Brace the walls with good intentions
Temporary architecture
Build me something beautiful
22nd March, 1890 — Gordon’s Place
Gordon Gibson / @'Elsie Beauregard'

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Ester said melodramatically, hand to heart, as she flounced into Gordon’s - where he was, perhaps unsurprisingly, writing - “but Christobal has been in a dreadful humour all evening and I simply can’t stand to be in his company a moment longer.” It was a slight exaggeration, but she had been itching for a change of scene, and Gordon’s flat above his little bookshop did perfectly for her tonight.

Though equally that might depend on what sort of mood he was in. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ears and peered innocently at him. “Can I be of some help to you?” She added, wheedling in tone. “I’ll tidy, if you like. Or fix us drinks,” she said, waggling her eyebrows to suggest that she would like one even if he didn’t.

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Some days Gordon felt like he ran a damn saloon the way people flounced in and out of his shop and flat. Still it was only Ester and to him, she was mostly harmless. He'd brought his typewriter upstairs from the office below to work on something, caught up in the story for once. It had been a while since he'd had good flow and of course somebody would choose tonight to stop by.

Then again, he'd been at it for hours, his hair decidedly ruffled from running his hands through it; his shirt untucked and unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He was ever the picture of a man on a mission, that thankfully allowed him to work in the comfort of his own flat. "A drink would be good." He'd already had a glass or two, maybe three of whiskey, but it took quite a bit for him to feel anything more than a delightful buzz, which he did have and was starting to fade. "What's got Christobal's knickers in a twist this fine evening?" He laughed, lounging back in his leather chair to pass her a raised eyebrow and a quirk of a smirk.

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handsomeness brought to you by MJ!

“I think the question you should be asking is 'what hasn’t?'” Ester volleyed back, with a smirk she would never have dared to Christobal’s face on this topic. Still, she adored the artist, as she adored Gordon and his little bookshop and the rest of her friends (- Ester gave adoration away rather lightly). 

The whiskey was already out, and Gordon had a glass easily refilled. Ester hunted down another and poured some out for them both (and shielding his gaze from the slightly larger helping she granted herself, conveniently being both waitress and guest). She let out a laugh as she passed him his. “I keep telling him he ought to do away with wearing knickers altogether.”

Gordon Gibson, on the other hand, was rather more an imperturbable, impenetrable sort, much more difficult to rattle. (Ester kept a good ways away from him if she suspected a bad temper, but she knew enough of his capabilities to say that he was not the sort one wanted to upset.) He looked a little ruffled here tonight, but Ester fancied it was a good dishevelment. “And you?” She enquired, eyeing his tousled hair and loose buttons and then the latest page in the typewriter for a swift moment. “Looks like you’ve been hard at work.”

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"Truer words have never been spoken." Gordon, on more than one occasion had suggested Christobal smoke something to calm the fuck down. Mostly kidding. Mostly. Gordon did not do high strung very well, but his friend had been around for a while, so there was something to say for longevity in that regard.

Thankfully Ester was far more low key and easier on the eyes. He accepted his glass gratefully, tugging on her skirt, aiming more for a pinch of her ass as she swept by. "Knickers are terribly overrated, if you're female anyway." He passed her a devilish smirk, accompanied by a waggle of his eyebrows, amusement clear on his face. The dance of teasing was something he both enjoyed thoroughly and excelled in. Not to mention Ester was a worthy opponent.

Leaning back in his chair comfortably, he took a long sip of his whiskey before shrugging. "Sometimes the muse cooperates and sometimes it doesn't. Tonight she's been a fine mistress." Of course writing about some good old fashion screwing always put him in the mood for it himself...

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handsomeness brought to you by MJ!

Her laughter became something nearer a giggle at his philosophy on knickers, though it was his hand at her skirts that told her a little more about what sort of mood he was in. Ester supposed she might as well test that. So, instead of making for the chair that had been her original destination, she turned on her heel and - taking a dainty sip of her drink first, before she set it down - perched herself, just as comfortably, on Gordon’s lap instead. “Well, one really must capitalise on the muse, mustn’t they?” she agreed, smirking down at him before she reached across to pluck the latest page of his work half out of the typewriter to better skim it.

“Oh my, Mr. Gibson!” Ester declared as she read, pretending open-mouthed shock at his authorial work, as if quite anything he could write would shock her. “A fine mistress, indeed.”

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Oh, well then.

Gordon's lips curled into a satisfied grin as Ester made herself comfortable in his lap. He adjusted to accommodate her easily enough, laughing at her appraisal of the work half-finished on his typewriter. "I wasn't aware there was anything that could still make you blush these days." He teased, free hand settling low on her back while he took another sip of his drink.

"I'm sure you could pen one of these just as easily as I could." Ester likely had just as much experience in such matters as he did after all.

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handsomeness brought to you by MJ!

“Well, if anyone could still make me blush, I’m certain you could,” Ester returned, tapping her finger idly against his lips as if the motion might impress her argument on him a little better. She did hope he would try.

Though, truth be told, she probably could write just as well as him. (She felt her experience was an accomplishment, particularly given her sex, when hedonism was so much more freely encouraged in his. Men were at liberty to bend the rules where women were forced to break them. Nonetheless, Ester didn’t mind being thought a harlot in her nature; she had never considered herself a whore by trade. Modelling for anything - even the salacious sort she did - was a slightly superior profession in her view, although she might have been richer by now if she cared a little less for art.)

“But I think I should rather be the inspiration than the author,” Ester mused in Gordon’s ear. Let him do all the hard graft.

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Gordon hummed out an amused noise of agreement over his glass as she leaned in. Ester wasn't wrong, if anyone was poised to make her blush, he certainly could. "Is that a challenge?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. Gordon was always up for a challenge, especially of this nature.

Carefully he trailed his fingers up her spine and back down, clearly intrigued and certainly in the mood. This wasn't the first time they'd danced to this tune, but Gordon was rarely one to shy away from a gorgeous woman in his lap. Especially one who was insinuating what Ester was. "Who says I haven't used you for inspiration before?" He breathed out, lips just below her ear, grinning wickedly.

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handsomeness brought to you by MJ!

“You see -” Ester countered in a low tone, “you’ve made me blush already!” She wasn’t sure, truly, if any warmth had shown in her cheeks, but she had felt that familiar fluttery feeling inside, and whether that was down to Gordon’s words or his trailing hand she was most certainly not complaining.

Idly, she reeled through all she could remember of the things Gordon had published - and then, just as absently, wondered whether she should send one anonymously to James for Christmas. No, that would be mean, and if he wanted any memory of her there were more explicit examples at his fingertips. Besides, she ought not to be thinking about James right now.

Decisively, she plucked Gordon’s whiskey glass back out of his hand, setting it safely aside for now. “In any case, I am of the opinion that an evening’s hard work really ought to be rewarded,” she purred, shifting in his lap to face him better, “don’t you think?”

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Gordon couldn't tell if she was pulling his leg or not, but the reaction was the desired effect and therefore he could easily run with it. It seemed his company was in a mood tonight and he was more than willing to indulge her.

She took his whiskey and set it aside, freeing up both his hands to wander aimlessly, finding their way under her skirts to run his hands along smooth legs, Gordon grinned to himself at the turn of events tonight. "Reward, research, either fits." He chuckled. "I'm sure you could teach me a thing or two to use in a future novel." The best things to write about were things you knew and though Gordon liked to think he knew about about ladies (and bedding them) he was not so arrogant to think he couldn't still learn.

Hands kneading muscle as the moved along, they finally came to rest on her arse, pulling her closer so he could dip his head to pressing his lips to her neck. "Unless you'd like me to teach you something new tonight..." He mumbled against her flushed skin, still grinning to himself.

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handsomeness brought to you by MJ!

It was not, indeed, difficult to figure out what he was thinking: his hands on her were articulate enough already. Reward or research, it hardly mattered - even if she had no excuse she was sure she could have found one. She did have rather a talent for that.

And she was sure she did have a thing or two she could teach him, but if he was offering. Let it be another challenge to him. Gordon seemed to thrive on them. “Well, of course,” Ester replied, with a breathy laugh, “you’re welcome to try.”

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wrap?

  

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