|to asterflame, who sought Lost World femslash
||[Oct. 27th, 2010|09:10 pm]
Slash for Conan Arthur Doyle's The Lost World
You are not alone. :) I wrote this back in 2002:|
In Vino Veritas
They'd done it. They really had. They'd carried it off. Marguerite glanced sideways at the sharp profile of her friend, impressed with Adrienne's self-control. The Frenchwoman strode along through the dark streets of the city, as brisk and self-contained as ever, giving no sign that the two had just become significantly wealthier. Marguerite wanted to laugh, to take the jewels from her purse and look at them once more, to somehow express the exhilaration that surged in her heart, and, most of all (surprisingly), she wanted to see her friend's cool gaze light with the same excitement that Marguerite herself felt. But, since the day she had arrived, alone, young, and defiant, in Paris, Marguerite had modeled her behavior on Adrienne's, and she did so even now; her steps remained measured, and her face a mask.
Marguerite Krux was no innocent maiden when she came to the City of Lights; her sense of self-preservation and her rapaciousness for the good life had been well honed over the years. But she was still young, and relatively unpolished, and had yet to meet a truly professional survivor such as Adrienne Montclair. The evenings the English girl had spent in the Fat Man's bar were an investment; Marguerite already knew how to recognize an opportunity when it presented itself, and she recognized also the smell of corruption, and potential profit, that lingered in that nightspot's smoke-filled air. If she did not yet understand how to take advantage of it, she soon would learn. And there could be no better teacher than Adrienne Montclair.
Adrienne's senses were keen; she immediately saw in Marguerite the hunger and the strength that she knew could be directed to her own benefit. Besides, the girl was enchantingly beautiful, and that would provide an asset that Adrienne herself could not. From across the bar, Adrienne would slowly sip her drink, and study the bewitching gray eyes, the unruly mane of dark hair, and the elegant figure of the younger woman, and, purposely refraining from questioning why her gaze lingered so hotly on Marguerite's lovely face, calculated and planned, and befriended the newcomer. She invited Marguerite to share her lodgings, and introduced her to the Fat Man, and steered her deftly through the intricacies of the Paris fast life. Marguerite was a quick learner; her pragmatism and intelligence pleased Mlle Montclair, and her charm and beauty pleased the Fat Man's clientele. Yet there was something in Marguerite that remained beyond the reach of her older friend. She was not cold. Adrienne could see that Marguerite was possessed of a passionate nature, that could not quite be extinguished, despite being well constrained. Adrienne was both worried by this, as it was a potential liability to any scheme, and intrigued by something so foreign to her own character. She praised Marguerite for her efficiency in swindling drunken and ardent Monsieurs, and, privately, wondered about the turmoil inside the girl, and how well Marguerite had managed to suppress it. The bizarre combination of fire and steel that was Marguerite Krux remained a mystery to Adrienne, and she was confounded as to how to best make use of it - or even how to remain unmoved by its force.
And Marguerite, who had long ago decided to be dependent on no one, and to remain (outwardly, at least) untouched by human weakness and emotion, fought determinedly to ignore the suggestive images that filled her mind at the sight of Adrienne's long legs, or slim, white hands. So well disciplined was Marguerite, so automatic had the reigning-in of any impulse that threatened her concentration become, that she was almost completely unaware of these feelings. Life, and now Adrienne, had groomed her well. Marguerite was cool, she was focused, and she was tough . but she was not yet thoroughly frozen. And her mentor was unsure as to whether that was a good thing, or not.
And, so, the weeks passed.
Tonight was the culmination of a careful and well-thought-out plan to divest a fat and besotted target of a goodly portion of his wealth, in the form of jewelry and valuables. Adrienne had endlessly coached her young charge, and engineered a strategy that was brilliantly successful, although dangerous. The tension of the previous weeks had taken a toll on Marguerite, and her nerves were frayed; Adrienne, more patient and experienced than her friend, remained unperturbed. She was satisfied with the results of her work with Marguerite, appreciative of the myriad possibilities that she saw in the girl, and affectionately exasperated as she sensed the energy that pulsed beneath her companion's composed surface.
Now, the two women arrived at the small suite of rooms they inhabited, in a winding, dark street filled with buildings that were not new, but stubbornly maintained traces of their former elegance. Marguerite, desperate to feast her eyes on the sight of their takings, almost galloped up the narrow stairway to their flat; Adrienne followed more sedately behind, shaking her head as she once more inwardly debated the usefulness and desirability of Marguerite's vibrancy, and whether or not the lid that covered the boiling pot was securely fastened. By the time Adrienne entered their small front room, Marguerite had already spilled the little velvet bag of gems out onto the table, and was examining them with a careful eye.
"Adrienne! We're rich! We did it!" With an exultant laugh, Marguerite rose from her seat, and gave a little twirl. Her hair was in disarray, and she impatiently brushed it off her glowing face. She had kicked her shoes off, and they lay on the floor where they had been tossed.
"Ah, tsk, Marguerite, we are not yet out of the woods. You know the danger has not yet passed," the Frenchwoman rebuked her friend. Nevertheless, she smiled at Marguerite's joy. "Very well, ma cherie, I suppose a celebration is in order, non? Do we have any wine?" She was not surprised to see that Marguerite had anticipated her question, and had already uncorked a bottle from their small cabinet. As Marguerite took out the glasses and prepared to pour the wine, Adrienne removed her tight- fitting jacket, and then, intending to change into her comfortable robe, unbuttoned her white blouse. Its severe line and high collar had negated the charm of Adrienne's long neck, and, once the plain, unbecoming jacket had been discarded, Marguerite was struck by her friend's softened appearance. A glass in one hand, and open bottle in the other, Marguerite came near to Adrienne, intending to fill a glass for her. Then she stumbled over a fold in the carpet, and started to fall forward. Catching herself just in time, Marguerite remained on her feet, but wine from the open bottle splashed out, landing on Adrienne's bare shoulder.
Marguerite giggled. "Sorry!" And then, carried away by some crazy urge that seemed to spring out of nowhere, Marguerite swiftly leaned forward and lapped up the drops of scarlet wine from her friend's shoulder. She was totally unprepared for the jolt that surged through her. Suddenly, her playful silliness had turned into a suggestive, sensual gesture, and it seemed only natural, with that smooth, pale skin beneath her lips, to caress it with her tongue, to kiss it hungrily. But Adrienne's startled gasp shocked Marguerite back to normalcy, and, flustered and embarrassed, she drew back. With a guilty laugh, Marguerite stammered, "Well, we don't want to waste any, do we?"
Adrienne's hand rested lightly over the spot where Marguerite's mouth had seared her. "No," she said slowly. She thoughtfully eyed her friend's flushed face. "No. It's much too good to waste."