You marshal your thoughts and control yourself as you step into the armored SUV. Your IRG escort team is professionally dressed in good suits; not as nice as your suit, of course, but good, decent work suits, the kind you used to buy, before Maggie entered your life. You stifle the feeling of guilt that flares up every time you think about the money your wife has spent on you.
No. Not your wife. You have to keep your guard up. She's a honeypot sent to play you. You're counterplaying her. You have to wake up and be on guard.
You make polite small talk with your escort along the drive; the team leader escorts you through security at the palace, and leads you to the Empress' apartments. You part on friendly terms, and he lets you know his team will be your transport after your meeting.
Breakfast goes well enough; Yui prepared your ingredients for you, following the shopping list you gave her: you were quite aware there was no way you were going to bring outside food into Her Majesty's palace. While part of you still feels annoyed at having to get up so early to make breakfast for your niece and her royal cousin, there's a part of you that relishes the chance to show off your culinary skills to Her Majesty. Not to toot your own horn, Johnny boy, but you've gotten pretty good at this cooking thing. Let's be honest, Maggie played a part in that. You've always been passable as a cook, but you've never really been keen on cooking when it was just yourself all alone in your house. But cooking for two… yes, you'd rather slave away over a stove to cook for your lover, than you would for yourself.
The Empress' ignorance about current affairs is concerning, but her physical condition… Lord, you could see her
ribs. And it's pretty obvious to you that she has a crush on Yui. When a girl walks naked into the kitchen and wraps her arms around you,
yes, she damn well is sexually interested in you.
You remember when Maggie was the naked girl wrapping her arms around you, and smile, remembering the events of this morning, and other past encounters. You also thank your lucky stars that Yui is as oblivious as ever, and doesn't seem to have realised the significance of Maggie's perfume on your jacket, or even realised it's there.
You shake your head, thinking of your niece's denseness. She literally went on a date once, and she still doesn't realise it was a date, or the extent of his feelings towards her. But that's her problem. You're not going to touch this with a ten foot pole: you've got enough problems already, you don't need to add being a
shidduch to the pile.
There's a surprise waiting for you at the tram station: Ri-Sumeragi, waiting for you, wearing a
smart gray skirtsuit that's a half size too small, looking proper, sexy and professional. She nods to your escort. "I'm Captain Amagi Ri-Sumeragi, Fleet Admiral Chew's adjutant. I'll take care of his transport."
"I guess I won't need your ride, Staff Sergeant," you say to your escort. You shake hands, bid him farewell, and gesture to Ri-Sumeragi to preceed you. Within minutes, you're in your own SUV; she points you to the back seat while she hops in the driver's seat, and you settle in as she expertly brings your vehicle onto the main road.
"Why the back seat, Maggie?" you ask. Maggie knows you hate sitting in the back. It's a little embarrassing, but sitting in the back always makes you a little carsick (which you deal with by napping or being otherwise distracted).
"I brought your uniform," she says, gesturing at the garment bag lying against the seat. "There will be less questions if you show up at Admiralty House in your uniform." She sighs wistfully. "A pity. You look
ravishing in that suit."
"What about you?"
"I'll change after you. So, how was your meeting?"
"It was fine," you say, beginning to disrobe. Your jacket comes off, then your tie. "Breakfast was fine, we talked about current affairs, the Naval Forces Realignment Act…"
"Are you still fighting with your niece over her support for the Act?" asks Maggie. You just
know she's smirking, like the smug vixen she is.
"She's entitled to her own opinion, as am I," you say piously, as you change into your uniform. You leave your jacket for last; you'll put it on just before you arrive. Maggie merely makes a thoughtful sound, before changing the subject: "So, let's talk fashion. I do recall telling you you'd look ravishing in that suit. Surely you must now agree with me, Johnny."
"Yui said I could probably find a wife with this suit."
Maggie laughs. "Excellent. That's exactly what happened. But what was Her Majesty and Her Highness wearing?"
"She changed into this short kimono thing, and Yui was wearing stuff from her grandma's label. Designer sweater and jeans."
"I'll give you an eye for fashion yet, Darling. But what was Her Majesty wearing at the start? You mentioned she changed. Did she come to breakfast wearing a cute bunny eared onesie?"
You bite your tongue. Sure, Her Majesty wasn't trying to tilt you, and the only woman you want to get hard for is Maggie. But a sixth sense is screaming at you to change the subject. "Shouldn't
you be getting changed, Maggie?"
Maggie deliberately reaches up and angles the rearview mirror so you can both see each other. She gives you a flat look, one that says she saw through your transparent effort at misdirection. And then she smirks, punches a button on the touchscreen console, and activates the self-driving mode. "Why,
yes, Johnny, I
absolutely do need you to
help me
change," she purrs.
Fuck.
Maggie worms her way out for the driver's seat and deposits herself beside you, smiling winningly. "Help me with my jacket, Darling," she commands, as she bends over to unfasten her pumps. Her beautiful shoulders shrug as you slide her jacket down her arms, getting an eyeful of her cleavage, displayed most tantalisingly by her thin scoop-cut blouse.
No bra. Your mouth goes dry.
She lifts her hands above her head, and you slide her blouse up. "Unzip me," she commands, and you obey, unzipping her pencil skirt, helping to slide it down her legs, as she lifts her derriere off the seat. All these movements bring you close, right next to her, where you can smell her hair and her scent and
her.
As you fold her skirt, Maggie starts peeling down her pantyhose. It's a light color, accentuating her beautiful legs, but it's most definitely not Navy regulation.
Nothing she wears is reg-compliant. She's doing this deliberately to tilt you.
"Darling, do this one favor for me," says Maggie. She hooks her fingers in her panties, a pair of tiny, red, lacy, sexy panties, smiling innocently at you. "Could you hold on to these for me? I don't have any pockets."
She draws them down her legs, oh so slowly, it's almost torturous. You follow the undergarments route down to her ankles, focusing on her beautiful fingers, the safest thing for you to look at. As if on autopilot, you take the lacey scrap of red tilting and put it into your pocket, and fight the urge to sniff that titillating handful like some repressed degenerate pervert.
Maggie sits beside you, smugly preening, basking in her naked glory, and you don't dare say anything. She crawls over to sit in your lap, straddling you, and she leans down and kisses you. You kiss her back, hungrily, longingly. Maggie finally breaks your kiss, with a reluctant sigh and a glance at her small, chic, elegant watch. "We don't have enough time," she says, and you could truly believe in that moment that she does sincerely desire you, that it's not an act. She sighs, and leans her head against yours; you sneak another quick kiss from her. Maggie laughs, and kisses you again. She untangles her fingers from your grasp, and trails them up your leg; you squirm and make the most embarrassing squeak as she caresses you.
"My Lord," she says, using the highest of upper class registers. "Believe me when I say that nothing would give your servant greater pleasure than to relieve your need, but alas. Duty is a harsh mistress, and I hear her call in my ear."
"You're laying it on pretty thick there. Does this mean that I'm not really your lord whom you service and relieve?"
"Johnny, Darling,
shut up and let me have this."
"Noblewoman turned maid servicing her erstwhile nobleman master while she's holding the true upper hand roleplay?"
Maggie's response is swift and direct: she punches your shoulder. Let's be honest: you deserved that.
"Forgive me, My Lady." You're not too proud to grovel. "Your humble servant forgot his place momentarily and begs your forgiveness."
Amagi Ri-Sumeragi's imperious gaze is no less piercing despite her nudity, and you can feel yourself shriveling up from her cold blue eyes. And then she smiles, laughs, and kisses you. "You'll make it up to me later," she commands. "We really don't have enough time for this. Help me get dressed, I can't show up at the office like this." Her smile turns sly. "Even though I'm sure you would want me to." She sighs, and reluctantly removes herself from your lap.
"Do we
have to?" you ask, a little petulantly. Surely it's alright to drop in late tod-
Maggie shifts into a kneeling position. She takes your hand and presses it to one glorious breast. You can feel her palm atop your hand, her soft supple flesh beneath your hand, the excited racing of her heartbeat. She holds your hand in place for a minute, her eyes never leaving yours, as you drink in every inch of her beautiful face. She removes your hand, leading it between her legs, tracing her curves on the journey down. You feel her, and all you can say is, "Oh."
"Oh," she agrees. She draws your fingers out, and licks them clean, which does absolutely nothing to relax your heart rate.
You know when you're beat; you raise your hands in surrender and help your lady dress. When you're done, she fixes her makeup, cleans your face, and hops back into the driver's seat, while you pack away the clothes. By the time you arrive at Admiralty House, your facade of a model flag officer and his adjutant is secure. You don't say another word until you're both in the private elevator leading to your floor, when Maggie leans over and whispers in your ear, "So, Darling, I assume Her Majesty came to breakfast
au naturale?"
You cough, and Maggie's tails swish triumphantly. "I knew it," she proclaims teasingly. "You dirty, dirty old man. You enjoyed that eyeful, didn't you? Don't deny it, I know you've got an eye for young girls, you depraved cradle robber you." She leans back, fluttering her eyelashes, fanning herself dramatically. "Oh woe is me! My man hath pursueth me for mine youthful looks, but his gaze now wanders to a babe in the woods! Darling, please. Don't look at the Empress, look at me. Youthful innocence is fleeting, sexual maturity is eternal."
"I could see her ribs," you say softly, and it's like a dam breaks inside you. "Her
ribs, Maggie. She's not eating, she's not sleeping, she's just a kid, a kid who lost her mom and lost her dad because the fucktard decided to kill himself and join his wife in death instead of manning up for his kid. What kind of father is that? The only person in her life who cares about her, as a person, is Yui. It's not right. It's not right at all. The Empire is in the hands of a lonely grieving little girl who's unprepared to rule and this house of cards is going to crash down on us-"
Maggie takes your hand in hers. You're filled with a sense of horror as you just realise what the fuck you said, but your fingers intertwine with hers, seeking out that comforting warmth. She stands there, beside you, her hand in yours, her eyes locked in on yours, and all she says is: "How can I help?"
"I don't know," you say, and her eyes soften at the quiet despair in your voice. "Oh, Johnny," she says. She pulls your head down and she kisses you, and then kisses your hand, and tells you, "No matter what, I'll be right here."
You kick yourself furiously. You've revealed something you were trying to keep hidden. And she said that, but
of course she would say that, that's what a honeypot does-
"I thought Sumeragi didn't like the Imperial Family?"
"I'm not doing this for Her Majesty, Johnny. I'm doing this for
you."
As the elevator doors ding open, as you reluctantly release your hands, you feel something in your heart, something that terrifies and excites you at the same time: Hope.
Maybe. Just maybe…?
