A/N: This probably sucks and I am way too sleep-deprived to tell hahahaha, I might try to fix it later or something. Also it probably gets shittier as it goes along due to increasing tiredness + delirium BUT HEY IT'S MORRIDOC WOOOOOOO
It's statistically nearly impossible that the Morrigan would show up outside Lauren's door at one in the morning. Knocking jolts her from her sleep and she runs the likely scenarios through her head as she wraps herself in a bath robe, flicks on a lamp and heads for the front of the apartment: Kenzi or Dyson is delivering news of some kind of emergency, Bo misses her and wants to talk—or "talk"—or maybe Bo is injured (or has another injured fae in tow) and needs her help. Whatever it is, it probably isn't good, not at this time of night. She ties the robe off and unlocks the door, throws it open in a rush.
Nearly impossible. Lauren blinks. She rubs her eyes and blinks again. A svelte, shadowy form leans against her door frame, one hand on her hip, a bottle of champagne in the other.
"Evony?" Lauren's voice is laced with sleep and confusion.
"In bed already? Who are you, my grandmother? I just thought I'd stop by and help you break in the new place." She holds up the bottle of champagne and smirks. She's always smirking. Lauren isn't sure what to think of it, that devious crease at the corner of her mouth, her pursed lips.
"But I've already been here for almost a week." Change of address forms completed and turned in, everything unpacked and organized, the works.
"So?" The Morrigan shoulders in, sidles past Lauren and does a lap around the living room. "I'm a little late. So sue me. Damn, I did hook you up, didn't I?"
Lauren, stifling a chuckle, crosses her arms and glances at the floor. "Yeah, it is nice. That's for sure."
The Morrigan leans in close and whispers, "You're welcome." She winds a lock of Lauren's hair around her finger and Lauren's breath catches in her throat. This game of cat and mouse is a little more difficult to navigate when she isn't fully awake and alert, and the Morrigan notices. "Relax, sweetheart." She scoffs, squinting at Lauren like she's some kind of freak. "I don't bite. Well, not all the time." The champagne falls into Lauren's hands and the Morrigan is off again and seating herself on the couch.
She traces the seams in the leather with a perfectly manicured nail and turns to look back at Lauren. Her face is still an enigmatic smirk. What does she really want? Lauren wasn't lying—she doesn't trust her and isn't going to. She'll be friendly with her as long as she has to though, if she's honest with herself, Evony actually hasn't made it too hard so far.
"Have you been to the research labs yet?"
"Yeah, uh… yeah. I went yesterday. I can't say I approve of all of your, um, methods, but it certainly was… interesting."
"I hope the staff were helpful?"
"Yes, everyone was very pleasant." Oddly so. Lauren had never expected any of the dark fae to be "nice." As much as she hates being wrong, she is certainly objective enough to recognize it when it happens, and she can admit it. She was a little hasty on the judgment front. Only a little, but she does have to give it to the dark—in some aspects, they aren't very different from the average light fae at all.
"I'm glad to hear their hostessing skills are better than yours, anyway." She winks. The Morrigan winking still makes Lauren a touch uncomfortable deep in her gut, but she does her best to squelch those feelings for the sake of harmony.
"Gee, thanks." She half-laughs.
"Oh, I'm just teasing. Lighten up, Lauren, come on. Come sit! I didn't bring that champagne for you to stand there and hold it."
She opens her mouth to say something about how she really should get back to bed, but something—peer pressure, maybe—stops her, and she sighs and shakes her head, an involuntary smile tugging at her lips as she walks to get a pair of champagne glasses out of the kitchen cabinets.
The floor is cold on her bare feet. She tucks them under herself when she sits on the couch next to the Morrigan. She offers her guest a glass and works the cork out, gently, without letting it make too much noise. They eye each other and drink. It's poker face against poker face.
"I have a proposition for you," the Morrigan says, finally. Lauren knew it. She wouldn't just come here for such a trivial reason unless she were buttering her up for something. Admittedly, her company can be enjoyable, but there are definitely still ulterior motives lurking underneath all the good-natured teasing and playful sarcasm.
Lauren twists the side of her mouth and bites her lip, not even really wanting to ask: "What is it?"
"It's nothing serious. Don't sound like that, geez, so doom and gloom."
"Forgive me if I'm a little hesitant to go making deals with the Morrigan."
The Morrigan reaches over and grabs her wrist. She stares dumbly at the hand, not knowing how else to react. "Hey, it's Evony, remember?"
"Oh, I remember." Oops. She hadn't meant for that to come out quite so snarky or suggestive, but she's quite sure that neither of them has forgotten the particularly interesting conclusion to their last meeting. "I'm sorry," she corrects herself. "Evony."
"Anyway," Evony continues, putting on an air of haughty indifference, "I, being somewhat chic, have never seen an episode of Star Trek. I will let you make me watch it, but you'll owe me a favor." She grins, leans back on the couch. She's wearing some tight little black number, heels, skin tight jeans. She pulls a knee up and hooks her hands around it and Lauren glances down at her thighs.
"I can't say I'm too keen on the idea of owing you a favor, either," she says, looking back up to her face.
"You don't even know what kind of favor it is yet." Evony edges closer and stretches across her to place her empty champagne glass on the end table next to Lauren's side of the couch. She brushes conspicuously against Lauren as she straightens back up. Her perfume lingers and Lauren is immediately uncomfortable again. She licks her now-dry lips, knowing full well that licking actually does nothing to moisturize them and can even contribute to continuing dryness, but it's reflex. Evony grins, evidently pleased with herself. She reaches up and brushes a stray hair out of Lauren's face. "You might like it."
Her fingers are like silk. A killer's hands shouldn't be so soft. Lauren finds herself tilting her face into the touch, her jaw in Evony's palm. Evony trails her fingertips down Lauren's cheekbone and across her lips, coy and casual. She smiles slightly and bites her own lip—Lauren remembers that look well, that artful "come hither."
Those lips are full, pushed out and tempting, but she won't let herself give in. She looks down and away.
"Lauren." Evony drops her voice, tilting Lauren's jaw to make her look back into those inscrutable brown eyes. "I know you want to."
Lauren doesn't have to ask "to what?" She pushes her fingers through Evony's hair and pulls her face to her own and kisses her for the second time. It's longer this time, maybe because Evony was expecting it. She shifts to straddle Lauren's lap, allows her to push her mouth open and kiss her hard and deep. All Lauren can hear are her little breaths, the rustle of fabric on fabric as Evony rocks her hips against the front of the bath robe.
The damned bath robe. Lauren unties it, or tries to; her hands shake from the adrenaline. Evony reaches down to help her. She throws the robe open and bites her shoulder, her collarbone—she's a liar; she does bite—only for Lauren to flip her around, push her hard against the couch and retaliate. She catches Evony's lip in her teeth and tugs on it, then dives back in for another long kiss. Evony makes a noise between a moan and a whimper and arches her back. Lauren pushes on her shoulders, keeps her down. She shoves her knee between those dark fae legs and gets a gasp in return.
"Look at me," she says, squeezing hard on the area where Evony's neck meets her delicate shoulder. She kisses her again and says again, stronger, "Look at me," feeling empowered by their current state of positioning. Evony opens her eyes and looks up at her.
"Yes, Dr. Lewis?"
"I'm not making any deals with you, and I won't play favors," she says against Evony's jaw as she rakes her fingernails down her chest.
Evony pushes and slides out from under her, shoves her all the way down into a reclining position. She's strong for being so small—most fae are, Lauren guesses—and the sudden role reversal incites brief panic before she leans down and whispers in Lauren's ear, her fingers playing on the hem of her nightgown, "I think you already are."
Lauren freezes at the feeling on Evony's hand on her bare thigh. What is she doing? She runs her fingertips over the skin, dangerously high, for a few moments—Am I ready for this? I don't think I'm ready for this—before pulling her hand out from under the gown's skirt. Lauren sinks into the leather and tries to catch her breath, her skin still tingling where Evony's fingers had been. She isn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Evony withdraws, crosses her legs like a lady, and waits. Relieved. Relieved, yes.
When Lauren sits up and looks at Evony, she can't help but laugh: her thick brown curls are a tangled mess due to all of the writhing around on the couch. "Your hair looks ridiculous."
"Ugh, I'm sure." Evony reaches up to smooth her hair back down and Lauren takes the opportunity to clear her throat and take the champagne glasses to the kitchen. The clacking of heels on tile follows her. She has just placed the glasses neatly next to the sink when a pair of hands sneak around her shoulders.
She turns around to kiss the Morrigan, gently, with her hand just resting on her neck—not unlike their first kiss.
"You know I definitely don't trust you now, right?" she says after the kiss trails off.
"As we've established, you're a smart woman. I wouldn't expect any less."
Lauren squints at her, studies her. Her face is blank, walled as ever. "Well," Lauren says, mulling her over, "I'd better get back to bed."
"You're not even gonna invite a girl in?" Evony grins and starts toward the door.
"Maybe someday when I'm more convinced that you won't try to kill me in my sleep," Lauren teases.
"Hey." Evony's brow furrows and Lauren almost regrets the joke. "I mean it when I say I want you to feel comfortable, you know. We protect our own. You don't have to worry about that kind of shit anymore."
"I know, I know. Bad joke. Sorry." Lauren smiles awkwardly at the floor, not wanting to meet the fae's gaze.
"It's been fun as usual," Evony says from the doorway. Lauren waves as she leaves, then shuts the door and slumps back against it. She stands there for a few long minutes, processing and categorizing everything that just transpired.
Fun. It was fun, wasn't it?
She flops into her bed and lies there twisting her own hair around her fingers, staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep to reclaim her. Despite all of the weirdness, for the first time in a long time, maybe she can afford to feel somewhat comfortable. Protected. Equal. Free. Like someone who belongs. Maybe working for the dark fae won't be so bad after all. And maybe Evony really can be just Evony sometimes. That doesn't mean she trusts her, of course, but maybe she'll work on cutting her a little slack. Maybe… the night is full of maybes, of possibilities, of mischief.
And of dreams.