(no subject)
Title: To Adorn You In My Finest
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating/Warnings: G, descriptions of clothing by someone uneducated in high fashion
Written For: hs_bingo, prompt "party." (I now have one full row, so I'll definitely be able to turn in a bingo.)
Wordcount: 1700 (AUGH. It was supposed to be little and finished by midnight. Yeah, I went to bed at 3 a.m last night. Bad choice.)
EDIT: Thanks to Remix Madness 2011, this has now been re-done as To Adorn You In My Finest [The Friend is a Four-Letter Word Remix], which is quite lovely. Go forth and enjoy!
“My father’s throwing a dreadfully dull party for Christmas,” Morgana whispered in English class one morning, while across the classroom somebody mumbled and murdered the rhythm of Byron. “Would you like to come?”
Gwen chuckled behind her book. “You make it sound so much fun.”
“Please? It’ll be so much better with somebody interesting to talk to. And perhaps you can stop me from getting into another fight with Arthur Pendragon.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Last year I almost broke a bottle of champagne over his head,” she admitted.
Gwen clapped both hands over her mouth, several sputters too late to avoid a glare from the teacher. “Well, I might have to come, then. I don’t have a dress, though.”
“I can buy you one.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that! Maybe I could - borrow one, or something.”
“No, it’s no trouble. Really.” It was a little extravagant, but Gwen deserved a little bit of extravagance. (She deserved a great deal of extravagance, but a little bit was all that she would accept.)
---
“How about this one?” Morgana asked, voice muffled by the delicate curtain that served as dressing-room door. A purple-and-gold confection cascaded over the top of the curtain rod as an accompaniment to her words.
Gwen slipped it on (after a brief search for the expertly-hidden zipper) and contemplated herself in the mirror. “How cold is it likely to be?” she called over her shoulder. “If we’re doing the sleeveless thing -”
“It’s usually pretty warm. Besides, I can loan you a wrap, I have a really pretty white one. Or a white-and-gray one with fringe, but that might be a little much with the embroidery.”
“Probably,” Gwen agreed, eyeing the mirror again. It was very nice embroidery: ornate gold swirls and curlicues dancing along the hem of the knee-length skirt and ornamenting the scooped neckline. “Do you want to see?”
“Please.” There was a rustle and flapping of fabric, and suddenly the dressing room was quite crowded indeed. Gwen kept her arms by her sides and focused on Morgana’s face in the mirror.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. Twirl for me?” Morgana moved aside, making a bit more space, and Gwen complied. The skirt spread out into a disk of glimmering thread and shimmering silk. Gwen laughed and repeated the spin, raising her arms above her head like a music-box ballerina - around again, and again, and then she was stumbling sideways, still laughing but flailing for balance. For just a moment she thought she was going to fall backwards into the store proper, and then Morgana caught her, arm around her waist and a steadying hand on her arm.
They stayed like that for a moment as Gwen got her equilibrium back.
“So, you like this one?” Morgana asked, voice low and quiet. Gwen blinked, trying to think past the warmth, the gentleness of Morgana’s fingers, the way the two of them were pressed so close together. Still.
“The - the dress, yes, the dress, yeah. I love it. The dress. Uhm. Thank you. Yes.”
---
The night of the party found both of them in Morgana’s room, helping each other get ready.
“Dark, do you think?” Morgana asked, eyeing her tubes of lipstick. In the vanity mirror she saw Gwen shake her head.
“No, keep it pale and go for something dramatic on your eyes.”
“I think you’re right,” Morgana conceded, reaching for the relevant discs. “Silver shadow, I think, and purple liner. Would you?”
“Sure.” Morgana shoved her chair around, and Gwen bent closer, an act that required slightly more effort thanks to her borrowed gold heels. “Just close your eyes.”
Morgana complied, relaxing into Gwen’s dexterous hands. Something about the lack of sight made her hyperaware of everything else: the gentle, confident movement of the makeup brush, the rustle of cloth as Gwen braced herself against the chair, the faux-peppermint scent on Gwen’s breath as she leaned in close to ever-so-carefully smudge the colors at the corner of Morgana’s eye.
“Okay,” she said eventually, straightening up. Morgana opened her eyes, letting out her breath, and glanced in the mirror.
“Thank you. It’s perfect.”
Gwen beamed. “Oh, you’re welcome. So we’re ready, then?” (Gwen’s makeup was already done, all shades of brown and gold.)
“Almost. We just need jewelry.” Morgana reached for the box as she spoke.
“Oh, no, you’re already loaning me this -”
“Gwen. Really.” Morgana already had a selection of gold chains dangling from her fingers. “If you don’t like any of them, say so. But it isn’t an imposition to borrow them. I like loaning things to you.”
Gwen blinked at her. “Er, I’m sorry?”
Morgana flushed. “I like loaning you things. I mean, you look pretty in them. You deserve pretty things.”
There was a moment of quiet while Morgana very carefully did not look up; then Gwen said, very softly, “Thank you. Very much. Er, I don’t think a necklace is quite right with the embroidery, but is that a bracelet, with the amethysts? And if you have any earrings, that might be nice. If that’s all right?”
“The amethysts? Yes, it’s a bracelet. And I have some dangling earrings here, if you like them.”
“Those look gorgeous, thank you.” Morgana dropped them into Gwen’s outstretched hands and watched as she threaded the French hooks through her earlobes, then struggled with the bracelet clasp.
“May I help you with that? It’s a bit sticky.”
“Um, yes. Please. If you don’t mind.”
Morgana took her hand, struggling to keep her fingers steady. Her skin was surprisingly soft, and a little bit warmer than Morgana had expected, and looked utterly beautiful next to the bright links of the gold. “There. Perfect.” Her smile as she let go was a little bit shy, and Gwen’s was more than a little bit dizzying.
“Thanks. It’s beautiful.”
Morgana had to bite her lip to stop herself from saying either “Keep it” or “So are you.”
---
The party wasn’t as bad as Morgana had threatened, Gwen decided, leaning against the wall to watch the swirls of glittering people. It was a little strange, not knowing anyone, but Morgana had been wonderful about not leaving her to fend for herself. Gwen was only alone now because she’d played interference to let the other girl dodge Arthur.
(Gwen still didn’t understand Morgana’s apparent allergy to him. Yes, he could be a bit arrogant - a fair bit, in fact - but it wasn’t that hard to shame him into listening to himself a bit, and after that he could be quite interesting. However, he’d gotten distracted by some opinionated blonde girl in green whom Gwen had never met, and she’d taken the opportunity to quietly slip away.)
A flicker of royal purple caught her eye; Morgana was gliding through the crowd, breathtaking in her strapless silk. “How’s the party?” she asked, resting a friendly hand on Gwen’s arm.
“The party? Uhm. Very nice. Thank you so much for inviting me.”
Morgana laughed; a practiced socialite’s laugh, head thrown back and lips parted. Light flashed off her pearl-and-silver earrings, tangled in the glossy coils of her hair. She was stunning. “Not at all!” she chuckled. “Thank you for rescuing me from a night of boredom.”
“My pleasure.” Gwen realized she was beaming like a fool, but she had no intention of stopping.
“Slip out with me for a few moments?” Morgana asked, waving towards the doors. “If you don’t mind. It’s just so warm in here.”
It wasn’t, particularly, but Gwen nodded anyway. “Sure.” Morgana caught one of the servers on the way out and snatched two flutes of champagne; Gwen took hers with some uncertainty, but Morgana’s reassuring smile was enough to convince her. She knew she could handle one glass.
The balcony was deserted, possibly because the rose garden beneath was rather bleak in winter. “I should probably be enjoying this more,” Morgana observed, leaning back against the snow-dusted railing. “Most people would kill to go to a party like this one.”
Gwen shrugged, trying very hard not to look at Morgana’s lips, at her slender fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, at the glitter of her necklace just above the swell of her breasts, at the way the floor-length dress hugged the curve of her hips. Not looking at any of that.
“What don’t you like about it?” she asked, waving her hand in a vague arc meant to encompass the light reflecting off the snow, the finery on the other side of the windows, the background symphony of clinking glasses and laughter and other people’s conversations.
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Morgana replied, raising her champagne so that the light splintered through the bubbles. “It’s just, there are so many places I’d rather be.”
“Like?”
“Somewhere with you, I suppose. Alone.”
The dim light made her face, half-hidden behind the champagne flute, almost impossible to read. Not that Gwen’s suddenly frantic heartbeat was any help in that area, either. Did that actually sound the way she thought it sounded? Was it meant to sound the way that she thought it sounded? It was probably - no, no it wasn’t probably, that was not a simply friendly thing to say, not out here and away from the rest of the party, not -
“Morgana -” she choked out of the throat-constricting tangle of her thoughts, and that seemed to crack the moment. Morgana set her glass down on the railing and moved closer, tilted Gwen’s face up towards her own, and kissed her.
Her hand was cold already - of course it was, they were standing outside - and her lips were soft and just a little bit sticky, and it was all that Gwen could do to put her glass down safely before she twined her hand into Morgana’s hair and pulled her back for another kiss the instant she ended the first.
“Will you be my girlfriend?” Morgana asked awkwardly three kisses later, flushed with cold and slight embarrassment with her arms linked around Gwen’s neck. Anxiety was naked on her face, and her lipstick had gotten smudged, and Gwen had pulled a few strands of her hair loose, and she didn’t look at all the polished girl she’d seemed five minutes before. The answer barely required conscious thought.
“Of course,” Gwen breathed, and leaned in to kiss her again.
Fandom: Merlin
Characters/Pairings: Gwen/Morgana
Rating/Warnings: G, descriptions of clothing by someone uneducated in high fashion
Written For: hs_bingo, prompt "party." (I now have one full row, so I'll definitely be able to turn in a bingo.)
Wordcount: 1700 (AUGH. It was supposed to be little and finished by midnight. Yeah, I went to bed at 3 a.m last night. Bad choice.)
EDIT: Thanks to Remix Madness 2011, this has now been re-done as To Adorn You In My Finest [The Friend is a Four-Letter Word Remix], which is quite lovely. Go forth and enjoy!
“My father’s throwing a dreadfully dull party for Christmas,” Morgana whispered in English class one morning, while across the classroom somebody mumbled and murdered the rhythm of Byron. “Would you like to come?”
Gwen chuckled behind her book. “You make it sound so much fun.”
“Please? It’ll be so much better with somebody interesting to talk to. And perhaps you can stop me from getting into another fight with Arthur Pendragon.”
“Does that happen often?”
“Last year I almost broke a bottle of champagne over his head,” she admitted.
Gwen clapped both hands over her mouth, several sputters too late to avoid a glare from the teacher. “Well, I might have to come, then. I don’t have a dress, though.”
“I can buy you one.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that! Maybe I could - borrow one, or something.”
“No, it’s no trouble. Really.” It was a little extravagant, but Gwen deserved a little bit of extravagance. (She deserved a great deal of extravagance, but a little bit was all that she would accept.)
---
“How about this one?” Morgana asked, voice muffled by the delicate curtain that served as dressing-room door. A purple-and-gold confection cascaded over the top of the curtain rod as an accompaniment to her words.
Gwen slipped it on (after a brief search for the expertly-hidden zipper) and contemplated herself in the mirror. “How cold is it likely to be?” she called over her shoulder. “If we’re doing the sleeveless thing -”
“It’s usually pretty warm. Besides, I can loan you a wrap, I have a really pretty white one. Or a white-and-gray one with fringe, but that might be a little much with the embroidery.”
“Probably,” Gwen agreed, eyeing the mirror again. It was very nice embroidery: ornate gold swirls and curlicues dancing along the hem of the knee-length skirt and ornamenting the scooped neckline. “Do you want to see?”
“Please.” There was a rustle and flapping of fabric, and suddenly the dressing room was quite crowded indeed. Gwen kept her arms by her sides and focused on Morgana’s face in the mirror.
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know. Twirl for me?” Morgana moved aside, making a bit more space, and Gwen complied. The skirt spread out into a disk of glimmering thread and shimmering silk. Gwen laughed and repeated the spin, raising her arms above her head like a music-box ballerina - around again, and again, and then she was stumbling sideways, still laughing but flailing for balance. For just a moment she thought she was going to fall backwards into the store proper, and then Morgana caught her, arm around her waist and a steadying hand on her arm.
They stayed like that for a moment as Gwen got her equilibrium back.
“So, you like this one?” Morgana asked, voice low and quiet. Gwen blinked, trying to think past the warmth, the gentleness of Morgana’s fingers, the way the two of them were pressed so close together. Still.
“The - the dress, yes, the dress, yeah. I love it. The dress. Uhm. Thank you. Yes.”
---
The night of the party found both of them in Morgana’s room, helping each other get ready.
“Dark, do you think?” Morgana asked, eyeing her tubes of lipstick. In the vanity mirror she saw Gwen shake her head.
“No, keep it pale and go for something dramatic on your eyes.”
“I think you’re right,” Morgana conceded, reaching for the relevant discs. “Silver shadow, I think, and purple liner. Would you?”
“Sure.” Morgana shoved her chair around, and Gwen bent closer, an act that required slightly more effort thanks to her borrowed gold heels. “Just close your eyes.”
Morgana complied, relaxing into Gwen’s dexterous hands. Something about the lack of sight made her hyperaware of everything else: the gentle, confident movement of the makeup brush, the rustle of cloth as Gwen braced herself against the chair, the faux-peppermint scent on Gwen’s breath as she leaned in close to ever-so-carefully smudge the colors at the corner of Morgana’s eye.
“Okay,” she said eventually, straightening up. Morgana opened her eyes, letting out her breath, and glanced in the mirror.
“Thank you. It’s perfect.”
Gwen beamed. “Oh, you’re welcome. So we’re ready, then?” (Gwen’s makeup was already done, all shades of brown and gold.)
“Almost. We just need jewelry.” Morgana reached for the box as she spoke.
“Oh, no, you’re already loaning me this -”
“Gwen. Really.” Morgana already had a selection of gold chains dangling from her fingers. “If you don’t like any of them, say so. But it isn’t an imposition to borrow them. I like loaning things to you.”
Gwen blinked at her. “Er, I’m sorry?”
Morgana flushed. “I like loaning you things. I mean, you look pretty in them. You deserve pretty things.”
There was a moment of quiet while Morgana very carefully did not look up; then Gwen said, very softly, “Thank you. Very much. Er, I don’t think a necklace is quite right with the embroidery, but is that a bracelet, with the amethysts? And if you have any earrings, that might be nice. If that’s all right?”
“The amethysts? Yes, it’s a bracelet. And I have some dangling earrings here, if you like them.”
“Those look gorgeous, thank you.” Morgana dropped them into Gwen’s outstretched hands and watched as she threaded the French hooks through her earlobes, then struggled with the bracelet clasp.
“May I help you with that? It’s a bit sticky.”
“Um, yes. Please. If you don’t mind.”
Morgana took her hand, struggling to keep her fingers steady. Her skin was surprisingly soft, and a little bit warmer than Morgana had expected, and looked utterly beautiful next to the bright links of the gold. “There. Perfect.” Her smile as she let go was a little bit shy, and Gwen’s was more than a little bit dizzying.
“Thanks. It’s beautiful.”
Morgana had to bite her lip to stop herself from saying either “Keep it” or “So are you.”
---
The party wasn’t as bad as Morgana had threatened, Gwen decided, leaning against the wall to watch the swirls of glittering people. It was a little strange, not knowing anyone, but Morgana had been wonderful about not leaving her to fend for herself. Gwen was only alone now because she’d played interference to let the other girl dodge Arthur.
(Gwen still didn’t understand Morgana’s apparent allergy to him. Yes, he could be a bit arrogant - a fair bit, in fact - but it wasn’t that hard to shame him into listening to himself a bit, and after that he could be quite interesting. However, he’d gotten distracted by some opinionated blonde girl in green whom Gwen had never met, and she’d taken the opportunity to quietly slip away.)
A flicker of royal purple caught her eye; Morgana was gliding through the crowd, breathtaking in her strapless silk. “How’s the party?” she asked, resting a friendly hand on Gwen’s arm.
“The party? Uhm. Very nice. Thank you so much for inviting me.”
Morgana laughed; a practiced socialite’s laugh, head thrown back and lips parted. Light flashed off her pearl-and-silver earrings, tangled in the glossy coils of her hair. She was stunning. “Not at all!” she chuckled. “Thank you for rescuing me from a night of boredom.”
“My pleasure.” Gwen realized she was beaming like a fool, but she had no intention of stopping.
“Slip out with me for a few moments?” Morgana asked, waving towards the doors. “If you don’t mind. It’s just so warm in here.”
It wasn’t, particularly, but Gwen nodded anyway. “Sure.” Morgana caught one of the servers on the way out and snatched two flutes of champagne; Gwen took hers with some uncertainty, but Morgana’s reassuring smile was enough to convince her. She knew she could handle one glass.
The balcony was deserted, possibly because the rose garden beneath was rather bleak in winter. “I should probably be enjoying this more,” Morgana observed, leaning back against the snow-dusted railing. “Most people would kill to go to a party like this one.”
Gwen shrugged, trying very hard not to look at Morgana’s lips, at her slender fingers tightened around the stem of her glass, at the glitter of her necklace just above the swell of her breasts, at the way the floor-length dress hugged the curve of her hips. Not looking at any of that.
“What don’t you like about it?” she asked, waving her hand in a vague arc meant to encompass the light reflecting off the snow, the finery on the other side of the windows, the background symphony of clinking glasses and laughter and other people’s conversations.
“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Morgana replied, raising her champagne so that the light splintered through the bubbles. “It’s just, there are so many places I’d rather be.”
“Like?”
“Somewhere with you, I suppose. Alone.”
The dim light made her face, half-hidden behind the champagne flute, almost impossible to read. Not that Gwen’s suddenly frantic heartbeat was any help in that area, either. Did that actually sound the way she thought it sounded? Was it meant to sound the way that she thought it sounded? It was probably - no, no it wasn’t probably, that was not a simply friendly thing to say, not out here and away from the rest of the party, not -
“Morgana -” she choked out of the throat-constricting tangle of her thoughts, and that seemed to crack the moment. Morgana set her glass down on the railing and moved closer, tilted Gwen’s face up towards her own, and kissed her.
Her hand was cold already - of course it was, they were standing outside - and her lips were soft and just a little bit sticky, and it was all that Gwen could do to put her glass down safely before she twined her hand into Morgana’s hair and pulled her back for another kiss the instant she ended the first.
“Will you be my girlfriend?” Morgana asked awkwardly three kisses later, flushed with cold and slight embarrassment with her arms linked around Gwen’s neck. Anxiety was naked on her face, and her lipstick had gotten smudged, and Gwen had pulled a few strands of her hair loose, and she didn’t look at all the polished girl she’d seemed five minutes before. The answer barely required conscious thought.
“Of course,” Gwen breathed, and leaned in to kiss her again.