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You halfway expect you'll have to defuse a murder attempt when Beatrice comes in and sees the extra girl in your bed, but instead all she does is sigh.
"I take it you saw this coming, then," you say as quietly as you can manage.
Beatrice shoots you a look. "Princess, everyone saw this coming." Quieter, in a tone you're sure wasn't meant for you, she adds, "Always knew you were a liar."
The liar in question shifts slightly in your arms, then goes limp again.
"Can you just leave us for now, Beatrice? She looks so peaceful. It's not a very common look on her."
"... No, it's not, is it? I'll let Dorothy and Chise know we need to cover for you. And bring a uniform for when she wakes up."
Beatrice closes the door behind her and Ange immediately hisses "Princess?"
"Yes, love?"
She opens her eyes, and oh, that is not a barely-awake Charlotte ready to be mocked for her likely highly amusing reaction to waking up in your arms. That is Ange the spy, Ange who will lie to God's face if it gets you a step closer to the throne, Ange who kills people.
You'd be lying if you said you didn't think it was attractive, but for now you need to calm her down. You give her a little kiss on the nose.
"Wh- wha- '' she looks like nothing so much as a totally bewildered cat, and you can't help yourself- you burst into very undignified, unprincessly peals of laughter. By the time you've recovered, she seems to have remembered enough of the previous night to bury her face in your shoulder and whine.
"Stoppiiiiiiiit. Meanie. Bully. I take it all back, you're the worst princess. The worst stop laughing-"
This, perhaps predictably, sets you off again, even harder, and you have a stitch in your side and tears in your eyes before you pull yourself together a second time.
Ange is pouting at you. Princesses rarely have the chance to pout, so you've never put much thought into pouting before, but you think that hers is likely to be the best pout you ever see. You kiss it off her face, just because you can, and she reciprocates enthusiastically. Clearly she was paying attention last night.
By the time you're done, you're both very flustered and very awake. Which means it's probably time to get out of bed. A very comfortable bed, with a girl you love very much in it, and why even be a princess if you can't lie in every once in a while, and-
Ange is out of bed, fully dressed, and dusting off her top hat. How did that happen. When did that happen. Why did that happen, if she's even half as much a mess as you are she desperately needs a shower.
"Ange, dear, that cannot be comfortable. We are both absolute messes. Come shower, Beatrice will bring clothes you weren't wearing yesterday and we will both present much less interesting figures."
She freezes, sighs, and puts the hat down. "I can't leave wearing this anyway, there are too many people awake to use the C-ball."
You nod encouragingly. "Yes, exactly, now come on. Wash."
She does, with minimal fussing.
You don't even miss your first class of the day- you have to skip breakfast, but you've dealt with worse, if not recently. Honestly though, you might as well have skipped, for all the attention you're paying. You have something far more important than- you look up- literature- on your mind.
Specifically, vengeance.
When you look at the situation with a clear head, you can't deny that, well, you leave your curtains open at night for a reason. But even so, Dorothy will pay dearly before you count her accounts settled. It's just as well you've had so much practice at keeping your thoughts off your face, or you fear she'd see you coming.
Well. Not that she won't.
… Apparently you aren't keeping as straight a face as you'd thought. Your little giggle has scared away your typical entourage of sycophants. Keep it together, Princess, it's time for the Natural History Club's usual midday tea.
You already have a few ideas.
Tea is off to a fantastic start. If you weren't looking for it, you wouldn't see it, but Dorothy can barely look in Ange's direction. She can force herself, but she tries to avoid it. You haven't even said a word beyond pleasantries yet. Eventually, your guards give you the privacy they often pretend to afford you, and you have the freedom to act. And to grab Ange's hand, just for a moment.
"Thank you so much for covering for us this morning, you three," and you swoop around the table to deliver teacups and kisses on the cheek.
Clink. Beatrice is practically glowing with confused outrage, but you aren't sure if it's the kiss or the fact that you're serving her.
Clink. Chise seems nonplussed at your demeanor and at the kiss. Perhaps she's only heard the cover story? Or perhaps she simply isn't sure why you're making such a production out of it.
Clink. Dorothy is subtle to those who aren't looking for her tells, but to your eyes she blushes and visibly braces herself. It makes her bewilderment all the funnier when you continue your trip without so much as touching her.
Clink. And finally a cup of tea for Ange, who is also visibly preparing herself. Her, you give a reason to blush. Beatrice squeaks.
"P- Princess! You have watchers! You have guards! You have classmates! What if that got back to, to your family, or to the press, or both?"
Unfortunately Beatrice has a point, as she so often does. You put on a contrite smile. "Ah, I do apologize. It's just rather refreshing to be able to do, well, anything so honestly."
She grumbles a bit, but Dorothy clears her throat and cuts through whatever lingering complaints she had. "Beatrice said you didn't actually give her a story, so for the record, you-" and she points at you, you think, you hope, a little more forcefully than she otherwise would, "were having terrible cramps, and you-" and you know you're not imagining how weakly she indicates Ange, "were helping her with an old folk remedy. Got it?"
Ange nods. You consider the logistics of a fake moan over your "cramps," but decide that even with your current spritely attitude it would strain belief. You settle for looking Dorothy directly in the eyes when you thank her. She's halfway to flinching, and whatever noticing that does to your smile seals the deal- she doesn't just look away, she retreats. She rallies smoothly enough, however.
"A-anyway. Lord this is awkward, but. Ange. Princess. Can you two keep it professional in the field."
"Creatures of the Black Lizard Planet are always professional."
Oh, Ange. You can always count on her for a nonanswer. For your part, you firmly stamp all meaning out of your smile before you reassure Dorothy, "Well, I don't think I've ever been very professional, but I'll certainly try my hardest to help our missions finish smoothly."
Dorothy frowns for a second, but finally nods. Perhaps she thinks that's enough, but more likely she thinks it's the best she'll get. Or maybe, just maybe, she's simply afraid to give you an opening to talk to her any more.
You decide you like that explanation best.
Unfortunately, you can't take Ange to bed with you twice in two nights; she says something about schedules and noticeability but you hardly pay attention. Your bed feels much bigger with just you in it, and you've had a buzzing under your skin all day, reminding you that while you may have taken Ange apart very satisfyingly, you did not give her a chance to do the same to you. In fact, she interrupted you in the middle of tending to this very need.
It feels rather debauched, considering what you already got up to just the other night, but you give up on sleep, throw aside your sheets, and let your mind, and hands, wander. You're rougher and faster than usual, and while Ange is never far from your mind, for once she has competition.
Ange in your bed, clinging to you, sobbing your name, her name, whose name is it anyway?
Dorothy listening in on every word, and now that you've found a taste for begging you consider helping her compose an apology.
Ange and her steel grey eyes when she woke up uncertain where she was, and you wonder if she'd have taken you away to her little white house in Casablanca despite your protests if you hadn't been able to snap her out of it.
Dorothy again, and is she watching you right now? She could be, for sure, and the thought lances through you like- like- something hot. Electric. Something that forces you to sit up so she can see your face if she's there. Something that puts her name on your lips, not that you get past the first syllable before your release hits you like an irresponsibly-driven automobile.
You come back to yourself still whispering "Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy," and the only coherent thought you can muster before you ride your newfound tranquility to sleep is a hope that her microphones can pick it up.
You wake up to your own face, peering down at you from behind a pair of cute glasses. "Do you want me to kill her for you?"
… You are not equipped for whatever this conversation is. Not right now. You employ your finest time-buying strategy: probing questions.
"Kill who?"
"Dorothy."
You are very much not equipped for this conversation. But it seems to be the one you're having. So.
"I- wh- what- why-"
Your tutors would be ashamed of you. A princess must never be caught this off-guard. Somehow you think they never would have anticipated this, though.
"She's been spying on you. She saw some things you might want kept secret. I can keep them secret for you."
You consider a joke about perhaps wanting to keep her own secrets more than yours, but discard it. Joking about… that… feels wrong. Sacrilegious, almost.
"No, Ange, I do not want you to kill Dorothy. Or hurt her, or even threaten her. I have a plan for her already, and violence does not come into it."
Ange crumples. Some alchemy of the face that even you have not mastered occurs, and she goes from hardened killer to fragile schoolgirl in the span of one tearful sigh.
"Oh thank you. Thank you, Princess. I. I r- really didn't-"
You pull her close and let her cry for a while. You don't think she hears your sweet nothings, but you keep whispering them anyway. Eventually, she recovers enough to stare defiantly at the room at large.
"I would've done it. Do you record these, Dorothy? Are you listening? I would have."
She ducks her head back to you.
"... But I'm glad I don't have to."
You press a kiss to her hair and add a mark to Dorothy's ledger. This one weighs heavier than the others, you think.
When Ange finally leaves you, it's well past noon and neither of you can reappear that day, together or apart. It gets worse, though- you've both drawn too much attention with your repeated absences, and the Natural History Club is suddenly under the watchful eyes of the Queen's Mayfair gossip network.
This is not to say that you don't meet, of course. Merely that you spend a portion of your meetings actually talking about natural history, before the real fun begins and you and Beatrice learn how to pick locks or strip and clean guns. You learn a lot for the weeks you all lie low. For example:
Ange is a terrible teacher. She's likely never had to learn a lesson more than once, and has no idea how to handle people who do.
Chise can, somehow, cut locks apart with her sword, and the sword is no worse for wear. You're not sure how swords are supposed to work, but by the way watching it makes Beatrice twitch and mutter about metallurgy, the answer is "not like that."
Dorothy has that tell peculiar to habitual liars, wherein she goes entirely limp and relaxed so as to attempt to avoid giving you any information at all. You've seen it in the occasional soldier or bodyguard at balls, and Dorothy hides it better than most, but you've had to work with less before.
The trick behind picking locks is to keep just enough tension on them that they can never unwind, without putting so much on that it makes your job harder than it has to be. Then, you just line everything up, one pin at a time.
You learn other things in those weeks, too.
You learn the exact sweet spot to make Dorothy the most entertaining to watch the next morning- if you lay it on too thick, you end up just as exhausted as she is, unable to appreciate your own work. But just the right effort, followed by the right "accidental" brush at the breakfast table? Perfection.
You learn that, unless you absolutely wreck Ange, you're guaranteed to wake up alone. It's very sensible on her part, and it ensures you can spend more time together overall, but it still burns a little. You take every morning you rise in an empty bed and you add it to your resolve to tear down the Wall.
You learn that while Ange's plan was overall a bad one, it had some very good parts. Specifically, the part where she puts her mouth to use for your pleasure- for hours, if you let her. That is a very good part.
You learn the exact position of every microphone in your room. Ange is impressed by the coverage and quality, and warns you that Dorothy can hear everything but the quietest whisper. You take it as reassurance that she can hear it every time you say her name.
And finally, you learn that Ange is by nature a very gentle soul. You can't even get her to touch you roughly without copious amounts of begging. The kind that makes it very, very obvious what you want to anyone listening. You have to butter her up in one direction and annoy her in the other, and then spend the whole night reassuring her that you really do want it.
However, if you cajole and harass and bend her just right, not over hours but over days- If you whisper fantasies in her ear in secluded corners and then ignore her for hours- If you sigh longingly and stare not at her, but Dorothy- If you balance her exactly on the knife's edge and keep her walking as long as you can-
Then when you finally let her fall, she can turn into a beautiful, beautiful monster. Such as the one who's currently forced you to your knees with an unloaded revolver in your mouth.
"Suck it."
You do. For- God, you don't know. A minute? Ten? Forever? You lick your way along the barrel, swallow as much of it as you can and then carefully slide back down until you feel the front sight against the back of your teeth. The world is gun oil and steel and when you look up, a tiny, satisfied grin. You want that grin wider.
You take a few deep breaths through your nose and try to touch the cylinder.
That grin, the only other thing in the world, it widens just a little, and then you explode. No. What? You're still alive. You're still desperately aroused, and you know you didn't cum, so what- Ange's thumb twitches again, and you explode again.
Ah.
She's fanning the hammer.
The hammer goes up, the cylinder turns into position, the hammer goes down, the cylinder turns out of position. Tiny vibrations reverberate through the gun and rattle your teeth, your jaw, your skull. By all rights it shouldn't do this to you but if she does it again you may very well cum right here on your knees, completely untouched. You whine deep in your throat and try to beg for mercy with your eyes.
She does not grant it. Ange idly fans through four more shots- a full cylinder- and if you could touch yourself, if you could grind against anything, if you weren't naked so you would have that tiniest bit of friction from cloth on flesh, if you had anything at all to help you over the edge, you are quite certain you'd have passed out by now.
She pulls the gun out of your mouth, gently turning it so the sights don't catch, and leaves you exhausted and panting on the floor in a puddle of your mingled spit and slick.
Then she grabs your chin and tilts your head up, and like a benediction, the grin is still there. It's even gotten, perhaps, a little kinder.
"Good girl."
You're not in the mood for kind. You gather what little strength is left in your limbs and launch yourself up to kiss the mercy out of her from the most provocative pose Dorothy can fully appreciate. And then you seal the deal by very obviously, very deliberately moving one hand to touch yourself. She catches you by the wrist before you get very far, of course, but the point was never to win.
The grin is still there. But it's gotten downright cruel.
"Are you quite certain you want to do that, Charlotte?" and oh, you've never heard that name said like that. The derision and spite almost override the level of doublespeak present every time your lover calls you a name other than Princess.
Are you quite certain you want what comes next? Certain that Ange should follow through on what you've literally been begging her to do for the past week?
Your hand strains against her grip, and it provides just enough of a distraction that you can move closer and feel that one electric brush of a finger against your clit before you are, somehow, pinned to your bed with one hand on your throat and anticipatory steel staring you down. Out of the corner of your eye you see Ange twirl her revolver to hold it by the barrel and then-
She slides the revolver's grip into you without even a hint of resistance.
You are so, so wet and so mind-numbingly open and ready for it that there isn't even a stretch , only fullness and blessed, blessed stimulation where once there was not. It's just the right shape, thick enough and long enough and curved enough that just putting it in presses it right up against your front wall and-
And then you cum so hard you black out.
You come to a few seconds later with the revolver's grip still firmly seated in you and the trigger guard just barely scraping against your clit. Ange’s grin is wider than it's been all night and you take a moment to be relieved she hasn't decided to take offense that you came without permission.
And then, she moves the barrel just the slightest bit, twisting the handle inside you in the most delicious ways, raking it against your overstimulated everything. It's agonizing; it'd be agonizing if Ange was using the gentlest touch she could and she is decidedly not doing that. You can feel yourself building to another peak humiliatingly quickly.
The weight, the pressure, the solidness of it is more than you could ever get from fingers alone, even ones as clever as Ange's. The unrelenting, unforgiving hardness of the lacquered grip inside of you is like nothing you've ever felt, and it pushes you right to the edge of cumming again but not quite over.
Ange stills for a moment, just holding you there, her fingers lightly wrapped around your neck and the revolver handle unmoving inside you. Letting you squirm and whimper beneath her, that grin widening across her face.
And then just when you think she's going to tease you, leave you there right on the edge, your merciful beloved pulls the barrel forward, putting all that delicious weight and pressure right on the spot you need it the most-
You cum so hard it hurts, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train, moaning embarrassingly loudly as you fist Ange's shirt with both hands and hold on for dear life.
And then you pass out again.
Not for very long, as the stars are still out and Ange is still with you when you wake, sitting on the bed and running her fingers through your hair.
"I was afraid I hurt you," she says softly, once she sees your eyes flutter open. She's frowning, your dear Charlotte, biting her lip in concern, and you know she must have been truly terrified for however long you were out.
"You would never hurt me, my love. I'm alright," you reassure her, sitting up and kissing her cheek.
"Not for lack of me asking you to," you add mischievously, and the blush that instantly overtakes your darling's face is exquisite.
Ange clears her throat, seemingly trying to will the blush off her face, straightening her spine and looking you in the eyes."I will do anything you ask of me, Princess," she says, somewhere between your loyal, would-kill-for-you Spy Ange and the awkward, earnest Charlotte you fell in love with.
A beat passes.
"Eventually. Some of the things you want me to do will require… a great deal of preparation on my part."
You giggle a little and let yourself drift. She's still there when you wake up.
Later that day, Dorothy is slated to try and teach you how to maintain a gun. She can barely look at you or at the pistol you've chosen without blushing so hard even Chise, who usually spends these spycraft lessons sniping at Ange to the exclusion of all else, takes notice. Mission accomplished.
All good things must come to an end, however, and while harassing Dorothy will never get old this particular manner of it has. She's become desensitized to the deniable touches, your innuendo has to become increasingly blatant to get a reaction, and she generally seems to have accepted her current position with you as the status quo.
Time to shake her up again. Fortunately, the fool that Chise dueled has taken the gossips' spotlight off the club, so you have access to brand-new opportunities as you all get back to work.
You meet the returning team in the garage and grab Dorothy in a hug. She goes stiff, looking for the sting in your tail, but tonight there isn't one. You just lean against her and whisper in her ear.
"Thank you for bringing them all home safe."
She huffs out a little laugh and hugs you back. "Of course, Princess."
It would be a lie to say that you back off on tormenting Dorothy. But now, you do it with a smile. And if you're very lucky, you even get a smile back.
It's inevitable that Beatrice would eventually ask what the hell you think you're doing, but it still manages to surprise you.
"Princess. Has Dorothy done something to deserve all this? Has Ange? Are you playing them against each other somehow?"
Left unsaid is that, while Beatrice will follow your lead in all things, she'd be very disappointed if that was the case. You have to take a moment to compose a response that will pass muster for your maid and for the microphone hidden in a leg of your chair.
"'All this?' What do you mean?"
Well, so what. She snuck up on you! You're not at your best at the end of the day, princesses aren't supposed to be ambushed like this!
Beatrice levels a truly disappointed look at you in the mirror and brushes a knot out of your hair far more roughly than necessary. Ouch.
"Princess. I know you well enough to know when you're up to something. You have been up to something for months, and it looks an awful lot to me like what you've been up to is pettily tormenting Dorothy and then pivoting to using her to make Ange jealous."
"How would I have tormented Dorothy? When?"
"I don't know, Princess," she nearly growls, "but you clearly have been, since she flinches every time you touch her."
"Well, not every time…"
"Yes, sometimes she leans into it like she's Ange, and that brings me to my next point, which is that pursuing one woman to make another jealous is both truly scummy and the kind of thing that will put you in the society pages for months if it gets out. In case you hadn’t realized either of those things on your own.”
Oh. She’s. Genuinely angry. You turn away from the vanity to look her in the face, and are halfway through assembling a sincere face before you realize you’re already wearing one. Oh my. You must really mean what you’re about to say.
“Beatrice. I would never do that, to either of them. I may be pursuing Dorothy, but it is certainly not to torment her, or to provoke Ange. It is because I genuinely want her, and Ange, perhaps in two different capacities but true ones nonetheless.”
Yes. Now that it’s in the air, that does sound right. You do want them both. The thought makes a rueful smile appear on your face unbidden. “Of course, that doesn’t do much for your concerns about the society pages, does it.”
Beatrice’s eyes are as wide as you’ve ever seen them, and you hear her confusion as an almost-ultrasonic hum before she shakes her head and pulls herself together. “It certainly does not, Princess.”
You settle back into your chair and Beatrice slowly starts brushing your hair out again. She might say something about being glad your intentions for Dorothy are pure, but the blood still pounding in your ears from your declaration drowns it out.
As you should have anticipated, this latest revelation makes things between you and Dorothy very awkward. Neither of you can admit to this awkwardness without giving up the game, so it would just be one more layer in your already multifaceted conversations, except, well. She's retreating from it instead of rising to the challenge, and you're not certain if the problem is with her or you, but you need to find out, fast. You're not interested in forcing yourself on her in any capacity besides the role you've already blackmailed her into accepting.
You decide you'll take the expedient approach, and after conferring with Ange, knock on the door of her room. You don’t intend to leave any part of this up to chance, so Ange opens the door and pulls you inside, and now you have your opening.
“Dorothy. Previously, my advances towards you have been, well, primarily they’ve been to harass you, because I thought it was funny and because I thought you deserved the awkwardness. However, they’ve recently become more genuine, and, you seem to have picked up on that. I sincerely apologize if they are now unwelcome, and I will gladly stop at your word.”
Phew. Alright, yes, you did rehearse that. You had to be able to get it out in one breath in case Dorothy decided to kick you out. Dorothy looks back and forth between you and Ange, perhaps wondering why you thought she deserved the awkwardness, but apparently she decides that if you aren’t going to force her to admit to anything, she’s not going to. Deny, deny, deny, as Ange says. Of course, that doesn’t mean she has nothing to say.
“And you’re... okay with that, Ange?”
“Yes. I love her. And you’re not all that bad, even if you are an old hag pretending to be a schoolgirl so she can feel cute.”
“It’s the mission that was the cover I was given, you terrible little shit,”
Dorothy and Ange snipe at each other for the rest of the evening, and you never get a real answer. But this is probably enough of one.
You still can’t really flirt with Dorothy as openly as you’d like. Aside from the firestorm of gossip that would accompany the princess flirting with anybody, and the international repercussions of the princess flirting with a girl, Dorothy’s positioned at the school as the daughter of an automobile magnate. That makes her new money, and you don’t want to expose her to the kind of ugliness that could result in.
But.
It’s still so very refreshing, to be able to be, well, mostly honest about your intentions towards Dorothy. To lean against her in the club room as she demonstrates something, to ensure your fingertips brush when you pass everyone tea at your midday break. Occasionally, to shoot Ange a pickpocket’s glance and press yourselves on poor Dorothy on both sides, before disengaging without doing anything more to her than stealing whatever she happens to have in her pockets, leaving her flustered and ten pence poorer.
One night, you call at your lover’s (lovers’?) room and wish them both sweet dreams with a wink, which earns you an incandescent blush and a magnificent pout. Neither face compares to what you imagine an hour later, though. You put every fragment of Dorothy’s preferences you’ve managed to gather to judicious use, and are quite certain that if Dorothy failed to have sweet dreams that night, it was through no fault of yours whatsoever.
Of course, the problem remains that you and Dorothy are acting on different levels of information. You had best begin planning your coup de grace, before that difference grows back into the guilt you can still occasionally see in her eyes.
You don’t actually have any control over step one of your plan, but it’s a simple one, and you have faith in Ange’s ability to pull it off. You first appear in step two, when Ange appears at your window haloed in that cavorite glow and takes you down to her own room. Sure enough, Dorothy is sitting on her bed- Ange has come through for you once again. You move fast, before Dorothy can come to her own conclusions as to what this is about.
And then you stop short, just when you get to her. What if you’ve messed this whole situation up beyond repair? What if she decides this was a mistake? What if, what if. You’ve dealt with what-ifs before, and you come to the same answer this time as every time, when Ange puts her hand on the small of your back and nudges you forward a bit, into Dorothy’s arms.
The what-ifs don’t matter, because she’s alive and so are you. You lay a hesitant kiss at the corner of Dorothy’s mouth and pull back to look her in the eyes. She stares at you like something precious, and that’s all the encouragement you need to kiss her again, properly this time. Somewhere behind you, you can hear Ange taking up a position near the door, but you have other concerns. Like shoving Dorothy onto her bed, climbing on top of her, and putting your tongue in her mouth. Like getting both of you out of as many layers of clothing as you have the patience for. Like finally, finally, getting to do anything to the woman who has occupied varying portions of your mind for months.
You’re worrying at a growing hickey on Dorothy’s pulse point with your mouth and tweaking a nipple with a free hand when she finally cracks and gasps “Wait- wait.”
You’re pretty sure you know what she’s going to say, but she still needs to say it, so you wait while she pulls herself together, and admire your handiwork on that hickey. The collar of the Queen’s Mayfair uniform is high, but it won’t hide that. Dorothy inhales like she’s about to say something and you beat her to the punch.
“Is this about the microphones in my room? Or the blind you set up to watch while you listened?”
She doesn’t seem to be able to reconcile what you’re talking about with the airy tone you’ve chosen, but if you let her think about it too long she might ruin everything, or at least request a night to herself, and you absolutely cannot let that happen so you keep barrelling on.
“I’ll confess, I never actually expected it to actually happen, but I do keep my curtains open at night for a reason, Dorothy.”
You give her a little peck on the lips, and that’s the final touch- you can see the dread leaving her eyes, to be replaced with, well, mostly confusion, but there’s still some residual lust in there and you can work with that. You can also see, however, a lingering question, and you just know it'll cast a shadow on everything if you let it wait. You just know. So you sigh, and take another kiss, and tell Dorothy to ask.
"Ask what?"
"Your question. You have one. Ask it already, so we can put your mouth to better use."
You may have overdone it with that one; Dorothy looks a little stunned by the implications. She pulls herself together, though.
"Uh… How long have you known?"
Ange cuts in from right behind you how- "Since that first time Princess fucked me within an inch of my life. You remember. I was crying and babbling my own name?"
Dorothy chokes on air at Ange's appearance, takes a second to parse what she's said, and chokes again. It's rather rude to gang up on her like this, but it was also rather rude to spy on you, so.
"Honestly, Dorothy, why else would I have had her face the window of all things? It wasn't for the reflection, I have a full-length mirror in my room." Even Ange's poker face isn't quite up to the task of hiding that memory, and she blushes.
"Princess was quite upset with me for not telling her you were watching until after she had pulled me into bed."
Dorothy is absolutely gobsmacked. You have never seen a human being so very at a loss before. It's adorable, and you are in no way responsible for your decision to kiss her as hard as you possibly can. Or your decision to bite her lip as she pulls away.
You will, however, take full credit for your decision to shove her into Ange's lap. And for every second of the kiss that follows.
"If just watching is this much fun every time, I don't think I can blame you at all, Dorothy."
She stiffens for a second at the reminder, but then laughs and collapses against Ange. "Yeah, it's pretty nice sometimes." Then she somehow has Ange in a headlock and noogies her. "Of course, that time was just weird- proof that you weren't an alien? That you had feelings?"
Ange grabs her around the hips, jackknifes her feet off the bed, and suplexes Dorothy onto the floor. Still on her back, she says, "Only Princess gets to bully me. You get nothing."
"Noted…"
You're really enjoying this, perhaps enjoying it a little too much. But this is a train of thought to pursue another time. "Sorry, Dorothy. Tonight we're bullying you, not Ange." You pause, then throw her a bone. "Don't worry, she'll get hers."
"And when do you get yours, Princess?"
"Whenever I want, from whomever I want. I'm sure you've seen that process before."
Dorothy leers at the ceiling. "Oh yeah I have. And for the record? I'm much less trouble than Ange when it comes to that sort of thing."
Your breath hitches just the slightest bit before you put on a predatory smile and say, "There'll be time for that later, darling."
Ange kips up and pulls Dorothy to her feet, then tugs her back to you on the bed. "For now, we get to bully you. Come on."
Dorothy flops down beside you. "What if I don't want to be bullied?"
You pat her cheek. "Too bad." She nods very seriously as Ange sits down on the other side of her.
Then Ange looks at you and admits, "I don't really know what the plan is here."
Now that she mentions it, you do have a few ideas. And a blindfold in your pocket. You whip it out dramatically, and Dorothy cackles. You frown.
"Now Dorothy, I'll admit that tonight has been a lot for you, but I do expect you to behave."
"Then make me."
You let out a sigh. "We're both well aware I'm not in the physical shape required to make you do anything, Dorothy. Ange, darling?"
There's a flurry of movement, and then Dorothy is stripped naked and pinned. She struggles at first, but it quickly becomes clear that Ange has the better of her, and once you blindfold her the fight leaves her like you flipped a switch.
And then you have an idea. You take a moment, clear your throat once for effect, and-
"Charlotte. Let her up."
She responds to a command in her own voice faster than she ever has to one in yours. You suppose that part of it may be because you've used her name, the royal name, the one that's more of a prod than a comfort to either of you. You're still not sure how to feel about it, especially when your voice says, "Of course, Ange."
The real prize, of course, is Dorothy's reaction. She whines and grabs blindly for the both of you, but misses. You've both stood up, and now you and Ange walk aimless circles around the room. She’s following your lead spectacularly, considering how much improvisation is going into this. You carry on in Ange's voice.
"I think she likes it when we keep her guessing, Ange."
"And isn't she beautiful, Ange?"
Ange is a perfect mimic, so you know she must be speaking in your voice. You didn't know you got that vicious. You switch back to your own voice. Ange replies in kind.
"I'm not Ange, you are. I'm Princess, remember?"
"No, I'm Princess. You're Charlotte."
"Neither of us are Charlotte, Princess, Beatrice would break down that door and kill all three of us." You search Ange's desk for one of her spare ribbons, and find a ribbon and a pair of handcuffs. Useful. You switch to her voice as you put up your hair. "So if you're Princess, I suppose I must be Ange."
She pouts and follows you in using her voice. "But I wanted to be Ange."
You're struck by the sudden urge to hug her. So you cross the room and do it. Then you pull away and reward her honesty with some of your own, in your own voice. "Well I do, too. Maybe we can just both be Ange for now."
Ange gives you your own gracious nod and uses your voice to signal approval. "After you then, Ange."
You deliver your rebuttal in hers. "No Ange, after you."
Dorothy, still on the bed, sounds like she isn't sure whether to laugh at the ridiculousness of her situation or cry at how you've abandoned her. She settles for a compromise.
"Can you please come back and ruin me already? Please?"
Begging and impatience. She's learned well from all her nights spent listening in. You each pick an arm and plaster yourselves on either side of her, being careful to trap her hands so she can't reach up and feel for your hair. Then, you slip around behind her and cuff her, while Ange slides to the floor and spreads your victim's legs just wide enough to bite at the flesh above her knee. You use your own voice when you tell her, "Ask nicely. Use her name."
Dorothy stiffens. Bites her lip. Rolls her shoulders as she considers the cuffs on her wrists, and finally hazards a guess.
"Princess? Please, Princess?"
Wrong guess. But you nod at Ange anyway. It doesn't hurt you at all to let her think she's passed this little test for now. In fact… You wait while Ange kisses and licks and bites her way up Dorothy's thigh, and just as she reaches her core you switch to Ange's voice. "Good girl."
The combination of your praise and Ange's first tiny kiss pulls a truly obscene sound from Dorothy's lips. The first of many, as Ange really gets going. You put your hand over one of Dorothy’s and pass a few very pleasant minutes using her to touch yourself, but all good things must come to an end, and this good thing ends when Dorothy's breath hitches and her moans get louder. Ange steps away and wipes her mouth, you let go of Dorothy's hand and slip back around to her front, and Dorothy keens.
"Sorry, Dorothy," you begin cheerfully in your own voice.
"But you guessed wrong," finishes Ange. Also in your voice. It seems narcissistic to allow a shiver up your spine at that, but it happens anyway. You and Ange have given her too much information now, so you both ignore her begging and apologies and retreat to your patternless wandering and shifts in voice.
Ange starts you off, this time. Your voice. "She should make up for it."
You use hers to respond. "Of course, but which of us did she wrong?"
"You, of course. It was your hard work she was ignoring." Oh, what a pretty little lie to add to the pile you're burying Dorothy in. You're glad Ange switched to her own voice for that second sentence- she has a lovely voice for lies.
"But it was you whose name she said."
"Even so, I think I've been insulted the least."
You give your best pout. Even with all your skill at making perfect faces, you think Ange's is probably better. At least your impression of her voice is perfect. "Well, if you say so. Princess is so demanding, isn't she?"
Ange gives her own laugh, but responds in your voice when she challenges you. "And wouldn't you be as well, with all this laid out before you?"
You converge on Dorothy again, Ange tugging at her hair until she kneels on the floor and you sit on the edge of the bed, your legs over her shoulders. You and Ange give your order at once.
"Get to work."
And oh does she ever. You're still incredibly wound up from those brief minutes you had Dorothy's hands on you, and the fact that she doesn't have the faintest idea who she's pleasing adds a jolt to every exploratory lick. You barely maintain enough presence of mind to keep switching voices as you babble a constant stream of praise.
"Oh, good girl, Dorothy, fuck, fuck- "
You're vaguely cognizant of Ange grumbling in- one of your voices- about how rarely it is you swear twice, but your climax has you a tad out of your own head, and Dorothy keeps at her work until you unlock your trembling legs and Ange pulls her away. Ange also reveals what she's been doing with her other hand, when Dorothy sobs as Ange takes her hand away from Dorothy's folds and licks her fingers off. Curiosity seizes you, and you lean over Dorothy and steal a kiss from Ange, just to taste.
It's not sweet like honey, or flowery, or whatever other descriptors the penny dreadfuls might use, but it's Dorothy, which is better. And the fact that you're kissing Ange hardly detracts from the experience, of course.
You want more, but it'll have to wait. Dorothy moans as you and Ange retreat again, and this time, you start it off. Your own voice.
"Well! I think she deserves a treat after all that, don't you, Princess?"
Ange carries on in the same voice. "Of course you would think that, Princess. You're the one who's having trouble standing."
"Well, we could always let you have a turn..."
"One of us needs to stay impartial."
Time to switch to her voice. It's better for bluntness. "As if either of us has ever been that."
She sticks to yours. It does rueful very well, so you're not surprised. "Touché."
"Come now, Ange. We should at least give her a chance at a reward."
She doesn't look like she'll go for it at first, but the way that Dorothy perks up the second you say "reward" decides her. "Alright, then. A chance."
"A chance."
Once more, you both circle back to Dorothy, and between the two of you you help her to get off the floor and sit on the bed with minimal struggle. Then, you flank her, and her legs spread with seemingly very little conscious thought behind it. You hear your voice from her other side.
"Presumptuous, aren’t we?"
You decide you'll use Ange's voice to respond, but wait until Dorothy starts to beg to cut off her litany of pleas.
"But correct."
You run a single finger up Dorothy's thigh as she shivers and hushes herself, but stop at her hip, cutting off her whines in your own voice.
"One thing first, dearest. Since Ange argued so nicely for your chance-" Ange glares at you for putting those particular words in her mouth, as if she didn't make the opposite argument with yours- "Don't you have something to say to her?"
Dorothy takes a moment to remember her manners, but she gets there eventually.
"Thank you Ange, thank you, thank you- "
You cut her off when you plunge two fingers into her and make her scream. Ange, on her other side, takes a little prodding to pull herself together, but she adds a hand on Dorothy's clit. And, you notice with a very Ange-like snicker, a hand on her own.
Lord, Dorothy's wet. You add a third finger, because it seems like you can, and it goes in with no more effort than two did. From your position you have to crane your wrist a little, but you eventually scrape against her front walls just right and wring a very satisfying wail out of her. You open your mouth, and to your surprise Ange's voice comes out.
"Now, Dorothy, I need you to understand something. You have a chance, here, and only a chance. We'll make you cum, but first you have to tell us something."
You lean closer, and this time when you go to talk in your own voice, you manage it.
"Which of us is inside you, and which of us is playing with your clit?"
She keens. She wails. She babbles nonsense. Ange cums convulsively at the spectacle, but her hand on Dorothy keeps its rhythm.
"I- I- Princess? Ange? I don't know, I don't know, please, please-"
Ange pulls her hand away and Dorothy doesn't just sob metaphorically- you can see tears starting to stain her blindfold.
You can hardly contain your smile. "Oh, isn't she gorgeous? We should let her cum anyway."
"Gorgeous and wrong. "
"Well, she definitely identified the both of us, didn't she? And look at the state of her, could she even remember our names for a second try?"
Dorothy isn't really part of this conversation, but she shakes her head anyway. You're not sure if it's because you're still knuckle deep in her and she's trying not to cum without permission, or because she's admitting she wouldn't be able to. You think it's the first, since she's still whispering "please."
"... You do seem to have a point there."
She's weakening, they both are. One more push, you think. Your own voice, because you don't want Ange to hear a lie in any part of this.
"And really, dearest- have even we ever been able to figure out which of us is Princess and which is Ange?"
That gets her. Gets them both, really, but what's important is that Ange puts her hand back on Dorothy's clit and almost begrudgingly whispers an order in her own voice.
"Cum for us, Dorothy."
And oh, she does. It's a sight. She arches into you both, her arms strain against the handcuffs, she kicks out involuntarily. Her pleas finally cut off as her mouth opens on a silent scream, and then she goes dead limp and starts sobbing in earnest. Against you, which is very inconvenient. You gently remove your hand from her- she lets out another low groan- and shove her off onto Ange, who is more equipped to handle her weight. She whines as you leave to get the key to her cuffs, but Ange takes off her blindfold and whispers sweet nothings, and you're back soon enough.
You gently free her and situate yourself so she can see you and Ange at the same time, then embrace her and Ange as close as you can. She does the same, and even as Ange pouts she completes your little triangle. For a while, that's the whole world- you and Ange and Dorothy, and gentle words as one of you cries.
Eventually, the last of Dorothy's tears dry, and she pulls you closer for just a second before she lets you go and wipes her eyes. "Wow. That was, um. Intense. Thanks?"
Ange shrugs, and very deliberately doesn't follow her lead and release you. Either of you. "You were the one who agreed to fuck a pair of identical girls with a grudge against you."
Dorothy lets out a surprised, somewhat watery laugh. "I, certainly did do that. Wasn't expecting you two to be so in sync, though. Or to be so good at doing the voices. Are you sure you're not, like, secret twins?"
You give her the look that question deserves. "I can only imagine the work on the Commonwealth's part it would take to steal a royal baby just to later replace the other twin with her. Especially considering that if you have that kind of access, you can just indoctrinate both of the twins while they still live in the palace."
Ange shrugs. "Sometimes weird things happen, Dorothy. It's not always a conspiracy."
Dorothy laughs again. "Yeah, I guess." You go back to the quiet, this time unbroken except by the clock against the wall and soft breathing. As so many comfortable things in your life are, this one is interrupted by Ange.
"It's time to get Princess back to her room. I can't cut it any closer or a groundskeeper might see."
You sigh, but go to retrieve your nightgown from wherever it ended up. Ange, of course, doesn't have to look at all. In fact, she seems to have very deliberately thrown hers onto its hanger. Somehow. You yawn and chalk it up to Black Lizard Planet tricks.
Ange opens the window and turns to you, and you survey the room again. Your walkabouts have given you a decent idea of its size, and you imagine being left alone in it, huddling on a bed by yourself, after the night Dorothy's had. You shake your head and wrap the sheet she's clinging to around her more properly.
"Come here, Dorothy. You're staying with me for the night."
Ange starts to let out an exasperated groan, but cuts herself off when she sees the sheer relief on Dorothy's face. Instead, she settles for grumbling about visibility and upsetting plans and a host of other things that don't matter half as much in that moment as Dorothy does. You take each of your spies by the hand, and Ange launches.
The odd buoyancy-underwater-falling-in-reverse sensation of miniaturized cavorite flight delights and confuses this time just as much as every other, but fades all too soon as Ange opens your window and your human chain pulls itself into your room. You give your spies a kiss each, let go of them exactly as long as necessary to divest them and you of your remaining clothing, and tow them over to your bed.
You hadn't noticed before, but it's a little bigger than the beds in Dorothy and Ange's room. It can't quite hold three people comfortably, but it's certainly doing a better job than the other bed you spent the evening on would have. The world is almost perfect. Except for one thing.
"Ange. I can hear you thinking. Stop it."
You can also hear her pouting. "They're important thoughts. We've left more of a trail than I had planned for, and it'll be terrible to find excuses for all three of us to vanish, and-"
Dorothy chimes in, catching you by surprise. You had honestly thought she'd passed out. "Tomorrow problems for tomorrow us. Sleep."
Well said, you think. You snuggle deeper into the pile of liars on your bed and close your eyes.
As you drift off, you vaguely hear Ange whispering "... clothing. Shit. How did I forget fresh uniforms again." Dorothy's chuckles are nice to fall asleep to, you think. You hope yours are, too.