@alasdairxbishop
Rune was quite a few drinks in. Quite a few drinks with no powers to stop him from actually feeling the effects of alcohol. He had never experienced the slow creep of it before, the buzz people talked about when all he had ever known was fucked up or stone cold sober. He was loving it, a seventh drink in his hand with no care for the possibility that he might get cut off or get his future drinking privileges taken away. What was it the kids said, you only live once or whatever?
Following that mentality, with the freedom to roam- a specific area but roam nonetheless, he found himself setting sights on the back of that little nephilim's head. The best part of finding one of his chew toys? This one was dressed up in some floral little dress, practically flaunting himself like a fruit ripe for the dragon to pick. He wouldn't be letting that opportunity slip away.
He slammed back whatever weird mixture of alcohol he had snagged off a passing tray before setting it on a random nearby table and moving to stalk towards him. Like a predator stalking its prey except with the blur of alcohol in his vision he was much less sneaky than he would’ve been. Either way his arms were snaking around Alasdair’s waist and pulling him back against his chest, ignoring the way his body protested to even more weight against his already stiff frame thanks to the corset.
“Hey there, pretty boy,” He purred, alcohol on his breath as it fanned across the nephilim’s neck, pressing a kiss to his pale skin. “Dress up all for me?” A tease, when they both knew neither of them had a choice in what they wore and honestly seeing his dress made Rune thankful he was stuck with an unbearably tight corset.
