im posting this because i’ll probably never finish it, but i like the way that it looks at the moment,,, i love this david tennant character so I had to draw him again
im posting this because i’ll probably never finish it, but i like the way that it looks at the moment,,, i love this david tennant character so I had to draw him again
You’re waiting at the lights, patiently watching for the colour to change over when the thought crosses your mind that it’s quiet in the car tonight.
Sure, the soft dulcet tones of Sleep Token play over the radio at a low volume and you’re enjoying the patter of rain as it plinks against the glass. The soft whoosh and whine of the wipers fade in and out as you tap the steering wheel with your thumbs to a tune only your subconscious understands.
All together the sounds create a quiet symphony that spreads a balm over your nerves- you don’t like driving at night, after all. It’s always made you feel antsy.
Right as the traffic light blips to green, you realise. Cold dread that doesn’t not feel like it should look the colour of the green light across the road slinks down your spine, dancing between your vertebrae.
Oh. Oh, fuck.
You’ve left Cale at the restaurant after your date. You’d gone to get the car while he settled the bill and.. oh, fuck no. This was not good.
You flicked the indicator the other way and checked briefly before committing to a definitely illegal and dangerous u-turn across the double lines. But to be fair, nothing was going to be as dangerous to you tonight as Cale’s mood when you got back to him. Quite literally a bomb threat would be less dangerous to you right now.
You checked the clock on the dash- you’d been driving ten minutes already. You’re scared to call him and let him know you’ll be there twenty minutes after you’d gone to get the car, but you hit dial anyway.
Summary: You're a crow. A magpie. A goblin. It confuses the fuck out of Cale.
Soundtrack: Opalite by Taylor Swift
Requests: Sure.
Warnings: Cale being Cale.
First, it was a moonstone.
Then, amethyst.
And then garnet.
Little stones and tokens left in various places of Cale's living space. His desk, the windowsills, on top of the fridge. Anywhere you could reach and even some places he could swear there was no way you could.
He never could figure out why you did this. He knew it was you. If it hadn't been obvious, the cameras definitely would've spilled the beans eventually. Not that you knew about those. Probably. Maybe.
He let it go on if only because he thought maybe one day you'd finally find the secret unbearable.
But you never did come clean.
So on his desk both at home and at work there was just an inexplicable collection of pretty little gemstones that you had collected for him.
It was well into your second year of dating when he finally caught you in the act. It was three AM and he heard you shuffling around downstairs. Normally, he'd have a gun or at least bat in hand to confront whoever was trifling through his house, but he knew it was you.
No one else moved quite like you.
He made his way down to the kitchen, where you were digging into a yogurt cup, huge fucking quartz next to you on the counter.
When he turned the light on, you were already staring at him, the spitting image of a deer caught in the headlights. He was unsure if it was because he caught you face first in some yogurt or because he caught you leaving behind one of your weird little gifts.
"What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?" he asked you, crossing his arms as he thrust his chin in the direction of the quartz.
"... I dunno," you said with a mouth full of yogurt.
He waited for you to swallow, then motioned to it again. "Please explain. I'd really love to hear your reasoning for all these stupid little rocks."
"They're not stupid!" you pouted, turning to look at it dejectedly. "They're pretty. Our planet made those little rocks! Our planet made them and now we get to look at them and touch them and wear them and admire them and... and..."
He tutted gently, stepping up to pull you into a light hug. "Ssh, it's all right. I'm sorry. I don't think they're stupid."
Summary: (18+) Tony's mad about polo. Sequel to “Gonna Pop Your Bubblegum Heart.”
Soundtrack: Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA
Requests: Sure.
Warnings: Sweet, delicious punishment and lots of degredation.
The moment you step into the flat, you're thrown into the wall so hard you know you won't be able to wear anything sleeveless or low-backed for the next few days. Pain sparks between your shoulder blades and radiates outward.
Tony's eyes are aflame. It's maybe one of the hottest things you've ever seen.
You don't really get the opportunity to dwell on it, though, as a moment later his hands are on you. One squeezes your throat, just tight enough to make breathing laborious while still allowing you to breathe at all. The other digs into your hip, almost certainly leaving yet more bruises.
"You think this is funny?" he hisses as your lips fall into a grin. Your hips roll in response, and his hand there squeezes even harder, harder than you thought possible. "You clearly need to be taught a lesson, you filthy whore."
You nod enthusiastically, and he easily hauls you into his arms. A few moments later and you're in bed with him hovering over you. His lips trace hot trails over the flesh of your throat, making you moan, while his hand works to free his belt. God, you already like where this is going.
"Whip me, daddy," you groan as you thrust your hips upward.
He stops what he's doing to patiently pin your hips down, though the look he shoots you would, to anyone else, indicate anything but patience.
"Oh, no, you're not getting anything you want. Not today."
You pout, and all he offers in response is a dark chuckle as he finally removes his belt.
"Hands."
You obey quickly, eyes alight as you realize what's coming next. He makes quick work of securing the belt around your wrists, then shoves your hands away and lets them fall above your head.
"Now, what to do with you," he muses aloud, as if he doesn't already have several ideas. You know he does, you can see it in his eyes, the way they gleam with deep, dark plans for your immediate fate.
"Please," you pant quietly, shifting towards him desperately.
"Shut up."
You do as you're told, though your eyes continue to beg. He rolls his own, but leans down to give you a surprisingly soft kiss. Probably the last gentle thing you'll experience in the coming hours. Not that you mind.
He seems to have a stroke of genius, as his lips slip into a proud smirk. A shot of adrenaline hits your veins in anticipation, body on fire and ready for whatever he throws at you.
Silently, his hand sinks below your skirt, fingers finding your panty-clad slit and sliding over it. His tongue clicks in mock disappointment. "I can't believe you're already so wet -- and for what? You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you? That's why you insist on teasing me the way you do..."
Your breath catches as he pulls your panties down to circle your knees. It's all you can do not to pounce him right then and there.
His hand returns to your building heat, fingers teasing as he seems to consider his next move. You try to hold back, but a whimper escapes unbidden from your lips. His eyes snap up to meet yours, and his hand stops moving.
"God, you really are such a whore."
You nod your agreement, eagerly, the desperation in your gaze palpable.
He moves your panties the rest of the way off in response.
"Open," he commands, and you open your mouth for him. A moment later, and your panties are pushed in, guaranteeing your silence. Mostly.
You can't help the muffled moan that slips through.
The smack that hits your cheek is so hard you think maybe the whole room shakes from the blow. It certainly spins -- but maybe that's just a you problem.
Tears spring forward as the shock wears off and leaves only the angry sting of impact. Tony wipes them away, but it's not gentle. If anything, he seems annoyed at your softness.
He does give you a few moments to regain some composure before he slaps you again. This time, it's the other cheek. It doesn't hit as hard, but it's unclear to you if it's because he actually held back or if you were simply more prepared this time.
Another slap hits your thigh, and this time it takes every fiber of your being not to moan, and rather egregiously at that. Your body arches, cheeks reddening even deeper than they were already, all from the effort of holding back.
Tony appraises your efforts appreciatively, then slaps your thigh again.
This time, you can't contain it.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he clucks, petting your thigh where he'd hit it. "You really must work on your self-control."
You nod, and he slaps your thigh again.
The sting brings more tears to your eyes, yet you crave more.
"How many is that now?"
With your bound hands, you offer five fingers.
He smirks and pats your burning thigh. "Good girl. At least you have some brains in there. Enough to count to five, at least."
You nod in agreement.
For your reward, his hand finally finds your slit again. There's no word or warning, he simply slides two fingers inside you and curls them upward. You manage to bite back the squeal that threatens to explode out of you, but you can't stop the gasp that manages to make it past your best efforts.
He chuckles. "That was close, wasn't it?"
You nod again.
His fingers move in response, pressing against you in all the ways he knows will drive you the craziest. You know he's only searching for more reason to hit you, to punish you. You don't want to give him the satisfaction, but your resolve is beginning to melt with your core.
He digs in again, adding his thumb and a flick to your clit for good measure. Your body bucks in response, that building squeal finally passing all the barriers and all but echoing around the room.
The laugh that comes from Tony in response is quite threatening.
"You really can't control yourself, can you?"
You shake your head, fingers twitching desperately.
"I suppose it's unfair to punish you for something you can't control..." he starts, slowly, torturously withdrawing his hand from your depths.
You expect another smack. Instead, you are flipped onto your belly so fast it sends the world spinning. A moment later and you hear Tony fiddling with his trousers and the telltale sound of friction as the fabric slides down his thighs.
Oh, thank God.
The slap that hits your ass comes as a surprise and you yelp, eliciting another chuckle from Tony.
You feel his weight on top of you, his breath against your cheek, his hand softly cupping the other. He delicately removes your panties from your mouth and whispers in your ear, "Speak, whore."
"Please, Anthony," you beg, turning to meet his gaze. "Please, fuck me. Fuck me so good, fuck me hard!"
In response, he lines up his shot and plunges into your depths. You cry out in ecstasy, body tensing deliciously at his intrusion and arching up to meet his own.
He envelops you, arms circling your body and holding you flush against him. One hand returns to his second favorite spot -- your throat -- while the other takes hold of your breast and kneads with a fervent energy.
You moan, and he takes this as invitation to move, his hips rolling and thrusting against your own. Your walls squeeze upon each thrust, fighting to keep his cock buried deep within you. He has to fight just as hard to escape your hold, the effort causing him to pant into your ear.
"Fuck," you whine, and from behind you he echoes the sentiment.
You start to feel the hints of orgasm both within and without. Your belly begins to tighten, to warm. Your canal squeezes harder, desperate for the flood that will fill you. Tony, for his part, is also getting closer. His thrusts are starting to become erratic, his body tightening as muscles prepare for the inevitable climax.
He hits his peak a mere breath after you come to the realization, and as his warm seed fills you and his body jerks to a halt, it pushes you careening over the edge into a moaning mess that does its damned best to milk him for all he's worth.
You both pant as you come down, bodies relaxing into each other.
You don't expect Tony to move for at least an hour, but he surprises you by rolling the two of you over so that you're on top of him. You stare up at the ceiling, though you don't really see it. Your gaze is hazy, flushed with lust.
"Good girl," he whispers, placing a kiss on your cheek. "Very good girl."
Summary: (18+) Tony's mad about polo. Sequel to “Gonna Pop Your Bubblegum Heart.”
Soundtrack: Bubblegum Bitch by MARINA
Requests: Sure.
Warnings: Sweet, delicious punishment and lots of degredation.
The moment you step into the flat, you're thrown into the wall so hard you know you won't be able to wear anything sleeveless or low-backed for the next few days. Pain sparks between your shoulder blades and radiates outward.
Tony's eyes are aflame. It's maybe one of the hottest things you've ever seen.
You don't really get the opportunity to dwell on it, though, as a moment later his hands are on you. One squeezes your throat, just tight enough to make breathing laborious while still allowing you to breathe at all. The other digs into your hip, almost certainly leaving yet more bruises.
"You think this is funny?" he hisses as your lips fall into a grin. Your hips roll in response, and his hand there squeezes even harder, harder than you thought possible. "You clearly need to be taught a lesson, you filthy whore."
You nod enthusiastically, and he easily hauls you into his arms. A few moments later and you're in bed with him hovering over you. His lips trace hot trails over the flesh of your throat, making you moan, while his hand works to free his belt. God, you already like where this is going.
"Whip me, daddy," you groan as you thrust your hips upward.
He stops what he's doing to patiently pin your hips down, though the look he shoots you would, to anyone else, indicate anything but patience.
"Oh, no, you're not getting anything you want. Not today."
You pout, and all he offers in response is a dark chuckle as he finally removes his belt.
"Hands."
You obey quickly, eyes alight as you realize what's coming next. He makes quick work of securing the belt around your wrists, then shoves your hands away and lets them fall above your head.
"Now, what to do with you," he muses aloud, as if he doesn't already have several ideas. You know he does, you can see it in his eyes, the way they gleam with deep, dark plans for your immediate fate.
"Please," you pant quietly, shifting towards him desperately.
"Shut up."
You do as you're told, though your eyes continue to beg. He rolls his own, but leans down to give you a surprisingly soft kiss. Probably the last gentle thing you'll experience in the coming hours. Not that you mind.
He seems to have a stroke of genius, as his lips slip into a proud smirk. A shot of adrenaline hits your veins in anticipation, body on fire and ready for whatever he throws at you.
Silently, his hand sinks below your skirt, fingers finding your panty-clad slit and sliding over it. His tongue clicks in mock disappointment. "I can't believe you're already so wet -- and for what? You're a glutton for punishment, aren't you? That's why you insist on teasing me the way you do..."
Your breath catches as he pulls your panties down to circle your knees. It's all you can do not to pounce him right then and there.
His hand returns to your building heat, fingers teasing as he seems to consider his next move. You try to hold back, but a whimper escapes unbidden from your lips. His eyes snap up to meet yours, and his hand stops moving.
"God, you really are such a whore."
You nod your agreement, eagerly, the desperation in your gaze palpable.
He moves your panties the rest of the way off in response.
"Open," he commands, and you open your mouth for him. A moment later, and your panties are pushed in, guaranteeing your silence. Mostly.
You can't help the muffled moan that slips through.
The smack that hits your cheek is so hard you think maybe the whole room shakes from the blow. It certainly spins -- but maybe that's just a you problem.
Tears spring forward as the shock wears off and leaves only the angry sting of impact. Tony wipes them away, but it's not gentle. If anything, he seems annoyed at your softness.
He does give you a few moments to regain some composure before he slaps you again. This time, it's the other cheek. It doesn't hit as hard, but it's unclear to you if it's because he actually held back or if you were simply more prepared this time.
Another slap hits your thigh, and this time it takes every fiber of your being not to moan, and rather egregiously at that. Your body arches, cheeks reddening even deeper than they were already, all from the effort of holding back.
Tony appraises your efforts appreciatively, then slaps your thigh again.
This time, you can't contain it.
"Tsk, tsk, tsk," he clucks, petting your thigh where he'd hit it. "You really must work on your self-control."
You nod, and he slaps your thigh again.
The sting brings more tears to your eyes, yet you crave more.
"How many is that now?"
With your bound hands, you offer five fingers.
He smirks and pats your burning thigh. "Good girl. At least you have some brains in there. Enough to count to five, at least."
You nod in agreement.
For your reward, his hand finally finds your slit again. There's no word or warning, he simply slides two fingers inside you and curls them upward. You manage to bite back the squeal that threatens to explode out of you, but you can't stop the gasp that manages to make it past your best efforts.
He chuckles. "That was close, wasn't it?"
You nod again.
His fingers move in response, pressing against you in all the ways he knows will drive you the craziest. You know he's only searching for more reason to hit you, to punish you. You don't want to give him the satisfaction, but your resolve is beginning to melt with your core.
He digs in again, adding his thumb and a flick to your clit for good measure. Your body bucks in response, that building squeal finally passing all the barriers and all but echoing around the room.
The laugh that comes from Tony in response is quite threatening.
"You really can't control yourself, can you?"
You shake your head, fingers twitching desperately.
"I suppose it's unfair to punish you for something you can't control..." he starts, slowly, torturously withdrawing his hand from your depths.
You expect another smack. Instead, you are flipped onto your belly so fast it sends the world spinning. A moment later and you hear Tony fiddling with his trousers and the telltale sound of friction as the fabric slides down his thighs.
Oh, thank God.
The slap that hits your ass comes as a surprise and you yelp, eliciting another chuckle from Tony.
You feel his weight on top of you, his breath against your cheek, his hand softly cupping the other. He delicately removes your panties from your mouth and whispers in your ear, "Speak, whore."
"Please, Anthony," you beg, turning to meet his gaze. "Please, fuck me. Fuck me so good, fuck me hard!"
In response, he lines up his shot and plunges into your depths. You cry out in ecstasy, body tensing deliciously at his intrusion and arching up to meet his own.
He envelops you, arms circling your body and holding you flush against him. One hand returns to his second favorite spot -- your throat -- while the other takes hold of your breast and kneads with a fervent energy.
You moan, and he takes this as invitation to move, his hips rolling and thrusting against your own. Your walls squeeze upon each thrust, fighting to keep his cock buried deep within you. He has to fight just as hard to escape your hold, the effort causing him to pant into your ear.
"Fuck," you whine, and from behind you he echoes the sentiment.
You start to feel the hints of orgasm both within and without. Your belly begins to tighten, to warm. Your canal squeezes harder, desperate for the flood that will fill you. Tony, for his part, is also getting closer. His thrusts are starting to become erratic, his body tightening as muscles prepare for the inevitable climax.
He hits his peak a mere breath after you come to the realization, and as his warm seed fills you and his body jerks to a halt, it pushes you careening over the edge into a moaning mess that does its damned best to milk him for all he's worth.
You both pant as you come down, bodies relaxing into each other.
You don't expect Tony to move for at least an hour, but he surprises you by rolling the two of you over so that you're on top of him. You stare up at the ceiling, though you don't really see it. Your gaze is hazy, flushed with lust.
"Good girl," he whispers, placing a kiss on your cheek. "Very good girl."
You can feel Tony's hand grip your ass under the hem of your skirt as you lean over the fence, trying to get a better look as the teams play on the far end of the field. Mere moments later, you feel his chest press against your back and his stubbled cheek rub yours possessively.
"You're going to make me jealous," he whispers in your ear, his free hand coming up to circle your upper arm. You know he's just itching to put that hand around your neck -- and he would be, if it wasn't for the very public place you find yourselves in.
All the while, you've only offered him a smirk in response. Everything you've done so far today, everything you continue to do, all serves only one purpose.
You eye him through the sunglasses you chose specifically to hide your eyes, then turn your attention back to the game.
You know nothing about Polo, and honestly you probably couldn't care less to learn anything about it. Hell, you've already learned something: there are horses!
You cheer, though, when it seems like Rupert has made a goal or whatever. You're not sure how points are gained. It doesn't matter. Rupert and team seem happy, so he must've hit a home run or something.
"You're such a fucking bimbo," Tony whispers behind you. "You certainly look the part. Dolled up like a fucking Barbie." He's insulting you to get your attention. You know his games better than he does, yet he hasn't caught on to yours.
The rest of the game goes on much like this. Tony attempts many methods to regain your focus. Physical affection, bribes, threats, pain. All the while you stay entirely focused on the game.
Finally, it ends, and you easily depart from Tony and run onto the field.
"Oh, Rupert. What a stunning display!" you enthuse, removing your sunglasses so that he can look you in the eye. He doesn't -- instead, his eyes rove over your body, drinking you in same as the water in his hand.
"Why, thank you," he says, beaming.
You flounce a little under his attention, beaming back even as Tony creeps up behind you. You can feel his anger in the way he holds you.
"Adequately played," he says to Rupert.
Rupert, to his benefit, doesn't seem to mind. His attention is still on you.
"Can I pet the horse?" you ask, and Rupert slides off the animal in response.
"Pet it? Would you like to ride it?"
"Ride? Oh, I couldn't!"
He waves your protest away and, with your enthusiastic consent, helps you atop the creature's back. "There you are. Absolutely perfect."
You feel quite at home in a saddle, but you dare not let the men in on that. Instead, you wobble a bit. It leads to you losing balance and slipping. Rupert comes in for the save, but Tony is there in an instant, his arms around you defensively.
Giggling, you brush yourself off and give the horse an uneasy pat. "Better I stay on the ground, I think! But thank you."
"Of course," Rupert says with a relieved grin. He takes your hand and kisses it, all under Tony's watchful gaze. "It's a pleasure to see you both."
He and Tony exchange a few tense words after that. You wander off and obtain an ice lolly to fight the heat while they talk business.
Not long after, Tony finds you and grabs you by the wrist. He's in your face a second later, glaring swords and daggers like that will do anything. "What are you doing?" he hisses.
"Eating this Jubilee," you answer easily, pulling your wrist free and taking a carefree lick.
"You make me look like a cuck when you prance around for other men's attention."
"Noooo," you say in mock sadness. "You, a cuck? No one would ever think that."
"Listen here, little bitch --"
You take the Jubilee into your mouth and stare into Tony's eyes as you do. He sputters to a stop, then groans. "Ugh. This is what you wanted."
"I like it when you get all jealous."
"You're in so much trouble when we get to your flat."
Summary: The first time Tony Baddingham saw you, he knew he had to have you. And one way or another, he would.
Soundtrack: Smooth by Santana and Rob Thomas
Requests: Sure.
Warnings: Sexual Harassment. Unhealthy possessiveness.
The room is hazy with the smoke of a dozen cigars, tendrils of it swirling high into the air towards the ceiling and twisting around the patrons of the club, beckoning them towards their sources with the enticing, heady scent of tobacco.
You weave through tables, drunkards, and other waitresses effortlessly. It's almost second nature to you, to the point that you have to resist the call of autopilot.
Something that frequently pulls you out of it is the feeling of hands on you -- sometimes it's innocent, merely a patron grabbing you on your way past to ask for a refill or an appetizer. But sometimes it's less innocent, even malicious on occasion.
It's the third time in the last hour you've been grabbed. Briefly, you think about punching the smug look off the bastard that checked you by the hip.
"How can I help you?" you ask instead, your smile bright as the sun. It's another skill you've perfected working in the restaurant.
"You can help me in... a lot of ways," the man says, voice oozing with sleaze. It sends a shiver down your spine. His hand slides from your hip to your spine and begins to dip lower when suddenly it is no longer on you at all -- and there's a flurry of motion in front of you.
It takes you all of a breath to process what's happened. The man accosting you is on his knees, face bleeding. A tall, string bean of a man towers over him, hair mussed in a comically perfect way, eyes blazing.
With barely a second glance, he turns to face you and places his hand on your waist, and you at least have to give him points for not going quite straight for what he'd just punched a man's lights out for.
"Are you all right?" he asks through his cigar.
Your eyes flutter appreciatively, because that is what you've been trained to do. "Yes, sir. Thank you very much."
"I don't want platitudes. Are you all right?" he repeats, insistently.
You nod, swallowing timidly. "Yes, sir. Really, I'm okay. It's not the first time it's happened."
"Such a shame. Such a waste."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"You're far too pretty for service work."
It isn't the first time you've been told something to that effect, yet this time you blush.
"Thank you, sir."
"Enough 'sir,' call me Tony or I might have to punish you."
An unbidden thrill goes down your spine. "Yes, si -- Tony. Sorry."
"How much do you make in this place? Never mind, however much it is, it's not enough. How would you like to make more than you could dream of?"
"That would be nice, sir -- Tony -- but I can't quit my job on a whim for a dream."
"Not a whim, not a dream. I'm offering you a job at a television studio."
You blink, stunned into silence for a moment.
"Take your time."
"I'm sorry, I'm just... confused. Why?"
"I already said why -- you're too pretty for service work. And I can work with..." His eyes travel up and down your body, and you suddenly feel naked under his appraising gaze. His hand moves down, reeling you closer by the hip, and if you hadn't caught his drift before, you certainly have now.
"And what would I do there?" you ask softly, looking up at him through your lashes.
"Do you know how the moon turns the tides?"
"Yes, of course..."
"Well, then, there's your answer."
You blush. As you gather yourself, he pulls away and returns to his table. It takes you a moment to realize he's taken your apron with him.
Summary: Cale knows how much you hate disco, and yet...
Soundtrack: Rasputin by Boney M.
Requests: Open!
Warnings: It's Cale Erendreich.
"IF I HEAR THAT SONG ONE MORE TIME I'LL KILL YOU!"
The irony of your statement is lost on you, but you can hear Cale cackling over the music. At least someone is enjoying your torture, because you sure aren't.
The song draws to a close and you let out a little sigh of relief. God, finally. Maybe now you can get some work done.
You flip open your laptop and hover over the keys, waiting to see if Cale will be a little shit and play it again. After about ten seconds, you're satisfied he's ended your torment and begin typing.
And that's when the disco blares through the house.
Does he have fucking cameras set up or something!?
"CALE I SWEAR TO GOD --"
You're about to get up to go confront him, but he beats you to the punch.
He appears in the doorway by way of a Risky Business slide, doing disco moves as he watches you with a shit-eating grin.
"I fucking hate you," you grouse, closing your laptop with a huff.
"Aw, don't be like that," he purrs, dancing over to you. Begrudgingly, you allow him to pull you up and into a loose tango.
"This isn't even the right dance style," you tell him, trying to hide your amusement.
"You're telling me they don't do this in disco?" he asks as he twirls you, catching you a moment later and leading you in a deep dip.
"I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure what we're doing right now is a waltz. Maybe a foxtrot if we get a little frisky with it."
He chuckles, dipping you and then pulling you into a short, sweet kiss.
"Honestly, I don't know what the fuck I'm doing."
"You don't say."
"Now, if you were a horse --"
Here we go.
"-- I could easily lead you in a dressage routine."
"Mm, but I'm not a horse."
"Could've fooled me. You take to the bit so well."
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