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The desk in the barracks is not meant to be laid on by one person, nevermind two, but Severa holds her tongue, if only because she doesn’t want to know what else might come out if she opens her mouth to complain. Lucina’s hand is between her legs, working in and out of her in long strokes. She is willing to suspend her disbelief for this, though, one frantic moment where her breath tears out of her like a punch to the gut against Lucina’s lips, grinding out a “Please,” that she will hate herself for just as soon as she can finish getting off. The other hand under her chin leaves puckers in her skin that cannot be flattering, Lucina will not let her look away—even in a mask, she is insistent upon honesty. More likely, it’s all she knows. Lucina is no actress, not for all that the way she pitches her voice makes Severa’s hips press up, the arch of her back a strain, willing Lucina to connect their bodies so that she does not have to fess up and do it herself.


"Lucina," involuntary and breathy, she sounds cheap to her own ears. "If that’s even what I’m supposed to call you."


"You may do as you’d like," Lucina replies, is she dodging eye contact through the slits in her mask with those slow kisses up Severa’s throat? If she is, Severa can’t blame her. "Though truth be told," right against the skin, "anything else would likely make me feel too foolish to go on."


"You think you feel foolish right now?" Severa whines in what she’s sure is the least endearing way imaginable. Normally, Lucina has a light, almost girlish laugh; her chuckle now comes from somewhere deeper in her throat and ripples across Severa’s jawline, inches from a kiss proper. She pulls her fingers nearly all the way out, teasing idle circles just inside the entrance. Severa hisses, the kind of ugly sound that should have no place here, Lucina’s thumb across her clit for half an instant. "Lucina," approaching a more insistent tone this time. Far too obliging for someone who is being handed control on a silver platter, Lucina pulls back.


"Yes?" All gratingly earnest, but gods if that voice doesn’t make her thrill, even though Severa could never mistake it for some man’s, for anyone’s but Lucina’s.


"You could at least, you know, actually talk? I’m not a mask fetishist, here."


"So you’re a voice fetishist?" Lucina asks, down again to let her lips hover a hair’s breadth from the shell of Severa’s ear.


"You know what I meant," fumbling for Lucina’s hand, slick in the lamplight, to guide her fingers back in with a brusqueness that makes her gasp. "Just keep at it, alright?"


"Very well." She picks up the pace, Severa’s grip shifts to her wrist. "You might move your hips," the kind of suggestion Severa can’t imagine Lucina making under any other circumstances, "I’m told it feels better." Whoever told her that, Severa has no interest in knowing, thinking about some other girl with her bare thigh pressed flush between Lucina’s in a dim corner of a public room because she cannot bring herself to extend an invitation to her tent instead.


"Lucina," in between open-mouthed kisses, "Lucina, please," the kind of simpering begging she hates as much as she wants to be cornered into. Lucina’s fingers crook up, pressing and dragging right against that sweet spot, Severa’s legs are shaking with the strain of it, meeting Lucina’s thrusts with off-cadence rolls of her hips is about all she can manage at the moment. Whatever Lucina is saying in her ear, Severa has no interest in hearing it—she could be reciting dictionary entries and it would still sound good, husky with an exertion that is no longer entirely affected. She comes with her nails scraping across Lucina’s slick knuckles.


The denouement is never as pleasant—already, Severa wants to slink away and pretend this tryst has been confined to her most maudlin fantasies of a masked stranger who is no stranger at all, until Lucina cups her cheek, murmurs, “Kneel.” It takes Severa a moment to process, still orgasm-addled, or at least unwilling to return to her senses just yet. Her mouth is suddenly dry.


"Excuse me?" Severa asks as sharply as she can muster.


"Need I repeat myself?" again in that low voice, perhaps Lucina really has touched on a bit of boldness behind that silly mask that Severa should have no business finding so attractive. She steps back so that Severa can slide off the thoroughly abused table, feel the dust and the wood of the barracks floor against her bare legs. Severa is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she is naked while Lucina remains fully clothed.


"Sheesh," trying to steady her voice, reaching for the buckle to Lucina’s belt. "Are you sure you don’t want to be ‘Prince Marth’, what with that attitude?" Lucina’s hand comes to rest atop Severa’s head.


"If you insist upon me adding a title, I believe I should rather be a king," she says, and is that a smile playing across her lips? Severa moans softly, despite the better part of her common sense telling her she should never stoop to eating up a line like that. Her common sense, she’s found, makes a number of exceptions in Lucina’s case. Undoing the ties to Lucina’s breeches, Severa lets herself be guided in, uncertain if there’s even the slightest point in trying to appear recalcitrant now. She traces kisses along the insides of Lucina’s thighs up to the juncture between her legs. Lucina’s breath hitches when Severa’s tongue dips inside her, drags out again to circle her clit, suck on it, Severa can only pretend she knows what she’s doing. If Lucina knows any better, she’s holding out. "The flat of your tongue," she orders, and that voice makes Severa press her thighs together until it aches, "Use the—there we are," as Severa complies, moaning flush against Lucina’s skin. Her lips are slick as she presses more kisses against Lucina’s entrance, trying to remember if it’s always so hard to breathe when she does this.


Beyond humiliation, Severa finds her hand sneaking down between her own legs, chasing after the lingering ache Lucina has left there—it’s never as satisfying with her own fingers. “Don’t,” Lucina grinds out, pulling Severa’s hair tight, right at the scalp. “Not until you have my leave,” and her voice breaks at the end but Severa can hardly hold it against her, back arched, aching, the wood grain leaves whorls across her skin as Lucina rides out her orgasm with Severa’s mouth still doggedly working her.


Not for the first time, she entertains the thought of someone walking in, even this late at night, and gods know what they would think. Severa on her knees for a man, a stranger who drops to one knee and swipes her tongue across Severa’s half-parted lips, into her mouth, they kiss on equal footing now as Severa yanks Lucina’s hair from its bindings with more forcefulness than perhaps she means. They break apart long enough for Severa to pull the mask away, running her fingers down the grooves, tracing out the shape of the butterfly Lucina is so fond of. Her mask discarded, Lucina’s Brand flickers in the gutting light of the lamp as she helps Severa to her feet.


"May I?" Lucina asks, gingerly taking the mask from Severa and setting it aside on the table, handing Severa her long-since discarded clothing in return. Severa shoots the mask a withering look, already less than inclined to admit that she’d be more than happy to let Lucina wear it every time from here on out.


"Actually, where did you even get that thing? You said it broke," raising an accusing eyebrow.


"I asked if Gerome would be willing to make me another one, and he very graciously complied," answers Lucina, sounding rather satisfied with herself. "Since you expressed interest in this…manner of performance, I figured I owed it to you to provide the complete package." Severa’s stomach drops.


"You asked Gerome to make you another mask…so that you could have sex with me in it?”


"I did not specify the purpose for which I intended to use it, but there is also a sentimental value—"


"Lucina! Gawds, do you ever think these things through?"


"I doubt," Lucina says, stifling the kind of giggle that makes Severa’s stomach flip without fail, "that Gerome, of all people, would guess at my intentions in this matter. And you did enjoy it, yes?" Fully dressed and no longer willing to dwell too long on the issue, Severa grumbles noncommittally.