open.

[gadabouts]

prompts | starters | texts | overflow

Comments

[gadabouts]

Are you from the fifties?

[reparo]

The seventies, technically. By an extremely small margin.
And also shut up, take my underhanded compliments.

[gadabouts]

One of these days, I'll just get you to make an overt one.

Also, no the hell you're not.

[reparo]

Well, I'm not from the fifties either.

I can make overt compliments. I make them all the time. I practically waxed poetics about your cock the last time.

[gadabouts]

Did you?
Your thighs were muffling my ears, I couldn't hear very well.

[reparo]

Do you want a repeat?

[gadabouts]

Obviously.
With or without the greenhouse and magically-summoned storm.

[reparo]

Good.
Truth is I miss you, hence my spontaneous MET gala related spam and moratorium defiance.

[gadabouts]

The defiance is nothing new, actually.
It's one of your many charms.

[reparo]

It's never gotten me in trouble before.

[LIES.]

[gadabouts]

So those stories of detention you told me about were...?

[reparo]

Wrong choices on behalf of my former professors, really. I was an exemplary student.
Only set one professor's robes on fire on purpuse once.

[gadabouts]

The asshole professor, right?

[reparo]

Yes, good, you remember his name.

[gadabouts]

Hard to forget stories like him.

Where were you thinking of finding a greenhouse?

[reparo]

Some sprawling manor at the top of a hill, or one of those posh parties you're invited to. The last one we went to, I spotted a greenhouse. I think the host mentioned a collection of exotic orchids or whatever.

[gadabouts]

Need I remind you that I usually need to make an appearance at these parties that isn't with my pants down?

1/2

[reparo]

You needn't, you remind me every time.

[reparo]

But you do also happen to drag me to the darker corners first, Barty, so methinks the archeologist doth protest.

[gadabouts]

Ah, but I'll keep my word.

[reparo]

What's the point of a greenhouse if it's not for a tryst during a private event?

[gadabouts]

Growing plants?

Don't ask me, I'm not herbologist.

[reparo]

I could ask Neville, but no - that doesn't sound right. Damp, dark places where the music and the noise of a high society party is dim enough for every heated breath to be louder?
The plants are collateral.

[gadabouts]

Not to mention the possibility of leaving evidence.
Fogging up the glass.
Smudging it.

[reparo]

That part is my favourite. That and the conveniently tall work tables.