Warnings: adult women discussing adult things, and it gets a bit steamy at the end, but no explicit action.
“I’m only here to establish an alibi.” Jirou Kyouka murmurs the words softly enough that Momo makes a point of tilting her head to hear them. If that makes her hair fall over her bare shoulder and catches Jirou’s attention, well, thank the universe for happy accidents. She offers Jirou a polite smile: as if they haven’t met a hundred times before today, as if neither of them is armed to the teeth, as if they haven’t both tried and failed to assassinate the other.
“I’m sure.” Momo lets Jirou loop her arm through hers: the tuxedo suits her, she muses, absently, letting her eyes run lazily over the way the satin presses along the lines of Jirou’s body. Jirou cocks an eyebrow at her as she leads her towards the centre of the casino. The thick carpet is red as fresh blood, and it turns even Momo’s stiletto heels into nothing more than a cat’s footstep. The ceiling drips with chandeliers.
“See something you like?” Jirou’s tone is dry, and faintly amused. Momo lifts one shoulder, pretending not to notice the way the silk of the her dress slips a little further down her upper arm.
“You said you wanted an alibi. I assume I’m not meant to be your cousin.”
This prompts a wider grin from Jirou: one full of mischief that’s mostly a flash of canine and a dimple. “Don’t go saying that, princess, I’m sure you’d make excellent gal pal material.”
Lesetoilesfous 