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Villanelle walks twelve steps. She counts them in her head the way she used to count them as a child, walking to school with her thumbs hooked into backpack straps. She walks, and she stops. She waits. She waits because she does not know if she could bear it if she turned around, and Eve was not there. She told Eve, don’t look back with the intention of looking back. It is not good communication, but Villanelle has learned that Eve tends to not listen to the things Villanelle tells her to do.

She closes her eyes. Breathes in. Out. Then she… Villanelle turns around. Face stoic, ready for the worst (because Eve with her back still turned would be the worst ). She gave Eve a choice. Choose me, choose me, choose me. If Eve was smart, she would keep walking. If Eve cared about her own general safety, she would keep walking. 

Villanelle would let her. That’s what choice is, right? If you love someone, set them free.

Turns out, Eve is not smart. She is, however, staring right back at Villanelle when Villanelle turns. Villanelle smiles, and that is new , because she does not usually smile unless she specifically tells herself to smile. She smiles at Eve, and Eve smiles back.

It’s twelve steps back to the middle of the space stretching between them. Villanelle feels like… like the worst kind of people in a romantic comedy (which are, by default, her third favorite kind of movie, right behind horror and pure romance). After three steps, Eve is walking, too, and they meet in the center, but a bit on Eve’s side because Villanelle was walking very quickly. But that doesn’t really matter because Villanelle’s hands find Eve’s cheeks and Eve is—

“Are you crying?” Villanelle asks, grinning wider. She’d come over here to kiss Eve, but whatever weird tear things on Eve’s cheeks are more important.

“No,” Eve snaps, and then it is Eve who is kissing her, and god, Eve is really getting the better of her more and more often, huh? It should feel jarring, yet it is nothing like the kiss on the bus. It is not close-lipped or dry or the precursor for a really terrible headache. It is… sweet. It’s soft and hesitant and yes, they are holding onto each other very tightly because now Eve is gripping Villanelle’s elbows. 

Villanelle has wanted this for a very, very long time. She thought she wanted it in a bed in Paris, but god, that Villanelle wouldn’t even know how to describe the longing she’d felt in the ruins in Rome. This Villanelle, the Villanelle who maybe doesn’t want to kill for money anymore, this Villanelle aches into Eve’s kiss, gives everything she has because she finally, finally feels ready for Eve to tear her open and swallow her up. For Eve to consume her.

This kiss is what she thought stepping off the train in Russia should’ve felt like. Like coming home.

“Should we—?” Eve breathes, and she is very close.

“You smell nice,” Villanelle says, and Eve rolls her eyes and steps back. Wait, Villanelle almost says, stay. But Eve runs a hand through her hair, and Villanelle watches her. Can she touch Eve’s hair now? Is that something they can do, now that they’ve kissed?

“Stop looking at me like that,” Eve mutters, leaning against the bridge railing.

“Why?” Because Villanelle is thinking this is something she should be allowed to do, now that they… 

Eve doesn’t have a good response. Or, if she does, she does not say it. Instead, she presses her mouth into a tight line. Thinking. Eve is always thinking. Overthinking. Villanelle is about to tell her that maybe she should just work off instinct for once, but then Eve says, “We should go somewhere.” Off Villanelle’s raised eyebrow, she amends, “Not somewhere somewhere. But— You know what I mean.”

“We are on the run,” Villanelle nods solemnly.

Eve barks a laugh. “I guess.”

“You are not very good at running,” Villanelle cracks, and Eve smacks her arm with the back of her hand, but then they are walking. Not the way they came, but the other way. Villanelle truthfully doesn’t know London as well as Eve does, so she follows and tries not to think about the lack of space between them. The way their shoulders keep bumping, their hands keep touching. 

They find a hotel. Villanelle tries to convince Eve to just get on the train and pick whatever place, but Eve shakes her head tiredly and looks at villanelle with… well, she looks at Villanelle with something new in her eyes. Villanelle is not too eager to argue with whatever that new feeling is. 

She thinks she may like it.

Villanelle sits on the edge of the bed while Eve moves about the room nonsensically, not really sure what to do with herself. She folds her hands in her lap as Eve pauses in front of the mirror and adjusts her hair. She does not say your hair looks perfect because she feels like those girls in teenage romances who are about to lose their virginity at a hotel after prom. She feels… nervous. Like there is an expectation between them neither wants to address or really think about.

“We do not have to,” Villanelle tries quietly. She’d really, really like to, but they do not have to. Sure. That would be okay.

Eve glances at her. It becomes obvious to Villanelle that Eve probably hasn’t been thinking about the million ways to acknowledge the elephant of sex in the room in the same way Villanelle has. “Have to what?”

Villanelle presses her lips together. Shrugs. She supposes she doesn’t know what they’re really doing here, if not sleeping together. Just sleeping? Okay. Villanelle can just sleep.

But okay

Eve is unbuttoning her pants. She unbuttons them and tears off her coat and then slides her pants down her legs, and all Villanelle can think about is the expanse of skin being revealed right now. Eve in underwear and a turtleneck. Eve staring at her like she’s suddenly lost her nerve, standing five feet away in this dim room.

“You said something about us consuming each other,” Villanelle says softly, glad her voice is as steady as it is.

“Yeah.” Eve doesn’t move.

“So. Consume me.” This time, Villanelle’s voice fails her. It feels like a line, something cheesy to pull the girl into bed, and her voice cracks and she’s pretty half the word wasn’t even loud enough for Eve to hear.

“What?” Eve says, but she walks forward. Stops in front of Villanelle.

Villanelle looks up at her. God, she’s pretty. Beautiful. Everything. Villanelle just says, “Eve,” and the dam between them breaks. Eve lifts a leg and places her knee on the bed, then the other, until she’s straddling Villanelle’s lap and sitting her weight on Villanelle’s legs. Her thighs are soft, warm, and Villanelle glances down to take them in, but Eve grabs her face, gathers her up, and draws her in for a kiss.

It’s greedy— Eve’s pries open Villanelle’s lips with her tongue and breathes hot into Villanelle’s mouth. Villanelle sighs into it, but it comes out more like a moan than anything else. Her hands glide up toward Eve’s waistband before sliding around Eve’s hips and grabbing her ass, pulling Eve closer with a strong tug.

Eve exhales sharply, thumbs brushing across Villanelle’s cheeks.

“Now who’s crying?” Eve jokes, but the tips of her thumbs are a bit shiny.

“Me,” Villanelle whispers, in her best, why-does-it-matter voice.

“You’re a baby,” Eve breathes, but Villanelle’s hand is creeping further back, fingers getting closer to the underside of Eve’s bare thigh, fingertips just close enough to slide beneath her underwear.

“Yeah?” Villanelle taunts, their lips hovering against each other. “Well, you’re old.”

“Don’t act like it doesn’t make you hot,” Eve fires back.

And this? This is playful and fun and god, Villanelle has never had as much fun during sex. She slides her hand further and dips into Eve, pulling a gasp hard and fast from Eve’s throat. “It does,” she sighs against Eve’s throat, because they are no longer keeping secrets from each other. “You do,” she murmurs, teeth scraping on Eve’s pulse. She teases Eve a moment longer, before pulling her hand back and instead sliding it around to the front, where she slips it between Eve’s underwear and wiry, black curls.

She strokes around Eve’s clit until Eve is rocking against Villanelle’s hand. She teases until Eve is shaking, and honestly? All Villanelle can think about is how hot Eve feels against her. Eve, all of Eve. She’s dizzy. 

“Do it,” Eve tells her, and Villanelle blinks.

Then she dips her fingers lower and presses one past Eve’s entrance, delighting in the groan it pulls from Eve’s chest. And Eve is wet , so wet there is almost no friction at all as Villanelle moves inside of her. She curls her finger and tugs against Eve, tracing the ridges inside of her, and Eve lets out a loud sound that isn’t quite a moan. A yelp? Maybe? Villanelle laughs into Eve’s lips, as Eve mutters, “Shut up,” in between kisses.

Villanelle had guessed that Eve would be quiet and desperate, but this Eve, this Eve who chose her , she keens in greedy indulgence, and god, is Villanelle going to indulge.

She presses a second finger into Eve, keeping up with the tight rhythm of Eve’s hips. Eve whispers more and then Villanelle’s using three fingers, pressing her thumb to Eve’s clit and twirling around it as Eve chokes cries into Villanelle’s neck. Eve’s hands are vice-like around the back of Villanelle’s neck, while Villanelle holds her impossibly close, free hand splayed across the base of Eve’s spine. They are as close as they’ve ever been— Villanelle wants closer .

Eve. Eve, eve, eve— the smell of her, the quick way she breathes as she gets closer to climax.

“Eve,” Villanelle says, aloud this time. Urgent and needy. “Eve.”

“Oh, god, I—” Eve’s voice cracks, and she makes a small choking sound. Eve comes hard, curling even tighter against Villanelle. And then she goes still, save for the rise and fall of her chest.

“Too much clothes,” Villanelle murmurs, her voice low and desperate. The moment Eve fell still against her, Villanelle imagined making Eve do that over and over again, again, again—

“You, too,” Eve says, and she pulls at Villanelle’s coat in this needy, messy way. Is this what it feels like for those people in movies who stumble into the room, tugging at each other’s clothes because they just cannot wait to be naked against each other? Eve tugs at Villanelle’s shirt now, pulling it free from Villanelle’s waistband, and Villanelle’s stomach lurches as she realizes that Eve… Eve needs her. She lets Eve look at her, now just in her pants and lacy black bra. She lets Eve place her hands on her chest, just above her breasts, and then Eve sucks in a breath, and oh .

Eve’s hands. On her breasts. “Oh,” Villanelle sighs, as one of Eve’s hands squeeze and the other slips underneath the fabric anyway, pawing at Villanelle and scraping a nail over one of Villanelle’s nipples.

“God,” Eve laughs, when Villanelle makes a small sound ( not a whimper, thank you very much). “You’re like—”

“Beautiful? Sexy? Perfection?” Villanelle jokes, nosing her way against Eve’s jaw.

“Annoying,” Eve amends, and Villanelle grins. But Eve still kisses her, annoying or not, and then they are frantic again, Eve struggling to unhook Villanelle’s bra. But then it is free, and then Eve’s hands are on her again, and fuck , Eve really has not done this before?

“Don’t stop,” Villanelle says, and to be honest, her mouth is betraying her. She does not normally say these things in bed, but with Eve, she cannot—

“Needy,” Eve whispers, and Villanelle would like to twist them over and throw Eve into the bed, torture her in a very literal, very sexy way, but that quickly fades because once again, neither of them is expecting Villanelle to say, “Only for you.”

Things were impossibly quick before, but now they are even quicker. Hands fly— Villanelle pulls off Eve’s sweater without a care for the fabric, then Eve’s bra, and she doesn’t have time to appreciate that even, because Eve is pushing her backwards with both her lips and her hands, firm on Villanelle’s shoulders until Villanelle is flat back on the bed.

Her hips buck upward, into Eve, and as Eve presses kisses to Villanelle’s collarbones, she laughs against the skin there.

“You do this to me, Eve,” Villanelle says to the ceiling, and then Eve’s hands are on her waistband, sliding beneath Villanelle’s pants and pulling them down her legs. Eve doesn’t bother teasing, sliding Villanelle’s underwear off next, and already, Villanelle can feel her own stickiness on her thighs, cool as Eve’s breath bounces off them.

And then Eve is spreading Villanelle’s legs, hands on each knee, and then she is—


Villanelle’s hips rise to meet Eve’s mouth, urging her harder, more, more more more. God, Villanelle squeezes her eyes closed, her hips riding Eve’s face as Eve laps at her. Eve unknowingly dips into her at time, and Villanelle groans at the sensation, wants to be full of Eve, wants to taste herself on Eve’s lips. But Eve is full of surprises tonight, it seems, because her hand has somehow snaked around, and Villanelle jolts when she feels the press of fingers at her entrance.

“Too much?” Eve asks, voice muffled as she breathes hard against Villanelle’s clit.

Villanelle shakes her head. No . Frantic, god, Eve, eve, eve, “Please,” she hisses.

Several things happen at once. Eve slides two fingers into her without warning, and that, that certainly happens, but she also sucks hard on Villanelle’s clit at the same time, and this is what Villanelle had been missing the entire time? Someone who shares her darkness — not just two people with darkness inside of them, but two people shouldering up the same darkness.

And Villanelle reaches down and threads her hands through Eve’s hair because who the fuck is going to tell her not to? It feels as good as she thought it would, and Eve hums against her as Villanelle’s nails scratch at Eve’s scalp. She pulls Eve harder against her as Eve’s fingers move hard and fast. Eve is clumsy, but she is quick and she is listening . Villanelle commends her for the solid, jerky way Eve fucks her. 

But Villanelle wants to kiss her.

She pulls on Eve’s hair, pulling her up, up, up— She kisses Eve, finally tastes herself, and Eve’s hand twists and works harder, drawing Villanelle closer and closer.

Eve pulls back and just watches her. Villanelle squirms underneath Eve’s gaze, but she fights to keep her own eyes open, to watch Eve watching her. She wants to give this to Eve. You do this to me. Only you. You, you, you .

Eve presses against her clit and adds another finger, and Villanelle gasps. Full on, nothing held back, and it would be embarrassing if Villanelle was with literally anyone else. Instead, she is here, with Eve, and Eve is… 


Eve kisses her as she comes. No tongue, this kiss is soft and sweet and the kind of kiss you give someone before they step onto a plane with no determined return date. It is a kiss full of wanting, but not the kind that uses, takes over, engulfs. It is a consensual consuming, and Villanelle kisses back knowing Eve wants nothing from her other than this.

They lay side by side. Breathing hard. Villanelle wants to go again, but there is a silence hanging over them that is sort of peaceful. She does not want to disturb it.

Of course, Eve disturbs it. “What now?”

“Eve,” she chastises, “You are ruining the moment.” And Eve scoffs, but then Villanelle remembers Eve against her back, the soft pressure of leaning into Eve back on the bridge. Eve’s soft, what now?

“Sorry,” Eve says, but she does not mean it.

Villanelle doesn’t mind that, either.

Villanelle twists onto her side, grinning as Eve’s gaze drops to her chest, where her breasts are falling on each other and losing the fight against gravity. Eve looks for longer than a moment, and wow, is this where they are now? Unadulterated looking? If so, Villanelle looks, too, taking in the soft curve of Eve’s breasts and even reaching out to touch one—

“You’re insufferable,” Eve mutters, but she lets out a soft breath as Villanelle cups her.

“And you are beautiful,” Villanelle says back. She scoots closer. They are very close, now. 

“We really need a plan.” Eve shuffles a bit closer, too.

Villanelle’s hand drifts down to Eve’s waist, and then her hip. “My plan is to have more sex with you. Okay?” She leans in for a kiss, but Eve presses a solid hand against her, stopping her.

“I’m not opposed,” Eve says. “But I think we really need to… figure other things out.”

“In the morning,” Villanelle tries. “In the morning, we can talk about plans and the fact that there are other members of the Twelve who very much want me dead and also the fact that you watched your spy boss kill someone tonight.”

“Wait— why does the Twelve want you dead?”

Oh. Right. She hadn’t told Eve about Rhian. Well. “It is a long story,” Villanelle murmurs, dropping into her sexy voice. “Please, can we talk in the morning?” And she hopes her eyes are pleading enough, because she does not want Eve to decide right now, in this moment, that it is all too much. And maybe, if she can keep Eve here, right now, things will be okay.

Eve holds her gaze. Villanelle cannot read whatever is happening in her head. Only hope.

“Fine,” Eve sighs. 

In an instant, Villanelle vaults herself on top of Eve, grinning madly. “Good. Because I want to taste you.” And then she’s shuffling down Eve’s body, pressing her lips between Eve’s legs, and Eve is cresting off the bed and muttering curses into the air and things are good because…

Villanelle might not have a house or a family, but she has this. She has Eve .

And that’s good enough.