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The first time it comes up is after a round of loving, gentle sex. Eve has learned over time how Villanelle likes gentle strokes, soft words, affirmations of care—Villanelle positively glows when Eve tells her she’s wonderful in bed. Mind you, her ego doesn’t need the help, but Eve tries for honesty in their relationship when possible. Goodness knows it’s odd enough as it is.
Villanelle is, unsurprisingly, a cuddler. They share a fleecy throw on the old couch that Eve bought with Niko after a round of gentle love-making, a felt-covered plush sofa that feels like home, and leans her head against Villanelle’s shoulder. Her hand rests on her knee, gently drawing patterns while she hums her content.
“Villanelle?” Eve murmurs, careful of the quiet safety of the moment.
“Yes Eve?”
“I—I love you.”
“I love you too Eve.” Villanelle smiles, eyes gentle and gleaming in the dim light. Her hair looks golden, highlighting her cheekbones like homespun rays of light. Eve reaches her hand up to cup Villanelle’s face, but accidentally bumps her chin instead. A little too hard.
“Ow, Eve! Are you trying to hurt me?”
Eve laughs and readjusts to cup her face. “Oh please.” Her thumb strokes across Villanelle’s cheek, gently tracing the pink flush across her face. “I’ve hurt you much worse before, and I’m pretty sure you liked it.”
Villanelle freezes, eyes open and suddenly motionless. Her wide eyes lock onto Eves. Her breathing stops. She is absolutely still.
“Villanelle?” Eve tries. Silence. “Hey. Hey baby, hey. You okay?”
Villanelle blinks. She comes back into herself, smiling. “Yes, Eve. I am fine.”
“Where did you go just now?”
“I—I had a thought. It is not to be worried about Eve.” Villanelle grins, her bright teeth gleaming in the warmly dim light. “Can you tell me how much you love me again? I am amazing in bed you know, much better than Mustache Man.”
Eve groans and rolls her eyes, leaning back into Villanelle and letting her change the subject. Later though, when getting ready for bed, she sees Villanelle touch her chin where Eve had bumped it, gently, with two fingers, staring off in thought.
———
A week later, Vilanelle comes to Eve with a sheet of paper.
Villanelle has wanted for a week now. She did not know where this came from, this unholy need. She does not know why it came about so suddenly, when she and Eve were really enjoying a lovely night together, with some very good sex and quality cuddling and making fun of the Mustache Man. Villanelle is an excellent cuddler and even better in bed: she strives to be good for Eve at all things.
Be good for Eve.
Villanelle blinks at the thought. She likes making Eve happy, this is not news. She has always enjoyed watching lovely Eve smile, making her smile. Villanelle makes her laugh, in bed and outside, and is very funny. She does not kill random people on the street because Eve would not like it, and she has tried to learn this communication that Konstantin and Irina say are important in keeping Eve happy. She even bought fresh flowers the other day, and remembers Eve’s soft quiet smile as she gently traced a downy petal with her finger.
So she likes making Eve happy. But the other day, she had made Eve very happy and made her come multiple times (Villanelle is very good in bed) but when Eve smiled and said she loved her, something ached in her chest.
And then Eve has bumped her chin. Villanelle holds her own hand to her chin and traces it down to her neck. She gently wraps her own hand around her throat. The thing in her chest stirs again, but her mind quiets. This is what she wants, she is sure. She would like to try this thing, this desire to have Eve’s hand around her neck. She wants Eve to be happy, she wants to make Eve happy, but she wants to be good for Eve too, and that is a whole different thing.
So Villanelle does what she does best—she goes by her instincts. She finds a silvery necklace: something simple, loose, with a round clasp and no adornments. She writes down this want, because Konstantin says it is good to write things down. She settles in herself and prepares to ask Eve.
Eve, who is so good at giving, who understands Villanelle like no one else, will do this thing for her. Villanelle is sure of it. Eve is, after all, hers as much as she is Eve’s. This will work.
———
“Eve? Can we speak for a little?”
Eve looks up from her laptop. She’s been crouched on her office chair, legs crossed and wrapped up in her seat, twirling her hair around her finger as she is wont to doing when she is stressed. There’s a new trail of bodies, and the killer isn’t obvious in the way Villanelle is, and Eve is under a time crunch. Carolyn has, per usual, been unreadable, but Hugo and Jess are working overtime despite the facade of carelessness and Eve wants to figure this out.
Villanelle steps across the threshold of her office, holding a sheet of crumpled paper in both hands. She looks surprisingly vulnerable, wide-eyed and hands clenching and unclenching, wrinkling the paper more. This, more than anything else, gives Eve pause. Since when does Villanelle look so hesitant?
“Of course.” Eve glances back down to her laptop and shuts the monitor. That will keep.
Villanelle walks over to Eves desk and sits down, lowering herself gently into the ground next to Eve’s chair. She looks at the crumpled paper once more and thrusts it out at Eve, as if ematrassed yet eager at the same time.
“Is this for me?”
Villanelle rolls her eyes. “No Eve, I clearly gave you something that’s not for you. Yes, obviously. Read it.” A pause. “Please,” she adds quietly.
Eve looks at the crumpled paper in her hand. It is a printout from the internet, a page on...submission? She scans it. It talks about a domination and submission relationship in general broad strokes. She sees Villanelles tell-tale scribble next to a phrase “power exchange.” Villanelle has underlined it and written next to it “being good.”
Eve looks up. Villanelle is watching her, cat-like eyes darting from her eyes to the paper and back.
“Villanelle? What is this?”
“I think it would be obvious, Eve.”
Eve nods, slowly. “I need you to spell it out for me.”
Villanelle blinks, once. “I would like to try this thing, this submission. I enjoy being good for you, Eve. I think this would be enjoyable for both of us.”
Eve glances back down at the paper. “Oksana—“
Villanelle hisses. “Do not call me that Eve. You know I do not like it.”
Eve nods slowly. “Right, I’m sorry. Villanelle—” Eve takes a breath. “Are you sure? This is...different, from anything we’ve done. I don’t even know if I can do this, goodness knows I’ve never done anything like this before.”
Villanelle blinks, and then looks away. She rests her head on Eve’s lap, and Eve automatically brings her hands to stroke her lover’s tresses. “I have not done this before either,” Villanelle admits as Eve cards her hair. “I have not trusted anyone as I do you, Eve. But I want to try, if you do too. I want to be good for you.”
“You are good to me, Villanelle. You’re kind, you’re thoughtful, I mean, wow, you’re unsurprisingly excellent in bed, not that your ego needs to hear it, and you always fold the laundry—“
Villanelle shakes her head abruptly, once. Eve raises her hands from Villanelle’s soft strands and waits. Her girlfriend settles back in, and Eve resumes touching her.
“That is different, Eve,” she says. “I am good to you because I work hard, you know? I want to be good for you.” Villanelle stills, and quiets. “I enjoy being good for you Eve. It makes my head quiet. It feels nice. Does that make sense?”
Eve glances back to the paper she placed on top of her laptop. She thinks of young Oksana, an overachiever with parents who didn’t care, who abandoned her. She thinks of teenaged Oksana, and Anna, who broke through her tough shell with praise and kind words, and how Oksana responded with gifts and a drive to be academically excellent. She thinks of Villanelle, who wanted Eve to see her kills as if they were works of art splayed out for her approval. And she thinks of herself, the gentle protectiveness she feels for deadly Villanelle, who has ripped out throats with her bare teeth but couldn’t hurt Eve even when ordered to. “Yeah, yeah it does.”
Villanelle turns and looks up at her, wide eyes open and expressive. “So you will think about this?” she asks.
Eve nods. “Yes. Can I get back to you? On if I want to try?”
Villanelle springs up to her feet, plants a quick smooch on Eve’s forehead. “Of course!” she chirps, chipper again. Eve blinks. Villanelle can shift moods in a second, and sometimes it gives her whiplash to try to keep up. “In the meantime, I am going to go shopping Eve. I will buy you some beautiful clothes too, hmm?” She saunters out, wiggling her fingers behind her in a mocking goodbye.
“No. Villanelle...Villanelle! Can you just get some eggs please?”
Villanelle’s cackle can be heard from down the hall. “I will get eggs for you Eve, and a beautiful dress too. It will be wonderful.” The front door slams behind her.
Eve sighs and rests her head in her arms. Well, at least they’ll have eggs again. Hopefully.
———
It doesn’t come up again for another week. Eve spends the week delving in depth in research—on this new killer yes, but also on the intricacies of domination and submission. She reads up on the responsibility of being a good domme, brainstorms ideas, and plays with different scenes in her head.
Eve isn’t...inexperienced. She and Niko definitely tried new things once in awhile to keep things interesting, and after 15 plus years of marriage one eventually had to bring something new to the table occasionally. Her and Niko’s fumbling had more to do with sex in slightly exciting places or fun new outfits than anything this serious. She remembers Niko once buying her edible underwear, something so cheap that it fell apart the moment she put it on. They had laughed about it and carried on.
This...thing with Villanelle is different. Villanelle basks in luxury—she adorns Eve in La Perla and Agent Provocateur, as if covering her in expensive lingerie could minimize the simple (“Foul,” Villanelle insisted once, screwing up her face in disgust) clothing that she wore regularly. She and Villanelle laughed in bed too, but it was different—each time they came together felt like a rush of epinephrine and adrenaline, and Eve often came so hard she ached for hours after. Their sex life was intense, passionate, ferocious: completely different from her experience with Niko.
Eve wants to do this right. So she researches, carefully documenting and bookmarking useful sights, dogmarking pages in books she found helpful. After a week of reading, she approaches Villanelle.
Villanelle is cooking (at her insistence, because Eve would “burn down the kitchen, and then The Twelve will come for us, and Eve, we will not be able to have good sex anymore and it will be sad”). It smells amazing, of rosemary and warm crisped fats, and Eve tentatively sits down at her kitchen table. The one Villanelle fake-poisoned her at. Jesus, their relationship was weird.
“I want to try it,” Eve starts.
Villanelle hums. “Hmm? I am sorry Eve, the pork fat hasn’t really crusted yet, we should wait for it to be really crunchy first, no?” She stabs at the pork, slightly viciously as if it were the dead pig’s fault for not crisping quickly enough.
Eve smiles at her girlfriend, and shakes her head. “No, I mean the...domination thing. I guess submission for you? I don’t know. That thing we talked about. I want to try it, if you still want to?” Her voice comes up, in a question. She’s not sure she’s doing this right—hell, she’s not sure she’s doing any of this right.
Villanelle blinks at her owlishly, and turns down the heat from the stove. She covers up her cast-iron pan (“non-stick Eve! Really? No wonder you left Niko”) and comes to sit down next to Eve. Her hand reaches across and holds onto Eve’s, similar to the first time they met in this kitchen.
“Are you sure Eve?” Villanelle looks soft and warm in the yellow kitchen lights. Her eyes are expressive and open, her skin glowing.
Eve melts, as she always does. Villanelle being honest and open with is something she’ll never quite get used to—the gentle vulnerability and quiet hope. “Yes. Yeah, I’m sure. I think it’ll be good, you know? Keep things interesting, and uh, I mean I don’t have experience but I’m willing to try?”
Villanelle nods. “I do. With you Eve, I want to try this thing. Maybe next Saturday, after dinner? It would be the weekend, and so we can be well-rested.” She shifts her hand to grasp Eve’s more firmly. “I have a necklace I want to wear, for when we do this thing.”
Eve nods. “Yeah, that might be good. To help...separate things?” Eve winces.
Villanelle ignores it. “Yes. I would like you to put it on me, Eve. It will be nice.” Her face is serious but open and optimistic.
Eve giggles. “Nice. Yeah, nice.” She feels a grin spread across her face, and Villanelle smiles back. Her hands are cradling and soft. Her smile is warm, and spreads through Eve like a strong cognac by the fire, from her toes to her scalp.
———
The following Saturday evening, after dinner, Villanelle goes to her jewelry box. She finds the simple silver chain, lets it trickle through her fingers, judges the weight. She nods, decisively, and brings it to Eve, who is sitting on the living room couch.
“Do you want to try this thing now, Eve?” Her voice is steady, controlled. Villanelle does not get nervous, not about this, not about anything. But Eve, oh, beautiful wonderful lovely Eve, is doing this new thing with her, maybe Eve is nervous for her? Villanelle understands that. Villanelle can be calm for Eve.
Eve nods. “Yeah, now is good,” she breathes. She pats the space next to her on the sofa, and Villanelle sinks down gracefully. Eve brushes her hair back, over her shoulder, and gently brings the necklace around Villanelle’s neck. The cold chain shocks her a little, but she exhales as Eve’s warm hands close the clasps. Villanelle closes her eyes, breathes in. And out. She feels the air flowing through her nose and mouth, the smells of spices, home, and Eve.
Eve watches her lover, watches her breathing. She strokes Villanelle’s hair gently, and eases her so that Villanelle’s head is resting in her lap again. She continues to card her hair, weaving her fingers in and out of the honey-golden strands and studies Villanelle‘s chest’s rise and fall. She hums, some white noise just to fill the space, and continues to stroke Villanelle’s hair—not braiding it, but calmly, with a simple rhythm of touch.
Villanelle’s breathing slows. She quiets, stills. She sinks deeper. She feels her mind drift, going to a place where nothing matters except this, this moment of Eve’s hands in her hair and Eve’s lap being warm and Eve Eve Eve Eve Eve.
“Are you okay,” Eve says, soft.
Villanelle breathes, feels her throat work. “Yeah,” she says, almost detached. “Yeah.” She breathes in, out. She shivers.
“C’mere,” Eve murmurs, soft. Her hands are firm in Villanelle’s hair, around her neck, guiding her. Villanelle follows, shifts so that her face can rest against Eve’s shoulder. She feels the soft cotton of Eve’s sweater against her cheek.
“You’re doing so good, Villanelle. So good,” Eve breathes. “You looks gorgeous here.” Villanelle nods, in agreement or acknowledgement. She feels the sweater shift underneath her as she moves her head. Her brow furrows a little, wanting to taste Eve, wanting Eve’s skin under her, and why is this stupid sweater in the way? Sweaters are dumb. Eve is soft and warm and safe. She shifts, nuzzles until she finds Eve’s collarbone, and mouths at her skin. She feels boneless and happy.
“There we go,” Eve murmurs. Her voice is so steady, so calm. She tucks a strand of hair back behind Villanelle’s ear. “You’re doing so good baby. You look so beautiful like this.” Villanelle shivers, feeling the words spread through her torso and down to her toes. She feels like she’s floating, Eve’s words a gentle current of warmth surrounding her. She is a raft, and Eve is the ocean surrounding her, cradling her.
“You’re doing so good baby. I love you. You look beautiful like this, you look so calm. You’re wonderful baby, you’re gorgeous.” A pause. “Can you look at me, Villanelle? I want to see those eyes. Look at me please baby?”
Oksana blinks. Her brain is heavy, and it feels like she’s wading through clouds to think. Eve wants what? To look at her? She looks up at Eve, at her gentle brown eyes and glorious hair. The living room lights glow behind her, halo-ing her beautiful curls. Oksana breathes, feels her mouth slip open, her throat working, but no sounds comes out. Eve is stunning.
“Villanelle?” Oksana blinks, her brow furrowing. Her eyes are glazed over and hazy, her pupils blown.
“Eve?” She mumbles, gravelly and low. She tucks her head back under Eve’s chin, where it’s quiet. She feels thick, clumsy, like her limbs don’t work sharply anymore.
Eve brings her hand back up to her hair, pulls it gently but firmly. “Look at me please,” she says again, lacing iron into her voice. Oksana cannot say no—she can never say no to Eve, and so she shivers and looks up again. “Oh, there you are. Oksana,” she breathes.
Oksana nods. Yes, that is her. She makes a soft noise of assent, and tucks back into Eve.
“I love you, Oksana. I love how amazing you are, how you’re being so good for me. Sometimes I feel like, when you’re in the room, the room is brighter, you know? Colors are more vibrant. And when you leave, god, its like you take the colors and oxygen with you. My chest hurts when you leave, Oksana. The world is so much more beautiful with you in it. I love you, so much.”
Oksana nods. Yes, she feels this too. Her mind feels drunk, slow. She tries to agree, to nod with Even but—no, then she will not be able to feel Eve’s smooth skin against her lips. She whines in the back of her throat, frustrated.
Eve rubs her knee gently, shushing her. “Shh, shh. It’s okay, Oksana. I’m so glad you trust me with this. I know you’re being good right now. You are a marvel, Oksana. You’re doing so good for me, you know? Thank you for trusting me.”
Oksana nods. Her head quiets. She likes being good for Eve.
———
Ten minutes later, ten minutes of this slow gentle calm, Eve reaches over for a blanket. Villa—no, Oksana, whimpers, cries out. Her hands grasp at Eve, fisting into her sweater.
“Shh, shh. I’m right here.” Eve brings the blanket from the back of the couch over Oksana, and covers her. “Talk to me, baby. Come back to me, yeah?” She watches her lover carefully, watches her shift under the blanket and relax again. Her hands clench and unclench, and Eve reaches behind her to stroke her neck and play with the fine hairs there. She gently lifts the necklace, stroking the skin underneath. “How’re you doing?”
Villanelle blinks. “Good,” she says, voice rough. She sounds like she just woke up from a nap, or had some really good sex—her voice is gravelly and low, and it shoots straight to Eve’s core. She notices the blanket covering her, and looks at Eve. Eve is staring at her, her brown eyes calmly anchoring. Villanelle blinks again and stirs, coming back into herself.
“Good. Can you drink some water for me?” Eve asks. She brings a glass of water from the coffee table to Villanelle, carefully handing it over.
Villanelle grasps it with both hands, drinks deeply, and exhales. “Wow.” She breathes, reaches above her head to touch her hair, patting it and stretching her arms out. She sets the glass down on the table, one hand reaching over while the other lowers the blanket and spreads some of it over Eve.
Eve bites her lip. Yeah, wow. “You okay? I lost you for a little bit there.”
Villanelle nods, firmly, her actions regaining their usual crispness. “Yes, thank you Eve. That was...very nice. Enlightening, so to speak.”
Eve nods, motions for Villanelle to turn around and gently takes the necklace off. Her hands are cooler now, and Villanelle feels the cold silver slip off her throat. She rolls her neck, as if a heavy weight has been lifted, and stands up and stretches. She plops back down onto the couch, head nuzzling Eve and kissing her cheek.
“Wow,” Eve remarks dryly. “You’re like a cat.”
“Hmm, yes. I am very smart yes? Not like dogs, who are dumb.”
Eve chuckles. “Yeah. Sure. You sure are affectionate though.”
Villanelle nods seriously, pecking Eve’s cheek once more for good measure. “I enjoyed that, Eve. We should try again, but next time with sex.” She waggles her eyebrows. Her arms encircle Eve, cradling her.
Eve laughs, and nods. “I’m going to have to do more research if we’re playing like this again, but yeah, it was nice. Thank you for trusting me,” she adds, seriously. “I know its...different, and a lot. But it felt really good to see you calm like that.”
Villanelle agrees. She still feels light, like the world is a little quieter and simpler. She does not feel the almost undying urge she usually has, the scratching sensation under her fingernails to rip and rend and shred. She feels—calm. At peace. She smiles at Eve. “Yes. I too will do more research Eve. Next time we try this it should be with sex.” She tilts her head towards the stairs, her face relaxed and warm. “We should go to bed though, yes? We are doing brunch with Elena tomorrow.”
Eve nods, and smiles. She takes Villanelle’s hand and follows her upstairs.
———