Work Text:
There’s the quiet sound of music in the background. Somewhere in the Salon, someone is showing off on the piano. No doubt she is not the only one, this place is filled with intelligent women looking to find their place. Poets, wives of politicians, and artists alike.
It’s one of the things that Angelica loves about this side of the pond. As progressive as the colonies think they are, as much as Hamilton does seem to value her opinion, women still are at such a disadvantage over there.
Not that they’re equal over here, but there’s little havens like this. Pieces of heaven where they can disappear from society, if only for hours at a time.
Beautiful places with beautiful people, where beautiful things happen every day.
“If you refuse to stay still, I will never finish,” Maria chides her, paintbrush splattering brown flecks across the sheet she’s laid out to protect the floor. “I will be most cross with you if that happens.”
Angelica shifts one last time, fixes the sheet that Maria has so artfully laid across her. Protecting all the indecent bits, if someone should burst in.
It’s safe here. The women here won’t go writing pamphlets should they be found out. Still, it’s always best to err on the side of caution. To keep ambiguity where they can.
Maria huffs slightly when she moves again and Angelica laughs, amused by her friend’s frustration. “I simply do not understand why you insist on this venture when we could be engaging in much more pleasurable pursuits. I promise I will make it worth your time.”
“Because, my dear, you will not always be here, and I need a reminder of your beauty for those lonesome days.” Such a sweet sentiment, from such a lovely woman.
What had Angelica done to deserve such blessings?
The candles burn down, the piano switches to a violin, and finally, she is able to convince Maria that it is as near perfect as it is going to become. And it is- the painting casts her in far too fair a light, is far too complimentary and Angelica adores it. Perhaps it is conceited to consider it one of Maria’s finer works, but Angelica has no doubt that if Maria wishes to share it with the world, it will be hailed as such.
Wishes she could keep it for her own, but knows it will be put to good use here. Hopes it is able to keep Maria in sweet company when they are forced apart.
“Shall we move on to those more pleasurable activities that you referenced earlier,” the words are a ghost of breath against her skin, Maria having helped her back into her slip and stockings.
Technically, Angelica is still indecent, only highlighted by Maria’s own decadent dress. Her, dare she say lover, has foregone the hoop petticoat tonight for the ease of movement, the beautiful hue of her gown more than makes up for it. Sunflowers blooming, radiant against dark skin, flowing along the shape of her frame. Leaving just enough to the imagination.
Angelica reaches up to stroke Maria’s cheek, reveling in her ability to do so. To longer yearn for permission, or beg for forgiveness if the attention is unwanted.
This, what little they are granted by their time together, is what she dreams of.
What they spend hours upon hours writing to one another about. Angelica has taken to pressing flowers in her books, slipping them in with her parchment since she is unable to send the bouquets that Maria deserves.
There are so many things that Maria deserves that she is unable to provide, such a frustrating thing considering her wealth.
The skin beneath her fingertips is soft and when she leans in, Maria meets her. It doesn’t seem to matter how often they are able to do this, it is still as breathtaking as the last time. Angelica cherishes this, these small touches, Maria’s hand resting on her hip with only a thin layer of fabric between them.
“How often have I dreamed of this occasion?” Maria murmurs when she pulls back to nudge the space between Angelica’s neck and collarbone with her nose, taking advantage of her own short stature. “It must have been a thousand nights. A thousand unfulfilled wishes.”
A knock at the door pulls them away from one another, and Angelica goes bend over, as if to gather her stay while Maria answers it.
Only a friend offering nourishment, and Maira accepts the platter graciously, places it on the table that so recently held her paints. “Shall we dine, my darling?”
The platter doesn’t quite hold enough to be called a dinner, but it does consist of fruits and cream, not to mention cheeses. Finger foods.
Easy enough to take advantage of. It doesn’t take long for them to be found lying on their sides on the large bed to the back of the room. For women who find themselves unwell while visiting the Salon, or unable to return home due to the hour or the weather.
The platter rests between them, and they take turns feeding one another. Maria teases her, cream dipped strawberry hovering just out of reach and Angelica leans forward, taking off the tip with a click of teeth.
When it is her turn, Angelica plucks the greenery off of the red berry, biting into the luscious, fat end, chest filling with delight when Maria closes the distance between them to claim her prize.
One hunger sated, Angelica twists, placing the almost empty tray on the floor. Grasps Maria’s face in her hands so that she may bring their lips together once more.
They burn through another candle like this, soft touches and whispered worship. Promises to meet again, in another life. One where they will allowed to embrace without barrier, without pretense.
Make plans for a trip, far away from where they are known. To distance locals, known only through sailors and whispered rumors. They’ll tell their families that they are going to further Maria’s paintings, to give her a chance for inspiration that she has never known. Angelica to keep her safe.
They’ll watch the stars, dance together where they cannot be seen. Free from worry of scandal.
Until then, they will continue to steal moments like this, and relish in every second.