(no subject)
Title: The Morning After
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Rating: R
Summary: It's sad that I can start something in September, forget about it for a few months, and only dust it off and finish it now. Oh well. Trish/Lady, after the first time.
Lady woke up to red.
These are not my sheets was her first thought. Then, I’m naked.
Now, Lady was rarely naked. Most nights she was no stranger to falling into bed completely clothed and still sleeping like death itself. Frilly nightwear and lingerie were the kind of luxury that one tried on, blushed at, and then returned to the rack.
But here and now, this wasn’t even lingerie. There was nothing between her and little realizations that suddenly prickled under her skin-like the way her breasts, ordinarily kept in tighter security than a CIA convention, suddenly took up space. Lots of space.
And the way the sheets-oh, these definitely weren’t hers-draped silk-soft against her skin.
This was not good.
Lady cringed. It could be worse, she reminded herself. She knew where she was, for one. And at least this apartment was warm. But in the grand scheme of things, neither fact provided much comfort.
What made it downright shameful was that there was no alcohol-based excuse for What Did Not Happen Last Night. It was her own fault, because she was a Catholic School Alum, god damn it, and she Just Did Not Drink for her own reasons-of which Dante often complained were too many.
Lady shut her eyes again and pulled the sheets up over her head, as if that could get rid of everything in the outside world. But the red overlay only reminded her that this was not her bed, nor her room, nor her apartment.
Fuck.
She was sore, too.
In any other case, this would not be unusual. She was used to damaged extremities and overused muscles. But given the nature and location of this new ache, a flush rose in her ears and there it was again, What Did Not Happen Last Night.
The door opened. Lady kept her head under the sheets. Then brief pressure-lips?-on her temple. Lady made a very un-ladylike noise and tried to wriggle deeper into the mattress.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” came a voice that was far too calm. Was she even pleased? No, it couldn’t be.
“Mmng,” muttered Lady, still hidden beneath the sheets.
“Mmng yourself. How many eggs?” Trish asked.
Something was wrong. Where was the awkward pause; the vast, self-conscious bubble of personal space? Lady pulled back the sheet to let one eye peek up at the demon.
Somewhere out there was a How-to Handbook for Hookups, but apparently Trish wasn’t much of a reader.
“Two,” Lady said at last. Thankfully, the sheet covered her flushed ears.
“There’s a girl. And do you want some toast?”
“I… Sure.”
Trish pulled the sheet aside and kissed her, a long slow lingering mouth-on-mouth, and still smiling as she did it. What little breath was left in Lady’s lungs evaporated.
“Stay there,” said Trish, and closed the door again.
Lady slowly sat up, wincing as she drew her knees into her chest. Looking at the floor solved the mystery of where her clothes had gone. They were right where she had thrown them the night before, scattered on the floor like leaves in a gutter.
There was little point in covering herself anymore, since Trish has already seen everything last night, so Lady let go of the sheet and gingerly got out of bed. No matter what Trish’s gentle mouth had promised, the order to “stay there” wasn’t on Lady’s list of priorities. She headed for the bathroom.
Once safely inside, she looked at herself in the mirror. The reflection stared back, exactly the same way it would have if this were any other morning in her own apartment. Lady looked away.
It was silly, she knew, to think that there would be something new in the mirror, some little marker of What Happened Last Night. But there was nothing, except for the imprints of the sheet on her cheek and a few red marks that hadn’t been there the day before. Nothing that said, “That’s right, thanks to a demon down the hall, I don’t count as a virgin anymore.”
Lady showered quickly, wrapping herself in a towel that smelled like the demon. When she came back to the bedroom, Trish was already there, nibbling on a strawberry. A tray sat on the bed, laden with eggs, toast, and fruit. Lady’s stomach rumbled appreciatively.
“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” Trish said, “But you’re not a very good listener, are you?”
Lady felt her ears start to flush again, and busied herself putting on the clothes that had been abandoned last night. “You don’t have to do this,” she muttered.
Trish’s red mouth curved. “I know.”
“Then why did you?” Lady snapped, tightening her belt and feeling a little more grounded in the world.
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Because I wanted to.”
“No,” Lady said, “Fuck you and your enigmatic one-liners and the fact that you’re pretending that I’m talking about fucking eggs when what I really mean is what happened last night and-“
Trish was kissing her again. Lady’s protests dissolved, along with what felt like half her nerve endings. It was just like before; wet and hungry and utterly unromantic, but still real, and that was what mattered most.
“Because,” Trish said again, when it was over.
Lady looked at her. Damn the bitch for being so unreadable. “Because you could?” she asked.
Trish laughed and touched the scar bridging Lady’s nose, which her lips had traced only a few hours ago. “No, kitten.”
“Then why?” Lady’s trigger finger was itching with the effort it took to get a straight answer out of the demon.
“Because you tried to kill me the first time we met,” said Trish. “Because you run into a fight without knowing which of you is going to die. Because you have scars. Because your eyes don’t match.”
Lady moved back a little, mistrusting whatever messages lay beneath the demon’s words. Frankly, she had no idea what any of it had to do with a one-night stand-but could one really call it that anymore?
“Because,” murmured Trish, brushing back the wayward strands of Lady’s dark hair, “you’re unlike any human I’ve ever met.”
Breakfast was forgotten for a very long time after that.
Fandom: Devil May Cry
Rating: R
Summary: It's sad that I can start something in September, forget about it for a few months, and only dust it off and finish it now. Oh well. Trish/Lady, after the first time.
Lady woke up to red.
These are not my sheets was her first thought. Then, I’m naked.
Now, Lady was rarely naked. Most nights she was no stranger to falling into bed completely clothed and still sleeping like death itself. Frilly nightwear and lingerie were the kind of luxury that one tried on, blushed at, and then returned to the rack.
But here and now, this wasn’t even lingerie. There was nothing between her and little realizations that suddenly prickled under her skin-like the way her breasts, ordinarily kept in tighter security than a CIA convention, suddenly took up space. Lots of space.
And the way the sheets-oh, these definitely weren’t hers-draped silk-soft against her skin.
This was not good.
Lady cringed. It could be worse, she reminded herself. She knew where she was, for one. And at least this apartment was warm. But in the grand scheme of things, neither fact provided much comfort.
What made it downright shameful was that there was no alcohol-based excuse for What Did Not Happen Last Night. It was her own fault, because she was a Catholic School Alum, god damn it, and she Just Did Not Drink for her own reasons-of which Dante often complained were too many.
Lady shut her eyes again and pulled the sheets up over her head, as if that could get rid of everything in the outside world. But the red overlay only reminded her that this was not her bed, nor her room, nor her apartment.
Fuck.
She was sore, too.
In any other case, this would not be unusual. She was used to damaged extremities and overused muscles. But given the nature and location of this new ache, a flush rose in her ears and there it was again, What Did Not Happen Last Night.
The door opened. Lady kept her head under the sheets. Then brief pressure-lips?-on her temple. Lady made a very un-ladylike noise and tried to wriggle deeper into the mattress.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” came a voice that was far too calm. Was she even pleased? No, it couldn’t be.
“Mmng,” muttered Lady, still hidden beneath the sheets.
“Mmng yourself. How many eggs?” Trish asked.
Something was wrong. Where was the awkward pause; the vast, self-conscious bubble of personal space? Lady pulled back the sheet to let one eye peek up at the demon.
Somewhere out there was a How-to Handbook for Hookups, but apparently Trish wasn’t much of a reader.
“Two,” Lady said at last. Thankfully, the sheet covered her flushed ears.
“There’s a girl. And do you want some toast?”
“I… Sure.”
Trish pulled the sheet aside and kissed her, a long slow lingering mouth-on-mouth, and still smiling as she did it. What little breath was left in Lady’s lungs evaporated.
“Stay there,” said Trish, and closed the door again.
Lady slowly sat up, wincing as she drew her knees into her chest. Looking at the floor solved the mystery of where her clothes had gone. They were right where she had thrown them the night before, scattered on the floor like leaves in a gutter.
There was little point in covering herself anymore, since Trish has already seen everything last night, so Lady let go of the sheet and gingerly got out of bed. No matter what Trish’s gentle mouth had promised, the order to “stay there” wasn’t on Lady’s list of priorities. She headed for the bathroom.
Once safely inside, she looked at herself in the mirror. The reflection stared back, exactly the same way it would have if this were any other morning in her own apartment. Lady looked away.
It was silly, she knew, to think that there would be something new in the mirror, some little marker of What Happened Last Night. But there was nothing, except for the imprints of the sheet on her cheek and a few red marks that hadn’t been there the day before. Nothing that said, “That’s right, thanks to a demon down the hall, I don’t count as a virgin anymore.”
Lady showered quickly, wrapping herself in a towel that smelled like the demon. When she came back to the bedroom, Trish was already there, nibbling on a strawberry. A tray sat on the bed, laden with eggs, toast, and fruit. Lady’s stomach rumbled appreciatively.
“I was going to bring you breakfast in bed,” Trish said, “But you’re not a very good listener, are you?”
Lady felt her ears start to flush again, and busied herself putting on the clothes that had been abandoned last night. “You don’t have to do this,” she muttered.
Trish’s red mouth curved. “I know.”
“Then why did you?” Lady snapped, tightening her belt and feeling a little more grounded in the world.
“Because.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Because I wanted to.”
“No,” Lady said, “Fuck you and your enigmatic one-liners and the fact that you’re pretending that I’m talking about fucking eggs when what I really mean is what happened last night and-“
Trish was kissing her again. Lady’s protests dissolved, along with what felt like half her nerve endings. It was just like before; wet and hungry and utterly unromantic, but still real, and that was what mattered most.
“Because,” Trish said again, when it was over.
Lady looked at her. Damn the bitch for being so unreadable. “Because you could?” she asked.
Trish laughed and touched the scar bridging Lady’s nose, which her lips had traced only a few hours ago. “No, kitten.”
“Then why?” Lady’s trigger finger was itching with the effort it took to get a straight answer out of the demon.
“Because you tried to kill me the first time we met,” said Trish. “Because you run into a fight without knowing which of you is going to die. Because you have scars. Because your eyes don’t match.”
Lady moved back a little, mistrusting whatever messages lay beneath the demon’s words. Frankly, she had no idea what any of it had to do with a one-night stand-but could one really call it that anymore?
“Because,” murmured Trish, brushing back the wayward strands of Lady’s dark hair, “you’re unlike any human I’ve ever met.”
Breakfast was forgotten for a very long time after that.