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Alana wakes to warmth: a palm on her shoulder, Margot’s weight gently pressing down on her stomach, her thighs spread over Alana’s hips. The mingled smells of patchouli soap and hairspray hit her next, and she smiles before her eyes have even fluttered open.
“Look at me,” she hears, Margot’s voice a thick whisper. Alana can hear the smirk in it, can see the supple curve of her lips behind her eyelids. Her own smile widens, her eyes remaining stubbornly closed.
Margot’s palm moves to her face, fingertips pressing into her cheekbone. Something sharp moves to scratch softly down the line of her face, and Alana opens an eye, curious.
“Happy Halloween,” Margot grins.
Her hair is a voluminous mass of curls, a large black witch’s hat pinned to the crown of her head. Her eyes are lined thickly with bands of charcoal and deep green, the black matte of her lips matching the color of the lethal-looking stiletto nails still scraping gently at Alana’s face.
Alana takes Margot’s hand in her own, feeling the knife-sharp tips of her manicure. She looks up at her, skeptical.
“Not so sure how I feel about these,” Alana wants to sound disapproving, but she laughs halfway through.
“Worry not,” Margot smiles. Her teeth look unnaturally white between the deep black of her lips. “They’re temporary. They’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“Good,” Alana runs her hand down Margot’s jawline, keenly inspecting. “I like this look on you, actually.”
“It shouldn’t surprise you to hear this was my preferred aesthetic as a teenager,” Margot grins. “Minus the witch hat. And the nails, of course.”
“It would have been hard to convince all those girls to get into bed with you with those on, I imagine.”
“I notice they’re not scaring you off,” Margot’s hips grind down against Alana’s own.
Alana squirms beneath her, body warming. She turns her attention to the long black dress draped around Margot, half the buttons undone. Alana can see peeks of her lingerie beneath it, sheer and strappy.
“Hmm,” Alana stretches, smiling. Her eyes catch the clock on the nightstand. “Is there any reason in particular you’re dressed and ready to go? Morgan isn’t even awake yet, and it’ll be at least twelve hours before costumed festivities begin.”
“I just wanted to practice the look. Gauge your reaction,” Margot tugs her hands at her curls, then runs her hands down the lines of her half-undone dress.
Alana pulls open the points where Margot’s dress is still buttoned together, draping it off over her shoulders. She toys with but does not remove the strap of her bra, brushing a thumb over Margot’s nipple, dark and visibly raised beneath the sheer webbing.
Margot hums, shifting over Alana’s hips. Alana keeps rubbing, rocking her torso upward. Margot’s eyes squeeze shut, her lips parting. Alana moves her free hand to Margot’s thigh, grounding them both as her hips move up and down and up again.
“Tell me about Halloween at the Verger estate,” Alana breathes after a few moments, watching Margot’s back arch.
“Oh,” Margot sighs, jaw upturned. She opens her eyes enough to look down at Alana. Her face is pink, the neat black sweep of lipstick across her mouth smudging as she bites down on her bottom lip. Her witch hat tips precariously to one side.
“Focus,” Alana tells her, hips counterintuitively rocking upward all the more forcefully. “Tell me.”
“I liked Halloween,” Margot manages, breaths deep and loud between syllables. “I don’t know what it was like at the Verger estate, though...I always snuck out.”
Alana laughs softly at that, unsurprised, the hand at Margot’s hip trailing back to grip at her ass, bare beneath the skimpy lines of her thong.
“It was the only night of the year where the outside world matched my daily perception of it,” Margot slips a hand inside the front of her thong, hand moving slowly, then quickly. “Ghosts and cobwebs and screams.”
Alana nods at that, understanding. Her hips slow, attention narrowing to the way Margot’s hand gyrates between her legs, her words giving way to raw sighs and moans as she touches herself.
“Do you still see the world that way?” Alana’s voice is low, and for a few moments she isn’t sure if Margot heard her, wrapped up as she is in the feel of her hand against herself.
“Yes,” Margot stutters after several prolonged seconds, rhythm speeding up, weight pressing down harder against Alana before bouncing up again, “Now more than ever.”
Alana considers that, unsure how to respond. Her fingertips squeeze at Margot’s nipple. Margot growls, head falling even further back, and all Alana can see is the long line of her neck and the wild tangle of her hair, her hat bouncing, tugging at the pins.
“It doesn’t--” Margot continues, gasping when Alana thrusts her hips up suddenly. “It doesn’t scare me anymore, though.”
Alana feels a hot cascade of sticky emotion swell in her chest at that.
“I’m glad,” is all she says, and dips her hand beneath Margot’s own, inside her underwear, feeling where Margot’s fingertip is wetly rubbing at her clit. She replaces Margot’s finger with her own, rubbing in hard circles, pressure increasing with every quick motion round, the fluid press intensifying and intensifying until Margot comes with a strangled cry, hips rolling, wetness seeping through the fabric of her lingerie, warm against Alana’s skin.
Alana’s finger keeps moving, and Margot gasps above her, pleading. Alana widens the scope of her motion into an fast-paced oval, reaching and feeling for Margot’s entrance, pushing inside as Margot angles her hips to allow her easier access. Alana curls her finger, up and in, Margot soaked and hot and tight around her, and Alana moans when she sees Margot hand working again, back at her clit, swollen and sensitive, and they move in rough frantic sync until Margot is coming again, harder this time, spasming against Alana’s finger as she shrieks, high and uninhibited.
Alana retreats, then inches back in when Margot stops her with a broken “please.” Alana pauses, looks up at her, her careful makeup sweatily sliding off her face, chest and breasts heaving.
Margot sags down, lips dragging up Alana’s neck, nibbling at her earlobe.
“Your turn,” Margot breathes into her ear, gasps growing shallower. “I’ll use my mouth, no fingers, I promise.”
Alana moans, feels the liquid pooling between her thighs.
Margot slides down the bed, pulling Alana’s bare legs up over her shoulders, messy kisses peppering the insides of her thighs, smudges of black lipstick left behind. Alana throws her head back, hands gripping Margot’s scalp, her thighs clamping down around her head.
Margot takes the hint and moves in, nose-first, Alana shuddering, and then her tongue is at Alana’s hole, lapping hungrily, her tongue wide and soft before pointing sharply and moving up, slow and teasing, and Alana is too worked up and wet to play along, fingers tugging hard at Margot’s roots as she begs, “please, please, God, please,” and Margot’s lips and tongue obey, licking unyiedingly at her clit, and it only takes four hot strokes up and down before Alana is coming, thighs tight then loose, fluid searingly rushing out of her in clamping waves.
Alana is still writhing and gasping Margot’s name when she looks down at her, her chin perched on Alana’s mound, mouth a mess of dripping lipstick as she smirks up at her. Alana’s head falls back again at the sight of it, thighs tightening at Margot’s neck.
“Ready for another one?” Margot asks, devilishly, a witchy gleam in her darkly lined eyes.
“In a second,” Alana exhales, heart in her throat. “I need to brush my teeth first. And maybe have some chocolate.”
“I bought the fancy vegan kind,” Margot smiles, like she’s proud of herself, and kisses Alana’s belly.
“Mmm,” Alana hums. “Did you get me one of these witch hats?”
“Of course,” Margot licks at her hipbone. “Yours is smaller, red and lacy.”
“Perfect,” Alana smiles. She wraps a hand at the base of Margot's neck and stares up at the ceiling, white and soft and blank, relieved to find no monsters there.