A/N: If you don't like femslash (yuri, whatever you CRAAAZY kiddos call it) then turn back. This is pushing the T rating, guys.
Also, for full effect, read while listening to Je Veux Te Voir by Yelle. Search it on Youtube or something. I COMMAND YOU TO DO SO.
Done it? Good. Now read.
"I have a… proposition, of sorts. That is, if you would be willing to listen."
Those words were spoken with such honesty, and yet she could almost taste the heartbreak hidden in her precious breath. After all she had been through, what was one more deal with the devil? Already her hands were stained with too much blood, her dignity spat upon by too many scumbags of the worst kind. Compared to what she had been forced to go through, deals with the devil seemed pretty damn good right about now.
Especially if the devil showed off so much skin. In all the stuff that her mother had drilled into her, she didn't remember the Worst Bad Guy Imaginable looking like a saint. Well, not a saint, per se- more like the apple that tempted Adam and Eve, the curves and bends of something that was far out of reach. Platinum blonde hair, black and white threads hiding a frame fit for kings? She'd have it any day.
… But that was not of importance. This was the Death Match bar, people didn't come here to pick other people up, oh no sir.
"Miss Jeane, can you hear me correctly?"
She snapped out of staring at her skirt that went way too high up her thigh. "A deal, listening, I heard you." Her voice was curt, curt as it always was. Dismally she noticed that blood had caked in her short blonde hair. She'd have to wash that out later. With some help, she hoped-
Dammit, I'm becoming just like my clients. She thought, blinking the thoughts away unsuccessfully.
The other seemed to smile faintly, nodding, taking her hand and motioning to the bartend. Said bartend then slid keys across an unpolished tabletop; a hotel room, good beds, shower, someone else to be there with you. The woman took the keys with a curt Zank you for zee room, Joseph, if you value your life do not bother my partner and I.
Something clicked in her mind. Partner? Life? Room? What had this become, and where was it heading? But her body was far ahead of her mental state; already they were in the elevator, down the hall, in front of room S51. Her manicured fingers open the door with the key, invite her inside, unfasten those Gucci shoes and let loose liquid white gold to fall around her shoulders. The devil, an angel; it didn't matter, she looked fucking amazing.
"Miss Jeane, I trust that you are able to bathe yourself. There will be something for you to change into on the bathroom counter." She said, sitting on the bed and discarding her jacket, letting it fall to the floor.
"Right, I'll get to that." Her voice seemed far away as she stepped into the bathroom, didn't pay attention and turned the water on, felt scalding jets pound her skin and wash away the deeds of her crime against her 'lover,' her 'family.' Shampoo and conditioner wash away the red, the pink, the almost-dry brown. Soap goes up and down and everywhere she could reach with murderous hands, scrubbing away paralyzing shock and returning her former stoic mindset. In her daze she doesn't notice the opening and closing of a door. She steps out, towels herself dry, and inspects herself in a slightly foggy mirror.
She doesn't look any different. She looks exactly the same as she did when she first started seeing him. But after a moment she doesn't look, she sees: sees her hair is thinner, sees that her face is more pronounced, sees that her eyes are filled with malice and hate.
"Miss Jeane! We must discuss your venture!"
A curt knock on the door, her French accent bleeding through cheap faux-wood. Jeane snaps out of her trance, noticing the clothes were there. Of course, these clothes didn't seem suitable for covering things; a thong, really? And was that a corset?
With a shrug she put on the garments, the bottoms lacy and red, the top purest white accented by darkest ribbons. Fitting to wear for the devil, she thought methodically, opening the door to see her new partner dressed in similar attire. The only difference was that she seemed to prefer simple black and white to Jeane's red.
"I knew you would look absolutely darling in that." She smiles, giggles, motioning to the one double bed in the room. She shaves everywhere, Jeane notices, looking up and down her form almost hungrily.
"So, why the ridiculous get up?" She asks, crossing her legs and her arms. Silvia smiles, ghosting a hand down a naked shoulder and an almost-naked hip.
"I wanted to treat you to something… different. Gentle. You are not obligated to, but I know that you shall not turn down my offer and I know very well that you need this, non?" She asks such devilish words with such a divine voice; she was a living contradiction just by existing. But all of a sudden her corset seems too tight, the skimpy garments seem way too hot, and her touch just isn't satisfying enough for all that the both of them know, now and forever.
"You have an interesting idea of business meetings." Don't let down the final wall, try your best to keep it up. But the devil always has ammo in her gun.
"My dear, dear Jeane," She purrs, and Jeane is suddenly on her back, her limbs sprawled out on the mattress as Silvia grins. "The idea zat I was going to treat you on a business trip is ludicrous. I know that I'll get what I want." Pale pink lips on her neck, surprisingly strong hands unfastening the corset. "So we might as well skip the talk and just… get on with the fuck, non?" She giggles.
Jeane nods, and gives into the devil's will.
Alright. This is my first femslash. I might write what the two actually DID. Someday. Not today. Maybe if people pester me enough and I feel compelled to write about lesbian sex. BUT THAT'S ENOUGH FROM ME HAHA.
I know that this is pushing the T rating, so I might bump it up to M later. Dunno. I'll mark it as complete for now.
Hope you all enjoyed