and hips look a bit bigger. The dress goes on next, a bit of a fit, but that's a point is it not? You take your time fiddling with and adjusting the skirt so it sits just right. The fabric is soft like puppy's fur beneath your fingertips, not that you would know what that feels like.
A spritz of perfume- you smell like the patches of lavender The Felt grow in their little gardens now- and you place your hat on your head, ready to go. A hand on the doorknob as the clock ticks towards the time you said you needed to leave. Well, here goes everything.
You step into the hallway and when you find no one there you make your way to the entrance room. The clack of your heels is loud against the cement floor.
"Oh! Boss!" Deuce is the first to spot you. He gasps and claps his hands together. "Is that really you!?" You roll your eyes and put a hand on your hip.
"Course it is, dumbass, wait lemme-" You clear your throat and do a few tests in pitching and tweaking your voice. "There we go." It comes out a little rough, but there's much more femininity present. Boxcars whistles and then chuckles.
"Wow Slick, if I didn't already know it was you I sure wouldn't be able to to tell." You bat your eyes at him dramatically.
"Well that is the point, doll." The boys make a few more compliments, and you duly ignore them or snark back (even though you do enjoy them). Several minutes later and Droog still isn't out. You sigh and stomp back down the hall to pound on his door. "Hey, asshat! Hurry up or we're gonna be late!" There's some scuffling sounds and he opens the door, looking like he's about to make a sarcastic comment, but instead he just stares, mouth slightly open from his unspoken sentence.
Your brain shoots off a few alarm bells and 'oh godhead this is really happening, I'm going to be pretending to be his partner for the night why the f u c k did I decide this was a good idea?!?' On the outside you glare at him. "Ya' gonna stand there gawking all night as yer boss in a dress or ya' gonna get yer ass in gear?" He blinks slowly, but his expression quickly falls into his usual neutral look.
"Don't be so impatient, Slick, looking good takes time."
"Then ya shoulda gave yourself two hours like I did if you were gonna drag yer feet." You're already headed back down the hall, back to him, but you can feel him roll his eyes. You'll let it slide, this time, but only because it's gonna make you all actually late if you stop to argue.
The silence in the back of the van is... Awkward. Deuce and Boxcars are chattering away in the front seat, but you have your arms crossed, looking out the window while Droog smokes a cigarette. You're dropped off two blocks from the gala's entrance, and you make the boys recite the plan to you before you let them go to find parking.
As you walk, your heels keep clacking, and the echo when you pass alleyways is almost unsettling. You practice your voice by muttering phrases until you feel your bare shoulder being brushed against. You shoot Droog a sideways glance, realizing he's trying to find a way to subtly touch you. He presses his hand against your upper back ever so slightly.
"Oh for fucks sake, Droog, we're pretending to be a couple, don't be such a piss baby 'bout touchin' me," you snap. With a determined huff you grab his hand and place it firmly on your hip. Your heart skips. Well, what is a slight torture tonight in comparison to the treasure that awaits?
"Right," he mumbles. His fingers tighten and then relax, smoothing slightly down the fabric before gripping you comfortably. Your heart is pounding, all of your attention focused on that small point of heat and pressure. Your nerves tingle. How the fuck are you going to make it through the night?
Focus, Spades. If you think about the jewels, and only the jewels, this might not be so bad. The doorman bows to both of you as you hand him your tickets from your gold, velvet clutch-bag. You immediately glitch said bag into a card and hand it to Droog. "I don't have pockets, keep this safe." Your lack of storage space is frustrating to say the least, but you do have at least one weapon on you- a small knife attached to the back of your garter band. What? The rest of your inventory has tools for the heist, and you aren't going to lug your war chest out in the middle of everything when you're trying to be inconspicuous.
The main entryway has scatterings of carpacians, dersites and prospitians alike, that are huddled together having private conversations. You make sure to scan the crowd for any familiar faces that perhaps you should avoid, but thus far find none.
The ballroom is far more lively. There's music coming from every corner, and people milling about banquet tables, speaking in loud voices to be heard above those nearby. You both slip into the crowd, nobody the wiser that two of the city's notorious Midnight Crew members are among them. Of course, not everything can go perfectly smooth.
"Oh! Darling, your dress is gorgeous!" A short, dersite woman approaches you. She's grinning ear to ear as she drags behind her a much taller prospitian. "Aren't they just gorgeous, darling?" You panic for a moment and try to squeeze out a soft laugh. The prospitian nods and offers their partner a smile. "Where did you get such a lovely gown?"
"Oh, I've had this for so long I can't recall!" You giggle and shyly rub the back of your neck. Eugh, acting out pleasantries.
"Oh, that's just fine, sweetheart!" She actually grabs your hand and you're startled by the sudden contact; Droog's fingers tighten on your hip in response to your jolt. She blabbers on, something about her partner loving dresses like yours, and you can tell, seeing at the lighter carpacian is wrapped in a soft blue gown themself. The dersite keeps patting your hand and you're starting to get uncomfortable when suddenly the speakers crackle.
"Welcome all! The first dance of the evening is about to start!" A large prospitian man has taken the stage and is speaking into a microphone. "Please grab your partner and get yourselves situated!" The woman gasps and turns her sparkling eyes right up at you.
"Oh joy! Come on! Grab your partner there and let's dance!" Oh no. You hadn't prepared for this. You weren't supposed to end up dancing with Droog. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Your mouth can't form the words to protest, you just glance back at your second in command who's pulled along with you. "Have fun you two!"
You're face to face but not quite touching yet. You have to do this, don't you.. There's not really any clean way to escape the dance floor anymore as you're crowded in. He places his hand back on your hip, and you slide your hand to his shoulder. Then, the other ones clasp together loosely and the music fades in.
It's dizzying. He pulls you and pushes you ever so softly. When he nudges you a little to correct your path you simply follow. You don't think he's ever seen you so obedient. You're completely under his control, and you're not even fighting it; you let him lead you wherever he wishes. You feel the pressure of his fingertips, curling around your hip, his breath, warm between your bodies, and the heat you are generating darkens your cheeks ever so slightly.
He has you pulled in tight, and for a moment, you swear his eyes dart to your lips, faces mere inches away from each other. Then, he spins you away and you take a deep breath of the cool air outside of his atmosphere. You could have kissed him.
Godhead, you want to kiss him.
One, two, three and four. Your heels clicking on the white marble floors blend in with the rest of the background noise. You realize only now, mid dance, that the lights have dimmed, and now all that keeps the room from darkness is the golden flickering of candles and fairy lights. All you can smell is him; an arid desert and sweet cigarette smoke that's invaded every fiber of his clothes and being.
The song is ending and you crave a quick escape, and yet, you never want to leave. His arm slides around to your lower back and you bite your tongue to avoid making a rather embarrassing noise. Finding yourself dipped low to the ground as he hovers over you stops your heart entirely. But, just as quickly your back on your feet and he's bowing to you before making his way over to the banquet tables. You're left stunned and feeling like someone just carved a hole in the middle of your chest.
You need a drink.
Wait, no, first. You decide to leave Droog to whatever he's doing, you need the space. You make your way to a safe spot, ducking into an empty corridor and message Boxcars and Deuce.
SS: You guys in position?
HB: Have been, boss.
SS: A'ight I'll be right there.
Technically you only brought all your tools tonight in case something went wrong, but the actual plan is to just let the other two in through a back entrance while you and Droog keep a lookout for trouble. So, you take care of that issue, nodding at the boys as they enter, and then go straight back to the party. You have a glass of alcohol with your name on it.
Make that several glasses. Fuck, you're legs arent working the same anymore. You can still walk but why are the lights a little drippy? There's a hand on your shoulder and you jump.
"Sl- wait, are...are you drunk?" Oh! That's Diamonds! You like Diamonds! He's cute. You giggle and blink slowly at him.
"Jjust a little," you admit. "Only a lil' tipsy." He furrows his brow. You don't like that look on him, you don't want him to be grumpy! He sighs and pinches the space between his eyes. "You're..not mad at me are you?"
"No, I just...fuck... Let me text HB and CD." He wanders away and suddenly you have that pretty Prospitain from earlier sitting next to you. You blink up at them and they offer you a polite smile.
"Did I tell you that... you're gorgeous?" You mumble to them. You actually slide a bit towards them without meaning to and end up leaning into their side. They laugh, soft and almost music like. A friendly arm settles around your shoulders to balance you. "Like...reaaaallly pretty."
"Oh, sweetheart, you've taken a bit too much tonight, haven't you," they titter. Hm... Maybe if you went home with someone else tonight. Oh wait, where's their partner? Well you could go home with two... You wink very poorly at them. They only laugh again. "Dear, are you trying to flirt with me?"
"...mmaybe." They pat your arm gently and even lean down, moving your hat out of their way to kiss the top of your head.
"You seem very sweet, hun, but I can tell that you love that man you were dancing with." It's like being dropped into cold water, and suddenly you are very sober. "You were so infatuated with him, and really, it's adorable." Could Droog tell too? Was that why he left so quickly? You need more drinks.
Slowly, you sit back up and pat their thigh. "Yeah... I should go find him..." That's not what you're going to do at all but, fuck, you can't be here anymore. Once you're on your feet, you spot him anyways, standing stock still not 20 feet away, leaned back against one of the many finely decorated tables. Huh, you actually really like that gold trim on the white clothes, its nice.
He's staring at you. You realize this several seconds later. His expression is still that same old mask , so you can't tell what he's thinking. He reaches behind him and grabs a glass of wine, slamming it down in one go. Oh, he must've decided to drink since that's what you're doing anyways. Good for him, he needs to loosen up... Maybe you should find a bathroom to go cry in. Oh! But that would ruin your makeup! Fuck!
Oh well, time for another shot of whatever the fuck fruity shit you just asked for.
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It's not until the frozen night air rushes over your carapace that you come back to yourself. You hiss and try to hunch your shoulders in against the biting wind but to no avail. "Fuuuuccck, why is it sso cold?" you whine. How did you even end up outside in the first place? Oh hell! Where's Droog?! Where's Boxcars and Deuce and-
"Stop complaining and take my goddamn jacket, Slick." There he is! Droog! You turn around and he's standing there with his suit jacket offered out to you. You nearly start crying on the spot. In fact, you definitely sniffle, but maybe that's just 'cause of the cold. You chirp and slide your arms into the sleeves, wiggling happily once you're cocooned inside.
He gave you his jacket! Droog never lets anyone wear his stuff! You take a few moments to breath in his scent as it curls around you. "All right, c'mon and ...ah... Fuck." Oh... He also did some drinking.
"Wwhere's Boxcars and Deuce?" You stammer out. He squints his eyes and pauses.
"Hm... I.. I think I told them to go home after they were done getting the jewels...dammit." You whine even louder, pulling the jacket around you tight.
"We gotta walk back?"
"...it seems so."
You're cursing every single fucking drink you had for making you so unsteady on your feet. It doesn't help that you're wearing heels, but you're not about to go barefoot.
" ...cabs."
"Huh?"
"Cabs."
You both are idiots right now, but it's surprisingly you who comes to that realization. You flag one down and clamber in the backseat. Buckling yourself in the furthest thing from your mind, your only goal is to seek out warmth. This, of course, leads you to plastering yourself to Droog's side, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head on his chest. You can hear his heartbeat. Comforting.
By the time you guys are dropped a few blocks from base, you are basically sitting in his lap. He actually half lifts you out of the cab before making you get some sort of footing. "I can't carry you when 'm also in...inebri... Inebriated, Spades." More whining on your part, but you keep walking with his help, and get to the manhole cover without too much fuss.
You both have to work on lifting it aside though- when did it get so heavy? Stumbling down the ladder is a whole 'nother story. On the bottom rung your heel catches and you swear as you fall on your ass.
"Hell in fuck! This floor better not be dirty and has rruined my dress-" Droog makes it to the floor before he trips on your foot and lands on top of you. There's some cursing and shuffling and suddenly he's just....there. Oh my godhead he's literally right there.
His hands are by your hips and his face so close to yours you can smell the peach flavored drink he must've had. Your chest rises with your breath, corset feeling tighter than it has all night.
"Fuck-"
Somehow your lips smash together, and your head is buzzing, and it aches but in such a wonderful way. He's hauling you to your feet, and you can't remember how many steps you take, but suddenly the small of your back is pressed against a desk in his room. He's stealing your air with every movement of his mouth against yours.
Hands under your thighs, lifting you onto the desk. He slots between your legs as you spread them and growls. Fuck fuck fuck, he's so warm and sexy and- He sinks his sharp teeth into your shoulder and you cry out at the mix of pain and pleasure. Your hips are bucking desperately against his as you pant and whine.
He hikes up your dress so it bunches around your waist, mouth still sucking and nipping bruises into your carapace. You know that you're talking, but you also have no idea what words are spilling out; its fueled with your lust, and you're just letting it fill the space between you. His claws slide in and hook through the waistband of the panties you were wearing. He doesn't waste time in tugging them off, and he kisses you more desperately as his fingers find your entrance.
You gasp and groan, two of them rubbing against and then slipping into your wet nook, stretching you nicely. All you can do is cling to him desperately as he finger fucks you in preparation. Your claws rip at his dress shirt until it's open so you can get under it to feel him up. You dig into his shoulder blades, leaving behind scratches that well up and dribble small amounts of blood. When he pulls away for more than a few seconds you snarl and whimper trying to get him back.
His hard dick rutting up against your folds immediately shuts you up- but just for a moment.
"Ffuck.. Droog Pplease,,~" He snaps his hips forward and your eyes roll back. You're holding on as best as you can once he starts moving.
It's fast and rough and hits all the right buttons for you. Your corset is making it hard to get enough air it, but you couldn't give less of a fuck while being bounced on Droog's shaft. With a particularly rough thrust that presses him against that sweet little pleasure nub inside of you, you shout and then clamp your mouth around his shoulder, razor teeth digging in and making him bleed more. He hisses and speeds up, hitting that spot dead on now.
He barely gets his hand around your dick before you're cumming. You arch back, palms slamming down on the desk to try and keep yourself upright as your signals of pleasure cross and twist and rewire themselves. Your vision blacks out before fading back in spotty. He's still pumping into you, but you can tell he's getting close.
You grab his face with one hand and yank him into a messy kiss, nipping harshly at his lips. He groans and his grip on your thighs tightens. A couple more rough thrusts and he stutters to a stop as he spills inside of you.
You bury your face in his shoulder, breathing heavily whilst trying to recover. He says something to you, whispers it against the shell of your ear, but you can't decipher it. Something in Russian perhaps? He pulls out and you can feel his cum leaking out of you onto the desk and floor.
You stand on wobbly 'just fucked' legs, and pat his shoulder. Godhead you're exhausted now. The memories are a blur between the part where you managed to hobble out of his room and down to the bathroom where you stripped down and got in the shower. The water helps to sober you up, but something starts ping-ing at the back of your mind. Was something wrong?
You just had sex with Droog didn't you? Yeah and it was- .... You just had sex with Droog. You're too tired, and your brain too muddled with alcohol for that point to hit with the same impact as it probably should have. Tomorrow is going to be... Rough to say the least. Let future you worry about that though. For now, you are going to lay down and pass the fuck out. The hangover you'll have come morning might even be a blessing so you have an excuse to avoid eye contact. As soon as your head hits the pillow you zonk out.