Work Text:
Gloriana, First of Her Name, sat in the palace's stellarium, nestled into the supple cushions of her chair, barely feeling the chill of the night as it pulsed in through all the glass around her.
The snow was still on the ground, but the clouds were gone and the stars were out. Gloriana was decked out in comfortable velvets. Despite the late hour, staff members came and went, the silver coffee service kept full. At least all the other seats in the room were empty.
"Majesty." Lucia had finally arrived, wrapped up nicely in swathes of rough silk. She was aesthetically exquisite and kept herself in perfect shape. No one would question what she was there for, what she was for. No one ever had, nor did they know the true work she put herself to, what she sought out and gathered and compiled.
Gloriana beckoned her closer. "Tits out, beautiful," she said lazily. All the most important work, in the current political climate, had to be done lazily. And Lucia was very important work indeed -- but also fun, fortunately.
A sovereign was never alone. That particular nuisance had to be counteracted, when there were so few who could be trusted. So really, a sovereign was always alone, and should embrace the paradox. And if one could embrace the soft bodies of the very few as well, so much the better.
What kind of lunatic relied solely on official intel reports? From people everyone knew were compiling and providing the data?
If anyone was clever enough to look past the obvious, to think about the uses of pillow talk in intel, they would probably think such a technique was being used by some outside force against the sovereign -- and that it wasn't yielding much of use yet, since Gloriana never spoke of politics to her pretty plaything.
Lucia obediently peeled away her top, presenting breasts that looked sharp enough to etch the glass walls, with the way they peaked from the cold. Gloriana reached out a hand and pinched one nipple, rolling it between her fingers for a moment and savoring the low, urgent, slightly-pained sound she got from the very clever woman. Lucia could have better self-control than to make such noise, of course, but why would they want anyone to know it? Lucia had to be nothing. That was how one preserved everything.
Next, still pinching Lucia's pert flesh firmly, just at that single point, Gloriana tugged it up and looked at the markings in cip-ink under the curve of the breast, markings which looked very much like artistic decoration if one was not intimately familiar with all the ways to code data in filigree that Gloriana had worked out with certain correspondents in her youth. She committed the data to memory, then dropped the breast and went for the other even while the flesh bounced, observing both things in turn. Soon, she withdrew her hand, watching further jiggling, then langorously peeled the rest of Lucia's clothing off, stroking the shivering texture of her skin.
Gloriana picked up her coffee and took a long, warm sip as she watched Lucia tremble in the crisp night. Then, without rising an inch out of her chair, she tugged Lucia down into a kiss, let her sink hungrily into the queen's extra-warmed mouth.
More staff came in, mumbled apologies at the sight of their queen with the naked beauty, and left. How much had they seen? How much had they heard? It wasn't a problem in any case. No business had been spoken, because it had, in advance, been layered into pleasure. Lucia always came prepared.
They parted, panting for air, and Gloriana took another warm sip before beckoning Lucia to straddle her lap, then letting her heated lips nip at those perky tits until her sweet little spymistress started to squirm. At that point, Gloriana casually pressed an elegant hand to shove her off.
Lucia knew her cues, landing unharmed and scrambling between her sovereign's legs. As layers of royal velvet were folded aside, Gloriana looked up, through the glass ceiling and into the sky above.
"I was born under the sign of the Chalice-Holder," she commented, staring at those very stars as Lucia nuzzled her inner thighs. Gloriana's birthdate was common knowledge, but she spoke of such things as if they were information, anyway. Too much silence could become a problem, after all.
"Appropriate to Your Majesty's dignified grace," Lucia mouthed into her skin. Gloriana could almost chuckle at the choice of response, but of course she wasn't going to say anything about 'hatred of small talk' or 'intellect of a merciless visionary.' All important work must be done lazily. "I was born under the Archer."
This made perfect sense to Gloriana. Archers saw far. Moreover, the constellation in question ruled only two months before. They were both born to be cold.
Even making a plaything of Lucia was practical, in its way. Even their heat was for cold reasons. Gloriana, of course, didn't say any of that. It was no coded information to share; they both already knew it and needed no others to.
Instead, she drawled lazily, "Then find your target, beautiful." Her voice was dry. Her body, where it waited, was not, and neither was Lucia's mouth as she got more attentively to work.
Gloriana shifted in her chair with only a few sounds of pleasure. Lucia was always skilled -- she ought to be, having studied such things as she studied everything -- and effort should be rewarded, but such rewards should not come too easily. So Gloriana intended to sit and stare up at the beautiful aesthetic patterns in which seers found so much of their data encoded. She would speak occasionally of things superficial, to ensure the weapon stayed properly hidden beneath the laquer of a toy.
Eventually, she would let herself groan and shudder. Then, hazily, she would allow Lucia up, kiss the taste of herself off those luscious lips, and then wrap those perky, conspiratorial tits up in rough silk again before sending them on their way until next time.