The room remains only illuminated by the call of the city beyond the single window, covered by slotted blinds and welcoming only small streams of blue neon through it. It casts a muted shade over purple matte and digital red, a dark room made darker in the shadow of night. The room is silent, even through the shuffle and movement of uniforms and bodies, intimacy drawn by a single, fleeting touch - his hand over her wrist that she allows only once.
She is flushed purple and blue, shadows cut dark like a lake. Beneath her suit, she is human - regrettably. Flesh and ugly warmth. There is little to remove from him; a coat, a holster over his inhuman waist. There is something in the flank of her waist and the hands he gives that write about the tragedy of being human and the horror of not being human; it is lost in the stare she's giving.
Intimacy as means of comfort, but it lacks a connection. Nevertheless, Vayne leans herself back on her arms, moving her hips on his lap. His limbs are warm the way a machine is. His chassis, a body that mirrors a body's image, is warmer than it ought to be. Maybe it's to make it comfortable. Maybe there's a man under the glass and electrofibers that likes the shape of a woman in neon. If he was any other man, she would feel a little flattered.
It begins slow. One hand reaches towards his shoulder, pulling her body into his and watching the black glass carefully. When she lowers herself down, taking him slowly, she exhales quietly, and it is taken by the silence.
Outside, distantly, a car horn is heard.
She moves, and then he does too - arm slipping around her waist and pushing with her, breathless yet silent. He does not breathe, so it is only her - Vayne leans forward and her chest comes against his. She moves herself up and down, in tandem with his own service. Jhin stares with only the black to his image, leaning himself forward and making Vayne catch herself on her arm again. It's an angle he wants to work with, and she would loathe to admit otherwise that he knows what he's doing. Maybe it's the last bit of humanity in him, the one that understands instinct and need the way you can study it in a textbook.
Her hair, untied, drags along the mattress when she leans her head back. Jhin supports her back when he leans forward, inclining her and laying her on his back, lingering over her and intentionally pressing deeply against her core. Vayne kicks a leg behind him when the angle hits a part she likes, and a single groan betrays her - but only one.
A service. An understanding. An obsession, even if they'd deny it right now. To lay with the object of your destruction is by all means an obsession, no matter how you service it, or how you want to ignore it. There is not a weapon by their bedside, but that does not mean the thought hasn't found its way into either of their minds - a bullet for every breath he draws out of her, a bullet for every squeeze of her thighs around him.
Jhin continues to roll deep into her, and Vayne starts to grip his shoulders with a bit more need, and all that lingers is a trembling breathing. For the passing time of their silent affair, her world holds only him, terrifying and repulsive. Khada Jhin is a target to claim yet also a body to hold, but her thoughts can't drift from the darkness of the black glass; the horror in the red glow; or the way he grips her hips and thrusts into them, keeping the same slow pace while pressed deep against the crux of her legs.
He leans over her, her hips in his lap and her back down. Vayne watches him still, until her eyes loll up and she breathes in sharply, he control lost as legs tightening around his narrow, narrow hips, release coming like a crashing wave - her lower half shakes and her back arches into his chest. His face finds her collarbone and rests there, arms wrapped around the curve of her back and pulling her in. Her hips push into his to find the right angle, and he listens to her steel plated heart. A single moment of unity, entwined, enemy against enemy.
Vayne's breathing steadies as slow as she comes down from her climax, as she relaxes back down against their mattress, legs loosening. Jhin slips from her, hands dragging down from her waist to hips and thighs, and finally, rest on her knees. A snakelike ghost, trailing down, reminding her. Her eyes open, and she stares at him, then at the ceiling of their sanctum.
As his hands draw away, so does the warmth of their affair.