futaille | Open Post: Who invented this calendar anyway?

How unfortunate.

Yes, Grantaire was fully aware that the year being longer at the mansion would logically cause seasons to drift when someone kept track of the old calendar, or at least what had been pinned down as the old calendar for convenience sake, which was almost necessary when people's arrivals weren't necessarily tied to the day they left. He hadn't given it too much thought last year, when his birthday, such that it was, arrived in spring like he was used to.

Dark, though, was unfortunate. Not inappropriate for the next notable anniversary coming up, but for this one, not at all. Of course, it wasn't as if he would have been planning much in the way of an event, Dark or no, but it would have been nice to treat himself to something or other, regardless.

Instead, he has installed himself in the game room, where he is carefully balancing dominoes on their ends to make a domino rally on the billiards table. It's a nice large flat surface, so it should work nicely. Have to keep entertained somehow.

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"Tell me."

"Your breasts look delicious and I'd love to taste them."

Susan wants this, too, desperately so. Immediately she decides that any sort of foreplay might fit within the purview of the lesson. "Remove my garters and nylons," she tells him. "And then you may."

He nods and lowers himself to one knee to see what it is he's working with. His fingers trace the edge of the garters as he takes in the setup. "These have certainly advanced from tied ribbons..."

"Oh, rather," agrees Susan, who still remembers the construction of Narnian clothing. "They hold much more tightly, too." She rests a hand on her hip, bravely resisting the urge to hook her leg around his back and guide him to her.

The truth of Susan's statement is very clearly evident. They don't look like they have much give at all. He curls a finger underneath one of them. "Oh, they stretch!"

Susan's breath quickens. Grantaire's finger has brushed against a spot that's still tender from the last time she got Janet to snap her garters. It's been a while - nearly sixteen hours, in fact. "They do," she says, hoarse.

At that note in Susan's voice, Grantaire's eyes flick up to look at her for a moment before he looks back down at the garter, stretching it a bit more, noticing some lingering red marks underneath. "Ingenious." And then, following his gut, he quickly lets go of the stretching garter.

It snaps sharply against the old welt, and heat floods through her. Her eyelashes flutter. Her hand flexes, digging into the meat of her own side. It's all she can do to keep from sinking to the couch. "As you can plainly see," she manages. "Quite sturdy."

He grins. "Clearly so." He then promptly repeats the action on the other garter.

"Just so," she gasps. "Grantaire--"

He looks up at her, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Yes?"

"Very clever," she says, but instead of the dry tone she was aiming for, it comes out practically a whine.

"Sometimes," he says brightly. "Ah, yes, you wanted me to undo these." He starts looking them over again.

"I didn't have the foresight to go pantsless today and, regrettably, there is a sequence to such things." She's still aiming for that dry tone, and while her voice is sturdier now, she mostly just sounds overwhelmingly aroused.

"Ah. I see." Now that he's looking at them in earnest, they seem simple enough to undo, so he goes about it. Although he does get in one more good 'accidental' snap as he does. He tosses the garters to the side and starts sliding the first of Susan's stockings down her leg.

She lifts her leg as he eases the nylon down over her knee, flexing it to help him out. He's ever so lovely, on his knee like that, focused on working her clothes off. The feeling of the nylon slipping off is delicious, but it isn't driving her to distraction the way the snapping of her garters did, and she takes the opportunity to try and pull herself together at least a little bit - to try and think of anything but contriving to get his mouth on her, which (unfortunately) isn't the point of this little exercise.

Whether she contrives or not, there is a not-small part of him that would love to put his mouth on her, but he knows the rules of engagement here, and the tension contained in the frustration of keeping to them is its own form of deliciousness. He sets aside her stocking and starts on the next.

It feels like an eternity before it's off, but realistically it's only a moment or two. Susan kicks it free of her foot, and it lands somewhere around the foosball table. "Would you like to take off my pants or shall I?"

He sets the second stocking next to the first. "I think it would be a good use of my hands."

"Then carry on."

Grantaire nods and reaches up, taking hold of the waistband on each side and pulling them down. He goes slowly, letting his fingers trail along her skin as he goes.

He'll likely be gratified to find that they're so soaked through as to be practically useless, and that Susan shivers with his touch.

Once they're off, she's nude save for her jewelry: the simple garnet necklace Lancelot gave her for her birthday and matching earrings she'd managed to find later. These she shall be leaving on. "Finish undressing," she tells Grantaire, "and then you may taste my breasts." Then she finally sinks onto the couch, arranging herself so that her back is against its arm, one leg spread out across the cushions, one planted on the ground at her side.

It's quick work for Grantaire to dispense with the remainder of his clothing, his trousers really only being held up by braces loosened in the service of removing his shirt and good intentions. The only real complication is the need to stand to work them off. Once nude, he goes back down, to both knees this time, and leans in to flicker his tongue along one of Susan's nipples.

"Good," Susan breathes. She doesn't let her eyes drift closed - she should like to watch this, to take in what she can of Grantaire's body as he kneels at her side, to watch her own painted nails as she pushes them through his curls.

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