Confidence looks good on Caitlyn and Vi watches her work the room with a champagne glass in her hand and the bearing of her station.
She watches Caitlyn's lips twitch into the barest hint of a smile at something someone said, watches the tilt of her head, the shift of the few loose strands of hair that curl by her face, the angle of her chin as she stands her ground.
This is a battlefield that finds Vi entirely out of place but Caitlyn Kiramman, daughter of Councilor Kiramman looks a goddamn dream in that deep navy dress, the gold trim just enough to evoke thoughts of her station and remind the room that they speak with the Sheriff of Piltover.
Vi doesn't really care.
Well, she does. A little. Because this matters to Caitlyn and this has lasting repercussions on the general state of affairs and Vi cares about that, she does.
But she also cares, maybe a little too much, about the bare expanse of Cait's back, about the way her skin seems almost to shimmer in the golden light, about the slim fingers that grip her champagne glass, about the lips that part around the sweet liquid.
"She's not going to explode even if you stare any harder."
Vi almost jumps.
Powder smirks. "Hello, sister."
"Powder," grumbles Vi, "I was not staring."
"Uh huh," Powder sing-songs, yoinking a drink off of a passing waiter. "Sure you weren't, Vi."
She takes a sip of her drink and then makes a face. "Ew."
"Give that to me."
Powder giggles. "Don't wanna."
"Pow, you don't even like it."
Powder shrugs. "But it's fancy and probably costs about the same as one of my chompers."
Vi's eyes flick right to the waiter's retreating back. No chomper. Phew.
"You're underage." Vi steps closer and whispers. "You're not supposed to be drinking."
"I'm not drinking," Powder says, swirling the glass before she lifts it to her face, one eye magnified absurdly large through the fizzing liquid as she peers through it. "I'm tasting. It's bubbly. I like that. Bubbles. They go pop."
"Give it to me."
"You're no fun, Vi." Powder pouts though she doesn't look too put out. Vi's half sure she took the drink just to fuck with her.
Powder smirks and leans close. "Trying to put on a good show for your girlfriend?"
"She's not my—"
Powder simply raises an eyebrow, then drops the glass and it is only with Vi's quick reflexes that she catches it. A little of the liquid sloshes over the side but she doesn't drop the glass, doesn't make a scene, doesn’t embarrass herself or anyone else.
Vi glares up at where Powder used to be but her sister is already skipping away, braids bouncing.
"God," Vi mutters.
"Is something the matter?"
She damn near jumps out of her jacket.
Caitlyn stands there, eyebrows artfully raised and Vi follows her gaze to the two glasses in her hands.
"Oh, nah," she says. "They're not both for me. One of them was P—"
She cuts herself off.
"I took it from Powder," she says. "Away. From Powder."
Caitlyn's eyes twinkle.
"I didn't give it to her, cupcake. You know how Powder is."
Caitlyn nods and takes a step closer and Vi can see the tension in her partner's shoulders ease just a fraction. It makes her feel good, the way Caitlyn feels more comfortable around her than the rest of the room.
It makes her feel special.
It makes her want to wrap her hand around that slim waist and pull it close to her, makes her want to—
"Vi," Caitlyn cuts quietly through her thoughts. "Is there something on my face?"
Vi blinks and the thought process snaps like a rubber band.
There's a mild, confused, almost concerned look on Caitlyn's face and it's familiar, all the way back to that day they first met. It’s endearing, it’s sweet, and it makes Vi want to kiss her real fucking bad.
But she doesn’t, because they’re not like that. Not yet, at least, and not for lack of wanting.
She smirks instead.
"You really are hot, cupcake."
Caitlyn's eyes grow wide in the exact same way they did then but this time she doesn't lean away.
Instead, her glass goes to her lips and Vi watches, watches hungrily as Cait’s lips part and press against the glass, as her throat bobs as she swallows.
There's the lightest dusting of a blush across her face but a sparkle in her eyes.
"Vi," says Caitlyn, "would you like to accompany me to the gardens?"
“This isn’t the gardens.”
Caitlyn’s back stiffens, the moonlight streaming through the tall, high window painting her bare skin a pale white. Then her shoulders relax fractionally as the door closes behind them.
“No,” she says. “This isn’t the gardens.”
“Cupcake,” Vi smirks, “if you wanted to get me alone, all you needed to do was ask.”
A clink as Caitlyn’s glass finds a small, marble tabletop.
“You’re the one,” she turns her head, looking over her shoulder, “who said that my problem was that I expected everyone to give me what I want.”
The moment it clicks, Vi’s grin widens, shark-like.
“So I’m what you want, huh?”
Caitlyn is quiet for a moment. Vi waits for a joke, waits for something to break the tension, waits for her to smile and say something about them being partners. Work partners.
“Yes,” Caitlyn says instead and she is a vision, jewelry sparkling in the light. “You are.”
Vi stares, half in disbelief. She hasn’t had nearly enough booze to be tipsy or drunk or to be plucking words from her dreams and inserting them into reality.
Caitlyn’s eyes travel down the length of her body and Vi can feel the heat in those blue eyes, sees the desire behind them even as Caitlyn’s lips simply part slightly then close as if to hold words back behind her teeth.
Caitlyn steps closer now, heels clicking quietly on the wooden floor. Her hands reach out to the lapels of Vi’s suit jacket and those deadly, steady hands tremble slightly just before they rest on the material. Vi swears all she can feel is the heat from Cait’s palms, all that she can smell is the scent of Cait’s perfume, all that she can see the blue that holds her grey gaze captive.
“So,” she says breathlessly, “This is the part where you let me think you have what I want?”
“Yes,” Caitlyn says again, and again Vi’s breath catches.
Caitlyn leans in and now there is an insistent tug on Vi’s collar as Cait’s eyes dip down to her lips.
Vi watches her, lips parting, their warm breath already mingling in the space between them. Her heart beats a mile a minute and she wants this, wants this so bad, has wanted this for so long that it surprises her that she hasn’t closed the gap yet.
Then it hits her that there’s no reason to not close the gap.
So she does, meeting Cait in a kiss, tentative at first because it feels somehow like this is still a dream, not reality, that she isn’t allowed to—Cait kisses her back, hard and Vi tastes the flavors of an expensive wine on her tongue, wants more.
Then heat presses up against her and she groans, doesn’t hold back anymore, hands reaching further down to the curve of Cait’s waist, to her hips, pulling Cait closer until it is simply fabric between them.
“Fuck,” she breathes when they part for air.
Cait doesn’t even say anything, those gorgeous blue eyes still fixed on her lips. Her tongue darts out, licks at the smeared lipstick and the line she draws with the tip of her tongue drives Vi insane. The grip in Vi’s clothes doesn’t loosen, the fabric wrinkling beneath those fingers but Vi doesn’t care, never cared, can’t think of a reason why she should care when Cait pulls her back in.
Vi takes her face in her hands and kisses her the way she’s wanted to this whole time.
She already has a hand on Cait’s thigh when they pull away, the skin hot beneath her touch. Cait’s chest heaves but there is a focused clarity to her gaze, a fire that burns inside them and Vi’s grin widens.
She makes a show of licking her lips and there’s a corresponding sparkle of annoyance in Cait’s eyes.
They both know what she’s going to say next, which doesn’t stop Vi.
“Should’ve known—” she smirks “—that you’d taste sweet too, cupcake.”
Cait’s lips twitch and Vi knows she’s trying very hard to not smile, knows Cait doesn’t want to give her the pleasure of knowing she actually likes the nickname. But Vi knows and she trails her fingers up the outside of Cait’s thigh, up along the skin that peeks out from the material of her dress.
The fire burns brighter in blue eyes inches from her own.
“So,” says Cait, the beginnings of a mischievous smirk on her lips. “I take it that I do have what you want.”
Vi barks a laugh but her hand pauses. She leans closer, past wide eyes, lips hovering just over the shell of a ear dripping in diamonds.
“I want to taste you.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath—Cait’s always been smart—and Vi pulls back a little so calm grey meets surprised blue. She raises her eyebrows, her hand slipping off of Cait’s skin.
Vi watches Cait gather her thoughts, waits for her answer.
The pale column of Cait’s throat bobs in a swallow.
Then she nods.