Work Text:
It’s almost midnight when Anthea – and she’s truly Anthea, at least this week – gets home. Home, in her case, is a very secure apartment block in an exclusive (meaning classified) location.
She drops her keys onto the little antique table near the door, next to the small but elegant pistol she keeps there in case of the unlikely event of unwelcome visitors (personal time and work never truly acquire distinction for people like her). Anthea’s apartment is furnished with a curious mix of antique and modern; she rarely has visitors, so it hardly matters, but she takes pleasure in the confusing decor. It’s just as contradictory as her personality.
Kicking off her patent stilettos carelessly so one shoe hits the wall underneath the magnetic strip containing knives and other sharp metallic weaponry, she continues through the apartment, lights turning on as sensors pick up her presence, sorting through the pile of mail she picked up on her way into the building. One envelope stands out; it’s large, unmarked and white, thick even discounting the contents, and –
Scented. Specifically, with Anthea’s lover’s perfume.
Smiling now, she throws the other – undoubtedly work related – correspondence onto a modern chrome coffee table and flops onto the plush sofa (she allows herself to drop her usual graceful demeanour in private), opening the envelope. A small card slides out first, on ostentatiously expensive stationary, and Serena’s scent emanates from it so heavily it’s immediately clear it is the source. Anthea briefly wonders whether Serena actually soaked the thing in her thousand-dollar-a-bottle perfume.
It reads simply “Thinking of you, Serena”, but there’s a lipstick kiss and Anthea’s grinning.
There’s just one more thing in the envelope; the future edition of the Agent Provocateur catalogue (yes, future – it’s nice to have connections), stamped “Top Secret, First Draft”. The front cover is Serena, naturally, but the real reason for the unusually early arrival (Anthea usually gets the third or fourth draft, not the first) becomes apparent as she scans down the page, following Serena’s beautiful, lithe, form to the name of the design in curly script.
Anthea.
She’s giddy, more pleased than she would ever admit – to Serena, or herself. She’d thought that Serena’s threats to design a piece for her were just playful teasing.
Now that she knows the meaning behind the lingerie set, it’s so much more sensual, and seems to scream its previously hidden meaning from the page. Abundantly lacy, the corset and panties set is coloured in the rich cherry red Anthea adores on Serena regardless of clothing item. Upon second glance, Serena’s pose reminds Anthea of the arrangement she first kissed her in, a couple of years ago and – no, she wouldn’t! – she did – it’s the very same couch! How had she managed that?
Anthea suddenly finds the symbolism quite touching. They both live in their work so much that it is through it that the pair often ends up expressing their feelings.
Anthea quickly calculates, sorting through her mental store of schedules. A romantic lunch or dinner is certainly in order, and it’s time she kidnapped her partner (once again).