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janet

; [interlude/closed post]

After a few dances -- with several attendees, but mostly with Lancelot -- Susan liberates two bottles of wine and a plate of food from the ballroom and slips off to go find Janet. Luckily, after struggling to track Lancelot down earlier in the week, she's made a point of mapping the location of everyone's rooms, and so she doesn't have to search to find Janet's.

She raps on the door with the back her hand, careful not to let the food or the wine jostle overmuch. "Diplomatic envoy for Queen Janet of Fillory," she calls.

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It's mostly Janet's shoulders that are tense and knotted up; that's the consequence of throwing around fuck-off axes to impress a girl. It's not that bad, but it's noticeable enough. "Overwhelming a man and entertaining my fellow queen at the same time? Sign me up."

Eventually, Susan works her way back up to concentrate on those (sexy, very sexy) shoulders. "It's so nice to know a like-minded monarch," she says.

"Mmhmm." That's about the sum of what this very eloquent Queen of Fillory can manage once Susan is back on her shoulders. She has to breathe through it a little, shutting her eyes and tucking her face into the crook of her elbow.

Susan sinks into the rhythm of this, working the kinks out of Janet's shoulders, moving slowly, steadily, but deep. Eventually, her hands start cramping, and she settles back on her haunches, stretching them. "What now, my lady?"

Everything's pleasantly blurry around the edges of Janet's consciousness right now. Susan has melted her like butter on a hot stove. She almost never feels like this -- this relaxed, this unfocused. After a second, she musters up the wherewithal to prop herself up on an elbow and half-turn to look at Susan. "Now come here and let me make out with you."

"Oh, gladly," Susan says, slipping off of Janet's back and stretching out alongside her on the bed. She returns her hand to Janet's back - it's soft, and ever so warm - and leans in, stealing a swift, sharp kiss before settling down.

As soon as Susan's back in range, Janet draws her into another kiss with a hand at the back of her neck. It's a contrast to that first one, slow and languid; heated, but in a low simmer. Everything smells a little like the scented lotion Susan was using, and Janet's had exactly enough wine to lean into this feeling.

Susan settles into the feeling of this, of opening to Janet's kiss, and letting her eyes drift closed as she matches her, heat for heat, slow move for slow move. Janet's mouth is wine-tart; there's a sweetness underneath, a warmth like the warmth of her skin. Susan keeps her hand curved politely around Janet's back, their chests a barely an inch apart.

It's Janet, then, who slips closer, until her nipples are just catching on the fabric of Susan's barely-there pajama top. That, then, the pinprick of that feeling, makes her sigh and open her mouth under Susan's, chasing the slide of her tongue without too much urgency.

Since Janet is moving languidly, Susan matches her, but she does move her hand slowly down Janet's spine, coaxing her closer still. She's not used to this kind of pace, really - oh, with Miriam, they had danced around each other for several months, but they fell into bed together shortly after their first kiss. She finds that she likes it, in a queer sort of way. Janet generally makes her want to rise to the occasion; now she's slowing down, savoring her taste, letting the moment unfold as it will.

Honestly, this is far from Janet's usual pace, either, but there's something to the novelty of it. She curls in closer in answer to Susan's hand and the scrape of that single callus on her back, nudging her knee between Susan's legs. Her hand is still around the back of Susan's neck, and she strokes the tendons there with the pad of her thumb, then draws her fingers through Susan's hair, loose as it is for once.

Susan likes the feelings of Janet's hand in her hair. She smiles into the kiss, scraping Janet's lip lightly with her teeth, letting her legs part for Janet's knee.

Janet settles into this. There's some heat mounting in her, arousal climbing and a slow creep of additional urgency, but she's doing a better job than she usually does of keeping herself measured. She tucks her leg up between Susan's thigh and deepens their next kiss.

Susan moves her hand up Janet's back again, scratching whisper-light with the blunt tips of her nails, swallowing down the urge to roll Janet onto her back and really start diving in to her kiss. This is good, as is; she lets the goodness of it wash over her.

It is good, and different enough that it feels distinct -- like something Janet's sharing with Susan only, like something she hasn't really had with anyone else, at least not in a long time. It takes her a while to eventually let one lingering kiss fade away and to put the tiniest amount of distance between their mouths. That doesn't really help; Susan's mouth is slick and obviously well-kissed. Janet bites back a smile. "Well, shit," she says, "and it's not even the third date. I think."

"Alas," says Susan. Janet is so warm in front of her, and she wants - she wants -

But since they've already waited longer to fall into bed together than essentially anyone Susan has ever been with, she almost thinks she'd rather their official third date come on a night when Janet didn't start out - well, sad.

Instead of voicing this, she tucks a little strand of hair behind Janet's ear, and strokes it back, running her thumb gently over Janet's temple. She'd felt such a queer rush of feeling with Lancelot while they were dancing, such a reluctance to pull back and leave him, and now that she's in this little bubble with Janet she's feeling it again. It's a little more fragile, now, more tender, but there's an undeniable similarity in the anticipatory tightness in her chest and the way she wants to just - melt, in a way, now into Janet's touch and earlier into Lancelot's. She smiles at Janet then, small, genuine, and faintly tremulous.

"Hi," Janet says, very quiet. She has her hand in Susan's hair, still; she runs her fingers through it again with a carefulness that's not usual for her. "I already said thanks, or that's what I'd be saying right now." She was prepared to spend this whole night by herself, and to put on her big girl panties and deal with it, but not having to is so, so much better.

"There's no need for all that," says Susan, in that busy way she gets when she's having an emotion. She's had a wonderful evening, all told. For a night with absolutely no sex, she's feeling fundamentally satisfied in some queer, bone-deep way.

"Right," Janet says, "of course not." She's only mostly not smiling. "In that case, fuck off." She does pull away from Susan slightly then, but only to sit up and start wrestling herself out of her jeans. As she does that, as casually as she can, she asks, "Want to make this a real sleepover?"

Honestly, Susan had planned on it. "I could be convinced, Your Majesty."

"Even more convincing? What was all that, then?" Janet kicks her jeans across the room, relieved to be down to just her underwear.

Susan's gaze flicks down; she loses track of what she'd intended to say. "Good point," she says. "I'm sold."

"I thought you'd say that." Janet touches Susan's arm, then her thigh, really just because she can. "Bed's big enough for two. You don't even need a sleeping bag."

"Even better." Susan shifts at Janet's touch, tugging her hair.

"Okay, come here." Janet throws back the covers and slides beneath them, stretching out invitingly, or as invitingly as she knows how. She'll have to get up and brush her teeth, probably, at some point. But not just yet.

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