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Table Manners

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At the end of the day, Caitlyn Kiramman considered herself a great many things. An excellent shot. A good daughter. A well-intentioned ex-Enforcer. A newly appointed but sincerely earnest Sheriff. And, perhaps most importantly, a trustworthy friend.

She was also (undeniably) a thoroughly proper lady, born and bred among the upper echelon of Piltovian high society, instilled upon birth as a member of the renowned Kiramman family, whose well-detailed and long reaching line included doctors, lawyers, tradesmen, socialites, and a bonafide Councilor.

Caitlyn knew there was no refuting her silver spoon upbringing, as it had been ingrained into her very nature at a young age. One had only to observe her a few moments before they saw the telltale signs—the instinctive straightening of mussed clothing or fixing of hair gone askew. The rigid, impeccably held posture. The cool, regal bearing in any given situation. The pristine manners, exemplifying a natural grace and well-honed charm. She was, in all respects, the epitome of a properly raised young woman.

As a girl, attendance at finishing school had been mandatory. Caitlyn remembered the dull, dreary lessons with no little resentment, the drone of her instructor and the cloying smell of her perfume, the sharp sting of rapped knuckles if she was caught not paying attention. Oh, how she’d hated those days with a deep, fiery passion—the absolute drudgery of learning the countless ins and outs of proper etiquette, poise, and navigation of social cues, wanting desperately instead to be home amongst her well-thumbed books, or out hiking with her father at their mountainside cabin, or attending her weekly shooting practices, eager to hone her burgeoning talent and accuracy out on the range in hopes of impressing her idol, Sheriff Grayson. 

Faced with skipped classes and dwindling grades, her mother, ever the politician, was forced to seek a compromise. Caitlyn was told in no small terms that if she wished to continue her ventures in marksmanship (the one hobby the ten-year-old truly loved and valued above all else), then she would have to continue to attend—and excel at—her finishing school lessons. 

Faced with such a choice, Caitlyn at once threw herself wholeheartedly into the venture, if only to get it over with. Of the lessons she’d gleaned throughout the following years of education was many—some more valuable than others—though looking back on it now, much of it was obsolete, archaic and, quite frankly, misogynistic, especially when it came to girls, as the unspoken but somewhat obvious goal of finishing school seemed first and foremost to be How a Young Lady Might Attract and Keep a Husband.  

(That particular lesson, Caitlyn discarded rather quickly—although young, she already knew she had no interest in boys, opting instead to blush and stammer her way around the prettiest of girls her age; though as she grew older and taller, it was the other girls who tended to blush and stammer around her. Her father exclaimed in delight the day she came home with her first love letter. Her mother had made no comment, but Caitlyn had noticed a definite air of quiet pride radiating from her afterwards.)

Other finishing school lessons, Caitlyn found, were far more useful than the former. The art of polite conversation and general disposition, for starters. It was important to know exactly how to compose oneself in public settings, how to appear confident and well-versed in a variety of situations—stuffy dinner parties, tense university classroom debates or even the commonplace mother-daughter inane argument of the week, as it were. 

(Oh, to be young again, and have little more to worry about than that.) 

These days, it afforded her a certain air of command when it came to her line of work as Sheriff, a valuable skill when needing to clear an unruly crowd away from the scene of an accident or subjecting a skittish criminal to arrest, keeping them in place with only the sheer iron in her voice and a demeanor of unbreaking authority until she could get the cuffs on.

So, perhaps finishing school hadn’t been entirely worthless. In any case, whether she liked it or not, it had instilled within her an array of life lessons and knowledge, drilled so deeply into her daily habits she could not hope to abandon them now. 

On the other hand, Violet—or Vi, as Caitlyn’s roguish work partner insisted to be called—was, most decidedly, not a proper lady in any way. She was also not a topsider, and definitely not a Kiramman. Caitlyn wasn’t sure if she'd ever gone to any sort of school, let alone one geared towards the social graces. 

Of course, Caitlyn didn’t fault the other girl for it. Growing up in the violent streets of Zaun, she couldn’t imagine one would have time to study manners, intent instead upon learning how to survive. The years spent in Stillwater prison were no doubt much the same, perhaps worse. Vi had endured both and emerged the other side a stronger, smarter, more empathetic person. She had, as Caitlyn told her many times, a good heart and pure intentions, and had never let anything or anyone change that, not even the loss of her parents, foster father, brothers, and little sister—to Jinx.

Still, it was painfully obvious to any casual observer that when it came to manners of any sort, Vi lacked even the barest amount, and cared not to learn. In lieu of polite conversation, Vi punched first and asked questions later. She heckled and started fights if anyone so much as looked at her crossly, swore every fifth word and spoke of the crassest of subjects in public without pause, and seemed to take personal hygiene as more of a suggestion than a necessity—though now with steady access to hot water, she seemed to be picking up a bit more in that regard, thankfully.

Oil and water, Vi had called them, that dark day in the rain when she walked back into the Undercity, and it was true. They were completely different, the two of them, one of Piltover and one of Zaun, utterly, unchangeably. But after Jinx attacked the Council and their worlds fell apart, they’d clung to one another for strength, holding between them their shattered beliefs and hope for change, neither daring to question if the knotted tangle between them could ever truly be unraveled after all they’d been through together.

Probably, it should not have worked, a Piltie and a Zaunite, trying for a better future hand in hand. And yet somehow it had, quite well in fact, and now, six months later, gainfully employed as the acting Sheriff of Piltover and Vi as her begrudging, reluctantly badged deputy-slash-partner, not much had changed. 

Or, well, a rather lot had—they worked more on their own recognizance now, searching for the elusive Jinx between daily cases, traveling between Piltover and the Undercity as their duty necessitated, easing tensions throughout the Lanes and the Uppercity, chasing criminals and clues and danger across rooftops and down dark alleys. 

Some days, the work was thrilling. Fun, even. Other days, it was a drag of bruised limbs and sore hearts. Humbling, but important. Truly, though, Caitlyn felt as if she were finally making a difference.

Most nights, after a long day of solid work, they ate together, her and Vi. It had become tradition after that very first meal they’d shared together, not even a day after they’d met, mere hours after forging the documents necessary to break Vi free of the cold grasp of Stillwater, the two of them hunched over their rickety seats at a scrappy, smelly booth called Jericho’s in the heart of Zaun. It had given Caitlyn something of an idea of just what and who she was in for, partnering up with someone as gruff and unapologetically herself as Vi—not that she’d have it any other way, mind you.

Today their meal, ordered and served at a small Piltovian bakery after a successful capture of one of the last, dwindling Shimmer gangs peddling to poor Undercity workers, was a special treat. Celebratory cupcakes, a platter of half a dozen to be shared between them. Caitlyn’s parents knew the shop’s owner, and though it was late—far past closing time for a bakery—he’d kept the store open and arranged a private booth, just for them. Caitlyn wished she was hungrier; she had only managed to eat half of one of the cupcakes while Vi plowed through the rest as though it were a personal challenge to complete. 

Watching her partner eat, Caitlyn had learned quickly, was nothing less than an assault to all of her carefully-crafted instincts. At finishing school, she had been taught to eat like she had a secret. A lady never chewed with her mouth open, nor did she speak when her mouth was full. After every few bites, a lady would pat her lips on her napkin. Elbows always stayed politely pinned at her sides, and she most certainly did not cross her legs or kick her feet idly under the table, as if bored. Whenever she was finished, she would politely push her plate away to show that she was done. And never, not ever, did a lady burp.

Vi, on the other hand, chewed like she wanted all the world to know how good her meal was and how much she was enjoying it. She sat with slouched, lackadaisical posture, one boot cocked up against the booth chair, the other outstretched between them, elbows planted directly on the table, knees bent wide and—Caitlyn hated the word, but there was little else to describe it—manspreading. She always talked while she ate, too, loud and brash around her meal, regaling Caitlyn tonight with short, entertaining stories of her wild childhood, pausing now and then to wipe her mouth on her sleeve before taking another too-big bite of soft, messy cupcake. Half of it ended up on her face, which Vi cleaned with a swipe of her fingers or wrist, showering crumbs everywhere.

And then there were the sounds she made. Soft, low-throated groans and satisfied hums, especially if the food was to her liking, which apparently it very much was tonight. Pleased little huffs caught between quick bites. Long grunts and sighs of contentment as she reached her fill. Loud slurps and smacks, followed by a final, victorious moan at the end.

It was—absolutely disgusting, if Caitlyn really thought about it, as well as personally infuriating, that Vi thought such behavior was acceptable out in public, rather than downright rude. To bear witness to such atrocious table manners firsthand was an affront to Caitlyn’s very upbringing.

And yet—

And yet—

She couldn’t look away.

It was like watching an out of control carriage careening down a hill towards a waiting cliff, or the slow tilt of a heavily laden tray slipping from a distracted waiter’s hand. Disasters always drew the eyes, but Caitlyn knew this was—shamefully—something more for her. Something far worse.

She’d noticed some time back how it always made her feel quite strange, watching Vi demolish her food in such a way on a daily basis, back when she stayed at the Kiramman manor for a time, after Jinx’s attack on the Council. One would think the other girl was constantly starving, driven ravenous with hunger, but no. That was just who Vi was, earnest in everything she did, even something so mundane as eating. At the dinner table, Caitlyn’s injured but slowly-recovering mother had sniffed disdainfully at the sight. Her father had cringed and stayed quiet. The servants had traded hooded looks of horror.

Caitlyn herself had made no comment. She never had. What, exactly, could she even say? Even after Vi moved out, seeking independence, and they took to having meals together in the evenings, just the two of them, she remained silent in her regard, refusing to call notice, or correct, or complain.

Instead, every night, she’d sit across from her partner and watch her exhibit the most atrocious manners with breath held and lower lip caught beneath clenched teeth. Her stomach would turn and twist itself into knots, but not from discomfort, eyes darting here and there, tracing Vi’s working jaw, the flash of her tongue and teeth, the glisten of her lips as she ate. Now, even if Caitlyn closed her eyes, just listening to Vi indulge sent a strange heat curling down her spine, chased by chills and tremors she couldn’t explain. She’d thought maybe it would stop after she got used to it. Months later, it’d only grown worse. 

Caitlyn wasn’t stupid, nor naive, but it had still taken longer than it should have for her to realize what it all meant; her odd reactions, the unceasing coil in her gut, the trouble functioning afterwards. She knew now what the feeling was. She just didn’t understand why.

Why—why—did it turn her on when Vi ate like that? Like a hungry beast falling upon a fresh kill, taking her fill without hesitation or shame?

Sighing to herself in frustration, Caitlyn abandoned her quickly devolving train of thought and appetite, poking at her half-eaten confection with little interest before dropping her fork on the table with a quiet thunk. The cupcakes were sweet and thickly chocolaty with pink frosting topped with cherries. They were absolutely delicious. Yet she found she couldn’t stomach another mouthful. Not tonight.

For her part, Vi, who had given a husky moan at the very first taste, was now well on her way to wolfing down her third cupcake, having not slowed down in the least, showing off that terrific Zaunite appetite of hers. 

“So then, Mylo tells the guy—get this—that we’re the complimentary coatcheck service. And the rich fuck buys it—” Caitlyn doesn’t even wince at her language anymore, nevermind that she’s speaking through a thickly slurred mouthful, just hums quietly to show Vi she’s still listening “—and we managed to pull it off four more times before someone caught on and kicked us out. Fuck, that was a good night.” She laughed loudly, swallowed her mouthful, and finished off the cupcake with a particularly throaty groan. 

At the sound, Caitlyn crossed her legs tightly beneath the table and tried her best to ignore her. She was sweating and hoped dearly Vi was full so they could leave. Then she could give Vi a quick, awkward goodbye and race home to work out her frustrations in the shower. Her stomach sank when rather than sigh with satisfaction and stand, her partner reached for an incredulous fourth cupcake.

“Nice choice tonight, Cupcake,” Vi said with a cheeky wink, holding the treat aloft like she was toasting her. “These are great.”

“Mm.” Caitlyn smiled tightly against a sharp twinge in her lower belly when Vi paused to lick messily at the corner of her mouth, where some frosting was smeared.

“Yeah, so then this other time—” Vi started off again, oblivious to Caitlyn’s torture.

Six months. 

Six months they’d been working together, and Caitlyn had never commented on Vi’s obvious lack of manners. Never lost her unerring cool in the face of such personal acrimony. But tonight—gods help her—tonight she was tired. Physically, yes, from little sleep and too much work these past few days (and weeks, and months), but also tired of pretending everything was fine. That Vi’s brash, uncouth behavior, the sights and sounds of it, didn’t bother her in a way it most definitely shouldn’t. That Caitlyn was above it all, strong and unaffected, when in fact Vi made her weaker than anyone else ever could.

So when Vi paused her latest story long enough to take a big, messy bite and gave a gulping moan, husking “Fuck, that’s good,” almost under her breath before carrying on, Caitlyn’s last thread of patience finally snapped.

“Must you always eat like that?” she said sharply, interrupting Vi mid-sentence.

Vi froze, cheek bulging in mid-chew. “Huhn?” she replied, clearly taken off guard. 

Exasperated, and panicking now from her break in composure, Caitlyn gestured from the nearly empty, crumb-laden tray to Vi’s frosting-bedecked face. “I’m only saying, it’s—I—Vi, you eat like an animal.” 

Vi’s confused eyes darted from Caitlyn’s flushed face to her tightly clenched hands, now wringing on the table. Beneath, unseen, her legs were still desperately crossed to cease her stirring hips. “Um,” Vi said, putting the half-eaten cupcake back on the tray, and then swallowed audibly, wincing at the thick mouthful. She still had frosting smeared all over one cheek, and wet crumbs hanging off her bottom lip. “...Sorry?” she said, not sounding very sorry at all.

“Don't apologize,” Caitlyn said shortly, pushing a napkin over helpfully. “I just want you to realize it’s—it’s very rude, to behave like that in public.” 

Vi scoffed and looked about theatrically, as if trying to find a hidden audience. The hour was late, and the bakery was, of course, empty but for them. “M' I tryin' to impress someone?”

Caitlyn felt her face go red, not wanting to start an argument when she was already frayed at the seams. “People look,” she struggled out, knowing she must sound mad. “Maybe not right now, but they do, and—”

Staring at her the whole time with a heavy-lidded, deathly bored expression, Vi forewent the napkin and raised a knuckle-wrapped hand to her face, fingers stained with pink frosting and flecked with crumbs. With agonizing intensity, she began to suck each finger clean. Caitlyn's lecture cut off with a hitch of seizing lungs. She felt a scorching flush rise up her neck to burn at her ears, wanting terribly to look away but couldn’t. She opened her mouth to protest or rebuke but all that came out was a pathetic little squeak.

As a finishing touch, Vi swiped the smudge of frosting off her cheek with her thumb, slipped it into her mouth, slurped on it loudly, and released it with a dramatic pop. Caitlyn felt the release of suction as a clench between her thighs and gasped aloud, then slammed an irritated fist on the table to try and distract them both from her very visible reaction. The metal tray between them rattled.

Violet! Stop that at once,” she snapped, furious, embarrassed, and horribly aroused. “You have absolutely no table manners.” A bead of sweat rolled down her temple. She flicked it away with an impatient hand, trying to appear as though she was fixing her hair.

Vi shrugged, nonplussed and oblivious, and wiped her damp fingertips on her coat. Her lips were red from all the abuse. She’d probably taste like chocolate if Caitlyn did something stupid like grab her by the lapels and kiss her. “Don’t need manners in Zaun. Just have to know how to throw a decent punch, someone pisses you off.”

“We’re not in Zaun,” Caitlyn reminded her, quite unnecessarily. “We’re in Piltover.”

Vi rolled her eyes, plucking up her half-eaten cupcake from the tray, as if intent on finishing what she started. “Right. Forgive me. Did I offend your poor Piltie proclivities?”

No,” Caitlyn scowled, though it was half a lie. “It’s simply—you live here now. You should learn how to—how to eat properly, at least.”

Vi snickered, making Caitlyn’s suggestion seem… dirty, somehow. She was always doing that—turning innocent phrases into lewd come-ons. She raised the cupcake to her lips and quirked a scarred eyebrow. “Oh, I know how to eat properly, Cupcake.”

“I’m sure,” Caitlyn snapped, annoyed at the way that made her thrill.

'Want me to prove it, just ask,” Vi shot back, grinning wolfishly, and took a gaping bite.

Ah. So, there it was. 

Right on time.

Six months, the two of them had been working together, all while this hot, dark, wanting… thing between them built and swelled and twisted and grew. Six months of not-so-subtle flirtation mixed with tender glances and obvious sexual frustration. Six months of unspoken challenge lobbied back and forth, each of them waiting to see who would make a move first. Caitlyn had always figured they'd hesitated at first out of necessity, both still too tender, too vulnerable after everything they’d gone through, the shared trauma, how close they’d come to losing it all. Then it was a worry of moving too fast, not being able to meet burgeoning expectations, or hurting each other accidentally. 

So she’d waited, and Vi hung back, and they did nothing as time passed and days went by and it just… it didn’t happen.

And now…

Now, again, Caitlyn was tired. Tired of this stupid game they’d been playing for so long. Of both of them wanting something more and yet denying it, too afraid of what might come afterwards. Of going home each night, alone, and masturbating until she was sore, and having to pretend with her partner the next day that everything was normal when it wasn't. It wasn't.

So she did something no proper lady would ever do.

She slapped her palms on the table of the booth, stood from her seat, and said loudly, “Alright.”

Vi jumped in surprise at her tone, attention already returned to her food, coughing slightly as she worked down her latest mouthful. “Huh?”

“Let’s go.”

Failing to catch on, Vi gave her an adorably confused look. It made Caitlyn’s blood boil in both a good and bad way. “Go where?”

“To prove it.”

“...Prove what?”

Caitlyn said nothing, refusing to repeat aloud those crass words Vi had spoken only a few moments ago, leveling a heated glare across the table as her face grew hotter and hotter and the tension in her shoulders ratcheted higher and higher, until Vi finally—finally—got the godsdamn point. 

The bewildered look on Vi’s face immediately morphed to stupefied disbelief, then outright shock, as if she simply couldn’t believe one of them had finally relented, had finally stopped testing the waters and jumped in headlong, heedless of unseen dangers.

For one horrifying instant, Caitlyn thought maybe Vi would laugh it off. Admit she’d been joking all along, that she didn’t want her the way Caitlyn so obviously wanted Vi. Oh, goodness. That was it, wasn’t it? Why Vi was just sitting there now, dumbstruck, probably scrambling for a way to turn her down. Now she’d made an utter fool of herself, and there wasn’t—

But then Vi stood up so fast she bashed her knee against the table, jolting the tray and dropping her half-eaten cupcake there without a second thought.

"Okay,” she said quickly, yet somehow confidently, though perhaps there was a slight breathlessness to her tone, an edge of nerves. That Zaunite swagger was hard to decipher. “Lead the way, Cupcake.”

Not one to back down now—though currently her heart was practically beating out of her chest and her palms were damp with sweat, unable to fathom what she’d just initiated—Caitlyn paid their bill and led Vi outside, trying her very best to look as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

That confidence lasted only so long as it took them to cross the darkened street, the bell from the bakery shop door still jingling faintly behind them. It was late, the curb lamps lit and the streets mostly empty, few other stragglers about, and Caitlyn had no idea what to do next.

“So, where we goin’, exactly?” Vi asked casually, calling her out without making it seem obvious, hands already stuffed in her jacket pockets, hood up to brood in the shadows as she always did.

“Um,” said Caitlyn, suddenly lost after all that bravado in the store.

“Your bed’s bigger,” Vi supplied as though it were obvious, completely unhelpfully.

True, but… “My parents are home,” Caitlyn said quietly, only just realizing the fatal flaw in her half-baked plan.

Vi bared her teeth wickedly, nudged her shoulder into Caitlyn’s. “What, don’t want mommy dearest hearing everything the big, bad, sump rat’s gonna do to you?”

Just imagining said “things” that might or might not be done to her in the near future—oh gods, was this really happening?—was doing startling things to Caitlyn’s pulse. She struggled for an alternative, terrified Vi might still change her mind, babbling, “We can get a room at one of the hotels, or—”

“Let’s go to my place,” Vi said with a shrug. “‘S close.”

Caitlyn hesitated, but only for a moment. “...Alright.”

The walk there was quick and quiet, wrought with a stifled tension that belied this was just some casual affair. Normally, Caitlyn wouldn’t take to the streets at night unless she was working, as she knew even Piltover had its share of lurkers up to no good. She could take care of herself, but it was still comforting to have Vi at her shoulder, her thunderous expression and threatening posture putting off any who might dare approach. 

After a block or two down the main thoroughfare, she felt a hand gently press at the small of her back, steering her along an unfamiliar route down a side street to a lower part of town. The hand stayed there the entire time. It was a welcome but strangely titillating distraction from the downward spiral her mind was currently embarked upon, which consisted mostly of disbelief, nervousness, and fear of how this might go wrong.

Quite suddenly, before Caitlyn had entirely been able to prepare herself, they’d reached a tall, nondescript brick building and climbed several sets of stairs before stopping in front of a worn-looking door. They were here. Vi’s place. 

Caitlyn had never been before. Vi was terribly private when it came to her own space. Understandable after seven years in a tiny prison cell, wanting to so fiercely protect what was yours. She’d stayed at the Kiramman house for a month or so after the attack on the Council, until Caitlyn could shower again without someone guarding the door, until the haunted look left her eyes at every stray sound that even remotely resembled a distant explosion. 

Then one day, in the midst of Caitlyn taking on the mantle of Sheriff and between meetings with a slowly recovering Jayce and the surviving Council members, Vi’d announced she wanted her own place—not that she didn’t appreciate the Kiramman’s hospitality, she made sure to add, as she got along surprisingly well with Caitlyn’s father and at the very least seemed respectfully intimidated by her mother, despite having seen the mighty Councilor at her very worst, laid up in bed as she recovered from the attack, needing help to eat, dress and shower—and without Caitlyn’s help or input, found herself lodging on the very outskirts of Piltover, not far from the Undercity cutoff, close enough to see the edge.

She’d yet to invite Caitlyn over, which made her wonder if Vi was embarrassed by her accommodations, though she shouldn’t be. Tonight, her initial impression, upon walking through the front door, was that Vi’s apartment was small but homey, old but charming, with roughshod wooden floors, spackled plaster walls, and sparse but sturdy-looking furniture. It wasn’t her gaudy family mansion, but it certainly wasn’t a flophouse, either. It was perfectly Vi.

As a new visitor, a proper host should offer her something to drink just then, or perhaps a tour of the place. Vi just slammed the door shut behind them, turned the deadbolt with a thunk, and jerked her chin at a nearby dark hallway. “Bedroom’s that way. I’ll be right there.” Then she clomped off to what Caitlyn supposed was the bathroom, slamming that door shut behind her, too.

Suddenly alone in the gloomy apartment, Caitlyn cleared her very dry throat, took another furtive glance about—noting several open books by the ratty couch, Vi’s Hextech gauntlets arranged carefully against the wall nearby, and a rack of weights shoved into the corner beside a dangling punching bag—and then made her way down the narrow hallway, feeling far more nervous than ever before.

Gods. She wasn't dreaming. This was actually happening, wasn’t it? She was about to have sex. With Vi.

A proper lady, finishing school had insisted in their later classes, did not have “sex.” They “made love” or “did their duty” with their spouses—only after a proper courtship and marriage, of course—in order to strengthen familial bonds or provide children. They most certainly did not have one night stands, trysts, or illicit dalliances with unscrupulously attractive women from the Undercity.

Not that Caitlyn had ever done something like that. Had a one night stand. Or slept with a Zaunite. No, her tidy array of previous lovers had always consisted of a proper girl from a high-standing family her mother approved of. The sex—initiated after a suitable amount of dating and cultured affection—was generally quiet and gentle, always in a bed, and she usually liked to shower afterwards, bothered by the dampness and smell of sweat that clung to her body. 

The second the door to Vi’s bedroom swung open, however, Caitlyn knew this time would be different. Nothing in here could be quiet or gentle. What she felt for Vi went far deeper than anything she’d ever had with her past girlfriends. And surely for Vi, it was the same. And the sex? It was going to be filthy. Just thinking about it made her blood sing, her hips squirm. Her underthings, already damp from the bakery, were quickly growing soaked.

The room itself was not even a quarter of the size of Caitlyn’s at home. She found the string to the light overhead and pulled it to reveal a single, unmade bed, a cluttered nightstand, and a pile of familiar clothes haphazardly strewn about. She took a moment to picture Vi sleeping there, sprawled on her back with limbs askew and mouth hanging open with quiet snores, as she’d always slept at Caitlyn’s during her time there, and smiled to herself, her heart thumping with something far stronger than mere arousal. The intimacy was undeniable.

“Change your mind?”

Caitlyn jumped. Vi was crowded just behind her in the doorway, her body only inches away. Her breath smelled clean and her cheeks were flushed and slightly damp, like she’d taken the time to wash her face from all the sugar and chocolate of the overly sweet cupcakes they’d had tonight. She’d unwrapped her hands as well, her scarred knuckles and wrists bare and pale, looking like she’d washed them, too. The implication of both sent a warm shudder down Caitlyn's back. Vi’s expression was indifferent, eyes guarded with an overlying air of feigned boredom, but Caitlyn could see in her heavy gray gaze that even she was nervous, too.

Had she changed her mind? Caitlyn wondered, and then felt the renewed hum of excitement between her legs and decided that most certainly was not the case. “Um. No?”

“Then what’re you waiting for?” Vi gruffed, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorjamb, as if she was expecting something. Like—


“I suppose I…” Caitlyn began uncertainly, then trailed off with a thick swallow she was sure Vi could hear, even over the faint buzz of the dim bulb overhead. Stepping further inside the room, she took a breath, trying for calm. They’d gotten this far, hadn’t they? She had nothing to fear. This was Vi. Her partner, her friend, her... well, everything.

With hands that only trembled a little, she began to undo her jacket, folding and laying it on a nearby chair already piled with clothing. Vi made no move to help, seemingly content to remain in the doorway and take in the show, eyes glinting in the soft gloom.

When she’d imagined this—and she had, almost every night for months now—Caitlyn had always pictured Vi being the one to strip her down. She would do it slowly, lovingly, making each motion a tender caress until Caitlyn was a bosom-heaving, trembling wreck, before laying her nude on the sheets and making love to her over and over. 

Now, however, she realized her mistake. That wasn’t like Vi at all. Vi would either tear her clothes off of her in a fit of unrestrained passion, or do like she was now—sit back and let Caitlyn do all the work while she watched on hungrily, a wolf waiting for her moment to pounce.

Caitlyn shuddered under the heat of those silver eyes and went to work on her shirt buttons next, fingers suddenly gone clumsy, the rustle of fabric terribly loud in the quiet room. Already, it felt warmer, the air growing stifled, thick with energy. She could hear the quick-paced thump of her own heart in her chest, the rasp of Vi’s uneven breathing, the tiny staggered whisper of cloth as her shirt slipped from her shoulders, baring her pale decolletage and thin silk chemise underneath. 

With nowhere else to put it, she let her shirt fall to the floor, then went to work on her belt. Her buckle jangled loudly as it fell open—Caitlyn nearly jumped, spooked, then gulped and pressed on, stepping out of her trousers the second they were lowered, nudging her stockings off as she did so before kicking them away.

She paused, then, standing there in her underthings in the middle of Vi’s bedroom, goosebumps chasing up her naked thighs and arms, acutely aware of her state of undress. Vi hadn’t moved from the doorway, but Caitlyn could see the irregular bob of her throat as she swallowed, clearly affected by her near nudity. Her silver eyes, low-lidded as if in disinterest, skipped rapidly up Caitlyn’s long, bare legs to the slope of her slender waist, then on to the twin rise of her breasts, capped by stiffened nipples, standing out rigidly against the fabric of the thin chemise. Caitlyn flushed under the appraisal and looked away, fists clenched at her sides, feeling at once bold and yet mortified. None of her other lovers had ever done that before—just stared at her, and—

"Caitlyn,” Vi said suddenly. Caitlyn barely restrained a flinch. Hearing her own name from her partner’s mouth had suddenly never seemed so strange. It was always Cupcake or Cait, never Caitlyn. Not with Vi.

“Y-yes?” she said—whispered, practically.

Vi hesitated a moment, bringing a flash of panic to Caitlyn, who worried she might have caused the other woman to change her mind. But then Vi sighed, shoulders slumping as she rubbed the back of her neck, and said bluntly, “Look, if you don’t want me to eat your pussy, we can stop right now—” Caitlyn couldn’t help a squeak at the word, pussy, and blushed furiously as Vi continued with absolutely no shame at all, “or like, I can just finger you or you can do it yourself while I watch or, y’know, whatever you want, but to be totally honest I’ve been kinda dying to taste you. It’s all I can think about.”

She—what? She had? That—

Vi fell quiet, then, not looking the least bit sorry about saying all… that, and then rocked back on her heels, waiting for a response.

Caitlyn gulped and said nothing, heart racing as Vi’s full message sunk in. The fact that Vi cared enough about her to let her choose how this went, rather than just assume, meant everything.

And no, she decided. She did not want to stop. Not now, not ever.

In answer, she took the ends of her chemise and drew it upwards, sliding it off over her head in a quiet rasp of silk. Vi gave a weak, strangled sound and went still. Caitlyn took courage from that small sound and hooked her thumbs into the sides of her damp underwear—white and lacy, plain by her standards—and slid them down, shivering as the cool air hit her wet flesh. As an afterthought, she pulled the tie from her hair, letting it hang loose in a dark curtain at her shoulders, and then stood there with hands by her sides, chin raised, completely naked.

For a few agonizing moments, Vi looked her fill, eyes blazing a heated trail up and back down, lingering on Caitlyn’s pale breasts, pink nipples pebbled in anticipation, and on her dark, perfectly trimmed mound, the peek of her inner lips already glistening with arousal, before clearing her throat roughly and jerking her chin at the bed.

Caitlyn obeyed. Vi’s bed was small, more than half the size of Caitlyn’s. The mattress was lumpy and thin, the sheets cool and coarse against her flushed skin. With both hands, she pushed herself back until the pillows hit her shoulderblades, then reclined, stretching her long frame out until there was no hiding anything.

Again, Vi took a long, tortuous moment to drink her in. Her fists were clenched, chest barely moving as she breathed shallowly. Her eyes were dark with promise. Watching her loom in the shadowy doorway with that hungry look, the gleam of her tongue curled behind her lower lip and fighting not to give in to her deeply ingrained modesty and cover herself, Caitlyn let out a tiny whimper, knees unconsciously twitching the slightest bit open.

Only then did Vi step forward, the thump of her heavy boots on the creaky floorboards making Caitlyn’s heart stutter. Vi reached the foot of the bed and then paused there, legs planted wide, muscled arms crossing tightly over her chest, and grinned rakishly down at her. Somehow, the familiar sight of that half-charming, half-infuriating smile managed to encompass everything building between them. You feel safe? it said. You want this? You're ready?

Caitlyn breathed out shakily, almost a gasp, and gave Vi the barest of nods.

Slowly, with clear intent, Vi shucked her worn red jacket, letting it drop to the floor in a thump of leather and metal catches. Goosebumps raced down Caitlyn’s sides at the sound. Her nipples twinged. Beneath, Vi wore a tight, thin white shirt that clung wonderfully to her stark muscles. Her abdomen was narrow and ridged, her shoulders wide and sharply cut. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Caitlyn could see the peaks of her hardened nipples beneath. And… something else…?

Piercings, she realized and felt a hot, needy surge coil under her belly button. Of course, to go along with the ones in her ears and nose. How had she never noticed them before? Were they new? What might it be like to touch them? Pull them? Taste them? She whimpered audibly in excitement.

Vi grinned, noticing immediately where Caitlyn’s attention had fallen. “Easy there, Cupcake. I get my fun, first.” Her voice was a husky growl. She played it off like a tease, but her chest rose and fell rapidly, a definite flush rising to her cheeks. Caitlyn wasn’t the only one struggling to keep their composure.

Caitlyn nearly moaned aloud. First? First meant there would be a second. Meant there would be more to this than just one encounter, hopefully. Perhaps she'd be able to touch Vi tonight. Gods. A light prickle of sweat rose to her chest at the very idea, heat building in the base of her throat. Her palms itched with want.

The mattress groaned in protest when Vi climbed on, still basically fully dressed (something else Caitlyn hadn’t done before, sex with clothes on), walking on her knees to straddle Caitlyn’s naked calves. Caitlyn quivered at the thought of that delicious weight settling on top of her, the—

“Here, wait, just a sec,” Vi said, voice low and hushed, leaning over her to reach up—their bare skin nearly touching, an electrifying frisson snapping through Caitlyn at her closeness, tantalized by the musky smell of Vi's sweat, the tangible warmth of her body—and gently pulled free one of the pillows from behind Caitlyn’s head. “Lift,” she said. Caitlyn, confused at first, didn’t move until Vi nudged her thigh—her thigh, her naked thigh with Vi’s big, calloused, unwrapped hand on it, oh gods—and then raised her hips so Vi could position the pillow under them. Vi made a few adjustments, brow adorably furrowed in concentration, and finished with a quiet, “Okay?”

Caitlyn didn’t reply for a moment, settling herself more firmly against the pillow. The plush material cradled her lower back and pelvis. It did feel more comfortable now. The gesture was… surprisingly sweet when she thought about it, bringing a certain fullness to her throat that had no business being there right now. A simple pillow should not mean so much, should not make her feel cared for and safe. Yet it did.

Then she realized the more elevated position also caused her thighs to splay further open than before, leaving herself completely visible and exposed unless she snapped her knees together. She squeaked and almost did, but a warm palm on her shin stopped her. Vi sat back on her heels and licked her lips at the sight of Caitlyn spread out under her, looking rather proud of herself. Those glinting gray eyes of hers shamelessly focused right on her—what word might Vi use here—wet cunt, where Caitlyn knew she was soaked and swollen and had been for some time, ever since the bakery, watching Vi devour those cupcakes.

And now Vi was going to devour her.

Making room for herself in the warm hollow between her thighs, Vi shimmied herself backwards and then lay on the bed on her stomach, propping herself up on her elbows and directing Caitlyn to drape her knees over her shoulders. Her forearms, she threaded under Caitlyn's bottom, broad hands gripping warm flanks, thumbs digging into plush hips. The position brought her throbbing wetness right to mouth level, Vi's moist breath puffing out against the quivering skin of Caitlyn’s inner thighs like teasing kisses, making her whimper pathetically.

Vi took a deep inhale and then groaned softly to herself, her nose swaying low enough to nearly brush against her folds. A stray lock of pink hair tickled her leg. Caitlyn couldn't help but tense, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. Her past girlfriends had performed cunnilingus on her before. It wasn't like this could be much different, right? Still, her heart galloped in her throat, choking her. It felt like every part of her was about to burst, and Vi hadn't even done anything yet. Not knowing what to do with her hands, she clenched them into the sheets at her sides and held her breath.

There was no warmup. No teasing quips or double-edged taunts tossed playfully between them. No exploratory nips or fluttery kisses down the length of Caitlyn’s body.

One moment, Vi was glancing up to meet Caitlyn's gaze with a final, scorching look, seeking some sort of confirmation in her tortured expression—the next, she was diving face-first into Caitlyn's cunt with half-lidded eyes and a faint, almost smug smile on her wide open mouth.

Instantly, a ragged gasp shot from Caitlyn's throat, the sudden feel of warm lips and an eager tongue on her sensitive flesh making her entire body jolt, almost bending her in half. A palm clapping over her mouth barely stifled a rising shout as her mind collapsed into a roar of pleasure, already lost.

Vi went hard and fast from the start. She ate her like she ate everything—loudly, messily, like she was absolutely starving. At the first broad, deep-slicking swipe of her tongue, she gave a pleased huff, just like back at the bakery, when she bit into the moist cupcakes. "Mmmmm," she thrummed in the back of her throat, the vibrations traveling from her still-working mouth directly to Caitlyn's swollen clit in an almost painful twinge. The hand not sealed over her lips to keep back foul noises flew down and seized Vi by the roots of her hair, as if intent on holding her in place—whether to keep eating her or to make her stop for sake of her own sanity, Caitlyn wasn't sure. Maybe both.

Rather than rebuke her—Caitlyn had never grabbed anyone's hair before in bed, and couldn't imagine it was pleasant, an apology for the rude gesture already on her lips—Vi shivered at the tight grip on her scalp and dove in further.

She sealed her mouth around Caitlyn's wet cunt like someone eating a juicy, overripe peach, with pursed, sucking lips and a rough, roving tongue licking everywhere to gather up the sticky mess. Caitlyn shook and gulped back high-pitched moans and squeals, a hot sweat already dotting her naked chest, barely able to even breathe under the assault. At a particularly vicious lick, a thin, stuttering moan escaped from under her hand, and she nearly fainted in mortification. She’d never had a problem staying quiet in bed before. But then Vi groaned against her, too, and again, the rumbling feel of it against her swollen folds was enough to make her belly spasm in pleasure.

Against her better judgement, she looked down, curious to watch, as she'd always done such things in the dark before. In the dim light of the cramped bedroom, she could see everything Vi was doing to her, her scarred face bracketed by pale thighs. She saw her flickering tongue, licking her everywhere at once. Her flexing jaw, tendons squeezing and clenching with every stroke. The gleam of her lips, gone red with effort. Her own shining mess, puffy folds glistening in the faint gloom. Mouth buried deep in her cunt, Vi's eyes were closed as if in ecstasy. She looked like she did during their dinners together, eating something absolutely delicious.

As she watched, hypnotized and perfectly unable to look away, Vi pulled back a moment for air, gasping like someone half-dead, flushed from her own earnest feasting. She looked intoxicated. A string of glistening drool stretched from her bottom lip to Caitlyn’s visibly twitching cunt. Vi flicked her tongue over it and the thread broke with a barely audible plip. She saw Caitlyn watching her and grinned lazily, then dipped down and went back to work with even more voraciousness than before, slurping fiercely at her. This time, Caitlyn let out a muffled shriek, practically climbing the bed in her attempt to both escape and rut back against that fantastic mouth at once.

Overwhelmed, she forced herself to turn her face aside, no longer trusting herself to watch anymore, gasping into the pillow under her head. It smelled powerfully of her partner; musk and sweat and leather and Vi. Caitlyn seized it with the hand she'd kept clapped over her mouth until now and pressed the soft material closer to her face, inhaling deeply, going dizzy from the heady scent. Her body reacted immediately with a surge of arousal, neglected nipples stiff and aching, her mouth watering and her hips surging harder, writhing against Vi's crushing grip on her sweaty flanks.

With her eyes closed, the agonizing sensations between her legs grew stronger; she could feel everything—the soft fuzz of Vi’s half-shaved scalp rasping against her trembling inner thigh; the joltingly cool metal of her nose ring, nestled just right against her hard clit, catching it deliciously with every breath; the harsh stroke of her tongue, swirling all over her tightly swollen lower lips. The wicked sounds in her ears grew louder as well—messy slurps, sharp sucks, growling hums, and hungry gasps, punctuated by delirious moans and quiet curses.

Caitlyn had never liked talking in bed. It distracted her, pulled her concentration away from where it was needed. Plus, it had never really worked for her.

But then Vi husked aloud, "Fuck, your pussy tastes amazing," and Caitlyn wailed into the pillow stuffed against her nose, finding herself ridiculously close to the cusp of orgasm already.

There was no denying it any longer. She had to accept it. Caitlyn Kiramman was a proper lady, but this sex wasn't anything close to proper. This wasn’t lovemaking, it wasn’t cunnilingus. It wasn’t even sex anymore. They were fucking, and Vi was eating her pussy.

And Caitlyn? She fucking loved it.

Something about the realization made a part of her that had been unconsciously holding back release. She opened her eyes again and sat tremblingly upright, propping herself on her elbow so she could see Vi. The hand already threaded in pink hair relaxed and became more of a caressing hold. This time, when a loud, shaky moan built in her chest, she let it out, shameless and full-throated. Vi glanced up at the sound, saw her watching intently, and groaned loud and rough in return. She was a complete mess—wet down to her chin, rubbing her nose all over Caitlyn's pussy, mussed strands of hair stuck to her damp face, the tips of her ears gone bright pink. The hands on Caitlyn's flanks lowered to her bottom, calloused fingers sinking hard into soft flesh, holding her squirming hips in place as Vi sank deep.

Caitlyn threw her head back, her cries growing higher and higher pitched, the pleasure thrumming through her winding up like a spring. Vi never stopped, just worked her harder, faster, kissing, licking, sucking. Eating. The sounds of it rang in her burning ears. The sight ran behind her squeezed shut eyes. The feel of it plucked her wrung nerves and found the perfect chord.

Spine bowing, Caitlyn shuddered and bucked, thighs clamping tightly over Vi's ears as she came, shouting herself hoarse. She could feel herself twitching against Vi's tireless tongue, still playing through her slickness as she spasmed.

With a long, groaning exhale she slumped flat to the mattress, gasping for air, covered in a rapidly cooling sweat. Her thighs flopped bonelessly open, falling off Vi's shoulders and freeing her head from their inexorable grasp. Lying there, trying to catch her breath, a sudden hilarity struck her at the sheer madness of their situation. They'd gone about this all backwards, her and Vi. They—they hadn’t even kissed yet, and here Vi was, nose-deep between her thighs, nuzzling happily through the mess she’d left, swiping her lazily up and down with a soft, broad tongue, carefully avoiding her oversensitive clit as she cleaned up. A warm, liquidy afterglow melted down her spine, making her body go limp and fuzzy. Caitlyn closed her eyes and hummed, enjoying the feel.

Goodness, that—that was... That had been... The pillow under her hips was surely ruined. She was so wet she could feel herself dripping down the crack of her arse. Vi chased after it, sneaking a flicker of warm tongue down her crease, making Caitlyn suddenly jump and eep! in embarrassment, snatching at that handful of pink hair in her fist in surprise. Nobody had ever done that before to her.

“Vi,” she hissed, absolutely scandalized.

Vi laughed at her tone and did it again, the cheeky thing, despite the hard fist in her hair. This time, the stroke of her tongue was firmer, more daring, and Caitlyn jumped again at the hot twinge it gave her, unable to hide a shaky gasp, hips squirming simultaneously away and closer still.

Caitlyn Kiramman,” Vi husked dangerously, licking her lips theatrically and quirking her scarred eyebrow. The palms on her bottom gave her a harsh squeeze. “Do you like that?”

“No,” Caitlyn said at once, then moaned, loudly, when Vi did it a third time, harder. She squeezed that fistful of hair tighter, yanked it back to keep that wicked mouth away, so she could think. Vi winced momentarily in pain, then grinned crookedly, the fire in her eyes burning hotter than ever.

“Never took you for liking it in the ass, but I don’t judge.”

“Violet!” Caitlyn whined, feeling herself flush all the way down to her chest. This was beyond humiliating. And after they'd shared something so intimate...

“It’s okay,” Vi said, gentle now, the teasing air gone. She sounded sincere, dropping a quick kiss to Caitlyn's limp inner thigh. Then she shrugged and gave her a wink. “Maybe next time, yeah?”

Caitlyn wanted to sink through the bed and disappear at the very idea of exploring that side of herself—though, maybe someday...

Without warning Vi buried herself back into her work, nose-deep and famished in Caitlyn's sore cunt, still aching from orgasm. Caitlyn stiffened and howled. She'd never tried for another orgasm so soon after her first. Yet somehow, the pulsing sting seemed to quickly fade under Vi's clever mouth, and within seconds the hot curl in her stomach was back, twining around her spine. Vi just hummed and kept at it, waiting patiently until Caitlyn could stand her tongue rasping over her clit again, using her thumbs to spread her open so she could dart inside to taste the fresh threads of wetness dripping out.

"Violet," Caitlyn whined again, in an entirely different tone than before.

Vi slurped lewdly—Caitlyn’s clit twinged at the filthy sound, nevermind the feel—gathering all of Caitlyn’s sopping wetness in her mouth, then pulled away and spat messily on her pussy. Caitlyn gasped and went rigid at the cool slap of saliva, letting out a ragged moan of surprise. Did she really just...? She had. Despite her shocked gasp, her whole cunt spasmed and twitched fiercely in response. 

Vi smirked at her reaction and did it again—sucking the slippery mixture of come and her own spit off Caitlyn’s dripping folds and spitting it back on her. This time, Caitlyn let loose a guttural moan at the sloppy feeling, her toes curling, knees drawing up.

"Fuck," she hissed, unable to stifle the curse, and felt Vi chuckle against her, as if proud of herself for making the perfect Piltie finally swear.

Really, she should be disgusted. Offended. Annoyed, even, by Vi’s crass behavior. How dare she spit on her like that. Instead, she was seconds from another devastating climax. Trembling with want. Panting for more. Desperate for Vi to do it again, and again. As if she could tell, Vi spread her apart with her fingers and did it a third time, spitting noisily, the cool sting of impact making Caitlyn's legs spasm and try to shudder close, though Vi was in the way.

Vi spat on her one last time with enviable precision, the wet slap enough to make her pussy smart momentarily, then throb with pleasure. Her clit felt three times its size, pounding with blood, aching for more abuse. Vi obliged and latched on with almost painful suction, sealing her mouth tightly and working her tongue in quick, furious circles while Caitlyn arched and crossed her ankles behind Vi's neck with a hoarse cry, digging her heels hard into Vi's broad back. The sounds of her wet suckling hit her ears, making her flush. Gods, already she—

Humming in satisfaction, Vi sucked hard, then popped her clit from her mouth like she’d popped her thumb out at the bakery after licking her hand clean, and Caitlyn howled and spasmed with orgasm. This time, the room faded for several minutes before she roused, feeling as if her body weighed twice as much as normal.

A husky chuckle rumbled from below. "What y'think, Cupcake?" Vi hummed into her leg, nosing at the wet, sweaty crease between thigh and pubic mound. "One more?"

"I—" Caitlyn gasped, shaking her heavy, fuzzy head in disbelief, and was astounded when she felt her body respond, her poor cunt aching for more.

"We'll go slow," Vi said soothingly, and though she wasn't even saying anything particularly illicit, her hushed, honeyed tone made it seem like she was whispering something terribly filthy. "You'll be in control. Here." Gently, she found Caitlyn's limp hands and fit them around her pink, messy-haired head, so Caitlyn was the one holding her in place instead of the other way 'round. Then she let her jaw hang slack and stuck out her tongue, as if in supplication, before lowering her face back between her thighs.

Caitlyn moaned shakily, unsure. Then she felt Vi's wet tongue hit her and instinctively rutted against it. She was sore and terribly oversensitized, but somehow that just drove her all the more into a frenzy, body taking over as her brain went mercifully blank.

"Oh!" she gasped. "Oh!"

She was in control now, that much was clear. Vi's palms were flat on the sheets, letting Caitlyn direct her mouth exactly where she wanted it, where she needed it, riding her offered tongue in a desperate race to orgasm. It was—Caitlyn, she—

She was fucking Vi’s face, and Vi was letting her, encouraging her, even, the low vibrations of her deep seated moans buzzing up through her cunt and zipping right to her painfully erect clit. Her hips snapped faster, harder, until she was sure she was somehow hurting Vi from the force of her bucking. But Vi just groaned deeply and kept her mouth open, tongue out, jaw loose, her head jerking back and forth with the frantic thrusts of Caitlyn's hips, letting her rut violently against her without protest. Caitlyn's eyelids fluttered. The world swam. The mounting tension between her legs grew unbearable.

“‘M gonna come,” she mumbled out breathlessly, rutting so hard the bed squeaked with every shuddering jolt.

Vi locked half-lidded eyes with her and didn’t deign to stop or even slow her down, her only indication of having heard being a low, throaty, “Mm-hmm.

The hands cupping Vi's skull clenched. The stroke of Caitlyn's hips grew wild and crazed, panicked even. Her stomach burned from the effort, heels sliding back and forth on the bed for purchase. Her chest heaved, rasping for air, each pull of her lungs ending in a shrill cry. Vi never looked away.

Caitlyn came so hard and spasmed so fiercely she immediately released the grip she had on Vi's head for fear of yanking her hair right out. The world went fully black, murky as the depths of a deep, warm lake.

When she woke some time later, consciousness returning in flickering bits that melted together and bloomed into reality, everything below her waist was a miserable throb of numb pleasure. She felt wrung utterly out. Empty. Completely exhausted. Dazed, she stared up at the now painfully bright bulb dangling above, blinking slowly to clear her vision.

Trapped happily between her limp legs, thighs resting once more on her muscled shoulders, Vi was gently lapping up the mess, pausing now and then to give a soft groan of contentment. Caitlyn stirred with a groan of her own, tilting her hips away, begging for mercy. Vi chuckled and gave her one last parting brush of her lips on her inner knee before she sat up with a grunt of effort and wiped her sticky mouth on her arm, smearing the shiny slick all down her wrist. 

"Now that," she huffed out determinedly, as if only just now finishing their conversation from earlier, looking entirely ridiculous as she did so, "is how you eat."

Then—only then—did Vi sigh and drag herself further up the bed to collapse breathlessly on the pillows beside her. Caitlyn turned toward her automatically, their bodies meeting at last, sweat-slicked skin to cotton-rough shirt and trousers, and nearly cried out in relief when Vi finally—finally—deigned to catch her by the chin and kiss her on the mouth, grabbing at the infuriating girl by her pierced ears and holding her there, kissing her back furiously. 

Six months. 

Six fucking months.

It figured their first kiss would be nothing like Caitlyn had expected—not sweet and slow, lips meeting gently over the warm, flickering candlelight of an intimate dinner filled with hushed confessions and newly revealed affection. No, this was messy and rough and nail-clawingly desperate, a violent clashing of tongues and teeth and frantic breaths, tasting heavily of musk and spit and Caitlyn’s own fragrant come, smeared over both their gasping mouths.

At last, they drew apart, catching their breath raggedly. Caitlyn was shaking with fatigue, with the rush of emotion coursing through her veins. Vi looked absolutely wrecked herself but unbearably smug, damp pink hair hanging in her eyes, face flushed and ruddy.

“So, Cupcake, what d'you think?" she asked with that familiar insufferable smirk of hers that Caitlyn loved more than anything. Her scarred eyebrow cocked suggestively. "Gonna teach me some manners?”

Tired as she was, Caitlyn couldn’t help a big, stupid, lovesick grin in return, tracing a finger over that scarred brow down to the white split on her upper lip.

Six months...

Oh, this was going to be wonderful. 

“Yes, darling. I think I will.”