“You ladies have been having quite an enjoyable time of it discussing my–unmentionables, it seems.”
Sir Guy’s deep voice rumbled in Ladywriter’s ears that GuydayFriday morning. He was lounging against one of the posts of the four-poster bed, his shapely lips curled into a mocking smirk.
He’d decided (or perhaps it would be more accurate to say Ladywriter had) to change his attire for the occasion. No Guy S3 Marvel of Engineering Trousers and Floppy Black Pirate Shirt. Not even his S2 leathers.
The World’s Sexiest Knight was sporting a modern pair of sleek black leather trousers, a dove grey v-neck silk T-shirt and a black leather jacket–suitable attire for the mild winter weather of Lower Alabama.
The leather looked buttery soft and supremely touchable. Well, to be honest, all of him did, from his artfully tousled dark mane and designer stubble right down to those handsome black boots that almost begged to be tugged off–
“Ladywriter . . . have you gone into some sort of–trance?”
“Hmmm–what? Oh, no, just–thinking about–uhmm, stuff.” Ladywriter felt like smacking herself in the head.
That was a seriously lame response.
Judging by the expression on Sir Guy’s face, he knew exactly what she’d been contemplating.
She cleared her throat, tossed back her less-artfully tousled blonde tresses and tented her fingers.
“We’ve–that is, the ladies and I–have come to the conclusion that, whilst wearing a replica of braies for the armor fitting scene, your CReAtor would likely have typically worn a modern garment beneath his costume for convenience and comfort’s sake. All that running and horseback riding really would have required it.”
Sir Guy, his arms folded across his chest, nodded slowly. “That sounds reasonable. He would have needed something to come between him and his leathers.” He arched a single brow. “For convenience and comfort’s sake, as you say.”
The CReAtor may have sported something along these lines–a form-fitting mid-thigh brief–to avoid those dreaded VPLs and to prevent chafing during active riding/fighting scenes. Mr. Armitage would, of course, look much better in them than this model.
He flashed a distinctly wolfish grin.
“No going–what do you call it? Commando?–as we ChaRActers sometimes do in your fanfics.” The grin grew broader as he unfolded his arms to grasp the metal post with one hand and lean in towards her.
Oh, heavens, he was in full Seductive Charmer Mode today.
“And have you noticed what some of these modern male undergarments are called?” Guy said in a silken teasing tone.
Bond’s Guy-front men’s trunks. Hot Medieval Henchman-approved.
Ladywriter lifted her eyebrows and gave her favorite dark knight a smirk of her own.
“You wouldn’t be referring to the GUY fronts, would you?”
A deep chuckle. “As a matter of fact, I would . . . ”
“They weren’t actually named after you, you do know that, don’t you?”
“You have your little fantasies, LW, let me have mine . . .”
And we like it that way. Happy Guyday Friday!
“So, does your man wear Guy-fronts? They were named after me, you know . . .”