Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: T
Laila's POV
Adaptation
by Kirin Morgenstern
Laila always considered herself a forgiving, open-minded and observant young woman.
After all, Floréan only had to overcome torture, opium withdrawal and insanity to gain him her complete acceptance as a part of Noir's life. Nevertheless she still regarded him as a kind of pet.
Nice to look at, fragile and harmless.
Now in the corridor, pressed against the wall far away from Noir's bedroom, with flaming red cheeks and breathing hard, she really, really needed to reconsider some things. Obviously she wasn't observant enough.
She's neither blind nor stupid. And responsible for the laundry - redheaded men handing over recently rinsed, still wet sheets meant one out of two possibilities for sure: incontinence or sex.
She knew that Noir's and Floréan's relationship had reached an intimate level long before anybody else in the house.
She always liked to be prepared for every kind of situation.
Walking in on them while they were ... busy was bound to happen sooner or later. It was almost impossible not to.
Partially because humans easily forget to lock doors while occupied.
Mainly because they tended to be awfully quiet. Just whispered murmurs and soft sounds, impossible to detect through the solid doors without a glass as amplifier – not that she tried. Not more than once. Or twice.
Therefore Laila had worked out, carefully and immaculately, what to do if she ever accidentally walked in on them: she would take a short, discreet look at them – to make sure she hadn't misinterpreted the situation, with their usual lifestyle it could be a literally vital error - , turn on her heels, leave the room without hectic and then calmly close the door.
No agitation, no bad feelings.
The different scenarios she repeatedly displayed in her mind – just to build up a kind of mental resistance of course – all had one thing in common: Noir was always in complete control. Looking regal and perfect even in the throes of passion.
So she was bit biased, who cared?
But obviously she wasn't open-minded enough, either.
Because now there's only one very fragmented thought – besides must breath - running through her head.
Noir. Not. Top. Noir. Wasn't . Top. On. Not. On. Top. Noir. NOT. Top.
The shock, she's currently suffering from, was her own fault, she supposed. She never expected to see Noir give up control to anybody.
Even when he surrendered himself, mistaking her for Azura, for the sake of his servants, he'd been in complete control. Not over the situation, but although in chains and tortured he still kept a firm reign over himself. In all her time with Noir she witnessed only on very few occasions small cracks in his countenance, always because of Floréan.
But nowevery restrain had been broken. Writhing on the sheets, his hands twisted in the blankets, his eyes never leaving Floréan.
Sweaty and disheveled. Cheeks red and eyes brilliant.
Wantonly.
A tingle rushed down Laila's spine.
Dark and porcelain skin glistening in the candlelight. Red scratches on Floréan's surprisingly muscular back. Totally consumed in each other.
Oblivious to their surroundings...
Laila thoughtfully paused in her reminiscence, her eyes glazing over slowly. The door was still open, she probably should go and close it.
And maybe take a quick look... just to make sure they really hadn't been disturbed of course. And to build up a more ... versatile resistance. Of course.
FIN
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C & C always welcome!
AN:
I blame the weird little dream about Laila as yaoi-fangirl.
And the candy.
And the little tenacious "Noir gives up/hands over control" obsession I developed recently.
And... I' m babbling, sorry, but I'm really nervous about this one. It's the cliché "XY walks in on Y and X" I used, I suppose. Although I usually don't mind – cliché exists for a reason after all – , (ab)using it in an English fic makes me... agitated.