"Hope you know that this isn't a date though." Frida stated strictly as she sat down at table number 9, by the window. A little rectangular sign indicated the reservation for R. Taylor, 9.30 PM. The table for two was all set, with dim lighting, the overall atmosphere of the restaurant was very sophisticated and surprisingly calm compared to what Frida was expecting.
Maybe even a little romantic.
Right next to a glass door was their table set, and so they had a lovely view over the city, as the restaurant was on the roof of a grand building. The sky was clear, no humidity at all to make the view hazy. The moon shone brightly with the stars as her royal household, surrounding her, highlighting her beauty with every last bit of their luminosity. The landscape showed thousands of buildings, cold lamplight coming through a few of their glass windows, which by daylight only reflect the colour of the London sky. Only in the evening would they let a curious gaze through. Then looking over at a square, a narrow lane or a park, the street luminaires enlightened every possible surface generously and coated them in their warm, celebratory light. No questions asked.
Frida chose a figure-hugging dress for the occasion, especially to show off that spectacular shape of hers, just making everyone want to run their hands over the curves, dig their fingers into that round ass, suck on those fleshy breasts, bite into them, marking her with hickeys, claiming her, ruin perfection. It was as if she wasn't even mundane, as if she had ichor running in her veins. Her tan skin glowed with divine golden shine, too flawless to be true. She smelled of oriental flowers and amber, musk, vetiver. Fairly simple, but very effective. Her delicate, manicured hands rested on the table, all jewelled up with dainty pieces, red lacquer on her sharp oval nails, making you beg to be scratched, get hurt by them, not too much, just a little bit to feel alive. Her lips glistened with rich coloured gloss, invitingly plump.
Like an amaryllis flower, she offered herself in her full bloom, with her irresistible beauty. You can look, you can even touch if you like – but if you're not careful, she will slowly suffocate you and before you notice you're gasping for air, begging for salvation with every last conscious bit of yourself.
"Oh? Then what is it?" Regina asked as she sat down across the table. The blazer of her pinstripe suit was loose on her, with big shoulder pads, giving her an angular frame, more dominant, majestic and stately at the same time. When she took it off, a crew neck top and a rocker chain got revealed that hung from the high waistline of her pants down to her hip and back to the waist again. Her shoulder-length hair was messy and unruly, even running her fingers through it didn't change a thing. One side of her lips curled into a smirk as she watched Frida let her head fall back in order to stretch her neck out. Her collarbones came forward along with her shoulders, it all looked so bloody kissable, fucking hell.
"A professional meeting between two bandmates who happen to sing together and whose voices go together like nectar and ambrosia. Or don't you think so?" her fingertip slowly caressed the rim of the crystal wineglass in circles as she talked.
Regina laughed out loud. Doesn't she think so? "Well, what I think is that if our voices go hand in hand then there must be other things, too, that we can do oh so well together. What's so wrong about a date anyway, hm?" she poured herself and Frida from the red wine on the table, and she took a sip, the drink tainting the inner side of her lips dark red.
"Jo and Bria would kill us, that's what's so wrong about it. And they'd have every right, I'd kill them too if they dated. Risking the future of such a wonderfully-well-put-together band only for a little bit of fun?" She was right, the band was flourishing, and even though some dating rumours would've only pushed them even forward in the world of media, they thought it's best if the pilgrimage to fame is made through music only. No scandals needed. Well, not on purpose.
"Rather for a lot of fun, babe. I don't go for little. I aim high." The smirk on Reg's face stayed as she observed every motion of the other woman.
"Oh, do you? Couldn't tell so far."
"You will be able to, rather soon, don't worry. My skills never go underappreciated."
"Well it is a shame you won't have a chance to show me what you're capable of, darling."
"If I didn't stand a chance then you wouldn't have put on this dress, sweets."
Such stinging sentences were ordinary for them, they just loved to push each other's buttons, and comeback after comeback it excited them more and more. A constant fight for dominance between the two, that started off at band practice and as it went forward with time, it picked up a certain sexual tinge.
YOU ARE READING
Queen/King smut
FanfictionHere you can read my little one-shots, imagines whatever that were purely written out of the overwhelming lust I feel when I look at those lovely Queen boys. And King girls.
