Work Text:
1
Agatha has Rio pinned to a tree, one of her hands gripping Rio’s waist tightly while the other cups her face with a gentleness that she shouldn’t possess.
Rio lets herself be kissed, lets herself be manhandled until she’s turned around with her back to Agatha’s front.
Agatha plants kisses along Rio’s neck, sucking little bruises into her skin as she maneuvers her hands underneath Rio’s skirts, shucking down her undergarments until they’re far enough down her legs to give leeway to Agatha’s hands.
She runs her fingers along Rio’s slit, finding her dripping wet just from those kisses.
(Or, possibly, from watching Agatha kill a bunch of witch hunters.)
She doesn’t fuck her, her fingers dipping into her opening but never quite giving Rio what she wants. Instead, she plays with her clit. Pressing down hard enough to make Rio’s hips shoot backward into Agatha’s body, and then easing up when she knows Rio is close.
“Agatha,” Rio growls.
“What?” Agatha asks innocently. She pinches Rio’s clit between her finger and thumb, startling a moan out of Rio.
Rio’s nails scrape against the bark of the tree as she rocks herself into Agatha’s hand.
Agatha watches the side of Rio’s face, the slope of her nose and the way the shadows of the leaves on the tree reflect on her cheekbones. She can tell Rio’s patience is wearing thin, and honestly, so is Agatha’s.
So when she presses the pads of her fingers back down on Rio’s clit and brings her to the edge of orgasm, she doesn’t stop this time. She allows Rio to fall apart in her arms, from her fingers, listening to the way she tries to keep her cries from sounding desperate.
It’s Rio that moves first, turning herself around to kiss Agatha again. The kisses are soft, too soft for what they’d just done and what they are and what they do.
Soft in a way that has Agatha’s heart pounding under her ribcage, so loud and brash that she’s sure Rio can hear it.
It’s like being doused in cold water when Rio reaches underneath Agatha’s skirt, fingers greedily seeking her out. Agatha heaves herself away from Rio then.
Rio gives Agatha a look of confusion.
Agatha pastes on a smile she hopes looks demure. “I’m bleeding,” she lies.
She can tell that Rio sees right through it, but doesn’t comment on it. She merely smiles, her face still a little flushed from her orgasm, and she fixes her dress so she’s modestly covered.
“It’s always a pleasure to see you, my lady,” Rio says with a bow.
Agatha wants to crack a smile, because Rio often entertains her and makes her laugh, but she holds it in and gives her the best deadpan look she can manage.
“And with those departing words, I will be off,” Agatha snarks.
She tries to ignore the look Rio gives her, so open and full of adoration. If there’s one thing Agatha can’t do right now, it’s that.
2
Dusk is Agatha’s favourite time of day. She loves how the sky turns slightly purple, how the sun illuminates the sky and promises darkness.
Rio loves dawn, loves to watch the sun rise.
Agatha can see the appeal, she supposes. Especially when she finds herself on top of Rio as the sun begins to rise on the horizon, pinning Rio’s hands above her head as she kisses her senseless.
“Mm,” Rio moans. “Agatha.”
It’s dangerous, how addicted Agatha is to hearing Rio say her name like that. And what’s scarier is she thinks she’s transparent about this. She’s sure Rio knows, and she’ll use it against her someday.
To gain some semblance of control, Agatha bunches Rio’s skirts at her waist and straddles one of her thighs. With a wave of her hand, Rio’s undergarments disappear and she dips the tips of her fingers into Rio’s wetness.
(And she’s so wet. She’s so fucking wet. She’s always so wet for her.)
There’s no resistance when Agatha presses her middle finger into her. She can tell that it’s not enough for Rio, that Rio wants more fingers, wants more kisses, wants more of Agatha. Even the bits that Agatha can’t give her.
She shakes that thought off and adds a second finger, reveling in the way Rio gasps and moans and arches her entire body into Agatha’s. She takes Agatha so beautifully, she always does.
“More,” Rio says.
Agatha smiles, leans down and kisses her again. Agatha’s fingers are cruel as she begins to fuck Rio harshly, a sharp contrast by the soft kisses she keeps pressing against Rio’s lips.
Rio’s letting out noises Agatha’s never heard before. They’re loud, and wanton, and free in a way that Agatha thinks there’s something that’s shifted between them.
It’s not magic, she doesn’t think, but it makes her dizzy. Makes her head spin, makes her heart palpitate. Rio’s hands are secure and unrelenting on Agatha’s waist as she arches her back beautifully.
Rio’s orgasm blasts through her like a bolt of lightning, making Rio twitch and cry out loud enough to scare some unsuspecting birds in nearby trees. The idea that Agatha and Agatha alone can make Rio, Death, lose herself like this.
But Agatha is losing herself, too. She doesn’t even realize she’s rutting herself against Rio’s firm thigh as they swap kisses lazily back and forth. She only realizes when Rio flexes her leg and presses it harder against Agatha’s core.
It feels good—so good that Agatha almost wants to throw caution to the wind, close her eyes and get lost in the feeling of her own pleasure.
But she doesn’t.
She rolls off of her and lays flat on the grass beside Rio, their shoulders pressed against each other. Agatha tilts her head to the side, sees that Rio is already watching her with a look that she can’t decipher on her face.
It’s too much. Agatha has to look away.
3
“Have I ever told you how beautiful I find you in the moonlight?” Rio tells her as they walk through the cemetery.
Agatha wants to smile, wants to lean herself into Rio and hold her hand. Wants to allow herself to sink into this feeling that she thinks might be love. But she doesn’t. Instead, she gives Rio a predatory grin.
“Who knew Death was such a romantic,” Agatha jokes, but it falls flat.
She’s deflecting, and Agatha knows that Rio isn’t stupid. Rio can tell. While Agatha has always been good at hiding, Rio has always been a seeker. She has a way of reading Agatha in a way that has Agatha feeling scared and Agatha Harkness does not feel scared.
When they reach a tomb, she presses Rio against the brick.
Agatha can’t help but want her. Surrounded by death, surrounded by the souls that she’s reaped, Rio’s fucking magnificent.
She kisses her, harsh and rough, and Rio lets her. She always lets her. And she always tries to pleasure her, tries to touch her.
And like always, Agatha deflects.
“I just want to focus on you,” Agatha murmurs, and she slides down to her knees. She needs to put distance between her and Rio because she’s so close to allowing her to touch her, and she can’t.
Rio’s eyes are molten as she follows Agatha’s every movement. Agatha hikes Rio’s skirts up and maneuvers one of Rio’s legs until it’s rested on her shoulder.
Agatha kisses the inside of Rio’s thigh before allowing one of her sharper incisors to bite. She leaves a trail of them until she reaches Rio’s center, where she’s bare.
With a quirked brow, Agatha looks up and meets Rio’s eyes. Rio is unabashedly wanton, cheeks slightly pink but not from embarrassment at being so bold with her intentions.
Agatha inhales. Rio’s scent is heady, something that Agatha could find herself getting addicted to if she was a weaker person and allowed herself.
“Are you just going to sit down there or are you going to—” Rio cuts off with a gasp when Agatha licks her from opening to clit.
“Sorry, you were saying?” Agatha asks between kitten licks at Rio’s clit.
Rio doesn’t even dignify her with a response. She anchors herself onto Agatha, giving herself in such a way that makes Agatha almost jealous.
But she can’t unpack that right now, not when she has the most beautiful being on this Earth crumbling beneath her tongue.
Rio’s hands are clenched tight in Agatha’s hair, and the pain feels good. It grounds her, too, allowing her to remember that she’s honoured to be able to do this for Rio.
Not that she’d ever tell her that. Not that she’d ever show it. But if she can give Rio one thing, it’s this.
+1
It’s not everyday that Agatha and Rio find themselves in a bed. It’s intimate, Agatha thinks, but she finds herself rolling around in some fluffy sheets with her anyway.
“Agatha,” Rio whispers. She sounds reverent.
Under her, Rio’s hair creates a dark halo around her head on the crisp white pillow.
“Please let me touch you.”
Rio doesn’t beg; not ever, even when Agatha has her on the precipice of orgasm. This gives Agatha pause.
“Please.”
Agatha worries her lip and leans in to kiss Rio again. She allows Rio to roll them over until Agatha is on her back underneath her.
They kiss, and kiss and kiss, until Agatha’s lips feel like they’re numb and bruised from it.
“Rio,” Agatha mutters as she pulls away.
“Hm?” Rio is peppering kisses all along Agatha’s jaw, her neck, her chest.
Agatha knows what she’s doing, now. She’s waiting. She wants to be asked, wants to know that Agatha wants this.
And she does. Fuck, she does so much. They’re in the confines of this room, just the two of them, shut away from the world. No one can see her. Only Rio can see her.
(And she wants to be seen so badly. By somebody. By anybody. By Rio, especially.)
“Rio.”
Rio looks at her then, her gaze heavy. She’s waiting, and she’s patient.
“Touch me,” Agatha whispers. It’s barely audible. But she knows Rio hears her, because she surges to kiss her again.
Rio’s hands and lips are everywhere, leaving no part of Agatha’s skin untouched. She winds up unclothed before long, Rio’s lips closing around Agatha’s nipple while her fingers dance their way around Agatha’s body.
Her fingers are deft as they graze over her scars, as they move over them without judgment.
“You’re so beautiful,” Rio whispers against her skin.
She’s being treated so gently—it’s so foreign and she’s struck with the emotion she feels welling up within her.
She doesn’t realize she’s crying until Rio’s tongue traces the tear tracks on Agatha’s face before she kisses one eyelid, then the other.
Agatha squeezes her eyes shut tight and to her surprise, Rio doesn’t reprimand her like Agatha would have if the roles were reversed.
Instead, Rio slips her hand between Agatha’s thighs. She allows her fingers to glide along Agatha’s wetness, gathering on the pads of her fingers and playing with her until Agatha is twitching and panting.
“Inside,” Agatha groans.
Rio obliges, pressing two fingers into her and corkscrewing them until they’re to the second knuckle. She feels so good inside of her that Agatha feels that emotion bubble up again but she wills it down and way, tries to focus on the pleasure that Rio is giving her.
Her fingers curl upwards, making Agatha’s hips shoot forward. Rio lets out a soft laugh at this and Agatha feels her lips quirk, much to her annoyance.
She knows Rio notices, because she kisses the corner of her mouth once, and then again, and then she fucks Agatha harder.
“Come for me, sweetheart,” Rio murmurs. “You’re doing so good for me, baby. You’re so good, and you’re so beautiful.”
That does it. She shatters under Rio, her entire body quaking under Rio’s touch. She thinks she might have blacked out for a moment, because she sees white stars sparkle behind her eyelids as her eyes squeeze shut tighter.
Rio’s fingers are still pumping in and out of her as her orgasm begins to subside and Agatha’s body feels like it’s on fire.
“Enough,” Agatha manages to groan out.
At first, she’s not sure Rio will stop and she’ll continue pushing Agatha into oversensitivity, but a moment later her movements halt and she pulls her fingers out.
Agatha licks her very, very dry lips and braves herself to open her eyes. When she does, she catches Rio licking her fingers clean and Agatha groans and covers her face between her hands.
“Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed,” Rio says.
“I don’t get embarrassed,” Agatha mumbles.
Rio doesn’t respond for a few moments, the silence enough to make Agatha peek out from behind her hands. Rio is staring at her with a look that is all too easy to read. It’s open in a way that takes Agatha’s breath away.
“You shouldn’t be embarrassed of anything.”
Agatha has nothing to say to that, and it doesn’t look like Rio’s looking for a reply.
(There’s so much Agatha wants to say. Wants to ask. Wants to talk about. But she doesn’t.)
But when Rio shuffles to lay behind Agatha, pressing her body against her and spoons against her, Agatha doesn’t stop her.