Chapter Text
Balcony Governance
During a charity gala, Minako corners Kunzite on a balcony, with glitter on her shoulders and trouble in her smile. She dares him to make her behave for the rest of the night, and he accepts with a silk scarf around her wrist under the tablecloth.
Gala dare, silk restraint, public composure cracking by inches.
Tags: Public Tension, Light Bondage, Under-the-Table Control, Flirty Power Play
His glass still half full, Kunzite catches the shimmer of her before he feels it—the golden drift of her perfume, the quiet click of heels that announce trouble dressed as grace. Minako Aino in full gala bloom: all honeyed confidence and diamond laughter, her shoulders dusted in the kind of glitter that makes a man believe in temptation as a living creature. She’s been playing with him all night—glancing over her champagne flute, brushing past close enough that her hair whispers against his sleeve—and now she’s cornered him on the balcony like it was part of the event schedule.
The city hums below, the crowd hums behind, and she’s smiling like she already knows what he’ll do.
“General,” she says softly, mock-formal, voice a spark sliding through the dark. “You’ve been ignoring me.”
Kunzite studies her, lets the quiet stretch until the air feels like silk stretched tight. “You make it difficult to focus on anything else, Aino.”
“Then focus,” she says, leaning in until the glitter dusts his lapel. “I dare you to make me behave for the rest of the night.”
Her tone makes it sound like a promise she hopes he’ll break.
He looks her over slowly, that glacier calm of his concealing something sharper. Then his hand slips into his jacket pocket, draws out a thin silk scarf—the color of moonlight and mischief. “You want to behave,” he murmurs, “or you want to be reminded how?”
The words hang between them, heavy and hot. She doesn’t answer; she simply offers her wrist, pulse jumping beneath skin as bright as the city lights.
Kunzite binds her gently, looping the scarf once, twice, knotting it soft enough to slip but firm enough to mean mine. His thumb traces the edge where silk meets skin.
“You’ll sit beside me at dinner,” he says quietly. “You’ll smile at the dignitaries and pretend you’re not thinking about this.”
Minako’s breath catches; her voice comes out almost steady. “And if I forget?”
“Then I’ll remind you,” he says, eyes like steel in candlelight.
When they return to the ballroom, her wrist is free—but the ghost of the silk lingers, the imprint of control beneath the gold. Every time she moves, every time his hand brushes her back as they pass a cluster of donors, it’s there: the unspoken thread between them.
He leans close, lips barely moving. “Still behaving?”
Her smile could light the city. “Not for long.”