PAPA X ROZZLE
Rozzle sparkled as Papa stared down at him, stroking his goatee with perfectly a manicured hand and judging the scene in front of his eyes with a critical eye.
Rozzle held his pose, uncomfortable as it was, arms at awkward angles to show off the feather boa properly, knees splayed as he kneeled, back slightly arched. The angle of his chin meant he had to peer up at Papa from beneath ridiculously long lashes, lending an impression of constant, bashful submission. It was a practiced art, a carefully constructed facade, a skill he had long since honed to perfection -- but that didn't mean it was comfortable.
He made a face and shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure on his spine, to which Papa scowled and narrowed his eyes. Rozzle froze again, pouting in something that was a mix of petulence and pain and silently pleading for a small shred of mercy. The pimp ignored it all, starting to circle the kneeling figure with deliberate, measured steps. Every now and again Rozzle would feel a sharp jab as he was subtly prompted to improve his posture -- though it was unclear where the cane had come from it still did the job, poking him in his ribs, or his thigh, and once in his ass although that one probably didn't have anything to do with his posture at all.
He chose not to complain, and bit the inside of his cheek to hide the smirk.
By the time Papa had made it around in a circle and was standing in front of Rozzle again, his back felt like it was going to snap in two and that was more important than pleasing the silent, looming figure scowling down at him in a way that threatened all manner of unpelasant punishments if he didn't stop fucking fidgeting.
Rozzle huffed and rolled his neck, closing his eyes to savour the sensation of moving again, before dropping his arms and relaxing his back. It was hardly graceful or appealing to watch, bones snapping quietly back into place, but Papa didn't say a word. At least, not until Rozzle opened his eyes again.
And even then it wasn't so much a word as a noise, a quiet thrum in the back of his throat as he stared down at his defiant bitch, lips pursing just slightly as he considered the options. Rozzle just smiled sweetly, pressing his palms against the floor.
"Done ?" Papa enquired, all sugar and spice, sending a chill of impending doom up Rozzle's spine. He pretended not to notice and shrugged dismissively, itching behind one ear.
"I look fucking fantastic," he preened, stroking his own ego with both hands since no one else was currently indulging in that particular activity. "Everybody already loves me. Can't we just go already ?"
Papa scowled, extending one foot with a gaze that spoke volumes of his irritation, casually pressing the pointed toe of his boot against Rozzle's chest. Rather than risk the precariously dangling star being shifted from it's currently perfect position, Rozzle made a dramatic noise and flopped onto his back, succesfully rescuing his nipple-star from an otherwise awkward (and potentially painful) demise.
The pimp stared down at his prone form, his foot still raised, then casually lowered it as if nothing had happened.
"If you're going to be hanging off my arm," he explained, ever so calmly. "Then you're going to look incredible."
It was a rather arrogant statement, considering Rozzle was the one taking him. He decided this needed to be said, leaping to his feet and flailing one arm about, fumbling his words as he tried to express his indignation until --
"How dare you imply I don't always look incredible !"
Papa stared at him coolly, unconcerned with the outburst.
"Are you arguing with me ?"
Rozzle considered this turn of events. He considered it very carefully because the wrong answer was going to end with him in a very uncomfortable position for a very long time, and it wouldn't even be capped off with a hot, steamy romp through the various beds of the ship.
Then, having mulled over all of this for a grand total of 0.5 split seconds, he took a step forward, reached out, and slapped Papa with all the force of a farting butterfly, offended rage plastered all over his face.
The crack was a lot louder than he anticipated, considering. Papa ever so slowly raised an eyebrow, but otherwise, didn't move in the slightest. He didn't look all that pissed off either.
It didn't look good.
Rozzle's rage decided it had somewhere better to be than staring certain doom in the face, and departed. His libido, however, missed the memo and stayed right where it was.
Papa smirked at the new expression, and tapped his thigh absently with his cane. Rozzle swallowed, and took a step back, as if that was going to help the situation any.
It really didn't.
They were late for the party after all, but at least Rozzle looked fucking incredible. No one was very surprised.
Rozzle held his pose, uncomfortable as it was, arms at awkward angles to show off the feather boa properly, knees splayed as he kneeled, back slightly arched. The angle of his chin meant he had to peer up at Papa from beneath ridiculously long lashes, lending an impression of constant, bashful submission. It was a practiced art, a carefully constructed facade, a skill he had long since honed to perfection -- but that didn't mean it was comfortable.
He made a face and shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure on his spine, to which Papa scowled and narrowed his eyes. Rozzle froze again, pouting in something that was a mix of petulence and pain and silently pleading for a small shred of mercy. The pimp ignored it all, starting to circle the kneeling figure with deliberate, measured steps. Every now and again Rozzle would feel a sharp jab as he was subtly prompted to improve his posture -- though it was unclear where the cane had come from it still did the job, poking him in his ribs, or his thigh, and once in his ass although that one probably didn't have anything to do with his posture at all.
He chose not to complain, and bit the inside of his cheek to hide the smirk.
By the time Papa had made it around in a circle and was standing in front of Rozzle again, his back felt like it was going to snap in two and that was more important than pleasing the silent, looming figure scowling down at him in a way that threatened all manner of unpelasant punishments if he didn't stop fucking fidgeting.
Rozzle huffed and rolled his neck, closing his eyes to savour the sensation of moving again, before dropping his arms and relaxing his back. It was hardly graceful or appealing to watch, bones snapping quietly back into place, but Papa didn't say a word. At least, not until Rozzle opened his eyes again.
And even then it wasn't so much a word as a noise, a quiet thrum in the back of his throat as he stared down at his defiant bitch, lips pursing just slightly as he considered the options. Rozzle just smiled sweetly, pressing his palms against the floor.
"Done ?" Papa enquired, all sugar and spice, sending a chill of impending doom up Rozzle's spine. He pretended not to notice and shrugged dismissively, itching behind one ear.
"I look fucking fantastic," he preened, stroking his own ego with both hands since no one else was currently indulging in that particular activity. "Everybody already loves me. Can't we just go already ?"
Papa scowled, extending one foot with a gaze that spoke volumes of his irritation, casually pressing the pointed toe of his boot against Rozzle's chest. Rather than risk the precariously dangling star being shifted from it's currently perfect position, Rozzle made a dramatic noise and flopped onto his back, succesfully rescuing his nipple-star from an otherwise awkward (and potentially painful) demise.
The pimp stared down at his prone form, his foot still raised, then casually lowered it as if nothing had happened.
"If you're going to be hanging off my arm," he explained, ever so calmly. "Then you're going to look incredible."
It was a rather arrogant statement, considering Rozzle was the one taking him. He decided this needed to be said, leaping to his feet and flailing one arm about, fumbling his words as he tried to express his indignation until --
"How dare you imply I don't always look incredible !"
Papa stared at him coolly, unconcerned with the outburst.
"Are you arguing with me ?"
Rozzle considered this turn of events. He considered it very carefully because the wrong answer was going to end with him in a very uncomfortable position for a very long time, and it wouldn't even be capped off with a hot, steamy romp through the various beds of the ship.
Then, having mulled over all of this for a grand total of 0.5 split seconds, he took a step forward, reached out, and slapped Papa with all the force of a farting butterfly, offended rage plastered all over his face.
The crack was a lot louder than he anticipated, considering. Papa ever so slowly raised an eyebrow, but otherwise, didn't move in the slightest. He didn't look all that pissed off either.
It didn't look good.
Rozzle's rage decided it had somewhere better to be than staring certain doom in the face, and departed. His libido, however, missed the memo and stayed right where it was.
Papa smirked at the new expression, and tapped his thigh absently with his cane. Rozzle swallowed, and took a step back, as if that was going to help the situation any.
It really didn't.
They were late for the party after all, but at least Rozzle looked fucking incredible. No one was very surprised.