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It's exactly the kind of night Enjin has always loved—or, the kind she used to love.
Moody lightning, strong drinks, music playing just loud enough that conversations end up half-shouted before being abandoned in favor of body language, and an ever-shifting rotation of people to talk with—well, flirt with (and hook up with, and then immediately ghost).
Point being, that was the kind of night the Enjin of the past had loved. The Enjin of now is different, because this Enjin is somehow—and she genuinely is still not entirely sure how she managed to pull this off—dating Gris.
While past Enjin would have jumped at Semiu's suggestion of a post-mission adults-only night out on the town, current Enjin really wants nothing more than to be in her room with her hands all over her girlfriend. Girlfriend. It still feels weird to say that—good weird, but weird.
She and Gris have only been officially "together" for about three weeks now, so it's all still extremely new to her. The concept of being "together" with anyone is new for her, but being with Gris (smart, sexy, tall, strong, easy to annoy Gris) is…overwhelming, to say the absolute least. And it's not as though they weren't close before, or like Enjin doesn't know her. But now there are entirely new layers of their relationship to explore—and yes, explore as in the romantic, emotional, Gris being wholly hers sense of the word…but also in the very literal, physical sense of exploring every last inch of Gris's ridiculously, unfairly, gorgeous body—
Anyways.
A couple of hours ago, back at HQ, Gris had excitedly agreed to Semiu's going out idea before Enjin could feign exhaustion and drag her back up to one of their rooms. She could have made some excuse, sure, especially considering the fact that they are very much in the new relationship honeymoon phase, and everyone is very aware of it, but…
Enjin has recently discovered that if Gris wants something (or is angry about something, or feels any type of way about anything, really), she is incapable of saying no to her.
So.
Despite the fact that exploring—in all senses—is what she would rather be doing at that exact moment, she's at a bar, nursing her third too strong drink of the night. She's being uncharacteristically quiet from the rickety chair on which she's perched, at a two person table towards the back corner of the room. She has her legs up in her seat, knees tucked under her chin, in a way that is probably considered impolite, but whatever.
Enjin is sort of starting to feel like her entire world is, and always will be, defined by endless, nonstop, constant bad luck.
Okay. That might be a little dramatic.
And she might be a little drunk.
But really, how could anyone say that her life is fair when she is stuck listening to Delmon rant on about who knows what, while Gris is standing across the room—cheeks stained pink from alcohol, or the heat of the crowded bar, (or because she can feel Enjin's longing gaze from ten feet away)—laughing with Tomme and Semiu, and looking like the sun personified?
How is that fair?
"It's not fair," Enjin grumbles in response to her own inner spiral, her slightly fuzzy eyes focused on the way Gris's hair is glowing under the golden-hued bar light.
Delmon pauses his tirade and shoots her a confused look. "What?"
Enjin forcibly drags her gaze away from Gris to make eye contact, and it feels a little bit like pulling teeth, to put it completely non-dramatically. She squints at Delmon and attempets a response. "Whatever…you were saying? Is unfair?"
Delmon is silent for a second. Then snorts. "Enjin, I was just telling you that Semiu told me that Remlin is coming by tomorrow to visit and draw some new spells for the mission on Friday."
Oops.
In her defense, Delmon's "normal" speaking voice and "passionate complaining" voice sound more or less exactly the same.
"Oh," Enjin says, a bit stupidly, dropping her legs back down to the floor and attempting to look interested. "Sorry. I think I'm distrac—drun—" her brain struggles, trying to come up with the most believable excuse, before landing on, "tired?"
Delmon stares at her for a beat, then shifts his attention to the same spot by the bar where Enjin's gaze had just been directed. Without looking back at her, he laughs under his breath and says, "I think distracted might be the right answer there." He looks back then, appraising her, and adds, "Okay, probably drunk too."
"I'm not drunk," Enjin argues, and she's not, not really. Just tipsy. The dizziness, racing heart, and heat-flushed cheeks that she's experiencing (and that she assumes are extremely noticeable, based on Delmon's barely concealed smirk) have very little to do with the amount of alcohol she's consumed over the last hour or so.
Delmon rolls his eyes and says, "Uh huh. Either way, I think I'm going to turn in for the night, so you should go join them over at the bar." He pauses for a moment, eyes glinting knowingly as he adds, "Unless you'd rather head back to HQ for the nigh—?"
"No!" she half yells, cutting him off before he can finish, as though if he had, she would be forced to go home. Enjin sniffs, composing herself and pointedly ignoring Delmon's stifled snorts before elaborating, "I mean, no. No, thank you."
Delmon stands and gives her a playfully mocking salute before heading towards the door, saying mostly to himself (but still loud enough for Enjin to hear), "Ah, young love..."
Enjin chooses not to waste time being embarrassed by that, instead leaping out of her seat and making a beeline towards the bar, pushing through the crowd with about as much grace as Rudo in a candy store. She hears, but pays no mind to, the irritated grunts and curses of people she elbows as she sidles her way up to Gris and the other cleaners.
Gris is facing away from her, but Semiu makes eye contact with her over Gris's shoulder, a look in her eyes that says something like, Oh here we fucking go.
Probably a fair assessment, because after shooting Semiu an unapologetic wink, Enjin slides behind Gris, wrapping her arms around her (ridiculously tiny, like really) waist possessively. She presses up against her back, and goes up on her toes ever so slightly so that she can rest her chin on Gris's shoulder and plant a wet smooch on her cheek.
"Hey," she says at the same moment Gris yelps in surprise, "Miss me?"
Gris grabs her hands, peeling them off of her (rude) and tugging Enjin in front of her to kiss her quickly on the lips (nice) before raising her eyebrows and answering, "You were only talking to Delmon for twenty minutes."
"Felt like hours," Enjin complains, "And you guys looked like you were having tons of fun without me, too, which made it worse."
She lets go of Gris's hands (warm, and strong, and soft, probably because of the gloves she wears on every mission, without fail) so that she can wrap one arm around her waist and lean into her side instead. Gris's arm flies up seemingly instinctively, returning the gesture and squeezing at Enjin's hip in a way that sends a tingling feeling down her spine.
Semiu rolls her eyes, glancing at Tomme, who giggles, before saying, "There is something seriously wrong with you."
Enjin opens her mouth to respond with something incredibly witty and hilarious, but goes silent when she feels Gris's hand slide—so casually it seems subconscious—underneath her baggy shirt, her warm fingers drawing patterns against Enjin's bare skin. Her brain goes a little blank, and then it's abruptly full of ideas, like dragging Gris out of the bar and into the alley outside, of grabbing that waist and lifting her up and pressing her up against the wall, and—
"You alright, Enjin?" Tomme asks, genuine concern clear on her face.
Enjin starts to say, "Uh, yeah I'm fi-" but her mouth goes dry as Gris pinches at her hip, just this side of too hard. She barely manages to not make a sound that would be highly inappropriate in front of present company. Gris runs her fingers back over the spot she pinched, and it feels like both an apology and a promise of more. Enjin doesn't have to look at Gris's face to feel her slight smirk.
Okay. So maybe it's not subconscious.
Semiu narrows her eyes then, her gaze flickering down and back up. Her lips part accusingly, but Gris speaks before she can say a word.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick."
Enjin, admittedly a little slow on the uptake because her brain is still fixated on the lingering sting at her hip, pulls away from Gris and says, "Okay! We'll wait for you."
Tomme says, "Oh, wow," and Semiu leans her face in her hand and sighs.
Gris, for what it's worth, looks amused and extremely fond. "Enjin," she repeats, smiling and raising her eyebrows meaningfully, "I'm going to go to the bathroom."
Enjin stares at her for a beat, then realizes.
"Oh." Her head spins slightly, understanding Gris's implication, understanding that Gris was perhaps having the same kind of thoughts as her. "Oh," she repeats, her cheeks heating up.
"Fucking ridiculous," Semiu says to Tomme, who doesn't disagree.
Or at least, Enjin thinks that's what happens. She isn't fully sure and honestly she doesn't really care, because after her second "oh," her brain had caught up and instructed her hand to grab Gris's and immediately pull her towards the hallway that led to the bathroom.
"In a rush, huh?" Gris says from behind her, laughter evident in her tone.
"You're the one who came onto me," Enjin says indignantly without turning around, letting out a quiet and embarrassingly giddy, "yes!" when she sees that the door to the single stall bathroom is unlocked.
She wrenches the door open, tugging Gris in with her as Gris says, "I'm sorry, you're the one who's been giving me bedroom eyes so intense I could feel them from across the bar for almost half an hour."
Their eyes meet properly for the first time as the door slams shut. Enjin moves forward into Gris's space without thinking, and Gris reaches behind herself and locks the door without breaking away from Enjin's gaze.
They drink in the sight of each other—bright blue eyes locked on molten gold, two sets of cheeks flushed dark—for just a moment.
And then Enjin surges forward, one arm encircling Gris's waist firmly and the other going underneath the top of her thighs, lifting her and pushing her up against the bathroom door.
Gris, to her credit, responds by wrapping her legs tightly around Enjin's waist and snaking her arms around her neck, gripping onto her shoulder tightly as their mouths find each other.
"Mngh, fuck, you’re so—" Enjin mumbles unintelligibly, sliding the hand she has around Gris's waist up and underneath her shirt. Her skin is hot—burning—to the touch, and Enjin can't help but groan into Gris's mouth at the realization, digging her fingers into her soft waist.
Gris strengthens her hold on Enjin's shoulders in response, grinding her hips forward against Enjin's stomach and deepening the kiss, and Enjin feels faint. Gris keeps moving against her, one hand sliding up to Enjin's hair, her fingers splayed through the messy locks.
They're pressed up so close to the door that Enjin can feel it rattling under the pressure of their combined weight, and she can hear the muffled music from the bar. She's barely aware of it though—Gris, she has learned over the last few weeks, is only polite and quiet in a professional setting.
Now—wrapped up in Enjin's arms and mouth, rutting against her waist almost frantically, the heat between them reaching a fever pitch—Gris is noisy. Not a single millisecond of separation between their lips passes without a gasp so breathy it sends shock waves down Enjin's spine, nor can Gris manage to reconnect their lips without moaning into Enjin's mouth, her breath hot and her tongue insistent.
Without thinking, Enjin moves one of her hands from Gris's waist down to her thigh—tightening her hold on her waist with the other, to make sure she stays securely against the door—and sneaks it under her shorts, fingers brushing against the soft, warm skin where her thigh meet her hip.
Somehow, despite the fact that all of the blood in her body feels like it's settled below her stomach, Enjin's brain manages to dreg up the memory of what Gris had said a few minutes—hours? days?—ago.
"You," Enjin asks shakily, in the half-breaths between kisses, "felt," kiss, "me," kiss, "staring?"
"Yes," Gris answers distractedly, sounding annoyed by the interjection, her hands sliding under the top of Enjin's tank top, grasping at her bare, tattooed shoulders. She grinds against Enjin's stomach again then, hard, and—
Okay, Enjin considers herself to be physically quite strong, definitely strong enough to keep this whole dry-humping-against-a-door thing going for several more minutes, at least. But her mental fortitude is shaking, well, a lot, every time Gris does that (and like she can read minds or something, Gris arches herself against Enjin again, and she may be hallucinating, or wishful thinking, but Enjin is fairly certain she can feel the slightest bit of dampness on the front of her shirt now and—)
Without bothering to warn her, Enjin reinforces her hold on Gris and steps back from the door (even without the warning, Gris instinctively tightens her legs around Enjin's waist and yeah, she is definitely wet, so wet that it can be felt through two layers of clothes, which is so hot she feels like her brain is short circuiting), backing her onto the bathroom counter instead.
Unable to not bring it up, Enjin pulls her head back (Gris whines in annoyance) and smirks. "Did my staring get you this turned on?" She glances down at where their hips are connected, to be clear in her meaning.
Gris glares, grabbing the back of Enjin's head and pulling her back in, but says against her lips, "You stare like you're trying to imbue me with anima, so yes," before slotting their mouths back together.
Enjin grins into the kiss, her hands at Gris's waist sliding down to grab at the top of her shorts. She pulls back for just a second, to make eye contact and make sure, but before she can form the question, Gris is nodding and wiggling her hips in answer.
She acquiesces immediately. Enjin grips Gris's waist and lifts her up just enough for her to be able to slide her own shorts down—they settle at her ankles, her work boots blocking them from hitting the floor—and she spreads her legs wide, exposing just how wet she truly is as she balances on the edge of the counter, her hips half dangling off of it.
Enjin feels light-headed.
"Fuck," she breathes, her hand moving of its own accord down to the waistband of Gris's drenched underwear. She pauses, looking back up at Gris and repeating, "Fuck, Gris, fuck, you're so—"
Gris grabs her hand and moves it away from where it's lingering, pressing it against the wet spot and grinding forward into Enjin's palm. "Can you," she says, her breathing stuttered and her tone laced with frustration, "Focus, please."
"Yes," Enjin says quickly, her heart pounding at the feeling against her hand. "Sorry."
Without wasting another moment, Enjin crowds forward into the small amount of space still between them, pulling Gris closer to her with one hand and taking control of the one that Gris had been manhandling. She pushes the heel of her palm against the outline of her through the thin fabric, and Gris bucks her hips forward at the same time, the friction dragging a quiet moan out of her.
Despite her apology two seconds previously, Enjin can't stop herself from babbling, "You feel so amazing—you look so hot, do you know how hot you are?" Enjin squeezes at one of Gris's bare thighs with her left hand as she presses and then drags a finger along the imprint of her entrance through the soaked cloth. "You're so fucking unreal, I can't believe you're mine."
Enjin really emphasizes that last word, and looks up to see Gris's cheeks burning, her pupils nearly swallowing the blue in her eyes completely. She looks like she's about to tell Enjin to focus again, but the surge of glee Enjin feels at the flustered reaction to her compliment is strong, and she can't bring herself to stop.
Enjin pulls her hand away from the spot between Gris's hips, smiling at the way Gris whines and jerks forward against nothing. Enjin doesn't comment, instead moving to toy with the buttons of Gris's stupid, still buttoned up shirt. "Can I take this off?"
Gris inhales sharply, then demands, "You take yours off."
Enjin doesn't argue, just nods obediently and grabs at the bottom of her tank top and lifts, tossing the fabric over her shoulder without looking. "Can I take yours off now? Please?"
Gris nods, and Enjin can tell that she's trying to give off the illusion of restraint. Enjin pretends that she's pulling it off, because she's nice like that, and chooses not to comment on the way she can see Gris's thighs trembling as she reaches forward and starts undoing the absurd amount of buttons.
And—okay, how is Enjin supposed to not continue her endless string of compliments? She slides Gris's now open shirt down her shoulders, just barely managing to restrain herself long enough to take a brief second to chuck it to the corner of the bathroom to join hers before diving forward, cupping one of Gris's breasts in her hand (a difficult feat only mostly achieved because Enjin's hands are large). She drops her head down to kiss—and suck—at the spot where they swell out of her sports bra. At the same time, Enjin's other hand slips beneath the waistband of Gris's underwear (she thinks she hears Gris groan "finally" under her breath), using two fingers to search for and then circle teasingly just around her clit.
Enjin has barely started to make a mark on the soft skin of Gris's chest when her words start to spill out again, partially on purpose and partially involuntarily. "I think you have the most perfect boobs of anyone who's ever lived," she says seriously, lifting her head to smirk up at Gris—to see her reaction.
This fails, kind of, because Gris has tilted her head back and is refusing to look at Enjin, her lips parted slightly and her breathing uneven. So, not really a failure.
Enjin dips back down and bites at the spot where she'd been sucking gently before, but she keeps the same slow, almost taunting pace as her fingers brush against Gris's clit for half a second before moving back to taunting circling. Gris's own fingers are tightly wound in Enjin's hair, and she's making frustrated little noises that encourage Enjin to continue exactly what she's doing. She keeps this up until she's left an erratic stream of red marks along Gris's chest, and her fingers are so wet that she's starting to struggle to control the precision of her teasing strokes.
Because she's feeling a little bit evil though, Enjin drags one of her fingers along Gris's entrance for just a second before pushing it in, slightly in awe at how easily it slides in—and extremely in awe at the way Gris leans her whole body into her touch as Enjin starts to move her finger in and out, quickly adding a second. It goes in so effortlessly that she wants to stop and marvel at that fact, but Gris doesn't let her, scooting herself closer still—enough so that she can hook her chin on Enjin's shoulder—moving one of her hands out of Enjin's hair and down to grab her wrist, trying to control the pace herself.
Enjin can feel that her own underwear is soaked through too, but she's not that worried about it at the moment. Instead, she focuses on keeping the rapid pace that Gris is silently demanding—or, demanding without words, anyways. She's decidedly not silent; she's panting against Enjin's neck, her breath warm, and she's holding Enjin's hair so tightly it stings a little.
But Enjin is feeling a little evil, and overwhelmed, and mostly just really not ready for this to be over yet. If the sounds Gris is making are any indication—choked gasps against the sensitive skin of Enjin's throat, leaving goosebumps behind—it just might be, if she doesn't do something. So, without warning, Enjin pulls her fingers all the way out, holding her hand in front of her and staring at the way her fingers are glistening in the dim bathroom light. It takes not even a full second for Gris to jerk her head back to glare, her desperate, hazy eyes meeting Enjin's amused gaze.
She opens her mouth to complain, probably, but falls silent as Enjin—overtaken with the sudden urge to try to truly break Gris's brain, just a little—slides her damp fingers into her own mouth, making a show of pulling them back out with a loud, wet smack.
Gris is looking at her like she's trying to blow her up with telekinesis.
"What—" she starts, going silent when Enjin launches forward again, not to kiss her, but to latch her mouth onto her neck, biting hard before sucking over the dark spot left behind.
"Enjin—" Gris tries again, but Enjin hears her own name morph into a moan as she slides one of her hands up to where Gris's hard nipples are visible through the flimsy fabric of her bra, her fingers dragging roughly against one.
She continues like this, one hand toying with Gris's hair where it falls just below her nape, and the other tormenting her chest. At the same time, her mouth is alternating between leaving marks in the most conspicuous places possible and talking incessantly.
"Gris, you're so fucking hot—You're so perfect, everything about you is so perfect, I want to—" Enjin pauses, sucking hard at the skin just above Gris's collarbone— "I could spend an entire day just kissing every part of you, would you like that?"
She doesn't wait for a response, just notes the way that Gris's grip on the back of her neck tightens before continuing—
"Do you think everyone knows what we're doing in here? Do you think they can hear you? Probably, you're so loud—"
Gris lets out a frustrated moan, so obscene that Enjin feels lightning shoot down her entire body, but she keeps going.
"Even if they can't hear you, they'll know when they see all these marks on your neck, they'll know you're mine—"
Gris moans again, genuine irritation seeping into it, and Enjin knows she's succeeded in pushing her right to the edge of sanity as she says—
"You make the most lewd sounds when I'm fucking you, do you know that?"
Gris yanks at her hair hard, and sounding almost near tears, moans, "Stop messing around and actually fuck me."
Ha.
Breathing heavily, Enjin pulls away from Gris's neck and makes eye contact with herself in the mirror—she struggles (and fails) to stifle the sound that bubbles up in her throat in response to what she sees.
Gris's neck—now littered with her trail of love bites—is flushed as pink as her face is, and the back of her blonde hair is a wreck, pointing in every direction.
And Enjin—well.
She looks feral.
Her pupils are blown wide, her shoulders rise and fall quickly, her kiss-swollen lips are still parted, and her just barely visible canines are glinting in the flickering bathroom light, giving the impression that she's a vampire who's just been rudely interrupted mid-meal.
With an apologetic smile on her lips, Enjin centers herself back in front of Gris, taking in the look on her face. Gris's left eye looks like it's on the verge of developing a permanent twitch and her chest is heaving in frustration.
"I'm sorry," Enjin starts to say, but Gris cuts her off.
"Stop talking."
Enjin blinks, startled, and opens her mouth again. "But, I—"
Gris grabs the back of her head, her fingers a vice grip in Enjin's hair, and snaps, "For fuck’s sake, put that big mouth to good use already," before unceremoniously pushing Enjin down to the floor.
Enjin is so turned on that she might explode before she can actually obey Gris's order.
She lets herself be shoved down, resisting for a few seconds just to lean forward and press a smattering of kisses down the center of Gris's defined abdomen. She hooks her fingers into the waistband of Gris's ruined underwear (Gris lifts herself up to help, because she has the most insane core strength of anyone Enjin’s ever met, of course) and yanks them down with her as she lands on her knees.
Enjin has to readjust slightly—the counter is a little too high, so she has to position herself in more of a low, awkward squat than a proper kneel, and she can feel her thighs burning with the strain of it, but she doesn't care. She can be sore tomorrow. She can be sore forever, honestly, if that's the cost she has to pay, because right now—
Her eyes are level with the space between Gris's spread thighs, and she has just a moment to admire how gorgeous, and open, and wet she is and to start to ask, "Have I ever told you that you have the prettiest pussy ev—" before Gris grabs her hair again and yanks her forward, effectively stifling any further questioning.
Enjin grabs onto Gris's thighs for support (and just because she loves Gris's thighs) and licks up the length of her cunt, grinning against the warmth of her when she feels Gris jerk against her mouth, letting out another loud, ridiculous, frankly pornographic moan. Enjin has a vague hunch that this isn't going to take very long.
She stands up just a little bit, to adjust her angle, and ignores the throbbing in her legs. Enjin eases her tongue up to Gris's clit, circling and teasing at it as she removes one of the hands holding one of Gris's thighs—latching onto the other one harder, to give herself some leverage—and brings it to join her mouth, running two long fingers along Gris's entrance.
Gris allows her approximately two seconds of taunting touch, and then her fingers tighten in Enjin's hair with such a ferocity that it makes her feel both incredibly sorry for and insanely jealous of every trash beast that has ever ended up in her grip.
She definitely gets the message though.
Enjin slips her fingers inside and begins pumping them in and out immediately, not bothering to take her time building up to it.
She finally presses her tongue properly against Gris's clit then, switching between lapping at it and putting pressure on it—the latter seems to make Gris's hips buck like she's being electrocuted, so she focuses on that method.
Enjin can tell Gris is close—her thigh is shaking intensely under Enjin's grasp, and she's clenching Enjin's hair so tightly that it sort of feels like her eyeballs might pop out of her head, but in a good way—so she curls her fingers inside her and sucks on her clit hard.
The sound Gris makes then makes Enjin contemplate becoming a poet, just so she can find some way to make sure that the beauty of that sound out of Gris's mouth is revered long after both of them are gone.
She doesn't get more than two seconds to think that though, because Gris's hands drop—giving Enjin's skull a brief breath of relief—just to be replaced immediately with her thighs, squeezing at Enjin's head as she rides out her orgasm.
Enjin thinks that if she dies here, that would be perfectly fine.
She doesn't die though—eventually, Gris's thighs fall to rest on the counter, and Enjin sinks down to her knees for half a second before collapsing backwards onto her ass.
They're both quiet for a second, the only sound in the room their overlapping heavy breathing, and then Gris says, poignantly, "Fuck."
Enjin, who is genuinely pondering the idea of laying back on the floor, even though it's a bar bathroom floor and she'll probably immediately get seventeen diseases if she does, nods in agreement. "Yeah."
Gris snorts, and Enjin jerks her head up to find her grinning. "After all that, now you've only got one word answers?"
Enjin rolls her eyes, pushing herself up off the floor with great effort—she opens her mouth to respond, but as soon as she makes it to her feet, she stumbles forward a bit, catching her hands on the counter.
Gris wraps an arm around her waist, holding her up and pulling her in for a long, wet kiss. When they break apart, Gris is smiling even wider.
"What?" Enjin asks suspiciously, though she feels herself return the smile even without an answer.
"Nothing, just," Gris pauses, looks for the words, and when she doesn't find them, cups Enjin's cheeks in her hands and pulls her in for another kiss.
Enjin goes happily, snaking her arms around Gris's waist, and her wobbly legs are barely noticeable as she sinks into the embrace. She probably could have stayed there forever, moved into that bathroom and started a family there, if Gris asked her to, but—
A loud, rapid knock echoes through the room.
"You two have five minutes to finish up whatever you're doing, and then we're going back to HQ without you!"
Enjin tilts her head back to meet Gris's eyes as Semiu's heels clack away on the other side of the door.
"Continue this in my room?" Gris asks, her eyes glinting.
"Yes," Enjin agrees immediately, nearly stumbling again as she rushes over to grab their shirts from the floor.