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"You almost kissed me."
Legate Trunnion angles her head.
"And you sound disappointed that I didn't."
Saarn's face is angry, but the snake wrapped around her skull displays her true emotions by hanging its head.
"Don't you put words in my mouth, you cogwork fuck."
They're standing in an alleyway in the outskirts of Three Portlands, away from any prying eyes. Trunnion's gun is still smoking from their chance encounter. Saarn's hand is still tied around her wrist from when she wrenched Trunnion's arm away.
"Would you have pulled away if I did?" Trunnion asks. She's trying desperately to keep her voice level.
Trunnion feels Saarn's hand flex briefly. She smirks. It seems that Lady Adytum can be surprised, just like when Trunnion surprised her with a gunshot just moments before.
Saarn works her jaw as the silence between them becomes more tense.
"So you did want to kiss me."
Trunnion laughs lowly. A few of her gears click as she does. "Now whose putting words in the others mouth?"
"You look stupid in that top hat," Saarn whispers, her vertically slit eyes very obviously trained on Trunnion's lips.
"And you look like a gay cosplayer in that cloak," Trunnion grins. She twists her wrist now is in control of Saarn's arm.
She knows from their years of fighting that Saarn let it happen. Trunnion may be a marvel of brass and gears, but Saarn has the annoying strength of the flesh.
They're so close at this point that they can feel eachother breathe. Saarn smells like old blood, Trunnion notices. It's nice.
They both lean in at the same time. Their mouths press together so hard Trunnion can feel the clink of her diamond caps against Saarn's teeth. Saarn doesn't seem to care, however, so Trunnion doesn't either. Trunnion's hat is knocked off at some point during initial contact.
Saarn's hands come up to hold Trunnion's face, surprisingly gentle for a woman so violent. Trunnion counters the thumb rubbing against her brass cheek by pushing Saarn's body against the wall, hands on her hips. She begins to knead the flesh underneath Saarn's cloak. She finds herself growing irritated at the fabric barrier.
"Sarkic son of a bitch," Trunnion moans in the brief gaps between kisses.
"Pile of industrial scrap," Saarn scrapes her nails down Trunnions cheek, down to her shirt, down to the buttons of her suit jacket, pausing as a way of asking.
As much as it pains Trunnion to stop, she pulls away, making sure to note how Saarn leaned forward. "Do you really want to do this here?" She asks, panting.
Saarn's green eyes are glazed over. "I have an apartment nearby."
"Of course you do," Trunnion leans down to fix her hat back upon her head. She extends her elbow towards the Lady of the Posioned Knife. "Shall we?"
Saarn groans sarcastically, and takes the arm. "We shall."