Martin Freeman | Fargo

    ╳αииιє☆☼*:･ﾟ    “You’re actually letting me in your kitchen after     the potato chip-cookies incident?? COOL–Can     I make my special popcorn recipe???”

“Of course, of course...depends on what your ‘special popcorn recipe’ is.”

The words, rushed little platitudes, told her everything she had so far interpreted about this strange, stuttering little man before her had been  c o r r e c t . “You don’t need to explain yourself to   me, darling. I have never been the   judgmental sort.” Lester had subservience written all over him. In the slouch of his shoulders. The defeated expression in his eyes. The way he spoke about himself, as little more than a sub-human. But there was something else there, lingering just beneath the surface. Perhaps residual grief for his deceased wife, although he had not mentioned her up to this point. There was no guilt about being in the presence of a woman of her profession, no soft protestations that this just wasn’t right. How fascinating that was. “I want you to go outside, Lester. You’re  going to get in your car and turn on the  engine. I drive a cherry red Chevrolet.  You’re going to follow me to my hotel   and from there, we will begin. Do I make   myself clear?” The stammering could go on forever and in situations like this, it was always best to cut right to the quick. The hand that held his chin slid up to comb through mousy hair, tugging him closer until their lips met in a soft embrace. 

Whilst it was rare she kissed, sometimes a little tenderness was needed for a battle to be won. Whilst dear Mr. Nygaard presented a bumbling and uncertain front to the outside world, she felt certain there was a good deal more than first met the eye. 

His mouth seemed to know it was coming before his head did, though he was surprised all the same. Part of him, deep in the back of his mind, told him that he ought to pull away if he ever wanted to appear to be a decent person to those who pitied him for what happened to poor Mrs. Nygaard and her poor, poor widower. It was simply common knowledge: if he wanted to stay under the radar, he wouldn’t be kissing a dominatrix in a backwater diner.

But a bigger part of him - a primal, thirsty bit of brain that had been smothered by sweaters, insurance pamphlets, and years of dismissal from everyone around him - let her go at it, enjoying the feeling of a beautiful woman tenderly kissing him, her hands sending a tingle though each passing hair she caressed. Lester found a little of the gusto he’d been searching for all night. That tiny voice in the back of his head that told him what he wanted to hear at the worst of times- one that seemed to speak now with her svelte, gently-accented voice - whispered as softly as the lips pressed on his;

You deserve this.

As he pulled away, he could only nod and croak out a “gotcha” before picking up his parka, paying for the coffee, and half-stumbling out the door towards his car.

     ╳αииιє☆☼*:･ﾟ              “Waiting….”

“For what?”

okay but why aren’t you writing road trip aus?

-

“You’re not alone. Most people find the concept  of being ordered around a little overwhelming.” Reaching across the table, she settled a manicured hand over his, her thumb pressing against the throbbing pulse of his wrist and rubbing in soothing circles. This was perhaps one of the things she excelled at. The soft, subtle seduction that lured hapless prey into her clutches. Some of her favored pets had started off much like this; not knowing how much potential lay before them. “We can start off as slow as you please, my sweet.  Tonight is all about you. I’ve never been opposed   to being gentle if the occasion calls for it.”

All at once, her free hand was lifting from her lap, fingers curling beneath his chin. Gazing deep into his eyes, she leaned across the table until she could smell the deep notes of his aftershave along with the bitterness of the coffee. “Oh, I believe you can handle a good deal more than  even you are aware of. I see such strength when I look  at you. Passion, too. I’d love to see you let it out, Lester.  If you felt safe enough,”

“No, no, I’m good at being ordered around.”

That sounded terrible.

“I-I mean, I don’t mind getting ordered around, y’know, because...”

That sounded terrible, too.

“...m-my boss...just...tryin’ ta work, is all. Way my job goes.”

And he ended it in a spectacularly terrible fervor, as par for the course. There was so much...woman for Lester to deal with mentally, even if he was sure he could handle it. Still, now was the time to brace himself for whatever he’d just signed away his control for.

At least, until the touching started.

There was a noticeable flinch as the picture-perfect hand came to rest on his wrist, making his pulse feel strong and ever-present as it throbbed between his body and her thumb (which had more power than his body ever had and ever would). He maintained eye contact if only because he honestly felt that he couldn’t look away; he was the fly, she was the light.

His answer was so very close to making its way out of his mouth until her fingers curled round his chin, freezing him in his tracks as she seemed to get closer and closer...and she was getting closer by the second, so close he could smell the perfume mingled with the near-evicerated stain of hotel shampoo in her hair. The words he had mustered up the strength to say - and not half bad ones, at that - turned to jelly in his mouth.

“I-I-I-I-I...I-I don’t...I-I-I w-wouldn’t...ya don’t...o-oh, I...really?”

‘Captain America 3’: Martin Freeman Also in ‘Black Panther’?

http://wtch.it/SVD1l

                ╳αииιє☆☼*:･ﾟ           “Are ya gonna make some popcorn, too?     We can’t have movies without popcorn, y’know.” 

“...Right! Popcorn! Y-ya sure can’t have a movie without popcorn. Now, listen - I’m gonna run downstairs and grab those tapes, and if you wouldn’t mind, I want you to go fishing in the pantry and find the box of Pop-Secret that’s hiding somewhere in there; just stick it in the microwave. Think you can do that?”

     ╳αииιє☆☼*:･ﾟ   “Well, at least you’re here now.    You’re lucky, too—-I was just    about to take out my  sidewalk    c h a l k.” 

“Yeah...yeah, what exactly are we doing here?”

Irene watched as hestruggled, somewhat amused by the outcome. Just one look at Lester was enough to inform her that he was in the middle of a serious moral quandary. Amusing that so many who came to her, desperate for release, all exhibited the same distress when confronted with the reality of what they were about to undertake. “Give it a try?” Repeating his words in a deadpan tone, she arched a finely plucked eyebrow. “This isn’t a ride at the fairground, my darling. Far from it. I should also emphasize what precisely it is that I do. I am not, nor have I ever been, a prostitute. Yes, I do enjoy sex a great deal and have even bedded several of my clients in the past, but a night with me does not guarantee you a good, hard fuck. If that’s what you’re looking for I suggest the red light district. It’s my understanding there is a thriving one in the twin cities.”

Reaching for a napkin, she dabbed it against crimson lips, allowing the moment to build between them before she spoke again. “I am a professional dominatrix. This means that my clients surrender all of their control to me for a few hours. It’s not all nipple clamps and riding crops. If you wish, we can absolutely dive straight in to such things although I recommend starting off a little lighter. Similarly, if it is your wish, we can do just this. Sit and talk. For the next four hours, I’m at your disposal.” Pausing, she look another sip of tea. “Within reason, of course.”

“I, uh...look, I’ve never actually tried any of that...you know, that kinda stuff...”

This was a lie, but, again, the one time he had tried it wasn’t worth mentioning.

“...but, ah...jeez...it’s a whole lot to think about, I’m not gonna lie to ya. Never really had anybody...offer it, if ya know what I mean.”

He treated himself to another sip of coffee, hoping the caffeine would spark up his bravado. He was a man, not the sixteen-year-old loser who couldn’t even work up the guts to take a peek at a topless girl through a crack in the bathroom wall. Lester couldn’t bear to imagine going back to his brother’s house and confirming everything Chaz had anticipated to his face: that he’d chicken out, like he always did.

“I...you know, I’m gonna go for it. Granted, if that’s really an option, I’m all for starting light, but, uh...I guess I kinda owe it to my brother. Wouldn’t want to let him down after he tried cheering me up. Besides, I’m sure I can handle it. I’ve been through a heckuva lot worse.”

So you’re blackmailing a guy for something but you don’t know what it is? You ready for the comment? You’re an idiot. Good news: I’m taking over.

it was a traumatising experience, it haunts him still

                                                 “Aw, heck.”

                                       ❝ Oh, what a day.❞

                                          indie lester nygaard from fargo fx. 18+. written by                                        delaney. semi selective/multiship. chat/para friendly.

Send me a url and my muse will tell you what they think about them.