"Ooh. I want to hear all about this glittery outfit and what I was doing in it. And take notes."

(He should have seen this coming, shouldn't he have.)

"I um... it was..." He buries her face in her shoulder, embarrassed. Embarrassed and not sure how to explain this. "Um, have you ever seen Chorus Line?" he asks. 

"I have not! Tell me about it?"

Oh. Well fuck. "I um..." how does he even explain this. "It's about, um, a group of people on Broadway, trying out for a chorus line? And like, some of them make it through the initial cull, but only half of them can actually be in the final production and the producer wants something special from them and asks them about life details and things to try and cull them further and..." That's not important is it. "Okay, nevermind. The relevant part is the outfits in the end. With like, the dancers in the chorus line doing the dance thing. They're in like, suits, almost? But covered in sequins and stuff, with top hats. Like not exactly the same as suits really, the girls are wearing different things from the boys, but it still looks suit like? There's a bow tie thing. Does that... am I making any sense?"

"What I'm hearing is that I should find a video of this on youtube and then design a sexier version of the outfit."

He buries his face in her shoulder. "Maybe," he says, still embarrassed. He has... more design details to express, but there's no way he's going to express them. (Or is he? Isn't this literally what they were just talking about?) "I..." John says, trailing off. 

"Oh?"

"I might have some ideas on how to modify it?" he tries, voice muffled. 

Bounce bounce "do tell!"

Eep. "I was imagining, um, like, a miniskirt sort of thing?" So he could fuck her more easily (and also so she could show her butt off more easily, now that he thinks of it. Her butt, and...other parts? Eep). "And then," a little emboldened, "Um, rather than a top, two straps, um," he tries to indicate on his own body but is stopped by the fact that he currently has his face buried in her shoulder and so doing so is rather awkward. Unfortunately, he's not sure how to stop doing that at the moment.

She hugs him and pets his hair. "Go on," she invites. "I want to hear this. So I can wear it for you."

Eep. He is simultaneously turned on and embarrassed by the concept of her doing that. He takes a deep breath and steps away. "Like this," he says, running his fingers up his sides of his chest, making sure to go around his non-existent breasts and up and over his shoulders. "Thick and covered in red sequins and stuff so that, um," he gestures, pressing his non-existent breasts together slightly and blushing.

"Ooooh." She imitates the gesture. It works much better on her.

It does. He blushes more. "Like, um, that, yes. And then, um..." he pauses, uncertain. "I guess the straps go straight around the same way down the back?" He draws on himself with his fingers to show what he means. "Or actually it could go around the back of the neck maybe?" That way he could see her whole back, which he would like very very much. "Or, or criss cross!" He draws again, fingers and flashlight crossing awkwardly halfway down his back to indicate what he means. "I don't know if any of that works," he admits. "I don't really know how dresses work." 

"Hmm. Criss cross sounds like fun. I think straight down the back would evoke more of the suspenders look, which I think is what you're going for. But if the original look is like a suit, what about a little bolero jacket? Do you know what I mean—?"

She gestures on her body, two long sleeves and then the shape of a jacket that just barely covers her shoulders, with points coming down toward where the straps would sit, echoing the shape of a suit jacket without offering any meaningful forward coverage.

"And in that case I think the straps going around the back of the neck would work best. Or anchoring them in the jacket but, you see, if you did that, then I couldn't take the jacket off."

John has never heard of a bolero jacket, but he thinks he can see what she's getting at, glittering and gold to match the skirt (and hat? The hat seems important for some reason, though it's probably not really necessary), the points of the top near the bottom that she traces with her fingers hinting at being a suit top without covering anything. And then be reacts very strongly (and so does his dick, of course it does) when she mentions taking it off. (Fuck that's hot.)

"I think I might like that," he says. And then, still feeling far too bold and going too far (she's already come up with good ideas, he doesn't need to imply that they weren't good enough, but he seems to be saying things anyways), he adds, "what if um, these two parts," he indicates the points, "Um had a button so that," he mimes the two points coming together, and then lifts his non-existent breasts upwards (a little bit hoping she'll do it for real this time as well). He blushes, embarrassed. 

"Oh, I see! So instead of," she repeats her tracing of the very short, totally impossible-to-button jacket, "you have," and she traces a slightly longer jacket, just long enough for one button in the described area, and ends with her hands on her breasts holding them up and together the way the imaginary button might.

He blushes some more. "Yes, that," he says, getting harder, seeing her do exactly what he'd hoped. (Fuck, is she really designing clothing for him?) He gets even harder, even as he blushes more. 

"I think it could work! And then, of course," she undoes the imaginary button and shrugs out of the imaginary jacket. And kisses him.

Yup. Yup, that works. Fuck. John, turned and hard, kisses her back, pulling her to him once more, pressing his body against hers and kissing her hungrily. He almost wishes she was wearing that outfit, because then it would be more ok for him to touch her tits (it probably is ok but he's still worried) because that is part of the scenario. (It really is probably okay!) But instead of doing that, he kisses her, imagining the scene, wrapping his legs around her and rubbing up against her as he kisses her and kisses her and kisses her.

Rosy melts in his arms. His kisses are so good and he's so warm and strong and she's going to be his, she's going to be his slave and dance for him and he's going to kiss her like this and, and—

It feels so good to feel her want him, to feel her love him. He can feel it in the taste of her lips and the way she falls into his arms and he wants her too, she's going to be his and dress up for him and he'll be able to do all kinds of hot and fun things to her and... fuck. Fuck. He pulls her tighter, pressing his body against her chest, her thigh pressed into his crotch, into his cock. He wants to fuck her, to hurt her to... to... he wants to do so many things to her, but he shouldn't. But maybe, just maybe, her breasts are ok? He tentatively slides a hand to her chest, to see how she reacts. 

Enthusiasm!!

—hands?—flashlight—pocket—? Flashlight → pocket? Yes? Yes.

Kisses.

John feels her body move, and looks around quizzicaly before noticing her slide her flashlight into her pocket: a good plan. Leaving his on like she did with hers (hard to see her in darkness) he pockets his own, and uses both his now few hands to grope her, kissing all the while. He really wishes she was wearing that outfit, tits on display. He gropes her harder, rubbing his cock on her thigh, imagining doing so to her directly, watching her fall to her knees from his touch as she moans, outfit glittering in the light, looking up at him begging for his cock. He wants that. He wants that so badly. "Gon' be mine," he half-whispers half-growls between kisses. "My slave-in-waiting. Mine." 

Emphatic whimpery nod.

...words? Words, maybe??

—kisses—

"Please sir may I suck your cock?"