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High Life

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It is the girls' idea in the first place. They are young; they are daring. They are enjoying this taste of the high life, so very different from the orphanage. But, well, Yeager cannot truly say he is complaining -- the high life in Dahngrest is very different from anything that passed for excitement among the knights, as well.

The party is already lively when they arrive; there is music, and laughter, and people indulging themselves in the most interesting of ways. The girls leave most of their clothes in the side room provided by their gracious hostess -- beneath their matching outfits they wear equally charming matching underthings -- but Yeager declines the opportunity. There are two choices, at a party like this: wear so little as to be inviting, or wear so much as to be imposing. And Yeager has secrets to keep safely buttoned up, after all, even in a place like this.

So he walks into the party in a fine sharp suit, with Gauche and Droite on each arm wearing barely any lace at all, and certainly they do cut a striking figure, enough so that they catch some of the partygoers' attention. And the rest of the partygoers, they are quite lovely to look at as well:

Nearby there are two young men without a stitch on to cover their impressive scars, and they are both gleaming with oil as they grapple with each other. A young lady in the ears of the Bunny Guild is quite at the mercy of a handful of Hunting Blades, squirming between them, looking delighted. At the far end of the room, Yeager thinks he even spies Madam Kaufman of Fortune's Market, in a satin corset to show off her lovely curves -- though he cannot say for sure who is lucky enough to be kneeling before her.

"See anything you like?" Yeager asks, though he is certain they must. He knows his girls that well by now.

"Yeah, I think we can find someone," Gauche says, looking across him at Droite. "Right?"

"Totally," Droite agrees. Her smile is a wild little thing, a tease, a dare. "I'll race you."

So they have the same playmate in mind, even. As they release Yeager's arms and slip into the crowd, he entertains himself with trying to pick the lucky young man -- it is almost always a young man, when they go looking together; it seems the only young ladies they can agree on are each other -- before they pounce on him.

Tonight he is not quite fast enough, as he finds himself enjoying any number of lovely distractions, while Gauche and Droite are perfectly focused. They have already chosen their playmate and are dragging him along even before Yeager has finished studying the options. Perhaps he will have to suggest one or two others, after they have enjoyed this boy for a while.

He is very pretty, blond like that boy who is in line for the throne, and he has worn a collar to the party, so now Gauche is leading him around by it. Droite is hanging off his arm on the other side, talking to him, reaching down between his legs to tease. It is a dangerous place to be, in the hands of his girls, and Yeager suspects that this boy knows it, but he looks pleased.

"--And if you're really, really good, then I'll ride you," Droite is saying as they drag the boy to a halt in front of Yeager, "but first Gauche is going to stick her hand up your ass and you'd better be good at sucking cock."

Yeager smiles at the boy. "Well?" he says, because Droite, she sometimes comes on just a touch strong. "Does that sound like a pleasant evening to you?"

The dear boy looks a little stunned, but he nods. "Yes, sir," he says.

"Ah," Yeager says, "that sounds so stuffy, does it not? 'Sir.'" He cups the boy's cheek in one gloved hand. "How about, instead, 'daddy'?"

The boy's eyes go wide, the pupils huge and dark. "Yes," he says. "Daddy."

"Lovely," Yeager says, and his girls push the boy to his knees.