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Clarissa Dovey stands in front of the fire after having taken off her saturated dress. She is in nothing but her camisole and corset, hands resting on her sculpted hips, her back to Lesso as her skirts and the white blouse she'd worn dried on a chair next to Lesso's own clothes. Lesso herself sits somewhat slumped in one of her armchairs, stripped down to her own corset and undergarments, and finds she can't take her eyes off of the top of the fairy wing tattoos on Dovey's shoulder blades. They look as if they're drawn in starlight. Against her dark skin it's a beautiful sight.
"I never knew you had tattoos," Lesso says into the silence, something teasing in her tone.
Dovey tenses, the lines of her shoulders hardening.
"All fairy godmothers have them," Dovey answers cautiously.
Lesso hums, tilting her head. Dovey still hasn't turned to look at her.
"Do they serve a purpose?" Lesso asks, wondering if the rumours were true.
She'd often heard about magical tattoos—even had some herself—but she had not heard of the Evers making use of them for centuries. Something about shifting beauty standards and that marking their pristine skin with works of art in an irreversible way was no longer part of those standards. But, she supposed fairy godmothers had always stood slightly to the left of the rules. They could bend them. They did bend them; Dovey did so often.
"Decoration," Dovey says easily, throwing her a sideways look over her shoulder. "That's all I'm telling you."
Lesso scoffs.
"Really?" she asks, wondering if she can get anything more out of her like she's usually able to.
"Really," Dovey says with a smirk, turning back to the fire.
Something has shifted, though. A game, of sorts, has begun.
"Well," Lesso begins, rising from her chair with some effort, "I'm calling bullshit. Fairy godmothers used to have wings before the fae wars and your tattoos are far too suspiciously shiny to be ordinary ones."
She adjusts her grip on her cane, slowly ambling over to her; her knee and hip are fucked for tonight after their mad dash across the bridge in the rain. Standing hurts, but being closer to Dovey and the fire and being in pain is better than sitting alone in pain.
She is very aware of the fact that Dovey could wave her hand and dry her skirts immediately and is idly wondering why she hasn't done that already, but she's not complaining. If Dovey wants to stand half naked and damp in front of her fire, who is she to deny her? These little moments are few and far between. She will make the most of it.
Dovey tenses a little, her head turning slightly to bring Lesso into her peripheral vision.
"You won't be getting this out of me, Leo," she says softly.
Lesso winds an arm around her waist—cane resting in front of Dovey's right foot—and rests her chin on her left shoulder. Her bare skin is chilled but warming quickly. Lesso sighs and leans into her as Dovey does the same, her head tilting so that her temple rests against Lesso's.
"I won't, Clarissa," Lesso agrees. "I'll just tell you what I think and gauge your reaction, like I always do. You won't have broken any oaths and I will know the truth."
Dovey chuckles lowly.
"Alright, then."
Lesso turns her head to press a kiss to Dovey's neck, quietly delighting in the shudder that runs through her. She shifts her weight between her good and bad leg when her good leg starts feeling the strain.
"Wait," Dovey says, gently nudging her backwards toward the chair. "Sit down. I don't want you hurting if it can be helped."
Lesso frowns but does as she's asked and lowers herself into the chair. It won't really make much difference. Her leg will still throb for a while yet—perhaps even overnight despite pain killers.
She feels her frown disappear when Dovey follows, confidently straddling her lap. Lesso's hands immediately go to Dovey's waist, then trail down along her quads, smoothing over her silken slip. Her leg doesn't protest any more than it already has, thankfully.
"Is this an attempt at distraction?" Lesso asks when Dovey holds her face in her cool hands and presses a kiss to her forehead.
Dovey's fingers flex against her hairline. Her smile is wide.
"No," she says with a laugh. "I just wanted to cuddle."
She bends down again, curling into her, hands sliding behind Lesso's back as her cheek rests on Lesso's bare shoulder.
"Oh, yes, because that's not suspicious at all. You never do anything without cause, Dove," Lesso says fondly.
She drags her nails up along Dovey's spine, ensuring she feels it through her remaining layers, and feels her relax once she repeats the motion. Dovey sighs, breath warming Lesso's bare neck.
"Do your thing before I fall asleep on you," she murmurs.
Lesso smiles.
"Alright." she pauses; thinks for a bit. "Option one is that those tattoos on your back signify your status as a fairy godmother in the absence of actual wings."
"Well, wings are forbidden now."
"Unless you're lying," Lesso counters, nails lingering against the skin at the nape of Dovey's neck. She taps twice, then drags them back down. "Then they would be there to magically contain those lovely gossamer structures within ink."
Her hand stills between Dovey's shoulderblades where the bases of her wings would theoretically be. She draws light circles into her skin above the line of her corset. Something shifts beneath Dovey's skin. It's barely anything and could be mistaken for Dovey breathing, but Lesso knows that's not it. She's dragged her nails over Dovey's back hundreds of times before, albeit separated by layers and layers of clothes most of the time. This is new. This is not normal.
"You sound familiar with such things, dearest," Dovey says, breathing low and slow, eyelashes fluttering against Lesso's neck.
Lesso chuckles and leans her head against Dovey's with a sigh, resuming her hand's downward sweep. She gazes into the fire, letting its warmth seep into her and letting Dovey's drowsiness wash over her too.
"There are daggers etched into the undersides of my forearms," she says quietly.
Dovey squirms a bit as she sits up properly to grab Lesso's bare arm and turn it over.
"Where?" her brows furrow at the blank skin she finds there.
It's cute.
Lesso snorts.
"They're glamoured."
"Very well glamoured," Dovey says, a brow raised, impressed.
She settles back into her original position and Lesso takes the compliment with burning cheeks and warmth in her chest. She focuses on Dovey's back again, nails trailing over corsetry and eventually unlacing her so that she might breathe easier and shed some of the weight of the day.
Magical tattoos often had some sort of trigger, be it induced by the wearer or another. In this case, hopefully, it would be both.
"You've stopped," Dovey says. "Why?"
Her tone is airy. The line of starlit ink beneath Lesso's nail twitches.
"Gauging," she answers softly, watching the ink steadily come alive.
Dovey hums.
"I know what you're trying to do," she says.
"Clearly, it's working," Lesso answers, dragging her nails along Dovey's shoulder and watching the glow brighten.
"There's no oath," Dovey whispers.
"Oh, I know, Dove," Lesso chuckles. "That was an assumption I'd made. I know quite a bit more about fairy godmothers than most of my colleagues."
Dovey weakly swats at her shoulder, a huff of laughter leaving her.
"People always assume there's an oath. It's gotten me out of a lot of things," she admits conspiratorially.
"Awfully Never-like of you, darling," Lesso remarks, lightly teasing.
"Fairy godmothers have always been in a bit of a grey area." Dovey says quietly, sounding as though she's thinking deeply.
Lesso scratches gently at the nape of her neck, fingers eventually making their way up into Dovey's curls. She's been telling her this every time morality comes up in some of their—admittedly heated—debates. She won't rub it in, for once. It's not easy to admit that your guild might not always have everyone's best interests at heart, no matter what they say. It's harder still to have to come to terms with the reality when you've been fed a certain story your whole life.
"In any case," Dovey starts again, shaking herself out of thought, "Evers don't like tattoos at the moment and having my wings out all the time is inconvenient. They're not exactly small."
Lesso mentally adds that they could—depending on how they looked—also give the Evers' rigid hierarchy some chafing. Appearing human, appearing royal, gave Dovey a leg up in her society. Snobs were still snobs on either side of Good and Evil. Xenophobes were abundant either side, too.
"I'm sure they'll come back into fashion soon," she says, shifting slightly to avoid having her arse go completely numb.
"The last time they were in fashion was sixty years ago." Dovey groaned, pulling back and standing.
She offers a hand to Lesso and pulls her up with a slight grunt. Lesso steadies herself on her cane, shifting from foot to foot to wake her muscles up again.
"Bed?" Dovey asks.
"You don't want a bath?" Lesso answers, frowning.
"You have one?" Dovey teases.
Lesso gasps and gently thwacks her cane against the side of Dovey's bare leg.
"The cheek!"
She pulls her in the direction of the bathroom that Dovey knows exists and does in fact possess a bath. Witchlights float into the air like motes of dust as they enter. By the time they're all fully lit and airborne, the space is cast in a warm golden light not unlike that of candles.
"Can't you start a trend?" Lesso asks, leaning against the vanity as Dovey runs the bath. "You're good at that."
Dovey sighs.
"The last time tattoos were trendy with Evers, they were also trendy with Nevers," she explains, casting a rather dramatic look of suffering at her over her shoulder.
"They've never stopped being trendy with Nevers. There's always been an overlap, Dove," Lesso says, watching the bubbles rise higher.
"I know. But then everyone else also figured that out and that was what ruined it." Dovey stuck a foot through the bubbles and into the water. It seemed to be alright, because the next thing Lesso knew, she was wiggling out of her undergarments and stepping in. "Heavens forbid we have something in common with our enemies. It's just a damn tool. If anything, it should teach Evers more about ethics." She's rightfully bitter as she settles below the bubbles.
With the way this conversation was going, Dovey might rant about literature later and it is with no surprise that Lesso finds she's keen for that. Dovey's brilliant to listen to when she's pulling plotlines, themes, and characters apart. Lesso enjoys being a sounding board for her, too. It gives them both a fresh perspective—always helpful in their line of work.
"Very important," Lesso agrees with a nod.
"Are you getting in?" Dovey asks.
"After you. Bath's too small."
Dovey raises a hand, fingertip glowing. Lesso shakes her head.
"Don't fuck with my bath size, Dove," she says seriously, pointing the head of her cane at Dovey.
Dovey's other hand rises from the water in surrender. She grins. Lesso sits properly on the vanity bench instead of leaning. Dovey's magic fades. Lesso watches her, eyes tracing the sculpt of her shoulders before the bubbles obscure the rest of her. She wonders if she'll let her see her wings. She might not. It wasn't the end of the world either way. Those tattoos really were gorgeous on her.
A thought occurs.
"I've never seen you in a backless dress," she says tilting her head.
"Tattoos," Dovey says with a sigh.
"Glamour," Lesso counters, brows raised.
Dovey sinks beneath the water for a bit.
"I like how they look. I don't want to have to cover them any more than necessary. Besides, backless dresses aren't quite in trend at the moment," she says when she comes back up, wiping water from her eyes and face. "It's no loss."
"You are getting excellent grades in conforming to societal norms," Lesso says dryly, kicking her heels lightly against the cabinate beneath her.
"Thank Storian," Dovey says with faux relief, a hand briefly resting over her sternum.
"And you like the thrill of having something risky discovered," Lesso adds, grinning widely.
Dovey gasps, eyes wide and genuinely shocked. She does not cease in her cleaning routine.
"I do not!"
"At least six people saw us on our way to my personal quarters." Lesso leans over toward her.
"Can't avoid them all." Dovey runs the soap over her arms.
"You greeted every one of them." Lesso leans back.
"It's polite." Dovey drops the soap in the water by accident and scrabbles for it. She pulls a face. "Soap under my nails. Ew," she mutters.
"They definitely know about us and you like that." Lesso ignores the soap dilemma.
Dovey purses her lips.
"Nobody will ever believe them," she says with a snobbish air before flashing her a smile.
Lesso laughs.
~<>~
Later, they cuddle up in bed. Dovey's asleep on her chest as Lesso drags her nails along the smooth planes of Dovey's back, bared to the world because of how she had bunched her borrowed shirt up around her neck. Lesso's own eyes had been shut for a while, but she had opened them when a soft glow had appeared. Now, she watches with quiet awe as the iridescent lines etched into Dovey's back lifted from her skin and morphed into proper wings. The colours shift and change, but gold and silver feature heavily, tinged with dusty pink, faint orange, and powdery blue. Sunset gossamer, Lesso thinks, careful not to stop the drag of her nails against Dovey's back.
"Gorgeous," Lesso murmurs, feeling the weight of one pair settle over her forearm. "Thank you."
She feels so, so honoured that Dovey has such trust in her.
Dovey's head moves and Lesso feels a sleepy kiss being pressed to the underside of her jaw.
"No," Dovey says, her voice a sigh, "Thank you."