"A butterfly?" Vrenille chuckles at the comparison. "That's a new one."
As far as him visiting flower after flower though, he takes the comparison with some consideration--it's not entirely wrong, but not quite right either.
"I've banged almost every one of my friends at least once, if that's what you mean. Whether I keep on going 'n hook up with 'em on the regular, that all depends. There's plenty of times, though, when guys come 'n see me 'stead of the other way round. Maybe that's, uh, particular to Duplicity." Which is to say that, before he came here he perhaps was a bit more butterfly-like, whereas since he's been here, for reasons he's barely even begun to allude to, things have changed.
Then Mustang strikes his pose, and Vrenille gets to his feet. Between his vantage point and the reflection in the dressing room mirror, he's able to see how well this latest pair of jeans fits from all angles, and it's spot on. One might even say inspiring.
It inspires him, in fact, to get to his feet and step up at Mustang's back nice and close, pressing his hips against his backside, hands coming to his hip points to hold him steady and close. It's a position that snugs the hard bulge in his pants right against the centre seam of the denim, lets Mustang feel just how turned on he is.
"They're perfect."
The jeans, yes, but also the two of them standing there cut a fantastic picture together--Mustang half dressed, his bare, shirtless chest displaying all the contours of well-toned muscle, and Vrenille standing behind him in the dark-coloured button down he chose for Galleria duty, coat discarded on the bench.
For a moment, he glances past their reflection to catch the gaze of a shop clerk watching, seeming to communicate something with a little nod. And then, his attention back on Mustang, he nuzzles his lips and his nose against the nape of the man's neck, breathing in the scent of his dark hair.
"Greatcoats? Is that the fashion where you're from? I mean, I was thinking maybe something shearling-lined, but..." He's teasing a bit. If Mustang wants a greatcoat Vrenille has no objection. He doesn't say a word about repayment because he's honestly not worried, and the truth is that in this place Mustang might struggle on that front, but he doesn't want to spoil to moment with that unpleasant truth.
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As far as him visiting flower after flower though, he takes the comparison with some consideration--it's not entirely wrong, but not quite right either.
"I've banged almost every one of my friends at least once, if that's what you mean. Whether I keep on going 'n hook up with 'em on the regular, that all depends. There's plenty of times, though, when guys come 'n see me 'stead of the other way round. Maybe that's, uh, particular to Duplicity." Which is to say that, before he came here he perhaps was a bit more butterfly-like, whereas since he's been here, for reasons he's barely even begun to allude to, things have changed.
Then Mustang strikes his pose, and Vrenille gets to his feet. Between his vantage point and the reflection in the dressing room mirror, he's able to see how well this latest pair of jeans fits from all angles, and it's spot on. One might even say inspiring.
It inspires him, in fact, to get to his feet and step up at Mustang's back nice and close, pressing his hips against his backside, hands coming to his hip points to hold him steady and close. It's a position that snugs the hard bulge in his pants right against the centre seam of the denim, lets Mustang feel just how turned on he is.
"They're perfect."
The jeans, yes, but also the two of them standing there cut a fantastic picture together--Mustang half dressed, his bare, shirtless chest displaying all the contours of well-toned muscle, and Vrenille standing behind him in the dark-coloured button down he chose for Galleria duty, coat discarded on the bench.
For a moment, he glances past their reflection to catch the gaze of a shop clerk watching, seeming to communicate something with a little nod. And then, his attention back on Mustang, he nuzzles his lips and his nose against the nape of the man's neck, breathing in the scent of his dark hair.
"Greatcoats? Is that the fashion where you're from? I mean, I was thinking maybe something shearling-lined, but..." He's teasing a bit. If Mustang wants a greatcoat Vrenille has no objection. He doesn't say a word about repayment because he's honestly not worried, and the truth is that in this place Mustang might struggle on that front, but he doesn't want to spoil to moment with that unpleasant truth.