bakerstreet | ( Bodyguard. )

the bodyguard shipping meme

You're a pop star, or a royal, or maybe even the last of your kind who will bring about the Earth's redemption. Whatever the case may be, you're in a position that may be a bit dicey if you attract the wrong kind of attention.

And you're a bodyguard, a soldier, a knight - a protector. Somehow, you've been roped into protecting this person. You'll be rewarded, of course. The work may be cut out for you, but just do your job, keep your head down, and it'll go smooth.

Except for when the two of you break the bounds of professionalism and feelings begin to flourish. Being in such close quarters may get you to see the other in a different light, and saving someone's life just may be the ultimate form of intimacy.

Could this be the real danger? To feel so strongly for the one you've sworn to protect...are you compromised?

How to Play

1. Comment with your character and preferences, being sure to put if you want to play the guard, the guarded, or either. Also, you may want to put if you prefer fluffy, angsty, or smutty interaction - or have no preference.
2. Comment to others.
3. There are no prompts, because there are so many potential options there could be a hundred. Feel free to play anything: the beginnings of the relationship, just meeting, getting used to each other/not getting along at first, the obligatory first time, a threat on the protected's life and how their protector responds, how the feelings between the two has changed the protection, etc. Your only limit is you.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ likely to be the most vicious and aggressive, but best at his job, bodyguard. mf for ships ]

(She will be the bodyguard. Open to situation suggestions.)

Edited 2017-11-10 01:20 (UTC)

( could be either the guard or the begrudgingly guarded. )

[Bodyguard]

[The one needing the bodyguard--rich, married woman who co-runs one of Italy's largest shipping and aerospace companies. This will probably end terribly for whoever she seduces into a liaison.]

There are a number of assignments that Illya Kuryakin would prefer to getting close to a beautiful and probably deadly British-Italian socialite in the name of of nuclear research. He recounts some of them in his head as he waits outside her office to be summoned into her presence. He would rather revisit that mission where he had to masquerade as soloist in the Bolshoi. He would rather be in Kamchatka after a rain, digging through mud in search of some artifact the Kremlin was certain was going to make them truly prevail over the Americans. He would rather be trapped in a ~~tin can~~ nuclear submarine for six months because there'd been a rumor that the captain was considering defecting. He'd rather be...

"She'll see you now," says a soft voice to his left, and Illya blinks once before looking down at the quiet Italian girl. Victoria Vinciguerra's personal secretary, he thinks, and he gives her just the right smile - kind, a little teasing, but nothing overt or over the line.

"Grazie," he says, and steps into Victoria's inner sanctum. "Signora."

"Apologies for the wait, Mr. Kuryakin," comes a voice from the desk, its owner obscured by the high back of the chair. Her tone is a warm contralto, surprisingly low but pleasant. The chair swings, and there's the sound of heels clicking against marble tile as she stands, a tall, willowy woman with blonde hair carefully woven into an intricate knot atop her head. Her steps are measured but graceful as she approaches him.

She's been watching this one since Alexander hired him. At her behest, of course. There's just something about him, something a dossier just can't quite capture. It's fascinating, a mystery, and Victoria has always been quite fond of mysteries. Mostly, unraveling them, then being the one to hold their secrets in the palm of her hand. Stopping just in front of him, blue eyes travel briefly from head to toe, finally stopping on his, just barely higher than her own. He's tall. She likes that.

"Would you care for a drink?"

He knows why this assignment has gone to him. He is the KGB's top agent of course. Fluent in several languages, accomplished at many martial arts, quick on his feet and as sharp and as analytic as a poisoned tack. He's also tall, broad, and looks like human equivalent of a brick wall. In short, he looks like the type of man you would hire to guard your beautiful wife.

Of course, he has read the file. Victoria Vinciguerra has always been more than a beautiful wife.

"I am here at your convenience, Signora. No need to apologize." She's very tall. He's thought that before. There are very few women who can look him in the eye.

He turns his head to look at the sideboard, and then shakes his head. His normally stoically neutral expression cracks again in one of those oddly disconcerting slight smiles. "When I am working? It would be a firing offense, in Kiev."

He's not from Kiev; he's from Leningrad. But this Illya Kuryakin? He's from Kiev.

"But we aren't in Kiev, Mr. Kuryakin." The fact is pointed out with a small smile of her own, one that shows a different light in the depths of her cool blue eyes while curving her lips. It's a smile much like his; something that's more implied than said out loud. "I trust that whether you're drinking or no, you'd still be more than a match for anyone that might dare to try and hurt me. Wouldn't you?"

There's something about being undercover, at least most of the time. Words that might bring a blush or a stutter if I woman said them to him when he was....being him, merely bring an appreciative smile. The job usually shaves off the awkwardness.

But not always. There's the appreciative smile, but his breath stutters slightly before he clears his throat to cover it. "I am." He doesn't need to brag about it. "But I think it is the rare person who could get the best of you, no?"