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oh, the night is young

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Mithian shuts the door and sags back against it, exhaling in relief. She can still hear the vague strains of dub-step filtering through from the party downstairs but it’s distant, muted, and Mithian can easily hide in here until Gwaine and Elena decide they want to leave.

“Pardon my French,” a familiar voice says, drifting out of the dark, “but what the fuck are you doing in here?”

Mithian blinks. Morgana le Fay’s curled up by the open window, moonlight striping her face, wisps of greyish smoke swirling around her.

“Oh,” Mithian says, feeling suddenly flustered. “I’m hiding from the party. What about you?”

And that’s kind of a stupid question, given that there’s a joint dangling from Morgana’s fingers and Mithian doesn’t even have to inhale for the smell of pot to hit her lungs, but Morgana just laughs.

“Same,” she says, “except this is my room.”

Mithian’s eyes widen. “I’m so sorry!” she says. “I didn’t realise, I just wanted to get away.”

Morgana laughs again, but it sounds genuine this time. “It’s fine,” she says. “I totally understand, trust me.”

Mithian’s eyes have adjusted enough for her to see Morgana lift the hand holding the joint to crook her fingers in the universal come hither motion. Mithian does, a little uncertainly, and perches next to Morgana. This close, Mithian can see the faint smirk on Morgana’s face, and she’s glad it’s still too dark for Morgana to see her flush.

Or so she thought. Morgana chuckles, exhaling a cloud of smoke all over Mithian which makes her cough violently.

“Sorry,” Morgana says, not sounding very apologetic. “You not a big smoker, then?”

Mithian’s still coughing, so she only shakes her head. “I like the smell, though,” she offers, when she can speak again. “I don’t mind, y’know.”

Morgana cocks her head, like she’s considering something, and then she smiles. “Open your mouth,” she says, and Mithian does.

Morgana wraps her lips around the joint and inhales, cheeks hollowing out. Then she leans forward and presses her lips to Mithian’s, exhaling into her mouth. Her breath tastes smoky-sweet and Mithian inhales, feeling it rush into her lungs. She doesn’t cough when Morgana pulls away, but it’s not without concerted effort.

“Not bad,” Morgana murmurs, and then she leans back in and kisses Mithian, one hand on her bare thigh and one hand cupping her jaw to tilt her face into it.

Mithian thinks she should push her away, probably, because Morgana’s high and Mithian really doesn’t do this, but Morgana bites down, gently, darting out her tongue to trace the seam of Mithian’s lips, and Mithian opens without any resistance.

The kiss deepens and Mithian gets so lost in it, in Morgana’s mouth and the warmth of her body, that she doesn’t notice Morgana’s hand’s crept up her thigh until she feels fingers rubbing her through her knickers.

Mithian makes a very undignified noise and rocks down, can’t help it. Her cheeks are burning because if she can feel the sudden wetness between her thighs then Morgana definitely can, but Morgana just pulls back a little, laughing. It doesn’t sound mean, though, and her eyes are soft when she looks back at Mithian.

“If you don’t want to do this,” she says, “now would be a good time to say so.”

Mithian shakes her head hard, says, “No objections,” her voice embarrassingly shaky. “There are probably negative objections, even.”

Morgana laughs again, head tipping back, and it’s such a cliché but she looks beautiful like this, the moonlight outlining her in sharp relief. Mithian can’t help but stare, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Good to know,” Morgana says, and then her fingers are slipping inside Mithian’s knickers, thumb pressed tight to her clit. Morgana bites at Mithian’s collarbone, sucking over the spot in the same rhythm of her fingers pushing into Mithian.

Mithian arches against her and gasps something that might be more and might be Morgana’s name. She can hardly think, nerves sparking all over her body until everything whites out and she comes, shaking in Morgana’s grip.

It takes her a moment to come back to herself, to notice Morgana wiping her fingers off on a tissue. Mithian kind of wants to thank her, but she’s pretty sure you’re not supposed to say thank you for orgasms, so she just kisses Morgana, reaching for the zip on her jeans.