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When Caitlyn sweeps into the room dressed in that set of robes it really is all Vi can do to not drag their hands through the soft fabric, to not want to peel the indigo silk off her form and bundle them both right back into the bedroom. They’re on vacation and vacation is for having fun, sue them.
The clothing that Caitlyn brought with them to Ionia has been a level above the usual utilitarian stuff they wear back at home but this? This is silk that’s so dark it’s almost black, so fine the hems almost float with every footstep, embroidery shimmering in the late afternoon light. The Kiramman crest dances in and out of view, hidden amongst silver stars. It’s tailored perfectly to her, swishing and teasing but never brushing the ground.
Vi doesn’t know how much anything Caitlyn owns costs but this must have cost at least a house or two.
Caitlyn frowns.
“Vi,” she says and as her head tilts Vi can see the long platinum chain that connects her silver-tinted glasses to the cuff on her ear as it swings gently, “why aren’t you dressed yet?”
Vi fidgets in the carriage, not because their own robes are uncomfortable. If anything, they are the most comfortable set of formal clothing Vi’s ever been in. They’re just… Caitlyn’s hand wraps over theirs. From this angle her eyes are mostly hidden by her glasses but over the rims Vi catches a hint of soft dawn sky blue.
“I haven’t attended this since my youth,” Caitlyn murmurs. “And this will be the first time the purse strings are mine.”
That pink tongue Vi so loves darts out, wetting Caitlyn’s lips already dewy from the light makeup. Caitlyn rarely wears makeup (Vi thinks it’s appallingly unfair how she doesn’t seem to need it) and yet here they are, which doesn’t help their nerves in the slightest.
“This?”
Caitlyn looks at them now, glasses pushed further down the bridge of her nose.
“The Biennial Ionian Heritage Auction,” she says, eye sparkling with childlike excitement. “Was it not mentioned?”
Vi shrugs.
Caitlyn’s lips curl.
“It’s been years since a Kiramman has been in attendance. Perhaps they’ve forgotten what that means.”
How the lobby toes the line between ostentatious and tasteful Vi is never going to be able to put into words. They take the small glass of clear, colorless alcohol—they don’t know what it is since Caitlyn has been translating for them this whole time and it’s sexy as fuck but they’re supposed to be keeping it in their pants so they’ve been doing just that—and takes a small sip. Floral notes dance over their palate, drifting up into their throat where they morph even further.
They idly wonder how many years worth of their salary is contained in this delicate glass then decide not to think anymore when Caitlyn’s hand reaches for theirs and, in full view of the other aristocrats, winds its way up to their waist before they head towards what Vi assumes is the main auction room.
As they reach the door, however, an employee in a perfect suit appears—no one here rushes, they simply appear—and guides them up, to the left, to a private box.
Caitlyn doesn’t even blink.
The first few items are letters and Caitlyn’s posture would look perfect to anyone else. Vi, however, knows just how bored she is by the way Caitlyn’s fingers trace the spot where the freshly healed Kiramman crest tattoo sits on Vi’s inner thigh, one of the things they’d decided on a whim and hadn’t regretted in the slightest, given how much Caitlyn’s fingers gravitate there.
“We could—” Caitlyn’s eye flicks to theirs briefly before the auctioneer’s voice picks up.
“The next item is a Kashuri crossbow, fifteenth century.”
Caitlyn leans forward and waves a finger. Vi recognizes this look of intent, the look of a hunter. It’s been a while since they’ve seen it in such a low stakes situation.
“A hundred thousand,” the auctioneer, to their credit, does not stutter. “We have a hundred thousand from the box.”
Vi chokes. So much for low stakes.
“A hundred and fifty from the floor.”
Caitlyn lazily raises that same finger.
“Two hundred from the box. Going once, twice, Kashuri items are rare, you won’t want to—” Vi watches in awe as Caitlyn keeps that finger up, eyes fixed on the auctioneer “—sold.”
Then out comes a pistol, the kind of weapon that Caitlyn would fire once and never again (Probably. Vi knows the Kirammans have an extensive collection that Caitlyn doesn’t touch and has the suspicion that this will be that as well.)
Caitlyn takes one look, arches her eyebrows and raises her whole hand instead of just a finger.
“The next item is an original Fortune pistol, eighteenth century. It comes to the Auction from a private collection, seeking a new—”
This time, the auctioneer does indeed choke.
“Starting at a million from the box.”
Vi grins as heads swivel to them, leaning back into the shadows as the murmurs start. Caitlyn’s hand is already lowered but she doesn’t move another muscle, for all intents and purposes ignoring the benches out front as her silver-tinted glasses hide her eyes. It’s pure intimidation and incredibly attractive. It’s all Vi can do to not jump her bones right there, especially not when they’ve wanted to do exactly that all night.
Hey, maybe—they look around and unfortunately they see some staff member in a suit in the corner of the room watching Caitlyn like a hawk, one hand pressed on his ear. Vi briefly considers taking out this potential threat before they realize that this must be how they know what she’s bidding.
Which means they definitely can’t jump her bones right now. Darn.
“A million, going once, going twice, sold.”
Caitlyn’s hand still rests on their thigh, still drawing slow, slow circles over the tattoo.
A few more guns in and Vi thinks they’re starting to see some sort of pattern. Not that they’re an expert in firearms—that’s always been Cait’s thing—but Caitlyn doesn’t seem to care much about guns with stories, only guns with history. The ones with stories have a tendency to fetch the more eye-watering prices but Vi recognizes some of their names, some of their makes, which really only means they’re not that rare.
Caitlyn doesn’t move for these.
As these others go for somewhere in the ballpark of two to five hundred thousand cogs, clearly less than the million (million!) that Caitlyn had dropped immediately on that pistol, Vi sips their intensely floral alcohol and preens.
Caitlyn’s fingers are beginning to slow on their thigh and in the slightest pull of her brow Vi knows something’s just that little bit off.
“What’s wrong?”
Caitlyn turns. The chain attached to her glasses swishes. “Does something appear to be the matter?”
Vi reaches over themself and rubs a reassuring circle on her hip.
“You look stressed,” they say. “Like you’re waiting. You're not that great at waiting.”
Caitlyn’s head tilts and her blue eye emerges from behind the glasses, clearly looking for some form of mockery. Jokes on her, Vi’s not actually cracking any right now. Well, that was actually kinda funny.
Caitlyn huffs.
“I’d heard rumor that there’s a particular lot that they’re keeping in store.” Her lips purse slightly and her hand retreats from Vi’s thigh to clench into a loose fist, low on her lap, out of sight from everyone else. “I refuse to walk away without it.”
Vi nods, slowly.
“You dropped a million on that one pistol,” they says. “Can any of them match you?”
“Let us hope—” Caitlyn’s eye disappears behind her glasses again “—that no one else has similar desires.”
Vi raises their eyebrows even as they have a sneaking suspicion they know what the answer will be to their question. “For our sake?”
Caitlyn’s lip curls. In the reflection of the chandelier in those tinted glasses Vi thinks they catch a glimpse of glee.
“For their sake.”
The final lot that they cart out is a rifle, a beautiful black model, mother of pearl inlays, flintlock. It sits in its velvet case, untouched by the auctioneers even as a hush descends upon the room. Vi doesn’t need to know anything more, can read all they need to know in the tightness in Caitlyn’s jaw, in the way her finger stills entirely.
Vi knows this is what the tint is supposed to do but they swear Caitlyn’s single eye burns blue fire.
“This lot needs no introduction,” says the auctioneer. “We begin bidding at—”
It’s much to Vi’s surprise then that Caitlyn’s hand doesn’t move while the hands of several others in the benches go up. They get it, a moment later, when the fish churn in the water below, the flapping beginning.
“Do we have one-three? We do—” the auctioneer appears to be growing both a little red and a little purple and Vi does not envy him “—how about one-I see a one-five? One-six? Two? I hear a two-five.”
So quickly that Vi almost misses it, she sees Caitlyn’s head tilt.
“Five,” says the auctioneer, voice wobbling almost in barely repressed disbelief. “We have five million from the box.”
Caitlyn leans back now, a smirk on her face shrouded in shadow, so, so smug. Vi would kill to kneel under Caitlyn’s robes and eat her out right there and then and the only reason they don’t is that they know Caitlyn would kill them first.
They don’t linger.
There’s no need. No one even comes up to them to speak about payment. Vi doesn’t know how this works but assumes it’s just being handled somehow, some form of old money magic where betrayal or cheating would result in defenestration.
Actually, have they seen Caitlyn touch a cog since they landed in Ionia? Come to think of it, do they even use cogs in Ionia? Vi doesn’t know and that thought sends a shiver down their spine.
“Something wrong?”
The purr in Caitlyn’s voice only drives more heat down into their core and that they’re currently keep their hands to themself in the carriage is something Vi is very determined to be praised for later, in private.
“This carriage is taking too long,” Vi grumbles.
Caitlyn chuckles, sitting up from where she’d been leaning against the cushioned side of the carriage with her glasses propped up on her forehead.
“In a hurry, darling?”
Vi rolls their eyes, giving her a very obvious once-over, lingering on the bare expanse of Caitlyn’s neck being deliberately exposed.
“I think,” they say, their own grin starting to spread, “you’re way too smug about your new toys. Will they even get here before we leave? You’re not the best at waiting.”
Caitlyn’s eyebrows raise even as a slow smirk grows.
“亲爱的 Dearest,” she says as she leans closer, as her fingers reach out to the soft part of Vi’s throat, index finger running along the line of their jaw, all the way up to cup their cheek with a hand. There’s a tenderness, a deceptive gentleness, blue fire burning the hottest as she closes the distance.
Her teeth play along the curve of Vi’s ear.
“I don’t have to wait. I’ve got my favorite toy right here.”