[ And that's all the cue Morgana needs. She teases for a moment, her gaze affixed on Gwen's as she takes an indulgent sip of her drink, before placing the half-finished cocktail back down on the bar and plucking her lover's from between her hands. That's set aside too — who cares that they cost a good twelve pounds each — because what Gwen wants, Gwen will have, and Morgana couldn't be happier. ]

Then let's make ourselves scarce, shall we?

[ She slips her arm through Gwen's easily to escort her out to the queue of black cabs. As the pass through the sea of bodies Morgana nods at some, greets others, because a woman in her position at the Tate doesn't make it there without keeping a wide, at-arms-length network. When they're finally in the cab Morgana laughs lightly, relieved to be leaving; ]

You'll stay the night, won't you?

[ Her hand drifts to Gwen's leg, sliding up over her knee to stroke her thigh. Damn the driver, and damn propriety. ]

I want to wake up with you, Gwen. Preferably in the middle of tomorrow afternoon.