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Would you like to watch?
The question, and the look on Villanelle’s face as she asked it, were burned into Eve’s head as the driver took them out of the forest and back to civilization.
Somehow, she felt less ashamed that the answer to the question was ‘yes’ and more ashamed that the blonde sitting next to her knew it without Eve saying anything.
“I left my veil.”
Eve blinks herself back to the car, peeling herself out of her thoughts. Villanelle’s voice cuts between them, as penetrating as everything between them always was (or came to be). Yet it doesn’t cut the tension Eve feels and Eve wonders why that doesn’t upset her.
“What?”
“My veil,” Villanelle repeats, eyes looking out the rain-dampened window. “I left it at your house. I would like to get it.”
Oh.
Eve studies the side of her face unabashedly. Her jaw is tight, high cheekbones softly shadowed in the dim light. She’s still upset. Eve knows some of it is because of her earlier curtness outside the train car; some of it is because of the whatever-this-is between them. It makes her wonder how much Villanelle likes the tension, if she’s ready to see it snap. What that would look like, Eve hesitates to guess. Thus far this is the longest the two of them have been around each other. Eve wonders how much longer they will be able to stand it, one way or another.
“Fine,” she answers, turning away. “You can pick it up.”
She can tell just out of the corner of her eye when Villanelle turns to look at her. Feeling bold (or wreckless) Eve turns and catches her gaze, allows herself to absorb the immaculate features of Villanelle’s face, the velvety olive eyes, the glowing skin. The apex predator lurking underneath is there, too, though Eve is never certain which hunger of Villanelle’s is in control.
When Eve doesn’t break eye contact first, the corner of Villanelle’s lips goes up. Her gaze moves from Eve’s face down her body and back up again, very obviously. Then Villanelle turns back to the window. Eve imagines tiny sparks of electricity up and down her body in the wake of those eyes, jolting her body, aching for a reaction. She does her best to ignore it. The confines of the car are too small for her body, for both their bodies and she’s glad when they finally make it back to Piscally Street.
She steps out into the chilled air and takes a breath. She should feel exhausted after being up all night but she doesn’t feel it. As Villanelle rounds the back of the car Eve notes she doesn’t look tired either, save for perhaps a little red in the eyes.
She unlocks her door and opens it, realizes she’s making a conscious decision to let Villanelle into her house willingly for the second time. In an echo of before Villanelle brushes past her and takes off her shoes. Eve is almost disappointed when she fails to lounge against the wall this time or stare at Eve teasingly…
Do you want to search me too?
What would have happened if Eve actually had said yes that time, had actually searched her?
Villanelle walks through her house to the kitchen again with little to-do. Her veil is still on the little table against the stove. She plucks it up, turns, and walks past Eve again as if she doesn’t exist.
“That’s it?”
While it’s not a Freudian Slip exactly, Eve feels her cheeks grow hot after saying it. And saying it with the tint of disappointment.
It’s perhaps that fact that keeps Villanelle from continuing towards the door. She stops, very slowly turns around. Her face is blank, though her eyes are darting all over Eve.
“I just meant…I’ll see you later. For the Peel case,” Eve continues lamely. Her cheeks grow even hotter.
Too late.
Villanelle walks back towards her, a smile forming on her still very-red lips. There’s a glint in her eyes as well. She feigns sweetness as she addresses Eve.
“Did you want to sit and have a cup of tea? Catch up on old times? Like the time you stabbed me?”
Eve fights the urge to both roll her eyes and back away.
“Oh, enough of the bullshit.”
A flare of anger and something else zings through Eve. She does roll her eyes and moves to push past the younger woman.
Villanelle blocks her path, fingers coming up to her stomach over the vintage black gown to caress over a certain spot, the spot. Eve stares at it, at her fingers. Her gaze snaps up to Villanelle’s, whose eyelashes flutter languidly, seductively.
“I touch it the same time I touch myself, you know.”
Her voice has dropped an octave, her eyes blink dreamily at Eve and Eve feels that dangerous tugging towards. It’s an act, she knows. But still she swallows once, twice, before finding her voice again.
“I thought you were mad at me.”
Villanelle blinks as if coming out of a trance.
“Well you are very rude sometimes. I am here to help you, you know. Why else would I come to this shit city? It smells like old farts.”
Eve snorts despite herself.
“Yea, can’t help you with that.”
“But you did say you’d give me everything I wanted,” Villanelle replies smoothly, voice dropping again.
Eve has choices here. She knows this. She knows there’s a million different responses she could give in this moment; use the opportunity to set the record straight between them. Instead she asks, “And what is it that you want?”
The blonde seems as surprised by the response as Eve does hearing it leave her mouth. But Villanelle recovers fast, deftly pushes Eve against a wall. It’s gentle but forceful. Eve isn’t scared. The veil is dropped on the floor. Villanelle’s face looms in front of her own, impossibly close. Again, Eve has the sensation that their bodies are too big for this space. They could be standing in the fucking desert and Eve would still feel confined next to her.
The anger flashes in Villanelle’s eyes again as she lifts her face, looking down at Eve.
“Why weren’t you in Amsterdam?”
Eve’s brain struggles for a moment.
“Amsterdam? Wait…”
She remembers Carolyn mentioning a murder, sending in Elena instead. Looking at Villanelle now, something clicks in place.
“The red light district…That was you? ”
“Of course it was me. Don’t do that.”
“No, I didn’t…I asked to go but Carolyn wanted Elena to go. Now I know why,” she adds not without bitterness.
Villanelle’s brow furrows. Her eyes narrow, then seem to soften.
“Really?”
Eve nods, struggling to focus on the conversation at hand. It’s made difficult with her this close. She can smell Villanelle’s perfume (similar to but not quite her signature brand), can see the creases in her bottom lip (the lipstick is definitely Love in an Elevator), can feel the soft tickle of the lacy sleeves to her extravagant gown.
Villanelle steps aside and leans against the wall next to her.
“What did you think of it?”
Again, her expression is so carefully blank. Eve now knows this too, is an act.
“A work of grotesque art,” she answers, breathing a little. “Did you want a gold star too?”
Sometimes she just likes poking the bear.
Villanelle smiles, laughs through her nose at the sarcasm. Eve swallows roughly, clears her throat.
“I do wish…I wish I had been there,” she allows.
At last this seems to appease the assassin. Her next smile is edgeless; a first. It makes something flutter in Eve’s chest. Villanelle’s hand reaches up and two fingers twine themselves around a lock of Eve’s curls. Eve’s throat goes dry. The scent of her perfume is suddenly at her nose again, coming from her wrists. She hates how much she likes it.
“You still have amazing hair,” Villanelle says, looking over her hair as if she’s its greatest admirer. Maybe she is.
“Eve.”
Like cracking a whip, Eve’s eyes snap up to hers.
Villanelle is looking at her as though she is a puzzle that needs solving. That, at least, is not performative on her part. Then she purses her lips, sucks her bottom lip and cocks her head.
“You are still so tense around me. You know I am not going to kill you now.”
“Oh do I?” Eve shoots back.
She rolls her eyes.
“Of course not. You’re too interesting. Why are you so tense, Eve?”
Eve doesn’t answer. Villanelle backs away, gaze never leaving hers, until her back is against the wall opposite Eve’s. She folds her hands behind her back, leans against the wall with her feet neatly lined up in front of her. She wears a crooked smile, looking amused.
“Can I go now?”
“No.”
The answer to the question comes out fast. They both see the slip-up at the exact same moment, Eve swears. A simple question, meant to tease, perhaps even rhetorical, but a question seeking permission nevertheless. And now Eve sees wrinkles of genuine frustration on Villanelle’s otherwise smooth face at her own error. She pushes herself off the wall, snorts derisively. She makes for the door. Eve follows her to the end of the kitchen. Villanelle reaches for the doorknob, stops. Eve’s heart is in her throat.
“Why don’t you want me to leave?”
Villanelle turns, finds her standing in the kitchen. Her hands have become fists at her side, palms sweaty. She flexes them, stands there uselessly. Feels something new creep up between them, something as exciting and titillating as everything else has been.
“Come here.”
And Villanelle seems to recognize it too, though Eve cannot fathom the expression on her face now. It’s lost its frame of neutrality. There’s a storm in Villanelle’s eyes, tension that the lipstick cannot conceal as she marches back towards Eve. It’s intimidating, but it’s also something else to Eve now. It could easily consume them both in the next few minutes in the wrong way (the wrong wrong way?) if she’s not careful.
Villanelle closes the gap between them and before Eve can overthink it she’s reaching out and grabbing her arm, pulling her into a bruising kiss. For some logically idiotic reason she gets a flash of slamming her elbow into the glass of a bus tent last year. The experience is similar:
Shock. That she’s actually done this, flung herself off the roof of safety and normalcy and into the great unknown, that she’s offering herself to this killer woman, headless of the consequences.
Exhilaration. That she’s making something happen. Sending off pulsing ripples that crash into Villanelle. And Villanelle sends out her own ripples that crash into Eve. That her offer is being accepted by blood-red lips and hungry eyes and hungry hands that begin to claim.
Wanting. More of the blood-red lips and hungry eyes and hungry hands, even though it makes her feel like a moth to a flame. Villanelle’s light is more than just a pretty siren song. Somewhere buried deep Eve knows it’s meant for her, that she might even need this, because her very bones are thrumming with it.
The kiss is bruising. She can’t really see Villanelle’s face to know if she’s shocked the other woman as much as she’s shocked herself, but she thinks she hears it in the half hum, half moan that escapes past Villanelle’s lips.
Eve has grabbed the sides of her face, thumbs pressed against her cheeks and hands half wrapped around the base of her skull. Villanelle’s response isn’t surprising.
She kisses back as hard as she gets, hands coming to Eve’s waist and pulling her flush against her own body. On a whim Eve reaches back and pulls the hair tie from Villanelle’s pony. Villanelle shakes it loose. It’s the first time she’s seen Villanelle’s hair down. It makes her ache between her legs. For once Villanelle doesn’t stop to primp and show off for her, doesn’t make a lewd comment or joke. Eve can see the effect this has already had on her; olive eyes are now black and huge. There’s extra color to her cheeks. And the lipstick is slightly smeared. Eve feels it on her own lips. Villanelle dips her head to get at Eve’s throat. The movement is predatory. Teeth scrape over skin, then lips latch on and suck over her pulse.
“Fuck,” she finally chokes out.
She feels Villanelle through the gown, presses hard as her hands wonder, finally getting to feel the shape of the body she has coveted. She feels her hips, her stomach, her ribs. Her hands move to Villanelle’s back, down,down, over her ass. Villanelle moans and kisses her exposed breastbone, kisses down until she reaches cotton.
Eve groans, runs her fingers through honeyed hair and then pulls. Hard enough to bring back Villanelle’s head, exposing the soft curve of her Adam’s Apple. She looks as though she’s high.
“Eve,” she breathes out.
“Shut up.”
Just as breathless.
Eve doesn’t want words now. They would only confuse and complicate things. She’s tired of feeling confused and tired of thinking complicated thoughts where Villanelle is concerned. She wants just this simplicity. Just this.
When Eve starts to go upstairs she’s still amazed when Villanelle follows without a word. Yes, she knows Villanelle has wanted her, has been waiting, but Eve never thought it would be so easy.
For the first time she feels as powerful as the assassin. Perhaps, just perhaps, they can be equals. In this, if nothing else.
It’s a mess getting out of her clothes. She can’t keep from kissing Villanelle and Villanelle’s hands are everywhere. The moment Eve’s beige sleeveless comes over her head the blonde’s hands are over her breasts, tongue shoved deep into her mouth again. It’s leaving her breathless and thoughtless and hot but no, wait. She has to keep some control, somehow.
She pushes Villanelle back firmly.
“If you want me, you have to listen to me. Do as I say.”
“Oh, like Simon Says?” Villanelle brightens up, almost child-like.
Somehow she makes it sexy. Of course.
Eve nods, peeling off her trousers.
“Yea. Like Simon Says. Now take off the gown.”
It’s a test. Something simple. Or least that’s what Eve tells herself she is doing; keeping this simple, letting Villanelle know she’ll have to obey or she’ll get nothing. But watching her reach down and bunch up the bottom of her funeral wear, then lift it up her legs slowly is agonizing. Eve watches, transfixed, as long legs reveal themselves to her, then black laced underwear. Up and over her head. A black laced bra to match. Eve doesn’t even remember she’s wearing blue cotton underwear and that there’s a hole in the left side. Doesn’t remember even when Villanelle’s eyes are mirrors of her own, drinking her in.
“God you’re sexy, even with that hole in your underwear.”
If it were anyone else, the mood would have been ruined.
As it is, Eve scarcely acknowledges the second part of the sentence. She gestures at Villanelle’s unmentionables.
“Off. Then on the bed. On your back,” she commands.
She tries to steel herself but nothing can prepare her for all of Villanelle. She has to pinch her thighs together. Villanelle crawls on the bed like a panther and Eve has the sudden urge to smack her for her audacity. She wants to be angry. Maybe she is, but it’s also making her horny as hell.
Eve peels off her underwear, discards her bra. Villanelle props herself on elbows to watch. Her eyes are almost wild they’re so wide, her lips parted in anticipation. A vibration of fear touches Eve. She knows this could go off the rails at any moment, but some bizarre gut feeling tells her Villanelle will do what she asks of her.
Eve climbs over her and Villanelle’s hands immediately go to her thighs, gliding and soothing over her skin. If Eve were the panther, it might make her purr, she thinks. But it’s no good. She can’t let herself get too carried away. The real predator is underneath her, just waiting to pounce.
Eve takes her wrists and pushes her hands away. Gently at first, but Villanelle is stubborn and she moves her hands higher to Eve’s waist.
“No,” says Eve, taking her wrists and deftly pinning them above Villanelle’s head in the next second.
Her face looms over the blonde’s and her body is now stretched out over her. Her thigh has fallen between Villanelle’s legs, a fact Villanelle makes known when she pushes her pussy into Eve’s bare skin. A whimper escapes Eve’s throat.
It seems she has….miscalculated.
A slow laugh bubbles up from Villanelle, preceded by a Cheshire grin.
“What now, boss?”
She gets angry. At herself. But the point of no return she doesn’t think ever existed between them so she just has to move forward.
Eve removes her thigh from between Villanelle’s legs, feeling cool air hit the hot arousal smeared there too keenly. She plants her knees on either side of the lean body under her.
“Which hand?” she asks.
Her cheeks flush hot when Villanelle doesn’t immediately understand. Then she does and she grins again, shrugging.
“I am equally good at fucking with either hand.”
Eve grits her teeth.
“Which. Hand?”
If Eve’s impatience bothers her she doesn’t show it, just wiggles her left hand. Eve releases it, able to sit back and put more weight on her knees.
“Now what?” Villanelle prompts, oh so innocently.
But Eve can see the rise and fall of her chest, how flushed it is. She’s already felt how wet too. She wants to wipe the smugness off her face so badly she considers just leaving her on the bed and getting dressed, giving her whatever version of blue balls women get. Except that she cannot fathom actually going through with such a good idea so she doesn’t.
Eve takes Villanelle’s left hand and drags it down to where she straddles her. Villanelle blinks, raises an eyebrow.
“Well?” she prompts. “You are supposed to be telling me what to do, Eve.”
It’s like an extension of that day at the bus tent. She shatters the glass, looks on in horror. But instead of simply leaving it she is reaching down and picking up a deadly shard. She is placing it in her palm and making a fist, squeezing fragile flesh into its sharp edges.
Except it’s Villanelle’s throat she is squeezing and she is the glass shard.
“Fuck me,” she says desperately.
Villanelle’s face is red. The vein over her temple is pulsing. And she is smiling.
Eve releases her, unable to stem the panic that washes over her.
“Oh god, fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…oh fuck.”
She chokes on her words as Villanelle does a quick sweep over her pussy, finds her soaked, and slides two fingers into her like butter.
Everything shifts again. It was inevitable, Eve knows. She wants to fight it like everything else but she also wants to give into it like everything else.
Her hand has slipped from Villanelle’s other wrist. Villanelle pushes up on an elbow as her fingers find her. The softest noise Eve has ever heard from her slips past her lips as she watches Eve watching her. Eve’s body is no longer her own. Just like that. It was never a thought that crossed her mind with Niko or anyone else. But now she’s just a string-less puppet. And it feels fucking amazing.
“Eve,” Villanelle breathes.
Her eyes flutter (or is that Eve’s eyes?) as she fucks into Eve, fingers moving in a steady back and forth motion. Eve starts canting her hips, moving her body up and down shamelessly. She scrapes her fingernails over the tops of her thighs, reaches up to rub hard over her breasts, pebbling her nipples. It draws a punched-out whimper from the blonde, who shifts under her, lying flat and bringing up her other hand to roughly pull Eve down closer. The motion is demanding, possessive. It makes Eve’s pussy flutter.
“How does that feel?” she whispers up to Eve.
Eve has just enough presence of mind to look for the act in her question, in her face. But if it is an act it’s a damn good one. Villanelle looks as blissed out as Eve feels.
“It feels like…like…”
Her presence of mind scatters to the wind until Villanelle’s fingers almost come out of her and she groans loudly.
“I asked how does that feel?” Villanelle repeats.
There’s no teasing in her tone. When Eve looks down at her again she almost stops breathing at the sight. Villanelle looks as though she’s seen the face of God perhaps, or is having the best trip of her life. It’s so unexpected and needed that Eve can’t process what that look might mean. She is brave, but not brave enough to fall down that rabbit hole just yet.
Simple things. Keep it easy.
“It feels like I’m on fucking fire and I don’t want it to stop,” she blurts out.
It sounds stupid to her, but Villanelle bites down hard on her bottom lip and slides her fingers back inside. She starts fucking Eve in earnest. When Eve rocks down hard enough for her clit to touch the butt of Villanelle’s palm she nearly screams.
“Come on, you’re doing so good, Eve,” Villanelle sighs.
And damn her, her voice matches the cadence of the fingers working her, so good and deep. Eve rocks down and stays there, rutting herself as hard as she can as Villanelle fills her, fingers hitting her just right over and over again, palm pressing into her swollen clit and not letting up.
She’s not close enough, not by a million miles, to the woman under her. She bends her body, sends her lips crashing into Villanelle’s. Forces her tongue inside. Villanelle’s moan is jagged and full of shards.
Perhaps Villanelle is the glass and Eve is shattering her.
The thought sticks with her immediately, begins to take root and grow. She fucks herself mercilessly over her fingers, tells Villanelle to give her more. And Villanelle does, pulling out just to add a third digit and push back in and fucking hell, Eve has never felt so full, so whole.
And it’s ruining both of them, she knows. But that’s okay as long as it’s definitely ruining Villanelle. She will cut herself and watch the blood run if it means she can crack the other woman, even just a little.
She’s close. Villanelle senses it. Feels the way her pussy is tightening, the way her movements have become frantic. Her other hand has Eve’s hip in a death grip, forcing her up and down, up and down.
“So good, so good,” Villanelle coos into her ear. “Will you come for me, Eve?”
“Huuh, fuck…”
Eve screws her eyes shut so tight she sees deep orange and black and little white dots. She can’t catch her breath. She’s burning up like a meteor and it feels so fucking good she doesn’t want it to end and also can’t wait for the release. When it happens it sweeps through her violently and hard, like most things between them were. But it’s also beautiful and comforting and exhilarating.
Her face is buried in the pillow next to Villanelle’s face as her body spasms with aftershocks. Villanelle stays inside her, pumping very slowly. Eve is about to move, to let her slip out but she doesn’t. Her pussy is still twitching and her clit is sensitive but instead her hips start to move again. She turns her face away to breathe and keeps moving. Villanelle hums out a soft laugh (is still sounds smug to Eve, the asshole) and keeps fucking her, speeding up at last and Eve comes again. It’s quieter and subdued but still powerful.
When Villanelle pulls out she wants to weep at the loss. Then she notices Villanelle is moving against her. The look on her face is nothing short of pure bliss, eyes glazed and panting, close enough to Eve that she feels it. Their eyes lock and Villanelle’s breath stutters. Eve looks down.
Villanelle’s hand disappears between her own legs, moving furiously. Eve looks back up at her, momentarily forgetting to breathe. There is no barrier between them in this moment and it’s so raw it would be too much for Eve…if she were capable of looking away.
Villanelle’s gaze flutters but never leaves Eve, even as she starts to come. Eve is frozen to the spot, staring, until Villanelle’s orgasm hits her full force and her eyes shut and her mouth opens in a silent scream.
“Jesus fuck,” Eve hears herself mumble, breathless.
There is only a minute or two that follows on the bed. They both lie there, catching their breaths and coming down. Eve feels beyond euphoric. A part of her wants to stay here, right here, and pretend she is lying on a bed of satin, or a cloud. She wants to close her eyes and soak in…whatever this is.
She imagines she might not even mind the body lying next to her.
Dangerous, that.
She forces herself up before Villanelle can say anything (Eve is sure she was about to) and plucks up her clothes, piece by piece, purposefully not looking in Villanelle’s direction. She can feel eyes boring into her, willing her to turn and look, to say something. She does neither.
She is downstairs as fast as she can manage, starts fiddling around in the kitchen because what the hell else is she supposed to do right now? Villanelle appears a few minutes later, her steps slow and languid down the stairs. Eve dares to look up.
Their eyes lock. Dressed once again Villanelle looks at her almost passively, but there’s something gleaming in her eyes as she walks through the kitchen.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
Eve blinks. Fuck. The Peel case. They were meeting tomorrow. Her brain is hazy and her legs still feel weak. In desperation she picks up a cloth and starts wiping down the cluttered counter top.
“Um right. See you tomorrow.”
“That’s it?”
It’s a pitch-perfect mimicry of her own question from earlier. Villanelle is lingering at the threshold, smug smile on her too-perfect face. Eve slams the cloth down on the counter and walks up to her.
“You’re an asshole.”
Villanelle doesn’t respond, except to suck her bottom lip in again and raise an eyebrow in challenge. Eve is no longer sure what the challenge is, not after tonight. But she’s sure as hell not backing down. She shoves Villanelle hard into the wall and kisses her unkindly, secretly relishing the contact again. She shoves Villanelle’s hands away roughly when the blonde attempts to take her waist. Villanelle hums out another laugh and lets Eve’s mouth rake against hers, lets her hold her against the wall until she is done.
When she finally pulls away the wild look is in Villanelle’s eyes again.
It was not the look she wanted. It wasn’t. And it doesn’t send a thrill down her spine. It fucking doesn’t.
And when their eyes stay locked in a hopeless tie-breaker Eve can so clearly see herself slipping off the edge and tumbling down into the rabbit hole, can feel the glass slice into her, exposing precious things to the light of day that are greedy for air but might get burnt by the sun.
She sees it all reflected in the dark eyes that bore into her. It’s only when Villanelle blinks twice that Eve realizes something more profound was there, too, but is gone as quickly as it came. The predator’s mask slides back down over Villanelle’s face as she walks past her.
“I look forward to working with you, Eve,” she says as she walks out the door.
“Forgetting something?”
Villanelle freezes in place before turning back around. Eve holds the laced veil in her hand, cruel triumph written into her eyes, her lips. Villanelle stares at her as she walks back, reaches out. Her fingers purposefully brush against Eve’s and linger as she slides the veil from her. Her eyes don’t miss the tiniest parting of Eve’s lips at the touch, the tiniest rise of her chest.
“Thank you,” Villanelle says.
It sounds humble.
“Tomorrow, then?” asks Eve.
A single nod.
“Tomorrow.”
Eve can’t wait. She is afraid and thrilled and wants to dig inside of Villanelle, to dig and dig and dig and imagine there will be a satisfying ending somewhere. She doesn’t know what that would look like, but it’s what she wants.
***