i'm taking back the crown, i'm all dressed up and naked

[disheveling]

[ open post! anything goes. ]

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[disheveling]

Monty hums, finishing the last of his own drink in a few quick gulps on the way. It gives him a brief brain freeze that hardly registers with the alcohol hitting him, and he stops near the outskirts of the dancing crowd in order to not get sucked in a separated in the throng of bodies. Sometimes he forgets how much he tells her. He can't remember specifically referring to Eton by name, but he must have, at some point.

(He does know that he never told her why he got expelled from Eton, for participating in inappropriate relations with some of the other students. A routine thing in a co-ed boarding school, but means for expulsion in an all-boys. Means for expulsion and his father knocking the hell out of him.)

"You'd be surprised what we can get up to in those fancy private schools." His hand drops to her waist, sliding to her lower back to pull her in closer to him. He'd be lying if he said he weren't surprised when she picks up a rhythm easily, and they're dancing wonderfully close together to the thrumming beat of the music. She's always surprising him, a pretty girl from sunny Georgia who isn't near as sheltered as television stereotypes led him to believe.

She grins at him, and it's enough to make him tip his head back and laugh, the sound barely carrying over the music. Suddenly, he's glad he thought to invite her, because he can't think of anyone else he'd rather dance with right now. (Other than Percy, but that goes without saying.)

[littlemissfutility]

Beth's always pictured his boarding-school days like Harry Potter: go on adventures, get in trouble, lose points. But tame trouble, one-detention-and-you're-done trouble. Not the kind of mischief that teaches you how to make a girl's chest go all warm just by touching the small of her back. Were her cheeks warm before? They're definitely warm now.

Considering how much he knows about vices of all kinds--according to their conversations over his sloppy lit notes, anyway--she probably should have known he'd be a good dancer. But this is beyond good, something that isn't really about skill at all. Being right here with him feels like it fits, in a way she never would have associated with Henry Montague. He's not being a jerk or melodramatic or that pointedly phony kind of flirty that kind of feels like an insult. He's just being himself, and it's its own circle of warmth, something she can cross into and stay in. It's surprising, not to mention surprisingly nice.

At least she knows enough to expect him to be kind of a dork, despite all his claims of coolness. He laughs, which is seriously dorky in its own way, and she beams brighter, an arm sliding up around his neck. The song has a good beat for this, fast without being too fast, and she's drunk enough so far that she doesn't even find herself slipping into theory mindset, trying to figure the chord progression. (So much music theory. She won't be sorry when she's done with it.) Her hips bump up against his in time to the music, just this side of tasteful.

[disheveling]

Boarding school was a riot, before it came to a screeching halt. There were plenty of boys questioning their sexuality, and plenty of opportunities for Monty to draw them out of their shells and help them experiment. Eton was separated by a length of woods from its sister school, an all-girl's private school. Social events that brought the two schools together were closely monitored by teachers, but Monty still found it fairly easy to sneak the interested girls off to a deserted classroom.

It all came crumbling down, of course, and Monty got all sorts of bruises for his efforts. And clearly, he hasn't learned his lesson. He still spends his nights with his hands all over somebody pretty. And tonight, that somebody pretty is Beth. He doubts this will end with their clothes on the floor, but maybe he can clear a few bases before the night is over.

Between the alcohol and the music and Beth's body bumping against his, his blood feels hot coursing through his veins. Something about the tasteful way she dances is driving him up the wall, like having the promise of something dangled in front of him without a hope of getting it. The hand on her back slides down to her hip, the other finding her hand to spin her around with ease. With her back to his chest, he pulls her closer again, fingers trailing her skin before both hands frame her hips.