Work Text:
The body topples over with a thud. She reloads, aims, and hits her mark again. Thud, thud, thud.
“God,” She sighs, when it’s all over.
The morgue is dark, so dark, and there’s bodies everywhere. She limps over to the door, clutching her stomach, blood inbetween her fingers like a river. Dead, she thinks, soon she might be dead. She smells the stench of metal, of rotting bodies, and still, she has to keep going, or else there will be nothing else. But she’s so, so tired, and hurt. In these moments, she misses Chris more than anything, when she isn’t sure she will ever see him again. He was small, once, just a kid as she was, but he was always a crutch, the one thing she could believe was true.
She had never been to Europe but she had dreamed about it, in the orphanage. She had seen images of islands full of pink sand and azure seas, had seen dark and deep forests, and cities of unimaginable age and structure. She hopes Chris is seeing them now, just like he said in the note. Any other thought is too painful.
She would laugh if she could, but the breath that comes out of her is more a wheeze, and she stumbles again, her legs almost giving out. Her hand leaves a bloody mark on the door handle, and she barely has the strength to push through. But the door creaks, and she hears it, then. The rhythmic clacking of nails on metal, the throaty clicks of a monster.
She had known it was there, of course, sneaked past it on the way in. But now, bleeding and limping through the darkness, she isn’t sure she could do the same again. And yet, there’s no other choice. She has nothing on her - no bandages, no antiseptic, and barely even any ammo. She can only choose to die where she stands or die to the next monster trying to kill her.
Sherry , she thinks, I must save Sherry .
And the thought carries her forward, no matter how much she wants to lay down on the ground and cry, and give up.
She steps out, tentatively, holding in her breath. Her stomach hurts violently where something had pierced it, where something had tried to rip her apart. She could throw up if her throat was not closed up from fear. The monster is blind, but as if sensing her, it looks up at her. Ugly, so ugly, and alight in the glow of her torchlight, she sees it trying to sniff her out. She takes a step toward it, and it takes a step toward her too. It’s blocking her route to the parking lot, but she hopes it will move so she can skirt around it, safely.
But she can’t. It’s not even a misstep on her part - her brother taught her better than that. But the monster moves towards her abruptly and touches her calf. The moment it touches her, it screams. The sound is blood-curdling, distorted in her ears. She feels as if her body is not her own, as if this isn’t really happening.
Ah. Claire can never have it easy. She grits her teeth and feels her heart beating out of her chest, making her lightheaded. Warm and wet, the blood from her wound is still soaking through her shirt and pants. She’ll try to live. She has to. But she’s still so, so scared.
She loads her gun quickly, backing away, then empties the magazine into its fleshy skull. The monster roars, charging at her, its long nails leaving dents on the floor. Fuck, she thinks, and then she doesn’t have any time to think before the creature lunges at her, mouth agape and ready to tear her apart. She stumbles, falling back, and she uses that momentum to roll out of its range, its heavy claw falling right where she was, sinking into the floor like butter. It growls, angry, then tries again. The adrenaline keeps her from really feeling the pain of her previous wounds, but she’s so slow even so. She needs to reload her gun again, but she can’t, her fingers trembling. It swings at her again and she ducks away, even slower. A nail scratches her jaw, a weeping wound too close to her neck. A second slower and it would have cut her throat.
It steps towards her again, and her back hits the wall. And she just stands there, frozen. Terror grips her throat, but she can’t even make a whimper.
Just as she’s about to surely die, the creature’s salivating maw already distended to take a bite out of her, somebody shouts.
“Cover your eyes!”
Claire has no time to do so, and the flash that goes off blinds the creature and her both. With her blurred vision she moreso feels the creature’s flailing than sees it. Then she hears a shot, then another, and the creature topples forward, right into Claire. Panic strikes her quick, pushing it away. The resounding thud of its corpse tells her it's dead.
Her vision comes back in patches, her eyes unfocused through the tears and dust.
“Go!” Someone shouts, and then a warm hand grips Claire’s wrist in its vice, pulling her along, “Before something else comes along!”
She goes willingly, like a string doll, stumbling through the rubble. Blinking rapidly, she finds it easier to see her savior. She’s a woman, as tall as Claire herself is, dressed lightly. Claire can make out no more than her strong, yet elegant back, the planes of her shoulders moving as she pulls Claire along, the slender nape of her neck exposed by her shortly cropped hair. In her other hand, she carries a small gun, finger on the trigger as if she might shoot at any moment.
Claire doesn’t have the time to even thank her before the woman leads them to an empty room, locks it, then bolts the door. Then, she sighs.
“Lay down here,” The woman says, then finally turns to face Claire.
Beautiful. There’s no other way to explain it, no other reason to. Claire thought she was past the superficiality of thinking someone beautiful amid the carnage and waste but, just as she had thought Leon beautiful, she can’t help it now either. Elegantly sculpted brows, full lips, and piercing eyes. But even past that, the dignity and strength she carries herself with.
“You…” Claire starts to say breathlessly, and then-
Darkness. She falls to the floor headfirst.
There’s a sound she hears, when she first comes to. It is not what wakes her, as it is much too quiet, yet it is what keeps her awake, rhythming and calm. Claire doesn’t open her eyes immediately, listening to the sound that she now differentiates as nails drumming on a wooden surface. Then, it stops.
“You can stop pretending you’re asleep now,” A melodic voice comes, even and unimpressed, “Your breathing pattern’s changed.”
Claire can’t help an amused huff as she does as she’s instructed, slowly blinking awake. The light is dim, and she barely needs to adjust to it before she sees the room in stark relief. It is comfortable, as much as any room in this place can be, small and safe, and warm. Claire realizes she’s covered in a thin bedsheet, and underneath it she feels her wound is dressed, and she is only wearing the sports bra that was underneath her tank top.
She might have felt shy just a week before, but now she raises herself to sit up, and the sheet falls off her shoulders to reveal her torso. Death puts things into perspective, and her nakedness is no longer anything she finds important. She finds, surprised, that the wound does not hurt as much as she expected, and she touches a hand gingerly to it.
“You’re okay,” The woman says, then moves from where she was half-sitting on the table in the middle of the room, until she’s a few steps away from Claire, “Your wound was nowhere vital, and I stitched you up. You were just lightheaded from the blood loss.”
“I..”, Claire begins, turning towards her savior, “Thank you, um..”
She leaves the end of her sentence open, as a way to indicate it should end in a title, in a not-so-subtle offer for the woman to state her name. Even now, Claire thinks with a clear mind, she’s beautiful. Claire can’t help but take note of her long legs, her perfect form, her tightly fitted dress.
The woman laughs brightly, not at all looking amused, and says, “Wouldn’t you like to know, Claire?”
Claire feels the half-mocking tone in her voice, and decides she shouldn’t really like it as much as she does.
“You know me?”
“Sure I do. You both keep me running around. They should pay me extra for charity work.”
“Both?” Claire can’t help but latch onto that part, though she already has a suspicion about who is being referred to.
“Oh, you know him, of course.” She says, “Young, blonde, and heroic. Has all these ideas about saving the world. Very easy to lead around by the nose.”
Claire isn’t sure she likes it that Leon is getting led around by the nose, but they’re also nowhere near close to being anything more than acquaintances, so she can’t really feel much wronged in his stead. And she likes the way the woman in front of her pronounces her words. Fully enunciated and stretched out, as if she loves saying that someone is naive or easy.
“Who..are you?” Claire tentatively asks, after all.
“Hmm,” She hums, and her lips curve in satisfaction. Gracefully, she puts one foot in front of the other, heels clicking as she makes the few steps distance. She sits at the edge of the couch Claire is on, face a few breaths away from Claire’s.
“I’m Ada.” She says at length, still smirking, studying Claire’s face.
“Ada,” Claire repeats, swallowing around the word, “Why are you, well…here.”
Ada’s hand moves and Claire is so, so slow - noticing just now that Ada has been carrying a gun, unholstered. The glint of its metal is captivating, as Ada taps it to Claire’s thigh, hidden underneath the bedding, then moves the barrel up until it’s pressed against Claire’s stomach, centimeters shy off her fresh wound. Claire’s heart is beating out of her chest with an excited, breathless energy. She feels like her soul will exit her any moment. The exhilaration makes her lightheaded, her chest heaving visibly.
“Scared?” Ada asks, and her eyes betray she finds Claire pitiful, like somebody might regard a particularly cute wounded animal, “You should ask questions first, Claire.”
Ada licks her lips, long lashes slowly lowering, eyes tracing Claire from head to toe. Her eyes are captivating, beautifully dark and deep, looking at Claire with a strange mix of satisfaction and mocking, superiorly arrogant.
“But,” Ada interjects again, eyes snapping back up to stare right into Claire’s, “I like that. Cautious but naive. So cute. Maybe I have a type, you think?”
The gun moves again, higher, right above Claire’s heart, where her chest flutters like a scared animal. Claire is a diver right before the jump, eyes full of the jagged cliff below.
Ada licks her lips and Claire’s eyes trace the movement. Excitement and fear feel all the same to Claire, the line between them hair-thin.
Her mind can’t reason against it, before she’s leaning in sharply, hand moving to cradle Ada’s neck, pressing her mouth painfully to Ada’s. The movement knocks the barrel of the gun higher still, lodging it into the divot between Claire’s collarbones, where she feels it press against her throat, right where the painful want she feels right now is. And she wants.
Ada gasps against her, parting her mouth, and the sound is not really surprise, though close to it, yet not really dissatisfaction either. Before Claire can think about her next course of action, before she can start to regret it, Ada smiles against her mouth widely, and Claire feels the sharpness of her teeth underneath. Ada takes no time and presses back, prying Claire’s mouth open. Her kiss is raw and hot, tongue burning as she licks the back of Claire’s teeth, hand coming up to fist Claire’s ponytail until her head snaps back and they’re separated abruptly.
Ada holds her like this, gun still to her throat. Claire thinks she must be insane, because Ada’s lips are red, her eyes glassy, and Claire can’t find it in herself to stop. It makes her more excited still. She knows she’s always been attracted to danger, but this is just stupidity. She feels the growing wetness between her thighs, her cunt throbbing.
“Oh, maybe I was wrong,” Ada begins, tone amused and breathless, “Maybe you’re not so similar after all.”
And then she leans in again, breath burning hot, licking Claire’s lip. Ada’s lipstick is smudged against her mouth, as it must be all over Claire’s own. Claire tries to push back into it, to kiss her again, but she finds she can’t, as Ada holds her still like a misbehaving dog.
“You’re so wonderful,” Ada whispers, “I can’t be gentle, Claire.”
That’s all the warning she’s going to get. In response Claire jerks against her captor, thigh coming up swiftly to press between Ada’s legs. Ada doesn’t moan, collected still, but she huffs a breath through her nose, eyes fluttering dangerously. The twist in Claire’s stomach makes her almost sick.
Smiling, Ada lowers her gun, tracing Claire’s body, before she extends her arm and drops it to the floor. Claire almost feels the loss of it, like a limb. She can’t believe she’s thinking this.
And then Ada is kissing her again, truly this time, bare-tooth, half-growling. She really can’t be gentle, Claire finds, as her nails find purchase in Claire’s shoulders, and Claire feels her skin give weight and split open in painful welts. It makes her want everything even more, makes her pulse drop down between her legs.
“Mmh,” She moans, nostrils flaring up because she’d rather die than stop to breathe.
Ada bites her lip hard, and Claire tastes the sharp iron tang of her own blood, before it’s forgotten, as Ada pushes her tongue against Claire’s. Claire, in turn, catches her tongue between canines, biting down like she wants to return the favor. Ada moans and it sends an electric shiver down Claire’s spine, making her tremble. She does it again and Ada bears down on her, pressing herself against Claire’s knee, shallowly rocking against it. She’s searing hot, and Claire wants to give her everything so badly. She doesn’t move though, lets Ada grind her cunt onto her until Claire feels the wetness soak into Ada’s tights and right onto Claire’s uncovered skin.
Ada gives one last chaste kiss to Claire, then interrupts their kiss, dropping her head in the curve of Claire’s neck instead, breathing heavily into her skin. For some reason, Claire finds her very vulnerable, and she brings her hands up to rest at Ada’s waist, holding her as she rocks in her own rhythm.
“I don’t play games,” Ada begins, “Except my own. So we are going to do this how I want.”
As she says this, she slows down the rocking of her hips, dragging her cunt slowly on the expanse of Claire’s thigh. Claire could cum only from watching her.
“Whatever you say, just-” Claire agrees breathlessly, fingers skirting close to Ada’s butt, where the hem of her dress has raised to almost fully reveal her.
“Whatever I say?” Ada says, smirking, and maybe Claire really has given herself to the wolf willingly, “Raise your arms then.”
And even knowing that, Claire raises her arms as commanded. Oh, how she wants to be the rabbit, staring at the sharp maw that will consume her.
Ada’s nails skirt her ribcage, as gently as she can, which is to say not at all. Claire’s pulse is in her throat, and she only thinks of it in the privacy of her mind, I want you to tear me apart . Even if she wants to, even if it drives her crazy. But Ada’s fingers hook under her bra, touching the sensitive skin of Claire’s chest, and Claire shivers so hard it’s visible.
“You want me that much?” Ada teases, and with one move, she uncovers Claire’s breasts, throwing her bra somewhere into oblivion. Claire couldn’t care less, “Oh, aren’t you gorgeous.”
Ada is looking down at her chest, fingers resting right underneath her breasts, making the hairs all over Claire’s body stand up. Shivers pass through her like electric currents.
“Yeah,” Claire answers belatedly, breathy like she’s choking out the words, “ I want you. ”
Something dark passes Ada’s eyes, and Claire feels her twitch, feels her lean even more of her weight into Claire, pressing herself bodily as close as she can go. She’s still smiling that arrogant smile, frozen like she doesn’t know how to react. Claire is sure Ada’s been wanted, so much and by so many, but the desire in Claire’s chest is an ocean.
“Then, let’s give you what you want.” She says at last, and her manicured hands cup Claire’s chest.
Her hands are warm and firm, and sure, like she wants this just as much as Claire does, burning with it. She sinks her fingers and Claire’s breath hitches, but she holds herself back. She won’t voice it, her painful want, at least not yet.
Ada takes it as a challenge, leaning back into it to kiss Claire. She keeps a hand occupied on her chest, while the other trails back lower, lower, her nails leaving angry lines. When she reaches her wounded side, she rests her whole palm over it, warm and Claire -
Claire doesn’t know what she wants. The lust is making her mind muddy, Ada’s tongue in her throat is the only thing she can think about. Claire wants to feel her, wants Ada to press until it hurts and bleeds and tears apart the careful stitching Ada did.
But Ada only lets her hand rest there for a moment, like she's also thinking about it, before it slides lower, cupping Claire between her legs through her pants. Now, Claire can’t do much else but groan into Ada’s pliant mouth, hips bucking like she can’t help the urge. Ada presses harder, almost painful, and Claire’s hips move, willingly. She could get off just like this, as if this was her first time, in her pants, already searing hot and wet between her thighs.
“Not like this,” Claire pants, “I’ll-”
“You’re so sensitive,” Ada says, and her voice is hungry.
“I’m- hah,” She drawls, and her legs shudder at Ada pressing her knuckles right over where Claire’s clit is, under her offending clothes, “I’m not, it’s never been-”
Like this, she doesn’t say. But Ada hears it.
Claire is growing to realize that Ada is smarter than anyone she’s ever met.
Swiftly yet clumsily, unlike what one would expect from her, Ada fumbles with the button of Claire’s pants, and without sliding them off at all, pushes her hand inside, shaking. When Ada’s burning hot fingers reach her, it’s half-pain, a trembling earthquake of a feeling, and her whole body twitches, waist bending. She embarrassedly realizes her body instinctively is trying to push into the touch, to crush her flesh into Ada’s. She clenches her teeth and relaxes, as if to seem anything but overeager, though she knows she cannot hide it. Ada is doing much of nothing, not moving her fingers except to push them harder and more painfully, simply press them as much as she can into Claire’s cunt without pushing inside.
And it’s painful, all the more painful because of how sensitive Claire is. And Claire could almost cum. She feels her legs trembling, feels the heat wash all over her body. Ada knows it, because as soon as Claire’s body coils up, she releases the tension.
“Tut, tut,” She reprimands jokingly, voice lower than before, more wanting, “You wouldn’t deprive me of the satisfaction of teasing you, would you?”
And Claire wants to come, but what she wants more is to listen to every word Ada says, to follow it like law. So she nods, breathes through her nose like an animal, and tries to regulate her heartbeat.
“Good girl,” And it so cliche but this, too, makes Claire’s skin rise. Good girl. Oh, Claire can be so good.
Then, Ada’s hand moves back in, this time carefully, as much movement as Claire’s pants will allow, stroking her with intent, fingers exploring the soaking wetness between Claire’s thighs. She shivers, head falling back, baring her throat. Ada’s thighs flex, and she gasps quietly, as if she never meant to do that. As if reminded of her own need, she presses her cunt back into Claire’s leg, this time lower, right over her knee, grinding with a nondescript rhythm, in tune with her hand on Claire. Claire’s vision is hazed, and she can barely form a thought that doesn’t end in a moan, or a desperate plea for more.
When Claire thinks she can’t handle it anymore, the white-hot pulse of desire, the heartbeat of Ada’s heat that she feels across her own body, crawling through her nervous system, Ada’s fingers enter her sharply, almost painfully. The motion makes Claire moan brokenly, jumping, and the motion presses her knee sharply between Ada’s legs.
The noise Ada makes is divine, impossible to forget, the gentle rock of her hips halted. Her legs clench around Claire’s knee, and her entire frame trembles. Claire feels wetness gush out of her, feels the throb of her cunt. She doesn’t come, not yet, but she bares her teeth, her eyes screwed shut.
“Ah,” Ada gasps, then painfully slowly, she releases the grip her legs have on Claire.
She gets her bearings, stuttering, and then resumes, fingers inside Claire, her palm moving against her clit as she fucks into Claire with determination, speeding up in an almost bruising rhythm.
“Next time,” She growls as her hips move against Claire, “I am going to strap myself. And then I’m going to fuck you until you break.”
Next time , Claire repeats in her mind deliriously, drooling. More than anything she wants that.
Her wet cunt pulses around the fingers in her as Ada adds another one, hooking them into Claire to stretch her out further, press into her insides like she could mark her in some way. She feels her muscles tighten, feels the tremble of her body, and she knows she’s about to come.
Ada’s pleasure is pain, her hands rough, and she knows, feels the tightness around her fingers, feels the wetness drool out of Claire. She speeds up, faster even, and when Claire moans brokenly, on the precipice, she drives her fingers in, thumb coming up to press against Claire’s clit violently, aiming to make it hurt, to overstimulate her.
“Fuck, oh-” Claire cries out, hips trembling as she pushes further into Ada’s grip, the fire in her belly hot and urgent.
She comes like this, tears rolling down her cheeks as she locks up, moaning like she’s wounded. She comes so hard her vision whites-out, each sinew in her drawn up tight like it could snap. Through it all Ada doesn’t let up, prolonging it until Claire can’t handle it anymore, until she starts sobbing from overstimulation.
Even then Ada doesn’t stop, continues to abuse her cunt, and Claire lets her, twitching and making noises she didn’t know she could make. Between her legs, the wetness keeps gushing out of her. She never knew she could get so wet.
Ada could drive her into another punched-out orgasm like this, Claire is sure of it.
But Ada doesn’t.
Eventually, she releases her grasp on Claire, removing her fingers and her hand altogether. Claire whimpers, but she’s too preoccupied to do much else, as Ada scoots further up Claire’s thigh, her searing heat driving Claire’s heart into her ribs.
“Stay like this,” She commands, and Claire does. Anything.
She grabs Claire’s hands, balled into white-knuckled fists, and guides them until they sit at her waist, so low that she’s touching her half-unclothed ass.
“Only here,” She instructs, “Don’t touch me anywhere else.”
And Claire wants to touch her so badly, but she never wants to do anything Ada doesn’t like, never wants to disobey. So she nods, fingers digging into Ada’s soft skin, as Ada begins to rock against her once more. Claire knows she’s also close, been close for a while now.
She is a vision, hair smooth and straight, falling over her face and sticking to her temples. Her face is flushed gorgeously, her eyes bright and alive. Claire had never seen someone come just apart like this but Ada is making small gasps, and Claire feels her more than anything. She’s making a mess of Claire’s pants, wetness soaking into the fabric, and Claire feels her twitch against her leg with every thrust of her hips, every time her cunt dragged against her. It would sting and bruise the next day, probably, but Claire thinks that maybe, for Ada, that is the point.
And Ada is confident in what she wants. She surges, grabbing Claire’s face, and kisses her again, all teeth and no gentleness, biting her lips raw. If she were a louder person, Claire is sure she would be growling into it. Claire responds with the same urgency, hands on Ada’s thighs, leaving her fingerprints in her skin, as she feels bodily Ada’s rhythm.
She’s stuttering, irregular, and no longer slow, and more than anything just driving her hips into Claire as hard as possible. The trembling breath she breathes into Claire’s mouth tells Claire she’s close.
“Mhm,” She gasps, teeth digging into Claire’s tongue before she pulls back. Her voice sounds hoarse and low, like she’s barely suppressing something, “So good. You’re so good.”
She slams her hips down, legs coming up to squeeze tight, caging Claire’s thigh almost painfully. She stops moving, trembling and shaking, her cunt pulsing against Claire, and Ada’s entire body is wound out with the effort not to cry out in pleasure. Like this, she comes, back arching. Her eyes are screwed shut, her neck thrown back, and Claire can’t do much to guide her through it but stay there, even as Ada’s heat burns a brand into her.
Claire thinks that for the life of her, she will never forget the feeling.
After a second more, Ada returns back to kissing her, her legs letting up, still twitching against Claire, chest heaving. Her kisses are now gentle, so slow, like Ada has gotten the edge in her smoothened out by her orgasm.
“Um,” Claire begins tentatively, the words spoken against the press of Ada’s mouth.
Her mind is finally clearing up again, and Claire realizes she must be insane, to have done any of this.
“Don’t go all embarrassed on me now,” Ada laughs.
“I’m not- well,” Claire stutters, “I’m a bit embarrassed. But this was-”
Ada smiles again, eyes foxlike and calculating, but also a bit softer, like she really finds Claire cute. She pats her face and gets up, and Claire flushes further, looking at their collective mess.
“I'll help you,” Ada says, as if she's just decided so.
“Help me?”
“Yes. I'll help you. Wouldn't want you to get hurt even worse, now, would I?” Ada smirks, though Claire has no idea how to understand her words, “Come on, let's find you some new pants.”