Morgana had finally discovered the cure for chronic insomnia, and that was a seven-hour flight from the States to the UK (not counting delays) followed by horrific amounts of jetlag. She rolled over and burrowed against Morgause, mumbling, "What time is it?" and getting a mouthful of blonde hair for her trouble.
Morgause fumbled for her mobile, which she must have dropped on the floor when they'd fallen exhausted into bed. "Six in the morning. We must have slept right though." She curled back into Morgana. "I'll have to get up soon."
"How soon?" asked Morgana with sleepy playfulness, crawling on top of Morgause and nuzzling at her neck. The bed was warm and the rest of the flat was cold, the omnipresent London drizzle managing to make everything feel damp, even indoors.
"Are you okay?" Morgause asked when Morgana froze mid-seduction.
"Fine. I just -" She rolled away from Morgause and stared up at the ceiling "- the time difference is playing tricks on me."
"I have to get up anyway or I'll be late." Morgause gave her a quick kiss and padded in the direction of the bathroom.
"The last tenants complained that the hot water took ages to heat up," Morgana called after her.
"I told you we should have stayed in a hotel."
It had been Morgana's idea to come along this time, her first visit back to London in two years. Morgause had to come for a series of meetings that she hadn't been able to pawn off on Cenred, and Morgana needed to sell her flat which had been sitting unoccupied since the last lot of tenants had left three months ago. And anyway, at this time of year New York was bloody freezing while London was merely damp. And Morgause had suggested they might make a holiday of it. Paris, or Rome if Morgana preferred, to celebrate their two-year anniversary.
Really, they'd been together for longer than that, but it was two years ago that they'd been sitting in the Heathrow airport departure lounge and Morgana had looked at Morgause, really properly looked at her. At his woman who she loved though she'd tried time and again not to, who she wanted desperately and constantly, and who loved Morgana enough to want to take her away and start a whole new life. It was then and there that Morgana had decided to take the knowledge of their shared parent and put it into a box in the deepest darkest corner of her mind and not think of it again.
And in New York it had worked; when asked how she and Morgause had met Morgana spun an elaborate tale of an office romance and almost started to believe it herself. Once, at a Christmas party she overheard Morgause parroting the same story to someone else. Later, when Morgana asked her about it Morgause raised Morgana's hand to her lips and said, "History, my love, is written by the victors."
But now they were back in London, and in London people knew.
Morgana tried to concentrate on whether the bedroom ceiling needed painted and if she should get the flat surveyed before or after she got a plumber in to see to the complaining pipes. She didn't actually notice that the water had stopped running until Morgause sat down on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and offered her a cup of tea.
"Black, I'm afraid. There wasn't any milk."
"I know, I know," said Morgana, propping herself up on her elbow, "we should have stayed in a hotel."
Morgana drank her tea and Morgause perched on the edge of the bed applying eyeliner with a handheld mirror. It would have been oddly nostalgic except that the first time they'd been together in London they hadn't exactly been the tea and toast in bed sort of couple.
"Are you going to see anyone while we're in London?" Morgause asked.
Fuck, no. Uther was a nonstarter. The last she'd heard from Arthur was when he'd reported her missing and Morgana had needed to make an awkward long distance phone call to a bemused young man from the metropolitan police and explain that she hadn't, in fact, gone missing, it was just that she'd suddenly emigrated, so suddenly, in fact, that she'd neglected to pack anything or tell anyone. She sent Gwen a postcard of famous New York landmarks every six months or so as a sort of proof of life, but the idea of actually talking to her was beyond the pale. And Merlin, Leon and Lancelot had always been more Arthur and Gwen's friends than hers.
She shrugged. "Estate agents, mostly."
Morgause smirked at her. Morgana recognised that smirk, it meant: be like that, then.
"Do you ever regret leaving London?" Morgause asked, overly casually.
The thing was, sometimes Morgana wished that Uther hadn't told the entire family about her sibling relationship with Morgause and fucked everything up the first time, more often she wished that he'd been lying or flat out wrong, but she didn't regret being with Morgause. And if she had to go to New York, which was too cold half the time and too hot the rest, and full of bloody Americans to boot, to be with her then that was fine.
If she'd had to go to the moon to be with Morgause then that would have been fine too.
She didn't say that though, it sounded terribly pathetic, the sort of thing Arthur might once have said of Gwen when he'd had too much single malt and was half asleep on Morgana's shoulder.
Instead she dragged Morgause back into bed and did her best to ensure that she was late for her first meeting.
no subject
Morgause fumbled for her mobile, which she must have dropped on the floor when they'd fallen exhausted into bed. "Six in the morning. We must have slept right though." She curled back into Morgana. "I'll have to get up soon."
"How soon?" asked Morgana with sleepy playfulness, crawling on top of Morgause and nuzzling at her neck. The bed was warm and the rest of the flat was cold, the omnipresent London drizzle managing to make everything feel damp, even indoors.
"Are you okay?" Morgause asked when Morgana froze mid-seduction.
"Fine. I just -" She rolled away from Morgause and stared up at the ceiling "- the time difference is playing tricks on me."
"I have to get up anyway or I'll be late." Morgause gave her a quick kiss and padded in the direction of the bathroom.
"The last tenants complained that the hot water took ages to heat up," Morgana called after her.
"I told you we should have stayed in a hotel."
It had been Morgana's idea to come along this time, her first visit back to London in two years. Morgause had to come for a series of meetings that she hadn't been able to pawn off on Cenred, and Morgana needed to sell her flat which had been sitting unoccupied since the last lot of tenants had left three months ago. And anyway, at this time of year New York was bloody freezing while London was merely damp. And Morgause had suggested they might make a holiday of it. Paris, or Rome if Morgana preferred, to celebrate their two-year anniversary.
Really, they'd been together for longer than that, but it was two years ago that they'd been sitting in the Heathrow airport departure lounge and Morgana had looked at Morgause, really properly looked at her. At his woman who she loved though she'd tried time and again not to, who she wanted desperately and constantly, and who loved Morgana enough to want to take her away and start a whole new life. It was then and there that Morgana had decided to take the knowledge of their shared parent and put it into a box in the deepest darkest corner of her mind and not think of it again.
And in New York it had worked; when asked how she and Morgause had met Morgana spun an elaborate tale of an office romance and almost started to believe it herself. Once, at a Christmas party she overheard Morgause parroting the same story to someone else. Later, when Morgana asked her about it Morgause raised Morgana's hand to her lips and said, "History, my love, is written by the victors."
But now they were back in London, and in London people knew.
Morgana tried to concentrate on whether the bedroom ceiling needed painted and if she should get the flat surveyed before or after she got a plumber in to see to the complaining pipes. She didn't actually notice that the water had stopped running until Morgause sat down on the edge of the bed, fully dressed and offered her a cup of tea.
"Black, I'm afraid. There wasn't any milk."
"I know, I know," said Morgana, propping herself up on her elbow, "we should have stayed in a hotel."
Morgana drank her tea and Morgause perched on the edge of the bed applying eyeliner with a handheld mirror. It would have been oddly nostalgic except that the first time they'd been together in London they hadn't exactly been the tea and toast in bed sort of couple.
"Are you going to see anyone while we're in London?" Morgause asked.
Fuck, no. Uther was a nonstarter. The last she'd heard from Arthur was when he'd reported her missing and Morgana had needed to make an awkward long distance phone call to a bemused young man from the metropolitan police and explain that she hadn't, in fact, gone missing, it was just that she'd suddenly emigrated, so suddenly, in fact, that she'd neglected to pack anything or tell anyone. She sent Gwen a postcard of famous New York landmarks every six months or so as a sort of proof of life, but the idea of actually talking to her was beyond the pale. And Merlin, Leon and Lancelot had always been more Arthur and Gwen's friends than hers.
She shrugged. "Estate agents, mostly."
Morgause smirked at her. Morgana recognised that smirk, it meant: be like that, then.
"Do you ever regret leaving London?" Morgause asked, overly casually.
The thing was, sometimes Morgana wished that Uther hadn't told the entire family about her sibling relationship with Morgause and fucked everything up the first time, more often she wished that he'd been lying or flat out wrong, but she didn't regret being with Morgause. And if she had to go to New York, which was too cold half the time and too hot the rest, and full of bloody Americans to boot, to be with her then that was fine.
If she'd had to go to the moon to be with Morgause then that would have been fine too.
She didn't say that though, it sounded terribly pathetic, the sort of thing Arthur might once have said of Gwen when he'd had too much single malt and was half asleep on Morgana's shoulder.
Instead she dragged Morgause back into bed and did her best to ensure that she was late for her first meeting.