Miss Elizabethymore Dalrymple swooned as the man known only to her as Wild Snake cast a hungry gaze down upon her, like a wolf on a wounded lamb, and let his breath caress her ear like the finest of silks. Heart pounding as the torridity of the situation stole up upon her, she cast her eyes to his and pleaded wordlessly for him to enter her hallowed chambers.

Wild Snake paused, taking a moment to re-oil his love gun before sliding it in, right to the top. Yes, he was hot for the old-fashioned charm of the Delicious Miss D, and yes, he was ready with all his heart to put the X back in sex, but the language barrier was beginning to get a little... strange, even as he assured himself that they were both speaking, after a fashion, English.

Miss Dalrymple, fresh off a reverie of envisioning the moment of conjunction in terms not dissimilar to the novels her friend Miss P___ related from time to time, felt another surge of resplendence to the dewy rose when Wild Snake cast his gaze upon her again. There were a lot of gazes being cast around, mind you, but this was a proper Gaze, fit to scandalize. Still, she couldn't help but feel, on the balance, much of the same consternation that Wild Snake seemed to be toiling under.

"Er."

She cleared her throat just as he was clearing his.

"We are speaking about the same thing, right?" she ventured. "Torridity, scandal, and possibly extended bliss with waves crashing on distant seashores and grass opening to the morning glistening?"

He nodded, and she could see her reflection in the steely black of his shades, the leather jacket billowing in backlit fog that had appeared from nowhere. "Wet cherry pie and being hard as a rock? Piercing the still of the night?"

At Miss D's look, Wild Snake could feel relief creeping in. They were on much the same page, as far as he could determine it. One could even say there was a bit of wet heat and pink lightning between the two of them, despite the odd phrasing.

Kissing passionately, the two raced towards either a midnight climax or a shuddering heaving of muchness, depending.

I'm solely looking to play out the above scenario as deliberately over-the-top as possible. More might be possible afterward, but if it doesn't involve gratuitious petticoat-tearing swoons, and a motorcycle showing up out of nowhere as sex furniture, it's squarely in the no-go zone.