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[ her tail gives a little swish. she swallows dryly. ]

I love colour.

[Sprezzatura....are you okay]

And the style, too, I hope?

[ IM GREAT ]

Yes, of course! Very flattering... cut...

[He looks at her for a moment, considering. Eyebrows raising. For a second... knowing, perhaps.

But then it's gone. A wide smile, then he hands her the dress without warning and begins unbuttoning the front of his waistcoat.]

Perfect. I will have to unearth her corset, too, of course. That you will have to aid me with.

[ oh, there is too much happening all at once. she graciously folds the dress over in her hands the once, feeling the softness of the velvety material, then looks up sharpish as he promptly begins to unbutton himself. ]

You have corset?

[ and despite the pang of hunger she feels at that thought, her gaze is very keen—not to devour him with her eyes, as much as she would like to do... but to see the damage she'd done. she wants to know what lies beneath. she wants to see it and sit with that for a moment. ]

[The waistcoat is unbuttoned, and he shrugs it off. Keen eyes will indeed note that he favors his right side--the one that slammed straight into that angel statue--but it does not seem to abate his fervor, either way. Throws the article of clothing into a small stack of clothes on the floor nearby. Very neat.]

Of course!

[He disappears into the closet again, then comes out with a clippy hanger with a ivory white corset hung upon it.]

It is more malleable than the ones I am generally used to. [He means it is not a hard boned corset like those in the Victorian era.] But it will do just fine.

[ the chaotic state of his room barely registers as a blip to Sprezzatura—her own would be much worse, if she'd been at all of a mind to acquire as she has acquired in the past. for as fastidious as she is, she doesn't even bat an eye when he tosses the waistcoat aside.

she does bat both eyes at the corset.

can't keep pussyfooting around this.

in a despairing murmur, ] Oh, my god, Herlock. I may not survive this.

[He blinks.

And then bursts out into laughter.

...He has to clamp a hand down over the right side of his ribs, but he wheezes out the tail end of his laughter, all the same.]

My dear, we've not even started. Is your imagination already getting the better of you?

[ the way he favours himself sends an ugly pang through her, but more importantly— ] We have started!

Hardly!

[He straightens immediately, offering her the corset with one hand, then working at the buttons of his shirt with the other.]

Though I take it your previous comment was more a suggestion of intention rather than a complaint? Hmm?

[ how dare he tease her. shuffles the dress carefully to drape over one arm so she can receive the corset. instinctively, she tests the material between her finger and thumb.

loftily, ] I have no idea what you speak about.

[He teases because he loves you, Sprezzatura.]

No? Then perhaps I am mistaken.

[He knows he isn't.

But anyhow! Time to undress. She is, of course, free to watch -- off goes the shirt, revealing an ugly bruise at his ribs, strangely-shaped. Blue and green-ish. But he disappears once more into the closet for the final time (for now), if only to gather up a white, voluminous petticoat.]

I am pure as driven snow.

[ of course she watches. of course. having Sholmes undress in front of her is a very simple pleasure; she likes his body, you see, even when it bears the marks of her own unkindness.

the oni's unkindness.

slowly, she sinks onto the bed and quietude, watching without commentary, but her gaze does sit on the bruising. ]

Precisely how... thorough are your disguises, Herlock?

[Out he comes, with a petticoat swinging at his hips and the rest of him utterly topless. Obviously, this will be a process, but it will be a fun one, he thinks. It's always a fun one, and to share the experience with her makes it all the more engaging.

He sits beside her, turning at an angle to imply that she might put the corset around him. Sholmes is aware of her gaze on the bruising, but perhaps the timing to broach that subject is particularly delicate right now. It can wait.]

It depends on the situation, of course. But I always do my best to be as precise and thorough as possible. The persona is reliant upon the disguise, and vice-versa. One cannot perform as well without the other.

However, my choices are rather limited in this prison. The costume shop is a sorry replacement for disguises of actual quality.

[ she's simply going to ignore the warm little mote in her stomach as she sets the dress aside and unlaces the corset. studiously.

the sound of the laces tugging loose are the only sound, at first, besides Sprezzatura's own breathing. then he'll feel her arms come close around him from behind as she brings the fabric around and tucks it up against his body.

she's close enough to kiss the slope of his shoulder. she does. ]

May I do your makeup, then?

[As much as this is a familiar routine for him, there is a novelty behind letting someone else lace up his corset. (Someone who isn't little Iris standing on a stool to reach, of course.) Her breathing is comforting alone, intimate; then the feeling of fabric wrapping around his body. He straightens instinctively.

The kiss... He cannot help but tilt his head in that direction, fond. Tries to glance at her from over his shoulder, lips curved into a smile.]

Certainly. Ms Adler deserves a woman's touch.

I can provide that.

[ she places another kiss, lingering. an unspoken apology, at the very least.

methodically beginning to pull the corset laces through. if she pauses now and then to trace the edge of a bruise, she hopes he won't comment upon it. ]

You've stockings, too? Lady cannot go bare-legged.

[He won't comment on it; maybe that's a job for Ms Adler at a later time. But he does note it, as he is wont to do. Herlock Sholmes let so very little slip past his attentions, especially when that one particular spot is sore with the faintest application of pressure.]

Mm, yes. I do. [Cannot go bare-legged, especially with a man's legs! Though they will be mostly hidden beneath the dress.

He shifts a little, tries to toe out a bundle of clothing from beneath his bed. Out edges a sheer, ivory-toned material: a delicate pair of stockings. He should treat them better, really. But they're in decent shape.]

She likes these.

[ oh, Mammon help her, but she does like a pale stocking. though... on the floor? under the bed? even she has to raise a brow at that, and Sprezzatura leaves his corset half-strung as she bends down to fetch them, laying them across her lap. she tests their feel beneath her fingers. ]

And you'll let me put these on.

[His mind flitters and flutters from one place to the next on a whim. It’s a miracle he even remembered where they were in the first place.]

I would much rather prefer if you did.

[He sticks a leg out, petticoat rucking at his knee, as if to highlight this fact.]

[ oh god she's not going to survive ]

Let me finish lacing you, first.

[ with a warm palm against his back. straighten up again? ]

[good 8)

-! He straightens, and also sucks in a little breath. Not as needed with this corset, but when you come from the Victorian era, you get used to a certain routine.]

Take your time, my dear.

[ that breath is familiarity; he has done this enough for these things to become habit. Sprezzatura shifts slightly where she sits, but shortly her hands move and her eyes follow the laces as she tightens them. she does take her time.

at the end, he will feel the warmth of her cheek as she lays it against the slope of his shoulder blade.

this is quite a lot to indulge her in, so soon after... ]

Finished. [ a murmur. she ties the bow and slides her arms around his middle, an embrace from behind ] Perfectly huggable waist.

[Plenty of times — with Mikotoba, who did so with hesitation at first, and then with an automaticness of accepted routine years later. Or Iris, who is always excited to do so, who laces him up rather tightly with nimble fingers and tells him not to complain.

But with Sprezzatura? There is a distinct difference of warmth, intimacy, that he had not shared with either. A different brand of love.

Her hug is bracing, and he lifts on of her hands to bring it to his lips with a kiss.]

Mm, more huggable than before, is it? Thank you.

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