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The storm outside rages with a fire’s fury. Arlecchino’s desk is scattered with papers she’s been ignoring for the past week, though now there is no escaping them.
Every tick of the clock on the wall behind her reminds her of the late hour. The stars will be disappearing soon, making room for the morning sun and meetings she would rather not attend.
“Didn’t keep you up, did I?”
Pretending like she didn’t hear the soft footsteps coming up the stairs, Arlecchino says, “I’ve been busy. Didn’t even notice you hadn’t returned yet.”
Yelan suppresses her smile when she hears her lover’s lie. She traipses over to the desk, toeing off her heels and watching them skit across the floorboards. Arlecchino’s neck twitches in response to the noise.
“Well, don’t let me bother you, then. I’m going to shower and head to bed.” Her hand consciously trails over the back of Arlecchino’s shoulders as she walks into the bathroom.
Yelan knows well how dangerous the game she’s playing is, but she can never help herself. Drawing out the part of Arlecchino that cares, that wants, takes precedence over survival.
She leaves the door open a crack. The hot water is turned on. Her clothes meet the hamper tucked in the corner.
Arlecchino knows all of these things are an invitation, even if Yelan refuses to ever say it out loud. Her pen taps rigidly on her paper, leaving ink splotches. She likes to pretend as though she is capable of saying no, but she never has. Nothing could compel her to continue working.
This time, however, she waits. She turns her chair to face the door and lets her nails dance on the desk. Tonight, something in her wants to have fun.
Eventually, the shower stream shifts into droplets, and Arlecchino takes off her coat, hanging it up on the rack next to the door. She returns to her desk chair, focused on the gap intentionally left, waiting for Yelan to go up to the mirror above the sink.
Barely having wiped herself down, towel wrapped around her, Yelan goes to wipe the mascara that’s accumulated under her eyes during the shower when—
“Don’t.”
She glances at Arlecchino from the corner of her eye, considering the consequences of what she’s about to do.
Raising her hand to continue against instructions, nails dig into her wrist, stopping her from wiping it away. Eyes bright with red and hunger stare at her in the mirror.
“I said don’t.”
Yelan feigns surprise. “Terribly sorry. I couldn’t hear you over all the steam in here.” Arlecchino’s breath ghosts over the shell of Yelan’s ear, hot and heavy.
“You know, I love it when you lie. Your eyes go wide, and your normally furrowed brows relax… but I’m surprised that after all this time you still try and lie to me,” she says, her thumb wiping at the mascara instead of a cotton pad. It leaves behind a dark grey streak.
“Well, I’m not one of your children, Father.” Yelan turns around, back against the sink and looks up at her lover, not an ounce of regret on her face. “Forgive me if I enjoy antagonising you.”
“Oh, I’m well aware.” Arlecchino steals a rather forceful kiss from Yelan, before taking a few steps backwards with expectation.
Yelan quirks an eyebrow. “Not going to say it?”
“Since when do you need me to send an invitation?” Yelan’s arms cross over her chest. “But, I like seeing you happy: will you join me in the bedroom?”
Taking the outstretched hand awaiting her, the two of them step out of the bathroom and head into the bedroom, where the curtains are already drawn and a few odd lamps are the only thing that light it all up.
Yelan unwraps her towel and places it flatly over the back of a chair, sitting down on the bed expectantly. “Can I undress you?”
Arlecchino steps between Yelan’s legs without so much as a whisper. Hands work deftly at picking apart each layer, as they have done many times before. The sense of familiarity in the action would have filled her with dread, long ago.
Now, Yelan could call her Peruere and she would not so much as blink.
She takes her by the chin, lifting up her face. Yelan’s hands still. “There’s a bruise on your thigh and a cut under your knee. I told you to let me know when you get hurt on missions.”
“I know where the ointment is.” Yelan’s thumb traces over the scarred skin of Arlecchino’s stomach. “I’ve been taking care of my injuries for years.”
“Hm.”
Yelan tugs her down onto her bruised thigh, kissing her with every intention of not letting go.
“We can argue later,” she says. “Now, I would really appreciate some sex.”
Arlecchino goes to lie at the centre of the bed while Yelan watches on the edge, eyes flitting up and down. She wants to play.
She crawls over like a predator to trapped prey, hovering above Arlecchino’s body. It is rare to have her like this, yielding and silent, letting Yelan take the lead—she’d be a fool not to take advantage.
Her lips press into the dip at Arleechino’s throat, fluttering in their lightness, before moving to her collarbone, then the side of her neck, and finally that sweet spot between ear and chin. Arlecchino leans into Yelan’s mouth, taking the gentleness with a certain sense of liberation.
Unable to help herself, Arlecchino forces Yelan into sitting down on her stomach. Yelan looks back at her unimpressed over being interrupted in her fun.
“Peruere.. Would it kill you to let me take control for once?” She sucks in a breath at the name.
Arlecchino forces the two of them to flip positions so that she’s no longer the prey in this situation, and says, “It might. I’m awfully fragile these days.”
Yelan’s arms tug her down into a kiss after wrapping around her neck, all while trying to restore their previous position. Arlecchino yields, pressing her thumbs into the soft skin of Yelan’s chest.
“Then allow me to take care of you like one would porcelain.”
Yelan’s mouth returns to Arlecchino’s body, teeth lightly grazing each nipple and leaving with a pinching tug. Her body betrays her mind, arching up to ask for more.
Arlecchino has always been the giver. As Father, whatever she needs and wants has come second, but Yelan refuses to allow her this resistance when they share a bed. She demands Arlecchino to be an active participant in the moment.
A singular finger slips into her without much warning, but as she goes to sit up Yelan is already kissing her back into lying down. She always knows when to react, how to react, and bring comfort back into Arlecchino’s body. Taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes and forces her body to relax.
Another finger, then a third, and Arlecchino struggles to hold the sound building in her throat. Yelan relishes the challenge provided, changing her movements so as to keep Arlecchino on the edge.
“You’re pushing… your luck,” Arlecchino says through gritted teeth. Normally, Yelan gives up first, but this time she shows no signs of doing so.
Yelan slows down just a little bit more, causing Arlecchino’s body to push into pressure that isn’t there. A minute keen leaves her throat, and the delight of hearing it is clear on Yelan’s face.
“Of course I am. Now, just ask me the question and I’ll stop.”
It’s the boldest she’s been in a long time. Arlecchino’s eyes burn so bright that Yelan could forget that she’s safe from all the fury buried in her lover.
“Can you please make me come?” Vulnerability being forced out of her should make her furious—but Yelan’s features are so softened by her willingness to ask that she’d say it as many times as necessary in order to see her face like that forever.
The only reply is a tongue against her clit and three fingers working her right back up to her peak. Her back goes up, nails scratch at the bedsheets, and she feels Yelan’s face press into her pelvis.
Recovery is so quick she does her best to grasp the sensation of Yelan’s tongue against her folds before it disappears.
Yelan slides up next to her, leaning on her side and watching Arlecchino’s eyes trying to settle on a singular speck of ceiling. She takes her hand, waits for her to speak.
“If you ever try that again…” Arlecchino breathes, but no threat forms on her lips.
Yelan wipes some of the hair crinkling in the corner of her eye, before pressing a kiss to the same area and saying, “I will try it every time now that I know it works.”
Arlecchino chuckles, before turning over to grab something from the bedside table, the spark in her eye brighter than ever after Yelan’s little game. She grasps her firmly by the chin, looking forward to getting her back.
“Then I hope you are prepared to get as good as you give.”
There is no need for a clear instruction. Yelan rolls over onto her stomach, arms folded beneath her face, looking right at Arlecchino.
Arlecchino takes a hand over Yelan’s back, settling on her ass and massaging gently. Her nails pinch at the skin every now and then, and she watches keenly as Yelan’s body tries to get away.
These days putting the strap on isn’t the hassle it used to be, and where Yelan used to have ample time to prepare herself, she no longer receives a warning as Arlecchino pushes into her, as deep as it can reach.
She gasps, reaching for the pillow and biting down on her wrist. At this, Arlecchino wraps an arm around her stomach and pulls her up, back to chest, so that the strap digs in even deeper. Yelan’s chest flutters up and down, a warm hand on her throat, simply holding.
It’s rough and unhurried at the same time. Yelan digs her hands into Arlecchino’s thighs for stability, which only causes her to arch further and feel more. Arlecchino keeps one hand on her throat at all times, the other pressed into her waist to help her move. One would think there is no love in it.
But Yelan’s panting is turned to face Arlecchino’s skin, and Arlecchino’s mouth is murmuring praises that would bring even the greatest nonbeliever to their knees. Good girl, she whispers. Taking me in so well. How many nights have you wished for this?
There is no world in which Yelan is able to answer the question, but that doesn’t matter to Arlecchino. She can feel the answer in the way Yelan clenches, begging for further stimulation.
Arlecchino presses gently on the sides of Yelan’s throat. She comes without a single touch to her clit.
Ever so slowly, she turns Yelan onto her back and continues thrusting, locking her legs behind her back for her. Arms slack above her head, Yelan doesn’t bother to protest. In fact, she pushes herself down further, squirming.
Arlecchino leans down, placing their hands together flat on the bed, kissing her messily through every thrust. Yelan’s mouth rarely closes, both sharp and deep moans escaping her.
When Yelan guides one of her hands down, she obeys the command, bringing her release closer and faster than previously. Yelan’s chest rises and Arlecchino takes the opportunity to take her breast into her mouth, exploring its canvas with her tongue.
Yelan could not delay her orgasm even if she tried, and with a choked breath she comes, overstimulated and exhausted.
Arlecchino looks down at her lover, a smile flitting over her face. She presses a kiss to Yelan’s brow before gently pulling out. She leaves the strap in the bathroom and brings back a warm washcloth.
When she returns to the bedroom, Yelan has pushed herself up onto the pillows, a hazy look in her eyes. She allows Arlecchino to clean her up, face pressed into her neck.
“Peruere…” The name lingers between them. “Will you be gone long this time?”
She knows why she asks; both of them sleep better with the other in bed with them.
“I regret to say I do not know. But I will write. And I will tell you when I am coming home.”
Yelan’s eyes open a little wider, a lazy smile on her face. “Home?”
Peruere smiles back.
“I cannot think of a more appropriate name.”