Archive of Our Own

You'd like to have been the first one up. You are the seduction expert in this bed, after all, if anybody should be the first one awake it's you. Unfortunately, the months of Princess-induced sleep deprivation, your crying jag last night, and that orgasm that might honestly have been two orgasms in a trench coat have other plans. So your first indication that it's time to wake up is Beatrice yelling. 

"Both of them, Princess? Both? Really?" 

"I did believe I had made my intentions perfectly clear, Beatrice."

"Both! Of! Them! For God's sake!" 

This seems like a good time to make your presence known. 

"Both of us alright, but I think it was mostly for Princess's sake, Beatrice." 

The frustrated scream that draws from her is a thing of beauty, but it's got nothing on the laugh it gets from Princess. You look up from the shoulder you've crammed your face into and there she is, laughing at your horrible joke, and the sun itself doesn't compare.

Shit. You've got it bad.  

You don't have any clothes, just a sheet that's been dropped near the window. Ange has a nightgown and whatever Princess will lend her. Neither of you brought your room key, but Ange has a lockpick set.

Beatrice has given up on all three of you, and is very pointedly ignoring you and Ange in favor of dragging Princess through her usual morning routine. You both shrug and freshen up with the kind of speed only boot camp instills, and then you stand around awkwardly until Princess is ready to leave. And, crucially, distract her guards. You hide in her bathroom while she thanks them all for their service and Ange slinks away in one of her uniforms.

This, unfortunately for your lingering good mood, leaves you alone in a room that you bugged to spy on- spy on who, exactly, MacBean?

You very firmly stomp on that inconvenient emotional response and thin the coverage on your. Friend, you hope. The decoys that were only there to be caught in a sweep and let your target feel like you'd been outsmarted go, and so do the most obvious bugs in the set that are actually meant to pick up intelligence.

After a second, you decide to remove all the Kingdom-make ones, too, and the civilian-grade Commonwealth bugs. You may still have orders to run this mission, but you don't have any to run it deniably.

By the time you've put the room back together, you have a pile of about a dozen microphones, a room full of substantial deaf spots wherein whispers or pen scratches will go unheard, and three bugs still hidden that, if found, will point very firmly at Control. And nothing else to do, because you're still naked and Ange can't come back and deliver your clothes until Princess can contrive a reason to come back to her room and distract the guards again.

Usually, you'd snoop, but you've done enough snooping in this room to last you several lifetimes. Instead, you pick a book off of the shelf at random- and it's a manual on etiquette. Fun. You actually look at the shelf when you pick your next book, and manage to find an awful propaganda novel instead. Inside, you're promised, can be found dashing Kingdom spies, sinister Commonwealth scientists, and just a glimpse of petticoat for spice. Perfect.

You hide in the bathroom and read your terrible novel until the midday break, when it seems that the Princess tires of the constant eyes upon what she never intends to be anything but tea with friends. The Natural History Club files into her room with pastries and tiny sandwiches and tea, and Ange heads into the bathroom to finally give you some clothes to wear. In thanks, you gesture to the sink, which now contains several smashed microphones and an inch of water.

She gives you a gimlet eye. "That's not all of them."

You wince a little. "I have orders, Ange, and falsifying every report will get me noticed. I stripped as many as I could, and the only ones left point directly at Control."

She stares a little longer, and you start to get worried. Then she opens her mouth, and "worried" no longer adequately describes your state of mind.

"I offered to kill you for her, you know."

Try "terrified." You swallow and try to work some moisture back into your mouth so that maybe you can respond to that. "Um."

Come on, get it together, MacBean. She said "offered." Also, you're not dead yet. That's two good signs. Very good signs, even, from Ange. She's never been one to give warning if she didn't have to. Deep breaths.

"I, uh, hope you were turned down?"

"Hm. She said she had other plans for you."

You can't help the relieved sigh. That sounds an awful lot like you're going to live to see twenty-one. "I'll have to thank her for that, I guess. And, um. Thank you. For not, y'know. Killing me anyway."

She's as unreadable as she always is without Princess there to soften her up. But you think you see a twitch. It's probably a good twitch.

Then she kisses you. Definitely a good twitch. When she pulls back there are tears in her eyes. You wipe them away as she whispers.

"Dummy."

She composes herself even as she turns away from you, and by the time she reaches the door she's perfectly assumed her student persona.

You stare after her bemusedly and fix your collar.

You make your escape while the rest of the team parades out and offers the guards leftovers. The rest of your day is spent telling gaggles of your fans to buzz off when they ask where you've been, which doesn't make them stop asking at all. In fact, you see one particular girl five separate times. Well, at least if she's only here for the insults she isn't expecting an alibi.

You eventually escape back to your room and put the sheet you'd left wrapped in back on your bed. And then you have to write your next report on the whole Princess situation. And Ange isn't even being subtle about watching you from her side of the room while you do it.

You're definitely compromised. You're both compromised, the correct thing to do would be to fess up that Ange is in bed with her and so are you, maybe, hopefully, and then. Then both of you could be reassigned to something else, something simple, something that can be regularly interrupted by interrogators digging through everything Princess ever said or did to either of you.

Ange would never accept it, and the trouble that would ensue would probably get her killed. And, you realize, you too. You're not sure what you really feel about either of these girls (you are) but you know you'd "misplace" a lot of orders to extract before you finally got dragged back kicking and screaming.

You have it so fucking bad. So. Bad. You groan, loudly. Ange doesn't move. You groan louder. Ange still doesn't move. You give up on groans moving her and try a little nonverbal whine. That gets her looking your way.

"Angeeeee I need to write a report on Princess's actions and I'm so compromised. I am so, so compromised. You've been doing this longer than me what do these say when they're just full of bullshit."

She looks at you like she's always suspected that maybe you were a fucking moron, but now she finally has proof. "Reassuring fragments of the truth. Have you seriously never falsified a report to Control? About anything? You just tell them what they want to hear, that's ninety percent of lying in general. Why am I telling a honeypot how to lie?"

"Hey! I'm not just a honeypot. I am also a fantastic driver and a decent con woman. Honestly, Ange, it's like you only ever notice me for my body."

Oh, some bitterness there. That cut a little close to a genuine nerve. And by the look on her face, she noticed.

"Ugh. Don't mind me, I'll figure something out. I'm just realizing how deep I am in this mess."

She puts a reassuring hand on your shoulder, and when did she get up? It's nice, though.

"They'll never trust her, Dorothy."

Less nice. True, though. Fuck. You start writing a page or two of inane nonsense, Ange supplying occasional suggestions when you flag. When the report's done, it reads just like every other report you've sent. It's even mostly true.

It's absolutely treason to send this, leaving out everything it leaves out.

You head out to the dead drop.

Somehow, you wake up holding Ange. You don't mind, necessarily, but you definitely didn't go to sleep that way. She's up within a few moments of you, but stays put, and you hold her a little tighter.

"Is this gonna be a habit?"

"I don't know what you're talking about. Denizens of the Black Lizard Planet are cold-blooded, that's all."

"Ahh, a snake I'm warming at my breast, then?"

She stiffens. Direct hit.

"No."

"Then tell me the truth, Ange. Because I need the truth about this."

"... I don't know. But you've always been a friend, and you're helping me to protect the princess, and I think I love you a little for it."

Good enough. And now, to answer honesty with honesty, because Ange almost never tells the truth if it isn't an exchange. And really because she deserves the truth from you, too. You sigh.

"I think I've probably loved you a bit since the orphanage. It's good to be here with you again."

You lay a kiss on the crown of her head and let her go. Your morning routine is the same as it always is, but the air's different this morning. Easier. Freer, maybe. Isn't that what the truth is supposed to do? Set you free?

You're getting ready for bed that night when Ange stops you. By sneaking up behind you, the little shit, you hadn't heard her move from her desk, how is she still doing this-

"Princess wants to see you," she says, all business, giving nothing away.

A beat passes.

She adds, "Not for sex." 

"You checked, huh?" 

"I checked." Another beat. "I'll bring some clothes for us anyway." 

"Bit presumptuous, ain'tcha?" 

Ange glowers. "I will be prepared this time." 

Ooh, it really stung for her when she forgot them last time, huh.

"Princess say what she wanted to see me about? Not that a girl doesn't appreciate being wanted for something besides mind-blowing sex, but you know how it is." 

"I do not know how it is," Ange lies, like a fucking liar, then-

In Princess's voice, taking a leaf from Beatrice's book, she says, "Dorothy and I need to have an important talk, Ange. Alone. Can you arrange that for me?"

"Jesus!" you swear, all but jumping out of your skin. It still turns you on, like, a lot, and from the infuriating little smirk on Ange's face, she knows that, the little shit.

Your little shit.

Her grin widens, as she adds, in a somehow gleeful deadpan, "It's not for sex, Dorothy. Calm yourself down." 

"You're a fucking menace, you know that, Le Carré?" 

Ange's smile softens, gets almost like it does when she's putting on her student act, but… not. Because it's the genuine article, you realize. For once it's reaching her eyes.

Ange gets up on her tiptoes and kisses you on the forehead. "And you love it, you big dummy." 

"Ugh, I do, what is wrong with me, why am I sleeping with two terrible people?" 

"Because you have impeccable taste," Ange deadpans. And then she takes you by the hand, tugging you insistently to the window sill. 

"Come on. Princess- our princess is waiting for you." 

And well, when she puts it like that, what else can you do but go along for the ride?

Princess grins when she sees you both, opening the window at Ange's first knock and giving Ange a kiss on the cheek as a greeting as she ushers you both inside.

"Thank you, Ange," Princess coos. "I appreciate you doing this for me. You know how hard it is for me to catch anyone alone…" 

Even after all the downright salacious things she and the princess have gotten up to together, Ange still blushes outrageously under her attentions.

Well. Not that you can blame her.

You've both got it bad, huh. 

"It's nothing," Ange hedges, letting you down and heading back to the window, not even bothering to turn off her C-ball. 

"I should be back in an hour?" she says, glancing back over her shoulder.

"That's right," Princess confirms with a smile, then just because she's like that, throws in, “And go back to your room, Ange. No sitting on the roof and eavesdropping." 

Ange pouts, and how did you not know how lethal her baby face is before, how did she hide that from you for ten years-

And then of course, just as you're thinking that, Ange has to ruin it by saying, 

"I'm not Dorothy, Princess."

Ouch. Okay, you definitely deserve it, but they're really never gonna let you live that down, are they. 

Princess laughs at that, and goes to the window solely to pat Ange on the head approvingly. "I know, Ange. You're a good girl." 

Ange blushes again, preening under the praise a little before straightening up and putting back on her Black Lizard Alien poker face or whatever she calls it.

"I'll be back at eleven thirty," she says as she climbs through the window.

"Mhm. Take care, my love," Princess replies, and then finally closes the window behind her, leaving the two of you alone.

"So," you start. "Ange said you wouldn't tell her what this was about." 

"Indeed," Princess agrees, that same inscrutable little smile on her face that she wears for court functions. 

You want to make that facade slip, even just a little- you can't help yourself, really- so you continue,

"She did say that it wasn't for sex."

"Indeed!" Princess says brightly. "I'm afraid I didn't have Ange bring you here for you to have your wicked, wicked way with me tonight, Dorothy." 

"That's a shame."

She flashes you a smile. "Another time, perhaps. If all goes well." 

Then she sits down on the bed and motions for you to join her.

Not for sex, you remind yourself and your traitorous brain that immediately turns to thoughts of what happened last time you were on that bed, naked and crammed in together all cozy with your lovers-

You shake your head to snap yourself out of it.

Not here for sex, MacBean. 

"No, Dorothy, there's something you and I still need to address if we're to warm each other's beds again," Princess says as you sit down beside her at a respectable distance. (Or as respectable as it can be when you've been naked with her in this bed.) 

"Did Ange tell you what happened on that second day you had to cover for us? The one where neither of us appeared until well after noon." 

"...I assume because you're asking that it wasn't wild morning sex." 

Princess flashes you another smile, this one somehow sharper than the ones before it.

"Oh, if only."  

The smile vanishes, and she's suddenly leveling a look at you that makes you go utterly still, pinning you in place with her eyes alone.

It's scrutinizing, considering, as if she can see every atom, every particle of what you are, and she's weighing all those microscopic pieces against some unknown scale and finding you wanting.

It's impressive, really. It also makes you want to curl up and die on the spot.

"No, Dorothy, while I did wake up and find Ange in my bed that day, it was for nothing as enjoyable as 'wild morning sex.'" 

And then she looks away from you, and you can breathe again. At least until she next speaks up.

"She was there to offer to kill you for me, Dorothy." She lets you sit with that for a bit. Yep, still terrifying. "Obviously I refused."

"I appreciate that," you say weakly. She makes a dismissive gesture.

"I would not be worth the devotion that inspired Ange to make that offer if I had accepted it."

You're not sure where she's going with this. Ange's a spy. She kills people sometimes. She's better at it than you, honestly, she always has been. You say as much, and Princess turns a glare on you that's heavy with unshed tears.

"Dorothy, you stupid, stupid girl. It would have destroyed her to kill you, and it would have destroyed her just as thoroughly to refuse my order to do it. We spent the rest of that day in bed because she was sobbing in my arms, Dorothy! She was more relieved than I've ever seen a person before, and sometimes I deliver royal pardons in my grandmother's stead! You-" she breaks off and swipes at her eyes.

What the hell are you supposed to do about this? Easy answer is "hold pretty crying girl until she stops crying," but you're pretty sure that works better when she's not crying tears of rage about you. You decide you'll just stay very still and very quiet. 

She pulls herself together in three minutes, eighteen seconds by the wall clock. That's a pretty impressive time for somebody with no formal training in hiding emotions, but you have no idea how it stacks up among princesses. Then she starts talking again, and if anything she's angrier. That's always the risk with openly watching people cry, they get defensive.

"She loves you, Dorothy. If there is anybody in the world who means anything to Ange, besides me, it is you. You fucking imbecile. If you ever give her cause to make that offer again, she won't have to kill you, because I will. Are we clear."

Plan stay-very-still-and-quiet includes provisions for small movements if prompted, so you nod. Then you catch up to what she actually said, and freeze again. You'd already heard it once, but, well, it was Ange. Even when she says she's telling the truth it's hard to really believe her.

Shit. You really screwed the pooch on this one, huh, MacBean. You can't even make a joke about throwing yourself in the Thames, even to yourself, because throwing you in the Thames is the entire fucking problem.

Deep breath. Compartmentalize. You're no Ange- fuck- you were never the top of your class, but you're still good at what you do. Right now you're dealing with Princess. You can break down on Ange- fuck- you can break down about this when she's- God fucking damnit- when the topic next comes up.

Deep breaths. There you go. Better. Almost like you didn't nearly ruin the one relationship in ten years you actually gave a shit about!

"So. Princess. What comes next?"

Her glare softened at some point over the last- you check the clock- minute and nine seconds. You guess you must have made some interesting faces.

"You apologize, you silly girl. And then we all move on."

Moving on. That sounds nice.

Ange is unbearably smug about having brought fresh uniforms and then actually needing them. If you weren't still so wrung out from last night you'd sock her. As is, you start making plans to acquire some spare clothes to smuggle into Princess's wardrobe.

Princess gives you both a kiss before she goes to distract her guards, and if it weren't for Ange you'd've missed your window. You let her shepherd you through your escape and focus on containing your grin. It's not working, so you embrace it instead- scrape together every scrap of bravado and confidence and relief you can and let it suffuse your grin and your walk too. Ange looks at you like you're insane, but people from planet Earth sometimes have to work with their emotions instead of against them. The rest of the plan comes together when a posse of your fangirls asks what has you in such a good mood.

You look around conspiratorially. "Can you keep a secret, girls?" They nod frantically. "Well. I may not have spent last night in my own room." Pause for scandalized gasps. "And if I didn't, then I would have been having a very good time in someone else's."

They swoon. They scream. They clamor for every detail. They totally divert the school's gossip mill to examining your every action on campus since you arrived, which you already know won't turn up shit. Goddamn you're good. You start mentally writing the essay you'll no doubt be assigned sometime in the next few days, about how such scandalous insinuations are unbecoming of a proper young lady, even one in (you fill in the sneer at the new-money girl who doesn't understand how the world really works) your situation.

Ange is forced to bother you for details on your supposed exploits for the rest of the day, but you remain theatrically close-lipped until you both find yourselves in your room.

"Dorothy? What the hell was that about?"

"She kissed me, Ange! Like! Without being horny about it! Without making an advance! Without any of it! That's new for me! I wasn't going to be able to hide that!"

Ange stares. And then cracks up.

"You- You- A romantic? You've been a romantic this whole time? I- I-"

She loses her shit. You're fairly sure that you could turn off the lights and keep the room lit purely through the force of your blush, but you smile anyway. You've never seen her like this before. You're not sure anyone has.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. Laugh it up. Prick."

You're smiling, though. And you do accept the kiss, when it comes.

Later that night, Ange opens the window and turns to you. "I'm going to, uh-"

You smirk and cut her off. "Princess is a demanding mistress, hm?"

"Yeah." She shuffles in place a little. "She said you're invited to watch, if you want."

So that's why she's acting so awkwardly. You think about it, but…

"Nah, I think I'll just get some sleep. For once."

She nods unreadably, and turns to the window. You stop her before she can go.

"Ange! I've drawn the gossips' eyes for a week at least. Don't let her wake up alone, yeah?"

You get another one of those little grins- the kind that gets to her eyes. She really is gorgeous when she lets herself be, huh. She nods again before she activates the C-ball and launches.

For your part, you jot down a few notes for that essay you've been compiling in your head. And then you get some fucking sleep. For once.

It turns out the essay won't be necessary- it was a close thing, but Princess got far enough ahead of the gossip that all the respectable professors think you're just spreading scurrilous stories to try and prop up your novelty. The remaining ones have instead been forced to admit to Princess's face that if they did assign you such an essay, it would be "petty retaliation against a supposedly-acceptable target."

She really is terrifying, isn't she? Not that you see it at tea, when she passes out teacups and kisses you. Just you, and you find yourself leaning in after her as she withdraws, trying to draw it out just a little longer. Beatrice, predictably, squeaks, but before she can build up a real head of steam she's interrupted.

"Thank you for telling her to stay, Dorothy. It's always so hard to keep her in one place for the night when she's worried about my reputation."

That does not calm Beatrice down at all. She gets halfway through some sort of rant about "propriety" and "gossip" and oh, there's the return of the society pages, and the Queen too, and then she's interrupted again. Chise this time, which should be good.

"Beatrice, why would it be scandalous for Princess to keep Ange and Dorothy as lovers? It will not affect the line of succession, or her marriageability."

Beatrice stops so suddenly you think you can hear something in her voicebox creak. "Wh- what?"

Chise puts a hand on her shoulder and looks her in the eye. "Beatrice. We have all seen each other in our underwear. We can be quite confident that this will not result in any bastards."

You can actually see the point at which Beatrice's mind simply cannot hold up under the weight of her incomprehension and breaks. Her face goes politely blank, and she can only muster a brief "... oh?"

Chise, for her part, looks to the rest of the table for support, and doesn't find it. Instead she finds Princess's best shit-eating grin, which is somehow visually indistinguishable from her usual princess smile. You do your best to not crack up at the spectacle unfolding.

"... I sense I have misunderstood something. Do you not have… concubines? In the West?"

Ange, who has been pretending at indifference, nearly chokes on her tea. She covers for herself perfectly, though- nobody else even notices as Beatrice nearly yells "We most certainly do not!"

Princess's grin has become, somehow, more shit-eating. It can no longer be contained by her society manners, and is openly eating shit. You brace yourself for whatever she's about to say.

"Well, maybe when I'm queen I'll have to change that."

Beatrice makes some inarticulate noises. Chise nods approvingly. So do you, for that matter, this is an ambition you think you can get behind. Ange takes a sip of her tea, until Princess wraps an arm around her shoulder.

"Of course, you won't be a concubine, Ange. You will be Princess-Consort."

She chokes more visibly this time. You snicker. "Yeah, I can live with that. How do you feel about it, Le Carré?"

She shoots you a dirty look, but she's still coughing so she can't say shit, even if anyone could hear her over Beatrice's despairing wails.

Victory.

Tonight, Ange's retrieved Princess to your room for no particular reason, as far as you can tell. Of course, with these two that doesn't mean a thing, but with these two there's also no point in digging. So you just enjoy their company, and occasionally kiss one or the other when the whim takes you.

Then, Princess plasters herself to your front and nearly knocks you off of your precarious balance on the back legs of your chair. You try to recover, almost manage it, and then Ange takes a crucial half-step back and you can't reach anything or anyone who might stabilize you. You fall, and Princess falls on top of you, and your chair goes skidding away. You hope it hit Ange in the shins. It probably didn't, though. You groan.

"You alright there, Princess?"

She giggles at you. Giggles! She fell too, you'd expect a little sympathy. Then she does her level best to put her tongue down your throat. Which you oblige, of course, because you aren't, despite all appearances to the contrary, a moron.

When she finally pulls away, she's flushed and panting, and so are you. And then she opens her mouth.

"Consider this my formal request for you to ravish me at your earliest convenience, Dorothy MacBean."

You're not panting anymore. You're not thinking anymore, either. You briefly cease to exist as a conscious being, you think. Your brain just stops fucking working. And then it starts back up, and the very first thing steam flows to is your Domme Face. One of the meaner ones.

"Pr-in-cess. Did you just knock my chair over so that I'd be more likely to fuck you?"

She shivers at the growl you've put in your voice. "Y-yes. Yes I did."

If she thought you had been grinning before, you disabuse her of that notion. And then you shut it all off and pack it away into a corner of your mind. "No. Try asking politely next time. I expect at least a week to prepare. You won't touch yourself, or get Ange to do it for you, in the meantime."

She pouts, but the joke's on her, you just want her to pout more. "One word of protest and it'll be two weeks minimum."

She nods and shuts up. And puts your chair back on its legs. You, meanwhile, start putting together a shopping list. "Ange, we're going shopping in town in a couple days, be ready. Also, both of you, know that I still have enough bug coverage of Princess's room to know whether you're behaving. Got it?"

You get two identical pouts. But, "Got it?"

Two nods.

The week ticks by far too slowly, but you don't let your impatience show. Instead, you take one of Ange's blonde wigs into town. You also take Ange, so she can hold everything. And, if you've read the two of them right, tell Princess all about it.

Your route is deliberately circuitous, not to confuse Ange, but to confuse any pedestrians who might recognize you from Queen's Mayfair. Eventually, you end up in a… discreet bookshop, as it prefers its clientele call it. Ange's eyes widen for a second before she can get control of her face again, which from her is about the equivalent of turning to you and yelling at you about just what manner of sin you spend your salary on. Fortunately for her, she'll find out whether she asks or not. First stop, paraffin candles. In red, you think. It'll look good against her skin. And if you like the way you can pretend the wax is blood before it cools, well, that's between you and God.

Second, rope. You have Ange arrange the wig and your candles, tie a couple nooses around her wrist to test the kind of marks they'll leave, and decide on some nice silk, just a little wider than you'd usually go for. A few lengths in black, matched as close as you could manage to Ange's ribbon, and a few in what you hope will be a complementary red to the candles.

Third stop is a corner flooded with that soothing leather smell. You turn to Ange, explain the plan, and pass twenty minutes picking out a riding crop. First you try it on you, and then if it passes muster, on her. This whole "not leaving visible marks on the princess of Albion" thing is rough, and you almost give up on the idea before Ange pulls out her Princess voice and reminds you that she could always take the role while bruises and welts fade. It's enough of a possibility that you pick one, at least.

Fourth stop is dildos, which have Ange's eyes wider again. She doesn't lose the deer-in-the-headlights look as you look through the offerings and pick out a promising specimen in lacquered mahogany.

What? You're planning for royalty, here. Gotta treat her right. On that note- You pick up the matching harness. Black, to complement the wood's color. Nothing wrong with treating yourself right, too.

You get back to Queen's Mayfair and send Ange to hide your haul in Princess's room.

"I don't care if she finds it, but nobody else had better, got it?"

She shudders at the hint of command in your voice, and again at the smile that puts on your face. But she's got it.

The week you set as minimum passes, and nothing happens. Princess keeps behaving herself, but doesn't appear at your door. Another day passes. Two. Three. Finally, you get Ange to ferry you up to her room.

And you're immediately pounced on. Not the right note to begin on at all, but enjoyable nonetheless. You let her kiss you, but you’re paying more attention to the words she’s saying in between.

“Finally- thought you would never- I’ve been waiting ages-”

And you go ahead and cut her off there. “And you’re still waiting, I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You do still want me to have my way with you, right? There’s no shame in changing your mind, or just not being in the mood anymore, I know I’ve given you a pretty long time to think about it.”

She looks at you like you’re a lunatic. “Of course I want- why would you think I didn’t?”

“Well, you didn’t come and ask, did you?”

“I thought that was banter!”

Oops. That one’s on you. “Sorry about that. No, it wasn't banter. Get Ange to bring you to my room after lights out and ask. Politely. Understand?”

She nods furiously, and it’s adorable. Can you really be blamed for twisting the knife a little?

“But not tonight. Or tomorrow, tomorrow’s no good either. Try the night after that.”

She groans and hangs her head. But she doesn’t argue. “Yes, ma’am.”

Well. Good behavior deserves some kind of treat. You slip around her, make yourself comfortable on her bed, and watch the incomprehension on two identical faces turn into shock at your audacity as you throw your uniform at them. Your underwear follows, and you cock an eyebrow.

"You two have too much fun with this, I'm gonna get dressed and leave, yeah?"

Ange grabs Princess's hands. You're not sure she really meant to. You'll take it, though. You smirk, palm a breast, and catch even yourself off-guard with the moan it elicits. Sure, it's been a long week and change, but you hadn't expected it to hit you this hard.

You force your hands to wander aimlessly and hear two groans at your affected lack of urgency. Which go straight to your clit, and make it even harder to pretend that you're not three seconds and an unwise statement from either of the changelings from knocking one of them off her feet and sitting on her face. And the certainty that whichever you chose would thank you for it definitely doesn't help you compose yourself, now that you've had the thought. Only one thing to do.

"Fuck, I just realized I could knock one of you off her feet and sit on her face and she'd thank me. You're both so eager, it's adorable."

Make it someone else's problem. You hear Ange mutter "meanie" but Princess's reaction is the real prize. Or rather, the lack of one. She's pasted her court smile over whatever she's thinking, but there are holes in it for the first time you've ever seen them. A tightness around her eyes, a slight uneven edge on the smile.

You finally, finally let yourself touch your clit properly and her moan is almost a yell. She actually manages to drown you out, and you're deliberately playing up every sound you make for the audience. Teach her to try to keep her composure around you, won't you. 

You try to keep yourself subdued for a while, but every time your attention lapses you find yourself tracing tight circles exactly where you need them. Which is a problem. You haven't been at this nearly long enough for your audience or for the bed you're on. Buy some time, MacBean, buy some time.

You fan your fingers so the slick on them catches the light and lick them off, provoking a full-body flinch from your lovers. You smile, sharp as one of Chise's blades, and slowly, slowly, keep it together, trace a path down your body in that saliva. Ange and Princess's gazes are locked on your hand, and they shudder when you finally slip one, two fingers into yourself. Princess twitches against Ange's hold, and the panic on her face when she realizes it is delicious.

"Careful there, Princess. No- mm- nobody'll be happy if I have to stop now, hm?"

She nods furiously. You weren't talking to Ange, but she nods too. And whispers something in Princess's ear that pulls a fantastic keening noise from her lips. A noise that's, honestly, a little too good.

Eh. You had a good run. You jump on that noise while it still hangs in the air and grind down against your palm, crook your fingers as best you can, and it’s not quite perfect but it’s there and it’s pressure and- you stare through your audience and let pleasure blank your mind for a second. 

You pull yourself together as fast as you can. Ange stares at you in awe. Princess makes a broken little noise as you wipe your hand off on her sheets and grin.

“Sorry, I think I might’ve made a bit of a mess.”

You get a different broken little noise. Then you stand up and get dressed. By the time you get your still-shaky hands to tie your ribbon enough it won’t fly off when you and Ange leave, Princess has composed herself enough to kiss Ange on the cheek and wish her a good night. You wait expectantly, but apparently you don’t rate one. You turn to Ange and extend a hand, but Princess grabs it, interposes herself, and kisses you. On the lips. You shoot a smug look at Ange over her shoulder.

“Good night, my loves.”

Heh. You are her loves, aren’t you, the two of you. Nice. You grin, and if it’s a dopey, lovestruck grin, well, you went over this with Ange. You’re a romantic.

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

Ange takes your hand and pulls you out the window. When you land, you hold a finger to your lips, rush to your headset, and turn the volume up as far as it’ll go. You both listen with bated breath as you hear unsteady steps and then the unmistakable sound of Princess collapsing into her bed.

She’s still screaming into her pillow when you decide to hang it up and go to sleep.

Ange’s been on edge all day, and understandably- so have you. It’s been two days, and tonight is the night you told Princess to make her case. You both retire early, and from what you can pick up, Princess has as well. You while away the minutes dressing up in your spy outfit- not any of the ones you wear to blend in, the one that you use to catch the eye. Ruffles and lavender and, of course, your killer legs in some very nice boots. Then you arrange yourself in a perfect, predatory lounge at your desk and listen to Princess pace. When lights out comes around and Ange opens the window, you stop her with a clipped order.

“Ange. When you get there, collect my stuff, then ask Princess if she’s ready to ask politely for what she wants. Do not say anything until you have it all together. Do not say anything else. If she gives you an answer other than ‘yes,’ hide it all again and come back. We can try again tomorrow night.”

She nods and launches. Over your headset, you can hear Princess’s gasp as the window squeaks open and her babble as Ange obediently ignores her in favor of collecting everything you had bought with her. You won’t need all of it, really, but the sheer mass involved means that she has to visit multiple hiding places, and Princess gets to see all of it individually instead of in one big bag.

An appreciative hum at rustling, thumping sounds that must be your rope.

A more confused noise at something that almost clacks and almost doesn’t make a sound at all- your candles. She must not know what they’re for, but obviously doesn’t believe they’re just for atmosphere.

Clear apprehension at the crop. Still anticipatory, though.

Hesitation. Nobody walks anywhere, nobody says anything. You laugh to yourself as you realize that Ange’s stalling on having to hold the dildo in front of her Princess. She retrieves it in the end, though, and you hear a little “oh.”

And then Ange, that clever, obnoxious, lying girl, mentally categorizes your fucking bugs as “your stuff,” and throws them in her bag too. Well. She was going to get to help you take Princess apart tonight, but it looks like she gets to sit on her thumbs and watch, instead.

You’ll let her keep the bugs, though. She did beat you fair and square. You listen to her ask Princess if she’ll ask for what she wants like an adult, and the desperate yes that follows, while you mentally compose your next report. “A swept room, bugs compromised, team convinced was Kingdom false flag, must abort” has a ring to it.

You put your headset aside as your mics hear the window close and the wind rush by, and then Ange and Princess are there, both flushed. You ignore Princess in favor of her sneaky, sneaky, counterpart.

“Ange. I believe it was understood that when I said ‘my stuff,’ I meant ‘the things we bought in town at that lovely little bookshop,’ not ‘everything that I had ever put in Princess’s room.’ Was I incorrect in this belief? Because you certainly don’t seem to have brought either of the changes of clothes I left there.”

Ange thinks about whether she can get out of this, but she knows damn well she can’t. You cut off whatever she was going to say.

"No, don't bother, I don't want to hear it. Take your bugs, sit on your bed over there, strip. If you touch yourself I'll have to make you regret it, and then you won't be as good a stand-in for Princess because you'll both be limping messes. Understand?"

She does. You turn to Princess and ruffle her hair a little. "Now, I hear you have something to ask me?"

She turns bright red and mumbles something.

"What was that, Princess? Come now, you were so brash the first time you tried this. Is it that much harder this time?"

She looks down at the floor and whispers something that might be "Please fuck me." You tilt her chin up with a finger until she's looking you in the eye.

"So that I can actually hear you, Charlotte."

That gets you a reaction, finally.

"Please fuck me."

Just not the right one.

"I can do that, Princess, but as I recall it's not really what you want, now is it? What you want is for me to have my way with you. It's important to ask for what you really want or people can get confused."

You can see the humiliation in her eyes at saying it on your terms instead of hers, but she eventually asks. Politely, even.

"Please have your way with me, Dorothy."

You give her a little kiss. "I'm glad you've decided to ask for things like a big girl, that makes this much easier. Currently, the plan is for Ange to be your stand-in if I leave marks. Should I try to avoid that?"

She thinks about it and shakes her head.

"Hear that, Ange? Now you have to behave, or it'll come out of Princess's plausibility."

The little shit just ignores you and starts taking apart your microphones. You see her hands shaking, though. Message received. You refocus on Princess.

"I don't know how you react to certain things, so I need you to pick a word. If you say it, I stop what I'm doing. I suggest something you won't say by accident."

She thinks for a second before she smiles mischievously. "How about 'Casablanca?'"

You're about to make an agreeable sound when Ange cuts you off with a whine that almost makes you wonder if she's zapped herself on your bugs somehow. You cock an eyebrow. "There a story there?"

Princess gives you her court smile. "Not one you get to hear."

Fair enough. You turn to light a candle. "Strip."

"And if I don't?"

You give an exasperated sigh, slowly turn back around, and display the rather impressive pair of shears you had bought along with the rope. This isn't entirely why you have them, but it isn't not why.

"Oh." She casts a speculative eye at you, but strips. Across the room, Ange makes- some kind of sound. You look over, but she's behaving and if she really thought you were a threat to her Princess you'd know. You turn your attention back to the lover who hasn't annoyed you tonight.

"Good girl."

Next, the rope. You take the black. The rope that was meant for Ange. Neither of them will know, but you will, and you have to get your petty, petty kicks where you can.

The wax might fuck up the rope if you go for a full harness, unfortunately. You'll just do something simpler.

"Kneel. Hands behind your back."

Once she's in position, you… Run into a problem. Her hair is just so fucking long, and you don't want to incorporate it into the tie.

"Stay put."

You're halfway to rummaging through Ange's nightstand when you have a better idea. You run your fingers through grey hair, kiss her once, twice, and steal the ribbon she's already wearing. You wave a finger under her nose as you leave.

"Behave."

Back to Princess. You put her hair up in a quick bun to match yours. Braiding it would be fun, but not the tone for tonight. With it out of the way, you can secure her hands to her ankles. Then, you set your candle in front of her, just for you both to look at for a bit- her in incomprehension, you in anticipation.

The candle burns down some, and you pick it up. The confusion in Princess's eyes lasts right until you hold your wrist out and tilt your other hand just enough to let the puddle of melted wax by the wick start to drip.

Drip. Drip. Drip. You hiss; yup, that's hot all right. You let yourself laugh a little at the strangled gasp from Ange's direction, but all your attention is on Princess as you gently tilt her head to one side and let a single drop of red wax fall on her shoulder.

"Ah-" She flinches away, but not particularly vehemently. You chance another few drops before setting the candle back down.

"Alright there, Princess?"

She nods shakily.

"More?"

She answers in a whisper. But the whisper says "please."

You oblige her. First, let the candle burn down a little more. Replenish that puddle of wax. Then, slow pour on the top of her thighs, to watch her hiss once when it lands and again when it rolls down to her more sensitive inner thighs. Don't bother letting it burn down again, just let it drip red scattered irregularly along her collarbones, rolling down onto her cleavage. Every drop prompts a new little whimper or hiss or whine or groan, and you collect them all eagerly.

Tilt her head to the side again, careful of her hair, let the wax collect and then quick pour it all along her neck. That one earns you a yelp, but she can't move against your grasp until you've let it flow bloodily-enough past her jugular and between her breasts. Then you let her recoil as much as your tie allows as you use a foot to nudge her knees apart and squat to put your candle down between her legs, just close enough to her core that she can't open her legs wide enough to fully escape the heat of its little flame. While you're at her eye level, you decide to look her in the eye.

"Princess?"

She whines and opens her eyes to look at you.

"Still with me?"

She nods, and you frown.

"If you want me to keep going you'll have to do better than that."

"Y- yes. Please. Please, Dorothy, please keep going, please-"

You pat her on the head and give her a smirk. "There, there, baby girl. I've got you."

She gives a little whine at the appellation, but it's nearly drowned out by Ange's shameless moan. You frown again. "I'll be right back, Princess."

Ange looks up at you like she thinks she isn't in the wrong here, but she's still certain that you're going to take offense to her actions. She learns fast, doesn't she? You look over her fingers, and her sheets just in case she thought she'd be clever, but there's nothing to justify anything more severe than a dressing-down.

"Do you fucking mind, Ange? When I thought about getting gags I thought I'd need them for Princess, not you."

That gets you a sharp inhale from two directions, but only one of them matters. Ange shakes her head.

"Good. Now will you please shut your mouth? I never interrupted you and Princess, did I? I expect the same courtesy."

Ange nods. You give her a grin. One of the really mean ones. "Good. If I have to hear another sound out of you for the rest of the night I'm going to do something that will be really bad for your ability to pass for Princess tomorrow. And also your ability to walk tomorrow. Got it?"

She's got it. You turn around with that practiced method that makes your half-skirts flare very dramatically and head back to drop to your knees in front of Princess.

"I am so sorry about that, darling. We won't have to worry about her anymore, or else-" this directed over her shoulder- "so are you ready to keep going?" At her nod, you stand and drop your skirts to reveal the new harness you'd bought. Princess's brow furrows in confusion, until you hook your cock into it. Mahogany's a little heavy for this, but that just means it digs into you nicely.

She's not confused anymore. You're not sure she's thinking, period, but that hardly surprises you. You move the candle that was keeping her legs spread and take its place, pressing the head against her cheek.

"Now I know you know what to do with this, Princess. I saw you working on Ange's revolver. Suck."

She does. Enthusiastically. Enthusiastically enough that you wish you'd bothered to pick a model that had an end that went in you too, because watching the cooling wax on her skin bend and crack as she sucks your dick like she doesn't have any other thoughts in her head is definitely doing it for you. You make do with grabbing her hair and forcing her into a pattern that grinds the base against your clit more effectively. And you make a note for next time.

Once you have a rhythm going you glance over to check on Ange. Who is absolutely fixated on the sight of Princess trying to swallow the last few centimeters of you. Her hand twitches towards her clit a few times, but she eventually grabs her thigh instead. You nod approvingly. That's handled for now, so you pull Princess off of you. She gives a little heartbroken whine when the tip of your strap sees daylight, but after a perfunctory tug against your grip she lets you guide her to lean against your thigh and breathe deeply.

Then you step back, grab your riding crop, and use it to tilt her chin up. And then you have to take a moment to catch your breath. 

She's gorgeous. She's smeared with her own spit, covered in wax that looks just as good against her skin as you'd hoped, and most importantly, on her knees and looking at you like you're the only important person in the Kingdom. In the world, maybe. You smile gently and hold the tongue of the crop against her lips. "Hold this for me, Princess."

She's confused at first, but you're insistent enough that she figures out that she's supposed to bite down. You let your end of it fall against the floor and circle around her to undo your ties. Nice bruising. Put a boot on her shoulder, enough weight to lean her forward, stabilize your arm on your raised knee, tip the still-burning candle you'd picked up. Savor the little shriek through leather as the wax pours down her spine.

Hold that position for a bit, let the wax drip. Put the candle down. Stare Ange down, unhook your strap. "Catch." You throw it, she does. "Hold onto that. A centimeter of it goes inside you, anywhere, anyhow, and I beat the hell out of you." Oh, wow, getting to finally hold that crop has you even more keyed up than you'd expected it to.

Take a moment, Dorothy. Breathe. Maybe grind your heel into Princess's shoulder some while you're here, get the nervous energy out. Yeah, that's a good little distressed sound. Get your head screwed back on right. Stay in control, here, nobody in this room is here for random flailing.

You circle back in front of Princess and take your end of the crop back, tugging gently until she lets go. You inspect the tongue and find she bit deep. That's an interesting piece of information to keep in mind.

"Up you get, Princess."

She tries to get up on her feet, but stumbles and you have to scramble to catch her and not drop the crop and make sure nobody accidentally knocks over any flaming, cylindrical objects that could roll any-fuckin'-where towards any-fuckin'-thing. With any luck, you make it all look intentional, and if Ange sees through you, she's at least smart enough to keep it to herself.

You set Princess down on your bed and spare a rueful thought at wax on  the sheets, but you can't have everything. Then you give her a kiss and a little push backwards and she tips over so easily you almost worry.

"You there, Princess?"

You get a dreamy sigh, which isn't what you're looking for. "If you want me to keep going, you're going to have to ask."

She pouts, but apparently decides that if you're going to make her think, she's going to try and take the offensive. "Please, Dorothy, come over here and- what was that threat? Beat the hell out of me."

Well. You probably won't, because you think she and you probably have very different definitions of that phrase. But with an invitation like that, how could you leave a lady wanting?

Easily, is how. Because it's fun to watch her whine as you take the crop and gently tap her belly, then just as gently trace around the wax on her skin. 

But it's just as fun to listen to her cut off as you land your first real hit at the hollow of her hip. And then again on her side, just below her breasts. And again, light but noticeable, across her face. You nudge her knees apart and again, on her inner thigh. Again. Again. You layer your hits on that spot and listen to hisses become moans become grunts before you move on. You work her over a bit more and wish you were holding a switch instead of a crop, so you could watch welts build and overlap across her breasts and stomach and thighs.

Alas, you are trying a little bit to not do that, so you're stuck with the wider head and the more faded redness. Not that there's no way to leave something for future Dorothy to look at, of course.

"Hands and knees, Princess."

She obeys and gets on all fours. Ange almost moans at the sight of her presenting herself like this, but she cuts herself off pretty fast and you're in a good mood yourself. You settle for a threatening swing of the crop in her general direction. Then a far more functional swing collides with the meat of Princess's thigh and she jumps.

Ha. There she was thinking that because you had her ass in the air you were only going to hit it. No, you're feeling a little more ambitious. You’ll be able to watch her wince when she sits down for a week, if you have your way, and that requires a more comprehensive approach. You let the second blow fly, and then the third, and for a while you just listen to the sound of leather on skin and Princess's moans slowly turning into screams.

When you think she thinks you've beaten the hell out of her, you stop, sit down on the bed beside her, and set the crop down where she can see it. "Good girl, Princess. Good girl."

She moans and collapses against you. She's learning your rhythm fast, though, because you've barely started playing with the hair that's escaped the bun you gave her when she opens her mouth again.

"Dorothy, it's been a very long not quite two weeks and I will die if you don't follow that up by fucking me until I forget my own name. Please do that."

You're capable of resisting many taunts and requests, but not this one, even if she was rather testy about it. "Ange." She throws you your strap- this is probably better for your stamina, but you're still a little disappointed your ambiguous command didn't result in her leaving the bed you'd ordered her to stay on. You put Princess on her back with one hand and hook your dick back into its harness with the other.

And then you turn to Princess, look her in the eye, and bottom out in one smooth motion. She almost wails louder than she did when you were spanking her, and when you add a hand on her clit, you're pretty sure she does. It's not a half bad ego boost, considering that this is the first time anyone's touched her all night and she's already this wound up. Because of you. Not a half bad ego boost at all. You slowly withdraw as she babbles plaintive nonsense to try and keep you in place and then snap your hips back in.

And she fucking loses it. She thrashes, cries, sits up and grabs hold of your singlet and crushes herself to you until her orgasm passes. She's such a pretty girl. You should tell her that. "My pretty girl." Yes. There you go. Now she knows. But you have other very important things to do. Like making her forget her own name. Yeah, you'll get on that. You roll your hips experimentally and she yelps and clutches you tighter. Oh, you like that yelp. You do it again. And again.

You let her keep clinging to you for that second orgasm, but then you disentangle her from you a bit.

“You want more, Princess?”

She looks at you like she didn’t know that was an option. Which is odd. You know the kind of stamina this girl has, if anyone here should be leery of carrying on like this it’s you. She nods, though, so you put her on her hands and knees on the floor and take her third release while you shove her face against the wax that had dripped off of her body entirely. And oh, since you’re here- you grab your candle from where you’d left it and let it tip over the already-painful backs of her thighs. Then you blow it out while she squeals. Probably enough of that for the night. You’ve got one more thought in your head, you think.

“Got one more of those in you, Princess?”

She takes a moment to answer, and you’re halfway through mourning the possibilities when she nods.

“Then beg.”

“Please, Dorothy, please, fuck me-” You let her carry on for a good bit before you relent. Up she goes- she winces at your hands on her thighs, but giggles at the sudden princess carry- and then down she goes.

On Ange’s bed.

Face to face with the current occupant of that bed.

Your old friend stares at you like you’d delivered her love’s corpse. You grin, and blow her a kiss, and get to work. By now you have a decent idea of what Princess likes, so you can focus on the really entertaining part of this. Specifically, casting knowing glances at Ange. Or cocking an eyebrow at Ange. Or mouthing “I’m watching you” at Ange. You never actually catch her doing anything, but at least twice you see her panic, and that makes it so worth doing.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and Princess eventually starts shivering and her moans pick up that little bit of extra urgency you recognize from her long nights with Ange. You gentle your motions to extend this last orgasm as long as you can, then pull out and nudge her to put her head in Ange’s lap.

You keep an ear out while you undo your harness, but it’s just sweet nothings, nothing wrong. Princess is speaking softly in what you think is the loudest voice she can manage at the moment, and Ange is carding her fingers through her hair with the softest expression you’ve ever seen her make. And she calls you a romantic.

Well, the sight puts a pretty stupid smile on your face, too. So you guess she’s right to. You perk up when you hear Princess say something you weren’t expecting.

“I love you, Charlotte.”

“Dummy. I’m Ange, remember?”

“But then we’re both Ange…”

“Yes, but you’re Queen Ange, and I’m only Princess-Consort Ange.”

“Oh. Right.”

Damn. Usually when someone asks you to fuck them so hard they forget their own name, they don’t literally forget their own name. You’d almost feel guilty for breaking her if Ange didn’t look so serene about it all. You guess it must be okay, then. You pull out a palette knife you’d swiped from art class to start scraping the wax off Princess, and then things go a tiny bit sideways.

As in, the room is sideways. No, you’re on your side. On the floor. Ange has you in a lock and your palette knife at your throat. Princess sticks her head over the edge of the bed. “Ange?”

Yeah, that’s what you wanna know- wait. Hold on. You- okay, hold on, you incapacitated Princess and then approached her with something metal and vaguely knife-shaped. While Ange was more on edge than she’s maybe ever been, and within easy reach of you. This one’s on you. Shit.

“It’s blunt, Ange, it’s a palette knife. Like from art class. We use it for mixing paints, yeah?”

Princess makes a distressed sound. “Ange, let Dorothy up, I don’t want you to kill her, you’ll be sad.”

You think it’s probably more Princess that really gets through to her, but whether it was Princess or you or just her recognizing that this thing in her hand isn’t weighted right to be a murdery kind of knife, she does let you go. And then freezes, and tries to take a step away from you. You don’t let her.

“Hey, Ange, it’s alright. I didn’t realize you’d react like that, but I should have. C’mere. Do you want to keep it? I was going to use it to scrape the wax off Princess, but you can do it instead.”

She shakes her head in your embrace and passes you the knife.

“Okay, cool. Hold on to her for me, will you?” You give her a smile and a kiss. She returns the kiss with enthusiasm, so you guess you can consider her reassured, or at least still so incredibly wound up that she’ll replace that peak of emotion with a different one given the slightest provocation. You’ll take either, honestly.

The wax removal goes much better after that, though Princess flinches a fair amount when you go to take it off her thighs, and you do end up needing to let Ange get the wax on her throat.

“Alright, that’s the last of it. Gonna need a broom tomorrow, huh. In the meantime, I guess we all need showers. You good to fly, Ange?”

She nods. You weren’t expecting anything else, honestly, you think Ange could probably operate her C-ball from her grave. It just felt like a question you should ask. Between the two of you, you get everybody dressed and out the window and in the window and bathed, and then dressed again and out the window and in the window. Princess is practically falling asleep standing up, and then she leans on you and she’s fallen asleep standing up. You turn to Ange.

“You’ll need to take her place for at least tomorrow, I think. Do you trust me with her for the night, or do you want to stick around for-” you look at the clock- “another hour or so?”

She visibly struggles, but, “I trust you.” You smile. You weren’t really expecting that answer so quickly, you’re not gonna lie. You lean over and go to kiss her on the forehead, except she tilts her face up and yanks a stray lock of your hair, and you’re kissing her square on the mouth instead. Well, that’s nice too. Eventually, you lean a little too far into her and almost drop Princess. No, that’s a lie. You do drop Princess, but it turns out she was mostly dozing and she just turns it into a stagger towards your bed. Ange pulls away and shoots you a skeptical look.

“Hey, that was all you! That was all you, I had her right up until you started dragging me around by the hair.”

Ange is still skeptical, but apparently not in the mood to argue with you about it. She turns towards the window, but you stop her with a hand on her shoulder.

“I love you, Ange. And also, once you get up into her bedroom, I think you’ve earned a little treat, since you did so well earlier.”

She kisses you again, hard, and then she’s through the window and gone as fast as you’ve ever seen her manage. You hope she doesn’t find the bug you slipped into her pocket. Or that she ever noticed that you’d managed to configure a recording function on your headset. Only for an hour, but you think that’ll be enough.

You flip the switch, smirk at the sound of the spinning tape deck, and fall into bed with your princess.