SPN Rare Ship CC: Round 8 | rosemoonweaver vs. @mariaghost
Prompt: Jelly Bean
Ship: Meg/Abaddon
Word Count: 1,610
Tags/Warnings: AU – human, 1920′s (ish?), burlesque dancers, burlesque dancer!Abaddon, nudity, mild sexual content, open relationships, love notes (more like lust notes honestly), lipstick kink (if that’s a thing)
A/N: The prompt is the color of Meg’s lipstick. I didn’t name it, but the color can be found over here.
Summary: There’s a note on Abaddon’s vanity.
AO3 Link
There was a note on her vanity.
Abaddon was no stranger to love notes. She got them at least three times a week. So many lonely men would try to sneak her letters, whether they slid them to the server girls or tried to sneak backstage to leave them for her to find, or even slipped them into her bodice when she walked the floor, but very few of them actually succeeded in catching her attention. Most of the time she checked the names at the bottom first. If it was someone important, a senator or a businessman, or a bootlegger, she’d respond with a little light flirting. If it was a name she didn’t recognize, it went in the trash. Most of them were the same. They’d compare her to the moon, to the sun, drown in the dark pools of her eyes, and beg to lose themselves in her legs. Most of them were written on the same kind of paper, too, all place white and black in. There was so little imagination to any of them.
This one, however, was different. For one, it was on her vanity. No man had ever managed to get backstage unless of course they were invited, and Abaddon hadn’t invited anyone back in at least a week. None of the other girls had, either, to her knowledge. This note was also in an actual envelope sealed with wax.
Abaddon pulled her silk robe tighter around her shoulders, popping the wax off the envelope with her nail. The note had been written on light pink paper.
Temptress:
I’m not one for poetry, but you’ve spurred me to put ink to paper.
You’re wicked, igniting me to my core, burning me from the inside out, and I can’t be bothered to care.
The way you bat your eyes, the way you flaunt your soft curves; I just can’t help myself.
I haven’t known the touch of a woman in years and yet – you make me ache.
I have to wonder if you’re soft all the time or if you bite and rake your nails down the backs of those fortunate to lie with you.
I wonder, do your thighs tremble when you’re breathless in pleasure like mine do when I dare to pretend the one touching me is you?
It was signed with a single letter, an M in hasty, jagged script.
Abaddon blinked a few times before folding the note back up and slipping it back into its envelope. It was certainly one of the more explicit notes she’d ever gotten. Not that she minded, though. She’d take explicit over the flowery notes any day of the week. The M was new, though. She thought back to the men she knew who frequented the club, even the ones that usually paid attention to the other girls. She drew a blank but resolved to take the note home with her.
~~~~
I saw your fan dance.
It’s funny, that you’re up on stage flutter those glittery fans, your breasts peeking from behind those feathery curtains like you’re some kind of angel but I know better.
You’re wicked; some kind of demon sent to drag me to hell.
I would go willingly because even the fires of damnation couldn’t scorch me the way your gaze does.
Even Hell might be some kind of Heaven if I got the chance to taste the sweat on your skin or the nectar between your thighs.
– M
It was the second note Abaddon had gotten in less than a week. Apparently, this M was a new admirer of hers, but she hadn’t seen anyone new in the crowd the past few nights. Perhaps it was a shy man who’d only now got the courage to leave her messages. That was fine, too, but she wished she knew who it was. If it was someone who’d bribed their way back here it was fine, but it was someone who’d snuck back that could be dangerous. She decided she’d wait a week to tell the manager, Alistair. If he thought it was something to worry about, then she’d keep an eye out, but as the notes were only lustful and didn’t demand any kind of meeting yet, she didn’t figure it would be an issue.
She slipped the note into her purse and decided to take it back home and keep it with the other one.
~~~~
Alistair had placed an additional bouncer at the entrance to the dressing rooms, so whoever left the note by Abaddon’s flower vase must have been paying. This was the fourth note in as many weeks, written on the same paper, signed with the same initial. She’d have to ask the bouncer who he’d let pass because she was starting to get curious about this mysterious admirer of hers.
I wonder if you’ve been keeping these notes. You must get so many day-to-day that it isn’t even of consequence to you. I might be as easily overlooked here as I am among the crowd. But you’re not. You could never be. How no one has snatched you up and away from this world, from my eyes, is a wonder to me.
Perhaps you aren’t interested in their affections? Perhaps they could never please you the way you’d want? I wonder if you’ve ever know the touch of a woman?
– M
Abaddon smiled, reading the note over again. So, this mystery man wasn’t actually a man at all. This could be interesting. She hadn’t taken a female lover in quite some time, but she wasn’t opposed.
Abaddon tucked her admirer’s note into her purse and set out to write her own note, asking her admirer to meet sometime within the next week. She slipped the note under the flower vase and hoped for the best. It stayed there for there more days and then it was gone.
~~~~
Abaddon hadn’t gotten another note in a week and a half. It was a little disappointing if she were honest. It was intriguing to have another woman interested in her instead of yet another man. Perhaps her offer to meet had scared her admirer off. Some women liked to entertain the thought of a female lover but were too afraid to make the leap. It was alright, though, Abaddon had been there herself, once upon a time. She did hope it would change for her admirer, though. It would be a shame if she didn’t allow herself to explore because she was afraid.
There was a soft knock at Abaddon’s dressing room door. Her set was over, so it was probably just one of the girls.
“Come in,” she called, watching the door through the mirror. It swung open, and Abaddon locked eyes with a woman she’d never seen before through the mirror. “Can I help you?” She asked.
“You requested a meeting,” the woman said.
“Did I?”
“Your note was addressed to me, I believe.”
Abaddon swung around on her stool, crossing her ankles and leaning her legs to the side, letting her knee fall out of the open slit of her robe. “You must be M, then.”
“Meg. Masters. But you can call me Meg.”
“The bootlegger’s wife?”
“He knows I’m here,” Meg said, slipping into the room and shutting the door behind her. She was wearing a fur around her shoulders, but other than that her outfit attracted no attention. She wasn’t even wearing make-up aside from the nude pink lipstick on her lips.
“If he wanted to proposition me he could have done it himself.”
“Oh, believe me, he would have.” Meg was now standing less than a foot away and Abaddon allowed her gaze to fall down Meg’s form. The dress she wore didn’t hint at any of the curves of her body. “I’m here on my own account.”
“Oh?”
Meg hummed, stepping into Abaddon’s space. “I was wondering if you’d accompany me for the evening. My husband has business to attend to, so I’ll be alone the whole night.”
Abaddon smirked. Meg’s perfume wafted off her skin. It was a soft, spicy scent like cloves and sugar. “I don’t usually keep housewives company.”
Meg laughed. “I’m not looking for a lot more than company.”
“You’re looking for… what exactly?” Abaddon asked. She knew good and well what Meg was interested in but she wanted to hear her say it. She wasn’t one to be propositioned in vague terms.
“Sex,” Meg said, slipping her hand up Abaddon’s knee, stopping midway up her thigh.
“Is it going to be worth my while?” Abaddon asked.
Meg smirked, her eyes lingering at the top of Abaddon’s robe and the hint of cleavage there. “Definitely.”
~~~~
It had been three weeks since Meg took her back to the home she shared with her husband; three weeks since they writhed together on Meg’s silk sheets hands tugging in hair and tongues laving against skin. It had been some of the best sex Abaddon had had in a long time. It had been a shame it had come to an end so soon.
There was a note on Abaddon’s vanity. She smiled to herself, pulling it out of its envelope.
I’d love to see you again.
I’ll be around after midnight if you’ll wait for me.
– Meg
PS. There’s a tube of my lipstick on the vanity. It looked so good smeared across your neck last time. I think it’d look lovely smeared across my thighs.
Abaddon chuckled to herself, finding the golden tube of lipstick in front of her mirror. She wiped off her own dark red lipstick and pulled off the cap, applying the nude pink color to her lips.
Tagging: @purgatoan, @samanddeaninpanties
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