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you sigh, rolling your eyes, before pushing up and tightening your thighs around her hips, rolling till you're saddled on top of her, a light palm resting at her sternum, your dark gaze meeting hers -- the cut of night against her sliver of pre-dawn gray.

"well shit, princess --" she puffs out, letting her head fall back onto your pillows, a breathy laugh kicking from her chest as she slings her free arm across her eyes, her whole body softening beneath you.

and like this, in the cast-neon glow of the city outside your unshuttered windows, she looks less like the battle-hardened enforcer, and more like -- well -- like her. like a woman whose spent so long honing the edges of herself into the shape of a blade that she'd forgotten she could be anything else.

"hey," you say, rolling your hips down over hers, drawing out a shocked gasp, "look at me," you say, repeating the motion, only to earn a half-bitten moan as vi's brows furrow and she glances down at where you're perched over her hips, thighs locked around her body.

you cock your head, "eyes up here, soldier."

your voice dips low. vi sighs, her eyes flicking up to meet you, and you spot, with a point of heated satisfaction, the color blooming in her cheeks.

it's late -- but then again, neither of you are strangers to the witching hours.

"y-you -- ah, shit -- you shouldn't keep -- doing this --" vi's chin tips up as she forces back a whine even as the shape of it curls around the tenor of her words.

you trail your fingers along her front till you're teasing at the hem of her shirt, inching it further and further up till she huffs and tears it from her torso in one fluid, inpatient motion. you chew back a giggle, watching as she struggles out of her ill-fitted chest bindings.

"y'know, those can really hurt if you don't do them correctly."

vi levels you with a venomous glare. you shrug, dropping the subject as you reach down to guide her hand to the delicate bow tied at your throat, the only thing keeping the sheer, gauzy film of cloth covering your torso above your satin lingerie set.

"yeah?" she asks, cocking a perfectly arched eyebrow, her pupils blown wide as she gives the ribbon a single, decisive tug. you gasp as the effervescent material falls away, "and are you gonna show me how it's done, princess?"

you lean forward, slow, your voice humming through your chest to hers, "sure... if you want me to."

vi purses her lips, the faint pink of her tongue flashing out as she wets the slightly cracked surface.

"sweet fuck --" she swears, letting her head thunk back against your satin-lined pillows, "why'dyou keep doing this -- 's not like i can afford --"

you tut, pressing a finger to her lips, "ah-ah... no money-talk in bed, remember?" you ask, lightly, almost playfully, glaring down at her till she softens again.

after a brief moment that stretches much longer than it should have, vi quirks another glance at you, "babette's gonna be pissed."

you roll your eyes, hard and proper this time, sitting up far enough for you to regard vi down the bridge of your nose.

"babette," you say, your voice petulant as it is condescending, "can be pissed at whatever she wants -- i'll still be here in the morning."

vi laughs, running her palms absently along your thighs. it's always startled you, how casual and tender her touch can be. her thumb traces along the lace trim of your silk stockings.

you let yourself admire her, the angular cut of her jaw, the faint scatter of freckles across her nose, the slight twist of her lips, the puckered skin around her piercings.

"vi?"

"hm?" her eyes take a moment to catch you, as if her gaze had been carried off somewhere too far away to focus at just a moment's notice.

you lean forward, let your hair waterfall around your face and hers, your lips ghosting over her mouth -- close enough for you to taste the whiskey on her breath.

"kiss me," you say.

vi chuckles; there's the faintest twitch of her head as she considers you for the split second before she tugs you down to grant your wish.

her lips are chapped, but her mouth is warm and wanting. her kiss a hungry, demanding thing, her hands pushing through your hair, her fingers digging into the plush of your thighs, your waist, trailing long the rounded vertebrae of your spine till you soften into whatever shape she'd bend you into.

you whine into her mouth, nip at the way she gasps, her lips falling open and plaint even as she twists the pair of you to pin you beneath her. her brows furrow as she pulls away, her eyes a pair of over-bright, marbles as they roam, glazed and shining over the planes and secrets of your face.

you lick your lips, your smile sharp and hungry as the scimitar moon --

"sit on my face."

vi's breath stutters, "w-what?"

you roll your eyes; time's already short and the dull ache between your thighs tells you that you're in no mood to play coy tonight. you run your fingers along the corded muscles of her thighs, digging your thumbs into the thick waistband of her pants.

"did i stutter?" you ask, petulant and spoiled, your voice thorn-pricked with want. vi blinks down at you, wide-eyed and pink-cheeked as any shy virgin you've ever seen, though you're certain she's nothing of the sort. you'd seen to that, months and months and months ago.

you lick your lips and pinch at the tender butterfly of her hipbones. her thighs contract deliciously around you as you enunciate, with almost a mocking directness --

"sit. on. my. face."

"what --"

"oh my god --" you tug at her pants, succeeding in dragging them halfway down her hips before she yelps, toppling back, barely catching herself on unsteady palms. you sit up, now no longer pinned beneath her.

"you're infuriating, y'know that?" you ask, reaching forward to unzip the front of her pants, but her hand catches yours, her fingers wreathed around your wrist as she tugs you forward.

"don't --" she says, in a voice that's just on the other side of jagged, "don't tease me --"

she tries to kiss you again, but you only sink your teeth into her bottom lip, hard enough to taste the tangy metallic of blood. she pulls away, startled.

you swipe a thumb along your bottom lip and smirk at the dark smear of red.

"i wasn't fucking teasing, violet."

and you think it's this, this, more than anything, that sets her ablaze. because the next second, you're being shoved back onto the mattress, one of her hands carding roughly through your hair, the other fumbling with her pants. you almost laugh as she struggles to kick them off the side of the bed, before she's hissing, her hot cunt meeting your lips, the taste of her bittersweet on your tongue.

you moan then, long and hard and solid. and you revel in the way she shudders above you.

"sweet fuck --" she groans as she rolls her hips down over your mouth, her brows furrowing just the way you like. you'd spent the past three weeks (or perhaps forever) mapping the peaks and divots of her pleasure carefully across her face, like a cartographer might her favorite stretch of misty, endless mountains.

you keen in response, urging her on as her breath catches, her eyes slitting open just enough to see you caught beneath her powerful thighs, your fingers curling around her, forefingers rubbing soothing little circles into the butterfly wings of her hipbones.

"s-so fuckin' good f'me -- hm? yeah -- that's what you like, isn't it?"

and she can't help but to run her mouth, even on the nights when your roles were switched and it as her trapped beneath the weight of you, rocking over your lips, riding her face hard enough for her chest to burn with the lack of oxygen. even then, she hadn't been able to keep quiet, keep her mouth shut -- and now, above you, it's the only thing she can do to keep her mind from unreeling sideways, babbling about all the filthy, terrible, inhumane things she might do to you, of all the different ways she's dreamt of taking and taking and taking.

you urge her on, tilting up to dig your tongue further into the slick, clenching caverns of her cunt.

you whine and grunt and hiss and moan at her behest, letting her use you, the burning ache of oxygen deprivation sizzling from your chest straight down to the bead of your clit, your own cunt clenching and wet and hungry around nothing as vi jerks herself to completion over your mouth, the dark pink hairs above her pussy slick with her arousal and your heedless devotion.

"shit, princess -- what the fuck --" she gasps, heaving herself up on trembling thighs as you suck in a long breath and lick your lips clean.

"knew you had it in you," you say, dragging the back of your hand across your lips, eyeing the residual slick with an near academic interest. vi flushes as she watches you, the high leaving her oddly boneless as she clears her throat.

"yeah, well..." she trails off, averting her eyes.

you tamp back a laugh, reach forward to cup her cheek, twisting her face back towards you, running a thumb along the plump of her bottom lip. immediately, you see the way her pupils blacken with want, the way her body bends to the will of your desire.

you smile, tugging her forward.

"that's the first time you came before i did," you say, letting go of her jaw. vi blinks, swallows. and then she draws back, scrubbing a hand along the back of her neck, her skin going a mottled maroon.

"it's not -- that's -- that's not fair --" she says, finally, after a good minute or so of sputtering. you laugh, soft and carefree as you pull her to you on your vast, silk-lined bed.

"it's not a bad thing, vi," you say, running a hand through her hair as she slowly softens into you.

"why'dyou keep on doing this? s'not like you owe me anything."

you sigh, your fingers stilling.

"you think i'm doing this because i owe you?"

"well when we --" she takes a long breath before amending, "the enforcers first raided babette's... i saw you, hiding... and i thought --" she shrugs, "for a second, that you might've... seen me too," she finishes, sheepishly.

you press your lips into a delicate, damson line.

"i did," you say, simply, "and maybe the first time i saw you back here, it might've been something like that -- i wanted to..." you wave a hand aimlessly in the air, "balance the scales, or whatever but --"

you sigh, turning back to her, reaching down to flick a single strand of hair from her athena-bright eyes.

"but then... " you breath catches on the barbed wire mess of your throat, and vi shoots you a dagger-sharp grin.

"then i kept coming back," she supplies.

you shrug a single shoulder.

"maybe. but maybe i would've gone looking for you, if you hadn't."

"hm." vi makes a soft, unconvinced noise.

you don't say anything to correct her, but you resume the gentle cadence of running your fingers through her hair. over and over and over, till her breathing slows, evening out, till the weight of her settles fully over you and you can tug the soft, silken sheets over her shoulders.

you don't sleep; you rarely do these days.

but you allow yourself to doze in her arms, the soft lulling rhythm of her breaths rocking you into a place almost like sleep, till the dawn crests over the horizon, and vi inevitably jerks awake.

she shakes her head, looking punchdrunk and dreary.

"shit -- i gotta --" she rummages around the darkness over the side of the bed for her uniform pants, "gotta go," she says, tugging them on, the blood-red of the rising sun spilling over the horizon like freshly drawn blood.

"alright," you say, with a valiant effort to keep your voice light; you're not entirely sure you succeed.

"i'll uh --" she turns halfway, not fully facing you, but not facing away either.

you sink deeper into the tangle of soft, body-warm sheets.

"come back soon," you say, as if bidding off a lover.

vi bites her lips, her eyes fractaled by the early-morning light.

"yeah. sure. soon." she says the words like they taste foreign on her tongue.

it's a familiar dance. one that you and her have done a hundred and one times before.

"send the sheriff my love," you call after her, a final, vindictive jab.

vi pauses by the door, her shoulder sagging.

"y-yeah. i uh -- i will," she says, before pulling the door closed gently behind her.

you slump back into your fortress of pillows, freshly laundered from the night before. out beyond the windows, the early morning sun has drenched the entire city in gold, gilding the streets in such an ethereal light that outsiders just might think the streets were paved with it.

you tug the sheets up to your chin and flip onto your side. there's a hollow, empty ache that curls up from your thighs into the bed of your stomach.

that is until you see a tiny slip of paper tucked beneath the wine glass you'd set there the night before, and the hasty scrawl you'd long-since come to associate with a certain wayward enforcer.

tomorrow night. jericho's. it'll be a date.

and then, in a trailing, nearly illegible hand, a word tacked onto the end of the note like a prayer --

please?