quote_gentle_unquote | ~ [closed post]

Janet's been lounging on her bed, running inconsequential little spells for the fun of seeing them work the way she wants them to: turning the pages of her notebook with a convenient breeze, cooling and then heating the room, an honestly tricky little refraction of light through her window. She knows who she hopes is at the door. Opening it and seeing the exact person she wanted to see makes her feel alarmingly like a kid for a second, the spike of excitement when the phone rings and it turns out it's for you.

"Hi," she says, half-successfully playing it cool. She would've been cooler if Susan looked less like something that stepped off a movie poster. "I can't whistle, or you'd be getting the wolf-whistle of the century right now."

Susan gives her a smile that could possibly be described as lascivious. "Good afternoon," she says. "I do hope you're not busy. I intend to take you on a date."

"How about that," Janet says. "My schedule just totally cleared, if you can believe it." She grins, eyes catching on every part of Susan's body as she takes in the sight of her. "Looks like there's a dress code?"

Edited 2024-04-19 14:26 (UTC)

"Only if you'd like," Susan says - she's biased, but she does think Janet looks gorgeous regardless of what she's wearing. She reaches out with her free hand, though, to tug at Janet's shirt. "If you'd rather have a moment to prepare, I could set up and fetch you in - oh, say, fifteen minutes."

It's not like Janet would actually mind letting Susan hang around and watch while she changed, but it's the principle of the thing. You know, the idea of making an entrance. "Deal," she says breezily. To seal it, she kisses the corner of Susan's mouth, respectful of the lipstick.

Susan tucks an errant strand of hair behind Janet's ear, kisses her cheek - leaving behind a faint lip-print - and then goes to take her basket up to the room with all the rugs. She's moved the last few bottles of alcohol outside of it already, so it's empty of all but the rugs and some throw pillows. It's just the work of a moment to unroll a large rug with a spring flower pattern; after it's set out and she's positioned some of the pillows for comfort, she opens up her basket and lays out the supplies. Cheese board, check. Cocktail fixings, check. Oh, she ought to bring up some ice to keep things chilled, oughtn't she?

Getting an ice bucket filled and up to the room brings her right up to the edge of the promised fifteen minutes. Perhaps even a minute or two over. She rests the champagne carefully in the bucket, and then moves with all deliberate haste back to Janet's room.

Janet's hair really is at the stupidest growing-out stage she could have asked for, but there's literally nothing she can do about that other than tousling it faux-carelessly and leaning into the artsy bisexual look. When Susan knocks, Janet's more than ready, sleek and angular in a wide-legged emerald green strapless jumpsuit.

"Oh, hey," she says, turning her smile into an intentionally flirtatious grin. "You came back."

Susan matches her grin with a slow, flirtatious smile of her own. "I like this," she says, touching the neckline of the jumpsuit. Then she offers Janet her hand. "My lady. Might I escort you to your next appointment?"

Edited 2024-04-20 03:47 (UTC)

"You might," Janet says, in a tone that suggests she's doing Susan a great favor by accepting this offer. She laces her fingers through Susan's, slipping her feet into a pair of heeled boots before they leave the bedroom entirely.

So Susan leads her to the room with the rugs. She finds herself taken aback by the way this feels momentous, in a way, but then again, she supposes the rug-room is her favorite place here, and the only people who seem to know about it are ones she's specifically brought to it. And this is the first time she's bringing someone just to spend time in it the way she likes to do, sometimes, instead of simply bringing someone there to retrieve something.

When they reach the room, she give Janet's hand a squeeze. "Here we are," she says, and swings the door open.

Janet takes it all in for a second, poised in the doorway with Susan. It's so thoughtfully arranged, cozy and inviting like something on the front of a magazine. Susan put all this together and came for her, specifically.

"Okay," Janet says slowly, exorcising her bigger feelings as tidily as she can, "this looks amazing."

"I could think of no better way to put paid to such a dreadful month than by indulging in excess," Susan says, releasing Janet's hand so that she can instead rest her hand briefly on Janet's strong shoulder and trace along her collarbone with her thumb.

Janet turns into the touch a little, resting her own hand at the swell of Susan's hip. "I love excess," she says with feeling. "I didn't go through all that fucked up bullshit in the desert for anything other than excess going forward."

"Very good," says Susan, with feeling. She reels Janet in for a kiss, her own lipstick be damned, and then wipes a smudge of it away from Janet's lower lip with a careful flick of a finger. "I do hope you like French 75s."

Janet perks up, predictably. "I do," she assures Susan, giving her hip a familiar squeeze. "It's pretty rare for me to meet a cocktail I don't like, unless it's some trashy margarita in a can shit."

"Margarita in a can? I don't believe I've had the pleasure," Susan says, contemplatively. "I will say I've learned that coconut-flavored rum and red wine is a dreadful combination, though."

"Oh my God." Janet pulls an exaggerated face of evocative disgust. "Was it Malibu? It was Malibu, wasn't it?"

"I believe it might've been Malibu," Susan confirms, though her memories of that evening are weak and mostly centered around meeting Lancelot.

"They should outlaw that shit," Janet declares. "You deserve a better class of liquor."

"I agree," says Susan, going to expertly open the bottle of champagne. "I'd just got here. I know better now."

Well, Janet's apparently the one being courted, here. All she has to do is arrange herself in an inviting sprawl on the various cushions. She plucks an olive from the cheese board and pops it neatly into her mouth. "It does seem like those of us who came from the twenty-first century have an advantage. We're not being surprised by new inventions all the time. Good ones like sex toys or bad ones like Mike's Hard."

"Is Mike's Hard a terrible sex toy from the future, then?" Susan asks, placing the open champagne back in the ice bucket and then putting a healthy pour of gin, lemon juice, and simple syrup into the cocktail shaker she brought.

Janet laughs, startled into sincerity with it. "God, I wish." She pours herself a glass of champagne, not to let Susan's competence go to waste. "No. It's alcoholic lemonade. It tastes like shit."

"You add the champagne first, then?" Susan asks, shaking vigorously. "Is that another trick from the future?"

"Oh, yeah," Janet says with a grin. "This is a futuristic technique called I'm pregaming your cocktails like a college girl, because I missed champagne, and because I'm trying to drain the bottle faster so that you have to go get another and I have an excuse to watch you walk away in that dress."

"Very clever," Susan says, giving Janet rather a heated look. "Carry on then; your technique is in service of my secret plans."

Janet's already arranged herself to good effect on the rug, but she uncrosses and recrosses her legs for emphasis. She takes a hearty sip of that champagne, in pursuit of disappearing it in a timely fashion. "Secret plans, huh?"

"I should like to end my evening tipsy and tangled up in you," Susan says, giving the shaker a last little wriggle and then pouring half of its contents into her glass, topping it off with champagne. She offers the rest of the shaker to Janet.

Janet takes the shaker with one hand and uses the other hand to, as she tips her head back, lift her glass to her mouth and neatly drain it. That lets her assemble the cocktail properly as she says, "Hmm. You didn't keep the secret very well, but the plans are pretty good."

"I would be a poor spy," Susan agrees, making no effort to cover up the way she's tracking the curve of Janet's neck as she drinks.

"It's a good thing the ink is already dry on our various treaties." Janet grins at her over her glass, then takes a much more delicate and appreciative sip.

"I do count myself lucky on that front," Susan agrees, settling down now that their drinks are prepared, well within Janet's personal space.

Janet turns a smile on her, a slow and easy one, and shifts a little so her leg is pressed to one of Susan's. "You know, alliances are how kingdoms make it through hardship -- or through shitty little months that are some asshole god asking, hey, what if we did winter, but it was even worse?"

"So I've heard," Susan says, letting her hand brush against Janet's.

Well, if Susan's going to be so bold. Janet curls her fingers around Susan's wrist, loose and casual for now. "Thank fuck that's over."

"You can say that again," Susan says, with feeling, and then: "Do you know, I got the queerest invitation to a party Bacchus is throwing?"

"Oh, Dionysus?" asks Janet, who went to boarding school and then to wildly pretentious magic university. "You don't mean the invites he sent everyone." She can't believe she even got one, after how their meeting went.

"...no," Susan admits. She knows Lancelot didn't receive the other invitation, so it does seem a more select group, but she can't imagine what the criteria must be, particularly if - as it sounds - Janet wasn't included? "It seems there's to be a... continuation. Of the sort one might expect from Bacchus."

Janet's eyebrows shoot up, her mouth twisting into skepticism and deep amusement at the exact same time. "The god of wine, fertility, and insanity is throwing an orgy, huh? I was a real bitch to him, so I guess I didn't make the cut."

"He's nothing like the Bacchus I remember from Narnia," says Susan, thoughtfully. "I haven't the faintest idea why I got invited. We've barely spoken."

"You had Bacchus in Narnia?" Huh. Fillory had its own gods, but you weren't likely to bump into Zeus on the way to the tavern. "Maybe he just looked at you and couldn't resist. I wouldn't blame him."

"The Bacchus in Narnia was an unsettling wild boy who always traveled with his maenads. He was the only one with a name; the river gods were just river gods. None of them held a candle to Aslan, of course."

"Oh, sure, of course." Janet pauses, her fingers tightening around Susan's wrist just a little bit. "Aslan?"

"Oh, the great lion. I'm fairly certain he was God."

"God," Janet echoes. She narrows her eyes. "Capital-G God? Monotheistic God?"

"I haven't been able to think of any other explanation."

"Why--" Janet's expression now shifts into a frown, hard and skeptical. "God was a lion in Narnia? Why? Why was Narnia even his business?"

"Why, Aslan created Narnia, of course," says Susan. "And when Lucy was here..." she trails off.

Oh, sure, of course. But Janet doesn't say it aloud again. She tries to rearrange her face into something a little less obviously disbelieving, a little more welcoming. "When Lucy was here...?"

For a split second, Susan is surprised that they haven't talked about this yet. Then she remembers that being around Janet has always made her want to seem more with-it, more put together, than she's necessarily felt. Rising to the occasion, rather than languishing.

She glances at the skepticism written clearly on Janet's face, and takes a sip of her cocktail. Lightly, she says, "She spoke to me of what it's like in Aslan's true country. Heaven."

This Aslan sounds like the biggest load of bullshit Janet's ever heard. Not that he doesn't exist -- she's learned by now that almost anything can exist, whether you want it to or not, whether it should or not. But, come on, give her a break. Aslan's true country? Heaven? Pull the other one.

"Okay," Janet says carefully, "and what's it like there?"

"Absolutely bloody horrible, if you ask me," says Susan. Oops, her tone slipped.

Janet laughs, surprised and a little -- okay, a lot -- relieved. She drums her fingers lightly against Susan's wrist. "No surprise the stupid eternal kingdom of some dictator god turns out to be horseshit."

"I hate it," Susan says, grimly. "Lucy loves it, of course, but then she always had the greatest faith."

"Just because some asshole created a world, what, we owe him all our respect?" Janet rolls her eyes. "What's this so-called Heaven like? Cherubs with little harps?"

"Everything is 'all right' and shall continue being 'all right' forever, so nothing ever changes and no one ever changes and no one cares and there are never any problems to fix," Susan says, mouth tight around the words.

Janet's own mouth is tight for a moment at the thought, lips pressed together. She knocks back a slightly less careful sip of her cocktail. "Okay, horrifying," she says in the wake of that. "Not only does that sound like a fucked up 1984 situation on the face of it, it actually sounds designed to be hellish for you specifically."

"It's perfectly dreadful," she agrees. "I'm glad Aslan didn't want me."

It feels like somebody gentler would be better for this conversation, but the only person Janet's got is herself, so fuck it. "He wouldn't have deserved you anyway," she says, fiercely. "These gods are all so fucking careless with their creations."

"What I fail to understand," says Susan, with some slight reluctance - she hadn't meant to ruin the tone of the conversation - is why he decided to give up entirely on Narnia and let it crumble and burn and drown - I believe in that very order - and take my entire family with it. Including Mother and Father, who didn't even know it existed. If he was so dead-set on collecting them all, couldn't he have waited for them to arrive in the natural way?" She's thinking about Edmund again, and how Lucy's description of Aslan's country seems as antithetical to his interests as it is to Susan's own.

They've talked about this before, but they kind of haven't, also. Janet sets down her champagne glass, not with any clear purpose -- just in case she needs both hands, she guesses. I believe I would scream at you if you tried to be gentle. Hopefully that's still true, now. "There might not be anything to understand," she says. "Gods have whims, and they don't think about the people whose lives are getting washed away with them. It's -- bullshit." That's not a strong enough indictment, honestly.

"I rather agree," she says, fiercely.

Janet laughs, almost. She's gripping Susan's wrist tighter now; when she notices, she slides that hand down to lace their fingers together instead. "I don't have anything to make it better. Sorry. But I can tell you that you're right to hate it."

Susan leans her head against Janet's shoulder for a brief moment. "You needn't do anything," she says, and twists her neck to drop a kiss to Janet's arm.

"Well, no." Janet directs a quick smile down at the crown of Susan's head. "But I'd smack Aslan right in his smug lion face if I could."

"He wouldn't have the first idea what to do with a dead sexy woman who can wield magic ice axes."

Janet's next smile lingers a little longer. "See, that's another thing I hate about gods. Lack of imagination. You'd think a divine force of creation would have it in spades, but..."

"There were things he did that were genuinely good," says Susan, who can't forget how Aslan's sacrifice saved Edmund. "But I think it's absolute tosh, how inconsistently and yet how severely he applied his will, and how intolerable he could be of things he didn't approve of." She also can't forget, of course, how sternly Aslan treated Edmund despite his sacrifice.

"It is absolute fucking tosh," Janet says, only giving herself maybe half a second to be privately delighted about Susan's Britishness. "If you hadn't already told me he was the Christian god, I could've guessed based on that unflattering description. Very Old Testament of this lion."

Susan snorts and, infinitesimally, relaxes. "But enough about him," she says, and takes a small sip of her drink.

"He probably gets enough attention," Janet agrees, breezily. She picks her own drink back up with one hand, not letting go of Susan's hand with the other.

Susan lifts their joined hands up and presses a kiss to the tender skin of Janet's wrist. "Do you want to be stage manager?" she asks. "For the play. You mentioned an interest in your survey."

"Yes," Janet says immediately, with a quick grin that could be the result of the question, the kiss, or both. "I'm great at making people follow rules. A script is like a really, really specific set of rules."

"Very good." Susan offers her a small smile.

Janet bumps her shoulder companionably against Susan's, then returns to sipping her drink. "I guess Dionysus is going to have to get over however offended he is about how mean I was to him," she says, brightly unapologetic.

"If he knows what's good for him," Susan agrees.

"Aw." Janet laughs. "Yeah, I bet you could take him, actually."

"I believe I could," Susan says, thoughtfully. "As could you. You'll do brilliantly at the job." She means stage managing, but she does also a little bit mean Bacchus-managing.

"They won't know what hit them." She sounds borderline delighted about it. Because there's still so much cheese left to eat, Janet does reluctantly let go of Susan's hand, but not before giving it a firm, decisive squeeze. She assembles herself a cracker topped with camembert and mortadella. "It's The Wizard of Oz, right?"

Susan sips her cocktail, and then bites into a slice of apple with cheddar as she nods. "I've added some rather pointless sword-fighting scenes in an obvious attempt to generate more interest."

That makes Janet laugh a little around the sip of her drink she's using to wash down her bite of charcuterie. "Makes sense, after the zombies. A lot of people here are pathologically attached to their swords."

"I suppose I could consider it to further my other machinations," she says, thoughtfully. "Perhaps it might generate deeper interest into the ability demonstrations."

"Oh, yeah?" And now for another olive. "Just gratuitous sword violence in everything? Come for the potluck, stay for the fencing."

"Perhaps," says Susan, contriving to reach for a Brazil nut in such a way that it allows her to brush her fingers against Janet's, "it might also afford you a glance into Revised Welters aptitude."

"Very thoughtful," Janet tells her, in the kind of airily joking tone that indicates she actually means it. She leans her shoulder against Susan's again. "Laertes agreed to help me judge the new game."

"Has he! Very good," says Susan, approvingly. "Have you decided whether to teach him some magic?"

"Not yet," Janet admits. "I've navigated some insane social dramas before, but your husband married you, didn't tell me, then fucked me, and you were the one who accidentally broke the news to me has been a weird one to get past. We're a little..." She grimaces. "We're fine, but sometimes it feels like Laertes and I are kindergarteners learning Friendship 101 again."

"Ah," says Susan, wisely, in a way she hopes will make Janet laugh. "That old agony aunt classic."

Susan is wholly successful, and Janet snorts out a laugh. Luckily, she's not in the middle of a bite, though she does have a slice of baguette in one hand. "Exactly. And he feels so guilty, but it's not his fault. He doesn't control Sagramore."

"He certainly does not."

Janet briskly spreads ricotta on her baguette slice. "I got stuck in a closet with him. Sagramore, not Laertes. This mansion thinks it's so fucking funny."

"Do you reckon Laertes is homosexual?" Susan wonders, before she processes what Janet has said. "Did you! That sounds dreadful. I got stuck with Enjolras."

"What--" Janet laughs again, this time with the sheer surprise of their insanely crossed wires. "The blond Frenchman? At least he's easy on the eyes. Laertes is obviously not heterosexual, but I'm guessing that's not the question?"

Susan shall address these things one at a time. She takes a sip of her drink and starts with, "It was too dark to make him out, and anyway, Enjolras is a terrible bore¹. I asked him if his disrespect for me was general or specific and he told me it wasn't because I'm a woman, given that women are the mothers of the republic and ought to be treated as such."

¹Or did she say boor?

Janet rolls her eyes expansively and pops an olive into her mouth. "We're the mothers of the republic, huh? Every single one of us? How fucking generous of him to acknowledge our vital wombs."

"He seemed rather perplexed that I would take issue with the claim, but as we hadn't anywhere else to go at the moment, he became party to some of my concerns," Susan says, primly. Next topic: "You were stuck with Sagramore?" She swallows the are you all right brimming at her lips, and leaves the question as the mildest of prompts.

"Yep." Janet knocks back the remainder of her cocktail, because it feels like the appropriate time to do so. "I was pissed, and he was just so..." She shrugs, as casually as she can. "We hadn't talked since I tore him a new one after Laertes broke the news. I've never seen a man with his tail so firmly between his legs."

Susan glances at Janet and then says, delicately, "Perhaps if a man is so full of regret for his various actions, he ought to choose different actions."

Janet starts to say something, hesitates, and then gives Susan a sharp look. "Did he do something to you?"

"Oh, no, not at all," says Susan, who doesn't think of her assignation with Sagramore as him doing something to her, and who certainly doesn't mind that he was thinking about Janet the entire time, or want to tell Janet that Sagramore was thinking about Janet the entire time - she suspects Janet mightn't be so sanguine about it. That is, he apologized, which she doesn't care for, but she's never been interested in friendship with one-off sexual partners, so it barely registers.

Susan isn't typically very open about her assignations; this is partly because to date, there haven't been many important enough to bear mention, and partly because her friends, save Ingrid, had unwelcome opinions about their frequency and volume. Perhaps she ought to have mentioned this when it first came up? Now it feels like, if she doesn't mention it now, she's making it out to be a bigger deal than it actually is. Certainly the sex hadn't been good, but it had been pretty standard for most of her couplings immediately before her arrival, too, so it only stands out in the slightest in that she encounters Sagramore with greater frequency than 'never at all.' Ugh.

She rolls her eyes, conveying with every scrap of posture, tone, and expression that she can command that this is an entirely neutral tidbit that she's sharing, and clarifies, "I suppose I initiated a rather maudlin assignation when I first got here, and he's avoided me ever since. I don't mind, naturally; we don't get along. I just think that if there's a pattern of regretted behavior it ought to be a sign that the behavior should change. Otherwise it stinks of self-flagellation." Which she'd just been talking with Laertes about. Could he have meant...?

The sharpness of that look doesn't fade away from Janet's face as she takes this in. Now she wishes she hadn't just finished her drink -- she could have used the time it takes to nurse a sip to get her shit together before she has to say something. Objectively, it's not a big deal. Sagramore has sex with a lot of people. Janet always knew that, abstractly, and took it as a relief that she wasn't solely responsible for whatever was going on with him. And Susan was wildly different when she first got here, for obvious, depressing reasons.

Objectively, it's not a big deal -- but it is, also objectively, kind of weird. "You didn't tell me that," she says.

"I didn't think to," Susan admits. She doesn't apologize (yet, at least), due to her policy, but there is an apologetic note to her voice.

"Huh." Janet doesn't enjoy introspection. It's not her strong suit, it mostly makes her feel stupid, whatever. So she's actively trying to avoid figuring out why this is bothering her. "Maudlin?"

Susan glances at Janet, and then leans against her, and then selects a shiny firm grape and offers it to her. "Extremely maudlin," she says. "I rarely think about it." She also, frankly, remembers little of it.

Edited 2024-05-08 03:19 (UTC)

After a split second, Janet takes the grape. She rolls it between two fingers as she says, "Too bad. He and I usually had a pretty good time in the sack, actually."

"He wasn't the only one that week, and—" since Janet has said she enjoyed Sagramore, Susan shan't say 'nothing to write home about,' actually. "—I've got stronger memories which far overshadow any sex I was having then. Playing darts with a gorgeous woman, for example." Susan lets her hand drop to Janet's knee for a squeeze, and then she leans forward to start mixing them each a second drink. "But your time in the closet. You're alright?"

Just like it was probably meant to, Susan's flattery pulls a little flash of a grin out of Janet. She eats the grape. "I'm all right. It just took the wind out of my sails. It's not that fun to be pissed off at a man who's already doing all the work of hating himself for you."

"The audacity."

"It's fucking rude," Janet agrees. "Like, you start whaling on a punching bag and it collapses immediately? No fun."

"That sounds horrifically unsatisfying," says Susan. "It's rather edging catharsis, isn't it?"

Surprised, but a little thrilled, Janet laughs. "Pretty much. I could use some more zombies every now and then. Give Sorrow and Sorrow and me something to do."

Not for the first time, Susan thinks that Janet really ought to have something she can sink her teeth into. (Something besides sex.) "If only."

"Go ahead and add some zombies to The Wizard of Oz," Janet suggests, only half-joking. "You know, for the swordspeople to stab. And decapitate."

"Alas, I haven't the faintest notion of how to raise them."

"We've gotta have someone around here who can raise the dead." Janet eats another grape. "Gideon knows about necromancy, but she's not a necromancer."

"We shall include that as one of the questions prior to the magical demonstrations I'm trying to sort out," Susan says, snagging a piece of cheese and some of the salami. "I believe Nina can do things with bone, at least."

"Oh, she can," Janet says with another quick grin. "It's badass. Can I be on the panel of judges for the magical demonstrations? I'll be the Simon Cowell."

"I don't know who that is," Susan says, "but I was rather hoping you or Thomas might take charge, given that you know best what magic entails."

"I love magic and I love judging people." Janet's quite cheerful about this. "I'll write you a cover letter to that effect if you want."

"You can if you'd like," says Susan, brightly. "I trust your credentials, but if it brings you joy..."

"Don't tell me you wouldn't get a little turned on by a good To whom it may concern."

"I take it back," says Susan immediately. "Please prepare several such letters at once."

Janet smirks. There's not really another verb for it. "I never did the corporate rat race thing," she admits, "but my parents were lawyers. I picked up some things."

"Then I look particularly forward to what you produce."

"As many perfectly-formatted resumes as you can handle, babe," Janet drawls. She grabs her freshly-made French 75 to emphasize that with a delicate sip.

"You do know the way to a woman's heart," says Susan, pleased, drizzling some honey over the ricotta and then scooping it up with a cracker.

"And they say women are complicated." Janet watches Susan with the charcuterie, pleasantly tipsy enough that she can be frank about looking at her.

"Ah yes, the catchprase of the laziest of men," says Susan, primly. "I imagine Enjolras finds women mystifyingly complex."

Janet laughs. "There's no way Enjolras could find the clit. Not even if it walked up and tapped him on the shoulder."

"I doubt he'd care enough to learn that that women even have the capacity for pleasure, much less trying to identify one of the sources of it."

"Shouldn't being a mother of the republic be its own reward?" She's exceedingly deadpan.

"It's true: there is no greater pleasure than raising son and country."

"Not even one greater pleasure, huh? Really?" Janet widens her eyes deliberately at Susan.

"Oh, perhaps being a self-sacrificing idiot, but I'm certain that's not meant to be women's work."

"Definitely not." She sips her cocktail again, pointedly. "That leaves the rest of the pleasures to us poor childless women."

"However shall we begin to cope," says Susan, resting a hand on Janet's knee.

"Can you think of anything? My pretty little head's all empty," Janet says, deadpan again. She breaks into another grin about a nanosecond later, blatantly fishing and not sorry about it.

Susan knocks back a large swallow of her drink and sets the glass to the side, then tucks a short strand of hair behind Janet's ear, letting her touch linger. "I'm afraid I'm at a loss," she murmurs.

"Hmmm." The brush of Susan's fingers on her cheek, near her jaw, compels Janet to tip her head into the touch a little. She twirls her own glass between her fingertips. "I guess it's time to start experimenting."

"How far would you like to extend this bit?" Susan asks, thoughtfully, now running her thumb lightly along Janet's hairline. "I'd consider attributing the knowledge of the clit to leading a monarchy, but unfortunately I can think of far too much evidence to the contrary."

That's a quieter laugh out of Janet, something more intent. "No, that's giving a lot of men too much credit. It totally breaks the immersion."

"Then I suppose I must bend all my limited means toward identifying a different joke," says Susan. She's leaning in now, crowding into Janet's space.

"You know what," Janet says lightly, "I just got an idea, but fair warning: it's not a joke." Instead of waiting for an answer, she sets her glass down, following Susan's lead, and slips a hand into her hair, at the back of her neck, to draw her into a kiss.

Susan kisses her back immediately, sweet and warm.

Pleased, warm herself with two and a half drinks and some good charcuterie down the hatch, Janet hones in on this kiss. She cups the back of Susan's head, magician's fingers spread wide and firm, and pulls her in to make it luxurious and thorough.

Susan shivers with the touch, then moves into the kiss. It's become second nature to slide into Lancelot's lap at the earliest opportunity, lately, and now she slings a leg over Janet's, straddling them, pulling in close.

Janet's more than okay with a lapful of Susan. She slides her free hand to Susan's back, between her shoulder blades and then down her spine, taking her time with feeling its curve and dip.

And Susan threads her fingers in Janet's hair, using that leverage to deepen the kiss.

Janet opens to her readily; this is something that's only gotten better since their first kiss, because they know each other better now, and she knows the specific way that Susan's tongue will slip between her teeth, how Susan likes when Janet bites at her lower lip before focusing back in on the kiss. She gathers Susan in with a sure hand at the small of her back.

Susan is hungry for this - has been particularly hungry for it since Dark ended. She presses against Janet, careful not to lean so hard that she knocks Janet back into the rest of the bottle of champagne, but rather just enough that they're snug together. Then she's dragging a hand down Janet's side, exploring the cut of her jumpsuit.

Janet's breath catches, her fingertips digging into Susan's back through her dress. She breaks the kiss, but only to use that second hand in Susan's hair to tip her head back, to drop a biting kiss to the column of her throat.

That earns Janet a shudder! Susan's hands flex and her breath catches in her throat, quiet but still audible.

Well, that earns Susan a grin, pressed to her neck and then to the soft space right beneath her jaw. Janet bites again, more of a testing little nip this time. "You were right about ditching the bit."

"I much prefer this," says Susan, craning into Janet's touch, pressing closer against her.

"Mmhmmm." Janet can multitask. She's efficient. To prove it, she sets to work sucking a bruise into the slope of Susan's neck just before her shoulder -- and starts hiking Susan's dress up a little around her thighs, too, in search of some bare skin to touch.

Susan has her nylons and garters on again, mostly as usual but also, specifically, because Janet seems to like them. The stockings end about halfway up her thighs; she decides to help Janet out by pulling her skirt higher before applying herself with singleminded focus to the task of touching everything she can reach above the neckline of Janet's outfit with light, teasing strokes.

The help's much appreciated, especially the second Janet gets ahold of a handful of soft bare thigh. She squeezes, her breath coming a little quicker, liking the contrast between the warmth of Susan's skin and the texture of her stocking. Her fingers curl more tightly into Susan's hair.

Of course Susan lets her eyes drift closed at Janet's hands nudging her in different directions. She presses her thigh into Janet's touch, lets her head loll back a little as Janet's fingers tug at her hair. Since it's not in her nature to indulge in passivity, she fits one hand at Janet's waist; her questing other hand finds the zip at the back of her jumpsuit and toys with it.

Janet's next laugh's on the edge of breathlessness. It's dizzying, how quick she can go from zero to sixty with Susan. She likes it, she thinks -- but it's intense. "Are we going to have to get out of here?" To illustrate the reason for the question, she slips her hand a fraction of an inch higher on Susan's leg.

Susan captures her mouth in a fierce, biting kiss. "Eventually," she says, when she pulls away. She does rather want to pull that zipper down and get her hands, or possibly her mouth, on Janet's breasts, but she thinks there might be something to be said about drawing it out a little longer. It might be quite nice to sit on Janet's lap like this, teasing her and being teased, sharing another drink or two first.

Janet, more dazed than she'd like to admit, laughs yet again. "It'd be a waste of all this nice charcuterie if we left now," she says. She makes no move to retrieve any of that charcuterie, though. Her hands are full.

"And all this nice... quarter bottle of champagne," Susan says. Oh, she's impatient. Feigning innocence, she cups one of Janet's breasts with one hand, over her jumpsuit, as she leans over to retrieve said bottle.

"That quarter bottle's done a lot for us," Janet says, rubbing her thumb in a circle at the soft inside of Susan's thigh. Susan's palm brushes her nipple through the fabric as she moves, and she valiantly doesn't react. "The least we can do is finish it."

"It's only respectful," says Susan, taking a swig right from the bottle. She leans forward to kiss Janet again, moving in a way that encourages Janet's thumb to slide higher up.

Janet obliges, her hand slipping right into the warm crease of Susan's thigh. She sinks into the champagne-flavored kiss for an indulgent moment; when she breaks it, it's to pull her hand from Susan's hair, swipe the bottle for herself, and take a hearty swallow in turn.

Edited 2024-05-18 18:47 (UTC)

Susan watches her warmly, very carefully not shifting against Janet's touch the way she wants to as she watches Janet's throat work and a little droplet of champagne gather at the corner of her mouth. "You're beautiful," she says.

Janet's surprised by how that warms her further, the little grin she finds herself flashing as she swallows the bubbles. She holds onto the bottle, fingers curled around its neck. It's nothing she hasn't heard before; some men will say whatever if they think it'll get them something. Coming from Susan, it's easier to take seriously. She squeezes Susan's thigh again. "Sure that's not just the champagne goggles?"

"Oh, positive," says Susan, running a deliberate finger along Janet's neckline.

"You're obviously an expert," Janet allows. She tips her head a little to invite Susan's touch to continue.

"I've got exactingly high standards and unimpeachable taste," says Susan, teasingly, spreading her hand out along Janet's clavicle and leaning in to kiss just under her ear.

"Oh, trust me," Janet says through the ghost of a shiver that spreads out from where Susan's mouth touches her neck, "I know." She drains the rest of the champagne, which admittedly isn't much.

Susan snorts, pleased, and moves to lick some of that champagne from Janet's mouth.

Janet lets her, and even does her one better, with a quick but fierce kiss. "Now," she says, patting Susan's thigh with a decisive air, "I think I said something about you grabbing another bottle of bubbly."

"I could be convinced," says Susan, who is loathe to climb out of Janet's lap.

"Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave," Janet says, in her most convincing voice. A queen of Fillory doesn't do pouty, so she goes for confident instead.

"I suppose if you're so adamant about seeing my derriere," Susan says, musingly.

Janet laughs; she's a little bit tipsily thrilled over the word derriere, actually. "I'm so fucking adamant." She sets down the empty champagne bottle, which makes a hollow thunk on the floor, and aims a look of haughty anticipation at Susan. The effect's maybe slightly diminished by how their faces are inches apart.

Susan's noticed that, too. "Another bottle of champagne," she says, punctuating her words with kisses. "I shall return posthaste."

And then, reluctantly, she drags herself off Janet's lap and goes off in search of another bottle of champagne... purposefully swaying said derriere as she goes. She hadn't thought the drink was hitting her, but as she slips out of the room she realizes she feels loose with it, and warm.

Luckily, now that Dark is over, it's rather quick work to force the Mansion to produce a bottle of nice champagne in a closet down the hall. She's barely gone six minutes.

Considering all that it took to get there, Janet watches Susan go with all the attention and heat she's earned, eyes lingering on every step and every curve until she's well and truly out of sight.

Once Susan's slipped away down the hallway, Janet fills the time with attacking the rest of the charcuterie. As Susan returns, she's drizzling honey across a baguette slice topped with ricotta.

"What's this," says Susan, pausing in the doorway, one hand resting on the jamb. "A snack for me?"

Janet leans back on her free hand, looking over Susan with clear appreciation. She eyes the contents of her hand, faux-assessing, like she's considering whether she wants to give it to Susan or not, then smiles at her. "Sure. I think you earned it."

"Very good," says Susan, letting the door swing shut behind her as she comes inside, then striding over and leaning down to kiss Janet thoroughly.

Janet straightens into the kiss. If she wants to keep her balance without wiping out or setting down that baguette slice, she can't use her hands, but she gives as good as she gets despite that, making it a lingering kiss, rich with the faint, lingering taste of the last bottle of champagne.

Eventually, Susan breaks away long enough to pop open the second bottle of champagne and take a seat next to Janet. The bottle she places between the two of them; her empty hand she places high on Janet's thigh.

"Hi," Janet says, mouth sliding into an easy grin in the aftermath of that kiss. "Don't forget your snack. The inanimate one," she clarifies as she offers that nearly-forgotten bread, cheese, and honey to Susan.

"Oh, I meant you," says Susan, but she leans over and takes a small bite from the food, too, lips brushing against Janet's fingertips.

Janet watches her contentedly, a contentedness that borders on smug. "Right. I'm the animate one. But we did say we wouldn't let all this food go to too much waste."

Susan takes another tiny bite from Janet's hand, chews, swallows. "Would you like another cocktail, or just the champagne?"

Satisfied, Janet flips the baguette slice back around and takes her own bite, then uses her thumb to pick up a little honey from the corner of her mouth. "Let's be civilized. Cocktail, if Your Majesty would be so kind."

Susan tracks the movement of Janet's thumb with hungry eyes, and then tears herself away to mix them both more of the cocktails. This time she makes them stronger, not entirely on purpose. "I shall trade you yours for a kiss," she tells Janet, once they're poured and topped off with champagne.

"You drive a hard bargain." Janet leans in, catching Susan by the shoulder to kiss her. She's careful, but only because Susan's holding their drinks -- the kiss is still a pointed one, brief as it is.

Dutifully, Susan passes Janet her glass as she pulls away.

"Thanks," Janet says, awash with sudden and disorienting sincerity. It's nice, more than nice, to be spoiled, to feel a little doted on, and to have some faith that the rug's not about to get pulled out from under her. She takes a sip, then tips the glass a little, the stem between her fingertips. "I'll be the mixologist next time, if you want."

"I should like that." Susan keeps looking at Janet's mouth.

Janet smiles at her, clocking the direction of her attention. "I bet I can think of some cocktails that were invented after you. Hey, did they have blenders when you were?"

"They did," Susan says, "but I've never used one."

"Shit. When summer hits, if it ever fucking does, we're having daiquiris."

Susan hums, lips quirking. "Summer shall hit," she says, "if it knows what's good for it. I should like to be indolent with you and any number of daiquiris by the lake." She pauses. "Perhaps we might even borrow the boat."

"You think Laertes could resist both of us asking him? We can definitely borrow the boat." Janet mimes tossing her hair, since there's not enough of it to do it for real, and then takes a pointed sip of her drink.

A smile, amused, that's as good as a laugh. "He shan't know what hit him."

"Yeah." Janet gives her a lazy smile, letting the daydream play out in her mind's eye: drifting on the lake with Susan, drinks in hand, warmed by the sun and the company. That's not so bad. "That might be the closest we can get to Fabio and Chad."

"Do you reckon Laertes might wait on us with a Speedo?" Susan is trying to envision it. She rather likes the thought.

"Oh my God," Janet says with a helpless laugh. Luckily she's just swallowed her sip of cocktail, so it makes it down the right pipe. "I think he might. Too bad there's no economy here so we couldn't tip him."

"Oh, we could find a way," says Susan, thoughtfully. "I've got some ideas."

"That's terrifying," Janet says, brightly. "I don't think he'll accept fingers and toes, though."

"Fingers and toes?! I was going to suggest Lancelot," Susan admits.

"I thought we were doing a mob boss thing," Janet starts to explain, and then she laughs again. "Lancelot? Does Laertes want that?"

"Oh, rather." Susan doesn't think it's a secret - and, indeed, in just a few nights hence, Lancelot will kiss and then carry Laertes physically from the bacchanal in front of all attending, so even if it is, it shan't remain so for very much longer. "He's being awfully respectful about it, too. Perhaps a Speedo situation might inspire them to put an end to all that rot."

As usual, there's no accounting for taste. Janet still has no clue what Susan sees in Lancelot. He doesn't seem like a dick -- and she has no fear that Susan would put up with him if he turned out to be one -- he just has all the appeal of a bowl of plain pasta with no sauce or cheese or anything. "Would Lancelot let you do that?" she asks, suddenly curious. They've really never talked directly about Susan and Lancelot's deal. Which is fine. But she's, what, three drinks in? Things are getting knocked loose.

"Use him as a bargaining chip with Laertes? Absolutely, if I asked." Possibly because he knows she wouldn't ask him for something he wouldn't be willing to give. Which is why she shan't actually bring this up with him at all... but she does so want to impress Janet, and it isn't like this is a lie. Any information she thinks Lancelot might mind getting out, of course, she shan't share. But this is a harmless fact.

"Huh," Janet says, turning this over with almost exaggerated thoughtfulness as she downs another slow sip of her drink. "Well, he's got great taste in women."

Susan suspects extolling Lancelot's virtues mightn't be the right move if she's to achieve the second part of her aim in this date (she's tipsy; she has yet to be as tangled up in Janet as she'd prefer), so instead she says, "Suppose we put an advert out for a Fabio and a Chad."

"Oh my God." Janet pauses, picturing this. She can kind of see the vision. "Wanted: one to two men willing to engage in nautical adventure of the subservient variety."

Susan sighs, mostly amused. "That sounds like an exceptional way to guarantee, ah. Certain men's interest."

"No, you're right." This admission alone is a neon sign flashing an announcement about how much she likes Susan. "Give me your version."

"I mean, if you'd like Grantaire to be one of them..." Susan teases.

Janet wrinkles her nose. "I'll pass. Unless no one else is willing."

"Then perhaps the word we change is 'subservient.'"

"Ew," Janet says, with a little undercurrent of delight. "A nautical adventure of the variety where you worship two beautiful women from afar. A nautical adventure of the look-don't-touch variety."

"Much better," Susan laughs. She puts a hand back on Janet's leg, tracing shapes on her thigh. "Payment, of course, is the pleasure of serving us - no, that runs into the same issue."

"Okay, you see my problem!" Janet says, laughing in turn. She shifts a little closer to Susan, almost absently, like she's drawn to her without conscious awareness. "Two gorgeous women seeking men to dote on them without making it weird."

"Surely there's a couple here who dream of being window-dressing."

"I mean, they should be so lucky." Janet takes one more sip of her beverage, then sets it down with a decisive air so that she can lean in and fit a hand to the curve of Susan's hip again. It's consistently enticing, is the thing, that curve.

Susan is sufficiently distracted from her musings (obviously she has her preferences on who she'd like to see in a Speedo, attending to her whilst her focus is on Janet, but there's no point in dwelling on all that when Janet is right here for her to focus on in the moment), and scoots in closer so that Janet doesn't have to reach as far.

For a moment, Janet just keeps her hand there, fingers curling around Susan's side, enjoying the shape and weight of her. Only a moment, though. Then she leans in and kisses her, intent with it.

Susan slides closer still, cradling Janet's face with one hand, deepening the kiss immediately.

There's still the taste of that French 75 on Susan's tongue, and fresh on her own, too. Janet's warm with them and with how readily Susan opens to her. She draws it out, making it a long and searching kiss, one that ends with her straddling Susan's lap this time.

Susan settles her hands on Janet's hips, then slides one lower so she can cup her thigh, and one around to the small of her back, so she can hold Janet close against her as she presses into the kiss.

Something about those hands on her, the casualness of them, the way Susan pulls them flush up against one another -- Janet makes a low little sound, approval or pleasure or maybe both, and sinks into it, kissing her like there's nothing else to be done with her time. She lets it stretch out, easy and heated.

There's something about Janet. Susan has never been so content with just kissing before. Obviously she loves sex, and sex with Janet in particular, but - this is engrossing all on its own. She loses herself in the wet slide of Janet's mouth easily.

Edited 2024-06-03 04:05 (UTC)

It's a long, long time before Janet thinks to do anything other than this, and that's only because the slow, building heat of it starts to distract her and remind her that there are ways they could touch other than this specific one. She breaks off to lean her forehead against Susan's, hands light but definitive at her waist, and laughs with the kind of breathlessness she'd have mocked in some other girl.

Susan smiles up at her. "My only issue with this ravishing outfit of yours," she says, running a hand up and down Janet's thigh, "is that it covers so much of your skin."

"That's a real shame," Janet says, grinning right back down at her. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Making direct eye contact, Susan brings her hand up to find the zipper at Janet's back, and pulls it down. "Better," she says, pleased.

Janet's grin widens, sharp and pleased. She deigns to remove her hands from Susan's hips just long enough to slip her arms entirely out of the topmost half of the jumpsuit. It's arguably not total public indecency. She's wearing a bra. "Nice move."

Susan traces along the line of Janet's bra, fingers soft but sure over the swell of her breast. "A queen must act decisively to make the best use of the resources at hand," she says, and then presses an open-mouthed kiss to Janet's neck, where she murmurs, "As you know."

"Mmhmm," Janet says, letting her breath trip slightly at the confidence of Susan's touch and the warmth of her open mouth. "Go on. Keep acting decisively, Your Majesty." She says it like she'd say, I dare you.

"Very well," says Susan, and unlatches Janet's bra.

"That's a damn good start." It takes barely any effort to slip her arms free of the bra, too, and to toss it lightly to the side.

Immediately, Susan is covering Janet's breasts with her hands. "I'm quite innovative," she says.

"Mmhmm." That's a repeat, something she said only moments ago, which goes to show how her focus blurs with Susan's hands on her breasts. It's that confidence again, the almost proprietary ease. She arches a little into the touch, hands drifting to Susan's shoulders.

Susan considers her options, letting one hand slip down to Janet's waist, and then up her back - she loves the feeling of Janet's skin, warm and soft, over those wiry muscles of hers - and then nods to herself. There's no way she can get the angle she'd like to with Janet on her lap like this. She'd have to hunch over much too far just to get her mouth on a tit the way she wants.

So, carefully, with the strength she's gained through what's now months of near-daily archery practice, she half-rises, tumbling Janet gently to the rug, and then she's mouthing firmly down Janet's collarbone.

"Whoa," Janet says, but she's laughing, going along with Susan. She could fight back a little. That might've been interesting, too. But right now she's pliant, a little drunk, and happy to go wherever Susan wants to put her, especially when Susan's mouth is on her like that, when she can wrap her still-clothed legs around Susan's hips and shift into the warm, intent trail of purposeful kisses Susan's leaving.

"You've no right to look this good," Susan admonishes Janet, before taking her nipple in her mouth and rolling it lightly between her teeth.

Janet's next laugh comes out more like a hiss. She falls back again, eyes shutting and head tipping back, too. "Who's gonna stop me?"

It won't be Susan! She shifts a little, stretching out along Janet's body, lying half on top of her, letting her skirt slide up her legs as she slips one over Janet's.

Janet sighs, a muffled sound almost under her breath. She slides her hands down Susan's back, over her ass and hips as far as she can reach, hiking her dress up even more as she draws them back up to tangle in Susan's hair.

Susan makes a soft little sound, more sigh than anything, as Janet's hands move over her back. This, of course, does not distract her: Her tongue is tracing the curve of Janet's breasts, and she doesn't intend to stop anytime soon.

So Janet lets herself melt into it, skimming her hands up and then down Susan's back as her breath comes quicker, more shallow. With a little more time, with the focus of Susan's mouth on her, some urgency builds again; she drags her nails down Susan's back on her next pass.

Susan lifts her head, replacing her mouth immediately with a questing hand. "Yes, your majesty?"

Managing the wherewithal to prop herself up on her elbows, Janet gives Susan a slightly disheveled grin. "I think you can do something even better with your mouth. Your Majesty."

"I suppose you ought to tell me what that might be."

Pointedly, Janet curls a hand around the back of Susan's head and tugs at her hair a little, directing her downward.

Wickedly, teasing, Susan presses a kiss to the skin of Janet's belly, just above where the cloth of her jumpsuit has fallen.

"Susan," Janet gets out, almost a whine, laughingly petulant. It's a testament in itself to the slow chipping-away of her walls around Susan, a much, much slower process than the destruction of Castle Whitespire.

Susan laughs. "You ought to tell me precisely what you'd like," she suggests, wrapping her fingers around the fabric but not yet pulling it down.

"Oh my God," Janet says, going for exasperated, but she's laughing still, too. "Fine. Eat me out. Your tongue, my pussy. Good enough?"

"It's a start," says Susan, primly, as she eases Janet's jumpsuit down with slow, sure movements.

Helpfully, Janet lifts her hips for Susan, one hand still half-tangled in her hair. "I think I did an amazing job, thanks."

Once Susan has peeled Janet from her clothes, she settles herself down between her legs, nudging them open. Then, with a smirk directed up the lines of Janet's body, she presses a kiss high on Janet's inner thigh.

Janet's so keyed up at this point, all of her taut with anticipation. This sound could almost be another laugh, but it's embarrassingly breathless. She tugs at Susan's hair again.

The kiss is followed by a nip of Susan's teeth, and then she moves where she's been directed. She's always liked having her mouth on a woman's sex, and she approaches this with the same singleminded focus that she does all things.

Janet sighs, and goes lax, all that tension redirecting itself solely to Susan's mouth on her where it's warm and wet and immediately unrelenting. "Thank fuck, finally," she manages for the sake of the banter, one leg hooking around Susan's side, heel digging into her back.

Susan considers playing it out a little more - lifting her head, asking is that what you wanted, cajoling Janet into taking a firmer hand; it's not the way Susan has typically approached such things, but she finds herself curious about the experience - but now that she's here, she doesn't want to let up. She curls one hand around Janet's thigh, and uses her other to part Janet's folds so that she has more space to work.

Susan's like her in this: single-minded and intense. It's searing, all of that focus on Janet; it's even more seating when that focus is concentrated here, her tongue on Janet's clit. She keeps her hand in Susan's hair, breath coming quick already and fingers curled just tight enough for a little pull, but doesn't otherwise direct her. She wants to see where Susan goes on her own.

Letting her eyes drift shut, Susan presses her tongue firmly against Janet. It's the way she likes it: no teasing, just heat and pressure, intent and relentless.

After all that kissing, the slow tease that led up to this, the way Susan's hands love to drift back to her over and over -- Janet's pretty easy, it turns out. When she comes, it happens fast, an orgasm like something punching through her and curling her spine, making her gasp with it.

Susan's lipstick, which had already been smudged across her mouth from all that kissing, is now nearly gone; she lifts her head and wipes her mouth with the back of the hand, smearing the last of it across her cheek. "Again, your majesty?"

Janet watches her, her breath still coming fast and her eyes dark. "What kind of negotiator would I be to turn down such a generous offer from a queen?"

"Very good," says Susan, with a smile that is equally hungry and self-satisfied. She tucks errant hair behind her ears, squeezes Janet's thigh, and lowers her mouth again.

With Susan's mouth back on her, Janet comes close to gasping. She's oversensitive; it's almost too much, which is exactly the right amount. She winds Susan's hair more tightly around her fingers, letting her head tip back and shifting her hips up, into Susan's attention, inviting.

Susan is as relentless as ever, chasing the taste of Janet. Her movements are sloppier now - she's allowed herself to register her own arousal, and the heat lancing through her is as distracting as it is motivating.

This time, Janet can let it draw out longer, let the pleasure of Susan's tongue and attention rise slowly from within her. She's present enough to notice Susan's comparative lack of finesse, to assign it a meaning, and for that meaning to send an answering heat through her, turning the edges of her breath ragged.

Susan brings her hands up, curling each around one of Janet's thighs, digging her fingertips in. She presses her legs together, lost in Janet's warmth and musk and the roughness of her breath.

The second orgasm comes on slower, easier, like something washing over her instead of something that slams into her. Janet lets herself make a low sound with it, almost a second gasp, her thighs tightening around Susan's face.

Susan lingers for another few moments more - she hates to drag her mouth away.

But eventually she does, pressing kisses down the inside of Janet's thigh. When she reaches her knee, she looks up, then moves up, sliding along her body until she can capture her mouth in another kiss.

Janet meets the kiss with slightly clumsy enthusiasm, spreading a hand flat at the small of Susan's back like she's trying to hold her in place. She can taste herself, fresh in Susan's mouth. She brings up a leg, pressing her thigh between Susan's legs with pointed friction.

And Susan grinds down immediately, then makes a little frustrated huff and pulls back long enough to tug her skirts out of the way before pressing back. Like this it's clear she's practically soaked through her underwear.

Janet laughs as Susan sinks back into the kiss. It does make the kiss a little shallower than she might like, but she'll make the trade. Abruptly inspired, she slips a hand between them, between Susan's legs, just pressing her knuckles against the wettest spot on her underwear.

This wins Janet a whole-body shudder. Susan bears down against that finger, seeking pressure, seeking friction.

The shudder makes Janet grin, a flash of pure triumph. She can do Susan one better. She works that hand inside Susan's underwear, pushing the cloth aside, to sink two fingers into her without preamble.

Susan's mouth works, soundlessly; she presses it against Janet's shoulder. Her body is a live wire; she twitches with Janet's touch.

Janet's still smiling, but she drops a kiss to Susan's ear, the closest part of her that's reachable. She curls those fingers, the heel of her palm pressing to Susan's clit to keep the friction going.

Susan grinds down against Janet's hand. This is the best part of sex: the point where she can lose herself unselfconsciously into the sheer pleasure and heat of it all, chasing the building ache and the feeling of utterly unspooling. Her hair, already tugged increasingly loose from its pins by Janet's roaming hands all evening, tangles across her face; she wipes it to the side by dragging her face across Janet's shoulder and latching on to her neck with a sharp, biting kiss.

Janet sucks in a sharp breath, almost edged with a laugh. "C'mon," she murmurs -- almost wordless nonsense more than anything, but unguarded, something skirting overt affection. The angle's a little weird, but it doesn't really matter. She can still fuck Susan with her fingers, keeping the rest of her hand steady for Susan to use it.

And use it Susan does, moving wantonly, desperately against Janet's hand. It doesn't take long - she's been skirting the edge of this for what feels like ages, and now that she's given into the feeling, it crests rapidly and then breaks, suffusing her. She makes a quiet noise as she comes, almost like a sigh of satisfaction.

It's heady, the sound of Susan's sigh of pleasure in combination with the shuddering squeeze of her orgasm around Janet's fingers. Her hand stills, but doesn't move away or leave her empty. "Again, Your Majesty?" she asks, in a half-decent imitation of Susan's accent.

"Oh, all right then," says Susan, flapping a hand in a way that, in practice, actually just has her patting Janet's waist. The effect of her words is ruined, too, by the syrupy breathlessness of her voice.

Janet grins like a shark, insufferably pleased with herself. "Okay, if you insist." She rocks her hand carefully, fingers slipping in and out, grinding a circle with the heel of her palm again -- a slower build this time.

Susan makes another quiet noise, immediately shifting in her focus. She stretches, arching her back, letting the flush of her first orgasm play out through her body even as her pleasure starts mounting again. Even though Janet's clearly slow-playing this, Susan has always been faster the second time.

With that stretch, Janet starts to let it build faster, a steady climb, faster and just rough enough, the way she's starting to learn that Susan likes it. Her free hand smooths down Susan's back, the shape of her spine still in that very flattering dress.

With each ragged inhale of breath, Susan's breasts strain at the neckline of her dress, and she's focused enough on the feelings produced by Janet's strong fingers that this isn't even a little put-upon. She shifts, rolling slightly to the side, giving Janet better access.

Oh, perfect. Janet shifts with her, propping herself up a little better on an elbow -- it lets her curl her fingers deeper, lets her apply that grinding and heightening pressure to Susan's clit with more finesse.

Susan brings one of her own hands up to pinch at her nipple through her dress and her bra. She likes the drag of the lace against it, the way that the rough parts of it dig in. Her legs fall wider open still, without very much conscious decision-making behind it at all, and she looks over at Janet, gaze feverish as she drags it up and down Janet's body.

Janet watches closely; her own gaze is sharper, clinging to Susan's face, her breasts where they strain against her dress, the dip of her hip, the place where her fingers disappear between Susan's legs. She doesn't stop or let up. She does lean in to kiss the underside of Susan's jaw, open-mouthed, down her throat.

It's the warm slide of Janet's mouth, coupled with the angle of her hand, coupled with Susan's own desperate grasping at her breasts, that brings her pleasure to a crescendo. Mouth working noiselessly against nothing at all, body tensing and coiling up like the string of her bow as she pulls it back and aims, she comes again. She twists her head, trying sloppily to catch Janet's mouth in a kiss even as the rest of her sags in the wake of it.

Of course Janet goes for that kiss, angling her own head to make it happen, her mouth still open, pushing it heated and intent right away. Again, she keeps her fingers inside, just for a moment longer, self-satisfied. When she slips them out, it's with some reluctance, and then she slings a leg over Susan's hip and pulls herself in closer.

Susan tugs Janet, cleaving to her, propping one jellied leg up to frame Janet's thigh. She meets the kiss with equal ferocity, bringing one hand up to the small of Janet's back.

Janet kisses her for a long time, languid and pleased with herself. She kisses her for as long as she can before reality starts slowly reasserting it in small ways: the scrape of the rug against her elbow, sweat drying at the back of her neck. "Tipsy and tangled up with me, huh?" she says. "Get what you wanted?"

Susan hums, wriggling into a half-stretch. "That did rather hit the spot," she says, warmly.

Janet's grin is as wide as ever, but it's soft around the edges. She tucks an unsalvageably disheveled lock of hair behind Susan's ear. "Thanks," she says, then laughs. "Not for the sex. That's a mutual perk. Just for... all of it, I guess."

"It was remarkably easy to set up, now that Dark's over," Susan says, eyelashes fluttering at Janet's touch.

"Sure, but they say it's the thought that counts." Finally, reluctantly, Janet sits up, just so she can run the fingers of one hand through her own hair, trying to get it in some semblance of order. She grabs a stray abandoned olive as she does, for post-coital sustenance, then offers one to Susan, too.

Susan eats it from Janet's fingers, lip curling, pleased, as it brushes Janet's skin.

Janet watches with equal pleasure. There's still plenty of food left, and a little champagne. They can take their time.

Their conversation meanders, flirty and light and interrupted by breaks for food and more kissing until most of Susan's myriad hungers are sated. She takes Janet's hand, then, threading their fingers together. "Have you got any thoughts about what you might like?" she ventures. "From this?"

By this time, Janet has her jumpsuit back on, though the zipper's half-undone. Without thinking too much about it, she curls her fingers around Susan's, then hesitates. "I'm guessing you don't mean what I might like out of this meal."

"No," Susan agrees. Then she rolls her eyes. "I'm rubbish at talking about this sort of thing," she warns. "But it seems... prudent." After all, there is the invitation of Bacchus's that she plans to politely decline.

"I'm, uh." Janet's quiet for a longer hesitation this time. She hates feeling tongue-tied. "Pretty fucking bad at it, too. I've never really... I mean, I just dated a string of assholes in college. And then I was a queen."

"And that does rather change the parameters of one's dating life," Susan says, knowingly. Then she volunteers, "In London, I... slept with quite a few men precisely once. My choice, generally not theirs. And I had a dear friend with whom I'd regularly, ah, fall into bed. In retrospect we might've been... having some sort of relationship, but we never spoke about it."

Edited 2024-06-27 05:21 (UTC)

"Right." Janet's fingers tighten around Susan's. They never spoke about it and now, obviously, they can't. "I never -- I mean, I told you about the last man I was entangled with. It didn't end amazingly. I never... I've always liked girls, too. Women, too, I mean. But it was usually easier to let some shitty guy disappoint me."

"They are often rather predictable in that way," Susan agrees, leaning against Janet.

"Yep." Janet sighs, quietly. "Is it shitty if I make you answer first? Do you have any thoughts?"

"I haven't," Susan admits, and then rolls her eyes at herself. "This is one sort of conversation I haven't the faintest idea how to navigate. I don't... know the rules."

"Maybe we just make up some rules," Janet suggests. "Fuck it, right? We probably don't even like whoever made the original rules anyway."

"I think they'd be rather different here, anyway," Susan sighs. "Given that this is a tiny world with a tiny population. When I got here I was operating by my old rules, hence--" and here she gestures loosely in a way that's meant to encapsulate Sagramore and Grantaire. "But that doesn't serve in this sort of environment." For one, there's not nearly enough people for it, though she supposes she's surpassed her own earlier frequency of assignations now that she's traded breadth for depth, so to speak. Then she glances at Janet and says, "I also haven't got a sense of the rules for pursuing multiple people. At least, not when one is... making an effort."

Honestly, Janet doesn't have a sense of that, either. Like Susan says, not when it actually matters. "Lancelot," she fills in. He's basically inoffensive, she thinks. If Susan weren't attached to him, she'd probably make some kind of flippant comment about how boring he is. It's a little tempting, the way it's always a little tempting to be a bitch. It would bring this awkward topic to a close. But she doesn't. "Have you two already had this conversation?"

"We have," Susan says, with a fond little eye-roll. "He likes to talk about things."

That has not been Janet's experience with that man. Whatever. "What was the verdict?"

"He and I are," Susan says, pursing her lips as she considers the best way to phrase it. "Having a relationship and apprising one another of other pursuits." She pauses, glances sidelong at Janet. "I believe I might characterize it as fairly serious."

Janet looks back at her, slightly wary. Not about her and Lancelot. She's known about that for a while. Maybe it's a relief -- they're fairly serious. That takes some of the pressure off her. She and Eliot always said how they'd be spinsters together, how neither of them were really built for falling in love the way Quentin and Alice were, or even Josh and Poppy.

"Okay," she says. "Serious is... I don't know if I know what that means for me. But, uh. I like you."

Edited 2024-06-30 02:11 (UTC)

Susan has read Janet's survey; she knows Janet doesn't think she was built for love. This is something she has chosen not to unpack. "I mention it because I shouldn't want you to feel blindsided if, for example, he moved into my room," she says; now that Dark is over, she's been wondering if he'll return to his and how she'll feel if he does. But Lancelot isn't the point of this conversation; she and Janet are.

In a way, it's a relief that Janet isn't given to sweeping declarations. Susan hardly knows what to do with those. Look at how long it took her to decide she loves Lancelot, too! "I suppose my point is," she says, "I rather like you too."

It's a surprising level of consideration for her feelings, surprising enough that Janet looks at Susan, caught off-guard, and then down to where their fingers are laced together. Back up to Susan's face, a second or two later. "Well... thanks." Ugh. Maybe she and those asshole men never worked out because they were too similar. "For the heads up, I mean. I think I want to be... more than just a pursuit. You pursued. I pursued back. We're done pursuing, right? You got me."

Susan smiles at Janet then, small and genuine. "Would you say we've moved beyond diplomatic liaisons?"

"Way beyond." Janet's mouth quirks into an answering half-smile. "It sounds insane to use the word girlfriend in a fucking... pocket world full of characters from Hamlet and talking animals. But I guess everything about this is insane no matter what."

"Like a pocket world full of talking animals is terribly out of the ordinary," Susan teases, and then allows, "though I do suppose I mightn't have used the word 'girlfriend' in Narnia."

"Fillory's not in a pocket," Janet counters, "it's way stupider than that." But she's deflecting, obviously. She laughs, a release of tension more than real amusement. "Is that a yes?"

"It's a yes."

The smile breaks into a broader grin. Feeling like a teenager, but stupider, because she's almost thirty, Janet says, "It's a deal. Or... a relationship. I guess."

"Lovely," says Susan, with feeling. She darts in and presses a kiss to Janet's cheek. And then, since the best way to understand the rules is to ask outright: "What does that entail for you, ideally?"

God, this is excruciating. It's a good idea, and Janet's glad Susan pulled the trigger. But it's excruciating. She makes a little face. "We do more of this, obviously. I don't really care who you fuck unless it'd really obviously piss me off. But maybe don't do... all this with someone else without letting me know. Scratch that, not maybe. Definitely."

"So you needn't hear of one-off assignations, but you'd like to hear of... relationships?"

"Right." She studies Susan's face. "Do you have different terms in mind?"

"Those sound eminently reasonable to me," says Susan, running through Janet's other requests. "Obviously you needn't worry about me sleeping with Sagramore again," as she assumes that's what Janet means by someone who would 'really obviously piss her off." Delicately, and with a mostly-affected shudder, she adds, "Or me ending up married."

"Oh my God," Janet says, startled into a laugh at the thought. "You know, that one didn't even occur to me, but I guess we can add it in ink just to be safe. Do you want to add anything? While we're at it?"

"No, I believe that about sums it up," says Susan, thoughtfully, and then she makes a tiny face. "Well... I wouldn't mind hearing about one-time affairs, but that's just because I find hearing about such things rather... titillating. So it needn't be a stipulation."

"Oh." Janet grins. "Well, I said I needn't hear of them, not that you couldn't tell me." She rubs her thumb against the back of Susan's hand. "The hook-up scene around here's a little dire, unfortunately."

"I've noticed," says Susan, with grim good humor. "It's all teenagers and homosexuals here." She pauses, considering, and amends, "And teenage homosexuals."

"Hey," Janet says, reasonably good-natured, "there's some bisexuals, too. I mean, other than just you and me."

Susan does suppose that's true, but she's already worked her way through every known bisexual who isn't a child. "Sagramore," she says, matter-of-fact. "Grantaire." Ought she mention Lancelot? Oh, but he's been kissing men publicly, so surely it isn't any sort of secret. "Lancelot." She pauses, then adds, "If Enjolras is interested in women then I feel awful for the women he pursues. Oh, and certainly not Shen Yuan."

Edited 2024-07-02 16:27 (UTC)

"Definitely not Shen Yuan," Janet agrees immediately, almost laughing again at the very thought of Shen Yuan pursuing a woman. It would be like giving a mouse a steak. "You're forgetting Laertes," she adds.

"Do you know, Shen Yuan kissed me once? The night he and I met, in fact. He wanted - proof, I suppose, that he wasn't interested in women at all." Obviously Susan is a good barometer for this, even if his scientific methodology was abysmal. "He's not bad at it, actually. Kissing. Laertes isn't homosexual?"

Unbidden, Janet is forced to picture Shen Yuan kissing Susan. It's not the worst mental image of her life, but it's miles away from the best, either. "Oh my God," she says, distractedly. "I told him he was gay -- well, fuck it. Whatever. No, Laertes isn't gay. He told me he would've shot his shot with me when we first met if he'd been a little braver."

This tidbit has Susan's eyebrows climbing, equal parts surprised and intrigued.

"Oh my God," Janet says for a second time as she catches the way Susan's face shifts. "That train has left the station. Sorry, Your Majesty."

"Alas," says Susan, with a sigh that is mostly put-upon.

Her grin resurfaces. "You're welcome. For the intel and the mental image."

"Much obliged," says Susan. "I really thought for certain he was homosexual." This belief is, in truth, because he hasn't propositioned her yet.

"Definitely not. Wait," Janet says as she realizes, "are you going to shoot your shot?"

"No," says Susan, and then, "I don't know," and then, "I've not thought about it." Of course, now that he mightn't be averse by virtue of her gender, her awareness of his handsomeness might be much less distant. "I'm not sure I ought to."

Janet snorts. It would be generous to call that sound a laugh. "It might make things complicated. That's the problem with living in a giant house with literally everyone else in the world."

"I shouldn't want Lancelot to think I'm meddling. Again," Susan sighs.

"Oh, what, because he and Laertes are..." Janet trails off evocatively. She's already talked about this with Laertes.

"Yes, and I rather grilled Laertes on the nature of his interest toward Lancelot and, ah, lectured him when he said he'd no intention on making that interest known first."

"You're a woman of action," Janet says admiringly. "They talk way too much in Hamlet. Laertes needed you."

"I just don't like to leave tasks unfinished," says Susan, loftily.

Janet plants a deliberately sloppy kiss on Susan's cheek. "Trust me, I know."

Susan makes a noise that could, conceivably, be a laugh, and turns to capture Janet's mouth in a proper kiss.

~ [closed post]

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