Work Text:
she had been the fixation of many anxious, shuddering, orgasms in youth, vi now reflects, blood-slick and aching, cunt throbbing unbidden.
she’s all leather and metal to yielding meat, wide, grey eyes rabid with a purple gleam, cheekbones sharp, busted lip leaking blood and spit. vi can feel the force of each thick muscle rip through her body on every punch, prosthetic knuckles breaking skin beneath her clothes, sevika’s fist slamming mouth-flesh to teeth. her body pulses with adrenaline and sharp, intrusive desire. her heartbeat squirms beneath her clammy, prickling skin.
vi’s on the floor in an instant, mouth filled with blood, head bouncing sickeningly off the cement. her spine and skull thrum with washed-out pain. she feels all floaty — punch-drunk. sevika’s hair is thick with grease, her thighs thick with muscle. vi scrambles like an animal to stand.
she stumbles away from another punch, falling into the wall, eyes locked onto sevika’s prosthesis, picturing those bronze fingers ripping upwards through her groin into her guts.
vi lifts her arms to block the next blow but it’s too late, she’s pinned to the wall, sevika’s prosthesis laid across her breastbone, metal wrist digging into vi’s throat and pinching the sensitive skin there. she stinks of tobacco and sweat, but vi can barely breathe it in.
her fingers are wrapped tight around sevika’s prosthetic, her own desperately straining arms pinned to her chest. she writhes to lift her jaw in a panicked attempt at freeing her smashed windpipe. sevika laughs lightly and lays her flesh-palm across the bottom of vi’s stomach, fingers spread, touch firm.
sevika begins unbuckling her belt, and vi can feel bile rise.
“the fuck are you doing?” it comes out all wrong, a frenzied, spittle-spraying whisper where she’s meant to scream.
sevika doesn’t need to answer. vi knows what she’s doing.
she bares her tar-stained canines, her thick hair slicked to her forehead with sweat, cheeks wet by vi’s own salvia. her soft, brown skin is ever-so-slightly marred by age. with her pale irises pinned to vi’s groin, her entire being has the quality of an old and well-maintained revolver.
“please,” vi whispers, girlish and meaningless, inaudible to anyone not centimeters from her mouth. pinprick tears emerge, burning, in her eyes, and vi’s glad sevika doesn’t ask what she’s begging for.
she presses a warm palm between two warmer thighs, her thick flesh-fingers absorbing the heat vi’s cunt radiates through a thin and sweat-stained pair of underwear. the fabric is tacky. a new wave of humiliation washes over vi, hot and heavy in her shoulders.
sevika laughs breathily, low from her sternum, “you’re desperate for it.”
she pushes her hand through the well-worn elastic, easy and confident in her movements, like there’s nothing wrong in the world. she slips two digits into vi with little resistance, grinding the heel of her palm hard into vi’s swollen clit. vi thrashes against the other woman, clamping her thighs around sevika’s wrist instinctually, humping her palm and trying to force deft fingers deeper into herself.
“please,” vi begs again, impossibly more desperate. she squeezes her eyes tight, refusing to let her tears spill.
her abdomen, lower back and ass are strained and tense, almost instantly white-hot, knife's-edge. sevika stills, knowing this.
“let me come?” phlegmy, choked through gritted teeth.
a few more outwardly awkward twists of sevika’s hand do vi in, turn her into a weepy, shaking girl. she bites the inside of her fleshy cheeks to keep herself quiet, calves cramping, eyes twisting brutally in their sockets. her pulse pounds in her skull. the mix of sweat and metal makes everything smell like stale blood. sevika unpins her.
“child,” the woman spits, sultry. she wipes her hand on vi’s shirt, abandoning the alleyway, leaving vi panting, achy, and just barely undressed. her neck and collarbone red and hot with new bruises, slick thighs trembling steadily, ecstasy still roiling unpleasantly in her veins, vi vomits onto the concrete.