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Her fingers were rough, calloused, their strength obvious in the way she–
“Caitlyn?”
Cait jumped, startled by her mother’s voice cutting the stillness she’d cultivated like a knife from the now open doorway. She clutched the book to her chest, stammering “Y-yes?” as a blush colored her cheeks.
“You should have been asleep hours ago, young lady.”
“I’m–,” her bedroom was dark enough to obscure the heat beneath her porcelain skin, the city below them loud enough to drown out her thumping heart, “–I’m sorry, Mother. I was…studying.”
“Well, your studies can wait until morning,” her mother chastised. “Goodnight, Caitlyn. Jayce will expect you to be alert tomorrow while you assist him.”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” she repeated, her fingers going white from pressure on the book’s now well-worn cover. “Goodnight.”
With a nod of her head and perhaps a subtle smile (perhaps a trick of the light), Mrs. Kiramman disappeared back into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind her, leaving Cait in near darkness once more.
Cait took a deep breath to calm the twist in her gut as her fingers finally relaxed their grip, anxiety passing. Her mind wandered back to the strength of the swashbuckling heroine’s hands…and yet their tenderness as they caressed the cheek of the maiden always in need of rescuing.
Caitlyn didn’t appreciate that aspect of the story, the flimsy archetype of the helpless leading lady. She’d only ever known women who were in charge–her mother, a councilor; her mentor, the Sheriff of Piltover. She didn’t recognize the damsel’s dysfunction, but how her heart sped when the charming rogue smiled at her? Took her face in her hands, kissed her cheek, her lips, her neck…the hollow of her throat and lower…lower still…
The flush from her cheeks spread to her chest as Cait read on, her body hot now, stiff beneath the covers, her stomach turning somersaults as the damsel’s dress was pulled from her shoulders, the heroine’s eyes boring into her, leaving her bare, raw as she’s physically stripped of her clothing.
It’s when she drops to her knees before the maiden, bright white teeth bearing down on her own bottom lip, eyes wild, hungry–that Caitlyn slammed the book shut.
She knew what came next, she’d read it many times before. Curious at first, and then needy, craving. Tonight, though, she was restless. Her hands clenching and relaxing above the covers. Always above the covers. Cait squeezed her legs together, slamming her eyes shut to resist that ever intensifying urge…but behind her eyes were the lips of the charming heroine, plump and kiss-moistened, her–
Cait’s self control finally abandoned her, fingers somehow simultaneously soothing and amplifying the familiar but unexplored throbbing between her legs.
/
It didn’t take Caitlyn long to recognize prisoner 516–Vi–, not from any personal experience, but as the ideal she’d been lusting after since she was 14. The one who lived in the pages of her book, untouched by time or circumstance.
The Vi before her didn’t seem to consider herself a leading lady, but Caitlyn’s books had always been unconventional in that regard, so she brushed aside Vi’s early unwillingness to admit the depths of her empathy, the strength of her moral convictions. If this was a hero’s journey, they were on it together and this was only the beginning.
For all Vi’s brusqueness, her bravado, her impatience, she always had a smirk to spare. A wandering eye, a lift of an eyebrow, a brush of her fingers against Cait’s shoulder, arm, hand…god, Cait wanted her, in the silliest most teenage, heart pounding, breath quickening sort of way. The way she’d wanted the charming rogue just before she’d slam the book shut.
“And what do I have?”
“You’re hot, Cupcake.”
Cait wasn’t sure where to look. Certainly not Vi’s eyes–gray and wide, her expression perhaps knowing, perhaps hopeful (perhaps indifferent). She found her lips briefly, that scar demanding her attention just for a split second, just long enough for Cait to imagine tracing it with her finger…her tongue…
“So what’ll it be? Man or woman?”
What a simple question, one she’d never been asked, despite how easily the answer flashed in her mind, despite having known that answer for some time.
“Um–,”
Um? Um?!
The damsel had never answered um , never one time! Despite all her helplessness, all her near-slips and giggled apologies in the heroine’s arms as she was carried to safety–never had she been so daft as to answer UM .
Now Caitlyn was Matilda, furthering her embarrassment with a less than alluring accent as Vi walked away, moving on with their…mission, right.
She was better with the woman that came after, naturally. Cait’s training hadn’t exactly put her into an undercover situation yet, but listening to a beautiful woman talk about…whatever it is she was talking about, had never been something she’d had to practice at.
There were near death experiences in between–a bartered rifle, shimmer, hot breath on her lips, their noses nearly touching, eyes imploring, wanting…helping. Caitlyn could help, she realized. On this small scale that represented so much more. She could help Vi, she could help these people– her people. An unhinged sister, a desperate plea for mercy to an unknown ally, a solemn goodbye, a trap.
“Caitlyn!”
Her name. My name . Not ‘Cupcake’, but Caitlyn , from Vi’s lips like a plea–the fear palpable, sounding broken.
Vi ran back to her, more gallant than any swashbuckling heroine, hero, that had ever occupied the pages of her vast library. Sliding back to her on her knees, cupping her face with strong, calloused hands. Rough, but so soft for her. Gentle, reverent.
“Violet…” Cait whispers against her scarred lips, that breath the only thing separating them on Cait’s grand canopy bed.
The sound that pulled from Vi’s throat was immaculate. Want , pure and unadulterated.
Cait’s the one who closes that space, bridges the divide, eyes closed, fully trusting Vi will be there on the other side. And she is, with lips and teeth and tongue and hunger. With strength as she rolls them over, minding Cait’s newly bandaged leg as she presses her down, down into the softness that surrounds them, the sensation now alien to both of them after the days they’d shared.
Days. Can that be right?
Caitlyn’s known Vi, in this bed, beneath these covers, with her mother kicking the door open–gun in hand–since she was 14 years old. Curious at first, then needy, craving …she’d known this want, this passion, this sensation, and yet…nothing can compare. Nothing can compare to the real Vi–not the charming, roguish ideal. But the real Vi, with her faults and her rough edges and her scars. With her smiles and her winks and her eyes. Soft. beholding Caitlyn like she’s something precious, something worth believing in, worth trusting, worth fighting for.
Nothing can compare to Vi’s lips on her own, on her cheeks, her neck…the hollow of her throat and lower…lower still…
It felt like something timeless, this love of theirs, this storybook ending that was really nothing but an intermission. Not a lie, but certainly a suspension of reality, of responsibilities. It could wait. The rest could wait. The world and all it’s injustices. The council and Piltover and the undercity and Jinx and Silco. They could all wait for this, as Caitlyn had been waiting all her life in this bedroom fit for a princess. As Vi had been waiting in that underground cell.
Prisoner 516–Vi. Her hero, her partner. Her precious thing. Her secret, for now, clutched to her chest in the dark, the city below them loud enough to drown out their muffled moans as they moved in tandem, with desperation and something else. Something neither dared name just yet.
“Please,” Cait whispered, suddenly needing everything. Wanting to absorb anything Vi had to spare. “Please make me–I want to–,”
“Good girl,” she felt the words vibrate against the shell of her ear. “Can you feel me? I’m here.”
“Yes, yes you– Violet…”
Cait had never been able to piece her self control back together after that first night, and now she was glad. Glad to have never lived a lie because this, now…she’d never settle for anything less.