Highly Inappropriate Sexual Tension Meme

[simplememes]

The Highly Inappropriate Sexual Tension Meme

Touches. Glances. Sides brushing, so close to each other. The moment is, most likely, quite, subdued, and calm. Or it could be loud and full of life, right in the middle of a vivacious party. Yet, no matter the case, your blood is pumping - no, nearly boiling with the passion bubbling between you and your companion. Unfortunately, this sexual tension is completely and absolutely out of line. Whether it be the place, the time, your relationship with the person (be that literal relation or power difference, age difference, experience difference, and so on), your own lack of knowledge, or personal convictions, you should not act on any building desires. But here's the thing about tension: it builds. It builds, and it builds, until... Well, even subtlety can come to an inappropriate head. HOW TO PLAY This meme isn't for smut, though smut is allowed. What it is for is the delicious, anticipatory build up and the dances people can do to deny attraction. Foreplay, especially creative foreplay, is encouraged. Comment with your character, canon, and preferences in the subject. In the comment body, be sure to mention if there are any squicks you have, scenarios you don't/do want to play out, and if you're okay with AUs or handwaved CR. Reply to others.

Comments

kylo ren ( STAR WARS ) ota

[vaderstan]

harley quinn [dceu]

[duhquinning]

charlie mcgee [firestarter]

[notlittlecharlie]

alucard. hellsing.

[goneforawalk]

april o'neil ; tmnt 2k14!high school au ; ota

[schoolnews]

usagi tsukino | bssm 1992 | f/m

[moondusted]

Katherine Gilmore | Gilmore Girls | OTA

[alwaysgilmore]

Winter Schnee ❄ RWBY ❄ F/M

[winter_is_here]

Alfred Pennyworth | Gotham | OTA

[inforapound]

[trouvaille]

( gotham is a shithole.

it just is. it's a terrible place, full of terrible people, and she's a connoisseur of both. this is an expert opinion. this place is fucking dreadful, top to bottom. she wants to spend the rest of her life here. it makes sense to her like few places have, which should be worrying. if she were going to think about it too much, then it would be. she's comfortable in its peculiarities, and it seems like the sort of place where even she could just...

she'd never be the most remarkable thing in the room. there's a peculiar comfort in that. in gotham, she could be downright uninteresting.

but she'd never be bored. or uninterested—

case in point: )

Where did you do your military service, Mr Pennyworth?

( he's had some, she's sure. she thinks he must be out here waiting for a car—but who knows—which she is not, she's meant to be inside, but she has a cigarette and at least a while longer before she's missed. he reminds her, a little, of the gentleman's gentleman ever at her father's elbow; more personable.

then again, so is an unassailable rock-face.

some people say 'hello', which is slightly more polite than out of no where interrogations from young women smelling slightly of champagne and cigarette smoke. or, you know, don't speak to the help. she wonders which angle he'll take to dismiss her. it doesn't occur to her that he might not. )

[inforapound]

[He is counting the minutes until he can leave more than anything else. These functions are never something he's enjoyed. Not when he had been Thomas's shadow and not now that he was Bruce's. He doesn't even know why he attends anymore.

The boy is more than old enough to handle the social side of things. No longer is Alfred the one handling the businesses and every other damn thing, waiting for the day when he can hand it all back to the boy.

With Bruce nearing adulthood, Alfred has once more become a non-entity. He might be the most well known bulter in the city, in them employ of one of the richest people in the world, but to the lot of them in that place, he's less than nothing. He's the help. He is only tolerated because to get into Alfred's good side is to have a quicker avenue to Bruce Wayne, nothing more.

So he doesn't expect to be bothered. He can stand on the terrace and itch for a cigarette (he quit when Bruce was born) and wait for the moment that his young charge comes to ask for him to bring the car around. He can be alone in his thoughts and keep an eye out for potential danger.

Because it's so unexpected to have any of the rich and the powerful speak to him with anything more than condescension, her sudden direct question has his eyebrows rising a bit.

He would dismiss her outright, but he knows rudeness of his part reflects badly on Bruce. So she'll get a very typical non-answer, spoken in that jawnty cockney that marked him as deeply lower class.]

Here and there, miss. Her Majesty's Marines go lots of places. I'm sure none of them are half as interesting as what's going on in there.

[A subtle dig. Shouldn't she be inside, enjoying herself with her peers?]

[trouvaille]

( ah, the latter: what's a silly thing like you doing out here, talking to the likes of him? proper cockney, too, though she wonders briefly if he's exaggerating it for her benefit. harmless, invisible.

christ, she's paranoid. )

I'll be honest, ( you know, for the novelty of it - no, she's terrible at being anything else, deceitful by sleight of hand when her expressive face and tendency to speak her mind before her mind's told her she's going to precluding any great skill in dissembling, ) that is a fucking depressing thought.

( this, from the young lady ostensibly acting as hostess for her charming, dissolute father. the candor sits more naturally on her than the smile she was greeting minglers with money did, though she's a deft hand at it now; circulates, never lingering long enough to offend anyone and ensuring everyone feels noticed.

he doesn't seem to wish to be, and that is immediately more interesting. )

[inforapound]

[If she were to have listened to him long enough, talking to his young charge (Until her Bruce is pretty much the only one that spoke to him), she would know that the accent isn't put on. Despite years in America, Alfred hasn't lost his accent.

He doesn't try to hide it either. He is what he is.

He is what he is and he's not allowed to tell the young lady to watch her language. He's not her guardian and he shouldn't care less if she ruins her illusions of being a good hostess by swearing.]

Is it? Well, don't you have control over that? If you'd pardon my being out of line, it's up to the hostess to make her events interesting.

[Once again, that subtle dig. Why is she out here? Why bother with him? What did she want because people don't talk to him unless they want something.]

[trouvaille]

( the laugh is more rueful than anything else, though it comes sharp-edged like the rest of her; she can see the shape of something that theoretically, if she gave a shit about any of this, she might take offense to...then again, maybe not. hostesses are supposed to host events; enjoying them personally is entirely optional. she suspects there's a certain breed of woman who thinks they're doing it wrong if they have time to enjoy a damned thing.

she isn't one of them, but she's met a few. )

My job is to make this bullshit run smoothly.

( she could keep her hand on the tiller, to be sure—

but it's hardly going to be anything interesting, and the likelihood of something coming up at this late stage that guilfoyle can't discreetly handle himself seems slim. )

Party planners make parties fun. Allegedly. I've never seen one actually do it, but I'm sure they're out there. You seem convinced they are.

( a little widening of her eyes. gosh, mr pennyworth.

no, she sees what he's up to, it's just having entirely the opposite intended impact. )

[inforapound]

[Her laugh isn't like that of a tittering debutante. He's heard enough of those to last a lifetime. It's almost refreshing to hear such a sharp, brittle thing.

The fact that she continues to talk to him, continues to use rough language tells him something. His new conclusion, she's here because she's bored and wants to cause a scandal. Nothing in the world causes the hoity-toity's britches to bunch quicker than slumming it with the staff.

If he wasn't a reflection of Bruce, he'd give them all something to get the vapors over. But he won't make the Wayne boy look bad. He can't.]

I know they are. I've planned me fair share and never had no complaints. Course, was a different sort of guest. [There's a difference between this and the bachelor parties he's thrown for his mates back when he was younger.]

[trouvaille]

( it's a good, sensible conclusion to draw. it's easy to believe—she's young, the gown she's wearing is a silk slip that threatens to do just that if she turns in the wrong direction suddenly (isn't she cold, out here?), she has a mouth that's a problem and an acute awareness of her surroundings—

but the door opens, and gwen doesn't look to see who's looking at her.

it's a very natural thing that she does, instead; someone who was paying less close attention than alfred is right now might think nothing of it at all. she hears the door open, and she moves—she's been at a distance from him, thus far, so maybe it's just that the conversation seems to be continuing, and she's coming nearer, accordingly. sure. that doesn't, on its own, explain why she steps all the way past him—the little half-turn she does to stay facing him is very nearly a pirouette, and not unimpressive in heels that could probably do a murder—to stand on his other side. )

There's our key difference, ( she says, wisely, as if she didn't just deliberately place herself in the blind spot of anyone stepping out of the venue. ) You have guests. Here we have 'donors' and 'patrons'.

( a couple are leaving; they don't really glance over, but gwen's slight and the evening is dim and the angles are all wrong, so there's not much to see if they did. she breathes smoke out into the evening air. )

I don't think we're supposed to have that kind of fun while fundraising, it starts to look a little... ( she makes a so-so kind of a hand gesture. ) You know, accurate.

( cynic. )

[inforapound]

[If it had been what he was thinking, surely she would have started to lean up against him. Perhaps press herself against his arm and coo about how cold she is. Give those inside something to talk about. Only she doesn't. Instead, she uses him as a shield for those inside.

He doesn't move. Lets her hide from her guests and watches her smoke. He finds himself wishing he hadn't quit all over again. But it had been for his health and for the baby boy in the house. He simply squares himself and quietly removes his fine suit coat to drape over her shoulders out of habit. He's been well trained as a butler to anticipate a person's needs. That and she did look a little cold.]

I suppose that all depends on the reason. But I will admit that I'm biding me time until I can get the car for the young master. This really isn't a place for me. [There. He admits it. He's not the sort of guest that she'd actually want.]

[trouvaille]

( her shoulders shifted—no, tensed—when he moved, but he settles his coat on them and she relaxes again, slightly, tapping ash absently down into the gutter. she isn't, but it's easier not to protest when people think she should be, and it's...not unpleasant. it smells nice, and the lining feels smooth against her skin, and she isn't above enjoying the idea of leaving the lingering scent of her perfume behind, later, when she's gone and he has his coat back.

for now, though, there's that laugh again, quieter. )

Oh, I'm just here for the old one.

( 'the old master' is definitely, she thinks, the funniest thing she's called her father at least this week. there's a wryness about it, as she breathes that thought out. )

Don't worry, I'm not going to take offense, ( —honestly, she doesn't think he was worried about that, ) I wouldn't be here, either, if I didn't have to be.

[inforapound]

[So it seems they're both trapped here out of duty. Maybe that's why she had decided to seek him out. A kindred spirit that understood the things one endured for loyalty. It's a far more plausable explanation than the first as she really hadn't tried to make a scene once. She, like him, would just rather not be seen and be left alone. He finds himself considering avenues of escape like he would if she was Bruce. He can't go far but he might find a way to free her for a while longer from the cage of her duty.]

You know...I hear this place has a nice rose garden. I do me a bit of gardener myself. We English pride ourselves on our roses. I'd love to have a look if you can tear yourself away to give me a tour.

[He's sure he can buy her a bit longer than a cigarette away from her hostess duties this way and give a wholesome excuse for why a young heiress is alone with some butler likely old enough to be her father.]

[trouvaille]

( the slightly lopsided smile she aims at him, sidelong, is knowing. smoothly done, all right. she bumps him lightly with her shoulder— )

Come on, then.

( of course she knows where it is, and the quickest way there around the party without having to wade through a roomful of the wasted one percent. of which she is one, but currently altogether too sober for this shit because that's really the only way to deal with it— )

Do you know you're the first person here this evening to twig that I'm not?

( english, she means; he'd said it like he knew it set him apart. granted, the parts of london they respectively frequent might as well be different planets, but all the same—all the crisp upper-class diction sounds very stock film villain, but to a more familiar ear than your average american it is most assuredly learned, and not lived. she lacks the regional markers of a native speaker; the more relaxed she gets, the more the shape of the words sounds more italian than the very precise received pronunciation in which she was taught to speak her father's language.

it's comfortably fluent, but it is still her third language. )

I've never quite figured out what to call myself besides 'European'. Covers a multitude of sins.

[inforapound]

[He gives a small smile to reply back to the one she flashes him. He knows he's good at this. He's been playing this sort of game for a long time. He knows how to navigate the world for those in high places above him. She's as bored as he and he can rescue the both of them from the tedium of this party.]

Thank you miss. I really appreciate it. This is me favorite part of most these fancy posh houses.

[He gives a little laugh as he follows along side of her.] Unlike that lot in there that's probably only seen other places from a five star on holiday, I've been places. I know me a native. It's not a problem though. Makes me feel less like I'm by meself here.

[And while he's a guest, he still stops to hold doors for the young lady.]

[trouvaille]

London, ( she does another of those little walking pirouettes through the door, and it isn't actually necessary to touch his wrist or brush against his arm as she goes past him, but it happens too quickly to object to, ) is just where I ... hang my hat.

( she was definitely about to say keep my shit, bless her terrible mouth. )

But I was mostly educated there. My godfather lives there. I learned to drive there. It's not home, but where is? After a while.

( everything under her feet is quicksand; she knows better than to set too much stock by just a place. the garden isn't a long walk—she walks ahead of him, bending in the process to take her shoes off without pausing. )

[inforapound]

[He says nothing about her brushing past him. It's just a tight fit through the door. That is his explanation for it. Just like there's no explication for the small smile that crosses his lips at her words. He could almost tell how hard it had been for her to use polite words.]

Bordering on the cleche, me mum always said home was where your heart is. Took me a while to find it meself. Sure you'll get home eventually, miss.

[The nugget of wisdom is only slightly ruined by the fact that it would take a much stronger man than him to not look at her rear end when she bends for her shoes. His eyes quickly snap elsewhere before he thinks he's caught oogling some pretty socialite's butt.

He disguises it by heading to the nearest flowering plant.]

I was right. Yours is a very nice garden. Have me way and I'll stay out here til he needs me.

darcy lewis | mcu | ota

[6collegecredits]

Shouto Todoroki | BNHA | MxM - OTA for Castmates

[sareureuks]

Desdemona | oc | ota

[beautiful_vengeance]

dick grayson | titans | m/m

[nopartners]

Nico Acosta | OC | M / F

[anoranza]

Evie Montgomery | OC | F / M

[la_bonne_chose]