get weemsical

Either way she was delighted.

But her colleague left her no opportunity to inquire as she pulled her flush against her body with a simple, swift motion. It sent a shiver up her spine to be handled in such a way, and all she could do was laugh as she realized just how lucky she was about to get as Larissa initiated the kiss.

    Larissa gasped, quickly smothered in the next kiss. It wasn't that she was shocked--boldness from Zelda was as natural as thunder after lightning--but it was the pleasure of it that startled her, the pressure of their bodies, the contours of Zelda's body distinct against her own, every nerve ending alight with warmth.

    The entire world dimmed by contrast to the feeling of nibbling and tugging on Zelda's lower lip, dragging her teeth over the sensitive flesh inside; the feeling of grasping her hips and securing her firmly in Larissa's lap, the welcome weight of her body, her skirt stretching into a band of fabric over her spread thighs and pressing into Larissa. She couldn't resist sliding one hand up the curve of her back and into the rich softness of her hair: another fantasy fulfilled.

ㅤ" there's no need to apologize ; we can have whatever you'd like. and whatever you decide against, i'm sure we could arrange to try on a second visit. " to quell any further insecurities larissa might have, she adds, " besides, i had to skip lunch, so i'm famished. order away. in the meantime, however— "

    It's a bit like being watched by a cat--not undesirable, not unenjoyable, but Larissa certainly has a sense of information being taken in, of reactions being catalogued. It's rather flattering, actually.

    "I'm the principal of Nevermore Academy," she says. It does put one at ease to be asked about their line of work; she worries that she might come off rather workaholic otherwise. "It's a private school that serves, hm--something of a vulnerable student population." She flashes a smile and doesn't elaborate. "It's a boarding school, so as you can imagine, chaos occurs around the clock. I--hm--let me see." What else is there to know about her? Might she really be a workaholic?

    "I taught English before I became an administrator. I suppose, apart from working with students, that's where my passions lie." Their wine arrives; Larissa consents to allow the server the first pour for each of them. She touches her glass lightly to Sofie's, and can't help admiring the framing of those wonderful, dark eyes: the dim ambience, the small light at their table, the gleam of glass, the red of the wine. Caravaggio couldn't have done better.

(performative) beach day 2

❛ did you know, ❜ millicent says, ❛ that i was in remedial literature? i was that bad. ❜

and yet some of the lines of the poem could come from larissa herself if millicent didn't know any better, because larissa weems is poetic and wickedly intelligent and well-read and she has a natural command over language. for larissa, language isn’t a tool. she speaks and language bends to her will. she is an artist. meanwhile, millicent and the rest of the world stumble over simple sentences.

she finishes unpinning all of larissa's curls for the second time that day. her fingers run through those strands of heavy, pale hair. she reaches for the hairbrush she'd already set aside and runs it through larissa's hair. very little needs untangling, but the motion feels nice. she focuses on that curtain of long, silky hair (starbeams among twilight trees or something), and not on their physical proximity.

larissa still smells like flowers, but the glory of the moon is dead. or something.

    Larissa closes her eyes with pleasure. Millicent is very good with her hands (don't think about that), and she's been quite gentle with her hair; she thinks about the braids that appeared in her hair overnight, at Orkney, wonders how to induce that sort of time and attention, and admits to herself that she'd likely need to be unconscious.

    "Hm... I have two Master's degrees. English, and education. I'm no Millicent Clyde, Ph.D..." She opens her eyes again and tips her head so that Millicent can see she's smiling, even if only a little, and that it's kindly meant. "But I've thought about going back to school. Given all the time I have on my hands, these days." Her voice is a little dryer with that remark. There's another twinge of missing Nevermore, but it subsides, and she doesn't even well up; she supposes, given all that's gone on, she should consider that a triumph.

    "Literature isn't for everyone. You have so many other gifts." She hopes Millicent can hear that she isn't being sarcastic, but can make another private admission, which is that it's likely Millicent will decide it's an insult anyway. "I certainly couldn't do what you do." Since she isn't being insulting, she won't mention that that includes the killing, filleting, and stuffing.

    She shakes out her hair and shifts on the bed, sitting a little further back so she can turn toward Millicent. The sight of her is extremely arresting. Larissa hasn't seen so much of her at once, not even when they--and so much warm, beautiful skin, it's--and with her hair braided, and no suit on, the purpling marks of Larissa's teeth on her neck are obvious. She seems to recall a point at which she'd roughly pulled Millicent's skin between her lips, unthinking, then caught herself, tried to gentle herself, except that Millicent had grabbed her head and chanted, please, please, please--

she sets her book down. she hopes she'll remember to retrieve it before leaving for the evening. her beautiful larissa in her elegant gown, the dark colours only enhancing how pale and lovely she is under the stars, is a vision worth adoring. the others will dance this evening. millicent has never — and she's never wanted to — but for the first time, she imagines how nice it would be to hold her larissa and to be held and to shine together under the moonlight. wouldn't that be nice? wouldn't that be sweet? even with the rapidly fading light, she still sees the pinkness of her larissa's cheeks and it makes her want to touch all over again.

    Larissa hesitates. Her hands are cautious with the words that follow:

    "Nothing would make me happier. But..." She hesitates again. "Two women dancing together would look unusual to your peers." Millicent is already marked out by so many differences; none of them are her fault, but they've already made her time among these people tenuous and difficult, made it so that she's required to fight uphill for each step she takes toward her degree.

    But those dark, shining eyes... Can Larissa ever truly deny them? Could she ever resist giving Millicent something she wants--something they both want?

❛ you've answered my question, ❜ she confirms, and she keeps eating. larissa's manner is timid as it is magnificent. she seems to fluctuate between impulse and shame, the type who'd constantly be pink in the face would her biology permit it. she wants so badly and behaves badly to get it; then she retreats, something kicked, rejected.

for a while, millicent focuses on eating. she finishes her plate, pushes it away. so it's another evening. so it's another opportunity to fall in love and nerves. millicent smiles, because she can, and curls a loose strand of hair that's fallen from her braid. there's that unnatural glow in larissa's eyes, so brilliant she shines even when she looks away.

    Larissa has to wonder if Millicent is doing it purposely--making uncomfortable remarks, asking disquieting questions--or if it's merely that distinctive forthrightness of hers. She has to admire it, and to admit that she's opened herself up to this, including the subject of domina; she'd done all but flay herself, inch by inch, on the living room floor last night. That doesn't mean her smile doesn't grow tense, but it does mean she answers Millicent anyway, without changing the subject.