[Please]

Evenne didn't make any sense. She hated her figure, always covering it up with loose sweatervests and t-shirts, and yet she had a long leather coat the fitted her every curve; she always complained about being too tall but her favourite pair of boots had platforms four inches thick; she always said she was normal but when she didn't think anybody was looking she wore heavy black eyeliner and lipstick. Worst of all, she hated admitting that she was gay but sometimes when she went out with L'Erena she would simply turn around and snog her in front of any passer by who should happen to be looking her way.
"Why are you so indecisive?" L'Erena asked one evening as Evenne prepared dinner (stir fry). "I mean, you're just a paradox. Everything you do contradicts itself. It annoys me."
Evenne shrugged.
"I guess I just don't have the self esteem to be who I want to be all the time,"
"Who do you want to be?" L'Erena asked.
"I want to be that crazy Goth girl who doesn't care what anybody thinks, and won't ever take shit from anybody. The one who'll wear what she wants, when she wants, and the girl who's gay and in love and doesn't care what the hell God chooses to say about it. But... I don't know. It's hard."
L'Erena leaned back against her chair, tipping it onto two legs.
"You mean the Goth girl who actually wears clothes that fit her?"
Evenne snorted, tipping the last of the vegetables into the wok and mixing it up again.
"Sometimes I wonder if that's the only thing you care about."
"I just want to show you off." L'Erena said. "People think you're fat, the way you dress, and I want them to know that you're not."
Evenne didn't reply as she served up the stir fry into two bowls, then pulled off her apron and sat next to L'Erena, forcibly pushing her down onto all four legs of her stool as she passed (Evenne was strong. She practised three types of martial arts, although nobody would ever guess from the way she acted).
"What you need," L'Erena said with her mouth half full, "Is to talk to Lumaira."
Evenne let out a small, displeased moan.
"Ugh. I hate him."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Only that he's completely and utterly up himself,"
"It's called having high self esteem," L'Erena corrected. "Come on, he's got buckets of it to spare. He can help you out."
"I don't need his help," Evenne snapped.
"Don't you want to be the crazy Goth girl?"
"I-"
Evenne gave up. L'Erena was right (of course).
"I'm just saying that maybe you should take a page out of his book," L'Erena said, turning back to her food. "I mean, just look at him. He runs his own business, he fucks a different man every night, he's happy."
"I wouldn't call that happiness, personally," Evenne retorted.
"Yeah, well, maybe he'll settle down with some cute little thing one day," L'Erena said. "But what I'm trying to point out is that he's happy with what he's got. And clearly, you're not."
"I'm happy with my love life," Evenne said reproachfully.
"What, your love life that you can't admit to anybody exists?"
"That was low."
"I'm just saying. Do your parents even know about me?"
"My parents don't know I'm a lesbian." Evenne admitted uncomfortably.
"Precisely . And neither does anybody at work - at the job that you hate, might I add - and neither would any of your friends, if you had any that weren't also mine."
Evenne sighed a little, laying down her fork and pushing away the barely dented meal.
"Thanks for that vote of confidence," She muttered, standing. "I've got work to do. I'll be in the office if you need me."
"Hey, Vennie! You need to eat, you-"
Evenne was already gone.
"-You moron."
L'Erena leaned over and took the uneaten meal over to the side, covering it over with cling film so that Evenne could eat it later, which she probably wouldn't because Evenne never ate enough.
She waited for five minutes before going up to the tiny office where they kept their computer (it was empty), and then to the bedroom (Evenne was lying on the bed looking miserable).
"Look, I didn't mean it like that."
Evenne sighed.
"I know. You never do."
L'Erena tiptoed over to climb onto the taller woman's stomach, and leaned over to knead her fingertips into Evenne's stiff shoulders.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay, I shouldn't have snapped."
"I love you, Vennie," L'Erena murmured. "But... I still think that you should talk to Lumaira. I want you to be happy, and..."
"I know," Evenne interrupted. "But it's not your problem, and it's not his, either. I should just get over myself and admit who I am."
L'Erena agreed completely with the second part, but she still felt a bit responsible; Evenne was her girlfriend, after all. And as for her job, she'd be so much happier if she wasn't working as a photographer for a notoriously homophobic newspaper.
"I think you should quit your job."
Evenne scoffed.
"Like either of us could afford that."
L'Erena sighed a little, lying down so that her head was resting next to Evenne's.
"But it's not helping, is it? And they'd lay you off if they found out that you were a lesbian anyway."
"Whether it helps or not doesn't change the fact that we're in a recession and I need to keep hold of any job that I can, suitable or not,"
L'Erena had to admit that that was true, even if she wasn't happy about it.
"But as soon as something better comes up, you're taking it. Okay?"
Evenne sighed. "You don't have to ask me."
"You're dodging the question. Promise me that you'll quit that job as soon as you can, even if it pays better than the alternative."
Evenne opened her mouth to argue, but with a determined look in her eyes L'Erena lifted her head and planted her lips firmly over Evenne's.
"Promise me." She mumbled quietly. "Please."
L'Erena hardly ever said please, and when she did, that meant that she was serious. Evenne had no choice but to give in.
"Fine."
"Promise?"
"Promise."

[Makeover]

"You know what your problem is?" Lumaira said as Evenne made her way carefully past the outfits and prints in his little shop (he did photography; he'd been running his own business for a while but he'd just recently had a big break with a larger modelling agency). She sighed; honestly, she'd gone through this enough with L'Erena without having to deal with it from Lumaira, too.
"What, that I've got no self esteem?"
"No," Lumaira said, walking back into the modelling studio and settling in one of the chairs at the side, "You just don't know how sexy you are." He waved his hand vaguely at Evenne's loose clothes, "Just look at yourself. You're wearing clothes that make you look awful."
"They're practical-" Evenne attempted, but clearly, Lumaira was going to have none of that. He was already rummaging around in one of his prop boxes, flinging out random items of clothing and... lacy underwear?
"Don't give me that. They're ridiculous. What you need, woman, is a shopping spree. But you need something better to wear first. I don't want to be seen dead with you in clothes like that. Hm."
Yet again, Evenne was reminded of why she hated Lumaira. He was so shallow!
"L'Erena tells me that you have a full length trench coat," Lumaira said as he pulled out a millitary-style jacket and held it up against Evenne's chest. "This'll do."
"So what if I do?" Evenne said a little defensively. She liked that coat. It was thick and warm, and a little piece of everything she wished that she was.
"We'll have to find some decent jeans when we're out shopping," Lumaira muttered, forcing the jacket over Evenne's shoulders and buttoning it up (it was tight). "I was just curious, since I've never actually seen you wearing it."
"I don't wear it very often," Evenne admitted.
"Why not?"
"Well... it makes people stare at me."
Lumaira rolled his eyes.
"And?"
"And... it's embarrassing." Evenne said quietly, feeling a little pathetic for saying that.
"God damn it," Lumaira said, "With a figure like yours, people are supposed to be staring. What turned you into this, this thing with no self esteem?"
"I'm not that bad," Evenne huffed self-righteously.
"You're worrying L'Erena, and that's enough for me to need to fix you," Lumaira stated, grabbing his wallet and steering her out through the shop.
"Selphie? Sweetheart, when I'm gone, don't sell anybody the four by three print in the top right, okay? It's already been reserved."
As Lumaira's hapless assistant nodded obediently, Evenne found herself pushed out of the door and onto the busy street. Lumaira, next to her, let out a contented sigh and began to walk.
"The thing is about you, Evenne," He began, "Is that you're a beautiful woman and you deserve to be turning heads. I know you're taken and all, but that body deserves attention. Even L'Erena agrees, and she's your girlfriend."
Evenne shrugged.
"Maybe I just want to blend in with the crowd?"
"If you wanted to blend in with the crowd, you wouldn't have a Goth coat, would you?" Lumaira replied without even skipping a beat. "Look, Vennie, we both know that what you really want to be isn't this. So what's stopping you?"
"I..." Evenne began, racking her brain for some kind of comeback. "What if people don't accept me?"
"What, like him?" Lumaira said sarcastically, pointing to some random man on the street. "Look, the people who are important are the people who already have accepted you. L'Erena, me, all of our friends at the club..."
"But what about my family?" Evenne said quietly. She'd never been able to summon up the courage to tell her parents that she was gay, and it had kind of caused a rift between them. They didn't really see much of each other these days.
"If they can't accept you for who you are, then they aren't family," Lumaira said firmly, pushing Evenne into shop number one. "Right. We won't actually buy anything, because none of this is your style, but this is just to make you see how sexy you are. Okay?"
Evenne disagreed, but she nodded anyway, trailing after Lumaira as he picked clothes after clothes off the shelves.
"So what dress size do you usually wear?"
"Twenty, normally."
"Bollocks. You're a fourteen at the most."
"My breasts won't fit into that," Evenne retorted. "And my hips are too wide for the right size trousers, too. And even if they weren't, my legs are too long."
"Wear a skirt, then," Lumaira replied.
Evenne couldn't argue with that, so she didn't reply as Lumaira pushed her into the changing room with an outfit.
"So why do you care what other people think?" He asked at Evenne changed.
"This shirt's too small. I can't do up the top button."
"Leave it undone, then. Why should you care? You've taken shit from people before over this, haven't you," Lumaira guessed.
"Only lost my job three times because I'm a lesbian," Evenne replied as she inspected herself in the mirror. She wasn't what she would call thin, but she wasn't exactly fat, either. Curvy was how L'Erena had put it. She had a tall frame (taller than most women and quite a lot of men, too), with wide shoulders and hips, but her waist was thin so she only looked overweight when she was wearing the wrong clothes. Right now, she wasn't, and the frills on the waistcoat she threw on over the shirt just seemed to accentuate her figure.
She opened up the curtain to show Lumaira.
"I feel like a slut."
Lumaira rolled his eyes, pushing her back into the view of the mirror.
"Would you fuck that?"
"No. That would be masturbating."
"I didn't mean literally. I'm just saying for god's sake, woman, look at yourself, because you're gorgeous and nobody needs to see something so wonderful draped over with baggy, unfashionable clothes. Come on, let's try something else."

Ten shops, innumerable outfits and a free councilling session later, Evenne found herself in a coffee shop with Lumaira and feeling - although she didn't want to admit it - a lot better about herself.
"So," Lumaira said.
"So what?"
"So you'll promise me that you won't wear hideous clothes any more?"
Evenne sighed, sipping at her hot chocolate.
"What is it with everybody and making me promise things?"
"Why, L'Erena ask something from you?"
"She made me promise that as soon as I found a different job I'd quit my current one."
Lumaira smiled.
"You know, I have been looking for a new model..."

[Better]

When L'Erena came home from work one day, Evenne was a mess. Not the usual, rushing-around-like-a-lunatic, screaming-in-everybody's-face messed up Evenne, the quiet, tear-streaked-cheeks and beer bottles messed up Evenne. She was in the kitchen, on her fifth or sixth pint of Stella Artois, and glaring pointedly at the far wall.
This wasn't the messed up Evenne that needed to be sorted out with a snarky comment and a joke or two, this was the messed up Evenne who needed a hug and a kiss and sympathy and somebody to hold her over the sink the next morning.
L'Erena was not good at sympathy by any stretch, but she had grudgingly realised that in serious relationships there were times when it was called for. Words were always a bad idea in these situations because Evenne was like a clam, and if she wasn't opened up with kisses and soothing massages first, she would close in on herself and L'Erena would never be any the wiser to anything. So when she came in she just took a seat on Evenne's lap, found that familiar nook in the small of her back with her hands, and kissed her until her lips were black. It wasn't until Evenne's shoulders hung lax and her mouth grudgingly returned L'Erena's affections that she knew it was okay to speak.
"What happened?"
Evenne glared at the collection of bottles with thick-rimmed eyes, but then her expression softened and she half sighed, half sobbed.
"I left."
L'Erena hesitated for a moment, but when Evenne didn't elaborate, she asked.
"Left?"
"My job," Evenne explained. "Like I promised. I told the boss I was gay and walked out. I'm not going back."
"So you found something better?" L'Erena guessed. Evenne shrugged non-committally.
"Well, I'm not sure about better..." She said, frowning.
"What is it?"
"It's this thing that Lumaira offered me," Evenne said. "Do do modelling for him. For this big agency that he's got the contract with."
L'Erena leaned back against the kitchen table, looking at Evenne's ruined make-up and beautiful, narrow face hiding beneath.
"How the hell is that questionably not better than your old job?"
"Well, I don't really know if I'm cut out to do that kind of-" Evenne tried, but L'Erena was having none of it.
"Shut up, you're gorgeous."
"I don't exactly look like most models, do I?"
L'Erena thought back to those stick thin, anorexic half-women featured so frequently in fashion magazines.
"That's a good thing."
Evenne smiled thinly.
"I suppose so."
"Come on. Let's have sex. You look like you need it."
"No, you look like you just want to see me naked."
"Damn right I do."

[Theoretically]

"L'Erena?"
It was that early morning ritual of getting dressed again, except today Evenne was naked and staying that way because she didn't have work, at all, ever. She was still in bed, lying on her stomach and reading some long, erudite novel.
L'Erena was not so lucky.
"Uh-huh."
"Would you marry me?"
"I what?"
"I mean, some time in the future. D'you think it would be a good idea to get married?"
L'Erena stopped buttoning up her shirt to stare at her girlfriend.
"That has to be the most unromantic proposal in the history of marriage."
"I'm not proposing," Evenne replied without looking up from her book. "I'm just saying. Theoretically. If I did ask, would you say yes?"
"Well, of course," L'Erena asked. "Why, are you planning to?"
"I don't know," Evenne said. "I was just thinking, that's all."

Of course, after that, L'Erena half expected Evenne to drop down on one knee at every dinner date they went on, or pull out a ring every time she stuck her hand in her pocket. But... she never did. L'Erena tried not to be disappointed, but she couldn't help wishing that Evenne hadn't just been thinking.

[New]

Evenne had been modelling for Lumaira for how long was it, two months? when he'd come back with the news that there was a gay fashion magazine who was interested. Not just interested, desperate to get their hands on Evenne.
"I don't know," She'd said as she juggled groceries and L'Erena in her hands, "I just don't know if I could do that sort of thing. This stuff is international. Some of it's even shipped to America."
"Why the hell not?" L'Erena had retorted. "Lumaira sells a lot of prints in America,"
"Well, I-"
"Pass me the bag with the sweetcorn in."
Evenne complied, and finally stable, they walked out of the shop (Well, Evenne walked and L'Erena was carried).
"I just don't know."
"It's something new, isn't it? And the pay's good." L'Erena said.
"I guess, but... it's going to be in shops and things. That's weird. Me. In shops. What if my parents saw it, or something?"
"What can they do to stop you?"
L'Erena had moved into Evenne's apartment as soon as Lumaira had enough money to rent a better place (since she couldn't just leave him in that horrible flat with only half of anything working). It was a little way away from the high street but a walk-able distance, and now that it was summer and the weather was good, the two of them more often than not took one afternoon of the week out to go down and buy everything fresh from the myriad of little shops that littered the road. Recently a new butchers had opened up, and so there was plenty of meat (L'Erena's favourite) in one of the bags weighing Evenne down.
"But their main studios are in London," Evenne said after a moment. "What if they want me to move down there? We couldn't afford a place in London."
"We could with the amount of money they're offering," L'Erena retorted.
"What about all our friends on Canal Street?"
"It's not like we can't keep in touch," L'Erena shrugged, settling more comfortably on her girlfriend's hip. "Come on. It'd be an adventure."
"You really want me to do this, don't you?" Evenne guessed as they reached their apartment block and bustled into the lift to get to the top. A little old lady joined them halfway up, and smiled benevolently at the admittedly rather odd couple.
"Nice day, isn't it?"
"Beautiful."
"M-hm."
Their floor came up and Evenne carried L'Erena off in through their front door.
"Vennie," L'Erena said once she had been settled on a chair. "This is like... the perfect job for you. You enjoy modelling, you'll get payed well, you'll be surrounded by lesbians and gays..."
"You sound jealous," Evenne commented, unbuckling the last strap of her boots and pulling them off. Underneath she was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans that Lumaira had taken in for her.
"I am," L'Erena replied petulantly. It made Evenne laugh.
"Why don't you do it, then?"
"I don't have gorgeous breasts and a body to match," L'Erena huffed, standing and dumping a few of the things they'd bought into a cupboard to make herself look useful. "I swear, the amount of time I spend stroking your ego..."
"That's because it's only small," Evenne replied as she filled the fridge.
"Yeah, like a pathetic fluffy kitten."
"Would that make Lumaira's some kind of unstoppable, giant tiger?" Evenne said sarcastically.
"No, bigger," L'Erena replied.
"You can't get bigger than a tiger."
"How the fuck do you know that?"
Evenne shrugged, wandering into the bedroom now that the groceries had been put away.
"I know everything."
Feeling a challenge coming on, L'Erena's face settled into a cheeky grin as she settled onto the sofa.
"Wanna bet?"
"Sure."
"Okay. Recite pi to ten decimal places."
"Three point one four one five nine two six five three five," Evenne rallied off, counting the digits on her fingers.
"Where's Old Zealand?"
"Denmark."
"Which nation is the largest tea drinker per capita?"
"Turkey."
"No, it's England!" L'Erena yelled triumphantly, jumping up from her seat.
"England's second," Evenne smoothly corrected. "Turkey is first. Trust me, I know everything."
"Oh," L'Erena said, deflated. "What's the twenty ninth element, then?"
"Copper."
"Damn."
"Just give it up," Evenne laughed, bouncing onto the sofa to straddle her smaller girlfriend. Her knee hit some paper, and she irritably shoved it out of the way. "Oh, that's where I put that."
It was the formal letter from the photographer of the Flame magazine, with samples of the kinds of things Evenne would be modelling. They'd also received several phone calls, but Evenne had been putting off making a decision for days.
"I think you should take the job," L'Erena said again, snatching up the letter and reading through the words. "Come on, it's perfect."
Evenne glanced at one of the samples ("the most risqué you'll ever be asked to do, and you can always say no" was scrawled at the bottom) - a woman in a bikini with one strap slipping down - and sighed.
"Fine."

[Rain]

L'Erena wished it would rain. She wished it would rain because she was miserable, and rain would have been fitting for her mood, but in true British fashion, the sun was stubbornly shining and the sky a clear, crystal blue.
L'Erena was angry. She was often angry, but it was a passing thing because she didn't believe in holding grudges (Don't go to bed angry - stay awake and plot your revenge was her motto), but recently... recently things seemed to be different. Ever since Evenne had just asked, out of the blue, "would you marry me?", things had changed. L'Erena kept expecting, half-hoping, wishing that Evenne was planning something and really was going to propose, but... she hadn't. She'd not even brought it up again, and L'Erena had even at one point in the depths of despair looked all through Evenne's things, in her sock draw, her old work leaflets, even in the fridge, to see if there was a ring. But.... nothing. Nothing at all. And L'Erena felt like it wasn't her place to ask now that Evenne had brought it up, and it seemed like the older woman didn't want to make that kind of commitment.
It pissed L'Erena off.
Now that Evenne had gone to London for two days to do modelling for Flame, L'Erena was very pissed off indeed. She didn't like the gap that their not-engagement had left in their relationship. Evenne, the poor sweet thing, probably hadn't even noticed.
The phone rang, and L'Erena jumped to pick it up.
"Hello, sweetie."
"Evenne!"
There was a chuckle from down the phone.
"Guess who's wearing this gorgeous little two-piece and about to do a photo shoot on the beach?"
"You bitch," L'Erena said, glancing out at the window at the sunshine. Perfect weather for a day at the seaside, too.
"I never said it was me," Came the reproachful - and amused - voice from down the phone line. "It's been bucketing down for hours. We decided to give up, because in this kind of weather a feature on the beach would be too ironic, and we're doing something else instead. I don't know what. Probably nothing."
"Oh." Said L'Erena. "Oh, okay."
"I've been thinking."
There goes my heart rate again, L'Erena thought sardonically. Every time she says anything like that I think that she's going to ask, when obviously she's not.
"What about?"
"About you." Evenne replied vaguely, her voice sounding far away.
L'Erena gave up.
Twenty minutes later, it was raining.

[Pancake]

"So tomorrow is Pancake Day," Evenne said as she checked over the article she'd been writing for the Flame (it was on self esteem, of all the ironic things).
"Yeah. Lumaira's invited us around to his place,"
L'Erena was draped over the sofa, idly flicking through TV channels since she had nothing better to do.
"What for?"
"For eating pancakes, duh,"
Evenne, who'd never much liked L'Erena's flamboyantly gay best friend, frowned a little.
"Can't we just stay at home?"
L'Erena violently shook her head.
"Are you kidding me? Have you ever tasted how godly Lumaira's pancakes are?"
"... I'm going to pretend that that isn't one massive innuendo."
"Eew. Vennie." L'Erena moaned, cringing. "Come on, it's just for one evening, and they really are nice. He uses a secret recipe, and we do this every year."
Evenne didn't look convinced, but she nodded anyway.
"Fine."

And hey, she'd never admit it, but they did have a great time with Lumaira and this week's pretty little boyfriend (some kid called Rox), flipping pancakes (and, in L'Erena's case, dropping them onto the floor or even better, Evenne's breasts), swapping fillings (and saliva), and then of course getting a little tipsy (absolutely smashed).
Evenne, who may have been inebriated to about double the legal limit but wasn't showing it, drove Rox home and then took L'Erena back to their apartment.
"Told you..." The smaller woman said drunkenly as she stumbled in through the front door (so reminiscent of the first night they met). "I told you sho."
"Did you now," Evenne said flatly, shutting the door behind her and helping L'Erena to pull off her shirt.
"I did!" She giggled, clutching at Evenne's own clothes like they'd disintegrate in her hands. "C'mon... how'd you undo thish... thish..."
"It's called a button."
"Yeah... That."
Evenne helped out by unbuttoning her shirt as they toppled onto the sofa, but L'Erena was more interested in fumbling with the catch on her bra.
"How do you-"
Evenne reached behind her back and simply unclasped it herself.
"Shtop that. I wash enjoying shtripping.... shtrip... you."
Their lips clashed together, teeth clacking with L'Erena's unfocused movements as she found Evenne's hips and played battle with the hem of her jeans.
"I..." L'Erena attempted as she leaned up to beckon Evenne's kisses to her neck, eyes crossing in concentration, "I love you."
It was almost laughable, half naked and drunk leaning uncomfortably on the arm of a sofa, but as Evenne slipped the straps of L'Erena's bra from her shoulders, traced her fingers up the bumps of lower ribs, found that small, perfect mouth again to kiss and play, she couldn't ask for anything else.

[Sleep]

"Vennie?"
"Rm-hrm."
L'Erena reached out until her fingertips came into contact with soft, smooth skin.
"You're naked again."
"It's hot."
In the darkness, L'Erena was blinder than a newborn mouse, and so it was with tentative carefulness that she slid the palms of her hands over the ever-so-slightly convex curve of Evenne's stomach to rest each on a protruding hipbone, using that as a starting point to slide onto her girlfriend's body. She found a belly button, the dent of a scar that even Evenne didn't know the origins of. Then, moving upwards, just below a padding of muscle, fat and flesh, L'Erena found herself feeling the roll of each rib, a comforting familiarity about them. She bumped her fingers over each pair like the way she'd jump up the steps to their apartment hand in hand with the world's most gorgeous woman.
Evenne propped herself up on the pillows a little, her own hands finding the itchy fabric of L'Erena's cheap pyjama shirt. L'Erena followed, legs splayed with her knees each side of Evenne's waist, and with a smile their lips met in a soft, gentle kiss. This, they each thought together, was beauty.
Usually, L'Erena would have preferred the figurative swinging-from-chandeliers kind of sex, the rough and wild and messy with peals of laugher punctuated with breathy moans, here there and everywhere, but for Evenne (the woman's chapped lips soft and rough against hers) she would always be willing to make an exception. Somehow, soft, sensual sex was even better when you already knew your way around the other's body (and there was the little gasp as her fingertips slid onto curves of the most amazing breasts L'Erena had ever had the pleasure of loving), when you could simply enjoy the moments for what they were (Evenne's hands were trailing again, forming a line along her breastplate, just leaving hints and teases of more amorous touches). When (those long fingers were sliding into the heart at the small of her back) their union wasn't so much lust as love, when (a tongue found its way to her neck, leaving invisible marks in the darkness) things weren't just hot but warm, when (the inner curve of her thigh tensed, a moan escaping her lips as Evenne slipped inside) release wasn't a scream, but a sigh, and when (the sigh came) L'Erena was content with (curling up in Evenne's arms, a hand still resting on the warm, heavy curve of one breast) that.
They'd have it rough tomorrow, in the bathtub or something. But tonight was Evenne's night, and that was enough to make L'Erena (want to cry tears of joy at having found somebody so utterly perfect in every flawed character trait, every little quirk and fault, and every blemish on pale skin that collected together to make something more than simply beautiful) happy.

[Foreplay]

It was one of those mornings where, for reasons unfathomable to L'Erena, although neither she nor her girlfriend needed to do anything until the afternoon, they'd still got up on some kind of routine she certainly hadn't agreed to. But Evenne was a morning person, the kind who was wide awake as soon as she rolled out of bed, the kind who would walk up to the window shamelessly naked and stretch - click, click, click of vertebrae popping into place - and sigh a contented sigh, and that was how the day would begin.
L'Erena was the kind of person who fell out of bed, who crawled to her dressing gown and slippers and couldn't function until she'd had a decent cup of tea and preferably morning sex. The former was easy enough to get hold of... but Evenne didn't really approve of the latter, particularly since she was the kind of person who had a shower first thing in the morning before L'Erena had even had the remotest of chances to sex her up.
So as L'Erena was trying (in vain) to flatten out her unruly hair, she was rather taken aback when Evenne, on the other side of the room and getting dressed, wet hair plastered to her back, frowned and said;
"Hey, L'Erena. I think there's something stuck down my bra."
Because that could be nothing but some kind of vague foreplay, L'Erena smiled and sauntered over.
"Oh? Whereabouts?"
"In the left," Evenne, whose hands were preoccupied with sorting out her equally messy hair, said, shrugging her shoulder a bit to make her upper anatomy wiggle impressively (L'Erena loved that and Evenne knew it).
"Sure," L'Erena said, playing along as she wiggled her fingers down under the lace of Evenne's bra, more groping than searching, but that was half of the point. "I can't feel anything,"
"It's more to the left than that."
L'Erena stood in her tiptoes to peer down the gab between Evenne's breast, and her bra, and dug around a little more. Her fingers came into contact with something. Something metallic.
"Hey, I think this one's broken," She said. "I can feel the wire."
But it didn't feel like a wire. It felt more like a -
L'Erena suddenly felt her stomach curl but in a good way, in a gorgeous way, and her heart skipped a beat - more like stopped completely - as she stared up into Evenne's eyes, her mouth hanging open a little with no words to fill it up and tumble out.
"I wanted it to be a surprise," Evenne said quietly, with a quirky smile pulled onto her lips. L'Erena's mind had stopped, and when she didn't reply the taller woman continued. "So, L'Erena Valkyrie... will you marry me?"
She'd just proposed. She'd just proposed at seven thirty in the morning when the weather outside was normal at best, and when both of them were only half dressed and L'Erena was only just half awake, and when her hand was down Evenne's bra...
"Oh my God." L'Erena said.
And then her mind, which had been running in slow motion, caught up with itself.
"Oh my God. I never thought you were going to ask. Yes. Yes, obviously! Of course, yes-"
Evenne's smile widened and L'Erena felt her relax, and a moment later her hand was joined by another, pulled out with the ring.
It was a pretty little thing, threads of interlaced gold with a tiny emerald in the centre, and while it wasn't very complicated or encrusted with diamonds, it was so perfect, and as Evenne slipped it onto her last-but-one finger, L'Erena felt like crying. She'd been expecting and praying for that moment for months, and right when she'd given up all hope, right when she'd least expected it, there it was.
It was the best morning sex she'd ever had.