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Trish is, in a word, infuriating. Sometimes Lady could almost forget this fact in between moments of competition and one upmanship but then she'd walk into Devil May Cry on a Tuesday to find Trish lounging on Dante's desk in Lady's own outfit without a care in the world and she’d crawl under Lady's skin all over again and make herself at home there like she never left. Maybe she hasn't. Maybe she hasn't been anywhere else since they beat the shit out of each other in that church, the way they scrabbled at each other lighting a fire in Lady like no one or nothing else. The thought is almost too fond for her current irritation and Lady crosses her arms, leveling a flat look at Trish. "What the hell do you think you’re wearing?”
Trish’s shoulder barely moves when she shrugs. She cards a hand through her hair, meeting Lady's gaze with thinly veiled amusement, the curl of her lips as annoying as it is attractive. Trish has lounging on Dante's desk down to an art form. “Oh, hey, Lady,” she says like this entire meeting is coincidental and not orchestrated with the sole purpose of pissing Lady off. “Thought I'd try a new look.”
“New, huh,” Lady says, voice and mouth flatter than ever. “Funny, how your ‘new’ look looks exactly like my current one.”
Trish tilts her head, pretending to squint. She taps her chin with one perfectly manicured nail. “Hm. I suppose there are similarities.” Trish rises from her reclined position, pushing herself off Dante's desk to walk around Lady in a tight circle, fingers plucking lightly at the collar of Lady's shirt. They graze her collarbone and Lady has to fight not to shiver. Trish leans down to put her mouth by Lady's ear, the smile in her voice all but audible. “Who wore it better, do you think?”
Lady swallows and closes her eyes, standing for a long moment with Trish in her space, Lady seething and wanting, Trish's breath stirring the hair by her ear. She snaps, grabbing Trish and shoving her until Trish's knees hit the back of the desk and Trish is leaning back on her palms, smiling up at Lady with a smile that is as smug as it is serene. “You're such an asshole," Lady mutters, biting that perfect mouth. The noise Trish makes is the most gratifying sound in the world. "How'd you feel if I started walking around in a corset and leather pants, huh?”
Trish curves a hand around the back of Lady's neck and pulls Lady down on top of her, huffing with amusement against Lady's mouth. “Now there's a visual,” Trish says, drawing Lady's lip between her teeth, "but I think I prefer you like this."
Lady snorts, shifting into a less awkward position, a disbelieving smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “Mad and horny?"
Trish laughs and the sound sparks something long dead in Lady's chest. It feels like the electricity that lives under Trish's skin, a livewire that sparks from everywhere they touch. “That too," Trish murmurs with a smile, eyes bright, and they kiss, long and deep.
This thing between them—it’s not new but it’s not exactly old either. They don’t put a label on it, don’t define it in any specific way. Trish is a rival, a co conspirator, a friend. They rile each other up, egg each other on, and Lady likes it, likes them. And if Lady studies the creases by Trish's eyes when she smiles with unusual intensity, if Lady lingers over her nose or the shape of her mouth and is struck by another word entirely, throat swelling almost painfully around it, well. She just swallows and keeps swallowing.
Lady leans their foreheads together when the kiss ends, huffing out a laugh and snaking a hand over the exposed skin of Trish’s stomach. “Have you really been sitting here for the better part of a day waiting to pull this shit on me? You are actually insane.”
"I prefer underrated genius," Trish tries to say, straight-faced, but her eyes are bright and she is giving the tiniest of shivers under Lady's hands. Trish pulls back just enough to slide her mouth over Lady's cheekbone and Lady turns her head to meet it, pressing her smile there.
"Sure you are," Lady murmurs against Trish's mouth. “Crazy bitch."
"Say that less fondly next time," Trish murmurs back, just as intimate and warm. "I might just believe you."
"Crazy bitch," Lady says with greater feeling and Trish throws back her head and laughs, loud and bright, the fall of her hair, the long, pale line of her throat, the shuddering of her shoulders all coalescing into something that pulls at Lady’s traitorous heart, making her smile along even as it stumbles in Trish's wake.