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It's only a meeting. A few polite words, a tense handshake, and an agreement to stay out of each other’s business. A forced smile between Piltover’s Sheriff and Vander’s prodigy, opposites on every account. It’s a quick drink — in and out. So why is Vi so restless?
She supposes she should be grateful. Caitlyn Kiramman agreed to meet on her hunting grounds. She stooped so low to agree to the Last Drop, despite its—and Vi’s—reputation. This offers Vi protection, backup, and peace of mind. Even so, she can’t help the slight tremor in her left leg as she leans against the sticky bar, eyes flickering around the dimmed room. VI’s only taken up the mantle as the Hound of the Underground since Vander stepped back last year, and although the Lanes know her enough to respect her, there’s always a flicker of indecision that she feels whenever she’s in a position of authority like this. More often than not, she wonders if she’s earned that respect. She supposes although the very sight of the Kiramman heir puts a weight in her fists and a sharp taste in her mouth, she can sympathize; Caitlyn was sworn in recently, maybe six months ago, and is still trying to find her place as the Sheriff. She can only afford to wield her last name as a weapon for so long before people stop giving a fuck. Most Trenchers down here don’t know her yet, usually ignoring her badge and focusing on her uniform. Vi can’t blame them— wouldn’t dare to, not when she’s had the thought herself. But they don’t understand what she now has to be acutely aware of: it’s all about keeping the peace. Which is frustrating, shit, after years of solving problems with her fists, the idea of a diplomatic conversation always makes her restless. But here she is, tapping a steel-toed boot against the hard floor, trying to keep her cool. She keeps loosening and tightening her tie, just to have something to do with her hands. She’s swirling the ice in her whiskey sour, and has just started to feel its warmth when the very atmosphere of the Last Drop hitches.
Caitlyn is always a breath of fresh air in the Lanes. As frustrating as that is.
Vi hears the click of her heels before anything else. As if she needs the extra inches. She's in a tight dress, the velvet a blue so rich it’s nearly black, with knee high lifted boots and a string of Demacian pearls at her pretty throat. Through the slit in the side of the dress, hugging her thigh, Vi sees the outline of a garter— a concealed blade. She scoffs to herself. Awfully presumptuous to show up armed. She knows this getup does nothing to dull the venom in Caitlyn’s blood. Vi has seen her in action, knows the quiet precision with which those blades, and more importantly bullets, find their marks. Knows the look of a killer with a target. Ballsy of her to stroll in out of uniform. As if she’s ever dressed any other way when they meet like this.
But Saint Janna, does she look damn good tonight. That dress hugs her in all the right places, the slope of her hips and waist on clear display. Caitlyn strides right up to the bar like she owns it, and offers Vi a rather bored smile.
“Always a pleasure, Sheriff.” Vi bares her teeth. She'll play nice.
Caitlyn hums, unamused as ever, and flags the bartender down with a wave of her hand. He gives her a once-over, because even if he doesn’t know who she is, he knows she’s out of place. Those pearls alone are probably worth more money than he’ll ever get his hands on. Thankfully, at Vi’s glare he nods and retreats. Vi shifts, leaning against the side of the counter, and admires the sloping vee of Caitlyn’s neckline. Caitlyn most certainly notices.
“As you may well know,” She drawls, a drink sliding into her waiting hand. “Some of your… friends are causing problems Topside.” She says the word as if she would rather have used dogs. Vi’s eye twitches.
“And as I'm sure you know, I can't keep a leash on every single citizen of the Lanes.” She can’t help the chill that creeps into her voice. ”My authority only goes so far; if someone slips out during the night, there’s no reasonable way I'd be able to keep tabs on them. I’m only one person.” This is ridiculous, really. A few minor break-ins around the less congested neighborhoods, and there’s a delegation to be had. Vi can always sympathize with a few trencher kids rooting for shiny junk. Hell, that was her, once. It’s been relatively peaceful as of late, and this bullshit is completely undeserving of an intervention. Vi cocks her head, slightly condescending. “Look. How about I decide to tighten border patrols, see to it that people get their pockets searched. You can so graciously agree to care a little less about some petty theft on the outskirts of Piltover, and run back home where you’re safe.” Maybe she’s being a bit of a bitch. But then again, she’s never accomplished much acting otherwise. Also, she loves an excuse to see a Topsider squirm.
Caitlyn’s smile is predatory. She doesn’t visibly react to the condescension, but not because she hasn’t picked up on it. “Such a way with words, Violet.” She's one of the only people who uses Vi’s full name. Vi assumes it makes her feel powerful, gives her a sense of control of the situation; like she knows something about Vi that she shouldn't. Vi might have cared, when she was young and quicker to the punch, but they’ve been playing this game for long enough that now it sends a shiver of electricity down Vi’s spine to hear it fall from her mouth.
“You know me,” Vi drawls. “A perfect portrait of diplomacy.”
Caitlyn just scoffs. “You’re a tosser.”
Vi shrugs. “Can't argue there.” and she finishes off the rest of her drink. Slides it across the bartop and motions for another, and then offers Caitlyn a wrapped hand.
“Whadd'ya say, Cupcake? We got ourselves a deal?”
Caitlyn’s eyes narrow. This is the game Vi loves to play. To offer her something reasonable and be as unpleasant as possible while doing so. To watch Caitlyn writhe under her gaze. She knows the Sheriff hates that nickname.
But Caitlyn’s grabbing her hand, her silver rings clinking together, and shaking it.
“Only if you promise to monitor your markets and return anything that belongs to us back across the bridge.”
Vi groans, taking her hand back and grabbing her second drink.
“Ugh. You’re bad for business. And no fun, seriously, lighten up!” She sees Caitlyn register the comment, the sarcasm, and then narrow her eyes a little further. It reminds Vi of a wolf with its sight set on dinner, and it sets her nerves alight. Maybe the whiskey was a bad idea. They’re surrounded by moving bodies, swathed in dim, colorful lights and talking loudly over the drone of the music, and yet the Sheriff of Piltover singles her out under the heat of her stare. Vi thinks she may be sweating a little bit.
“You know,” Caitlyn says slowly, carefully, as if she’s trying to make a point. “You've got quite the reputation down here, lately. Or so I've heard.”
Vi tries not to let that go to her head. She tries not to think about Caitlyn spending any of her free time thinking about her. “Yeah?” she challenges, smiling crookedly. “Is it the muscles or the tattoos?” She can taste the bass of the music on her tongue, head pleasantly heavy with alcohol. Caitlyn downs the rest of her drink in one go and slams the glass against the counter. “Neither, I'm afraid. but I have heard an awful lot about what you get up to after dark. You’re quite a hit with the women of Piltover, aren’t you?” Caitlyn’s watching her pointedly, lips caught in a sneer, and Vi knows she’s just trying to get under her skin. It's only natural for people to talk — most of it isn’t untrue, anyway. But Vi’s cheeks flare traitorously and she scowls, ducking her head to stare out at the crowd. People are throwing the two of them dangerous glances, and Vi is startled to find that she feels somewhat protective of her time with a fucking Enforcer.
“Why?” Vi sneers, when she finally lets her gaze slip back to the woman in front of her. “Are you looking for a ride?”
That's right, Kiramman. I'll give it right back.
But Caitlyn doesn’t even flinch. She leans closer, eyes swimming with something dangerous , and Vi pointedly avoids looking at her chest. This is a game, now, something new entirely — and there’s no way in hell Vi’s backing down.
“Maybe I am,” Caitlyn murmurs. “Maybe I want to see what all this talk is for.”
This is not how this meeting was supposed to go. Vi wanted this over and done with. Now she’s trying not to picture what would happen if she grabbed Caitlyn by the front of her stupid dress and pulled her upstairs. If she caught her by the waist and held her against the countertop right in front of everyone, pressed herself between her legs, and let herself taste the expensive perfume on her throat.
“I think I can help with that.” Vi’s barely breathing. Her own voice sounds far away in her ears. Their faces are so close, and Caitlyn’s looking at her like that, and all that distaste and irritation is bubbling hot and sweet under Vi’s skin. She’s thinking that maybe this little rivalry goes a little deeper than she thought. She wishes they were far, far away from anyone right now. She wishes they weren’t what they were, who they were. She wishes they could just be two women, about to make an unavoidable, devastating mistake.
She shouldn’t do this. Caitlyn kisses her anyway.
Her mouth is an open flame, and she tastes like sweet liquor. Vi swallows a groan of pleasure and lets herself sink into the feeling of burning alive. It’s a fight, even now. Heat licks its way up the back of Vi’s neck, making her gasp, and Caitlyn’s tongue finds her bottom lip. Vi hooks two fingers into the middle of the neckline of her dress, right between where her breasts meet, and pulls her flush. Caitlyn growls, actually growls, against her mouth, and shoves her back in the same movement. Vi catches her breath and takes a good, long look, watching Caitlyn regain her composure as she leans against the bar. There’s color high on her cheeks, and she looks equal parts furious and hungry. Her chest is heaving. Perfect.
Her eyes flicker around the room, hyper-aware of their visibility and so eager to save face, but she can’t stop her gaze from returning to Vi’s smirk. She looks at Vi like she’s got the crosshairs of her rifle trained on her heart. She wipes her mouth on her hand. Her lipstick is smudged.
“Upstairs.” Vi hisses, body already moving. “Now.”
She doesn’t register taking Caitlyn’s hand. She doesn’t register the walk from the bar to the old wooden staircase up to the offices. She only feels a door click and lock behind them, and then she’s slamming Caitlyn against the back of it, starved and impatient.
Caitlyn’s dress is softer than she imagined. Her lips are smeared from their kiss downstairs, and Vi can taste her lipstick in her own mouth. Framed in the pale green light from the windows, a hue the Undercity always seems to foster, Caitlyn looks absolutely criminal. She looks like someone an Enforcer would be suspicious of, her sneer wicked and knowing. The glow of the city swims in her eyes and washes her in something dangerous. Her dress is caught up at her waist, dagger still visible, and she bites her lip in anticipation. They stare at each other, pressed together against the back of the door, for what feels like an eternity. The sound of the music downstairs is the only thing that breaks their silence. Caitlyn tilts her chin up, a smile playing at her soft mouth. It’s a challenge.
In that moment, Vi decides she has to tear her apart.
She splays her hands across Caitlyn’s waist, tugs them across the room, and sits her atop one of the old wooden writing desks they store in here. Annoyance and attitude and something more are coiling in Vi’s stomach, and the combination hits like a drug. Whatever this is, whatever they are, is a supernova. Vi wants to drown in her.
She braces her hands against the desk, on either side of Caitlyn’s hips. She tries to steady herself, tries to rely on the small, rational part of her brain that’s still firing.
“We shouldn’t be doing this.”
There’s undeniable anger she feels when she looks at Caitlyn. There always is, and there always will be. This woman represents everything she was born fighting against. Vi should be furious , furious for herself and for what Caitlyn stands for. What Topside continues to take from her people. But there’s an undeniable pull, too. There’s a string that ties their bodies together, two victims of circumstance clawing their way to the top. Vi has always been drawn to her gaze in meetings, in Council hearings, standing off to the side of the great, gilded room. She remembers being invited to the Sheriff's inauguration; Piltover trying to make a show of peace. She thinks back to that day, watching Caitlyn enter the hall, chin high and suit perfectly tailored. She remembers clenching her jaw the entire time.
Ridiculous. This is ridiculous. And yet she can’t help the twitching in her fingers. Caitlyn narrows her eyes at the comment, but only leans in, breath ghosting Vi’s mouth.
“Surely not.” Her voice is warm water down the back of Vi’s neck. “But I think we both know we’re doing it anyway. I’ve always admired your impulsivity.”
Vi flinches at the backhanded praise, caught way off guard, and the Sheriff takes that opening to wrap her fist around Vi’s silk tie and yank her forward. She catches Vi’s waist with one hand, holds her at arm's length with the other. Fuck.
“I hate the way they look at you down here.” Vi growls, surging forward to mouth along the column of Caitlyn's throat. She won’t be controlled that easily. Caitlyn bites down on a groan and tugs at the hem of Vi’s button up. Her long nails trace cruel lines across Vi’s navel, shit, making her shudder and sink her teeth into the soft skin at her clavicle. “How?” Caitlyn breathes.
“Like they could ever touch you. Like they could have you.” Vi palms at the smooth flesh of Caitlyn’s thigh where her dress has ridden up, drinks the disbelieving gasp from the woman’s mouth, and lets that hand slide between her legs, palming at the seam of her underwear. Dignity and professionalism be damned. She can feel the last reserves of her restraint slipping by the second.
“And you think you can?” Caitlyn sighs, but her heart’s not in it, not as she grinds against the careful pressure. Vi mouths at the soft spot behind her ear.
“That’s what this is, isn’t it? You would have hurt me by now if you were going to. I’d wager you want this too much.” Caitlyn’s intake of breath is ragged; a nonverbal affirmation. “They don’t understand. Not like I do.”
Caitlyn huffs a laugh. “Hardly.” Condescension drips from her tone. Her hands are gripping Vi’s hips. “You don’t know anything about me, Violet.”
Vi’s not going to let her full-name-basis her way out of this. She pulls back to stare at her, in all of her affronting glory.
“I know what you want. You want peace. You want us on equal footing. You want out from beneath the shadow of your family name.” She watches Caitlyn’s throat bob. “You want freedom.” They’re not so different. Vi has spent a lifetime chasing the same.
Caitlyn’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t disagree. Her hands are wandering, and they’ve untucked Vi’s button-up from her belt, sliding long fingers across warm skin.
“Maybe so,” she says. “But what about right now? In this moment?”
Vi grins. “That one’s easy. You want a good fuck.”
Caitlyn sucks in a breath at the crassness of her words, but Vi sees the shift of her hips, the way her pupils dilate.
“See? Like I said. I know you. We’re not so dissimilar.”
Her hand is still under the Sheriff’s dress, between her legs. “So let me give you what I know you want.” The fabric is damp, which is thrilling, and Vi presses two fingers against her harshly. Caitlyn stifles a groan against the back of her glittering hand. When she pulls it back, her smile is wicked. “Well,” she sighs. “ There’s the Violet I've heard so much about.” She leans back against the table, bracing herself against her elbows, and parts her legs.
Vi nearly blacks out.
Caitlyn’s boots are still on. She’s the fucking Sheriff of Piltover, and she’s bent back against the desk, eyes blown wide and lips swollen from kissing. She’s the fucking Sheriff of fucking Piltover, and she’s looking at Vi as though she’s deciding whether or not to eat her alive.
Vi wants the last word on that account. She doesn’t need to be told twice. She flashes her teeth and, without ceremony, drops to her knees on the creaking floor. Tonight could not get better.
Caitlyn makes a strangled sort of sound, back arching slightly, and the affirmation shoots down Vi’s spine to settle white-hot between her legs. She has a brief moment of clarity, where she considers how outrageous it is that she’s kneeling for Topside, but Caitlyn reaches down to tangle her long fingers into Vi’s hair, and suddenly she's being dragged up to where warmth is radiating from between Caitlyn’s thighs. And, well, she can’t think about much of anything else.
Her eyes flicker up to Caitlyn’s as she smooths her palms over the soft skin of her thighs, and the hunger in the woman’s face steals her breath for just a moment. Caitlyn’s fingers tighten in her hair, and she hisses at the surge of twisted pleasure.
“You’ve been all mouth all night,” Caitlyn’s accent is a knife-edge. “Do the sensible thing and put it to use.”
Fuck. Vi sucks in a breath, hopeful the woman above her can’t see the quiet shiver of her arousal. But Caitlyn sneers, and she knows she’s caught. She leans in and drags her teeth along the lean muscle of her thigh, a silent act of defiance, and bites hard enough to leave a mark. Caitlyn gasps.
“As long as you know enough to keep quiet. Wouldn’t want all of the Lanes to hear how much you’re enjoying a trencher mouthing off.” Vi watches Caitlyn’s eyes narrow in the din, flickering green and shadowed and dangerous. Before she can gather a response, Vi is hooking her thumbs into the band of Caitlyn’s underwear and pulling them down her legs. She keeps the garter on, wants Caitlyn to feel like she’s still got some sort of defense. And then she can’t help herself, can’t even look up, just shudders and presses her mouth to the wet heat of Caitlyn’s cunt.
Any reservations she had about making this mistake fly out the window as Caitlyn tips her head back and moans. It’s obscene. So much for staying quiet. The sound tears through Vi like shrapnel and only drives her forward, working her tongue hard and fast, a perfectly educated guess. The hand in her hair pulls hard, and Vi steadies a hand against her thigh to keep Caitlyn where she wants her. Her fingers brush the black leather strap of the garter and she curls her thumb through it to ground herself.
She makes the mistake of looking up from her work and is greeted by incendiary eye contact, Caitlyn’s back arched and cheeks flushed and expression just as determined as ever. She’s working her bottom lip between her teeth, soft, strained noises escaping her throat, hips bucking whenever Vi’s tongue does something she favors. The pearls around her neck reflect the light outside, and her free hand is tangled in her dress to keep it pulled up. Vi wishes part of her didn’t resent Caitlyn— In this moment, she might’ve been the most beautiful thing Vi had ever been allowed to touch.
Vi is lost in the sharp, sweet taste of her, in how this woman comes alive beneath her touch, is addicted to watching her guard fall down. She swirls her tongue around Caitlyn’s clit, testing, and her reward is a sharp gasp and a blissfully painful tug in her hair.
“ Oh, just like that.” Her voice is cool, breathless. It’s everything her body language is not. She’s betrayed by the way her thighs are trembling, by the leg she’s wrapped around Vi’s back to keep her close, and by the wild look in her eyes. Vi has half a mind to put her hand between her own legs, certain this would be more than enough to do it for her, but the heel against her back keeps her stuck fast. Gods above. Caitlyn may be the only person in the world able to get away with this.
As though testing her luck, the hand in her hair tugs her closer, deeper, demanding more pressure. Were Vi in her right mind, she might have shoved away. She might have scoffed at Caitlyn’s gall to ask for more, as though she deserved it. But she does, doesn’t she? Maybe tonight, they’re both allowed this mercy. Maybe they’re allowed each other. Vi moans against her, jaw tense and core aching, and Caitlyn begins to grind against her mouth steadily.
“Vi,” she says, as though it’s been torn from her throat. “Vi, Vi.”
Never in one thousand years did Vi think she’d be at the mercy of a Topsider. Never in one thousand years did she think she’d want more.
The hand in her hair slides down her face, cupping her jaw. It’s so intentional it feels almost tender , which sends a nervous jolt through Vi’s stomach. She isn’t sure what to do with that. She doesn’t have time to think about it, though, because then Caitlyn’s hand grips her jaw roughly, pulling her away from her slick, parted thighs, nails biting into her skin.
“Come here,” Caitlyn demands. She’s breathless when Vi looks up at her, breasts rising with her shuddering inhale. “Kiss me.” it isn't a request.
Fuck.
Vi staggers up to her full height, nerves alight with anticipation, and makes sure Caitlyn watches as she wipes her mouth on her sleeve. She sneers at the sight of her, disheveled and wanting and powerful. She knows Caitlyn looks about as unsteady as she feels. If she had more whiskey in her system, her knees might have given out by now. She opens her mouth to say something snarky, but Caitlyn’s arm whips out and she wraps her fist in Vi’s tie again, sending her stumbling forward. She grabs Caitlyn’s hips to break her fall, and the woman moans as their lips meet again.
She’s held fast by the pressure around her neck. She can’t even feel outraged that Caitlyn’s getting away with this; white-hot arousal has melted all other functioning parts of her brain. She slips one hand beneath the strap of Caitlyn’s dress, pulling it down her shoulder, never breaking their kiss. She catches Caitlyn’s lip between her teeth and bites hard enough to make her whimper, at the same time that she palms at the soft curve of her breast.
Caitlyn seems to like that, arching into the touch, tugging her even closer. She breaks the kiss, breathing heavy against Vi’s ear, rolling her hips to the motion of Vi’s hand against her chest. She wants something, and she’s too prideful to ask for it.
“Hound of the Underground, hm?” her breath comes hot and fast on Vi’s neck. “I should have leashed you.”
“Yeah, I bet you’d like that.” Vi pulls her hand away from Caitlyn’s chest, wrapping it around the fist tangled in her tie. “Seems like you’re doing an alright job as is.” She doesn’t dare inflate Caitlyn’s ego any more, doesn’t need to say she wouldn’t heel for anyone else.
“Come on, Sheriff,” she says instead, grinning wickedly. She slips her hand beneath Caitlyn’s dress again. “You’ve gotta tell me what you want.”
Caitlyn glowers at her, both at the formality and at the teasing circles Vi is tracing around her nipple. She sucks in a breath when Vi’s nails scratch her skin, her hips jerking softly against the desk.
“You know what I want,” she hisses, voice as dangerous an edge as the blade against her thigh. “You said it yourself.”
“I know.” Vi leans in to kiss the side of her neck, intoxicated by the sweetness of her perfume. “But I want to hear you admit it.” She presses her words to the Sheriff’s throat. Caitlyn groans and releases her tie, too distracted to keep her at bay. With what gratifyingly looks to be a great deal of effort, she leans away from Vi’s mouth and looks her in the eyes. She entertains the shit-eating grin on Vi’s face for mere moments, before she takes her jaw in her glittering hand again.
“I want you inside me,” she breathes. “ Now.”
And what can Vi do but obey?
She surges forward to kiss Caitlyn again, trying to take advantage of the privilege while she’s allowed it, and delights in knowing Caitlyn can taste herself through it. The hand not exploring her chest slips back between her legs, and there’s no pretense now, not when the Sheriff has made herself perfectly clear; not when Vi feels so starved of contact that she’s likely shaking.
There’s no need to warm her up— Caitlyn’s more than ready. With an earnest, ragged breath, Vi slips two fingers inside of her, and the sensation is so overwhelming that she drops her head against Caitlyn’s shoulder. The woman arches beneath her touch, driving her hips forward, driving Vi’s fingers deeper. “ Yes,” she moans, tangling a hand into the back of Vi’s hair, scraping long nails along the shaved side of her head. It’s bliss and torture all at once, at this woman’s mercy, desperate to give her what she needs. Vi bites at the defined slope of her collarbone just to have something to do with her mouth, something more dignified than panting against her. She can taste the sweet amber of her perfume against her tongue, and it makes her dizzy with want.
Vi curls her fingers, testing, and Caitlyn whines loudly enough that Vi bites at her throat in retaliation.
“Be quiet.” she hisses, and then, smirking, begins to work her fingers harder.
Caitlyn lurches, biting off a strangled groan, and has enough presence of mind to slap a hand over her own mouth to muffle her whines of pleasure. It’s a shame; in another world, Vi would want the whole of Zaun to hear her. But there’s some semblance of reputation to maintain between them, and the last thing she needs is for someone to get suspicious. Vi laves her tongue over a particularly deep bite mark, somewhat apologetically, and keeps her momentum between Caitlyn’s thighs, mesmerized by the warmth around her hand. Caitlyn is so receptive and alive below her, eyes blazing as she holds herself back, hips moving like waves to meet her.
She removes her hand from her mouth long enough to say, “ Faster, I can take it, ah, come on, ” and when Vi pulls back to search her face, her lipstick is nearly completely gone. She smiles, nearly predatorily. The expression makes Caitlyn’s back arch. She slows her hand, determined to draw this out.
“And what if I say no?” She knows it’s a dirty trick; she’s desperate to keep a handle on this situation, to not give over completely to the will of this woman. What she’s not expecting is the cool, even press of a blade against her throat.
Oh. When had Caitlyn—?
“I swear to the Gods,” Breathing heavy and eyes dangerous, Caitlyn slides her dagger up from the divot between her collarbones, just above her loosening tie, to rest it against the underside of her jaw. Vi doesn’t breathe. How had she managed to—“Stop, and I’ll gut you.”
Vi should put an end to this. She should draw a line somewhere , should know better than to entertain a direct threat from an enforcer. She should be furious, probably. Offended. She shouldn’t be so turned on she could die. She brushes her thumb against Caitlyn’s clit, fingers still stalled inside of her. She smiles, innocently. Every minute shift of her jaw moves the cold metal of the blade.
“Now,” she says slowly. “That’s no fun, is it?” and she starts to fuck Caitlyn in earnest.
Vi barely hears the knife clatter to the floor. She barely hears the desperate pitch of Caitlyn’s voice, barely feels nails scraping at her back through her shirt. There’s only the white-hot molten feeling coursing through her, as though she has something to prove, as though she could make Caitlyn understand her through her hands alone. Vi leans forward to catch her mouth in a kiss again, but it’s barely kissing; not when the both of them are breathing hard, helpless to stop the sounds escaping their lips. Vi has never been this worked up just from giving pleasure. She’s hardly sure she’s ever been this worked up, period. It shouldn’t make any sense.
And yet, somehow, it does.
Caitlyn crosses her heeled ankles behind Vi’s back, keeping her close and accessible. Vi’s thumb is working over her clit roughly, fingers insistent and deep, head lost in the tide of pleasure. They’re too far gone to act as though they’re not hungry for each other, as though they feel nothing. Caitlyn presses her face to the crook of Vi’s neck and says, “Oh, please, please,” and the sound shoots straight between Vi’s legs.
She’s never heard Caitlyn say that. Not to her, not to anyone. She’s fired more shots than formalities.
“Yeah?” Vi breathes, unsure of what else to say. Part of her feels as though she must have misheard. But Caitlyn presses impossibly closer and says, muffled into her skin, “ Yes, Violet, please,” and with a firm press of Vi’s thumb, she’s crying out against her. Vi feels it from within as she falls apart.
She shakes and shakes and shakes through her orgasm, nails biting crescents into Vi’s back, thighs locked around her. Vi kisses her throat, afraid that if her mouth isn’t occupied she’ll say something stupid, and lets Caitlyn ride her fingers until she’s trembling from overstimulation. There’s a stretch of breathless silence that follows, the both of them heaving and open mouthed, and then Caitlyn pulls back from where she’d pressed against her throat to look at Vi.
Vi searches her gaze for something, and she isn’t sure if she finds it. Caitlyn wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, most of her makeup long gone, and simply stares at her. There’s a pretty flush on her face, and her dress straps have slipped off. Fuck. The reality of the situation is starting to chip away at her, and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t nervous.
“Well?” she says, trying for lighthearted, probably failing. There’s a small smile playing at the edge of the Sheriff’s mouth. She looks beautiful—Vi won’t ever tell her that.
“Well,” she says, smoothing her dress down her thighs. Vi’s almost disappointed to watch the garter disappear. “ Well,” She breaks eye contact, looking down, and the moment between them fizzles. “I’d say you’re quite convincing, Violet.” they’re still smiling, both of them, in on the same secret.
“Pleasure doing business with you.” she offers Caitlyn a hand, pulls her up on unsteady legs, huffing a laugh at the way the woman stumbles.
“Oh, piss off.” Caitlyn rolls her eyes, leaning down to pick up her discarded blade, making the mistake of looking Vi directly in eyes as she stands back up. She looks, and she looks, and she looks, and Vi thinks she finds what she needs in their eye contact. Straightening up, Caitlyn brings a hand up to brush her thumb across Vi’s bottom lip. Vi chokes on her exhale, watching the diamonds in Caitlyn’s ears reflect the streetlight outside. “Lipstick,” Caitlyn muses absentmindedly. Before she can stop herself, Vi reaches out and cards a hand through the front of Caitlyn’s hair, fixing the strands that have fallen out of place. Caitlyn sighs, eyelids fluttering closed briefly.
Something has changed between them. Vi wonders if it’ll stick.
“Come on,” she says, stepping back. “I’m sure you have business to attend to.”
“Right.” Caitlyn shakes her head, as though shaking herself from a trance. She moves for the door, and stops before her hand closes around the handle. She looks at Vi appraisingly, dragging her eyes up and down the length of her body, making Vi’s face flush.
“Thank you.” she says. The second pleasantry of the night—just as surprising as the first. She looks uncertain, off-balance. Vi can sympathize.
“Get out of here, Sheriff.” Vi leans against the desk, offers her one last smile. “You know where to find me.”
“Yes,” Caitlyn nods, face flushing. “I suppose I do.” and then she’s gone, the quick one-two of heeled footsteps fading into the beat of the music downstairs. She leaves Vi in the dim of the office, hand against her lips, expression one of open disbelief. Soft amber still lingers around her. Something has changed.