Iman can't help snickering softly as Greta's voice guides them on their magical journey. Greta's reactions are so cute, and at this point - well, hers has already revealed more than enough, but she knows it hasn't finished with her, and this is only going to keep happening and get increasingly awkward. At this point, a punchy attitude might be the only thing that can get her through.
:Iman speculates she's even less above thievery than Greta,: her voice chimes in helpfully. :Either way, it's not as if she's any great beacon of morality, paying her way through university with underground boxing, stealing lab equipment on the regular, lying about her findings when it suited her purpose. She's a virtuosic liar, really. She should put that on her resumes.:
"Wow, okay," says Iman, opening the wine bottle as loudly as possible. "Rude."
She knocks back a heavy swig and reaches out to take Greta's hand back, pulling her gently away from the hangers.
"Narrate this," she mutters, and pulls Greta into a kiss, dropping her hand and settling instead at her waist, her other arm wrapping around her back, holding the bottle of wine at a semi-precarious angle.
:What Greta may not realize is that the hijab's express purpose is to keep Iman's hair covered from non-intimates,: the voice says, and is Iman's imagination or has the quality of the narration become smoother and subtler, like it knows things have just stepped up a notch? :Now, shut away from strange eyes, this is no longer a priority. As long as they stay in here, the only priority is the beautiful woman in Iman's hands, acutely contoured in that dress, perfect shoulder blades exposed.:
That's more fucking like it, Iman thinks with a little grin, and her free hand drifts up to Greta's back. She does have immaculate shoulder blades, which is maybe a weird thing to be into, but Iman doesn't really care about 'weird'.
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:Iman speculates she's even less above thievery than Greta,: her voice chimes in helpfully. :Either way, it's not as if she's any great beacon of morality, paying her way through university with underground boxing, stealing lab equipment on the regular, lying about her findings when it suited her purpose. She's a virtuosic liar, really. She should put that on her resumes.:
"Wow, okay," says Iman, opening the wine bottle as loudly as possible. "Rude."
She knocks back a heavy swig and reaches out to take Greta's hand back, pulling her gently away from the hangers.
"Narrate this," she mutters, and pulls Greta into a kiss, dropping her hand and settling instead at her waist, her other arm wrapping around her back, holding the bottle of wine at a semi-precarious angle.
:What Greta may not realize is that the hijab's express purpose is to keep Iman's hair covered from non-intimates,: the voice says, and is Iman's imagination or has the quality of the narration become smoother and subtler, like it knows things have just stepped up a notch? :Now, shut away from strange eyes, this is no longer a priority. As long as they stay in here, the only priority is the beautiful woman in Iman's hands, acutely contoured in that dress, perfect shoulder blades exposed.:
That's more fucking like it, Iman thinks with a little grin, and her free hand drifts up to Greta's back. She does have immaculate shoulder blades, which is maybe a weird thing to be into, but Iman doesn't really care about 'weird'.