Max, innocent of whatever is about to occur, is still in his own finery. It’s a charming red suit with a black vest beneath, oxfords discarded aside, vest at least partially unbuttoned. Evidently there was some alert to some (incredibly nerdy) article to an app he’s literally paid monthly for full subscriptions to, which means for the past ten minutes as Trish peels away the layers of Trish, he waits patiently until, like a robot, he’s touched and brought out of stasis. The stasis where she’s reading about a thousand jumbled words about neurochemistry that she barely understands but has been taking screenshots and making highlights and underlining words.
Black socks thud only briefly on the floor. Hair’s been undone from its elegant little coil and is now just that lazy wave of dark over a shoulder, thick and easy. There’s a kiss pressed to the back of a neck, hair collected aside just to do it, adoring and left there on standing tiptoe.
Fingertips to a pull tab. He’s always so careful— all of this is so ornamental, so artful. And he looks like 2/3 of his own state of undress, to begin with. Inelegant and somehow handsome at one.
Pauses. For effect. To be annoying. And oh-so-Max.
“I mean I can, but is that the word you’re really trying to ask?” Professor Bloom, agonizing. There’s a tiny grin on a mouth when it presses to a bare shoulder, scar tissue and all, and it’s playful. Cheerful. Warm and happy.
Trish is, as usual, much less charming than Alana at all things and at all times, especially when there’s no camera or audience around.
He teases her in such a sweet and gentlemanly and Alana way, but Trish is impatient at best, and she can’t help but huff gently, cutting hazel eyes to find Max over her shoulder in the mirror. It’s not a rude tone, but it’s just that brusque, direct way she has sometimes.
“If getting me naked is going to require proper grammar, Dr. Bloom, we’re both going to be so much more disappointed than I’d planned for tonight.”
( Possibly. Sometimes she can stick to her bratty guns and deprive Max just to prove a point, but usually she caves because what she wants is usually more important than sticking it to Max. And she likes when he fucks her better than when she fucks herself.
That’s saying something, honestly. )
There’s a tiny, tiny foot stomp. Impatient. Bossy. “Come on, I bought something really pretty I want to show you.”