Margot is in the middle of applying her lipstick when she sees Alana waltz up behind her in the vanity. Not the first time they've found themselves in this position, Margot easily leans into Alana's hands running over her shoulders. The corner of Alana's mouth, already done in the bold red Margot loves on her, quirks into a soft smile watching Margot finish her makeup.
“You've got that look on your face like you're waiting to drop a punchline,” Alana muses, leaning down to press a kiss on top of Margot's carefully styled curls. Margot smirks, already laughing to herself, and smitten that Alana can predict what's to come. Despite Alana's intimate knowledge of her every expression, Margot feels a smug satisfaction at the knowledge that when she does share what's on her mind, it's going to soundly knock Alana on her ass.
“You know me too well.”
“I know you just well enough,” Alana breathes, still leaning close in Margot's space. Margot tilts her head around for a quick kiss, but she can't sustain anything other than a smirk right now. Alana straightens, tugging Margot to her feet to follow. Margot obliges, smoothing her navy blue skirt in the mirror. Alana rests her chin on Margot's shoulder, narrowing her eyes. “Now spit it out.”
Margot laughs at the demand. Still focusing on adjusting her outfit instead of looking at Alana, Margot ventures, “I had a revelation this morning.” Alana hums, growing impatient. Margot is not so eager to just give up the gag, so she drags it out a moment longer. “Funny how certain memories come back to you in ways you least expect them to.”
“Yes. Hilarious,” Alana replies, snaking her arms around Margot's waist and squeezing.
Margot places her hands over Alana's, feeling their wedding bands clink, and she finally gives in to a toothy grin. Tilting her head in mock innocence, she asks, “Do you think Hannibal uses a cattle prod on Will now?”
Alana's chest heaves, and she collapses in a heap onto thick, luxurious cotton sheets. Wide-eyed, she stares helplessly up at Margot and the leather and lace lingerie ensemble that always drives Alana wild. Margot smiles mischievously down at her wife, moving forward so her thighs rest on either side of Alana's soft hips. She leans down to lick across the shell of Alana's ear, delighting in the shiver that vibrates through Alana's spine in response.
“You can't get enough of me on top of you, can you?” Margot whispers, and Alana can't hold back a groan. Her hands reach up to grasp desperately at any part of Margot she can reach, scraping her fingernails gently down Margot's back and catching on the leather straps of her bra. Margot chuckles, satisfied with herself for the state she's put the good doctor in. Abruptly, she sits up, resting her weight back on Alana's bare thighs. The press of lace panties against her skin is almost enough to distract Alana from the wicked smile blooming on Margot's face. Almost. Before her own predictions can ruin the mood, though, Margot bursts her bubble for her. “Who do you think tops: Lecter or Graham?”
The sharp click of Alana's laptop being forced shut shocks Alana, her fingers ducking away from the keyboard just in time to avoid being smashed. Alana gapes, but Margot's face remains where her screen was moments ago, and she's unimpressed. Margot leans back, crossing her arms and giving her wife an expectant glare from the other side of her desk. Alana shifts in her office chair, hands itching to open the laptop back up, but she restrains them, knowing that would only expose exactly what she was looking at. At least with the screen out of sight, she has some deniability. “I was working on something important,” she huffs. Margot raises one eyebrow.
“Does important work happen to be snooping on TattleCrime?”
Alana swallows, but crosses her arms to match Margot's. “I was doing research.”
“Right,” Margot mocks. She walks around to the other side of Alana's desk, leaning against it and facing Alana, who is truly terrible at not looking guilty. Margot softens her tone when she continues, “We have entire security teams to do research, Alana.” This sets Alana sighing and falling back in her chair. She pushes a strand of wavy hair behind her ear, avoiding eye contact. She knows she shouldn't have been reading that article, but Freddie Lounds' headlines are as attention-grabbing as ever: Murder Husbands Honeymooning In Spain? had insisted on being clicked on. Margot can see the justifications and excuses working behind Alana's eyes, so she delivers the final blow: “You promised me you wouldn't obsess.”
Alana rubs a hand over her face, absentmindedly smudging a bit of her lipstick. Margot hides her twitching smile. She'll leave that for later. For now, Alana is exhaling deeply and quietly replying, “It's hard not to give in to obsession when it's my family on the line.”
Margot's disapproval melts for a moment, and she can't help but lean down to press a kiss to Alana's sweet lips. When she pulls back and sees that she's mussed up Alana's lipstick further, she grins, licking her own lips. “Well, as your family,” Margot says, making Alana's eyes crinkle with a soft chuckle, “I remind you that you're no good to us paranoid and afraid.”
“You're right. I'm sorry,” Alana admits, and Margot has to kiss her again. Ten points to Margot for marrying a woman with the emotional maturity to apologize often and openly. Alana smiles warily, unsure what's got Margot grinning like that, but sure that it's nothing good. Then her brows furrow, and with leftover laughter in her voice, she asks, “How did you know what I was reading without even seeing my screen first?”
Margot laughs, leaning against the edge of Alana's desk again, but staying close. “Victor told me there had been an update. I was on my way to tell you myself when I saw that angry glint in your eyes.” The explanation makes Alana laugh, fully this time. She nods, certain that reading about Hannibal and Will had given her quite the glower indeed. With the tension of a moment ago forgotten, Margot takes her opportunity to fix Alana's lipstick. She swipes her thumb across Alana's bottom lip, expertly scraping up the stray color and creating a crisp, clean line again. Alana blushes when she realizes what Margot just did, self-consciously biting her lips into her mouth and pressing them together to even out the lipstick. Margot beams down at her. Ten more points for marrying someone completely and entirely adorable.
With a deep breath in, Margot forces herself to stop staring and glances back at Alana's laptop. “I suppose Freddie still calls them Murder Husbands, hm?”
“Yes, she certainly does,” Alana sighs, a bitter edge sharpening her words. The frustration doesn't reach Margot. She just smiles.
“Think she'd call us Murder Wives if she knew the truth about Mason?”
Alana snorts. Margot watches her wife laugh, her own eyes shining bright with mischief. Alana shakes her head, looking up at her in awe and disbelief. She reaches forward to steal Margot's left hand. Even though Margot knows it's coming, it still takes her breath away when Alana presses those perfect red lips reverently to her wedding ring. “My murder wife,” she echoes, chuckling. “I love you.”
Margot is entirely serious for once. “I love you, too.”