((Author's Note: My bad, everyone! Just realized that I was creating separate "stories" instead of adding chaps...ugh, haha. Well, my first time publishing on FF...I guess we'll just have to roll with it this time! Thanks for reading anyway! This chapter is a little saucy... ;} brace yourselves.))
"My boots are dirty. Mag, they'll ruin your—" Shilo protested, taken aback.
"It's alright." Mag gazed at Shilo's feet with her hands wrapped around the back of her ankles. Mag appeared to be quite comfortable, and soon a comfortable silence descended upon them. Shilo plucked her medical bracelet from the vanity, and since her dress clearly lacked pockets, determined the device would be safe enough (and out of sight) to be tucked into the loose neck of her boot. She examined the kneeling diva's soft tresses, her smooth and unwrinkled forehead, the coal around her eyes, the softness of her cheeks and the slightly defined point of her nose...
"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable." The young woman offered quietly, wholly unable to read the situation.
'Mag, you're so beautiful...' The way you said it sounded...I've never heard anyone say it quite that way before...
"It's alright, Shilo. Don't fret." Mag could hear Shilo breathing easier, and she gently lifted her eyes to meet Shilo's face.
"I loved you from the moment your Mother told me that she was with child..." She watched Shilo's expression as it moved freely—unfixed, like the wheels that were no doubt turning in the girl's head.
Now I'm sorry. Perhaps that's a strange thing for one to hear from someone she barely knows...
Shilo slid from the vanity bench, and because they were so close together to begin with, ended up kneeling over Mag's lap—nearly straddling the older woman, with the flesh of her inner thighs barely touching Mag's...Mag noticed that Shilo would not rest herself on her lap, but chose instead to sit back on the sturdy heels of her boots. The diva didn't think to be slighted—she didn't know what to expect, really. This part of her evening was completely unplanned.
I shouldn't be doing this...She's seventeen—my goddaughter...
But if Mag was honest with herself (and she did naturally lean toward that train of thought), she would have to take note of the fact that her body didn't feel anxious in the least. In her experience, it was easier to trust the body. The mind is too easily distracted. Especially, in this case, a mind that fancies itself generally moral.
I'll die tonight...She remembered. What business do I have judging the situation before anything has happened—and more to the point, what does it matter? I haven't pushed her into staying. The door is unlocked...Mag allowed her worries to drift away before continuing.
"I thought of you every day. I wondered how you would look and how you would grow up. I carried you with me, even when your father told me that you had died. And you look..." The soprano did not say, 'like your mother,' as she was sure Nathan did often. Shilo did look a little like Marni, but there was something almost exotic looking about her deep cocoa eyes, full cheeks and defined jawline. Maybe Nathan's jaw. But the eyes...?
"You look far more beautiful than I had ever imagined." Mag said sweetly. Shilo colored and smiled sheepishly at her hands that rested in her lap. Mag could feel her legs growing warm where Shilo's barely grazed. She could feel the soft fiber of the younger woman's knee- high tights, and the little black dress Shilo donned looked vaguely familiar...
But it's just a simple, satin dress. Why should it look familiar? Maybe it's her—she makes it
look more beautiful than it really is.
The diva felt a bizarre mixture of chemicals flooding her body. She felt serene, but unsettled. Comfortable, but wanting. Maternal, and something else entirely. She was confused for a moment and felt faint and feverish. Her corset barely covered her body and she was still bare legged and barefoot, but the room felt like a furnace. Unconsciously, the diva moved her lustrous hair from her neck and draped it over a bare shoulder. The movement of Mag's hands caused Shilo to look up from her lap and her dark eyes locked onto the older woman's. Unbidden, a poem flitted into Mag's mind:
There's a moment when I look at you
and no speech is left in me.
My tongue breaks, then fire races under my skin and I tremble...and grow pale
for I am dying of such love...
And indeed, the confident soprano was at a loss for words. All gentility and candor—all experience and intellect were consumed by Shilo's chocolate smooth irises. Strangely, Mag didn't know what to do. She wanted to speak, but could not. She knew her modified corneas were always recording what she saw, but she wanted to capture the moment with her flesh—make it physical, make it real...It is often easier to trust the body, after all. Mag leaned forward slowly.
Remember this. Remember what you feel. There will never be another time...Let it take you.
The feathers and tulle tickled her feet as she drew herself up to meet Shilo. She heard Shilo's little gasp of surprise as she neared. With her palms, she felt the girl's cloth stockings and then the soft skin of her upper thighs that remained exposed by the short dress. She gently raked her close cut, dark red fingernails toward the hem of Shilo's dress—she could feel the girl breathing heavily on her mouth. Mag rubbed the yielding satin hem between her fingers and her breath caught in her throat. She pressed her painted lips to Shilo's ever so gently—featherlight and floating. She felt Shilo's fishnet covered hands grab hold of her forearms. Her grip was hard and hungry and it caused Mag to bend a little nearer into the kiss until she flushed and separated from Shilo. Their mouths hovered for a few moments, neither woman breaching the tight space between them. Their breaths came audibly and desperate for equilibrium— creating a layer of invisible steam that was too blistering to cross. Half dazed and eager to discern what the young woman was feeling, Mag tried to focus on Shilo's expression. Her face was relaxed. Her lips were parted, and the girl couldn't seem to open her eyes.
"You've never been kissed before." Mag's voice verged on a whisper. It was less of a question...She took a shot in the dark and tried to ease the younger woman. Shilo shook her head, as if to indicate that she had not. Her grasp on Mag had softened, which gave the diva enough leeway to slide her arms toward herself until Shilo's small hands landed in hers. Mag caressed Shilo's blue-veined knuckles with her thumbs, hoping stir her from her mild shock. Mag found it incredibly endearing— adorable, even.
She's so sweet. Lovely and gentle...
A small ripple of happiness lighted on the diva's cheeks and caused her dark red lips to stretch into a cheshire cat smile.
"You said that fate brought us back together..." Shilo's eyes fluttered open. "I don't want to lose you again..." she confessed in a whisper. Mag's wide grin fell a little, her white teeth faintly glinting behind her slightly parted lips. And Shilo must have caught its bittersweet aftertaste. The younger woman squeezed Mag's hands, as if trying to will the other to reassure her.
"...Don't leave me." Shilo's voice sounded hoarse and strained.
Oh god...I have to tell her something. Not everything, but something...
Mag's mind hurried to find a response that would vaguely connect the loose ends.
"After tonight, Magdalene Defoe will be as she was, and everything will change for you, Shilo. But no matter what happens—apart from everything else, you should know that your life was imprinted on my heart over 17 years ago..." Mag moved a stray tendril of hair away from Shilo's eyes. "I will never leave you." Her hand brushed the young woman's cheek, and Shilo followed its motion with a tilt of her head. Shilo still leaned into the ghost of Mag's hand, even as the warm, physical hand made its way back into Mag's lap. Shilo's eyebrows wilted. Small creases appeared on the youthful skin of her forehead.
She reached out and touched her thumb to Mag's dark red lips. Mag could feel Shilo's fingers cradling her chin and the delicate stroke of the young woman's thumb on her overly sensitized mouth. The gesture was subtle, yet inexplicably tantalizing. And something ecstatic gripped the diva—so physically, she felt her abdominal muscles suddenly contract. Reflexively, Mag's hands reached for Shilo and landed on the small band of pale, exposed thigh. Mag squeezed. Shilo brought her hands down on top of Mag's...They stared into each others eyes, not speaking, but communicating something. Something neither of them could do justice to with words. An electrical storm began to rumble at the base of the diva's spine. It vibrated and hummed against her nerves. Heat wrapped her body like a thick blanket. Her head felt cloudy. She almost swooned looking into Shilo's deep brown irises flecked with caramel lamplight.
What is happening to me? Oh, god...what—
Mag's thoughts flat-lined as lightning shot up her spinal column and branched out into every nerve ending. Everything around her vanished. She couldn't remember where she was. She couldn't remember who she was. She only saw Shilo. All else was dim and far away. The sensations were blinding, and she blinked—dazed and defenseless. Her lips parted and everything that seemed to hold her together, cracked and burst open. A wellspring of comforting warm burst like a sieve and pooled around her. It was only then that Mag became aware of how she must have looked to Shilo, but there was nothing to restrain her—she felt uncovered and receptive. She felt seen, in the deepest sense of the word.
She watched Shilo breathing shallowly but quick, and something frantic and longing rising to the surface of her face. Nothing else seemed to matter. The soprano only thought to keep Shilo as close to her as possible, for as long as possible. Without breaking eye contact, Shilo moved boldly forward to finally mount the diva's lap. The young woman's dress hiked up further and barely covered the bottom of her black cotton boyshort panties. Mag could feel the girl's muscles seize and harden as she sat astride her legs. The older woman wrapped her arms around Shilo's lower back to relieve some of the tension required to hold herself steady on Mag's lap...And to Mag's pleasant surprise, it was Shilo who initiated the next move.
She fingered a handful of Mag's glossy hair and combed her fingers through. She licked her lips before resting her hands on Mag's upper chest. Her fingertips curled around the diva's shoulder muscles, and she pulled herself adamantly down onto Mag's lips. She pressed her soft mouth to the diva's, unwavering—wholeheartedly, and laced her fingers in the soprano's thick, luscious hair. Mag slipped her tongue out just far enough to touch Shilo's lips. Her quick licks were insistent and teasing, and the girl quickly relaxed into their embrace. The diva caressed Shilo's arms, her tight stomach. Shilo's fingers traced the soprano's jaw and trailed down her throat. The girl touched the soft feathers above Mag's breast. Mag grasped Shilo's hips and was easily able to slide the tiny girl until their bodies pressed together. They held each other as if their lives depended on it. As if they were determined to embrace forever. They began to breathe with each other. Their tongues danced single- mindedly to the pulse that beat in the friction of skin, and cloth, and feathers, and leather.