Lux turned a corner and stopped, swiftly and instinctively bringing up her invisibility. This guard wasn't supposed to be here. And he definitely wasn't supposed to be leaking all his blood into a giant puddle on the floor. She prudently took a step back from the spreading edge. Her stomach sank. A corpse this fresh...
"You're pretty, little thief, how do you want to buy your life?" Her fears were confirmed by the voice from the shadows. Well, if he was so confident they were unobserved...
She dropped her invisibility and detonated a singularity. He startled back further towards the shadows, and while his face was obscured by hood and mask, she fancied his eyes widened in dismay as the illumination followed him. She didn't really want a fight, but she had discovered that, in Noxus, a key element to this was leading strong.
"You're either underestimating my potential, or overestimating yours." She made herself rake him with her eyes and give a contemptuous smile. Half of Noxus lived and died by bluster, she had learned. Hopefully this wasn't a "die" situation for her.
"Are you claiming I can't kill you?" Deprived of his shadows, he drew himself up and took a step forward. Vicious, curved, little knives bristled from his fists, and a larger blade was secured to his wrist.
"No." He paused, arrested by her sudden capitulation. "But you'll be blind when you're done. I wish you a happy life afterward. It'll be short." She cocked her head to show the confident curve of her lips. "And that's if you win."
"Think a lot of yourself, do you?"
"Shouldn't I?" She arced an eyebrow.
"That depends what you're thinking." His eyes roamed over her body, lingering at key points. Sexual innuendo, another Noxian conversational standby. With all the unresolved sexual tension around, no wonder they were all so violent. She tried not to let it relax her. While she had observed it as a signal for de-escalation, that need not always be the case.
"I'm thinking you're unlikely to find my bed... Though you're welcome to try." It was her turn to examine his physical assets, although his mode of dress left much to the imagination. She was familiar with this formula. Noxians had a thousand ways to feign the opening dance without ever reaching culmination in an actual liaison.
What little expression she could see on his face seemed to indicate that she was playing the game well. His eyes looked relaxed, but interested. She suspected the root cause of the complex interplay surrounding sex in Noxus lay in their cultural obsession with power, and the stratified rank system in even the most innocuous professions. Best keep it all theoretical was implied, then no one could call you the weaker partner.
"Is that a challenge?" he asked.
"Is that what you're looking for?" She threw in a bit of mockery.
Instead of answering he cocked his head, listening, and with that cue she heard it as well: an outcry was starting. His eyes creased, probably a smile. "Meet you in bed!" he called before back-flipping out a window.
She spelled herself invisible again, and, treading carefully around the corpse and his fluids, slipped down a side-passage.
On the way back to her den she exercised caution in case he was serious about following her home. She was under the impression that he would find her immediately or not at all. In fact, it took him two weeks of tracking and triangulation. A fact she discovered by walking in to find him in her bed.
She stopped to survey the situation. At first she wasn't even sure it was him without the mask. But she hadn't asked anyone else to her bed, and that pile looked like the clothes she remembered. She must have done a better job of selling herself as his equal than she thought.
Then the situation sank in and she quailed inside. She wasn't ready for Noxian sex! She knew it might come up, she was a spy, these things happened, but it was so rare! Doubtless there were customs, rules, taboos, that she knew nothing about... Equals came together so infrequently she hadn't even tried to learn the etiquette. (Not to mention the things she would have to do and see to study the topic.)
She took another step, eying him as she closed the door. He appeared completely unarmed, as well as being undressed, although she was certain that her room had developed several new weapons caches. He lounged back against her pillows, hands behind his head. His hair looked damp. Her blankets were now folded at the foot of the bed, one thin sheet was all that covered his lower half. If you could call it half, considering how low it was, the bones of his hips visible.
Seeing the direction of her glance, he stretched up against the sheet, pulling it still lower, without quite revealing anything to the open air. (Not that the threadbare sheet, nearly transparent from age, left much to the imagination.) Looking him over, he was revealed as surprisingly youthful, almost boyish, though she could see the scars of battle. This was oddly comforting. Surely he had as little actual experience as she did. Although he did have the advantage of actually being from this culture.
"And here I thought you were going to keep me waiting forever." She had to say something before the silence stretched out too long. Hopefully banter was the right choice?
A flash of a smile crossed his face. "I think you'll find I'm worth the wait."
"Ooh. Promises, promises." She needed to take care her mouth didn't get her in any trouble. He stretched back, settling deeper into the pillows. Correction: any more trouble.
She slipped her satchel off her shoulder to hang on its hook.
Nudity. Nudity first? He was nude. But was that a show of good faith, implying he had no violent intentions?
She caught herself before she started down the "What if it's a trap? What if it's not a trap?" rabbit hole. Instead she began slowly removing garments, starting with the shawl wrapped around her head and shoulders.
She was doing too much good, getting too much done to have her cover blown this way. She would do it. Make it through the night, burn the den, and set up in a new location with a new look. She was a spy. A good spy. An excellent spy. She could do this.
He was watching the slow unveiling of her body with interest. His eyes followed her hands and then lingered on the newly revealed skin before darting back to see what her hands would do next.
Naked at last, she felt her nipples harden in the cool air, but refused to shiver in front of him. She felt exposed, as if her every secret was written on her skin. She walked over to the side of the bed, holding her hands relaxed at her sides, instead of reaching to cover herself, only through tremendous mental effort.
Now what? She bought time to think by giving him a thorough visual examination. She was not going to let him on top of her, he could overpower her in a second. He was lying there waiting, so maybe he expected her to climb on up?
In Noxus, showing caution is acceptable, showing fear is not. So, planting one foot on the bedframe, she stepped up next to him on the mattress, then quickly brought the other foot over to straddle him. The ropes holding up the mattress creaked at the unexpected weight of two people.
"Ooh," he said, without moving his hands, simply tilting his head back to look up at her from the new angle.
She felt better standing over him, although intellectually she knew the physical advantage was still his. She flattened her hands against her pelvis, sliding them down to her thighs. Again his eyes tracked her hands. "Like what you see?"
"Oh, yes," he said, eyes sliding down to follow.
She traced her fingers back up her abdomen, zig-zagging up her ribcage. She was missing something. His reaction, his expression, his tone, something in there was off. Replaying the scene so far, she realized what it was. Her hands! He kept his eyes on her hands, probably wanting advance notice if she cast a spell. Part of her was thrilled at this discovery, while another part recoiled to see herself reveling in another person's fear.
He met her eyes with a smile before slowly taking his hands from behind his head. She stilled her hands so they wouldn't be moving while his attention was elsewhere. At glacial speed he reached for her legs, cupping his hands over her calves.
Taking it for a hint, she sank down to her knees, moving with caution to keep her balance on the soft, uneven surface. Mimicking his technique from earlier, she carefully reached out to rest her hands on his shoulders. She thought he might have not-flinched on contact, but wasn't certain.
Everyone's hands accounted for, and now entwined much more intimately, she leaned forward for a kiss. This close his damp hair smelled like clean rainwater. She wondered whose rooftop cistern had served as his personal bathing pool.
He broke the kiss, and slowly, gently, bit her bottom lip, before trying to peek over her shoulder as his hands walked up her legs to her backside.
After a few more tentative caresses, things progressed. Lux had resigned herself to a necessary but unpleasant experience that she would have to pretend was wonderful, or at least enjoyable. But she had reckoned without the fact that her companion was highly motivated to ensure she desired a repeat performance.
Somehow, his determined solicitude, her own intent concentration, the clean smell of his skin, the warm touch of his hands, these combined to overcome the circumstances. Despite her limited experience with anything relating to sex, she recognized a good time when she had one.
Of course, then there was the disengage, which, as before, was tense and strained under a veneer of bravado, except with the added stickiness of bodily fluids.
Instead of getting dressed in front of her, he grabbed his bundle of clothes (also weapons, though she couldn't see them) and walked out the door with a little wave over his shoulder.
The whole thing left her exhausted, mentally and physically. She pulled up her blanket to bring some warmth back to her chilled skin. Sex was messy she concluded, and started mentally sorting what to keep, burn, or sell. Burn was the largest, over ninety-five percent. Running through the catalogue in her head, selecting and dividing the remaining percentage into the two remaining categories, she caught herself drowsing.
Unsure how long she had wandered in the space between wakefulness and sleep, she pinched her cheeks and forced herself out of bed. Cleaning up with a cold, wet washcloth woke her the rest of the way, and she hastily clambered into some clothes to rid herself of the almost painfully puckered gooseflesh it gave her.
Then she began rifling through her papers. "Keep" items she stowed in her satchel slung across her chest. That was accomplished quickly, and she was tempted to go right then, but the documents she planned to sell to various Noxian factions and noble houses would foment so much disorder and conflict!
Uneasily, she weighed the potential loss of one light mage against the potential gain in Noxian disruption, and decided to risk it. Every bluff runs the risk of being called, however, and before she could shut her door for the last time she heard his voice. "Off to work?"
Turning toward the origin of the sound, she saw him emerge from the shadows at a respectful distance, where they both still had room to maneuver. He was carrying a paper bag, splotches of grease darkening the bottom and sides. She recognized it as a potential peace offering, but it could be a test or a decoy, provided he thought she would be less vigilant in his arms than walking down the hall.
"Some of us provide services that are in high demand," answering his question, she smirked, lifting her chin.
"Let me help you stay on track by providing breakfast." He held up the bag.
Her traitor stomach reminded her that a clean getaway required fuel. "How generous," she said, dryly.
His eyes walked her up and down, and somehow the path they took brought certain... key moments from yesterday's encounter vividly to mind. She had to fight down a blush.
She was back to the base question from yesterday. "What if it's a trap? What if it's not a trap?" The scenario where it's not a trap was the only one where she could escape without revealing anything, and even then it's not a sure thing.
But why focus on the negative? Lux always aimed to surpass expectations, it was how she excelled so routinely. When you don't think about losing, it frees thought-space for new ways to win.
She gave him what she hoped was a seductive smile, and said, "Did you bring enough for two?" She let go of the doorknob and gave a shove to swing the door wide.
His eyes crinkled in a grin, and he strode forward, his steps almost bouncing in anticipation. She slipped inside quickly so they wouldn't have to deal with the uncomfortable question of who went in first at close proximity.
She tossed her satchel down, and her hood on top of it, but made sure her hands were plainly, visibly occupied with her belt when she heard him about to enter. She blinked in surprise when his head peeked around the doorjamb opposite from his approach. He had crossed an open doorway without being seen or heard. She was impressed with his skills again.
She felt a pang of concern, which she put away, instead choosing to taunt him over his reasonably cautious entrance, testing for spells left to trap him. "If I'm going to snare you, it will be in the bed, where you'll be of best use."
He snorted, but didn't let himself be distracted by her comment, or by her removing the rest of her garments. "I guess you're a little hungrier for one than the other," he said, waving the bag by way of illustration.
"What can I say? You look appetizing." Also, food could be drugged. She sat, and slid back to the pillows, sitting with her legs curled to the side, hands on the bed in front of her, ready to throw a light binding, but trying to conceal the tension in her shoulders. "Now give me a show," she commanded.
He tugged the bandanna down from his nose with a grin, and threw the bag at the table where it landed with a squishy thump. He peeled out of his clothing quickly, only slowing down when there was a weapon involved and he didn't want to look threatening.
When he came to the bed she went up on her knees to meet him. He sat at the foot and scooted her direction to keep their heights roughly equivalent. They met in the middle, and the soft warmth of hands and mouths on skin felt like a shock. Maybe the Noxians were on to something, because the sliver of fear pricking her gut was certainly making her senses more... acute.
Both more experienced after yesterday's encounter, it took them by surprise when the second time around seemed more awkward and difficult than the first. "Maybe you should just..." she tapered off because she couldn't figure out how to finish that sentence in a way that wasn't a slur on his abilities.
He met her eyes, irritated. "No." He frowned. "Tell me."
She hadn't presumed before, because Noxians were touchy about who could and could not tell them what to do, but given permission... A few instructions along the lines of: "Left!", "Faster!", "Your whole hand!", "Just bite me already!", and things went much, much better.
Sex, she decided, in addition to being messy, was soporific. They lay there regulating their breathing, not bothering to draw away from the points where they still touched. She blinked, trying not to feel sleepy. His eyes roamed the room, straining to keep his attention sharp and drowsiness at bay.
She saw him frown, eyes focusing on a page she had neither burned nor decided to take. She wasn't sleepy anymore. He looked at her when she tensed; she saw him melt into the bed, purposefully relaxing his muscles, trying to put her at ease.
"Blackmail is a dangerous game," he commented.
She scoffed, trying to play it off. "That's why I never do it."
He raised his brows, and looked back at the page in unspoken question. He was giving her the option of silence, but she took the opportunity to strengthen her cover. "If you sell directly to their enemies you have more clients, and they're happy to hand over their money." He laughed. She rolled up on one elbow and smirked. "Someone still wants to kill you, but you aren't dealing with them directly."
"Smart."
"Of course." She pushed herself up into a seated position. "Speaking of work..." She put her feet on the floor, and started moving her weight onto them. "I should go." He didn't try to stop her, but she didn't feel any relief, only the same prickle of tension that came from holding the light back inside when it wanted to be free and defending her.
"I'll watch," he said. "My turn for a show."
Despite her nervousness, she felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. She dressed slowly, with no sudden movements. She wasn't really sure how to "put on a show" in this context, but she tried going slower at the areas of interest, giving herself the occasional caress, meeting his eyes with a smile now and then, which seemed to suffice from the lazy satisfaction it produced on his face.
Clothed, she crossed to the door without getting between him and his weapons or turning her back. Hand on the doorknob, she gave him one last smile. "I'm taking this." She held up the greasy bag, although he had seen her take it. "Lock up when you go."
He waved without getting up.
Resisting the urge to slam it and run, she closed the door and walked away.
She didn't see him again. Not in Noxus.
The next time she saw him was at the Institute of War as the new champion from Noxus. She didn't recognize him at first, he was older, harder, sharper. But when the realization broke... She remembered his sharp, curved knives. Oh... Talon. How fitting. And she smiled.
He didn't recognize her either, gaze sliding over her and past. Not a spark of recognition, no acknowledging nod. No rumors came to her ears, tales told to embarrass one of Demacia's favorites.
Or so she thought, until one day she walked into her bedroom to find him laid out in her bed, hands behind his head, wearing nothing but a sheet, and a fool grin on his face.
She arced an eyebrow. "Think a lot of yourself, do you?" automatically came out in Noxian, the rusty spots in her accent grating together before they started to mesh. Her eyes roamed over him, checking the scars she knew, and adding up the new ones.
"Shouldn't I?" The banter made him sound like the same boy from all those years ago.
"Darius ask you to pump me for inside information?" She walked to the dresser, watching him in the mirror.
"Hah!" he almost spat. "I don't work for him. I'm here to find out what happened to General Du Couteau, that's it. And he's definitely on my list, him and Swain."
She set down her baton, and started emptying her pockets. "Oh?"
"I'm hoping to contact this little thief I know. Specializes in secrets, and selling them to the people who will make the most use of them. Maybe you've seen her?"
"And blackmail?" She turned to look him in the eye.
"Well, maybe a little. Not enough to cause any... ill will." He looked her up and down, lingering.
She snorted, and walked toward her bed, taking his pants off the back of the chair as she passed. Stopping at the foot of the bed, she tossed them at his head, which he easily dodged, a grin starting on his face. "You didn't sincerely think that would work, did you?"
"A guy can dream, can't he?" He grabbed the pants and slid to sit on the side of the bed. "And it worked last time." The grin was fully realized now, as he looked at her from the corner of his eye and started getting dressed.
She couldn't help but smile a little and shake her head. "Last time I was trying not to break cover. This time there's no cover to break. And you're already asking me for one favor."
"I seem to recall things breaking even at our last encounter," he deepened his voice on that last word for emphasis. "It would be more of offering a mutual favor than me asking for one."
"Oh, you." She risked punching him in the upper arm like she had seen Katarina do.
He took it with good grace, looking down at his "injury" before wrinkling his nose at her. "If you don't want to take me up on it, how about my second proposition?" He reached for his shirt.
"I think..." she said, making her voice thoughtful, as if she hadn't already been spinning scenarios and weighing odds ever since he voiced it. "I think we can manage something."
The quirk at the corner of his mouth after her admission was more eager and hungry than any look he had ever directed at her body. The thought of a crack in Swain's regime brought her own smile. Though broader, it matched his hunger for hunger.