☠ 064

[molotov]

Who: Molotov and Lucrezia
What: Lesbihonest, it's Valentine's Day
When: Backdated to the 14th!
Where: Some mysteriously sexy room in the castle
Rating: R? Think Cruel Intentions at least.

Spending long enough somewhere made you very attuned to the changes in it. Molotov may have been recently dead, but she knew her bed and she knew the weight of her husband, and she knows that those things aren't there anymore.

So it's only a moment or two after midnight that she wakes up with a gasp, sitting upright and realizing that this room is lit by what seems like a million candles. It's probably not that many, but it seems like it is. Candelabras, pillars on the bedside tables, candles lining a... hot tub... in the corner...

Red candles.

Of course.

In all the stupidity going on lately, Molotov had forgotten it was going to be Valentine's Day.

With a quick glance down to make sure she was wearing some clothes (lingerie was better than nothing, she guesses), she leans over to inspect her bed partner.

Oh. Lucrezia. Well... Molotov is hesitant to wake her, but probably she deserves the notice.

"Lusha..."

Comments

[lucre]

Lucrezia sleeps like a rock and, as with all things in life, doesn't take kindly to being hurried to wake. The world should go at her pace for all she cares. So it's with an annoyed huff that she only shifts closer to Molotov, the source of warmth she decided was safe to sleep beside last night of course, and buries her face against the pillow some more.

She wears a silk shift to bed, but no underwear because why do people subject themselves to such discomfort?

The company beside her feels familiar, though not anyone she can guess right away. Not Joshua. What did she say again? Lucia? She chuckles to herself without opening her eyes. "Shall I find more ways to put you back to sleep?"

[molotov]

Oh, for god's sake... As a spy, hard sleepers are great, but when she needs someone awake, it makes Molotov want to punch through the wall. And of course that's not okay when it comes to Lucrezia anyway.

It's with a sort of blankness that Molotov watches her shift, mouth twisting. "Lucrezia, wake up," she says, disregarding whatever the hell her little friend was talking about. "Now, or I start shaking you."

[lucre]

Regardless of how many training sessions she attended with the Russian assassin, survival instincts can't be taught. Lucrezia has grown up with the mentality that everyone is out to protect her and thus no harm shall come to her so long as everyone loves her. Basically.

She just lets out an intelligible grumble slash murmur that sounds much like shake me if you can and buries her face deeper into the pillow.

[molotov]

Well, that sounds like a challenge, and everyone who's been in the castle for more than a week knows how Molotov feels about challenges. Unwise, little Princess Borgia!

Snorting, Molotov grabs Lucrezia to roll her over, intending to climb atop her and shake her face until this girl wakes up. Can she really ignore such a thing? It would be impressive, certainly.

[lucre]

Molotov, no!

Lucrezia wakes as soon as she's rolled over, though the shaking frightens her more than it should a normal person. Deep and dark secrets. It doesn't help that she can barely make out Molotov's face with how much shaking is going on, so she tries to grab for the nearest weapon --a pillow-- and promptly smacks her assailant's head with all her might.

[molotov]

That was something that Molotov really hadn't been expecting, and since her hold had been more playful than anything, the pillow sends her toppling over onto the bed with an "oof!" and a clumsy, face-forward fall.

"Lusha!" she howls into the overly soft mattress, flailing for a second before pushing herself up.

[lucre]

Lucrezia is sitting up with the pillow in both hands and the fiercest look on her face. Look how fearsome she is, the great Borgia and her most eminent fluff weapon. The moment passes as soon as she sees Molotov flailing however, a priceless sight, and she starts laughing instead.

"Tickles might have earned you a different response, Molotov!"

[molotov]

Molotov gapes at her for a moment. She is so rarely laughed at that she's not even entirely sure how to react. And that's when she realizes it.

She's feeling things. Not just the general sense of emptiness that has occupied her since she came back to life, but specific feelings instead, even perhaps a small amount of giddiness from the revelation.

And then she smiles. "You want tickles?" she threatens, then leaps at Lucrezia, reaching out to press her fingers into Lucrezia's sides. No mercy!

[lucre]

If she had known, Lucrezia would have been glad to be inspiring feelings. Feelings are good, as far as she's concerned, especially the giddy kind. She doesn't even mind the onslaught of tickles, squealing like a little girl once more as she writhes and then curls into a ball to cover her most vulnerable parts. You know. Those ones.

"Mercy! Mercy!" She lied though. Had she the capacity to smack Molotov over the back of the head with a pillow again, she would. She just can't with all the wheezing.

[molotov]

Yeah, it's pretty fantastic to not feel numb and cold and empty inside. Fantastic enough that Molotov tickles for a moment longer before relenting and sitting back, chuckling.

"I am generous," she says, holding her hands up. "Mercy is granted."

[lucre]

Her fit of giggles last a little longer even after Molotov has halted her assault, and it takes another moment for Lucrezia to catch her breath enough to talk.

"Oh great and benevolent Cocktease," and yet another giggle as she starts to sit up. "How shall I ever repay you?"

[molotov]

"A hug," Molotov says, smiling. "I have not seen you since before I died, Lushachka."

[lucre]

Ah, the one thing she had hoped not to speak about. You can only keep the skeletons hidden away for so long until they stumble out of the closet. Or barge about. Lucrezia's smile flickers only a little, and she moves quickly to wrap her arms about Molotov in an embrace. All the better to hide her frown.

"You did not die. You are the mighty and indestructible Molotov." The heroine of her long-lost childhood.

[molotov]

Molotov sighs and strokes Lucrezia's hair. It's okay, she's not shy about the fact that she died. Dealing with it is different than accepting that it happened.

"I did," she says softly, looking at the nasty scar on her hand from having fallen on acidic hunk of flesh the zombie threw at her. "But it is okay. I am indestructible because I come back stronger than ever."

[lucre]

Lucrezia frowns at that scar. Death is meaningless here without its permanence but it still leaves a mark on you, the kind you can't see. She reaches for Molotov's scarred hand to place a kiss on where the wound had been, as if she could erase it.

"How strong?" She tries another smile. This is easier.

[molotov]

Allowing Lucrezia to kiss her hand, Molotov snorts quietly and smirks. "Strong enough that the castle should be afraid," she says, a kind of taunting lilt in her voice, as if the castle might really be listening. She's daring it to fuck with her again.

[lucre]

She grins, quite pleased to see Molotov still so indignant, which she understands as being strong. What else could it mean? Resting against her elbow, she cranes her neck to see about the place, just now noticing how strange the room is. Candles too. How romantic.

"Should the castle be punished for forcing my company onto you?"

[molotov]

"Of course not," is the answer, as Molotov looks around too. "There are many reasons to be angry with the castle, but you are never one of them, Lusha."

Reaching out for a nearby candle, she dips one fingertip into the pooled wax, looks at it and then scrapes it away. "This must be for Valentine's Day. At least it isn't magic candy again."

[lucre]

That was probably her way of pandering for compliments, the way she does. Compliments are her bread and butter. Lucrezia winces a little while watching Molotov and the hot wax (sounds like a band name), peering closer to see that her finger is fine.

"Room decor," she even sounds disappointed. She would have taken magic candies over just candles. Crawling across the bed, she reaches for one of the few strange tools strewn on the bedside table, picking up the most familiar one: handcuffs. "The castle must have mistaken this day for another holiday."

[molotov]

Molotov glances up, peering at the... things on the table. Was the castle confused? Was Brock supposed to be here instead of Lucrezia? Those were definitely familiar toys, but they didn't belong here, between friends.

"Or maybe it just mistook us for other people."

[lucre]

Lucrezia starts placing the handcuffs on her own wrist without fastening them, smiling slyly at Molotov. Other people, eh?

"Who did it mistake me for?"

[molotov]

This is the point at which something rare happens, akin to seeing a unicorn -- Molotov blushes. She's just the faintest pink, like a newly-blossomed carnation, and she looks away, rolling her shoulder.

"I do not know. Maybe it mistook both of us."

[lucre]

Blushing to Lucrezia is like a whiff of blood to a school of sharks. She's got her eyes trained on her now, scooting just a little closer to unnerve her even more.

"Mistook us as what? Forbidden lovers?"

[molotov]

Oh, jesus christ. Molotov turns away, moving to finger some blood-red roses in a vase, rather than daring to have to face Lucrezia and her nosiness.

"Maybe. Or maybe just as people who like that sort of thing."

[lucre]

She won't lose to a bunch of roses, leaning in even more that her nose might bump against Molotov's if any of them makes the wrong (or the right) turn.

"Do you?"

[molotov]

She inhales sharply when Lucrezia gets that close, clenching her eye closed to steel herself from smacking the other woman in the face. Spy instinct -- Molotov hates having her personal space invaded.

"That isn't your business."

[lucre]

Lucrezia withdraws just a little, only because she knows being punched by Molotov wouldn't even be worth the amusement of seeing her even more flustered. But she takes her seat on the bed right behind Molotov, already reaching to play with the woman's vivid red hair, gathering them on her back and gently combing through with her fingers.

"Perhaps not. But how am I to entertain myself if you will not tell me a story?"

[molotov]

Molotov relaxes only slightly when Lucrezia moves -- she definitely prefers to have her hair played with, if the spacial onslaught is the only other choice. With a sigh, she glances over her shoulder.

"Why does it have to be a story along those lines?"

[lucre]

"Because that is the story I wish to hear."

Clearly the best reason for everything. Her hands move deftly, starting to braid Molotov's hair loosely.

[molotov]

That is a terrible reason, and Molotov snorts, letting Lucrezia play in her hair. She doesn't mind, it feels nice.

"And there are no other stories to interest you?"

[lucre]

"Not at this moment, no."

She even leans in to place a kiss on the back of Molotov's head. Obviously sucking up to her to get her way. "And I can be so insufferable when bored."

[molotov]

Molotov's voice is slow as she angles her head, just enough to be able to see Lucrezia from the corner of her eye.

"What... would be in such a story?"

[lucre]

"Lovers," she is very nearly done with the braid, reaching to her chemise to pull off a ribbon fastening the front so she can finish it with a bow. Anyway, it's Molotov. It wouldn't matter even if she stripped to her birthday suit, right?

"And a taboo and how they achieved it in the end, after much struggling."

[molotov]

"I do not have any stories like that," Molotov answers, shaking her head. "Struggles are hard to come by in the privacy of one's own home."

[lucre]

Lucrezia hums, somewhat let down by that revelation. She would think someone like Molotov-- "What of tales of whatever transpires in the privacy of your home?"

[molotov]

Christ on a stick, what is wrong with this girl, who even asks things like that! Molotov stiffens again, obviously looking for a way out.

"I am not so sure Brock would want me to share."

[lucre]

E v e r y t h i n g.

Lucrezia huffs, quite annoyed at not getting her way. Usually a few words is all it takes. She slips off the bed to pick up those handcuffs, taking matters into her own hand, and places them both about her wrists.

"How will these arrive in the story?"

[molotov]

"In a shopping bag, I expect," Molotov quips, then reaches out toward Lucrezia's arm. "And you are not wearing them correctly. They go either behind your back, or around the bedpost..."

[lucre]

She tries not to show too much of her glee when Molotov reaches for the handcuffs. Finally, they're getting somewhere.

"Ah, the bedpost. What did you do to him that you must keep him from fleeing?"

[molotov]

Sorry that Molotov isn't as actively bisexual as you are, Lucrezia!

"Not fleeing," she says lightly, gently tugging at the handcuffs to loop them around the bedpost instead. "Not being able to move or resist is half the fun."

[lucre]

Excuse you, her sexuality is probably pancurious. She watches Molotov show her how it's done while biting back her grin, look at her playing into it.

"What of the other half?"

[molotov]

"That is everything else."

Leaving Lucrezia bound to the bed, Molotov wanders to the candles and the other... things, some of which she would never consider touching. But others -- well, Molotov has no problems with blindfolds and riding crops and things like that.

"All you can do is squirm and writher, but never get away..."

[lucre]

Lucrezia tugs her wrist to test the handcuffs. She is certainly not going anywhere soon, which has her watching Molotov warily when she wanders away. Her fear is of being left trapped and alone, more than anything, but Molotov would never do that to her. Right?

"That seems frightening, does it not? Hardly pleasant."

[molotov]

Calm down, Lucrezia. Molotov is like four steps away, she isn't going anywhere. It's fine.

"Fear is a good aphrodisiac," she answers, tossing back a nearby glass of red wine before collecting a handful of the least explicit toys the castle has so artfully displayed. When she comes back, Molotov crawls back on the bed to kneel in front of Lucrezia, leaning in close. If blondie wants this, then by god, she's gonna get it.

"And, of course, that is not where you start."

[lucre]

Lucrezia crawls to the edge of the bed so she can dangle her legs over, pointing her toes to reach the floor while biting back a grin at Molotov. This is all very exciting and all but she really can't wait for the main course.

"But only when I know in my heart that I remain safe, no matter how frightened you make me." Like standing still in the eye of the storm, like playing powerful men like fiddles because she knows that is where it is safest. "Is that not so?"

[molotov]

Loosened up by the wine, Molotov rises up on her knees, scooting to be right over Lucrezia, knees on either side of her thighs. She takes Lucrezia's face in her hands, leaning down enough to press their foreheads together, and smirks.

"I would be a different woman if I would really hurt you," Molotov murmurs, then dips her mouth down to kiss her friend, fingers curling in her cheeks. It's not a soft kiss by any means -- Molotov isn't even sure she knows how to kiss that way. But it's not as brutal as it could be, the way she's prone to lip biting and harsh sucking.