The Terrace at Night

rysler

Summary: "I always thought I was greener than that. Is that how people really see me? Sparkly? Is sparkly, then, evil?"

Glinda watched the play from her terrace. The antics in the castle courtyard currently involved a satire of the Wicked Witch of the West. That which we laugh at, we do not fear. The Wizard of Oz encouraged such follies when it involved his looming greatness flattening the Witch into green goo--the trickery of a squashed insect.

Sometimes the Witch was portrayed as a black and green, diseased and blighted lime. This time she was a harlot, all in red, with a hooked nose and arms that moved with puppet strings. And she was covered in glitter.

"Honestly," Glinda said.

"Yes," came a voice from behind her. "I always thought I was greener than that. Is that how people really see me? Sparkly? Is sparkly, then, evil?"

Glinda closed her eyes, blocking out the offensive visage in the courtyard, and hoping to block out the equally offensive presence behind her. She couldn't do that by closing her eyes, though.

"I certainly know the Wizard doesn't look like that. Do you think the root of those special effects of his are impotence?"

"Honestly."

"It's as if you can say nothing else. Is the world always so well-disapproved of? Does nothing meet your expectations?"

Glinda whirled around, and faced the shadowy corner of the terrace, the side that nearly merged with the tree line. "Elphie. Really."

Elphaba, still invisible in the shadows, tsked.

"You shouldn't be here."

Elphaba emerged into the low torchlight cast onto the terrace. "I probably shouldn't be here twice." She gestured at the stage.

Glinda glanced behind her. "Elphie, go away! What if someone sees you?"

"They'll never believe you're talking to the Wicked Witch. Not even if they see it with their own eyes."

"So true. Sad. Anyways, how was your flight?" Glinda raised an eyebrow at Elphaba.

Ephaba cackled. The evil sound rose to challenge the crowd's howling laughter below.

Glinda surged forward, and covered Elphaba's mouth with her hand. "Stop. Someone will hear you! It's not as easy to cover one's ears as ones eyes. People believe what they hear."

Elphaba narrowed her eyes. Glinda felt the pinprick of teeth against her fingers. She dropped her hand.

"Then let's go inside," Elphaba said.

"Let's."

* * *

Elphaba's fingers glided across Glinda's back. She was always so gentle, Glinda mused. Not like Sir Chuffrey. Elphaba was always tender. In return, in gratitude, Glinda made sure her tears fell only onto the pillow.

She always made sure her lips were dry before she kissed Elphaba. Sometimes Elphaba would blow on them, and they would laugh, their arms around each other's necks. Glinda would lean in. Elphaba would wince at the sting that did not come. Glinda would sigh at the wetness she never tasted.

Elphaba's hands moved lower, squeezing her ass. Glinda pretended to laugh. She pressed her face into the pillow. Elphaba's fingers curled along the inside of her thighs. Glinda said, "More."

"More?"

"More."

"You're too wet," Elphaba said, grabbing Glinda's hips to roll her onto her back. "You're too wet, already. You couldn't wait."

"What can I do, if you can't touch me?"

Elphaba drew Glinda's hand to blonde curls, and said, "Does your husband caress you there?"

"He doesn't bother," Glinda said. She manipulated herself, blushing to watch Elphaba's face darken.

"You are left to your own devices?"

"Yes." Glinda arched her hips, contorting herself, so that the tip of her middle finger could slip inside.

Elphaba stalked closer, meeting her eyes, so close that Glinda could kiss her if she had the strength. "And what do you think about?"

"Elphie..."

"And who do you really want in your bed?"

"Elphie!" Glinda went rigid. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she jerked her hips twice against her fingers. Then she was sprawling with a glorious sigh. Her face and breasts were flushed pink, and her inner thighs shone with slickness.

Elphaba had to gather her voice to speak. "One more time, Glinda."

"Elphie... Elphie, come here."

Elphaba fell forward, and Glinda took her in her arms. "It is always such a peculiar way to make love," Glinda said, as Elphaba's dry cheek settled onto her shoulder.

"How would we know?"

Later, Glinda's hands would go everywhere they wanted. She would do things to Elphaba that the villagers outside would burn her for if they knew. Her tongue, tried to the point of sandpaper, would circle Elphaba's asshole. Elphaba would yelp. She'd thrust forward against Glinda's waiting fingers. Glinda would hold her, cup her, taste her suspended, until Elphaba howled again, unearthly. Glinda could never get her to be quiet.

"If I am going to have the Wicked Witch in my bed," Glinda would say. "I am going to make the most of it."

"Deep," Elphaba said, that same night, while her effigy burned outside. Her voice sounded heavy with satisfaction.

"If I am going to be killed for it, I am going to make sure I deserve it," Glinda said.

Elphaba shifted, turning onto her side, exposing only her green shoulder to Glinda. "So many people I loved are dead."

"Not me. Not yet." Glinda said.

"Thank goodness."

"It does have its uses."