His lovers are busy when Drin gets home.
Emma has Dance pushed back against the recliner, pinning him there with her body straddling his hips. From the movements of her shoulders, she is doing something very delicate, and Dance’s bare feet wiggle once in a while, the toes seeking each other out; if feet could hold each other, Drin thinks in amusement, these would. “Don’t move,” she says when Drin says hello. One of Dance’s hands lifts and drops.
“What are you doing?”
“He expressed an interest…” Emma is preoccupied. “in femininity, hold effing still, and we are about to witness…. Mmm, just one more moment… ” She shifts her shoulders as Drin moves, blocking his view of the action. “Right-o. Take a look at our princesss.”
Dance tilts his head up. Emma has lined his eyes with kohl, shimmered the flat lids in gold and a whisp of butterfly blue. There’s the faintest tint of rose over those high, sharp cheekbones, and Dance’s pouting mouth is lined and glossed. She’s taken the long straight sheaves of his hair and swirled them up in coquettish whorls and spills. He’s become some Chinese emperor’s concubine in grey sweats. “Fucking hell!” Drin says.
Dance’s smile is something else entirely under the spell of the paint. “I think he likes me to be a girl.”
“You wait here,” Emma instructs Drin, “Us girls want to change into something more comfortable.” Her raucous laugh spills out as she guides the diminutive musician into the bedroom. Drin leans against the bookshelf, and wishes he still smoked.
When they return, Dance is wearing Emma’s blue wrap dress– it comes down to his calves of course, since it was made for the taller woman– Emma behind him in the green one which reaches only to the middle of her sleek thighs. Together, they look like some skewed version of the “Mikado”, with mismatched sisters.
Emma has made no attempt to give Dance breasts, or disguise the muscles of his arms, and his abs ripple under the delicate silk. He is a man. But he moves with a sway in his hips, delicately picking up and laying down his bare feet, and his haunches roll as he comes forward. His eyes look impossibly slanted in his golden face. Emma is grinning wickedly behind him. “You look gobsmacked.”
“God, I am!” Drin gets out. “Come here Emma, Dance– give us a show.” He gets an arm around Emma’s waist, while staring at the vision in front of him. Dance raises his arms and undulates in a circle, blue silk fluttering, head poised on that strong neck as delicately as any courtesan.
“Emma, we should dance for Drin.” Dance isn’t trying to make his voice feminine, but that sultry note sounds just right. Emma leaves Drin’s side, and starts a silly hula-dance movement– except that her hips are hypnotisingly beautiful, and Dance, once he catches on, is as lithe as a cat. They do-si-do, snickering, and finish with a vaudeville step that exposes the lace and shimmer that Drin is expecting on her– and something equally lacy and flimsy being stretched by Dance’s semi erection. Drin gasps.
“Show him, love,” Emma says. She moves behind Dance, wraps one arm around his shoulders. Dance’s head tilts back, leaning against her breasts, rocking into them gently, smiling with those glossed lips. Emma runs her fingertips down his silken belly, into the valley of his groin, to the edge of the wrapped garment. Then she lifts, pulling his dress up, like he’s some uke in a yaoi manga, and exposes his lace covered crotch. Her other hand goes down as well, thumbs and forefingers framing and pressing the satin over his prick, and Dance makes a helpless little thrust, and Drin is now wondering if he will be able to replace that dress for Emma because he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to get it off of Dance without ripping it.
Dance, Drin, Emma.
For the prompt “Crossdressing” and, of course beta’d by nagasvoice; mwuah!