moritat | Victorian weenie au

Well, he's won, the dipshit. Completely blown any chance of getting coddled or given extra special doting attention. She'd rather hoped he would let her dote and tries not to seem disappointed.

Her hand drops away and lets him be. "Alright. I shall ... go to the bath." With a last, long, injury-assessing glance, Paloma scurries away too rapidly to be natural.

DUMMY

Did she expect anything less of him? It's either all or nothing, either he fully commits himself to his sin, or runs away from anything even remotely improper, keeps overly polite even if something is not necessarily improper.

No sooner has she disappeared than his head falls into his hands. And no sooner has he breathed a great sigh of relief and shame than he opens his pants - he can hardly even start without crying, either. It's the least disturbing thing in the room at the moment by far, and yet... Of course, that part might influence it too. That ain't normal.

In an amazing stroke of luck that spares him the humiliation of Paloma knowing what he's up to, running water clogs her hearing. He can cry and wank himself off in relative peace with only the company of blood- and jizz-stained cadavers.

And when the water isn't running, she sings to distract herself from heavy thinking. The bathroom's acoustics make her voice sound better and deeper than she believes it to be.

Joy of joys! Today there's a towel to use, and she uses enthusiastically. Paloma pokes her head out of a crack in the door and calls to him: "Harry! I am a fool and forgot a change in clothes again!!"

"A-ah - I shall fetch something immediately!" Which requires scrambling to his feet and tucking his dick back in his pants. But it's something to distract himself with, which is very useful, therefore he does hurry off immediately, and comes back with a blue gown about ten minutes later. It's out of date, but the height of fashion in its day.

When he returns, he knocks on the door, hoping his face doesn't betray his activities.

Everything kind of stank like semen and other disgusting things before he whipped his dick out, so Jekyll is well in the clear. Good for him.

Paloma reaches for his gift, opening her mouth to give gratitude-- and tilts her head in question. "Were you running?"

"-Running? No, why do you ask?" Ah- wait, maybe he should have lied and said he was, does something look off, can she tell he was crying? Or is it sweat - would she be able to tell he'd masturbated by that?

The notion that he'd start stroking himself under these circumstances is just so improbable that it cannot occur to her. He earns a baffled smile as she takes the dress and slips it through the cracked door.

"There was no need to ... try yourself." He's got to be careful in case of any major internal injuries, after all.

The horrid phrasing misses Paloma.

Paloma clearly underestimates just how nasty he is. That he'd be aroused by everything that happened, or by the memory of the murders, or even for shame of that. He's a complicated man, to say the least.

But that phrasing of hers. She does know. He's too horrified even to panic. "I was- no, rather, I - I have no excuses or explanation to make."

What?

She ends up opening the door further, sticking her entire head out, as well as a bare shoulder. Her brow knits.

"What explanation could you give? You flatter me with your effort!"

And there he stands, beet red in an instant. His mouth opens and closes, trying to find something to say in response to that. Flattered! Flattered that he should spill his seed in vain for her! All the worse she couldn't possibly realise the other factors, that she is the major subject, but not the sole one. "I do not think that is a thing to be flattered for!!"

Completely confounded by his behavior and not liking that she's apparently in the dark again, Paloma clutches the towel to her chest and opens the door in full.

"I meant you did not need to rush so very much for a dress!! And thank you!!"

Why is this a big deal!?

.......................Oh.

Well now he feels silly.

"-Oh. Is that all. No, I assure you, I did not rush in the least, there is nothing to worry for."

He is absolutely, positively not getting off cleanly for this. No, this will be hard and rough and dirty.

Paloma's not buying what he's selling. She stares, eyes wide but suspicious-- "You had belief I meant something shameful! What is it? Please do not mislead me. It is waste!"

he likes it hard and rough and dirty

But he isn't ready to make any admission. Denial is the best route by far. "It is nothing of concern, truly!"

No. Nuh uh.

"Why are you red and sweating?" She steps in closer and affects the puffed-up visage of a blustering pigeon, clutching her towel to preserve what precious little modesty remains between them.

"It is only the steam!" You know, that little bit of steam coming out of the washroom door, just that little crack there. Yeah, totally believable.

Becoming genuinely irritated with him-- trying not to be, they've seen how that can end up-- Paloma glares as fiercely as she can muster in such a state of undress; prods his gut for emphasis!!

"Do me no disrespect by lying, if you please!"

Ah, she's serious. "I do not intend to disrespect you-- only I see no reason it must be shared, and so I really would rather not!" He might start crying again if he has to say it.

She sucks in her lips to form an invisible irate line.

"Why all of this?" Meaning, why the dogged persistence in dodging the inquiry? Why must it not be shared, after what she's seen? But after this, Paloma will have to let it go. He did fetch her a dress.

Clearly she doesn't understand just how badly he wants to appear perfect. That no matter what she knows firsthand, he will still want to deny. That's why, biting his bottom lip, he covers his mouth as tears come. "Because I am disgusting and you need not share in it."

In no world is she able to withstand Henry Jekyll crying and mortified. Worse, it's got to be her fault for pursuing this aggressively. She's about to initiate a sympathy cry herself!!

"Ah ..." Miserably, Paloma moves to delicately collect one of his hands and caress it. Like soothing a young cousin. "You do not need tell me until you are prepared."

He digs himself deeper and deeper. It was bad enough already, why'd he have to go jerk off too. And it's worse still to have to explain! He can't let her think it's some grave secret - but in another sense it is!

"It is nothing more than...the remnants of Hyde." That's right he wouldn't have gotten a boner over this himself. "There was built up adrenaline!" You tell yourself that, buddy.

The more convincing he is to himself, the more Paloma believes him! Isn't life grand?

Two and two begin putting themselves together. His red face. Sweating. He hadn't run. Mr. Hyde, and although adrenaline's one of the English words she hasn't learned, she understands 'built up' and the ... unfolding context.

Very cautiously, she pats him on the back of his hand like a cowering dog. "You ... released."

Well, he's a little convincing to himself, at least...

"...Yes." This is too embarrassing. Conveniently he leaves out the part where he was turned on by the bloodshed around him. But that's clearly just Hyde. Not Jekyll at all!! "You see, it is nothing really." Clearly he doesn't think that's nothing. It's a disaster, true shame.

She fiddles their fingers in and around each other. Stalling, for lack of a better word. He's cleverly dodged further upset by leaving out the details; if he wants to seem the perfect man, Paloma wants badly for him to not be just like her, with her guilty fascination for the bloody.

"Thank you for the honesty." Ha. Ha. Ha .................. and she kisses his fingers, forgetting what they've been up to.

Victorian weenie au

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