“Of course she used magic,” says Virago, letting her sword sheath fall onto the bed. She takes off her leather gloves and sets them down beside the sword; then she reaches up and begins to undo the leather thongs that connect the armored pieces over her shoulders. “Magic is... Well, it is everywhere here. It is used for many things. Small transportation spells, like you just experienced, and then transformation spells, which Joy performed upon the wardrobe.” Her chest piece falls off in her hands, and she lets the back piece fall back onto the bed, setting the chest piece gently beside it. She removes her metal shoulder pads, and the metal bits around her upper arms, and then she's taking off her leather boots and letting the metal fall from her thighs as she undoes her armor's ties.
I turn back to Virago, suddenly inspired. “You told me once,” I say, with a small smile, “that your magic on earth was much less powerful because you were on a different planet. If Joy just did all that... Well, what can you do here?”
Virago's brows go up, and she glances at me in surprise. She's now standing before me in just her leather pants and her leather shirt, and as I look at her, a little thrill of heat runs through me.
God, she's beautiful.
Virago thinks for a long moment, her hands on her hips, and then she smiles a slow, seductive smile.
“I can do things like this,” she murmurs, her voice low, and then she's taking a step forward and wrapping her fingers around my waist, drawing me to her. All around us, something seems to shift and change, because...
Well, I know it's impossible, but we're suddenly surrounded by stars.
I remember going to the Hayden Planetarium when I was a kid. They had this show where you sat in a circle and looked up at the ceiling, and the stars and galaxies were projected on it a little like it would appear if you were out in space, gazing at all of the wonders around you. I'll never forget that moment; I was breathless, staring up at the badly focused projection, dreaming of the other worlds out there. It was one of the most magical moments of my life. Because, yes, I couldn't find the door to Narnia, no matter how hard I tried looking for it, and I couldn't get to Middle-earth, but staring up at those stars, projected flatly on the ceiling above my head, I wondered if there were other worlds with other people out in that great, big universe. Maybe even worlds with magic. It sustained my faith in something bigger than me.
Here and now, there are no stars badly projected on a ceiling; there are stars swirling around us, right alongside us, dazzling and white-hot, amorphous, taking my breath away. There are shooting stars orbiting us slowly; wide, bright galaxies with whorls of color pouring out of the hearts of stars; all miniature, all moving around us as if they're real. I actually reach out to touch a shooting star that soars past us, but my fingers drift right through it.
“It's just an illusion,” Virago whispers into my ear, her breath hot against my skin. “I am not good at magic. I can only do small spells, but this is one I thought might please you.”
“Please me?” I repeat, turning back to her, tears standing in my eyes. “It's so beautiful,” I breathe, and then I wrap my arms around her neck and pull her down toward me. “You are so beautiful,” I tell her.
She smiles a little, and then I capture that warm mouth with my own as galaxies spin around us, as molten white stars explode into being, infinitesimally smaller than they are in real life, but here and now, they are tiny and perfect, an illusion created entirely for me.
Heat rises in my body, and I'm suddenly feeling everything: the fact that we're on Virago's world, the fact that Virago is here, with me, in a magical tower in a magical palace in a magical city...
Who knew that all of this would turn a fantasy nerd on so much? But, yeah, it does. And I'm pressing tighter against her, then, letting my fingers stray under the collar of her leather shirt. I can feel Virago moving against me, too, know that the heat of desire is rising inside of her, fueling her to grip my hips with tight fingers, to growl a little against me as her kisses travel down to my chin and my neck, her mouth molten against mine, igniting a white-hot need until I feel like a star myself...
But that's where she stops.
“No...no...don't stop,” I mutter, arching up against her, but Virago is leaning away from me, her cheeks flushed, her mouth wet, her lips swollen from her hard kisses, her eyes dark with longing.
“We... We can't. The banquet is happening so soon,” she murmurs regretfully, and she's right. From somewhere outside of the open windows, I can hear shouting and cheering coming from far below, in the city streets. The sun is sinking toward the horizon lower and lower, almost touching the edge of the world now, and if I remember correctly, the banquet was supposed to start at sundown.
I moan a little in frustration, and then I shake my head slowly, licking my lips. “Okay, fine. But seriously,” I murmur, breathless, adjusting the collar of my bad costume dress as Virago takes a step back, raking her hand through her hair and trying—and failing—not to look at me with her wanting eyes. I swallow a little and feel the electricity crackling between us as the galaxies begin to wink out of existence. “We need to get down to business after the banquet,” I murmur to her. “Because, new world, new bed...I mean...” I drift off with my brows raised, and then Virago glances at my face and laughs as she adjusts her ponytail.
“Do not worry,” she tells me, her voice low enough to cause me to shiver. “I will have you,” she growls then, laughter halting as she steps forward, as she stands so close to me but doesn't, maddeningly, touch me, “very, very soon,” she breathes, her eyes glittering.
For a long moment, we stare at one another, close enough to touch, but not touching at all, and power—scintillating, raw power—radiates, pulsing, between us.
“I'll have you, too,” I whisper, laughing a little more high-pitched than I intended, but that impish smile on her face sends heat through me almost more than anything else she does. There's a promise in that smile. It ignites something inside of me, like a spark.
“You should change,” says Virago, lifting her chin as her eyes still glitter. She arches a brow, too. Then she turns around and walks back to the bed, sitting on the edge of it, leaning back on her hands as she crosses her legs. “And I,” she rumbles, her eyes burning into me, “shall watch.”
My breathing is coming a little fast as I look at the wardrobe, and then back at my gorgeous girlfriend, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back like she's in the most comfortable position in the universe, like she could sit there all day, waiting for me to disrobe.
Well, she's not going to have to wait that long.
I really have no self-control when it comes to Virago. Virago has gobs and gobs of self-control about everything...but it's like she has extra self-control when it comes to me. Being a knight probably helps with that. I mean, I'm the kind of woman who, if I even think about a drink from Starbucks, it's in my hands before the end of the day. If I want pizza, I get pizza. I'm not really into denying myself anything.
But Virago is different. She told me a few days ago that the longer you wait for something, the more delicious it is when you attain it. It helps me understand her better, that she can wait, patient, controlled, until the perfect moment.
Also, I've learned that waiting and teasing has a pretty profound effect on sex, by the way.
Like right now. This cheap costume dress is actually a little itchy (it was just meant to be worn for a Halloween evening), so I reach up and undo the polyester corset while keeping my eyes trained on Virago.
I'm not the world's most sexually confident person; I'm actually pretty awkward about things if I'm not already on the bed or in a darkened room. I tend to get a little self-conscious, too. But Virago has brought out something in me that I never really thought I'd have before. It's as if I can finally see myself clearly through the lens of her loving eyes. Maybe I was sexy all these years, but my girlfriends didn't bother to ever mention it. Or maybe I wasn't sexy to them, but I am to Virago.
Either way,
I can feel it in myself now, this newly awakening confidence that gives me the courage to do stuff that, a few months ago, I would have thought was utterly crazy.
Like what I'm about to do right now.
I turn around, my heart racing, to look over the dresses in the open wardrobe that Joy magicked into being. Okay—after that amazing show of stars and galaxies in the room, and realizing that the flag of Arktos is cobalt blue with golden stars on it...that dress on the end, of cobalt blue velvet with embroidered gold stars, that's the one that I'll be wearing to the banquet.
Taking a deep breath, I turn back to Virago. And with my undone bodice, I slip the over-layer of my dress off of my shoulders and let it pool on the floor at my feet.
I am now only wearing a chemise, a plain, white dress that's see-through, and because a bodice is always tight and designed to support your breasts, I'm not wearing a bra.
I know I'm blushing as I reach up and undo the tie that keeps the chemise's neckline gathered. Virago is watching the motions of my hands with glittering, hooded eyes, and as I pull gently on the cord that's tied in a bow, she licks her lips.
She may be lounging back, like she hasn't a care in the world, but I know her well enough to spot her “tells.” Like when she's trying to appear nonchalant about something, her thighs and calves tense, as if she's about to rise up in an instant. Her arm muscles flex, too, and it's subtle, spotting these muscles tensing beneath her leather clothing, but I can see it all the same.
She's watching me very closely right now. Very closely. So I might as well make this good.
I hook my fingers around the neckline of the chemise, and I tug it down gently, smoothly. The gather of the neckline begins to loosen as the cord gives way, and the neckline—which can be tied to be super revealing, scooped around your shoulders, or not revealing at all, tied tightly around your neck—grows wider. The fabric slides over my shoulders, and I can't help it—I shiver again as I glance up at Virago, at her darkening eyes and the way she's watching me, so closely, her breath coming fast.
The fabric falls down to my chest, and then I pull it all the way off. And the chemise flutters to the floor, pooling around my feet in a circle.
I'm wearing my Supergirl underwear, with the big “S” logo front and center, which makes this moment a little less dramatic, but Virago always likes these panties, and her mouth curling up at the corners as she watches me place my hands on my hips, tilting my head to the side, is utterly priceless.
The moment lingers, and I'm highly aware of the little things right now. Like the fact that my chest is rising and falling quickly—and drawing Virago's gaze. That her smile gets more sultry as she tips her head back, as she grins at me. Electricity crackles between us as I turn away from her slightly, taking the gown out of the wardrobe.
I'm not really sure how to get into it, but I hold it over my head and go up through the skirt, like most dresses that don't have a zipper or fastener (that I can see). But when it pools down over my arms and settles over my chest and waist, I realize that there's corseting in the back...and that Virago needs to do it up, since I certainly can't reach around behind me.
I bite my lip a little and smile at my girlfriend, who has just realized my predicament.
“Could you do me up?” I ask her, my head to the side as she rises smoothly, prowling across the space between us.
“My pleasure,” she whispers, placing her hands at my hips and turning me purposefully. I move as she directs me, and then I'm standing there, my back to her; she gathers the corset laces in her hands.
This dress is beautiful, majestic. There is an ornate mirror hanging on the doors of the wardrobe, so I can see how the dress was magically made to fit my shape. The gown has a scooped neckline and lies off the shoulder, with the arms beginning over the edge of my biceps with puffed organza sleeves. The corset part of the dress is heavily embroidered with golden stars, but the voluminous skirt, a different material from the velvety upper part, is made of gauze-like fabric, peppered with tiny, golden stars that have been sewn into the mesh material. Some people call these types of dresses “cake toppers,” because you essentially look like an enormous bridal cake decoration, but you know what? This dress is awesome. I have never had an occasion in my life to wear one like it, and I'm enjoying the hell out of this.
I'm also enjoying the look that Virago is giving me in the mirror.
She's staring down at me, which makes her eyes appear even more hooded than before. Her mouth is parted, just a little, and I can see her shoulders rising and falling gently but quickly; she's breathing hard as she holds the corset laces in her hands, as she stares down at my bare neck and shoulders.
I tilt my head to the side, let my red hair fall over the other shoulder, so that the curve of my neck is perfectly available to her, my mouth turning up at the corners as my own breathing increases, as Virago bends forward...
And she places one soft, hot kiss at the curve of my neck.
And then she begins to tighten the corset.
I've worn corsets to most Renaissance festivals, and, yeah, they're not that comfortable, but people nowadays would never tighten the corset as much as people in historical periods did (I mean, some people do, but that's their prerogative). I don't like tight corsets, because I enjoy doing things like breathing and having normal-shaped organs inside of me. Virago knows this, so she does the laces up carefully, and just tight enough where my breasts are cradled by the bodice of the dress and my waist is accentuated, but I'll still be able to sit down and eat. When she's done, she completes the final knot and tucks it into the top of the corset, so that the bow of the laces isn't visible.
Outside, trumpeting is beginning to sound. I glance out the window, and the gorgeous, golden sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon.
It's time.
In the bottom of the wardrobe, there is a handful of ribbons in colors that complement or outright match the dresses above them, so I scoop up a cobalt blue one, weave a quick, thick braid of my hair and tie the ribbon high within the braid. Then I turn to look at Virago.
“Ready?” I ask her breathlessly.
Virago nods, and then she takes a step back.
She was just wearing her leather clothes before, the undergarments that are necessary beneath the armor so that she's fully protected. But now, growing over her leather shirt and pants is something else entirely.
At first, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. The stars and galaxies have slowly dissolved away to nothingness in the room, but when I glance at Virago, I wonder if they're back. But no—there's light coming over her form, but this isn't the illusion of stars spiraling out over her torso. This is living armor, growing and morphing and changing, made of molten metal that elongates and actually grows over her, like silver vines and leaves rising up out of the earth to scale her.
When the process is done, Virago lifts her chin, takes up her scabbard from the bed and places it on her back, doing up the buckle over her chest with nimble fingers before turning back to look at me with a smile, opening her arms.
“What do you think?” she asks.
I step forward and touch the spiraling armor that now covers her. It moves seamlessly with her, and unlike the stars and galaxies before, I can actually touch this armor. It's real. And it's beautiful. It looks completely organic, and like it would protect her better than her normal, knight armor would. “That's amazing,” I tell her simply.
“I was just going to wear my old armor,” she explains, gesturing to the armor lying on the bed, “but I decided to use a bit of magic for this,” she says, shrugging her shoulders a little. “It's important,” she tells me, her eyes far off as she gazes out the window now, “that the knights leave a good impression on everyone who will be at the dinner.” Her jaw is tight now, and she's no longer smiling as she gazes down at the crowds of people below, visible through the open window.
I reach out and touch her arm, and warmth flickers back into her eyes as she smiles at me.
“Well,” she says, clearing her throat, “let's go.” Virago pets Shelley behind her ears. My dog is sprawled out on the bed, and she gives a halfhearted wag of her tail before going back to sleep, closing her eyes and beginning to snore contentedly, her tail occasionally flopping as she dreams.
Virago takes my hand, twining her gloved fingers through mine, and we leave the room, ready or not for this party on another world.
Chapter 7: Not Your Average Dinner Party
We go down and down and down about a hundred flights of stairs, each set of steps growing progressively wider than the last. We pass by floors filled with large, ornate doors, and then floors with even taller hallways, until finally I assume we're on the floor that houses the banquet hall, because the ceiling is so far above me... But, nope, there's still one more floor to go, and, seriously, I think the Titanic could have fit into this hallway quite nicely.
When we start to go down the final staircase, spiraling down, down, I'm staring at the people below in shock.
That's...a lot of people.
Think Times Square in New York City on New Year's Eve. The place is that packed, but everyone's milling about orderly, and pretty much everyone has a goblet of some kind in hand, filled with different-colored liquids.
Speaking of different colors, there are so many bright things to draw the eye, from the hats and coats to the enormous dresses, to the glinting armor in every type of metal I can imagine—and then, wow, some I totally never could have. The woman from before, the one riding the unicorn in the crystalline armor, is probably down there, or at least someone who looks like her, with her crystal armor capturing the light from the chandeliers covered in candles, throwing the fractured prisms of light up to the ceiling.
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