Work Text:
Revy smokes whatever cigarettes are available, cheap, and quickly finished. The ash is carelessly tapped off, occasionally burning herself when too drunk to pay attention to the burning end.
She stood outside Hotel Moscow, leaned on the concrete barrier, waiting for a taxi. A cigarette held between her teeth, another drag taken. The carton in her pocket is smashed from Balalaika’s groping and her lips are still swollen from her kiss. Balalaika was just as horrible addicting as nicotine, left waiting for another fix, needing Balalaika’s lips pressed to her mouth in the same fashion. The taste lingered still even with the fresh cigarette.
Even so, the relationship itself felt like an illusion, as temporary as smoke. But in that office, it built up until it obscured everything and became suffocating to the occupants. The result of a slow burn, leaving a sticky tar that would go unnoticed until absolutely coated in it.
Balalaika smokes cigars, leaving expensive, heavy plumes of smoke floating in the air. It’s all procedural, the guillotine, and large lighter or nice matches, and then held carefully between long, slim fingers.
That’s the way their relationship was hidden, in Balalaika’s mind.
Smoke and mirrors.
Lies.
There was always a job. Always a reason for Revy to be out.
Balalaika held the cigar between two fingers, leaning forward and breathing into Revy’s mouth. Revy inhaled the smoke, grabbing onto Balalaika, one arm firmly around her waist, trying to pull her in. It was not enough to breathe her in—she needed the woman to suffocate her completely in the kiss.
The exchange was done, and Balalaika took another drag, leaning down to press their lips together again. She exhaled, and Revy inhaled, and then as she went to breathe out, Balalaika sucked on her lip, parting her lips further to take Revy’s tongue into her mouth, sucking.
Arousal burned between them, Balalaika’s cigar smudged in the ashtray after a final drag. She hated that the cigar would last longer than their time together, the quarter finished-cigar a horrible timer; she kissed Revy again, the exchange of smoke less coordinated this time as Revy panted into it.
“Two-hands, mm…” she brought her freed hand back, tugging on burgundy strands, pressing her against the desk, “I only have a few more minutes.”
“ Sis… ” she groped at her suit, “Fuck, when will we meet up again?”
“I do not know…” her hips pressed to Revy’s body, letting out an irritated sigh. “I will call you.”
“You shouldn’t have wasted the cigar.”
It wasn’t a waste, though, Balalaika thought of replying. She kissed Revy again, the last bit of lipstick not left on the cigar or Revy’s face wearing away.