Chapter Text
she stands in front of the mirror, dressed in clothing that feels alien to her. there are several steps to this, she knows, and she’s dreading – sees the contraptions these devils call useful spread across the table before her, waiting. taunting her. head tilts, teeth nip the inside of soft, pink lips. raven takes her time as she zips herself in from the spine up, arches her back at her leisure for own benefit.
“having some trouble there?”
dark hues flicker to one’s reflection, sees the other standing there, watching. arms fold across broad chest, foot tucks behind lower calf. their eyes meet. she does not miss that the door, previously slightly ajar, is now shut.
“what, you’re gonna help me with my zipper?” playful. dangerous game, she treads.
he snorts. “you don’t look like you need it.”
pulling her hair back. “too bad.” she makes sure she does not break eye contact with him. not that she needed to put forth the effort, nor does she completely hate what she sees. he’s got some pretty eyes to look at.
“you need to hurry up. we don’t have all day.”
“yes, sir.”
handsome features form a grimace. “please don’t call me that.”
“force of habit. try not to take it too personally.”
“trust me. I won’t.”
“I’m not counting on it.” she begins the next - multiple - steps, swift, yet midnight eyebrows scrunch, form crinkled mask across traditionally relaxed features as eyes appraise. sees how every buckle and strap are shaped, determines where it goes. moving with purpose. slender digits fumble a bit with uncertainty. he grows impatient.
“stop. you’re doing it wrong.” reaches her in three long strides, swatting her hands away. “didn’t anyone teach you how to fasten a damn buckle?”
“didn’t your mother teach you any manners?”
“relax.“ the honey in his eyes darkens. she’s touched a nerve. "I’m not trying to get fresh with you.”
his knuckle brushes against the swell of her left breast as he fastens her in, across the bosom, slips expert fingers under each strap to make sure they are secure. she blinks. he clears his throat.
anyway.
“watch yourself.” voice low. heads a warning that falls soft on the tongue, yet his hands, so big, so strong she knows, so steady, leave a trail of flames in their wake. is this some kind of devil’s trick?
“yeah,” he grumbles. “that’s not too tight, is it?”
she wrinkles her nose, as if he’s emitting an odor, but the irony is he doesn’t smell all that bad? “I can still breathe, I guess.”
“it’s not supposed to be comfortable.”
she wonders if falco and gabi are alright. “I see.”
“you’ll get used to it.”
wonders if this world - this devil’s world - has been kind to them. “yeah.”
as kind as jean kirschstein had been to her.