Title: The Consecration of the Order
Pairing: Gemma/Felicity
Rating: R
Warnings: Contains femmeslash. And underage drinking. Woot!
Summary: What ought to have happened during the first meeting of the Order. I was reading the book, and when I got to this passage, I was just bursting for something more to come, and it never did. "Her Felicity's mouth is still sticky sweet from it the apple as she kisses me full on the lips. I have to put my hand to them to stop the tingling, and a blush has flooded my entire body" (p. 143, A Great and Terrible Beauty)I mean, it's obvious she's turned on, and she does nothing. Grr. So, I figured, the only solution was to write it meself, aye?
The dancing light on the walls of the cave of our many glittering candles lent a surreal cast to everything, even more surreal than it already was- sitting around with no shoes, talking of the occult in a cave at midnight. My body was warm and heavy with whiskey, and I could barely feel the tears I knew to be sliding down my cheeks. I had no mind for such subtle sensations- I was floating on the night breeze, and everything seemed at once far too funny and gravely important.
Felicity looked like a goddess in the strange light; one side of her face silvery blue from the light of the stars and the full moon, the other dancing shivering flame. Her white-blonde hair was molten gold and silver, and her eyes sparkled as she regarded me languidly. I looked down swiftly, illogically embarrassed by the sudden meeting of our gazes.
"Don't tell me you're going to be one of those maudlin drunks" she says with a halfhearted grin. "No more for you then. Here, have something to eat."
A flash of red, and I realise she has tossed me the still-uneaten apple. I look at it, not moving to take a bite, simply looking at the crisp rind- red and shining, stretched tight over the succulent flesh beneath, marveling at the perfection inherent in something as simple as an apple. I laugh, knowing but not caring how absurd I must sound, how absurd I'm acting. The drink has turned my head, surely.
Ideas for the name of our new club are being exchanged now, bouncing off the walls, absurdly romantic names that make us laugh. "Athena's Priestesses" and "Love's Four Winds" as well as dourly practical ones: "The Young Ladies of Spence" and "Our Group". When we run out of ideas, we slump back against each other, watching the strange goddesses and huntresses cavort riotously on the cave walls, fighting and dancing wildly in the firelight. Suddenly an idea strikes me.
"The Order." I murmur quietly, half to myself.
"Mmm?" That's Felicity, lying next to me, and as I turn my head, she cocks a curious eye at me.
"Why not call ourselves the Order?" I say.
Felicity practically jumps up and flashes me a dazzling grin. Unaccountably, I warm at this simple gesture, and I sit up a little straighter, still clutching my apple. Felicity is ecstatic.
"How absolutely perfect! Gemma, you are our genius."
I grin abashedly and shrug, as if to say 'oh, it was nothing', but Felicity will have nothing of modesty and promptly sits down besides me, slinging an arm about my shoulders in a most unladylike way. She smiles at me softly, and taking the hand with the apple in it, guides it to her mouth and takes a bite. I expect her to let go of my hand and get up to make some sort of regal proclamation, but her delicate fingers linger upon mine, and she leans forward, her perfect, bow-shaped mouth curving into a small, secret smile.
I blink, not knowing what to expect, searching her darkling eyes and enigmatic smile for any hint as to what she is thinking, a flush spreading through my body at the thoughts that spring unbidden to my mind. She leans a little closer, her smile now smugly feline, and then, suddenly, the scant centimetres of air between us are no longer there, and her lips are sticky sweet on mine, tasting of apple and burning with whiskey.
A tingling sensation spreads through me, pooling somewhere in what seems to be my centre, the heat in my flushed skin doubling and trebling. And yet those lips are still there, softly insistent, and at their coaxing, my own lips part, and now the kiss is wetter, and the flavour of Felicity's mouth is on my tongue, and oh my…
There is a gasp from Ann, and tittering from Pippa as they turn from their talk to see Felicity and I kissing lazily next to the fire. We break apart and I look at the other two girls.
"Do shut up."
Ann nods fearfully, looking uncertainly at Felicity and myself, and I smirk evilly. Pippa simply smiles in an entirely too innocent way and says "Oh, of course."
I grin back at her, though my body is still tingling with a combination of the whiskey and the touch of Felicity's lips. Another gasp sounds from Ann, and I turn to see what she's staring at, and inadvertently a gasp escapes my own lips. Felicity is standing in the mouth of the cave, bathed in moonlight, in the process of undoing her frock. Already she's discarded her blouse, and all the beautiful, ivory white curvature of her bare arms and corseted waist are exposed to my delighted eyes.
"Umm, Fee?" Pippa is staring incredulously at Felicity, "Dare I ask what you're doing?"
"I'm undressing, silly." Felicity says lightly
"Well, uh, yes. Um, I could tell that. Let me rephrase myself. Why are you undressing?"
"Because I'm hot." She says with a devilish grin.
Now her skirts are off, and all she's wearing is her shift and corset. I blink, once again, not entirely sure what this might be leading to, trying desperately to ignore what I hoped it was leading to, as well as the heat that had flooded my body and had yet to go away.
"Gemma, would you be a love and untie my corset for me?"
I almost choke upon hearing that, but hastily stand up, brush off my dress, go over to Felicity, and begin to unlace her corset. Trying to make my fumbling fingers cooperate is a difficult task, but eventually I untie the last of the lacing, and Felicity tosses the constricting thing into a corner with a reckless grin.
"Now let's do you."
And swiftly, more swiftly than I would have guessed possible, what with the whiskey in her blood, she spins me around and begins to undo the back of my blouse.
"Um, Felicity-" My voice cracks, ever so slightly, and I curse silently at myself, "I don't think, well, that is- ah. I shouldn't really be-"
"Shh."
Her lips graze my earlobe ever so slightly, her breath ghosting my neck, hot and wet and tingly, sending a shudder racing through me to the secret place between my legs. My breath hitches, ever so slightly, and my mouth goes suddenly bone-dry. Felicity quickly discards my shirt and starts on my corset, and unintentionally, my own hands slip down and unbutton my skirt, carelessly letting it fall to the floor, and then ripping off my petticoats.
Pausing suddenly, Felicity turns to Pippa and Ann.
"Pip, dear? I think you and Ann should leave now."
"But, what if-" Ann begins to protest, but Felicity shushes her with a wave of her hand. "Ann, really you should. I don't want you two to get into trouble on our account. Please go." This is said with a very meaningful look, and when Ann suddenly understands why exactly Felicity wants her and Pippa to leave, she blushes furiously and scuttles out of the cave with a half-hearted wave back at us. Pippa leaves with deliberate slowness, casting suggestive looks over her shoulder at the pair of us.
Felicity and I burst out into giggles.
"Such a pair of Sapphists we are!" She says with wicked delight, taking another sip of whiskey. I laugh too, not knowing what a Sapphist is, but loving the expression of iniquitous relish on her face.
"Um… a what?"
She smirks at me. "Why, Gemma, we need to catch up on our history, don't we? Sapphist- from Sappho, the Greek lady poet who preferred the company of other women." Her voice drops an octave on the last two words, and she shoots me a sort of glance I have no name for, for it's certainly not the sort of word they would deign to teach us in English classes at Spence. I shiver.
"A wee bit nervous are we, Gem?"
"Nervous?" I shoot her an imperious glance. "Perhaps. I can't say I'm entirely sure. Is this nervous?"
And with that I catch her by the neck and draw her into a second kiss, this time with none of the awkward questing of the first time. This time it is she who gasps into my mouth, she who pauses for a moment before returning the kiss hungrily. It is perfect. It's sloppy and sticky and tasting like cider from the combination of whiskey and apple. When she pulls away from me, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes shining and she looks slightly less like a goddess and a little more like a girl. After a moment, I recall the reason I kissed her in the first place.
"So," I say haughtily, "would demoiselle say that qualifies as nervous?"
Felicity grins, arching one pale blonde eyebrow at me. "That was not. However…" She pauses, giving me a wickedly considering look, "this might be. Do let's sit down, Gemma."
Cautiously, unsteadily, I take a seat on the dusty stone floor. Felicity does the same. After a moment of looking at me with that same strange glance, she crawls forward, somehow managing to still look graceful, ever closer, our faces are scant inches apart. Expecting another kiss, I lean forward eagerly but she puts one slender, pale finger to my lips, smiling softly. I am quite puzzled at this, but assuming Felicity to know what she is doing, I allow myself to lean farther and farther back, until I am all but lying on the floor. She sits above me, her lips still quirked in that strange, seductive half-smile, saying nothing until I try to get up.
"Gemma, shh, lie back down." She trails a cold finger down behind my ear, across my neck, sending that shudder racing through me, leaving me no choice but to lie down, whimpering softly, leaning into her touch. My eyes close involuntarily as her fingers once again trace the outline of my ear.
"You're drunk, Felicity." I murmur, half wanting her to stop.
"I know."
"You don't, I mean, ohh…"
There is a soft chuff of laughter against my neck, but no answer, as Felicity seems to prefer to abruptly bite down on my earlobe, and then start sucking on it and I have no choice but to arch into the sensation, that place between my legs all of a sudden feeling strangely wet and hot. Cracked, wordless sounds spill from my mouth, panting, begging Felicity for I didn't even know what. She laughs and retreats then, leaving my ear and neck suddenly very cold.
"You are easy to get to, aren't you?"
I blink. "What?"
A gentle smile from Felicity, "Oh, nothing."
And then, suddenly there is a hand, trailing up my thigh, fingers dragging over my flesh, sending ripples of gooseflesh out from the points they touch. I gasp at the impropriety of it. Felicity gives me a wryly amused look, as if to say this is shocking, but what I was doing to you not a minute ago wasn't? I have to concede, she's right. After all, I don't imagine there could be anything much more inappropriate than two sixteen year old girls in a cave in the woods at midnight, drunk, half-naked, kissing. It's rather wonderful.
Lost in Felicity's kisses, I do not notice her hand, travelling higher and higher up my thigh until suddenly cold fingertips brush against that place I dare not think about, tangling in the hair sprouting in ginger curls at the junction of my legs. Strangely, my mind flashes to William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, to a line which I hadn't understood at the time I read it: …her fine foot and quivering thigh, and the demesnes that there adjacent lie… But then her fingers are slipping about hot wetness, and she hits a spot which makes me arch off the cave floor, the sinful, sherbet pleasure of it drifting and curling through my belly, winding into taut needful ridges of heat.
It seems that my entire world is centered between my thighs; the cave feels as if it's spinning, the sound of my own shallow pants distant in my ears. All I'm aware of is the sensation of her fingers on me and the hot rushes of pleasure cramping through my body. It's like nothing I've ever felt before and I cannot check my tongue as I gasp out brokenly
"Oh God Fee, what are you doing to me?"
She merely smiles and continues playing me like a fiddle. It is like an itch, this sensation; a wonderful, hot, indecent itch deep inside me. What Felicity is doing only makes the sensation worse (or better) and even harder to bear, and I feel something hot, trembling, liquid, spiraling, bursting to get out. And then I'm gasping as a sudden wave of pleasure jolts out through all my nerves, a pleasure so intense that I lose all conscious thought for a moment. My body tenses and bucks and then I crumple to the floor, tremours still juddering through me.
Suddenly I am aware of how sweaty I am, how inordinately hot the cave is, how dirty I feel. I sit up slowly, my eyes (which, I've only just realised, have been closed) blinking in the harsh glare of the fire. Feeling strangely and abruptly self-conscious, I awkwardly cover my exposed breasts with an arm and turn to stare up at Felicity, who is licking her fingers with all the air of a smug cat who's gotten into the cream.
"Is that-?" My voice is incredulous, but Felicity once again merely gives me that infuriating smirk of hers.
"It's you, Gemma dear." When I say nothing, she continues, her voice laced with a hint of mockery, "Your essence, your flavour, your juices."
"Eurgh!"
I must admit, I am rather scandalised, despite what she's just done to me. Licking… that off one's fingers does seem to be a bit much to me. Felicity, as might be expected, laughs, laving one of her fingers obscenely with her tongue.
"You want a taste?"
And she leans in for another kiss.