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What did this situation look like from the other perspective?
Chrome's training meant that was one of her first thoughts in new environments, though this time, she didn't intend to cast illusions. As her feet sank into plush carpeting - no guest slippers available, but Chrome was used to it being that way in European countries - she imagined M.M.'s perspective, what was putting that snarl on her face and what had led to her allowing Chrome into her flat all the same.
First, she must see an ally; one who had plenty of other options and wouldn't show up at her doorstep without a real need. That accounted for the speed with which M.M. had let her in. Certainly she saw a dark, sodden streak of woman, wet with rain and sweat, and nonetheless relaxed now that she was away from the authorities clearing up the remnants of a battle. An appearance too plain for her tastes, no makeup, nothing flashy but the decorated eye patch. Familiar with the riches around them if not the way it was displayed - it probably satisfied her that Chrome had done a double take at the jug of diamond necklaces displayed on the sideboard - but caring little for them. The property of Mukuro, who was M.M.'s saviour and most fascinating human(-ish) being she knew, in ways that went beyond easy comprehension.
An uninvited house guest, an irritation, a taunt without the backbone to be a challenge and yet a challenge for Mukuro's regard that she'd already lost. No wonder she'd begun to seethe and insult again, and had left Chrome to stand in the sitting room without inviting her to sit down. And it didn't matter.
Chrome saw recognition stalking round her in narrowing circles.
Years of having friends, years of having a better family, and it was still the answer to a prayer. It was dizzying. She watched M.M. draw closer with exaggerated dramatics and real anger, her gaze tracking along with every movement. M.M. saw her now and had seen her from the first, treating her like she was a red-hot danger for all that she called Chrome tragically pallid inside and out. Her. Chrome hadn't needed to do anything and yet she'd instantly had an ally, an enemy; someone whose eyes were so often burning because they locked onto the sight of just her.
"What," M.M. said, stalking into Chrome's breathing space, "are you looking at me like that for?"
"We've never been alone like this." Chrome lifted a hand to brush fingers against M.M.'s hair. Maybe it was too intimate - too awkward? Did it matter when she hadn't been the one to close the distance in the first place?
M.M. allowed it with narrowed eyes and an imperious tilt of her head, accustomed to touch made reverent by the beauty she offered. It felt soft. There was perfume to it, stirred up by the motion, very lovely.
Something pounded throughout Chrome, even her guts clenching. She admired M.M., too, not just caught up in her irresistible focus - it was amazing how she could be like that, with confidence that took pleasures as if they were the least of what she was due. Chrome had her own kind of confidence, though, which was hard-won and something she was proud of.
"I think you're very beautiful."
"You're right! You can see out of that eye after all, hag! And?" Her breath quickened as Chrome closed her hand, still tangled in M.M.'s hair, slowly into a fist. The burn of her eyes turned fanatic with the first pricks of pain. Chrome had guessed right - M.M. took it like she did pleasure.
"I'd like to go to bed."
"Oh yes, I'm sure it must have been a long night, out on your marching orders, you poseable little doll. You must be oh, so tired," M.M. said. But she was starting to look smug. "Still. You should repay me for the shelter. Once you've showered! My God."
When Chrome stepped back out of the en suite bathroom, clean and naked, M.M. lay on the bed and ignored her. Not completely, but it was close - she started responding once Chrome untied her silk robe and moved to take it off her, but chances were she might not have conceded that much if Chrome's hands weren't so reverent. Discovering pale lines of scarring and lean muscled arms felt like a shared secret, and she kissed her delight into the perfume at M.M.'s throat. It was different to the scent of her hair, but perfectly complementary.
The only way the foreplay was a mutual thing was that M.M. deigned to let Chrome grind against her leg. Otherwise she lay back in her fine cotton sheets and soft pillows (no wonder she had an array of five alarm clocks around the bed; it was a nest comfortable enough it must be tough to crawl out of), and let Chrome revel in her. If Chrome could feel the clench of M.M.'s thighs between her own and pressure to her clit that rang throughout her body, it was all the mutuality she'd expected. She thought that they both felt like they'd won in their own ways.
She kissed her way down M.M.'s body, choosing carefully moments to bite, worrying skin between her teeth to lingering redness, or to dig her nails in to keep the sighs and hisses coming. Then: a surprise when she pulled off M.M.'s panties - she caught the scent of blood.
M.M. scoffed as Chrome reared back, the sound heavy through arousal but accompanied by a vicious grin.
Challenge.
There wasn't actually a rivalry between them. Except that that was part of what drove M.M. to keep those vicious eyes locked on her. So Chrome was ready to meet whatever imaginary challenge was set - the imaginary was her specialty - and she moved back to spread M.M.'s legs and lie between them, and set her open mouth on her cunt.
"Freak," M.M. said, petulant and enchanted both, and rolled her hips into a languorous lap of Chrome's tongue.
A part of you is part of me-- Chrome thought.
Blood in my mouth, much too familiar, except, when I feel so alive at the same time...
Down here, M.M. wouldn't see tears roll down Chrome's cheeks; afterwards, perhaps dried tracks could be dismissed as sweat. She kept at her challenge, her host's trick, and her thanks. M.M.'s legs crossed over her back as she ran the tip of her tongue round the edges of her labia, up to the point of her clitoris, heels digging into Chrome's back with the sharpness you'd expect. All of taste and smell was bound up in her, tip of the tongue to the back of the throat and nose mashed up against M.M.'s mound, the blood overwhelming because of and in spite of the warmth that surged through Chrome's body, as real as it had ever been, more real than any of the times she'd died.
Her hand worked desperately on her own clit and she came before M.M., moaning shamelessly as her mouth kept at her work, and M.M. bucked and let out unwilling, wonderful shrieks.
"It makes no difference," M.M. announced, shortly after. "I suppose I knew you were good for something before this. Or why would Mukuro-chan have you sticking around?"
"There are quite a few things I'm good for." Chrome grinned, and was surprised to see how it made M.M. flinch. A little chastened, she went to the bathroom to clean up.
That declaration came back to haunt her over the next few minutes - she'd cleaned off her lips and chin but not yet cleaned her teeth by the time M.M. started to rail and snarl in her usual way, a volcanic eruption of irritation.
This time when M.M. stepped into her space, it was with the whole length of her body and such dedication that she drove Chrome against the glass wall of the shower. "What else, what else?" Her hand pushed squarely on one of Chrome's breasts, then squeezed. "Are you going to put your money where your mouth is?"
Chrome had meant that she was good at things like fighting, learning languages, tending to gardens, and so on. If M.M. meant sex, though, she could work with that.
This time, when Chrome smiled, M.M. rubbed an imperious thumb over one of her incisors, still tasting of blood, and her answering grin held pure satisfaction for the first time since Chrome had known her.