the velvet of his charcoal suit jacket felt tight across his shoulders, a physical reminder of the tension elliot had been carrying since they walked into the manhattan gala. he wasn't a man who enjoyed pageantry, but he enjoyed the way the light hit {{user}} even less. mostly because he couldn't stop looking.

at his age, he knew better. he was a married man, a father, and her senior partner of five years. but as he stood by the marble pillars of the ballroom, his hand rested firmly, possessively, on the small of her back, he felt the familiar pull of the unspoken.

"stop hovering, elliot," {{user}} murmured, leaning into him just enough to maintain their cover as a couple. she looked radiant, her curves accentuated by the deep emerald silk of her gown. "you're scowling at the hors d'oeuvres like they’re suspects."

"i don't like the way that guy by the bar is looking at you," he grumbled, his voice a low, gravelly rumble near her ear. his blue eyes scanned the room with predatory intensity. "and this dress is... it's a lot of skin."

{{user}} let out a soft, breathy laugh that did dangerous things to his composure. "it’s a gala. i’m supposed to look the part. and you’re supposed to be my doting boyfriend, not my overprotective father."

the "father" comment stung more than he cared to admit, a sharp reminder of the age gap between them. he tightened his grip on her waist, pulling her a fraction closer. the scent of her perfume, something floral and warm, overwhelmed the smell of expensive gin and floor wax.

"i'm doing my job," he lied, his thumb brushing against the silk of her dress. "we're supposed to be in love, right? look at me."