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She's close enough to where Banhammer could practically taste the notes of caramel and cedarwood of her cigar smoke. He's used to looking down, but he should know better than to look directly into snake eyes. Just like the first time, with smoke lazily dancing in the space between their lips, the glint in Scythe's eye buckled his knees in spite of the armour.
One of Scythe's manicured claws begins to trace the grooves where the embedded crystal in his armour laid.
"Tanzanite," she noted, a laugh almost muffling her murmur. "Ain't realise you went outta yer way to look into that lil partin' gift of mine."
Banhammer stiffens, turning his head to the side while taking care to not knock Scythe in the head with his horns. Even before she'd been fostered into the sharp blade she is now, she'd always been blessed with sight far better than his own.
The laugh that falls from her lips is heavier— huskier— than her usual one, dancing its way into Banhammer's mind to the familiar beat younger hearts had danced to once before. Within a heartbeat stolen, Scythe's hand finds it's way down to one of the knots hidden into the side of Banhammer's armour.
Alarms ring in his brain as he swivels his head back— but if he wanted to listen to them, he wouldn't have come to the hotel in the first place.
Banhammer could lie to himself all he wants, but he doesn't play mind games for a reason; blunt force breaks any obstacle, and it wasn't his job to savour the pieces. He'd known deep within what so-called negotiation had been, but he'd refuse to acknowledge it until he'd had the snake coiled around him with her legs straddling his lap.
"Credit's due where credit's due," was his simple, stammering response. "Can't deny good taste, can I?"
Scythe's eye clicks in a mimicry of her rolling it, but her fanged-tooth grin is soft in a way only Banhammer knows. He can feel her claws lightly scratching at his sides as she begins to undo one of the knots. "Suppose not, no."
She shifts the cigar in her lips to the side as she leans in– overshooting his lips, much to his disappointment– to Banhammer's ear. "Can't deny that ya haven't sent a single letter back either."
His eyes widen at that, and he thinks she could sense how his heart slows like a fallen deer. There's more of that laugh, fogging up his brain further than the cigar smoke, coaxing him to allow her to press her chest against his, sinking him further into the couch. Scythe continues, mirth in her drawl.
"Won't deny some of it was the whiskey talkin', but I bet ya still liked it the same. Ya liked it well enough to tuck em' away in that lil office desk of yers. Tell me, for old times sake, Banny, what did ya like 'bout em'?"
His hands tentatively settle onto her waist as she released one of the knots. Words bubble at the tip of his tongue, but she cuts them off with a bit of tutting.
"Lyin' is a sin, Banny, y'know. Them letters are opened and clearly read, doll. If it ain't good enough to hide a key in, don't think that cabinet could hide anything else."
A scowl crosses Banhammer's face, softening with a shudder as he feels Scythe's claws lovingly run underneath the loose side of his armour. "Confessing to your crimes for once," he deflects, hoping she doesn't pay mind to the darkened flush on his cheeks.
"We're only confessin' what we both know, Banny, and I know yer weak for a lil acknowledgement. Toiling away in that prison of yers, knowing only you got the muscle for it." There's a laugh to her flirting, but Banhammer knows better from how she presses her hand flat to feel him better.
He stutters a bit, and she continues on, dragging her hand in a way that truly shows appreciation. "Then at the end of the day, ya don't ever seek no one out no more. Everybody's below ya after all, not like they can handle a big guy like you. Not like they get to know how to, how ya had to build up to that big scary title of Warden."
The knot falls loose, and Scythe props herself up, giving Banhammer space to remove his chestplate.
And his hands slip from her waist, so that he could slide it carefully off onto the side table, leaving him and his neck bare.
Scythe grins, tongue running over her fangs as she takes her dying cigar out of her mouth, luxurious smoke lingering on her lips as she allows it to fall the floor. It billows over Banhammer's jaw as she presses herself back down onto him, dragging her lips over that familiar map of veins.
Banhammer remembers how close he has allowed danger come to him, and all he can do is shudder. Something claws at his mind, something woven into him and his unnatural birth, but his body does not connect.
His muscles remember how intricately Scythe manages to satisfy the bloodpumping needs and desires Banhammer has, how decades old memories of nights are still etched into muscle.
"C'mon Banny, speak," she murmurs, fangs lightly brushing against the lump in his throat.
"Scythe.."
"Yes?"
His hands return to her waist, with one staying as the other tips her head further up.
He doesn't miss the way she leans into his hand, how she savours how he looks beneath her. Though, he can't deny his own slow drag of his eyes, taking in every bit of the snake above him.
Banhammer's voice is soft, pilant. "Please," his whisper almost a whimper.
Scythe breathes a giggle, before sliding her hands from his sides, claws dragging along his throat as she holds his jaw. Her thumbs, both flesh and machine, stroke his cheeks.
"Look at you..."
The moonlight catches on her glass eye just before her lips crash into his, taking back what had been hers, what should be hers.
Banhammer's tongue slips with a groan, allowing her to trap him on the couch with her much-wanted weight. He'd missed it without knowing he did, letting it amplify those lonely nights.
Warmth floods him, red and hot, the kind that he'd find traces of in their run-ins, their fights. He could feel her heart against his as his hands press her body impossibly closer, taking as much warmth as he could.
His hands slide up her back, resting on her shoulder blades, until he meets a cold, hard joint. The contrast with her warm, soft skin jolts his brain as she begins to kiss at his jaw.
To take was his right, as a demi-deity, and he knew better than to refuse an offer he might not ever get again.
But offers aren't given for free; they're earned. No one offers an inphrenal like Banhammer something for mere emotions. Nostalgia's powerful, sure, but Banhammer knows Scythe better than that, he knows her as she does him. What he does know is her devotion, her loyalty, and it's only been sharpened since her youth.
Likewise, Banhammer has come to know his place; and a deity does not bow to others, no matter how the inphrenal part of him wants nothing more than to stay interlocked with someone who knows him better than himself.
And so that one divine part of him is what leads him to shift quickly, sending Scythe onto the floor. She yells in surprise, the air leaving her lungs while Banhammer sits up, head coming out of that comfortable fog.
"You— Banny what the–"
He doesn't look at her, instead holding his head in his hands. "What are we doing, Scythe?"
"...Thought you'd figure it out. You came."
Banhammer shakes his head. "I know. I know!"
Scythe frowns. "Coulda just stopped me instead of flingin' me."
He shakes his head some more, "You– I–"
He doesn’t say anymore, instead standing and getting his chestplate. Scythe stands as well, brushing off the cigar ash on her back from landing on it. She follows Banhammer through the hotel room as he goes to the bathroom to tie it back on.
"Banny, talk to me, what the hell is wrong? I– Were ya not enjoying it? I thought you were."
He bites his tongue on that manner, instead staring at the mirror as he ties his knots back on. There is one thought in his mind bouncing around as he tries to find the words.
Deities, demi or not, have duties. Responsibilities. And he cannot allow himself to forget that.
"Yeah, until I remembered about your big mouth. That little creepy family member of yours, he tells me everything about you since the only talking you ever want to do is in hotel rooms. You capable of anything else besides swinging that blade of yours?"
Scythe's mouth falls open, shock clear on her face. Banhammer almost grimaces, knowing he'd gone too far when her arm clicks.
"You know that ain't right to say."
He tightens one knot. "I thought you said we were confessing things we already know."
The kick to his side is deserved.