cajun-lover:

“Yes. This is how I work. I become cake. Not just the embodiment of cake, but the entire cake. I. Am. Cake.” Fandral chuckled. “And of course I strip. I’m gracing you with the honor of seeing me with less clothes one. I won’t even charge you if you want me to take my pants off. But I don’t wear banana hammocks. Just silk underwear. I don’t even know what I’m wearing right now.” He stood up and undid the button on his jeans. He sucked in his wee gut, because he likes his calories, and peeks down the space between his pants and undies. “Yup, green boxerbriefs today. Ain’t you a lucky gal?”

He picked up the liquor bottle again and drank from it, his eyes never leaving Sif. He slowly brought the brought the bottle down from his lips and stared at Sif. “Liqueur…in cake? You want the liqueur in the cake?” A smile creeped upon his face. “Well it’s Lady’s night. Give the lady what she wants.” He walked over to his kitchen and grabbed the liqueur out of it’s hiding spot. He nearly skipped back to Sif, his shit-eating grin never leaving his face. “Liqueur.” He pointed to the bottle. “Cake.” He then pointed to himself. He placed nearly-empty tequila bottle down on the table. He opened the Chocolate liqueur and downed a gulp. He made a face and licked his lips. “Okay, the liqueur is in the cake. Have your way with me.”

Sif rolled her eyes and immediately downed the rest of her glass as Fandral stood and started to unbutton his jeans. She was well used to Fandral and his antics by now, but she definitely wasn’t drunk enough to be on the same page as him if he was stripping in front of her. She refilled as he checked, then leaned back in the couch again, draping an arm over the back of it and crossing one knee over the other, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Green’s not your colour, Fandral.” She teased with a grin, then turned her head to watch him leaving the room, beginning to regret her earlier words as she started to make the connection he must have, and decided that whatever was coming was going to require another long, potent swig from her glass. She promptly indulged herself, just as Fandral re-entered, and sighed when he pointed to himself, but continued to grin. “I meant the cake you said you wanted to make, Fandral!” She said through a laugh, dipping her index and middle finger into her glass and flicking tequila in his face. “Probably better you don’t use the oven right now anyway.”

She knew she was putting off telling exactly what was bothering her, and that she wouldn’t be able to keep it up much longer given that she did say she would speak if he put the liqueur in the cake, which, technically, according to his words, he did, but she hoped he’d forget.