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the bird in your teeth

Chapter Text

On Monday, there’s a body in the hallway.

Eve thinks it’s the man she saw taking out his garbage last week. She wonders if he’s dead. He definitely looks dead, Eve thinks.

Eve takes an extra minute to open her own apartment door and drop her bag on the entryway table. She takes off her jacket, hangs it, before she goes back into the hallway. The body hasn’t moved. Definitely dead.

Still, she decides to check. She approaches and leans over him, pressing her fingertips to his pulse point. Her suspicion is confirmed. Definitely dead.

Eve turns around, wills herself to go back into her apartment, get her phone and call emergency services. But she doesn’t. Because the dead man is right in front of her strange neighbour’s apartment.

The strange neighbour, who didn’t introduce herself when Eve did, has lived here longer than Eve. Even so, Eve notes that she’s hardly home. She regularly sees her leaving the apartment in strange outfits, coming and going at odd hours and at times leaving for days at a time. Eve thinks she may have been gone several months at one point.

Eve would be lying if she said she hadn’t been watching. It’s not her fault, really. She’s a naturally curious person and who can blame her for being drawn to someone so curious themselves? And, if she hadn’t been watching she wouldn’t know that her strange neighbour had been out with the dead man at her feet just last night.

So Eve turns back around. She steps over the body and knocks on the door he seems to have died in front of. Music in the apartment stops suddenly as Eve hears footsteps approach. The door swings open, and the strange neighbour’s smile drops when she sees Eve on the other side.

“Eh, bonjour?”

“Hi.” Eve says, before stepping to the side and gesturing to the recently departed man on the floor.

“Oh, shit.” Eve doesn’t know if it’s a good sign or not that her neighbour seems just as shocked to see him.

“Don’t you know him?” Eve asks.


“You came home with him last night?” Eve asks like a question, but she knows it’s true.

“Sure,” the woman agrees. “But I don’t know him.”

“That’s… still pretty incriminating.”

“Then why don’t you call the police?”

Eve pauses. “Could you just deal with him?”

The blonde woman nods and licks her teeth. “Yeah,” Eve notices now that her accent is Russian. “I know people.”


The woman gives her a look. “…okay.”

Eve turns on her heel and walks back into her apartment. She doesn’t look back to see her neighbour smiling at her as she walks away.


A week passes before someone knocks on Eve’s door.

In the days prior, the body had been promptly removed. Despite Eve’s watchful eye, she doesn’t notice when he’s taken away. She wonders if her neighbour does it herself or if a cleaning crew had come in during the few hours she had slept. In fact, Eve spends much of her time wondering about what her neighbour does, or what she’s doing, and where. In a week’s time, she has usually come and gone several times. This week is quiet, and uneventful. By the following Sunday evening, Eve has grown restless.

In that sense, the knock is not unwelcome.

Eve opens the door without looking, feeling that she has a good guess as to who waits on the other side. So when she is met with a tall blonde holding a bottle of wine, she’s not surprised.

“Hi, Eve.”


“Villanelle.” Blonde woman says.

“Excuse me?”

“My name.” She doesn’t look amused. “Villanelle.”

“Oh,” Eve flushes. “Hi, Villanelle.”

Villanelle smirks at Eve and pushes past her, elbowing the door further open so she can slip into Eve’s apartment.

“Can I help you?” Eve calls after her.

Villanelle enters the kitchen and places the bottle on the counter. “Bottle opener?”

“Top drawer on your left.” Eve answers. She opens her mouth to ask again, but she already told her where the bottle opener is. Villanelle pours and hands her a glass of the wine and Eve concedes.

They sit at Eve’s kitchen table, and Eve pretends she doesn’t feel Villanelle’s eyes on her.

“That was a nice thing you did.” Villanelle says after several minutes of tense silence.

“What was?”

“You know,” Villanelle makes a vague gesture with her hand. “Not calling the cops on me.”

“So you did kill him?” Eve presses.

“I didn’t say that.” Villanelle narrows her eyes.

“You implied it.” Eve counters.

Villanelle chews at her bottom lip. “It was unintentional.”

“How do you kill someone unintentionally?” Eve can’t help it. Her curiosity has been piqued, and it’s never been like her to keep her nose out of places it does not belong.

Villanelle seems exasperated. “Eve,” she says it like a sigh. “In my line of work, unintentional murder is unfortunately common.”

“This is your job?” Eve puts her own wine glass down and leans forward over the table.

“This? Having wine with beautiful women?” Villanelle preens under Eve’s undivided attention.

“What? No. Killing people.”

Villanelle sighs, and then very seriously says: “Yes. I’m a highly paid assassin.”

Eve waits a beat, and sure enough Villanelle follows with an eyebrow wriggle that discounts the seriousness of her tone.

“What’s that like?” Eve asks, ignoring Villanelle’s antics.

Villanelle groans and puts her glass of wine down on the table hard enough to cause a ripple in Eve’s own glass. “I thought this would be more fun, you know.”

“Sorry - next time you’ll have to call ahead. My fun personality is only available for drinks on Fridays.” Villanelle glares and Eve allows herself a smile.

“My job is boring,” Villanelle answers Eve’s question. “I don’t want to talk about my work.”

Eve feels a stab of disappointment for reasons she can’t place. She leans away from the table, taking her wine glass with her. She takes a long sip while Villanelle watches her.

“The killing,” Eve puts her glass back on the table. “Is that boring?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Eve is silent, and Villanelle takes the opportunity to change the subject.

“What do you do, Eve? Besides watching me through your peephole.”

Eve flushes. “I’m a writer.”

“What’s that like?” Villanelle mimics her earlier question.

“Boring.” Eve echoes. “I don’t want to talk about my work.”

Villanelle lets out a short laugh. “I guess we are at an impasse then, Eve.”

They sit in silence. Eve watches Villanelle, as the blonde woman finishes off her glass of wine and takes in Eve’s apartment around her. When Villanelle grabs the bottle to refill her glass, Eve watches the way her hand grips the neck of it. She wonders how many people those hands have killed.

Villanelle places the bottle down and moves suddenly, standing from the table and moving towards the fridge where Eve has old photos haphazardly stuck with magnets. Eve tenses when Villanelle reaches out, plucking a photo from the collection.

“Who’s this?” Villanelle turns to display the photo for Eve.

“A friend.” Eve’s voice is flat, and Villanelle frowns.

“A friend?” Villanelle lilts. “Is this… friend around?”


“Eve,” Villanelle pouts. “I’m just getting to know my neighbour.”

“He’s dead.” Eve takes a long drink of her wine.

“Dead?” Eve is grateful when Villanelle does not look sympathetic. “How did he die?”

“Bill,” Eve avoids Villanelle’s question.

“Bill?” Villanelle looks up from the photo at Eve.

“His name. Bill.”

“Ah,” Villanelle moves to place the photo back under its magnet on the fridge. “So what was it then? Cancer, heart attack?”

Eve feels a growing annoyance at Villanelle’s persistence, and answers in the hopes that the subject will be dropped: “Cancer.”

Villanelle nods and has the decency to look deep in thought for a moment before she responds. “Shitty way to die.”

Eve can’t help but laugh. “Yeah, it was pretty shit.”

“I should kill you.” Villanelle is serious now, staring Eve down from across the kitchen.

Eve swallows. “Okay.”

Villanelle moves around the table until she’s sitting in the seat next to Eve. She puts her wine glass down and Eve’s breath catches in her throat when Villanelle leans closer. But she doesn’t move away.

“Okay?” Villanelle brushes a hand against Eve’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I will do it quickly.”

Eve shivers and fights her instinct to lean into the touch. Chooses to ignore the heat that seems to pool low in her gut. “How?”

Villanelle leans away, grimaces. “You ask too many questions.”

Eve is silent, she doesn’t dare move, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the woman in front of her. Villanelle almost looks sad for a moment. Her eyes are glassy and Eve finds herself wondering what she’s thinking about. Villanelle stands abruptly, startling Eve and nearly knocking over the wine glasses set on the table.

“I’ll see you later, Eve.”

Before Eve can argue, she’s out the door.


A few days pass before Eve sees Villanelle again.

In the meantime, she reads. She reads news articles, books, and newspapers. Stories of women who have killed. Women who have stolen their husband’s guns to kill them with, women who have strangled their assaulters in the street. Each story makes her wonder, would Villanelle think this is boring? Would it be fun for her? The man stabbed by an anonymous woman in the femoral artery, who had bled out almost completely before he even realized what had happened, excites Eve. She wonders if Villanelle would think it exciting too. Or maybe she likes it slower, Eve thinks. Like the woman who had died of asphyxiation after inhaling poison from a perfume bottle.

At night, Eve wonders how Villanelle would kill her. The thought of Villanelle pushing a knife into her flesh, between her ribs, is enough to make her wet. When she finds her hand wandering down, she imagines the situation in reverse. She thinks of hovering over Villanelle, her hands around her throat. When she tightens around her own fingers, she imagines Villanelle’s face. How pretty she would look with Eve’s hands around her neck, gasping for air. Clawing at Eve’s wrists desperately wanting to be released. When she finishes, Eve has to bite down on her knuckles to keep from crying out Villanelle’s name.

In the mornings, Eve sips coffee and writes. At some point, between the reading about murder and thinking about her homicidal neighbour, she has to work. Unfortunately.

It is during one of these mornings when she hears the door across the hall unlock. Without pausing for a second thought, Eve shuts her laptop and moves to the front door. Before she can open it, old habits have her check through the peephole first. What she sees isn’t Villanelle at all. A man stands in the threshold of the apartment, peering into it like he’s waiting for someone to jump out at him. When no one does, he moves further through the door. He turns to close it, and Eve ducks as he seemingly makes eye contact through her door.

When she looks back up, the door is closed.


When Eve finally sees Villanelle again, she is standing in the hall, fumbling with her keys. Eve swings her own door open, startling Villanelle. The keys clatter to the floor.

“Where have you been?” Eve ducks to pick the keys up from the floor.

“Did you miss me?” Villanelle drawls, taking her keys out of Eve’s outstretched hand.

Eve ignores the question. “Someone was here.”

“Oh,” Villanelle makes a face. “Probably my uncle.” She looks at Eve, and smiles like she’s remembered something funny. “He’s not actually my uncle. But he has a key.”

“If he’s not your uncle, who is he?” Eve asks.

Villanelle rolls her eyes. “He’s like… my boss. Or he thinks he is.” She waves a hand as a means to dismiss the topic.

“But he’s not really your boss?” Eve presses.
“Eve. You can be so annoying.” Villanelle glares. “He is not my boss. He gives me my assignments. But they do not come from him.”

“Who do they come from?” Eve can see Villanelle is on the verge of some sort of tantrum, but she can’t stop herself. The questions come out of her mouth almost of their own volition.

“I don’t know,” Villanelle kicks at the ground and Eve can’t help but liken it to a toddler stomping their foot.

“You don’t know who you actually work for?”

“No! Who cares, Eve? I kill people. I get paid quite a lot. Does the rest of it matter?” Eve gets the sense that she has touched a nerve. Villanelle’s words say one thing, but her rising frustration, while it’s currently aimed at Eve, feels misplaced.

“I guess not,” Eve throws in the towel. When she turns to walk away, Villanelle sighs audibly.

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Eve turns back to see her chewing her lip, almost nervously.

The stark difference between the woman in front of her now and the woman who had threatened to kill her in her own kitchen makes Eve pause.

“You don’t have to,” Villanelle fills the silence. “I’m just,” she kicks at the ground again. “Bored. I guess.”

Eve knows the feeling well.


They watch How to Marry a Millionaire.

“I’ve seen it a hundred times.” Villanelle tells her.

“Why do you want to watch it again, then?”

“I want to watch it with you.”

Eve is silent while Villanelle pulls the movie up on her television. She watches as Villanelle leaves the room, and then returns dragging a blanket from her bedroom with her. She doesn’t even say anything when Villanelle throws the blanket over her. Or when she sits close, closer than a couch this size could justify. She just sits, and watches the movie, like a polite guest would do.

Eve is only half watching the movie playing out in front of her. Villanelle’s visit in her kitchen a few days ago plays like a highlight reel in her brain. She should be dead, Eve knows this, and yet. And, what? Eve doesn’t know. For the first time in years, Eve doesn’t know what to expect. She feels like an electrical current has been turned on inside her, thrumming through her veins with anticipation.

When they’re nearing the end of the movie, Eve only knows it’s the end because Lauren Bacall is on screen in a wedding dress. Eve feels Villanelle watching her instead of the TV. The hair on the back of her neck stands up, and she turns to look at Villanelle. Eve thinks she sees something there, in her face, before Villanelle switches into a blank look.

Eve doesn’t look away. “Are you going to kill me?”

Villanelle says nothing. Eve feels like her heart might beat out of her chest.

They turn back to the movie.


When Eve wakes up, it’s dark. She sits up, notices the couch beneath her that is definitely not her bed. There’s a blue glow from the television barely illuminating the room.

Eve orients herself, remembers, this is Villanelle’s apartment. The movie, Villanelle. Eve rubs at her eyes. For a moment, allows the disappointment of Villanelle not being there on the couch anymore settle in her chest before she pushes it aside.

With the sleep cleared from her eyes, Eve notices a post it note stuck to the coffee table next to an abandoned drink.

went to bed
come stay if you want

Eve grips the note in her hand for a moment before intentionally placing it back on the coffee table. She definitely can’t stay, she thinks. Definitely not.

But when she moves to leave, she can see into the bedroom where Villanelle is asleep in her bed. Despite her best efforts, she hesitates. She can feel rationality pulling her to the door. She lives right across the hall, for fuck’s sake, there’s no reason to stay over. But something else pulls her to that bedroom. Something Eve can’t touch. Won’t.

“Eve?” Fuck.

The lump that Eve had assumed to be Villanelle shifts, and squints at Eve. Eve stands frozen, backlit by the blue glow of the television, and says nothing.

“Eve.” It’s a statement this time. “Eve, stop being weird. Just come here.”

The lump shifts back into a horizontal position. Eve hesitates a second longer, but the something else pulling her into the bedroom feels stronger now that there’s a verbal invitation. She moves forward into the room, almost mechanically, and climbs into the bed opposite Villanelle.

Villanelle hums and rolls over to face her. Eve almost smiles at the simplicity of it. Of being in bed with her should-be killer.

“Are you scared?” Villanelle asks, but her voice is thick with sleep and not at all intimidating.

“No.” Eve answers. It’s honest.

Villanelle seems to consider this for a moment. Then says: “I don’t like bananas.”

Eve can’t stop the laugh that comes. “What?”

“My job is not the most interesting thing about me, Eve.” Villanelle is serious.

“And your opinion on bananas is?” Eve can’t help but smile, which earns her a dirty look.

“It might be!” Villanelle swats at her.

Eve shifts to dodge the attack and laughs at Villanelle’s indignation. “Villanelle!” Eve dodges a kick this time. “Okay! Okay, stop!”

Villanelle relents. “Ask me something.”

“Why don’t you like bananas?” Eve concedes.

“The texture, and,” she pauses to make an obscene gesture in Eve’s face. “I don’t like anything phallic.”

Eve shoves Villanelle’s hands away from her face. “You’re gross.”

Villanelle hums in agreement. “And you? Do you like men? Or women?”

“Both.” She can see Villanelle’s grin even in the dark.

“Bisexual?” Villanelle pokes her in the ribs.

“Whatever,” Eve grunts but doesn’t push Villanelle’s hand away this time. Even when it flattens against her ribs and stays there.


Eve does her best to pretend it doesn’t bother her when a week passes with no word from Villanelle.

It’s when they reach the two week mark that the restlessness sets in.

Eve starts to take her work to coffee shops, if only to escape from the way her heart jumps and the subsequent disappointment every time she thinks she hears a key in the lock across the hall.

She even accepts an invitation to join Elena at a bar they used to frequent months ago, before working from home had sucked Eve into the homebody she was now.

She’s halfway through her third gin and tonic when Elena asks about Villanelle.

“Are you still keeping tabs on that weird neighbour of yours?” Elena finishes off her own drink, a beer Eve can’t pronounce the name of.

“Huh?” Eve has to consciously bring herself back to the present. “Oh, yeah. Villanelle.”

Elena scoffs, “Villanelle? That’s quite a name.”

“I think it’s a type of poem,” Eve swirls her drink. “She’s pretty nice, actually.”

“Pretty nice?” Elena sounds incredulous. “Last time we talked you thought she was some sort of serial killer.”

Eve laughs, mostly to herself. “I’ve been known to get ahead of myself, haven’t I?”

“Can’t argue with that.” Elena agrees. “So what is her actual job then? If she’s not out killing for hire.”

Eve drinks the rest of the gin in front of her. “Oh, she’s… an interior designer.”

“Okay, that’s pretty cool.” Elena flags the bartender for another round. “Not as cool as a killer for hire, but still.”

Eve is silent for a moment, watches as the bartender grabs Elena another beer and mixes her another gin and tonic.

“Her apartment is really nice. You wouldn’t even know we live in the same building.”

Elena looks at her. “You’ve been in her apartment?”

“Oh, yeah. We - for drinks.” Eve swallows more gin. “And we watched a movie.”

“A movie?” Elena’s eyebrows raise. “So you’re having sex.”

“No!” Eve coughs, “no. We haven’t had sex.”

“Yet.” Elena adds.


“You haven’t had sex, yet.” Elena clarifies.

“Elena,” Eve groans, putting down her drink in favour of running her hands through her hair. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Okay,” Elena seems to concede. “But you do want to shag your hot neighbour.”

“Please shut up.” Eve rolls her eyes, but the gesture is lost on Elena.

“Fine,” Elena sighs anyway. “Do you want to hear about Kenny? We had our third date last week and I finally got him to take me home, but the poor guy was so nervous he couldn’t get it up.”

Eve makes a face. She downs the rest of the gin in front of her and resolves her commitment to talking about Elena’s sex life.

Anything to get her mind off of Villanelle.


Of course, Eve thinks. Of course this would be when she sees Villanelle again. When she is beautiful in green silk and Eve is stumbling up the stairs, much drunker than she ever planned.

“Eve?” She hears it but can’t respond. All of the energy in Eve’s body is focused on the minuscule task of making it up the last few steps.

“Is the room spinning for you too?” Eve manages, as her foot lifts up and her body leans left.

Eve barely registers Villanelle moving towards her until there is an arm being wrapped around her waist.

“I don’t need your help!” Eve snaps. But she does, Eve knows it and Villanelle (or an angel shaped like Villanelle, Eve wonders) does too. The combination of alcohol and Villanelle’s touch is overwhelming, and Eve’s head sags forward. She closes her eyes like it will help protect her against this sudden attack against her senses.

Villanelle, what a great sport, ignores Eve’s outburst and continues to help until they reach the landing between their two apartments. When Eve is on solid ground again, Villanelle slides her arm free and steps towards her own door. Eve barely contains a whine at the loss of contact.

“Can you get yourself to bed alright?” Villanelle asks.

“Obviously,” Eve spits.

Villanelle nods, immune to Eve’s drunken attitude, and goes to let herself into her apartment. Eve fumbles but manages to get her own door open, but her drunken curiosity gets the better of her.

“Hey,” she turns to face Villanelle again, who pauses and turns back in her own doorway. “When you… If you kill me, how will you do it?”

Villanelle is silent for a long moment.

“You are so selfish, Eve.”

It’s not the answer Eve expects. She opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out.

Villanelle slips into her apartment and the door shuts behind her.

Eve vomits on her shoes.


Eve hides in her apartment for a few days.

When she opens the door on a Wednesday morning, intending to check the mail, there is a white box sitting on her door mat.

She crouches down, inspecting the box for some sort of label or address. There is none. Tentatively, she lifts the lid. Careful not to disturb the contents. Inside is a cake. Scrawled in red icing, it reads:

Happy Birthday Eve
V x

Eve swallows. Slowly, she raises her head to look at the doorway across the hall. It’s closed, but Eve can’t shake the distinct feeling that she’s being watched.

Mail temporarily forgotten, she closes the box again and brings it into her apartment. She puts the cake down on the kitchen table at the same time that her phone chimes in her back pocket. Sick with anticipation, she wastes no time pulling it out.

Did I get the right day?

It’s an unknown number. Eve closes her eyes for a moment, relishes in the thrill that sends chills down her back. She responds.


The number texts back almost immediately.


And a few seconds after that,

i’ve been watching you too


She shows up a few hours later.

A vision in black, modest for her, with a tulle neckline that reaches her chin. Eve, admittedly not interested much in fashion, is impressed. Eve lets out a shaky breath as Villanelle seems to float past her into her apartment.

She doesn’t say anything as she glides to the kitchen table. She sets down the bottle of champagne in her hand, and delicately lifts the lid to peer at the cake.

“You haven’t eaten it,” Villanelle observes. Her expression is unreadable to Eve. “Worried it’s poisoned?”

“No,” Eve‘s voice is barely above a whisper.

It’s honest. She’s worried it’s not poisoned. Knows that it isn’t. Somehow, Eve thinks that might be worse.

Villanelle hums. She turns to face Eve again, and approaches slowly. Eve tenses momentarily when she sees the curved blade in Villanelle’s hands, and swears it wasn’t there only a moment ago.

Villanelle is close now. Eve can smell her perfume. Dark. Floral, without crossing the line into something Eve would call feminine. Villanelle presses the tip of her blade to the soft spot between Eve’s ear and her jaw. Eve swallows against the pressure. She steps back, but hits the door. Villanelle follows, and there’s nowhere to go.

“Is this what you wanted, Eve?” She can feel Villanelle’s breath against her skin, and it makes her shudder.

Eve doesn’t answer. Can’t.

“Answer me.” Villanelle is demanding.

Eve inhales sharply. Villanelle drags the blade down her jawline, in warning. “Yes,” Eve exhales.

“Tell me,” Villanelle pushes closer into Eve’s space. Flips the blade until the tip is resting against Eve’s sternum.

“Yes!” Eve is louder this time. “I wanted this. I want this,” she looks into Villanelle’s eyes. Watches for a reaction.

Villanelle stares back. “How do you want it done?” Her eyes are wide and dark like an animal that’s just caught it’s prey. Eve feels like a bird caught between her teeth.

“Your hands,” Eve admits. Her chest heaves under Villanelle’s blade.

Villanelle pauses to consider. She drags the knife until it cuts into Eve’s shirt, exposing more of her sternum. “My hands?” She asks, her eyes never leaving the blades path.

“Yes.” Eve’s voice shakes.

Villanelle cuts until the top of Eve’s shirt falls open into a V. The top of her breasts, and absence of a bra, exposed. She drops the blade then, and it clatters to the floor between them. Eve watches her kick it away carelessly.

Villanelle looks back at Eve, presses her hand lightly to her exposed chest. Eve gasps when her hand slides up and closes around her neck. “Like this?” Villanelle asks. Her voice is breathy with excitement and Eve can’t speak, she just nods.

Villanelle presses harder, pinning Eve against the door. Eve feels a hand pulling at one of her legs and she shifts. When Villanelle presses a knee between her legs, she whimpers with the little air she has left in her lungs. When her hips grind down automatically, she flushes red with embarrassment.

“God,” Villanelle looks at her like she’s seeing the sun for the first time. “You really like that?”

It’s a rhetorical question but Eve nods desperately anyway. Her vision is starting to go spotty and her eyes roll into the back of her head. She feels unconsciousness as it digs it’s nails in but before she slips under completely, Villanelle loosens her grip.

“Not yet,” Villanelle speaks right into her ear, before leaning closer to suck at the skin of Eve’s neck.

Eve can’t help it, her head falls back against the door and her hips grind harder against Villanelle’s leg. Villanelle drops her hand from Eve’s throat and grabs at her hips instead, encouraging Eve’s movements.

The friction is barely there between the layers of Eve’s pants and underwear, but it’s enough to make her gasp. Villanelle moves her leg with Eve, slamming her back into the door while her mouth is busy leaving marks wherever she can.

Minutes pass, and Eve grows increasingly frustrated at the lack of direct contact.

“Villanelle,” she groans. The blonde hums in response but doesn’t stop. “Villanelle! I need more,” Eve gasps.

Villanelle reluctantly pulls back to meet Eve’s gaze. “What do you want?”

“Your hands.” Eve echoes her answer from earlier.

Villanelle doesn’t move.

Eve hesitates. “Please.”

Villanelle makes quick work of the button at Eve’s navel, shoving her pants down until Eve can step out of them and kick them away to join the forgotten blade. When Eve moves away from the door to take her panties off, Villanelle pushes her back with a forearm pressed against her throat.

“No,” Villanelle grunts. Eve can’t form the words to protest.

Eve is grateful that Villanelle does not choose this moment to go slow. Her free hand dips into Eve’s underwear immediately, her fingers finding Eve’s entrance and dipping inside.

“So wet,” Villanelle comments.

Eve’s hips jump when Villanelle drags her fingers across her clit, already sensitive from the build up to this moment.

“You,” Eve moans. It’s all she can manage to get out.

“Me?” Villanelle’s breathy laugh is hot on her neck. “Are you wet just for me?”

Eve can’t speak. She nods. Villanelle must like that answer, Eve thinks, because in a blink there’s three fingers inside of her. She feels herself tighten around Villanelle and wills herself to hold on, not ready for this to end.

Villanelle must feel it too, because she shifts until her hand is around Eve’s throat again. She tightens her grip until Eve can barely breathe, and curls her fingers hard. “Eve,” she whispers. “Come for me.”

Eve does. Her hands fly up to grip Villanelle’s wrist, her mouth open in a silent scream as her hips buck hard against the fingers inside her. Even as she comes down from her orgasm, Villanelle holds tight to her neck.

Eve’s vision swims until everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

Eve wakes up on the couch. 


There’s a blonde woman rummaging around in her cupboards. 


Eve watches in silence as Villanelle opens various cupboards and drawers, until she finds what she’s looking for. She pulls one of Eve’s mismatched plates out of the fifth open cupboard and then makes a beeline for the cake still sitting on the table. 


Villanelle does not cut the cake with a knife. No, Eve has to watch her scoop cake onto the plate with a teaspoon. Part of her wants to close her eyes and will this woman away. The other, stronger part of her, keeps her eyes fixed on Villanelle’s every move in a sort of morbid fascination. 


It only gets worse when Villanelle quickly grows tired of the inefficiency of the teaspoon and proceeds to section off a piece of cake with her bare hand. Once she’s satisfied with the helping that she’s served herself, she turns around to face Eve.


“Hello,” Villanelle is licking bits of cake off her fingers. “You have no clean cutlery, Eve.”


Eve thinks of the grocery list sitting on her desk that has dish soap written at the top and underlined twice. Wonders if the grossness of her week-old dirty dish collection is comparable to the grossness of digging your bare hand into somebody else’s birthday cake. 


“I passed out.” She brushes her fingers against her neck, sure that there’s a mark.


“Yes?” Villanelle looks at Eve like she’s the one with cake all over herself. Eve moves to sit up, suddenly feeling too vulnerable for her own liking. Villanelle occupies the space next to her as soon as it becomes vacant. “It’s okay, Eve.” Villanelle reaches a hand out to brush Eve’s hair away from her eyes. “I took care of you.” 


“You didn’t kill me.” 


Villanelle hums in agreement and looks back at her cake. Eve doesn’t say anything further, doesn’t want to get into it. Dares not to think about why Villanelle, with her blasé attitude towards murder, seems opposed to killing her. 


“You seemed like you were having fun,” Villanelle smirks. “I didn’t want to ruin it.” 




She’s just had sex with Villanelle. An assassin. Sex with an assassin. Eve turns it over and over in her head. She looks over at the floor where the knife was, notices it’s not there anymore. She should feel weird, right? Or guilty. Or something. 


She doesn’t. 


That’s worse than feeling weird, Eve thinks. Weird she can do, guilty she can handle. At least then she would know for sure that she had a moral compass in there somewhere. Grounding her to the rights and the wrongs of the world. 


Eve supposes she doesn’t need a functioning moral compass to know that fucking your neighbour who is also a killer is probably wrong. But she does wish she had one, because maybe if she did, she wouldn’t already be thinking about doing it again. 


“I used to be married,” Eve ruins it instead.


Villanelle’s interest is piqued. “Used to?”


“Yes,” Eve nods. 


Villanelle’s mouth is open in silent surprise, cake temporarily forgotten. “What was that like?”


Boring, Eve thinks. “Stable,” she says.


“Boring.” Villanelle says out loud. Eve doesn’t look at her. “Why did you leave then?” 


“I didn’t,” Eve swallows. “He left me.” 


“Oh,” she pauses. “Why?” 


“I was a shit wife,” Eve laughs, but it’s humourless. “I was - I am, obsessive. Never with the right things. Then, it was always work. Writing, research, project after project. Now, I -“ Eve stops herself. 


“Now?” Villanelle prompts. 


“Now, I’m…here.” The words feel heavy in the air. 


Villanelle nods. “I am not a husband,” she clears her throat. “But I am not so bad.” 


“You’re -” Eve laughs. “You kill people.” 


Villanelle looks away. She tosses the plate of cake haphazardly onto the floor and the clatter startles Eve. Villanelle stands and brushes out the front of her dress, but the movement is choppy like something is stewing just below the surface. Eve gets the sense that she’s said the wrong thing, like a switch that she can’t see has been flipped. 


“That is all you care about, then.” It’s not a question. Villanelle is looking at her tensely, like she might reach out and choke Eve to death this time. 


“It’s a pretty big thing, Villanelle.” Eve argues. Like a reflex. 


“I am,” Villanelle inhales sharply. “I am more than just a thing, Eve.” 


Eve wants to say that’s not what she meant. She wants to tell Villanelle, I know. She doesn’t like bananas. She likes old movies. She watches the same movies over and over because she likes knowing there’s a good ending. She snores a little. Eve wants to say all of that, wants to ask for more, to know more. 


But she doesn’t. 


Eve says nothing. 


Villanelle waits a beat, fuming, and scoffs when Eve remains silent. 


Eve blinks and something breezes past her ear. She looks to the side to find a knife stuck in the wall just to her left. 


Villanelle had thrown the knife at her.


Like a reflex. 




Eve doesn’t see Villanelle again for three days. 


Eve is getting her mail when Villanelle comes down the stairs. 


“Villanelle,” but she’s out the front door, gone. 


Eve finds herself wishing Villanelle had been more accurate with the knife. Death would be sweet relief compared to this. 


God, she’s sick. 


Another three days pass and Eve is not sure she can take it. 


Every waking moment is spent thinking about Villanelle. Every sleeping moment, too, but Eve won’t take responsibility for her subconscious. 


She wonders what it would be like to kill Villanelle. She takes the knife out of the wall and weighs it in her hand, imagining sinking it into Villanelle’s stomach. She presses it against her own skin, testing the feeling. It would be soft, she thinks. Skin splitting open where it’s not meant to. Blood spilling out to make room for her. Horrifically intimate. 


And if Eve trades the knife for her vibrator, well. That’s her business. 


It’s when Eve is two fingers deep inside herself, when she’s too far gone to notice, that her mind betrays her. That’s when she stops thinking of knives, and blood. Instead, she’s imagining Villanelle is the one inside her. Wonders what it would be like to feel Villanelle’s weight above her, or what Villanelle would look like with Eve’s fingers inside of her. 


Eve falls asleep, and in the morning is sure it was only a dream. 




It’s day seven when Eve decides she’s had enough. 


“She can’t just,” Eve is talking to herself, mostly. “Just - fuck me and then pretend I don’t exist.” 


“Wait!” The voice on the other end of the phone startles Eve. She had almost forgotten she was on a call at all. “So you did fuck your hot neighbour?” 


“Villanelle,” Eve supplies. 


“Right, Villanelle.” Elena laughs. “You had sex with her!” 


“That’s not the point.” Eve scowls at herself in the mirror. She puts her hair up. “The point is, we had sex and now she’s ignoring me. It’s rude.” 


“Eve,” who is only half listening. “You can’t tell me you’ve never ghosted after a one night stand.”


“Not my neighbour.” Eve takes her hair back down. 


“Okay, I think I get it.” 


Eve pauses. “Get what?” 


“It wasn’t a one night stand for you. You actually like her.” 


Eve glowers at no one. She runs her hands through her hair. Takes the elastic off her wrist and goes to put it back into a bun. The elastic snaps, pinching her hand and flying across the bathroom. “Fuck!” 


“I get it, Eve.” Eve thinks she could strangle Elena for the pleased tone in her voice. “You haven’t dated someone seriously in like, forever. But maybe it would be good for you?”


Eve rolls her eyes. “Good for me might be an overestimation of her character.” 


“Okay…” Eve can hear the question there, but ignores it. “Well, even if it’s not good for you, maybe it’ll be fun.” 




Eve thinks of the knife lodged in the wall. Of bare hands covered in cake, covered in blood. She thinks of the dead man in the hall. Then she thinks of Villanelle pinning her against the wall. Of her hands around her throat. Inside of her. 


“Fun. Sure.” 


“At the very least, getting laid regularly might make you less…” Elena trails off. 


Eve is listening now. “Less what, Elena?”


There’s a pause. “…tense?” 


Eve laughs despite herself. “Maybe it would.” 




Eve breaks into Villanelle’s apartment. 


In her defence, the door was unlocked. For an assassin, Eve thinks she ought to have better security. 


Villanelle isn’t home. Eve expects as much, having not heard or seen her since they had bumped into each other downstairs. She wonders if she’s been gone this whole time. A thin layer of dust covering the windowsill could be an answer. Or it could be that Villanelle is not a big cleaner. Eve finds herself betting on both. 


The last time she was in this apartment, they had watched a movie together. Eve hadn’t had the chance to take it all in, confined mostly to the couch and then the bedroom. She takes her time now. 


She wanders to the fridge. It’s nearly empty, save for a collection of expensive looking wine and champagne. Does she even eat? 


Eve closes the fridge. Notices a golden cat statue staring up at her from the floor. She remembers another cat statue, on a bookshelf in the entryway. Wonders if Villanelle is a cat person, if she would get one if she didn’t travel so much. 


She makes her way through the grand double doors into the bedroom. It’s the same as before, except for the addition of a silk throw on the bed. Eve brushes against it with her fingers and it feels expensive. Eve finds herself wondering for the first time what kind of money an assassin makes. She wonders if Villanelle is even the one paying rent. If it’s all put on a company card. Do they pay her in cash? Money wire? 


Eve opens the wardrobe. Okay, Villanelle is definitely not financially lacking. The thing is overflowing with clothes. Eve is surprised they don’t pop out at her when she opens the door. She brushes her hand through them, so many fabrics. Denim, linen, leather, velvet, more silk. Eve thinks of her own plain cotton wardrobe and flushes. It’s not that she’s embarrassed by her own wardrobe. She just finds herself suddenly wondering what Villanelle must think of it. 


Buried underneath the clothes are mannequin heads. Each one wears a different wig. Pink, black, red, brown. She imagines all of the different identities Villanelle has had, and wonders how she balances all of that inside herself. Eve can barely keep a lid on herself. 


She’s not surprised when the drawer she opens next reveals an array of weaponry. Haphazardly placed knives, ammunition, and guns slide forward with the force of the opening. 


“God,” Eve mutters. “Some safety precautions maybe.” She pulls out a gun. She’s about to check if it’s loaded when she hears the door open. Instinctively, she turns with the gun drawn. 


Villanelle stares back at her from the living room. 


“Villanelle.” Eve feels a sense of relief at the sight of her. 


The aforementioned turns to look at the door, then back at Eve. “I am in my own apartment, yes?” 


Eve nods. 


“Okay.” Villanelle takes a cautious step forward. “And you are here, with a gun pointed at me…?” Her eyebrows draw together. 


“I -” Eve’s arms drop. “I can’t…” She doesn’t know what to say. Doesn’t know how to tell Villanelle that just being in the same room with her is comforting, when it should be terrifying. 


Villanelle steps forward again, waiting for Eve to continue. Eve looks back at her, desperately. It’s then that she notices Villanelle looks… harrowed. Her face is bruised, dark circles under her eyes. 


“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Eve exhales. 


Villanelle pauses, and for a moment that Eve barely catches, she looks surprised. 


“I think about where you are. What you’re doing. Who you’re with. What you like, what you don’t like. I wonder who you are that day, or if you’re working. I think about your hair. And your eyes. I wonder what you had for breakfast, fuck.”


Eve wears her honesty like an open wound. Waits for it to rot her down to the bone until all she can do is cut off the limb.


“So, no. No, your fucking job,” Eve gestures with the gun in her hand. “Is not the only thing I care about.” 


A beat passes. Eve’s blood is spilled, her leg chopped off and offered to Villanelle like an olive branch. She watches Villanelle intently, watching her own words turn over and digest in the other woman. Villanelle lets a smile ghost her features before she speaks. 


“Come,” Villanelle moves to sit on the edge of the bed. Pats the spot next to her. 


Eve does. She sits, gun clutched awkwardly on her lap. Tries not to feel like a teen awkwardly confessing to their crush. 


Villanelle shifts, and Eve feels a hand brushing against her face. “I think about you, too.” 


Her words are like a tourniquet tied around Eve’s bleeding leg. It might bleed through later, and if she doesn’t get help it might kill her. But for now, it’ll do. 


Eve brushes her own hand against Villanelle’s jaw. They stay like that for a moment, mirror images of each other. 


“Are you going to shoot me?” Villanelle asks after a moment.


“Oh,” Eve remembers the gun in her lap. “Probably not.” 


“It would make an awful mess.” 


“I would’ve stabbed you.” 


Villanelle smiles. Eve feels a hand tangle in the curls at the back of her neck. She lets Villanelle pull her close until their foreheads are touching. Her breath catches. 


“That’s a good choice, Eve. Much more personal.” 


Eve closes her eyes. “Romantic.” 


Villanelle hums in agreement. 


Eve kisses her.




It takes 30 seconds for Eve to remember where she is. 


It’s still dark. There’s light from the street filtering in through the windows that should be on the other wall. She reaches for her phone on the nightstand and startles when her hand meets a gun instead. Right. Not her apartment. Villanelle’s apartment. Villanelle?


The distinct sound of glass shattering nearby sends Eve to her feet. Without stopping to think, she arms herself with the gun and steps around the bed toward the living room. 


Eve has barely made it through the open double doors when a man stumbles backward out of the kitchen. He catches himself on the refrigerator door, which swings open with the force of it. What Eve imagines to be hundreds of dollars worth of wine slides out and shatters. She levels the gun at the intruder’s head, but hesitates. Catches a glimpse of Villanelle stalking forward from the kitchen. 


Eve remains frozen by the couch. Neither of them have noticed her yet. 


The man regains his footing and lunges gracelessly towards Villanelle. She steps just out of his reach, and he stumbles. Eve feels her heart quicken as Villanelle’s lips twist into a vicious smile. She starts to turn on her heel, to deliver what Eve imagines to be a killer blow, and then their eyes meet. 


Villanelle falters.


The man lurches forward. He grabs Villanelle by the neck and manages to catch her off guard. She drops her weapon in shock as she’s slammed hard into a wall. He presses his body against hers, pinning her and moving to press his forearm across her neck. She tries to fight back, but he holds fast. The chokehold quickly drains her energy, until she falls still beneath his grip.


Eve shoots. 




It’s quick. 


One second. He’s there. Two seconds. He’s gone. 


Her ears are ringing. No one ever tells you about that. Gunshots are terribly loud. 


“Eve,” it’s muffled. 


Villanelle was right. It’s an awful mess. 


Close range in an enclosed space makes a mess. There’s blood splatter all over the kitchen. Even areas outside of the direct vicinity coated in a fine pink mist. She walks closer. 


There are some chunks. Eve ignores her desire to get closer to inspect them. It must be parts of his skull. 


The hole in his head looks more like a crater. She thinks with some rinsing she might be able to see clean through it, like a straw. 


“Eve?” Her ears are still ringing. 


His eyes are open. This time she can’t stop herself. She moves lower, looks into his eyes. Empty. It’s sickening. 


She smiles. 


“He was here before.” She says.




Eve finally looks at her. 


Villanelle is covered in blood. A large amount of the initial splatter ended up on her. There are chunks in her hair. She’s sitting on the floor not far from the body, back pressed against the wall. 


It’s terrible. 


She’s beautiful.


“I saw him here before. Going into your apartment when you weren’t home.” 


Villanelle grimaces. 


“It’s not your uncle, is it?” 


Villanelle almost laughs. “No. He’s not.”


“Okay,” Eve smiles. “Well, I’m glad I don’t have to apologize for killing your uncle.” 


“You could apologize for the mess you made in my apartment,” Villanelle smirks.


“Oh, fuck off.” Eve swats at her. “Would you rather I let you die?” 


Villanelle grabs her arm, pulls until Eve relents and takes up space next to her. “Why did you do it?” 


“He was going to kill you.” 


Villanelle stares at her for a moment, looks like she’s waiting for a punch line that’s never coming. Eve wraps a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her in until their lips meet. She kisses her, delicately, and tastes blood. 


“Thank you.” When they pull apart, Villanelle’s voice is barely above a whisper.


Eve looks back at him, laying motionless in front of them. She looks back at Villanelle, her eyes shimmering when they meet Eve’s. Eve wants to ask. Dares herself to confirm what she already knows. 


“Thank you,” she says instead. “For letting me.” 


The change in Villanelle’s expression is miniscule. Imperceptible to most. But it’s there, maybe just for Eve. “We should get cleaned up.” 


“Okay.” Eve puts her hand in Villanelle’s. 


Villanelle nods. “Okay.” 




They end up in Eve’s shower.


Villanelle faces the wall, Eve stands behind her. Using her fingers to comb away bits of skull stuck in Villanelle’s hair. 


“Was it what you expected?” Villanelle asks suddenly. 


“Was what?” 




“Oh,” Eve pauses, considers. “A little.” 


“A little?” Villanelle tries to turn around but Eve presses a hand to her shoulder. 


“I’m not done back here.” Eve chastises her. She sighs, “a little, yeah. It was… exciting, for a second. But now -”


“Now it’s over.” Villanelle interrupts. 


“Yes. Now it’s over.” 


Eve doesn’t say anything else. She had killed someone. Something she’d denied wanting to do for a long time. She’s not ready yet to think, or talk about, how it feels like she could go and do it again in a heartbeat. The addictive nature of it. She finds that she understands Villanelle a little better now. 


Villanelle nods and they lapse into a comfortable silence. Eve finishes combing through Villanelle’s hair and lets her hands drop to her shoulders. She presses a kiss between Villanelle’s shoulder blades. She finds herself encouraged by a content sigh from the woman in front of her. 


Eve drags her hands down Villanelle’s sides, skin slick from the shower. She pauses at her hips, pulls her back until they’re flush together. Wraps her arms around Villanelle’s waist. Villanelle’s breathing picks up as Eve starts to trace up her abdomen, fingers brushing lightly against the underside of her breasts. 




Suddenly Eve’s thoughts are occupied completely by the woman in front of her. “Yes?”


Feeling emboldened, she drops a hand to hold Villanelle’s hip while her other brushes over her nipple. 


“Eve!” It’s a gasp this time.


Eve presses a kiss to Villanelle’s neck before biting down to suck a mark into her skin. Villanelle grinds back against her and Eve feels herself get wetter by the second. 


“Tell me what you want,” she breathes into Villanelle’s ear. 


“Touch me,” Villanelle is practically panting. 


Eve pinches her nipple now, twisting it as Villanelle cries out. “I want you to ask nicely.” 


Eve can’t help but admire Villanelle, the way the woman’s hips have started a steady rhythm grinding against her front. Her hair dripping down her back, some of the water still running pink. Her skin is red from the heat of the shower, but goosebumps still rise where Eve touches her. 


“Please,” Villanelle whines. “Please touch me, Eve.”


Eve feels herself throb at Villanelle’s shameless begging. “No.”


“Huh?” Villanelle’s hips stutter. “No?” 


Eve relaxes her grip and Villanelle turns to face her. Before she can protest further, Eve pulls her into a kiss. It’s wanton, breathless, and Eve tries to communicate how badly she wants this by licking insistently into Villanelle’s mouth. She bites at her bottom lip and groans when Villanelle tugs on her hair.


Eve backs herself up, pulling Villanelle with her until her back hits the wall. The cold sends a shiver down her spine, but it’s temporary. Villanelle’s hands reaching desperately for her chest sends a wave of heat through her. 


Eve stops her, and when Villanelle looks at her desperately she places a hand on her shoulder and pushes down. “Get on your knees.” 


Villanelle visibly weakens, and drops to her knees obediently. 


“Don’t you think I deserve a thank you?”


Villanelle nods. It’s almost shameful, like she can’t believe she wanted to get off before her. 


Eve tangles a hand in her hair, and pulls Villanelle forward until her mouth hovers near her centre. Eager to please, Villanelle immediately licks into her cunt. 


Eve can’t help but gasp, not realizing until now how much she had needed this. She feels the same head rush, heat in her veins that she had felt when she pulled the trigger on that gun. She goes over it in her head, again, the noise, the spray, the collapse. 


“Fuck,” Villanelle sucks her clit into her mouth. “Villanelle, I just killed someone.” 


Villanelle hums against her but doesn’t stop.  Instead, she lifts Eve’s leg until it rests on her shoulder and pushes two fingers inside. 


Eve’s head hits the wall as she tightens around Villanelle’s fingers. She wonders if there is anything more intimate than this, the taking of one life in exchange for another. Villanelle inside her right now. 


Eve forces herself to look down, and seeing Villanelle’s eyes looking back up at her is enough to bring her to the edge. 


“Oh, my god,” Eve can barely get the words out. “You feel so good.”


Eve is burning, and she knows this is it. She’s been ruined forever. There’s nothing but this, now. 


She comes screaming Villanelle’s name, her hands tangled in blonde hair. When she’s ready to collapse, Villanelle catches her. 




Eve has never been big on feeling. 


But now, Eve feels everything with an intensity that could reduce her to ashes if she let it.


Eve feels everything, now. 


Especially when she buries her head between Villanelle’s thighs. She learns that Villanelle is sensitive, especially after being made to wait. The gentlest of strokes has her writhing, sheets twisted in a white knuckle grip. 


“Eve,” Villanelle’s desperate whines do nothing to tame the burning between Eve’s legs. “Please. More.”


Eve adjusts until she has a hand free to slip inside. She curls her fingers, Villanelle cries out and Eve remembers the ways she’d imagined being inside her before. Mostly with a knife, sometimes like this. She decides that this is beautiful, and it’s enough. Enough, for now, until she can find out how to cut Villanelle open and live in the very core of her. 


Villanelle is grinding against her now, head thrown back and breaths coming in gasps. Eve sucks at her clit, curls her fingers again, once, twice, until she feels Villanelle tighten around her. 


“Eve!” Villanelle cries out, “Eve! Eve!” 


And she thinks this may be the closest she gets to divinity. 






It was Villanelle’s answer when Eve asked what she would do for work, after slaughtering everyone she could find that had worked for her previous company. 


“Freelance?” Eve had asked.


“Yeah. I take the jobs I want. I go where I want.” 


“And me?” 


“Come with me.” 


Six months later, Eve’s hands grip a smooth leather steering wheel. 


She’s speeding down an empty road in some fancy vintage convertible that Villanelle had lifted from someone’s vacation property three months ago. It’s hot, and dry, and normally Eve would hate that. But, Villanelle is in the backseat, laughing as Eve presses harder and harder on the accelerator. She has no seatbelt on, arm tucked around Eve’s chest from behind to keep her from toppling over. And maybe this isn’t so bad. 


The man cowering in the passenger seat looks on in terror. 


In her other hand, Villanelle has a gun steadily pointed at his head. Eve has a knife tucked away somewhere hidden. It’s been two months since she last used it. Two or three bodies ago. They’ve started to blur together, if she’s honest. 


They had already questioned him. On threat of castration, he had admitted the information they were hired to find. Now, they’re just having fun. 


The man in the passenger seat flinches as Eve continues to pick up speed. 


“Baby,” Villanelle leans down to whine in Eve’s ear. “Can I kill him yet?”


“Not yet.” 


Villanelle sighs. “Why not? He is so ugly to look at.”


His eyes dart between the two of them. Villanelle jerks the gun toward him and he slinks lower into his seat. 


“Blood will be worse to look at.” Eve is patient. “Not to mention noticeable. I like this car.”


Villanelle groans.


Eve decides to be nice. She pulls to the side of the road abruptly, and the man lets out a frightened yelp. The car bumps over a few hundred feet of grass until Eve is satisfied with their distance from the road, and parks. 


Villanelle visibly perks up and moves to jump out of the backseat. Eve follows, circling the front of the vehicle. She pulls open the passenger side door and grabs their guest by the collar. 


This is her favourite part. 


She drags him out of the car and into the grass. Villanelle rounds on him instantly, prowling like a wild animal. 


“How should I do it?” She asks Eve. 


“Use the gun,” Eve instructs. “But not the head. He was annoying. I want him to feel it.” 


“Please -” any attempt at begging is cut off by a quick shot to the stomach. And another in the groin. 


“Villanelle,” Eve chastises, but her smile gives her away. 


Villanelle tosses the gun into the backseat again, before pinning Eve against the car. “Sorry, baby. I couldn’t help myself.” 


Eve rolls her eyes as Villanelle husks into her ear, but brings her hand to the blonde’s lower back to press her closer. 


“Are you going to watch?” Villanelle asks before kissing her way from Eve’s collar to ear. 




Villanelle whines.


“We have to make sure he’s dead.”


“He’ll die.” Villanelle grunts. “Two minutes until he bleeds out.” 


He is mostly still now, blood spurting out of his mouth and frantic eye movements the only signs of life. 


“I say one.” Eve counters. 


Villanelle glares over her shoulder. 


They both watch as life slowly drains out of his eyes, until there’s nothing left in there at all. Eve smiles.


“Okay,” Villanelle concedes. “Maybe the dick was overkill.”


Eve grabs Villanelle’s jaw, turns her back toward her and kisses her deeply. Villanelle immediately melts into her, hands tangling in Eve’s curls. Eve flicks her tongue across Villanelle’s bottom lip before pulling away. “You did a good job, Villanelle.” 


“Eve,” Villanelle groans. “I am getting dangerously close to begging you to fuck me in the backseat of this car.” 


“Mhm,” Eve slips out of Villanelle’s reach, making her way back to the driver’s side. “Maybe if you’re lucky.” 


“Eve,” Villanelle whines, but she gets into the passenger seat. 


Eve slips back into the driver’s seat and starts the car. Cranks the air conditioning because she’s already sweating again. “Okay,” she concedes. “On one condition.” 


Villanelle looks on eagerly. 


“The next place has to be colder. It is way too hot here. I hate Italy.” 


“Colder like Alaska?” 


“Like Alaska.”