#(So Sophie gets lingerie Sonia in her fancy lace-topped silk stockings)

[morethanaprincess-a]

@madamhatter​ said:  🍻 our muses enjoy a bit too much spiked apple cider during a party and find themselves in the guest bedroom hotel room because it makes more sense (send cheers if you can’t see the emoji) / oh boy

Autumn Starters

She could forget about getting up: just opening her eyes made Sonia Nevermind’s head throb. She’d been asleep, that much she knew, but her bedsheets were very much unlike the ones from her room in Oxford. And outside, the usual bustle of students on their way to the dining hall or class was completely absent. The Princess of Novoselic groaned, a fist gripping the blanket over her waist. It had slid off her to the right, an odd predicament as she usually cocooned herself in her blankets with a pillow in her arms. There was only one conclusion: this definitely wasn’t her bed, which meant, after the party in London, she hadn’t gotten the car to take her back to university.

“What time is it...” She muttered, stifling a yawn and holding the pillow closer. She didn’t expect an answer, but beside her, the mattress shifted. Shifted, in such a way that only another body could cause the springs beneath her, beneath...them, to creak.

Sonia was wide awake now.

Throwing the pillow aside, where it bounced off the nearby chair and fell onto the rug, she sat straight up in bed, tired blue eyes snapping open to survey her current situation. A hotel room, one that reminded her of Claridge’s. An unfamiliar chill. Bright sunlight. And...a lump in the bed beside her, definitely human sized. Sonia’s face turned pale, twisted into shock: why, exactly, was someone sharing her bed? And most importantly, who was it? She’d had quite a bit of cider last night during the party at Whitechapel, where a renovated warehouse had been turned into a vibrant party for the Oxbridge set, eager to take a weekend off from campus. But she couldn’t have had that much, could she?

The answer was, as usual: Yes.

With a shaking hand, she reached out to pull back the covers enough to see the person’s face. God, she could only hope that it wasn’t someone from her own dormitory hall. Or any of the various minor royals and aristocrats who’d attended: even if she was simply sleeping beside someone, it would be a difficult task of diplomacy to smooth things over. What if she hadn’t had the pillow all night? What if she’d hugged them in her sleep? It was her habit, one she’d tried to break and was terribly embarrassing. Having to divulge it to the wrong person would create a flurry of press she was in no mood to deal with, alongside a hangover and panicked Novoselic Royal Council.

But as she inched the cover down, she was met with a familiar shade of brown hair. A familiar scent of soap. It was the sort Sophie wore, because she saw no need for perfume. Not if she was working in the atelier or in the kitchen, she’d say, whenever Sonia suggested they seek new scents for one another. Each time, Sonia had pouted and had stuck with her rose, jasmine, and orange blossom scent she most commonly applied.

The person looked like Sophie, and smelled like Sophie, because as she rolled over, Sonia was greeted with the undeniable fact that Sophie Hatter lay in bed beside her.

And that was enough to make Sonia shriek in surprise, in alarm, and because she looked down to find that she’d discarded her party dress at some point between that morning and when she’d left the party and was left to sleep only in her mesh and lace bra and underwear, with her lace-topped thigh high stockings, that left very little to the imagination. It had made her dress fall beautifully of course, but the strategically placed black lace flowers and elegant patterns, while delicate, were not the image of modesty. God, if Sophie really looked at her, she’d get a good eyeful of her breasts and her far more intimate area below.

Sonia screamed again, this time pulling the bedsheets up and over her chest, holding them there with a firm hand. It wasn’t as if Sophie hadn’t seen her in her underwear before: she’d witnessed Sonia in her bra and knickers plenty of time for clothing fittings. But in those situations, Sonia always made sure she wore full coverage, opaque undergarments. Nothing quite so salacious and seductive, her preference in lingerie was a secret to all except Sonia.

“Sophie!” Sonia half-hissed, half-cried, “What are you doing here? How did we leave the party? Didn’t we both have separate rooms? Why are we sharing a bed? WHEN DID I TAKE MY DRESS OFF!?”

She’d wanted to bring Sophie along to show off her latest creation, to have her school acquaintances meet the designer, and most importantly, give Sophie a night off to attend a party, sleep in a hotel, and indulge in one of the best afternoon teas in London. But now it seemed their holiday would be anything but relaxing.