Chapter Text
“This one or this one?” Mor asks, still in her robe, holding up a dress in each hand. She’s pulled her hair over one shoulder, gleaming gold in the light of the late afternoon sun streaming through the window. It’s just them tonight, since Cassian and Nesta are… busy. Elain has to bite back a smile every time she thinks about her sister and Cassian and their new bond. As soon as Mor had returned that morning, smirking and practically squealing to tell her, Elain had made her pay up, for the bet between them.
But now, since they have the day—and the night—to themselves, they’re going to celebrate their last night in Velaris with a dinner out on the town. Mor insists.
Elain contemplates the dresses and points to the pale dusty pink one, all loosely gathered silk that seems to float to the floor, a low V neck she’s sure will show off exactly what Mor has. As everything seems to do. “That one.”
Mor smiles, amused. “I knew you were going to choose this.”
Elain can’t resist the faint blush that rises to her cheeks, a common occurrence where Mor is concerned. “Am I that predictable?”
Mor’s laugh is bright, like a midday bell, and before Elain can process, she’s leaned forward and kissed Elain’s cheek. Elain catches the heavy floral scent of her perfume, musky now that it’s faded since that morning. “Familiar, more like.”
Elain lets out a little woosh of breath that has her shifting, ducking her head to smile. Mor has done more to make her smile in the past week than anyone else has managed in her months in the Night Court.
She doesn’t realize that Mor is going to change right there in front of her until she has set both dresses on the bed, undoes the knot on her robe.
“Oh,” Elain squeaks, half in surprise, half in concerned embarrassment, when Mor lets the silk robe drop to the floor and Elain catches a few scraps of discreetly placed cream colored lace before she clasps her hand up to cover her eyes. Is she supposed to look away? Supposed to—
This time, Mor’s laugh is amused and Elain can hear the smile in her voice. “You can look, Elain, I don’t mind.”
Elain swallows, lets her hand drop, and stares into the thick carpet under their feet for a good three seconds before her curiosity gets the better of her and her eyes flick up. Mor is turned around, pushing her hair over her shoulder so it swings down her back, leaning over to find the opening of the skirt to slide it down over her head.
Since she’s turned away, Elain lets her eyes linger even though maybe she shouldn’t… on the dip of Mor’s waist and the wide flare of her hips where her skin softens. She’s wearing a more structured top, something for support, Elain assumes, and there’s a band of lace that curves around her hips, high and fitted enough that they don’t leave much to the imagination, giving way to dramatic curves and soft thighs.
Elain wonders for a brief moment, breath catching when Mor turns slightly, finally getting the dress over her head, what her skin would feel like. What it might taste like.
“And now, we find something for you!” Mor just says, grinning and returning to her closet, a truly remarkable space that she can pull anything out of. Elain is starting to think it’s enchanted to be bigger than the physical space allows. That would make much more sense than Mor actually being able to fit all of her clothes. And shoes. To say nothing of her jewelry.
Elain ends up in a fresh, pale green gown with a fitted bodice that laces up the back and a skirt that flares out from her hips. White embroidery lines the square collar and capped sleeves, circling the hem with little crystals sewn into the pattern. Just enough that she catches rainbow glints off the walls when she walks through a patch of sun.
Mor offers her jewelry, but Elain votes to go bare that evening, pushing her feet into a pair of slippers Mor manages to dig out of the closet, somehow in pristine condition.
It’s only a few minutes before they’re out the door, slipping through the crowd of people that linger below. Elain tries not to notice the looks they get, the obvious nature of two beautifully dressed women leaving the same house for the evening. In another situation, Elain might consider this an event of courtship. But Mor… Mor is naturally kind and does things like this all the time. She’s just friendly, she tells herself.
“If you aren’t feeling anything in particular tonight, I have somewhere in mind,” Mor offers after they emerge onto the main street that heads into the thick of the town. When Elain glances over to her, the waves of blonde hair she’d pinned up while Elain had finished getting her things together are loosely wound just above the back of her neck, displaying the smooth curve of her back, strong, with the delicate chain of her necklace hanging down her back.
Elain barely registers that she’s saying that she doesn’t mind wherever they want to go, too busy imagining what it would be like to be tucked alongside Mor’s body in that wide pillowy bed of hers. Mor never makes her bed, the sheets and downy blankets always an undone, muddled mess, pure white cotton against the sheer silk slips Elain knows she wears to bed (she’s seen them on the bathroom floor, a rippling pool of fabric she imagines would glide over Mor’s figure).
By the time they reach the restaurant, casually chatting about the city, Mor going on, gesturing and smiling, about some crazy goings on between her and Cass and Rhys years and years ago, Elain is a little pink from their walk, attempting to shake herself of the mental image of what it would be like to kneel between Mor’s strong thighs and taste her.
The only person she’s ever been with has been Graysen, and even that had been scattered, when they could find time alone with each other. And Graysen…. is far from Mor. He’d been mediocrely considerate, just enough that it didn’t make her uncomfortable. With him, Elain had wanted the pleasure for herself, wanted the release and had dutifully returned the favor.
With Mor, Elain can barely even fantasize about her own pleasure. All she can think about is kissing Mor’s neck and peeling her out of the cream lace underthings she’s wearing, have her lips on the soft swells of her breasts and her fingers rubbing her through her panties. She wants to know what Mor tastes like, wants to suck on her clit until she moans her name and wants to feel her, hot and wet, around her fingers. Most of all though, Elain wants to know what Mor sounds like when she comes.
When they walk into the front of the restaurant and Mor asks politely for a table for two—by the waterfront—Elain’s mouth goes dry when she follows Mor to their table, staring blatantly at the drop of the low v down her spine, the obvious display of the band of lace at her back. Everything Mor wears ascribes elegance. It’s too bad everything Elain thinks of doing to Mor is entirely the opposite. There’s nothing elegant about wanting to fuck Mor so hard they’re a sweaty tangle of limbs and Mor can barely say her own name.
Mor takes the seat to the left, at the edge of the balcony looking out onto the water, the river skating by down over the ledge, and Elain thinks about the other side of things, what it would be like to have Mor’s sure, careful hands urging her where she wanted her. Have Mor’s hands part her thighs and slide one of those toys into her, the ones she keeps anything but hidden.
“Are you all right?” Mor asks, brow furrowed, and Elain snaps back to herself, realizing that she hasn’t even opened her menu, has been staring at the flower resting in the clear glass vase between them for a solid minute, away with her thoughts.
Elain clears her throat, flushing even more, and opens her menu, trying not to imagine the thoughts that threaten to overwhelm her. “Of course,” she says, smiling, even though she can see that Mor doesn’t really believe her.
Regardless, she manages to make it through their meal, watching Mor’s dazzling smiles at the man waiting on their table. She even orders them both a deep red wine that Elain can’t pronounce. The alcohol shoots straight to her core, making her shift in her seat. She catches the faint pink marks of Mor’s lipstick on the delicate rim of her wine glass and wonders what marks Mor’s lips would make against her own skin.
They take their time, talking and laughing, and even though Elain is more than enjoying herself, she’s more than a little on edge, like she can’t sit still. Partially because her mind is running a mile a minute and she can’t help but notice every little thing that Mor does. She even feels creepy, like thinking about what Mor sounds like in bed is betraying the trust they’ve built up in the time Mor has let her into her house.
Elain laughs so hard she almost chokes on her wine when Mor, almost doubled over and still managing to look elegant, eventually gets out the story of the time Cassian had walked in on her mid-threesome and had later asked how she’d managed to get not just one, but two beautiful women into bed with her.
Elain tries—fails—not to think about the mental image. “How did you manage that?” Elain asks before she can stop herself, playing it off as a casual curiosity.
Mor smirks into her wine, meeting Elain’s eyes. “Be a beautiful woman yourself.”
Elain laughs a little, biting her lip, and ignores the way her breath leaves her chest. She’s thoroughly fucked.
After they’ve shared a generous slice of chocolate cake between them and Mor has paid, they lazily make their way back through the city, pausing at the river for a moment. The sun has already set during their dinner, so only the lights from the surrounding buildings reflect on the river below.
“May I ask you something, Elain?” Mor asks, and Elain thinks that she’d tell Mor anything if she asked. The wine in her belly certainly isn’t helping either.
“Of course.”
Mor winds her arm through hers as they meander up the street, passing people out in the evening, either returning to their homes or going out for the night. A few shops are closing, others opening for nightly business. “Have you ever been with anyone before?”
Elain pauses. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.
“You don’t have to answer if you—“ Mor corrects quickly.
“Do you mean…” Elain interrupts before this conversation can end. It’s too interesting to cut off. Especially if the question of Mor’s curiosity comes to light. “Sexually?”
Mor shrugs, nodding.
Well, this is happening. “I mean… if you’re talking about threesomes, then no,” she says with a laugh. Mor is almost intimidatingly experienced. Although she would probably expect that from someone who’s lived as long as Mor has. “Graysen and I did… some things.” She blushes, even though she knows it’s nothing to be ashamed of. They’d been engaged anyway and they didn’t even have sex. Him ducking under her skirts to get her off with his tongue and fingers that one time barely counted as much—he hadn’t even made her come. She’d attempted to return the favor but they’d been interrupted before he could finish.
Mor nods, and Elain half expects her to say something else, but she’s silent.
“But other than that, no, I’m shamefully innocent.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Mor says, glancing over at her thoughtfully. “Multiple bad experiences aren’t worth it. Holding off for a few good—really good—ones are worth it.”
Elain can’t help thinking back to the threesome with the two other women Mor had talked about. Both had been Illyrian, a couple who’d invited her into their bed for the night, as she’d told the story. Elain didn’t know how she was supposed to top that.
“And besides, it’s your choice. No one says you have to just go out and have sex with anyone. It isn’t for everybody.”
Elain blushes. “I never said I wouldn’t be interested in that. I just wouldn’t know how to… go about it.”
Mor looks surprised, smirking over at her. “Sweet Elain? I didn’t know you’d want that,” she teases.
Elain’s flush darkens. “I mean—If you… maybe,” she finally admits.
“As long as you’re safe about it,” Mor shrugs, still smirking a little. “Maybe you just need a distraction,” she adds, all too casually. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a good fuck.”
Elain’s eyes go wide and she tries not to give away that as far as Mor is concerned, she’d rather be the one doing the fucking.
Mor seems content to leave the conversation at that, though, and whatever they’d been flirting their way towards fades away again as soon when Mor points out her favorite chocolate shop and starts describing their wares.
When they reach Mor’s house again, the downstairs is bustling with people that part at the sight of Mor, letting their gazes drift over her and her companion. Mor doesn’t seem to notice and maybe that’s part of the power she seems to exude: the feigned disinterest in what anyone else thinks of her.
Inside, Mor leads the way up the stairs, pulling her hair out of its pins, ruffling it to loosen the waves it’s been coiled into, cascading down her bare back.
They’re close enough that they lapse into a content silence, Mor kicking off her shoes as soon as they reach the living room of her apartments, the upper levels of the shop below, the top two levels entirely to herself—and Elain.
Even though the night air is cool enough to leave the windows open, the crowd downstairs is loud enough that Mor circles the room, sliding windows shut to block out the noise. Inside, in the quiet darkness, the space feels more intimate and Elain is at once aware that they’re the only two people here. That they can do whatever they want and no one else would know.
“We should probably get some sleep tonight…” Mor says, looking around the room, at the uneven furniture and shoes, stray books, teacups, scarves thrown over the backs of the mismatched couches. In the span of a few weeks, Mor’s apartment has become her home, the brightly-decorated guest bedroom upstairs the first space she’s ever had entirely to herself, one that she didn’t have to upkeep, didn’t have servants running in and out of. A space where she could be messy if she wanted. Where she could leave the bed unmade and the windows open.
“Mhm,” Elain agrees, only slightly disappointed the night is over already, that she doesn’t get to spend more time in the liminal space that Mor seems to inhabit in Velaris.
This time it’s Mor who follows Elain up the stairs and Mor catches her in a hug at the landing. “Goodnight, Elain,” she murmurs, and Elain buries her face in Mor’s shoulder, breathing in the comforting scent of her.
“Goodnight,” she replies, offering a small smile before ducking away.
She curses in her head, though, frowning when she gets to her door. You couldn’t have said something else? Asked something? Damnit.
In her room, after lighting the oil lamp by her night stand, she sits in front of the mirror, frowning at herself. Why is she so… unsatisfied?
Maybe it’s because her time with Mor… is missing a culmination of some sort. A culmination she wants.
But—
She realizes a few moments later that she can’t get her dress off by herself, that the laces are at the back and she’ll have to struggle with it without help.
Sighing, resigned to her dissatisfaction, a night of tossing in her plush bed, she rises, retraces her steps down to the other end of the hall where Mor’s room is.
Where Elain prefers her private chambers to be quiet, her own, Mor seems to have the opposite opinion about private space—that they’re anything but private. She’s invited Elain into her room almost every day, leaves the door open when she’s not sleeping.
“Come in!” comes the faint call when she knocks, and Elain lets herself in, peering in slightly, seeing Mor emerging out of the bathroom, already stripped out of her dress, in a lightweight nightgown that drapes to mid-thigh.
“I just realized that…” Elain says, vaguely gesturing to the back of her dress.
“Oh! Of course,” Mor says, smiling and coming over to her.
The door slips shut behind her and Elain turns, pulling her hair over her shoulder.
“I can make sure you’re up in the morning,” Mor says as Elain feels her fingers picking at the laces, the dress gradually loosening around her torso.
“That would be nice,” Elain murmurs, nodding, staring at the ground.
A few moments later, Elain’s breath high in her throat: “There you go,” Mor murmurs, pulling the two halves of the dress farther apart so it’ll be easier to get out of.
Elain is startlingly aware of the fact that the only thing she has on under the loaned dress is a thin pair of underwear, the structured bodice enough that she hadn’t needed to wear anything else. “It’s your dress,” she says quietly, biting her lip and glad she can’t see Mor’s face.
Staring ahead, she pushes the shoulders down, wiggling out of the arms, pushing it the rest of the way down her hips until it pools at her feet.
She hears Mor’s breath catch, can feel the room tighten.
“Elain…”
She half expects her voice to be warning, to let her down easy, but it’s nothing of the sort. A question. If she wants to go down this path.
Heart pounding, Elain turns, eyes lowered, to face Mor.