Curiosity And The Cat

by ClownWhosFeelnDown

She pants breathlessly, scrambling blindly for a foothold on the deadly slope she's suddenly found herself on. "You're- you're awfully eager, Schnee." "And you're awfully hesitant, Belladonna." Weiss growls, before curling her fingers under Blake's panties and yanking them down around her knees in one hard pull. (OOC!Blake, Hate Sex, Monochrome)

Blake Belladonna fucking hates Weiss Schnee.

Oh, it doesn't happen immediately. She has disliked her from the start, of course, and why shouldn't she? She had every reason to dislike the daughter of Jacques Schnee- haughty, rude, arrogant. Always looking down at the people around her, refusing to admit her mistakes or accept criticism, automatically assuming that she is better than everyone else even without any proof to back it up, walking around with her nose stuck too high in the air to see what's right in front of her. She's exactly how Blake has always imagined Weiss Schnee would be.

So, she can confidently say that she is justified in her opinion- for exactly two days, before Weiss Schnee turns around and apologizes to them. To Ruby, for telling her that she is unfit to lead. To the team, for refusing to work with them, promising to do better from now on. And then following through, proving that she was being genuine and not just giving empty platitudes.

Blake thinks that might have been the first moment she had begun to hate Weiss Schnee.

If anyone ever asks her why- not that anyone does, not anymore- she will, calmly and with great restraint, give them a long, detailed list, organized from points major all the way down to petty, of all the reasons Weiss Schnee is, undeniably and absolutely, the worst thing to ever drag itself across the doorstep of Beacon Academy. It's a list that she has meticulously crafted over the course of several months, one that she polishes and hones to a razor's edge as she lays awake at night simmering. And it's a list that gives her no satisfaction whatsoever, because, for all the dozens of reasons she can list about why you should hate Weiss Schnee, for all the hours she spends thinking about it, none of them, she realizes, are the actual reason she has for doing so.

It's infuriating, and it only makes Blake hate her more for it.

"What's her problem?" She demands to Yang while sitting on her bed, book forgotten in her lap, unable to do anything besides stew in her anger.

Her partner blinks up at her from where she's sitting on the floor, gauntlets half-disassembled in her lap, nonplussed.

"Schnee." Blake elaborates, because she realizes that she had, in fact, just burst out with that question into the middle of a silent room. "What's her problem?"

"I- she doesn't have one?" Yang replies, seeming unable to understand the question. "I mean, don't get me wrong." She continues hurriedly when Blake's eyes immediately sharpen into a glare. "She's got a stick up her ass bigger than her sword, and you could probably find her name under the definition for 'prissy'. But, like. You gotta admit she's thawed out a lot since getting here. She's actually kinda nice now."

"She's a narcissistic, self-centered little brat with no concept of reality or how the real world works outside of that eighty-bedroom mansion she lives in on Atlas."

"I'm pretty sure that's not true."

"She's a bitch!" Blake finally bursts out, only for Yang to send her a flat look in response.

"She bakes Ruby cookies when she aces her tests, Blake. That's not exactly what I'd call bitchy behavior."

"It's manipulative." Blake mutters, stubborn.

"It's positive reinforcement." Yang counters immediately, whatever patience she'd had quickly drying up soon after.

And that's how all of her discussions (rants) on the subject go. Like no one else can see how much of an absolute, unapologetic bitch she is.

"Why do you put up with her?" She asks Ruby while they are studying in the library, far to aggressively for anyone talking to such a sweet girl, just one step shy of being accusing.

"It's not- we're friends, Blake. I like spending time with her." Ruby says, squeezing her fingers nervously, the action effortlessly making guilt well up in her chest.

"But she's always lecturing you." Blake reminds her, softer, like she might have somehow forgotten the occurrence happening literally every day since they'd met. "Doesn't that bother you?"

"I mean, yeah, a little, sometimes." Ruby admits, almost apologetic. "But she only does it because she cares, and she stops when I ask her to. She's not being mean to make me feel bad." And nothing can change Ruby's mind, so after that she stops trying.

"What's even so great about her?" Blake grumbles (she does not whine, no matter what Yang says) while slumped against the table, poking mulishly at her breakfast, and Jaune lights up like she's just asked the one question he's been preparing for his whole life. He opens his mouth, clearly about to answer, before Pyrrah hurriedly slaps a hand over it and drags him away, shooting Blake a look that is half apologetic half fearful.

And that's it. No one else gets it, no one can see why Blake hates Weiss Schnee. At best, they occasionally find her annoying. At worst, they are head over heels in love with her, and the ratio between the two is disturbingly unbalanced. Having to listen to her many admirers is like nails on a chalk board. The way they fawn over her makes something twist in Blake's chest, dark and sharp and ugly, and even hours later it leaves her wanting to rip something to shreds.

So she's almost relieved, underneath all of her panic and fear and bitterness, when she finally slips and basically tells Weiss Schnee, to her face, in front of witnesses, that she is both a faunus and a member of the White Fang. Because at the very least she finally has something to justify herself with. Only for Weiss Schnee to then track her down, not to arrest her, but to apologize to her, again, for what she had said. Because, apparently, Weiss Schnee changes her opinion when presented with facts that conflict with it, like a logical, reasonable person would, and not at all like the fanatical racist that she is supposed to be.

Blake Belladonna hates Weiss Schnee, hates her with a bitterness that makes her stomach twist until she feels sick. And at the end of the day, while she's laying in bed staring up at the shadows filling in the bottom of Yang's bunk, when there's no one around to hear, she has to admit to herself that she has no idea why.

---

They're supposed to be working. It had been designated a study hour, as officially decreed by their fearless leader, during which they were meant to be catching up on any work they hadn't finished for that week.

Sadly, the best Blake can bring herself to do is seethe as quietly as possible in her bed, because The Schnee is less than two meters from her, and it has her clenching her text book so hard that her knuckles ache, struggling to keep her ears straight, because a human shouldn't have ears on top of her head and years of hiding tell her that if she let's them flatten it will make her bow flex, and then everyone will know.

They'd had a spar in combat class today. One that Blake had lost. Badly. It had been a pathetic showing, with her barely even able to get the heiress's aura in the yellow before her own went into the red. She can do better, she knows. She should have done better, she's beaten Weiss before. But she had been angry, off-balance, more than she should have been; Weiss hadn't done anything in particular to earn it. She has barely even looked towards her today, as a matter of fact, and somehow that just makes her all the more livid.

She tries to move past it, to tell herself it doesn't matter- it was just one spar, after all, and not even a graded one at that, just practice. But it wasn't just a spar, it was a spar with Weiss Schnee, that's the thing, and she'd been so thoroughly beaten that she'd nearly had to be helped out of the arena while Weiss had just walked away like it was nothing. So Blake grips her book and bites her tongue until she tastes iron, turning away completely to face the wall, bringing to bear every ounce of willpower she has to try to force herself to just ignore her and focus on her notes. But Weiss Schnee owns every room she walks into, pulls everyone's attention like she has her own personal spotlight trained on her at all times, and Blake simply can't ignore her no matter how hard she tries.

The scratch of her pencil against the paper. The utter lack of hesitation as she writes, like the assignment isn't even worth thinking about it's so simple, and never mind the way it takes everyone else hours to finish. The murmur of her voice as she helps Ruby understand something she's struggling with, quiet and so fucking patient, because of course she's the perfect partner, too.

Blake can't stand to be in the same room as her, which is how she finds herself stalking through Beacon's halls with a look on her face that sends the few other students she encounters scrambling away. She has no destination in mind, but she's so full of frustration that she has to vent it or she might actually murder someone, and with the gyms closed at this hour her options are limited.

She's wandered the school for nearly two hours by now, and has finally managed to work the edge off her anger. Enough for her to unclench her jaw and take a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders from their hard line for the first time in hours. She's not ready to go back yet, though. For now, she just wants to be alone for a while. So she heads to the nearest elevator instead, hoping to find some secluded low-traffic area where she can just sit down and rest without worrying about seeing the heiress, even just for a little while.

Which is, of course, when the doors open and Weiss Schnee strides in, back straight and head high.

The embers of her anger instantly roar back to life with a fury that startles even her, and Blake goes rigid, biting her tongue to keep from snarling, clenching her fists so hard her knuckles pop to stop herself from punching the heiress the very moment she sees her face.

It's not just that she's a Schnee. Oh, that had certainly been part of it, in the beginning, but it's nothing so shallow anymore. It's not her opinions on the Faunus, since, apparently, she's a fucking saint, and is far more open minded than she has any right to be. It's nothing as simple as bigotry, not something she can pin down and give a name to. No, it's personal.

It's the way teachers fawn over her, calling her the perfect student, the brightest mind of a generation. It's the way she can still look immaculate even after fighting Grimm for hours, like sweat and dirt and blood are just accessories for her to wear. It's that haughty tilt of her chin, the arrogance she carries about so carelessly, and the fact that Blake can't even rub her face in it because she's right, she's the best and she fucking knows it, proves it again and again and again, and even when she falls short Blake still can't take satisfaction because the heiress is the first one to point out her own failures, every damn time, like they're nothing, like they're just a single line on an ever shrinking list of things she's not already perfect at. It's the way she moves through crowded halls like they're empty, like everyone else might as well not exist, because of course they'll make way for her. And they do, is the thing. People trip over each other to get out of her way, to avoid causing the smallest hitch in her stride, avoid giving her the slightest bit of inconvenience, like she's somehow better than they are, just because she's rich and smart and talented and beautiful.

So when she steps into the elevator Blake stands her ground, stares her down and makes her step around her. And all it earns her is a faintly disdainful glance and a huff as the heiress does exactly that, easy as breathing, like it's beneath her to be upset about something so trivial. Like Blake is just being obnoxious, just acting out like a child.

She stands there prim as could be, staring straight ahead, as if it is just a coincidence that they both happen to be here at the same time, on this elevator that neither of them has any business being on, taking a ride down to one of Beacon's sub-basement levels.

Blake doesn't have to guess why she's here, because it always goes like this. Yang is content to just let her blow off steam, and Ruby is always too nervous to talk to her when she's like this, so it naturally falls to Weiss to find her and drag her back, like Blake is the problem, like she's the one being unreasonable.

But she is. She is and she knows it, and that's what makes it sting. Weiss hasn't been the disruptive one in months. The fact that she's here now is proof enough of that; Blake knows that she's been acting out worse than usual, lately. Weiss spends so much time fetching her now that they almost spend more time with each other than with their own partners. The irony isn't lost on her.

But how is she supposed to not, when the mere sight of the heiress is enough to make her blood burn?

Blake hadn't even changed out of her uniform before stalking off; it's rumpled because she'd been too tired to bother doing laundry yesterday and had to wear it twice. Meanwhile Weiss is as neat as ever, not a hair out of place, designer clothes washed and pressed, probably not even a week old because why should Weiss Schnee ever wear the same thing more than once? They stand next to each other, tense and wary, the silence stretching. The air inside the elevator heats up until its almost sweltering, or maybe that's just her. It's so thick it feels like she's swallowing it when she breathes, and flames lick at her chest, slowly creeping up her throat and down her spine until she's almost choking on them.

Eventually, Weiss speaks. "Ruby was upset when you left." She says, like she cares at all. But she does care, and Blake knows it even as she thinks it. And it makes her furious, because she fucking hates her, and Weiss won't give her even a single reason to justify it.

"I'll apologize when I get back." She answers, stiff, because that's as close to calm as she can get, staring at the doors so she doesn't have to look at her.

In the corner of her eyes she sees Weiss open her mouth immediately before closing it, taking a breath. "It doesn't matter how many times you apologize if you're just going to keep doing it." She says after a moment.

"I'll try harder." Blake grinds out, because she can't even argue. Everything Weiss is saying is true, and they both know it.

"You've said that before."

Blake chokes on a growl, clenches her teeth and rolls back her tongue to stop herself from screaming, fighting to keep her ears from flattening, because damnit, how did it get here? How did it get to the point where she became the raging bitch and Weiss Schnee is the reasonable one?

The elevator dings quietly as they pass another floor. The ride is nearly over, and Blake clenches her fingers around her biceps, glaring at the doors, counting down the seconds until they open.

"You should spend more time with the team." Weiss says after a moment.

"We have Tuesdays for that." Blake snaps. Which might sound like a rather rude offhand rejection, if you didn't know that Ruby had literally marked them, on the calendar, as Team Building Tuesdays.

"Tuesdays don't matter if they are the only days you even try to cooperate." Weiss fires back, calm and so Godsdamn sensible it makes her temples ache.

Finally Blake gives in to the pull and whips her head around towards her, snarling. Weiss looks back, up at her, eyes such a pale blue that in the florescent lights they're almost white, and the sight makes her chest tie itself into knots. Her skin is cool and smooth, nothing to hint it contains any of the heat pouring through Blake, face calm, like this argument isn't even worth caring about. Even her scar is perfect, as if drawn by an artist, placed just so to call attention to the angles of her brows, the color of her cheeks, the shape of her eyes, and the meaner, darker side of her aches to add another one, just to ruin the effect.

"The team isn't the problem." Blake snaps, dropping any pretense of civility, and just like that they're at the heart of the matter.

Weiss tosses her head, flicking her hair over her shoulder with an angry scoff. The movement is all casual grace, so easy it's like she doesn't even think about it, because she probably didn't. Like she doesn't need to bother measuring the exact angle of her throat, or the way it makes the lines of her collarbones flash.

"Can't you at least try to get along?" She demands, and Blake has to force herself to look away or else she's going to claw out her eyes.

The doors give a cheerful ding as the elevator shudders to a stop, and a second later Blake is shoving her way through them before they're even halfway open.

Weiss follows, of course. Staying right on her heels, not letting her escape. "You've been holding onto this grudge since the first day we arrived here." She presses, relentless. "You decided you were going to hate me before we ever met, and now you refuse to even try to get to know me because you know that your prejudices won't match up to the truth."

"I know you plenty." Blake growls, but it's hollow, nothing but empty vibrations in the air, and she would have been better off not speaking at all. But she's been angry for longer than she can ever remember in her life; she hardly remembers what it's like to not be agitated anymore. It's exhausting, her head aches constantly from the strain of too much emotion for too long, and she can feel herself cracking under the weight.

And now she's stalking through abandoned halls and past half-empty storerooms like an idiot, the infuriating click-clack of Weiss's boots barely a half a step behind her and all of her anger shoved right back into her chest as if it had never even left. Her plan has backfired, she's stuck alone with the heiress again, stuck fighting an argument she can't win and can't back out of, because Weiss has that gleam in her eyes, all self-assured arrogance. She's right and she knows it, it's a fight and she's winning. She's closing in on her victory and watching to see what she'll do, a challenge and a taunt at the same time, like she's just begging her to even try fighting back.

"What have I done to upset you?" Weiss demands, utterly confident, knowing damn well she hasn't done a thing because they've barely even spoken to each other in days.

Blake snarls, almost more at herself than her, because it's her own damn fault she's stuck here, and still she can't help but dig herself even deeper. "Well, let's start with the time you called me an animal."

The rebuttal is obvious, and Weiss is answering almost before the words are out of her mouth. "I apologized for that, and for all the things I said during our fights. I already admitted I was wrong. How long are you going to hold on to it?"

"You were the one starting those fights, Schnee." Blake snaps, opting to ignore the second half of her statement entirely.

"And yet, it seems you're the one intent on continuing to antagonize me now." She counters neatly.

Blake grits her teeth until they creek, ears flattening under her bow before she can stop them. There's no beating the heiress in a verbal spar, not when sometimes it seems as if she was raised by an army of lawyers and Blake's so full of anger she can hardly think past the heat pulsing behind her eyes.

They'd stopped walking at some point, turning to face each other. They're standing close, chest to chest, only inches between them, close enough that they'd touch if Blake just leans forwards a little, and some crazed part of her wants to try, just to see what would happen. Weiss is looking up at her, has to crane her head back to meet her gaze, but from the look in her eyes you'd think that she was the one towering above her.

"Why can't you just fuck off, Schnee?" Blake says harshly, a growl coloring her voice despite her best attempts to contain it. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I've done everything possible to give you your space." Weiss says flatly. "The only reason you're asking now is because you know you're in the wrong and you don't want to admit it."

"Or maybe it's because everything you say is designed to piss me off."

"You are the only one who thinks that." Weiss tells her, unyielding. "Why don't you just admit what your real reason for disliking me is?"

Blake's eyes narrow, ears flat beneath her bow. "And what, exactly, do you think the 'real reason' is?"

"You're jealous." Weiss says, and it's so ridiculous that Blake actually laughs, throwing her head back.

"Jealous?" She asks, still snickering. "What in the world do you think I'd be jealous of? Jaune?"

"You're jealous because I'm better than you and you know it."

Blake's laughter cuts off like it was sliced with a knife. Her smile drops, and she glares down at her, face dark. "You?" She growls lowly. "What makes you think you're better than me?"

And just like that, she plays right into her hands.

She realizes her mistake a second to late to stop it, sees the counter coming, watches the way Weiss's eyes gleam and her lips twist up as she delivers the final stroke. "I don't have to 'think' anything, Belladonna." She snips, slapping the words down like they're the winning hand in a game of cards. "Our spar today proved it just fine."

It feels like something explodes in her head, a pulse of blood hitting her skull so hard she swears it must be visible. Fury burns through her, so powerful that she's frozen, and all she can hear is the roar of it in her ears. Her hands twitch upwards, and it's all she can do to keep herself from wrapping them around the heiress's throat.

Weiss has already turned away, beginning the walk back towards the elevator. Blake stares at her back, watches the self-satisfied sway to her stride, and something snaps.

She doesn't know what makes her do it. But the heiress gets under her skin like no one else, makes her stupid, and impulsive enough that she is nearly as surprised as Weiss when she suddenly grabs her by the shoulder and spins her around, throwing her back against the wall.

"Well, if you want to get to know each other." Blake hisses, so much darker than she had intended but not able to stop it. "We can do it right here."

Weiss is frozen, smug look gone, staring at her with those blue eyes blown wide. Blake takes advantage of her surprise, pressing in aggressively, claiming space. There's anger bubbling up in her chest, thick and ugly, churning in her blood like burning tar creeping through her veins. She doesn't know where it's coming from, knows this is a bad idea, that she'll regret it later, but right now she is so far beyond caring, because Weiss has finally shut the fuck up. Every word she says digs at her, every superior look and haughty tilt of her head makes her seethe, and she's sick of it.

And it feels so good to finally see her stunned speechless, to be the one in control while Weiss is off balance that she can't help but revel in it, leaning down and bracing her hands on the wall on either side of her, boxing her in, making her press herself back instinctively in response.

"You're- what are you doing, Blake?" Weiss asks, sounding wonderfully caught off guard.

"I think you know." She fires back, for lack of anything else to say, because honestly Blake hasn't got a fucking clue what she's doing, but it has Weiss on the back foot, and she'd dance on spikes to keep her there.

She can see Weiss hesitate, wide eyes flicking back and forth between her own as her mouth opens and closes. "And- what exactly do you think you'll get from doing this?"

Blake curls her lips up in a smirk. "I think you know." She murmurs lowly, and lets her eyes track across her slowly, just to watch her cheeks redden. She doesn't even try to hide her satisfaction at finally getting a hit in, practically flaunts it, feeling it grow as she sees the way it makes the heiress bristle.

"Problem, Schnee?" She asks, smirk growing, baring teeth, because there is a look she hasn't seen the heiress wear before, all defensive and frustrated. It's the look of someone who's losing and knows it, and oh, she could drown in that look, could die happy knowing she'd put it there.

Weiss glares up at her, face setting itself into an angry mask, eyes nearly glowing at the challenge. "And what problem do you think I'd have, exactly?" She demands, voice high and tight and defiant, reaching up to grab Blake's lapels, tightening her grip until her knuckles turn white, and-

Yanks her closer.

Blake falters, caught off guard by the sudden reversal. Because this wasn't in the script.

She'd had a vague plan, when she'd started this. Or the idea of a plan, at least. Because of course the prim and proper princess, the one everyone bends over backwards for and no one dares lay a finger on, that gets whatever she wants without even trying, of course she wouldn't expect to be shoved up against a wall like this, wouldn't have any experience with someone so thoroughly invading her space. But now it isn't working, Weiss is already gaining ground again. And Blake had been the one to start this, that's the thing. She can't just back down, not when she is the one who picked the battlefield.

Weiss Schnee makes her stupid, makes her impulsive, and normally she can't stand it but right now she's praying that the recklessness doesn't go away because she's clinging to it with everything she has as she leaps headfirst into the abyss. She takes another step into Weiss's space, grips her wrists, pulling them off her and pinning them to the wall by her hips, using her weight to hold them in place as she leans in.

Not that she has to. Weiss doesn't try to stop her, doesn't do anything but watch, chin lifted up, like she's just daring her to make a move. And Blake has never been good at backing down from a challenge.

Tension smothers the hall, electricity crackling through it. She can feel the heat radiating between them, and there's a strange pressure in her ears, like everything has fallen still, the world holding its breath. There's an explosion imminent, lightning about to strike, two storms ready to clash, held apart by a hair's breadth of distance.

"I just thought an obedient little prude like you might not be able to handle something like this." Blake murmurs, and by now their faces are only inches away. There's something there, something unfurling in her chest, in Weiss's eyes; there's a brittleness to the hardness on the heiress's face and she's determined to shatter it, she's going to break through to whatever's on the other side if it kills her.

"And since when have you ever been right about me?" Weiss parries, haughty, but it's undercut by the way her voice is just slightly too breathy to pass for confident.

Blake hones in on it instantly, a shark scenting blood in the water. "Oh?" She purrs, frankly shocked that she managed to force the sound out with the way her heart is trying to ram itself up her throat. "Then in that case, I guess I was wrong when I thought you'd want me to stop?"

Weiss scoffs. "You're full of yourself." She says. "As if someone like you-"

She stumbles when Blake suddenly moves, voice squeezing off as she leans in close enough that the heiress's features blur and she can't see the hard ridges of her cheekbones, until the pale blue of her eyes starts to blend with the white and she can taste her breath on her tongue. She is breathing hard, and Blake feels her pulse fluttering beneath her fingers, feels her legs shaking from how hard she's pressing herself back into the wall.

Blake pastes on her most insolent grin, hoping it hides the way she wants to break down shivering. "You were saying?" She prompts softly. Weiss only continues to stare at her, so she dips down until they're almost eye level, the tips of their noses nearly grazing. "Someone like me?"

Weiss swallows hard. "As if someone like you could- could ever have a chance with me." She fumbles the words slightly, voice coming out choked.

"I seem to be doing alright." Blake observes lightly. Somehow. She tightens her grip around Weiss's wrists, pulling them up so that they're pressed against the wall on either side of her head, lacing their fingers together. "You, on the other hand, are looking a little out of your depth." She says, and Weiss flinches.

Blake moves in when she sees it, trying to press her back, trying to end it. "We can stop if you want to, Schnee." She offers quietly, and hopes it doesn't sound like she's begging.

Weiss's hands flex against her fingers; her face is flushed red all the way to her shoulders and she looks like she's trapped somewhere between anger and apprehension. But still her eyes bore into Blake's, refusing to give an inch. "And why should I?" She demands, the challenge clear no matter how her voice wavers. It makes Blake shove herself forwards in response almost before she realizes, hurling herself the rest of the way into ruin.

"Say it." Blake whispers harshly, desperately. "Tell me to stop. Or else I swear I'm going to fuck you right here against this wall." And then she nearly falls over herself, because oh Gods, what the hell is she saying?

Weiss's eyes go wide and her pupils dilate, blooming outwards like they're trying to consume the blue of her irises. Blake can feel her pulse throb under her fingers, hears the way her breath catches. There's tension twisting itself around her stomach, sinking into her bones. She feels like she's going to snap in half if the strain grows anymore; fighting monsters is nothing compared to facing down Weiss Schnee.

The heiress trembles, a full body shiver running down her form, and she sags back against the wall. "You- you wouldn't dare."

The tension winds impossibly tighter, the stakes grow higher, but Blake is already all in and she can't fold now. "Then I guess you're wrong about me too, Schnee."

Her heart is tying itself in knots, she can hardly breathe for the tightness in her chest. She stares into Weiss's eyes, trying to force her to blink, silently begging her to back down, to please, please, just for once give in-

"Prove it."

Weiss's voice is barely more than a breath. Nothing but a whisper, but it might as well have been a war cry, because Blake is dead, dead, dead. She's done, it's over, Weiss called her bluff and now she's cornered, for all that the heiress is the one with her back to the wall. There's no way out but through, and she knows if she takes that route she'll be burnt to ash right there in the hall.

Blake does what she should have done five minutes ago and stops talking, because clearly, it's not her strong suit. She tilts her head to the side, moving ever closer, until there's not an inch left between them and she can feel the shape of the heiress's lips in the air. It's a last resort, a final attack, and it's either going to end in victory or a suicide charge; she doesn't know what insane game of chicken they're playing, but she'll ram her car straight into a cliff before she lifts her foot one inch off the throttle.

She feels it when Weiss falters, and victory flares in her chest, flashing through her like it's justification, and all of her flagging confidence comes surging back.

And maybe Weiss sees it, because her hesitancy vanishes, eyes hardening until they glint; in the next moment she's lunging forward in a rush, and it's right about then that Blake realizes she's miscalculated.

There had been an error somewhere along the line, a dropped zero or a miscarried one. Something that twisted the equation around, caused the whole answer to come out horribly wrong and had somehow ended up with Weiss Schnee slamming their mouths together hard enough to bruise, trying to shove her tongue down her throat.

Blake stumbles in shock, falling back a step, almost losing the contest the same moment it begins.

But then Weiss's lips curl up against her own, and she can feel the smug satisfaction settling into the heiress's posture, and that's all it takes to wipe away any uncertainty she has.

She shoves Weiss again, the impact of her back against the wall like a gunshot signaling the start of a race, and they're off, crashing into each other with all the grace of a train wreck.

She's never kissed a girl before- she's been in exactly one relationship in her life, with one person who was decidedly male, and not all that interested in letting her try to take the lead, or in letting her do anything that wasn't exactly what he told her to. And she's beginning to realize that it's left her with a crippling lack of experience for her current situation.

But then, she's not sure that even matters. There's a bruise forming on her chin from where Weiss's head had hit it, their teeth meet nearly as often as their lips, and the first time she tries to thrust her tongue forward she nearly loses it as the heiress bites down as hard as she can.

She's reacting with nothing but instinct, mind spinning without direction, trying to get a handle on the situation, unable to comprehend it. Weiss is coming after her like a wild animal, like she's trying to murder Blake with those teeth of hers, and it's all she can do to meet her. The heiress's breaths are filling her lungs, her lips are bright red and swollen, and she can taste the blood under them every time they come together, slamming into each other without a thought for force.

She had considered a few different scenarios, back at the start of this. Anger was expected. Screaming, almost certain. Attempted murder, not unlikely. Ideally, the heiress just flounced away fuming and never spoke to her again.

She had not considered this.

And so she is actually relieved when Weiss finally tears her arms free, lunging towards her with fingers like claws. Only, rather than going for her eyes, or her throat, or anywhere sensible, she latches onto Blake's necktie, dragging her forwards rather than back.

This- this was not supposed to happen, she thinks as she feels teeth scrape across her lip, tie tightening like a noose around her neck. Weiss was supposed to shove her away, or tell her to fuck off, or just slap her, and then storm away and give Blake a few moments of blessed peace while she reveled in her victory. She was not supposed to do- whatever this is.

Weiss winds Blake's necktie around her knuckles and uses her weight to drag her down, practically swinging on it, while her other hand rises to fist itself in her hair, making her hiss reflexively. They meet again, and it's more like being punched in the mouth than kissed but Blake just presses harder, fisting the front of Weiss's bolero and hauling her up until she's on her toes.

The heiress shoves at her, struggling to push her back, but for once this is a contest she has no chance of winning because she's all of five feet tall and might hit a hundred pounds of she jumps up and down on the scale. So Blake plants her feet, tightens her grip on the heiress and slams her back to the wall, hard enough to force a burst of air out of her mouth and to feel the impact rattling in her chest; this is important, she knows, deep down where all the most important instincts reside. This is a contest, it's a collision, a catalyst. A start, an end, of what she doesn't know, but she's going to win, dammit-

And then something tugs, pulling against the ribbon on top of her head, and Blake rears back like she's been slapped.

Weiss is leaning back against the wall, panting hard, glaring at her furiously, ribbon clenched in her fist. Blake narrows her eyes, unveiled ears twitching wildly in the open air.

"Give it back." She growls.

"No." Weiss fires back, no hesitation, and anger flairs in her chest, tinged with fear. The air feels freezing as it brushes across her ears, exposed where anyone can see them, and never mind that they're probably the first students to come down here in a week.

Her hand blurs forwards, clamping around Weiss's wrist, yanking it towards her. Still the heiress doesn't let go, looking up at her defiantly, ribbon held tight in her hand. The muscles in Blake's jaw spasm, and she itches to run, to hide herself away.

Is that what this is? Just- just some trick to lure her in, to try to humiliate her?

Of course it is. What else had she expected? Rage licking at her chest, she tightens her grip on the Schnee's wrist until she can feel the bones grinding together, already imagining the inevitable high-and-mighty barb the heiress will throw at her, the smug taunt to drive home her victory. Blake grits her teeth, a growl rising in her throat as she opens her mouth, poison on her tongue-

And Weiss bites out. "You look better without it." Somehow, she makes the words sound angry.

Blake stares, all her righteous fury snuffed out in an instant, leaving her with nothing but to breathe in its bitter ashes. How is she supposed to answer that? She doesn't know, so instead she leans down and crushes their lips together again, stopping whatever follow up the heiress might have had.

Blake had been tempering herself, still, for all the aggression they'd been pouring into this thing that might have been called a kiss. She'd kept her hands braced on the wall on either side of Weiss, or fisted around her jacket, holding herself back from actually touching her. It's something she'd done without conscious thought, a gut impulse. It feels like a crime, like she'd be doing something awful, violating some ancient mandate by daring to lay her hands on the heiress. But Weiss is determined to cross all the lines, it seems, and she can't help but try to match her.

She reaches up and grabs at Weiss's hair just like she's wanted to for months, to plunge her hands in and pull it out of that perfect fucking ponytail, to wind it around her fingers and tie it in knots. She sinks her fingers in, finds it just as smooth as she has always imagined, tightens her grip, feels Weiss gasp against her lips. The sound sends heat pouring down her spine, and she growls, dragging her closer. She wants to color in that pale skin with bruises, to throw Weiss on the ground and cover her in dirt, to rip at those designer clothes until they're nothing but rags. To drag her down into the mud, and never mind if she gets dirty too, it would be worth it just to see if it clings to the heiress the same way it does the rest of them.

At some unknown signal they break apart, falling back and breathing hard. Blake's eyes stay locked onto Weiss's for a moment before flickering away, wandering down the rest of her face, the curve of her neck, watches the way it flexes as she pants, chest swelling. Strands of hair have slipped free from her ponytail to hang across her face, and she's gasping, bright splotches of color high on her cheeks. She looks messy, disheveled for the first time since she's known her, and Blake feels an absurd amount of satisfaction at being the one to cause it.

Now that they've paused, though, her mind finally checks back to what is happening- what's supposed to be happening. This is a fight, she remembers. It's a contest, and they've already set the stakes. 'Right here against the wall', she had said, and Weiss had dared her to do it. But was she serious? Were either of them serious, because she's not sure she actually knows anything anymore.

"Problem, Belladonna?" Weiss taunts breathlessly, throwing her own words back in her face.

Blake stares, unable to tear her gaze away from the way those swollen lips form around her name. "No?" She says. Like an idiot. She just barely holds back the urge to slap herself in the face.

But Weiss is still watching her, face still set in that stubborn mask, eyes still burning with challenge, still utterly certain that she's winning, and Blake knows instinctively that backing off means giving up.

Experimentally, Blake shifts her leg forward, gently knocking her knee against the inside of the heiress's thigh. Weiss's face reddens, blush reaching all the way to her ears, but she lifts her chin. Almost defiantly, she widens her stance, meeting her eyes as she slides her feet further apart.

Blake's breath hisses across her teeth, hands tightening around the heiress's hips. When had she grabbed them? She can't remember. There's fire filling her, still, but it's different, lower down, and goes far, far deeper than her anger could ever hope to reach. Blake lifts her leg higher, until it disappears beneath her skirt, until finally she feels her thigh press between the heiress's legs. Weiss's panting stutters, turning into a groan, and her head falls back against the wall. The action exposes the length of her neck, and Blake doesn't even think before bending down and wrapping her lips around it.

Weiss goes rigid, letting out a noise that might have been a whimper, arm jumping up to wrap around the back of her neck, pulling her closer. The sound sends a hot shudder along her spine, and she can't help but bite down, sucking the skin over her teeth hard enough to leave a mark. She wants to cover that graceful neck in bites, not stop until it's nothing but a mottled mess of blue and purple, and everyone who sees knows exactly what she's done to Atlas's perfect little princess. She lifts her leg higher, presses harder, and Weiss jerks her hips, sliding forwards an inch. She's burning hot and soaked, enough that Blake can feel it through her underwear, and she knows there will be a wet spot on her leg when she pulls away. She shivers when she feels it on her bare thigh, then shivers harder when she feels Weiss clench against her, their skin separated only by the thin fabric of her underwear.

Her own hands are still on Weiss's hips, and she slips them around, grabbing at the heiress's shirt and tugging it up from where it's tucked into her skirt. She pulls it free and immediately pushes her hand under it, finally, finally finding bare skin. She slides her hand along Weiss's stomach, feeling it clench, then lower, curling her palm around her waist, tracing her fingers along the lines of her hip as they slip down-

-and Weiss falters. Her hands tighten, but there's a stiffness to the way they're squeezing now, and her loud breaths choke off abruptly as she tenses, muscles hardening as they lock up. It's instinct that makes Blake freeze too, her body stopping before she even fully realizes why.

There's a pause. Everything slams to a halt in a single moment, so sudden it's like they've hit a wall, all the heat that had been surrounding them turning to ice. Both of them hold themselves still, Weiss tense and Blake cautious, the heiress's muscles clenched so hard she's trembling from the strain.

Her hand is still on Weiss's hip, the tips of her fingers just starting to slip beneath the waistband of her skirt. Carefully, she removes it, sliding her hand back until it's out from under Weiss's shirt completely, and she can feel the way the tension vibrating through the heiress eases a fraction, her breaths sounding slightly less strained.

Blake pulls her head away from her neck slowly, until she can see Weiss's face. There's a hesitance in her eyes that hadn't been there the last time she'd looked, a flightiness to the way she holds herself.

Weiss notices Blake has stopped and obviously realizes she's the reason, that she's losing ground with every second that passes. She clenches her jaw, and Blake can feel her fingers tighten in her hair, trying to stop the barely-there trembling in her hands. It subsides after a few seconds, but still she doesn't raise her head, staring down at some point below her neck.

Blake shifts back to give her space, because she might hate Weiss but she's not a monster. But immediately the heiress's hands tighten, dragging her to a stop before she can put more than an inch between them. Still stubborn, still determined to win even when she's so tense she's frozen.

Blake thinks about saying something, but knows immediately that Weiss wouldn't appreciate it. Thinks about just breaking her hold and stepping back, but knows that would be even worse. And then, of course, she wonders why she even cares, because since when has she been trying to make the heiress feel better instead of worse? Let her be upset. That would mean Blake won. Right?

Weiss peeks up at her from beneath her lashes. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lips nervously, and the sight hits Blake like a bullet in the chest. Because it's cute.

Weiss Schnee is not supposed to be cute. But then again, she's not supposed to be vulnerable, either.

She's almost surprised to hear her own teasing voice, asking "Nervous, Schnee? ", flinging the taunt out just because she knows it will get a rise out of her.

And it works like a charm. Weiss's nervousness vanishes in a second as she sets her jaw, the fire rushing to fill her eyes again, glare snapping itself back in place like it had never fallen at all.

"You would like to think that wouldn't you?" She snaps. It's a bluff and they both know it, but for some reason Blake doesn't protest as she's dragged back down. Weiss bites down the moment their lips meet, yanking at her hair twice as hard as before. Blake let's her lips curl up, amused by how obvious her embarrassment is.

Which is a bad decision, it turns out. She doesn't realize Weiss has been working at her buttons until her shirt falls open, her bra hitting the floor around the same moment the heiress latches onto her breasts. A gasp stutters its way up Blake's throat, her lips stumbling against Weiss's. Her nipples are squeezed and her mouth falls open, immediately being filled as Weiss plunges her tongue in, pushing her back.

She tries to retaliate, tugging at Weiss's jacket, pushing it further open so she can hook her fingers into the neck of her shirt, dragging it down around her stomach.

And that's where she makes her mistake, because while Blake's busy trying to get a glimpse at her chest, Weiss is already shoving her hand up her skirt.

Her breath stutters and she has to stop, leaning on Weiss to keep herself from falling, because fuck, when had she gotten so wet? She can feel her panties clinging to her, her arousal painting the insides of her thighs, and just the dull pressure of her palm is enough to make Blake's knees weak.

Weiss doesn't give her time to recover, fingers pressing into her as she massages her through her underwear, hard enough to almost hurt, and Blake's legs nearly give out. She sags, and Weiss doesn't hesitate to seize the advantage, pushing forwards hard enough to send her staggering across the hall until her back hits rough concrete, and now Blake is the one being pressed against the wall. The hand in her hair tightens before yanking her head to the side, making her gasp as she's forced to crane her neck back; she chokes on her own tongue as her vision flickers, blood a low roar in her ears.

She pants breathlessly, scrambling blindly for a foothold on the deadly slope she's suddenly found herself on. "You're- you're awfully eager, Schnee."

"And you're awfully hesitant, Belladonna." Weiss growls, before curling her fingers under Blake's panties and yanking them down around her knees in one hard pull. The sting of icy cold air hits her before it is replaced by the heat of Weiss's hand, fingers plunging into her until her palm meets soaked skin. Blake whimpers, sagging against the wall, gripping Weiss's shoulders. All her strength has gone, she has to practically hang off her just to stay upright. She's more sensitive than she's ever been in her life, and while the heiress is clumsy at first she learns quickly. She falters again when she catches a glimpse of Weiss's face, eyes burning, teeth bared, fierce, almost feral, and the very farthest thing from composed that she has ever seen in her life.

She's losing, Blake realizes. That is bad. Awful. Terrible, in fact. She should stop it. Now. Right now. At this moment. Immediately. Find an opening and break away. And then pack her bags and run for the hills, because there is no way the heiress is going to let her live after this.

Instead, she groans as Weiss reaches up on her toes to bite down on her lip hard enough that she tastes iron and pulls, dragging Blake's head down with her until she can encircle it with her arm. Which is the opposite of what she wants. Definitely.

Blind, she fumbles at Weiss's chest, grabbing at whatever her hands land on. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing, because her own breasts aren't sensitive enough for her to bother spending all that much time playing with, but she prays to whatever Gods will still listen to her that Weiss's are different, because if they aren't she's through.

And apparently she hasn't damned herself completely yet, because Weiss's breathing stutters almost instantly, the hand between her legs faltering. Blake speeds up, as best she can, hope bursting to life in her chest, because maybe, just maybe she isn't done after all, if even her clumsy fumbling is enough to get this much of a reaction. Neck, ears, breasts, stomach, hips- Blake can touch her anywhere and Weiss is gasping and groaning and quaking, shaking like it's more than she knows how to bear.

But then she rallies. In a single moment Weiss shoves forwards, and Blake practically collapses as the fingers in her dive deeper, press harder, crushing her hips back against the wall. They continue to work inside of her, until she's crying and whining in desperation. She needs to do something, turn this around, execute some clever and daring strategy to catch Weiss of guard.

Instead, she slides down the wall, slumping to the floor with Weiss's fingers pumping in her the whole way, moaning aloud as they twist around, grinding shamelessly against them. Which is the exact opposite of doing something.

Weiss bends over her, victorious and feral, wrenching her head back, kissing her hard enough to pin her to the wall, and Blake whimpers hopelessly. Her own hands can only slap weakly at the heiress, trying in vane to mount some kind of counter attack. She knows Weiss is close, but she is so much closer, and the gap is too big to bridge in the time she has left.

She can do nothing but writhe as Weiss moves in for the kill, pressing a knee into her stomach to pin her in place. The fingers in her twist, finding some better angle, and her mind goes white. She sees the flash of the heiress's teeth as she grins, triumph burning in her eyes, skin flushed red from exertion, before she drives down and latches onto Blake's neck just below her ear, biting like she's trying to devour her.

She loses. She loses, and she can't even be upset, because she's shaking and gasping Weiss's name as her vision blurs out, and it's the greatest relief she's ever felt. Weiss kisses her hard, yanking her up by her hair until her spine is arched, finding her tongue and capturing it. Blake paws at her, not sure what she is even trying to accomplish, but it doesn't matter because her hands can't do more than cling to her because she's falling apart, collapsing in, losing everything, all at once, and the wave only climbs higher, until it overwhelms her completely.

Weiss doesn't let it end until Blake is begging, until her gasps turn to desperate whimpers and there's tears welling up in her eyes. Finally, the heiress relinquishes her hold, letting Blake drop back to the ground, slumping into the wall. She nearly falls, to weak to support her own weight, but Weiss grabs her head again, pulling her forward and latching her mouth onto the junction between her neck and her shoulder, biting hard. Blake whines, still beyond caring, leaning into her, and feels her growl against her skin, all satisfied and triumphant.

Finally, nearly a full minute later, Blake starts to come down, the dizziness in her head subsiding enough for her to think again. Weiss is leaning over her, panting nearly as hard, face flushed, mouth stretched wide in a wild grin. Blake feels her face heat when their eyes meet, and the heiress's smirk grows.

"What's wrong, Belladonna?" Weiss asks, smug. "Cat got your tongue?"

Her flush spreads, and she ducks her chin. "That was terrible." Blake tells her. She means for it to be biting, but there's no heat behind it, and it comes out as little more than sullen mumbles.

"What was it, you said?" Weiss taunts gleefully. "'right here against the wall ?'"

"Yes." Blake mutters, ears laying back in embarrassment. Her anger is absent for the moment, emotion burnt away by the rush, and she feels strangely exposed without it there to shield her.

The heiress practically cackles. "It seems like you're all talk after all, Belladonna."

Weiss's hand is still tangled in her hair. Blake hisses when she jerks it sharply, uses it to haul her up and crush their mouths together, biting down on her lip with a smirk, hard enough to make it throb. The kiss is softer than before, if only because they both know that the fight is over. Weiss is practically glowing, she can't seem to get enough of gloating, dragging her in close and exploring the depths of her mouth. Blake resists, but her heart isn't in it, skin still buzzing from the high of her orgasm.

It takes a few moments, but eventually her muscles no longer feel like water and her blood stops thrumming quite so loudly. Slowly, she reaches up, gripping Weiss's shoulder, wrapping her fingers around her wrist.

She may have lost- but that doesn't mean she can't drag the heiress down with her.

Weiss is still caught up in the thrill of victory, her guard nonexistent. She's too surprised to react when Blake suddenly tightens her grip on her, rolling them over so that Weiss is the one on the ground, pressed back against the wall. She freezes, then starts struggling a moment later. But by then Blake has already caught her wrists, pinning them to the wall on either side of her, quickly moving closer so that she is kneeling between her legs, and the heiress can't do much more than kick ineffectually at the floor.

"Wait- Blake." Weiss gasps. "You- you're cheating."

"It's not cheating if the game is over." Blake says. Flimsy logic, maybe, but good enough for her. She keeps her arms pinned as she leans in, looming over her with a wicked smirk, and Weiss's movements become more frantic. Blake lets her squirm for a few moments, admiring the way her alarm slowly grows as the heiress realizes that she's well and truly trapped. Her mouth works silently, all those clever comebacks suddenly forgotten, haughty attitude nowhere in sight, and Blake feels a laugh bubble up at how obvious her panic is.

"I did promise you, didn't I?" Blake murmurs lowly. She shifts closer, lifting her leg, sliding her knee up between her thighs, brushing against the fringe of her skirt. "Against the wall."

The heiress presses herself back, looking at her leg like it is an encroaching snake. "But-" Weiss stuttered, shuddering hard, seeming unable to stop the way her legs clamped around Blake's. "But that was- before-"

The moment her knee slots itself between her legs Weiss sucks in a loud breath, struggles pausing as a shudder runs through her. She's hot enough to scald, and wet enough for her underwear to cling to Blake's leg. She must have been even closer than Blake had thought. She hunches forwards, squeezing her eyes shut, tightening her hands into fists. She is sweaty from their fight, skin burning red, already breathing hard even though Blake has barely touched her yet.

She transfers her grip on Weiss's wrists so that she is holding both in one hand. She could probably break free, should she really want to, but somehow Blake doubts she will try. She lays her hand on top of the heiress's leg just above her knee, beginning to slide it upwards, letting her thumb drag along the inside of her thigh, and feels muscles quivering beneath skin at her touch.

The tips of her fingers graze against damp silk, and the heiress's breath hitches. Blake presses lightly, trailing along the edges before moving towards the center. Weiss doesn't seem to know what to do with the contact, shuddering and groaning uncontrollably against her, as if she's already on the verge of climax.

Blake continues to tease her for a while, but before long her patience reaches its end and she pushes the fabric aside, slipping underneath. She finds Weiss wet, finds her needy, just the dull pressure of her fingers making her hips jerk, noises spilling from her lips. The sound catches in her stomach like a hook, tugging upwards, and she bites her lip, stroking her fingers across her. She's soaked, and when Blake lines up her fingers they slide in so smoothly she has to bite back a groan. Weiss throbs around her, hot walls clamping down, she can feel the blood pounding just beneath the skin. She's tight; even with just two fingers Blake can tell she's nearing her limit. Blake squeezes a third in, feeling how she trembles, and Weiss's legs flex, trying to close around her. She keeps them spread wide, pinning them to the wall on either side of her with her knees, and the heiress writhes like she's in agony.

It's beautiful in the way a battle is. Messy, strained, passionate, every ounce of energy thrown into a single moment, stretched out for minutes at a time. Those pretty pale lips press tight until they're bloodless, the perfect lines of her face thrown askew by the way it's twisted; she looks nothing like her usual dignified self, wholly overwhelmed by the situation, and Blake finds herself captivated, unwilling to blink for the fear that she'll miss a single second. She's breathtaking, and Blake can't bring herself to let it end.

She is familiar enough with herself to guess where Weiss might be most sensitive at. Enough to recognize when she gets to close, and to stop before letting her go over the edge. To keep her there, dancing along a razor thin line. Weiss almost howls, thrashing against her desperately, hips bucking to try to reach her hand. With a smirk, Blake mirrors her move from before and plants a knee into her stomach, leaning into it to hold her in place. She moves her fingers slowly. Oh, so achingly slowly, carefully, stroking through her without giving relief, letting it build, higher and higher.

Weiss seems as if she might cry, thrashing her head, and Blake bites her lip. Everything about it: the naked desperation, the need that is painted so clearly across her face, the feel of her squirming weakly in her hold, dripping onto her hand, clenching around her fingers. Weiss looks decimated, and all it does is make Blake want more. She wonders how long she can keep her like this. How many seconds, minutes, hours can she make it last, keep the heiress so excruciatingly close before finally allowing her to shatter.

Blake leans in and captures her lips. Weiss whimpers, and the feel of it echoing inside her mouth sends a dark shiver through her, down her throat and throughout her stomach. She presses harder, crushing the heiress back against the wall, enough to feel the shape of her teeth through her lips, enough to bruise. She begins to move just a tiny bit faster, trying to draw more noises out of her. Twisting her fingers around, she spreads them wide, until she can feel Weiss straining around them, and the heiress lets out a noise like a gasping cry, spine arching beautifully, and Blake drinks the sound down like it is made of wine.

She can feel the desperation wracking every inch of Weiss's body, pulling her muscles tight, can taste it with each ragged breath, and it's intoxicating. More than the thrill of battle, the rush of victory or the sting of defeat. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that can compare to this feeling, addicting her instantly, and she never wants to let it go.

She fully intends to follow through, to keep this going as long as she physically can, draw it out until the end of the earth and the both of them are burnt to nothing, but before she can Weiss suddenly breaks their kiss, jerking her head to the side, dragging in a rattling breath.

"Please." She bursts out, and Blake falters. "Blake- Blake, please."

Blake had been wrong. Oh, so very, very wrong. Because this is better. Hearing the heiress pleading like this, words barely recognizable through her whines, is a hundred, a thousand times better. Blake's hands convulse, heat shuddering its way down her spine, straight to her core. She hears Weiss's gasp of surprise as she suddenly shoves herself forwards, until her knees are pressing into the wall on either side of Weiss's hips, forcing the heiress's own legs to spread wide. She leans down until she is laying against her, getting as close as she can, pressing their bodies together so that she can feel every inch of the heiress's trembling form. Like this, Blake nearly completely covers the smaller girl, practically smothering her as she pins her flat to the wall.

Blake pants harshly, staring down at Weiss, barely inches apart. Her ears had shot upright at the words, and now they're twisted forwards, locked into the other girl intently, searching for any other sound. She'd let go of Weiss's wrists at some point, and she only realizes it because her hand clamps around the back of the heiress's head, yanking her up towards her. But Weiss doesn't lower her arms, leaving them resting against the wall above her head, like she's forgotten they're there at all.

Blake wants to come up with some clever taunt, but all that stumbles out of her mouth instead is, "D-Do that- do that again. Say that again."

"Blake." Weiss pants against her, breathless. "Blake… Blake. Please, Blake." She says it like a prayer, like it's the only thing left, and Blake bites her tongue as she clenches reflexively. That sound… she couldn't imagine something as simple as hearing her name could make her feel this. She curls her fingers inside of her, pressing harder, moving faster, reckless, and nearly as desperate as Weiss. She needs to hear that sound again. She needs to know what her name sounds like on the heiress's lips while she's cumming, breaking completely, shattering into a thousand jagged pieces.

Instantly, Weiss's moans grow louder, Blake's name coming out higher, more urgent, her hips rolling up to meet her hand. Blake catches her by the chin, pulling her head up so she can see her face. "Look at me." She orders, voice rough. She wants to see it when it happens, to watch as she comes unraveled.

Weiss shudders and blinks, unfocused eyes turning towards her, and they hardly seem able to see her. Blake curls her fingers, dragging back, and the heiress's eyes roll, beginning to close. Blake digs her nails into her chin, shaking her head roughly. "Look at me." She snarls.

Weiss's eyelids flutter, barely able to stay open, but her eyes move towards the sound of her voice. They're wet and glassy, and Blake can see tears clinging to her lashes like dew. Her mouth hangs open, drawing in fast, shallow breaths, and her face glows red, flush spreading all the way across her shoulders and down her chest.

"That's it." Blake husks. "That's it."

A shudder ripples through Weiss again, then a third. Her mouth opens and closes, cries becoming choked, back arching off the wall, and Blake watches as her pupils swell wide, eyes blurring, darkening. They're beautiful, like the dark blue found only at the heart of a deep well of crystal-clear ice. So much so that Blake nearly misses it when Weiss tenses, muscles rippling beneath her skin, breath catching hard in her throat. She croaks Please one last time before tensing, legs kicking, and finally her arms drop, wrapping around her, fingers tightening on the back of her jacket.

Blake returns the favor she'd been given and doesn't relent, pumping her fingers faster, harder. Her thumb rises to find her clit and she presses down, rubbing in short, tight circles, and Weiss cries out, Blake's name echoing through the hall, reverberating in her ears. She latches onto the side of the heiress's throat, right above the artery, biting down and dragging up until she can taste the blood rushing just below the skin and feel the bruise forming under her teeth. Weiss mewls into her ear, clawing weakly at the back of her head, hips trying to buck against her knee as she spasms around her fingers, so Blake does it again, and again, and again, until she loses count. Weiss's cries grow higher, sharper, and there's tears on her face, on Blake's lips, tasting of desperation. She covers her mouth with her own, relishing the way she shakes and strains against her, crying into her lips.

She only stops when a noise bursts out of Weiss that might have been a sob, and she finally realizes that the hands that had been gripping her tight were now slapping at her shoulders, trying to push her back. Blake can't bring herself to move away, but she does ease her movements, letting her fingers slow until they've stopped entirely, resting still inside of her, and Weiss goes slack, slumping against her, panting in relief.

Blake had moved at some point, shoving closer, and Weiss is now nearly in her lap, limbs wrapped around her, face pressed below her neck. She's so small, so light, still trembling from the force of her climax, and Blake wants to keep her there forever. She winds her arm around her, pulling her tight to her front, kissing her again. Weiss's breathe hitches when the movement shifts the fingers inside her, spine curving, and their hips lock, sending a warm shudder crawling up Blake's spine. It's addicting, and she has to pull her hand away now or else she knows she won't be able to stop herself from beginning again.

Her fingers slide free from inside her reluctantly, the air achingly cold without Weiss's heat wrapped around them, glistening with her arousal. She lifts them up and slips them into her mouth, one at a time, wrapping her lips around them as she licks them clean.

Weiss watches from inches away, eyes dark and wet and wanting, biting her lip. "Fuck." She breathes, and Blake's legs go weak under her. It feels like sacrilege, like she's tainting something holy, and she knows the thought is ridiculous even as it enters her head, but she'd never once thought she'd hear something so foul pass through the prim and proper heiress's perfect little lips.

It sends heat flooding up her chest, energy rushing through her veins, and Dust, she wants to do it again. She slips her hands behind Weiss's neck, dragging her up, kissing her with a hunger that she hadn't thought herself capable of. She wants to ruin Weiss, to see what else she can drag out of her, just how filthy she can make her-

And then Blake freezes, ears twisting to the side. Faint voices drift down the hall. Familiar voices.

Blake grabs Weiss in half a panic, lurching up and yanking her to her feet, dragging her bolero back onto her shoulders. She fumbles with the heiress's shirt, trying to pull it up from around her stomach, and Weiss jerks in surprise. "Hey- hey!" She protests, pushing at her. "What are you-"

She cuts off abruptly, understanding lighting up her face. Maybe she'd heard too, or maybe just managed to put the pieces together, but she pulls Blake's shirt closed, hurriedly doing up the buttons.

Weiss's skirt is twisted, so she drags it back around, stuffing her shirt back into it. While she's doing that Weiss began attempting to tie her bow back on top of her ears, and she ducks her head to give her more room. And then remembers that that's stupid, since she's tied her bow thousands of times and can do it in seconds, whereas Weiss has never done it even once and likely has no idea how. But by then Weiss is already cinching it down tight, and there's no time to check or redo it because Blake's panties are somewhere around her ankles, and as she bends to pull them up she spots her bra laying on the floor by Weiss's feet.

A cold spike buries itself in her chest, and she lurches to grab it, panic clamoring in her head. Weiss beats her to it by an inch, snatching it up. And then stops, holding it in her hands, clearly struggling to think of what to do with it.

Yang's voice comes from just around the corner, mere feet away. "Helloooo! Blake? Weissicle? You girls down here?"

Absolute terror floods her, and she can see it mirrored in Weiss's eyes. She makes a grab for it, but is a second to late, because Weiss has already pulled open her bolero and, without ceremony, stuffs Blake's bra down the front of her own shirt.

Blake has all of one second to be outraged and mortified before Yang and Ruby turn the corner. She leaps away from Weiss, stumbling slightly, barely catching herself on shaky legs just as Yang's eyes land on her.

"Bla- oh. There you are." She cuts off halfway through her next call, voice abruptly dropping down to a more normal volume, pulling up and staring at her. "Jeez, try answering next time."

Ruby's face lights up when she sees them, and then she's zipping forward, appearing barely a foot in front of Weiss, and the heiress nearly leaps out of her skin, jerking back a step, hitting the wall. Ruby doesn't notice, too busy bouncing on the balls of her feet, hands clenching in the air in front of her, clearing holding herself back from mobbing her partner. "Weiss! We've been looking for you guys for ever !"

"About twenty minutes." Yang translates, approaching at a more casual pace, stopping in front of Blake. She looks between them, and then up and down the hall, eyebrow quirking questioningly. "What were you doing down here, anyways?"

Blake opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, her mind too busy collapsing in on itself to formulate a response. She's crashing back down to the real world, sanity reasserting itself at the worst possible time, the true magnitude of what she's just done finally hitting her, far, far to late to save her, because she's just had sex with Weiss Schnee. She, Blake Belladonna, had just pinned the heiress to the wealthiest corporation in the world to a wall and fucked her in a hall, in public, like some kind of deranged pervert.

She's dead. She is beyond dead. She's going to be arrested. Jacques Schnee is going to put her in chains, and then he's going to kill her, and then probably stick her head on his wall like some horrific hunting trophy.

She looks over at Weiss in panic, finds her staring right back.

"Um." Weiss says, and Blake almost just gives up right there, because if that's the best that Weiss Schnee can come up with, then Blake Belladonna doesn't have a prayer. Yang's eyes sweep over them, taking in the bruises, the reddened lips and disheveled clothes, and oh Gods she knows, the whole school knows, everyone knows, she's just fucked Weiss Schnee against a wall and now she's going to be dragged all the way to Atlas to be executed.

"Well at least we got here before your two killed each other." Yang says.

It takes a moment for the words to pierce the static filling her ears. Once they do, she dives on the opportunity. "Yes. That's what we were doing. Fighting." Blake says. She swallows. "You know. Same as usual."

The bright look on Ruby's face drops, and never before in her life has disappointing someone filled Blake with such relief. "Oh." Ruby says, quiet. "I thought maybe you guys were. Ya know. Talking." She looks down, scuffing the toe of her boot against the floor, looking utterly dejected.

"There was talking too." Weiss reassures her, seemingly on reflex. "We were just getting- getting to know each other." She stumbles, the words coming out choked, and Blake feels her face warm.

"By strangling each other?" Yang asks skeptically, eyes lingering. Blake follows her gaze, and her heart stops when she sees the bites on Weiss's neck are beginning to darken. But Yang just runs a thumb sympathetically along her throat, wincing, jumping to all the wrong conclusions. "Damn. If you two were going to go hard, you should have at least activated your aura."

"It was… a communication break down." Blake manages, shifting her leg, trying not to focus on the way her panties are clinging to her. She's tense, ready to bolt at a moment notice, because there's no way that this is working.

But despite all laws or rationality, their teammates seem to believe it, and Weiss nods from her space against the other wall, quickly reinforcing her. "We were just straightening a few things out." She says.

Was that what they'd been doing? Because Blake doesn't feel like anything's been straightened. At all.

But the heiress's voice is so polished, so reasonable that the other two are already nodding along, accepting the explanation without a blink, despite the fact that it's so clearly a lie. Blake keeps her mouth shut, not trusting herself at the moment to not blurt out something stupid and ruin everything. Her own legs are still trembling from her orgasm, so she has no idea how Weiss is even standing right now. Though on second glance, she is leaning her shoulder rather heavily against the wall.

"Anyway. We've been calling you two for almost an hour. Ever hear of answering your scrolls?" Yang asks, a look of faint annoyance coloring her expression.

"There isn't much reception down here." Weiss answers neatly. She seems to have recovered somewhat, now that the initial danger has passed. Pushing herself off the wall, she dusts off her clothes, straightening her jacket, pulling herself together with an enviable amount of composure. "What is it you wanted?"

"To know where you were, duh." Ruby says as if it should be obvious. "It's, like, midnight."

"It's nine thirty." Yang corrects, though her tone is light, and the words are more reflex than anything.

"Well it's dark." Ruby says, petulant, crossing her arms. "That means it's to late. New rule. RWBY Rule #37: All members of team RWBY have to answer their scrolls if they aren't back before dark." She nods once, firmly, obviously satisfied that she is succeeding at being a responsible team leader.

"There was no reception." Weiss reminds her, but her voice is resigned, already knowing the effort is wasted.

Yang just rolls her eyes. "Is not that big a deal, Ruby." She tucks her hands into the pockets of her jacket and leans a shoulder against the wall, kicking one ankle over the other, looking over at Blake with a teasing grin. "We just wanted to make sure you two weren't dead in a ditch somewhere. Or trying to put each other in one."

Slowly, the tension between Blake's shoulders begins to ease, the familiar banter soothing her ragged nerves. "It was fine." She says, and then clears her throat when her voice comes out lower than it should. "We really weren't fighting." Not the way they're thinking, at least.

"Right. Because you were talking." Yang says, voice carefully blank.

"We did talk." Blake says, defensive. And then they'd had sex. Against two separate walls, and on the floor. As casually as possible, Blake loosens the knot of her tie, pulling it straight so that is not quite so obvious that someone has been yanking on it.

"Yeah, yeah." Yang tosses the words out, making a motion like she's waving her hand inside her jacket pocket, clearly losing interest. "We'll take your word for it." Pushing off the wall, she straightens up, half-turning away like she's already leaving. "Me and Rubes are going to go see if we can break into the kitchens and steal some food. You coming?"

"No." Blake says, trying to keep it even, to keep the sound of her heart bubbling up in her throat from her voice, has to bite her cheeks to stop her lips twitching. "I, uh. I already ate. Earlier."

She honestly doesn't know what is discussed after that- Weiss says something about training, something about resolutions, but the only thing Blake understands is that Ruby and Yang go one way and she and Weiss go the other, heading back down the hall and leaving them behind.

They step into the elevator, and Blake has to fight the urge to giggle, nearly giddy with relief, hardly able to believe they'd gotten away. The doors close and she nearly bounces, unable to hold back her grin, looking over at Weiss, wondering if she is as relieved as her.

The heiress has her face schooled, posture cool. She looks ahead, and Blake's eyes run over her profile on their own. There's a dark spot growing on her cheek from where their heads had collided, and the front of her neck is gradually fading into a mottled mass of red and blue. She even makes bruises look beautiful, and suddenly Blake can't wait for their next spar so that she can cover her in more. They'd be wiped away in minutes when the heiress activated her aura, and Blake is already mourning the loss, already trying to think of some way to delay it for another hour, another minute. If she grabbed her now and shoved her against the wall, would it stop her? If she wound her hand into that sinfully smooth hair again, wrenched her head back and bit down on her neck, would it be enough to distract her? If she just held her down and fucked her forever, would it let her keep them? She's ready to try. She reaches out and pulls a strand of hair away from Weiss's cheek, exposing more of her face, unconsciously leaning in.

And Weiss knocks her hand away. Slaps it down the moment her fingers touch, not even glancing in her direction. "Don't."

The word is hard as steel, and Blake flinches back in surprise. For the first time she looks at Weiss, really looks. Not just at the bruises in her skin or the way the loose strands of her hair look like threads of pure white light in the glow of the elevator, or the faint wisp of her scent she can still catch it she keeps close, or the taste of her lingering on her tongue. Weiss's face is locked into a hard mask, and she refuses to meet her gaze, staring straight ahead with tight lines around her eyes.

Something in her chest drops away. The space where it had been aches, painfully empty. She lowers her hand.

"Oh." Blake says, small. "Ok."

Weiss doesn't react. The space in her chest throbs, and she can feel the echo of it ripple through her. She swallows hard, finding her throat clogged. She'd thought… what? That Weiss would thank her for humiliating her? That she wouldn't be angry? That she'd been as caught in the moment as her, enough to forget everything, to let her breath freely for the first time in months? That she wouldn't hate her for it? She doesn't know, really. It hardly matters, anyway, since she'd obviously been wrong.

She steps back, giving Weiss space. There's not much, but she backs herself into the corner, trying to make herself small. Weiss stands unmoving with her arms crossed in the center of the elevator, glaring at the doors, and in her profile Blake can see that her mouth is tight, cheeks flushed a bright red. She must be furious.

Something twists in her at the sight, and her own anger comes rushing back. She welcomes the familiar feeling, falling back into it easily. Weiss is mad? Fine. Let her be. The heiress had been just as much an active participant as her. She has no right to blame her for anything. Blake hasn't done anything wrong.

(She repeats it to herself, reinforcing it, again and again. She doesn't dare to voice her thoughts aloud, though. Not when she can't even convince herself, and guilt wells up in her chest with every second the silence stretches.)

Her mouth twists down, and she crosses her arms tight, glaring at the floor. It does her no good. Weiss's presence is like a fire next to her; she can feel it on her cheek, the backs of her hands, the sides of her legs, every inch of exposed skin tingling at her proximity. Her ears angle towards her on their own, listening to her breathing, the rasp of her clothes brushing when she shifts. She's hypersensitive, tender like a fresh wound, and the heiress prods at her merely by existing, every pulse of her heart another wave of agitation.

She grits her teeth, squeezes her arms around her and resists the urge to snap, to pick a fight, to do anything to fill the echoing emptiness in the elevator before her fragile anger shatters and she drowns under the weight in her chest.

When the elevator doors open, Weiss steps out without a glance in her direction, turning towards their room. Blake scoffs and looks away, refusing to watch her leave. She goes the other way, heading in the opposite direction. If the heiress wants to throw a fit and dump all the blame on her, then she can do it alone. She has no intention of staying to listen to her shrieking.

(That's why she's leaving, she tells herself. It has nothing to do with the stinging in her eyes or the catch in her throat, or the aching hollow in her chest.)

She makes it a few steps before a hand latches onto the collar of her jacket, jerking her back, making her stumble in surprise. She barely avoids falling as it yanks again, towing her back the way she'd come.

Wounded anger blazes to life, and she twists around with teeth bared, ready for murder. Only to stop when she catches a flash of white, staring as she realizes who's holding her. "Schnee?"

The heiress still refuses to look at her, and what she can see of her face is set, gaze locked on the end of the hall. "You're coming with me." She informs her, voice hard and flat, accepting no arguments or complaints.

Blake bristles instantly. She wants to throw her hand off, to tell her to go fuck herself, open her mouth and fling out all the things that are bubbling up inside her right in her face. But the moment she tries shame gnaws at her throat, squeezing tight and stopping any of the furious humiliation from escaping. So instead she bites her tongue until it burns and obeys, wrenching herself free of Weiss's hand and falling into step, tugging her jacket straight, silently fuming.

Weiss pushes open the door to their room, shoving it wide and striding in, not looking back, fully expecting her to follow, and Blake nearly leaves right there. She imagines doing it, pictures the look on the heiress's face when she turns and finds her gone, relishing the image.

And then she follows her in, shutting the door behind her, just like she'd always known she would.

Weiss is standing near the center of the room, facing away. Blake leans back against the door in a forced-casual display, crossing her arms, glowering at her back sullenly. She waits for the explosion, for the blizzard, for the heiress to finally let loose and tear her to shreds.

Instead, she stands silent. Blake watches her shoulders rise and fall as she breathes slowly, otherwise unmoving. It's impossible to see her expression from her angle, and she's drawn herself up into her usual perfect posture, giving away nothing.

The silence eats at her, digging into the thin membrane of her anger. She wants this to be over with. She'd been ready for resentment, for yelling and accusations, not this tense quiet that goes on and on. She barely lasts a minute before snapping. "Well? What do you want?"

The heiress half-turns, looking at her over her shoulder. She considers her for a moment, face blank. "Come over here."

Reluctant, Blake takes a step forward. And then another when Weiss does nothing but continue to stare, somehow radiating contempt without changing her expression an inch. Then a third, and suddenly she finds herself standing in front of her.

"Take a step to the left."

"Why?" Blake demands, sullen and defensive. Weiss merely twitches her fingers to the side in a silent command, and she grumbles as she does as she's told.

Weiss says. "Good. Thank you."

And then a glyph blooms in the air in front of her, and before she can react Blake is flung back across the room.

She lands hard on the floor, her back crashing into the edge of Weiss's bed, forcing a grunt out of her as pain flares between her shoulders. Reflexes built from years of combat kick in and she shoves herself off it, trying to dive forwards. But a pair of glyphs appear on either side of her, catching her around the wrists and yanking her back, and she hisses instinctively as they drag her arms out behind her over the mattress, pinning her to the edge of the bed. She scrambles to get her feet under her, but two more form around her legs, forcing them straight.

She thrashes about in a panic, ears flat, hissing loudly, yanking furiously at the glyphs, but her limbs might as well be in chains for all the good it does.

"Schnee!" She snarls, forced to look up at her. "What are you doing? Let me go!" She strains against them, arching upwards, getting nowhere.

Silently, Weiss turns away, shrugging off her bolero and dropping it into her hamper. Pulling Blake's bra out from her shirt, she dumps it onto the floor carelessly before reaching up, pulling out her hairpin and shaking her hair free. Blake's eyes catch on the movement, and she can't help but watch the way it makes her neck flex, muscles rippling beneath the skin. She still hasn't activated her aura for some reason, and the bruises have darkened to the point that it's impossible to mistake them for anything but bites, angry blues and reds and purples vivid against the pink of her throat, surrounded by the faint indents of her teeth. They spread out further than she'd thought, a few adorn the underside of her jaw, reaching all the way up to just below her ears, and she can't help the little stab of vicious satisfaction she gets from seeing them.

Weiss pulls out her scroll, tapping at it a few times beside tossing it aside. Finally, she looks at her, and Blake falters, anger dimming. There's a light burning deep in the depths of those eyes, flashing like warning signs in the night. The heiress tilts her head, examining her as if she is a bug that happens to wriggle in a way she finds particularly interesting, and it leaves her feeling all of seven inches tall. She tries to shift back, but she's already pulled flush to the bed frame by Weiss's glyphs. "What?" She demands, and the word comes out high pitched, fearful. "What do you want?"

Weiss steps forward, and something like panic begins to unfold in her chest. She bucks, throwing her weight forwards, growing increasingly desperate as the heiress approaches, silent, inevitable.

"You want an apology?" Blake snaps, venomous, spitting out the razor sharp shards that are pushing themselves out from inside her chest. "Fine. I'm sorry. Alright?"

Weiss's hand closes around her bow, pulling hard enough to sting, and she nearly screams her rage as it comes off, her hands ache for wanting wrap themselves around the heiress again, but she bites it back, trying to keep her voice from shaking. "I fucked up. Is that what you want to hear? I'm sorry."

Weiss pushes at the front of her jacket, and the glyphs holding her wrists move. She yanks at them furiously as they pull her arms around, lining them up to let Weiss pull it off, tossing it aside with a flick of her wrist, and she snarls uselessly, gnashing her teeth. Something heavy is trying to force its way up her throat and she blinks hard against the pressure building behind her eyes, clenching her fists as she glares up at her. "I shouldn't have p-pushed you like that. I shouldn't have done it. I crossed the fucking line, and I'm sorry. OK? I'm a piece of shit. I- I…"

She trails off when Weiss's hands move to her shirt, beginning to work at the buttons. "What's- what are you doing?" The first comes free, and then the second and third, and confusion quickly transforms into alarm as her chest rapidly becomes exposed. Her bra is still laying on the floor somewhere behind Weiss, there's nothing to cover her underneath, and she begins wriggling when Weiss doesn't slow. "Schnee!"

Finally, Weiss speaks. "Shut up, Belladonna." She says. "I didn't bring you here so you could apologize." The last button falls away. She brushes her shirt aside, examining her bare chest critically, and Blake feels her cheeks heat at the attention. "You owe me."

"What are you talking about?" Blake asks uneasily. She has no idea where this is going. Anger and rejection, she understands, not this- this- possessiveness.

A beat passes. The glyphs are cold, the chill beginning to sink into her skin where it touches. Their soft singing fills the silent room, slowly rotating around her limbs, their glow tinting the heiress's skin a faint blue, turning the bruises on her throat dark.

Then Weiss's carefully blank mask cracks, lips twitching. Slowly, they peel back into a dangerous grin, the ice in her eyes melting until they're practically glowing. "Have you forgotten?" She asks quietly. "I won our little game. Which means you owe me. I'm collecting."

"What?" Blake jerks, as much as she can, wide eyed. "No. That's not- We never set any terms."

"And that's quite unfortunate for you." If it were anyone else, Blake would have called the words giddy. And then Weiss giggles and it's the most terrifying sound she's ever heard, sending ice through her veins. "Because that means I get to decide my prize."

She lifts a hand, brushing her fingers across her breasts, curious and inquisitive. Blake bites her lip, instinctively pushing towards the touch, sees the flash of Weiss's teeth as she smirks. "And- what do you want?" She grits out, breathing growing unsteady as the heiress thumbs her nipple, fingers teasing the underside of her breast.

"I'd rather hoped you'd be able to figure that out on you own." Weiss taunts. She catches her nipple between two fingers, and Blake gasps and arches up off the floor as she pulls, lifting her breast up before releasing it, watching the way it bounces. "I thought you were smarter than this, Belladonna."

"You…" Blake swallows, trying to work some moisture back into her mouth, ears flicking uncertainly. "You just want to have sex again? That's it?"

Weiss throws her head back and laughs, high and bright and unbound. She looks wild, somehow, with her hair down, the strands falling in front of her face, catching on her shoulders, hanging in the air around her, all that carefully cultured elegance turned sharp and vicious.

"Oh, no no no, Belladonna. I can do that whenever I want." She says, like it's a given that she could have her at a moments notice, not even a question, utterly confident, and Blake bristles.

"Fuck you, Schnee." She spits viciously. Weiss's eyes flash and her grin sharpens, baring teeth like fangs, dripping satisfaction like venom. "You should be more respectful when you speak to me, Belladonna." She murmurs dangerously. "I'm going to enjoy teaching you some manners."

Blake goes cold, any words she had falling away from her lips, leaving them open and empty. Weiss's eyes curl up at the corners and she leans her hands on her shoulders, bending over her, white hair slipping off her shoulders to hang around them.

"My prize is that you sit right there." Weiss presses a knee between her breasts, leaning down, and Blake wheezes as it digs into her sternum, forcing air from her lungs. "Shut up." She grabs her by the hair, yanking Blake's head up until her neck is craned to the limit, forced to meet the heiress's eyes. "And let my fuck you until you're begging and crying. Deal?"

A shock pulses through her at the words, and it feels a bit like terror, a bit like excitement. Blake chokes on whatever answer she might have been able to muster as the hand in her hair yanks, pulling impossibly tighter, dragging her up until Weiss mouth covers her own. Teeth catch the edge of her lip, meant to hurt, to mark. Blake grunts, turning her face away stubbornly, but is yanked back, hard enough to make her neck ache. Her head is bent back until her mouth is peeled open, and Weiss slots her lips inside, tongue sliding out to lock with her own.

Eventually the heiress pauses for a breath and Blake jumps at the opportunity. "Wait- wait." She gasps against her lips, pulling weakly at the glyphs. She's barely able to speak, has to strain to breathe with the knee crushing her chest, but Weiss stops. She pulls back, giving her an inch of space, just enough for their eyes to meet. Blake pants. "Y-You're cheating. You have to- let me fight back."

"The game, as you so happily pointed out, is over." Weiss discards blithely, resuming moving. "I'm just taking my prize." Her eyes rake over her face, hot, intent. "All of it."

She raises a hand with two fingers pointed out, twisting it sharply in a familiar gesture. Ringing fills Blake's ears as another glyph forms just behind her, and then she cries out as her hair is yanked, dragging her head back and down, forcing her to arch her spine as she is bent back over the edge of the bed.

Weiss leans over her, smirking. She trails a finger down the side of Blake's face, slipping it under her chin, pressing her nail to the soft hollow beneath her jaw, and Blake hisses furiously as it digs in, rolling her eyes down to see her. It slides down further, to the tie around her neck, and Weiss hums, twirling it around her finger. "I like you with a tie. I think I'll have you wear one from now on."

"Go- go fuck yourself. Schnee." Blake grunts, peeling her lips back. Weiss catches her by the chin, tilting her face towards her. She pushes a finger into her mouth, running it across the peaks of her teeth; Blake tries to bite, but her head is craned so far back she can hardly close it. Weiss hooks a thumb behind her teeth, pulling her jaw down, examining the sharp points of her incisors.

She clicks her tongue, twisting Blake's head this way and that, looking at her from different angles. "You are quite striking, now that I look at you." She says it with a vague kind of admiration, the way someone might compliment a piece of art they aren't particularly interested in.

Blake nearly froths with rage, spitting and hissing, wrenching wildly at her bonds, hurling herself against them. Weiss watches from inches away, lips curled up, eyes half lidded, laughing without sound. Why had she ever been upset at the thought of the heiress leaving? She should have been grateful. She should have slammed the door right in her fucking face and left without looking back. Weiss hovers over her like a snake ready to strike, exuding arrogance like she's breathing it out of her lungs, and fuck if it isn't the hottest thing Blake's ever seen. She can feel herself getting wet again, her thighs squeezing themselves together as she glares up at her, searching for friction.

Weiss lets her go, shoving her face away, and Blake pants with mouth open, tongue flickering forwards without permission, licking across where she had been touching. She imagines there's a trace of warmth left behind, a remnant of the heiress still on her lips, and she hisses, seething. "You're dead, Schnee. You're- fucking dead. The second I get- out of here, I'm going to- make whatever you do to me look- look like charity."

"You can do whatever you want. If you ever beat me. When was the last time you managed that, I wonder?" Weiss asks, mouth twisting up cockily. "I can't seem to remember. Frankly, I'm not worried."

Blake yanks viciously, snarling. "Just wait, Schnee." She promises, words warping around the growl in her throat. "Just- fucking wait."

The heiress doesn't dignify her threat with even the smallest bit of concern, practically ignoring it, already moving on before she's even finished, lifting a single finger, twirling it lazily in the air.

Blake's struggles become more frantic as the glyphs lift her, flipping her over, so that her knees are on the floor and she's bent over the bed, stomach laying on the mattress. She bucks, spitting curses, but all that gets her is her face shoved into the sheets, another glyph holding her in place. She writhes helplessly when she feels fingers sink under the waistband of her skirt, unable to stop them from shimmying it lower; Weiss drags it down her legs and off, laughs scathingly when she sees the slickness clinging to her thighs. "Gods, I should have done this months ago. I could have saved us so much trouble if I'd just gotten you under control from the start."

Blake's enraged snarl is lost in the mattress, reduced to nothing but muffled cursing, sheets filling her mouth. Weiss plucks at her panties, making her stiffen, breath catching. Her growl falters when she feels a finger trail along the edge, jerking back against it when it presses against her through the fabric. Weiss cups her and she groans, canting her hips upwards, hiss stuttering and dying. The heiress laughs, pulling her hand away and leaving her burning with want, achingly bare.

She manages to twist her head so that her cheek is pressed into the bed, rolling her eyes back, and she can just catch a patch of white in the corner of her vision. She can hardly see, hair falling across her face, hot sweat stinging her eyes from how badly she needs her touch. She wipes her face against the sheets, snarls over her shoulder, managing to meet the heiress's eyes when she leans forward. "If you're going to fuck me, then fuck me already." She snaps, bucking her hips demandingly.

A palm comes down on her ass, hard enough that the sound of the slap fills the room, and her spine arches, a gasp tearing itself from her lips, ears stiffening in surprise. Fingers grip the stinging flesh, squeezing tight. "No. I don't think so." Weiss says lowly, voice full of dark promises.

Her arms are lifted, making her groan as they're forced straight behind her back, and her shirt is slid down them, pulled off and discarded to the floor along with the rest of her clothes, leaving her with only the one covering she wants least.

"The first thing I'm going to teach you." Weiss murmurs. "Is how to say 'please'."

Fingers slide across her, too lightly to do anything but tease. She slams herself against the glyphs desperately, bucking off the bed, shoving back towards them, but they're pulled away with a cold laugh, sliding back over her ass, smearing arousal across reddened skin. Blake buries her face into the sheets and clenches her jaw, ears flat, choking on a sob. "Fuck you, Schnee." She growls, muffled. "Fuck you. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck- fuck."

The heiress spanks her again and she groans, trembling uncontrollably. "Oh, this isn't going to take long, is it?" Weiss observes mockingly from above her, and her ears angle themselves towards her voice despite her best efforts, attentive, locking in on the sound. Cruel hands slide over her, touching everywhere except where she needs them most, and in minutes Blake is nearly crying in frustration, pulling uselessly against the glyphs, writhing across sheets damp with her sweat.

Weiss hooks a nail under the front of her panties, pulls them away before letting them snap back, and Blake jolts at the sting, feeling her skin burn where it touches. She shudders hard, digging her nails into her palms, squeezing shut watering eyes. "Fuck." She gasps. "You fucking bitch." Her voice cracks on every word, robbing them of any force, all her defiance earning her only another spank, and she can't hold back her whimper.

"Manners, Belladonna." The heiress murmurs darkly. She slides her hand over her ass before curling her fingers, pressing down. Nails scrape across tender flesh, and despite the pain she finds herself pushing back against the touch, so close to where she needs it, desperate for any kind of contact. "Maybe, if you're very, very good, I'll let you sleep tonight."

Blake buries a sob into the sheets, ears squeezing themselves against her head, quivering. There's a black hole between her legs, excruciatingly empty, and she's never needed anything in her life more than she needs Weiss at that moment. "Damn it." She chokes wetly. "Damn you, Schnee. Just fuck me." 'Please' is pushing up from her throat, trying to force itself past her lips, and she only barely keeps it at bay, biting her tongue until she thinks it might bleed.

A cold laugh comes from behind her. "Begging. And. Crying, Belladonna." She gloats, and Blake slams her face against the mattress in worthless rage. "We're already halfway there. I'm not certain this should even count as my prize. I'll have to think of something else next time. Something a little less easy, hopefully. I hate an disappointing challenge."

Blake tries furiously to kick, to throw an elbow, to catch hold of that perfect hair so she can yank it out, to do anything except just lie there at take it. "You bitch." She seethes. "Go fuck yourself."

Weiss's hand comes down again, harder than before, and this time she can't help but cry out. She touches her again, pressing harshly above her clit, Blake groans as she feels her climax approaching, straining towards it, only to collapse back to the bed when it's yanked away, a desperate whimper pushing past her lips. The heiress's hands slip forwards, curling around her hips; they fit like they'd been made for her to hold, and Blake buries her face into the sheets, screaming her frustration into the mattress.

Weiss sinks her fingers in her hair and yanks her back, dragging her up off the bed, until her spine is arched so far she nearly falls. The heiress leans forwards past her shoulder, gaze intent on her face, ensuring that she can see every flicker of emotion. Blake's vision swims, she blinks and feels tears streak down her cheeks, her breaths sucking in her throat. She feels like she's burning, the tears on her face are scalding, blood swells up under her skin, so hot she swears she can feel the air rippling around her. Weiss descends over her with teeth bared in a wicked grin, eyes burning cold blue like fairy fire in the dark. She slips a hand between her legs again, stroking through her underwear, mercilessly slow, and Blake clamps her thighs around it, trying to keep it there, rolling her hips, but nothing she can do makes it go even the tiniest bit faster. Fingers dance over her, moving back and forth, pressing down in careful patterns like they're playing keys on a piano, and in seconds they have Blake shaking and weak, something that can't be called words tumbling from her lips.

Her stomach clenches as they glide over her clit, the tiny hint of contact makes her hips shake, reaching towards them, nearly collapsing when they drift away, circling teasingly. She can't stop the whimper that pushes itself past her lips, can hardly stop herself from wailing on desperation. She tugs at her arms hopelessly; there's no force behind it, there's nothing at all except the fire between her legs. Tears burn her eyes as she sags in Weiss's hold, shuddering. She squeezes them shut so that she doesn't have to see the look on the heiress's face when she breaks.

"Please." Blake whispers, voice breaking in the word.

Weiss begins to pull away, and she jolts upright, eyes flying open. "Please!" She cries, spitting it out, half sobbing. "Godsdammit, please."

The heiress hauls her back further, resting her chin on top of her hair, lips brushing against the shell of her ear. "Convince me." She murmurs. Blake chokes on her next breath, nearly blind from how her vision blurs. "Please." She says, and it's the easiest thing in the world, the words bursting out of her nearly on their own. "Please, Weiss, just fuck me. I'm- I'm begging. Alright? I'm begging you. Just, please- please, please fuck me."

Weiss releases her hair, letting her drop heavily back to the bed, and she weeps openly, sobbing into the sheets. "Please, Weiss." She pleads. "Please, please please please please fuck me, please just fuck me, please -"

She cuts off with a sharp gasp as a hand slides between her legs, beneath her underwear, touching her directly, skin on skin, fingers slipping across her soaked folds. She jerks and shudders, curling around it, pressing her forehead into the bed and her hips hunching inwards, juttering towards it.

"Keep going." Weiss prompts lowly, and her hand stops. Blake pants open mouthed, struggling to draw in air to speak, to focus on anything but the fingers resting against her. "Please." She begs. "Please, Weiss, just fuck me, please just fuck me, please, please, Weiss, please fuck me-"

The words pour out in an unending stream, she's not sure she could stop it if she tried, but she doesn't care because Weiss is moving again, flexing her hand against her. She picks up speed and Blake whimpers 'please', shuddering when she feels her fingers curl, pads pressing against her lips, threatening to slip in. She's so close, so close, has been close for so long, it's agony to finally be reaching the end, her body burning as it's overloaded, but she wouldn't stop it for anything, not for the whole world.

Weiss's hand is almost gentle as it wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her breath catch, the shadow of her weight settling on her as she bends over her. "And what comes after please?" She murmurs from just behind her, breath burning against her nape.

"Thank you." Blake breathes shamelessly, bucking her hips, riding the hand between her legs. "Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thankyouthankyouthankyou-"

Weiss drives forward, fingers sinking into her, and her vision blanks. She convulses around them as they pump, and when one finger pulls out so that it slides over her clit she nearly screams loud enough to wake the whole school until Weiss quiets her by squeezing her throat. She barely notices, the pressure is too intense, she's drowning under it, burning in it, she's shaking apart, the world falling away, the pleasure eclipses anything she's ever felt before.

In the distance she hears Weiss's voice but the words are lost, her heart bruises itself against her ribs, her lungs ache; she arcs upwards, lights blooming in her eyes in a dozen different colors before splintering, flying away into the dark, leaving only black behind to consume her sight. Her muscles spasm, there's a crack somewhere behind her stomach like a bone breaking, and something soft hits her face-

---

It's quiet. Blake blinks slowly, eyes blurring, feeling damp sheets that aren't her own pressing against her cheek. Her body pulses lowly, sweat drying slowly on her skin, and she blinks again, her vision finally beginning to clear.

Weiss sits perched on the mattress next to her, one leg pulled up to her chest while the other dangles loosely off the side of the bed, cheek resting on her knee, absently twirling a strand of Blake's hair between her fingers. She's nude, which means enough time has passed for her to get undressed, and Blake wonders if she had actually passed out from orgasming so hard.

She stays laying on the bed, watching Weiss through lidded eyes. It's the first time she's seen her fully unclothed, and she can't help but let her gaze wander. She's just as beautiful as she'd always known she would be, each line and angle etched like smooth marble, with a cool paleness that makes every hint of color flash like highway signs in the night. The bruises on her throat have finally finished fading in, and there's more across her back and shoulders from where she'd been slammed into the wall. They draw her eyes like they have weight, and she wishes she could touch them.

The heiress doesn't seem to notice her attention, continuing to play with her hair. She winds it around a finger a few times, her hand slowly following it upwards, until it's nearly on top of her head. Blake's ears twitch at the proximity, and Weiss pauses. Almost tentatively, she extends a single finger, brushing across the edge of one of her ears.

Blake shivers. It's so rare for them to be uncovered, rarer still for them to be touched, even by herself. Even the small brush makes them tingle, and she's still hypersensitive, still empty enough that she tilts her head towards it without thought, leaning into the touch.

Weiss notices. She grows more brazen, sliding her hand up and covering one ear completely. She catches it with two fingers, gently rubbing it between them, and Blake's next breath comes out in a sigh.

There's nothing soft about the heiress. There never has been, except for that one moment that had stretched on for hours, when she was pressed back against the wall with Blake's fingers inside her. But there's a look in her eyes now that makes Blake think that maybe she had been wrong to think so. Weiss's fingers glide over her ears carefully like she's afraid to hurt them, keeping the pressure feather light, and Blake finds her throat beginning to rumble. She hasn't purred in years. Not since before Adam, before the White Fang, before telling her parents she hated them and running away from home, so long she'd forgotten how it felt.

Blue eyes flick up at the noise, meeting hers, and she watches as they widen. "Oh!" Weiss jumps away, pulling her hand back to her chest. And then catches herself, pausing, before consciously relaxing, straightening, and folding her hands in front of her leg. "I… apologize. I wasn't thinking." She says, and Blake's lips twitch at the formal tone. A moment later she blows out a quiet 'pfft' into the sheets, shaking with dull laughter. For a second there, the heiress had looked for all the world like a guilty child caught doing something they knew they shouldn't.

"We just had sex, Schnee. You can touch my ears if you want." Blake tells her, laughter still coloring her voice. And immediately wonders if maybe that had been a bad idea, giving the Schnee heiress free reign to fondle her ears whenever she wanted. More than likely she's going to regret it, but it's to late to take it back, and she can't bring herself to care just yet.

Weiss seems taken aback at her answer, expecting her to be upset, but recovers quickly. She sits up, straightening her shoulders. "So. Are you feeling alright?" She asks primly.

Blake snorts tiredly. She's pretty certain she's never been more 'alright' in her entire life. "No." She deadpans. "I'm absolutely miserable."

She's surprised when Weiss falters, composed mask cracking. "What?" She asks, and the word sounds utterly stricken.

Blake stares for a moment before her lips twitch. The heiress is so flustered, she can't help but tease. "Mhm. I think I might be dying. Feel free to ignore me if I start crying uncontrollably in the corner."

Weiss pauses, confusion obvious, before relaxing in understanding. "Oh. You're joking." She says.

Blake huffs a laugh, smirking up at her. "I suppose it all started when I was a child-" She begins dramatically, and the heiress rolls her eyes, shoving Blake's head away. "Oh, be quiet." She grumbles, and Blake laughs again. Weiss looks faintly embarrassed, turning her face away. "I just… wasn't expecting you to collapse like that." She explains quietly, and the undercurrent of worry in her voice is so obviously genuine. There's something open about her now, a hint of something unguarded and raw. It looks a lot how Blake feels. It's enough to make her stop laughing, though her smile doesn't fade entirely. She hums, letting her head roll so that her face is laying against the sheets. "Mmm. Me neither."

It's humiliating, honestly. She doesn't think anything she can do to Weiss is going to top being fucked so hard she faints after an orgasm, and she's certain that she's going to be absolutely livid over it later. She shifts her weight, wincing a little at the twinge of soreness.

She's lying on top of the bed, she realizes, not bent over the edge the way she had been before. Weiss must have pulled her the rest of the way up after she'd lost consciousness. The glyphs are still holding her limbs, and she wonders if there's a limit to how long the heiress can sustain them. It certainly doesn't seem that way, and she tugs at them without much hope, somewhat surprised when she finds them loose enough that she can shift them around before they pull back into place.

From the corner of her eye she sees Weiss turn towards her, pulling both legs onto the bed and tucking them under herself. "So. That doesn't happen often?" She asks. It's mostly rhetorical, but Blake can hear the edge of an honest question in her voice, and she just has to laugh. Not the breathy sound from before, but a full bodied burst of amusement. She pulls at her arms and manages to roll onto her side, grinning up at her. "No, Princess, that doesn't normally happen during sex." She teases, and Weiss scowls. "I know that. I meant for you, not… in general." She says, sullen, and Blake almost starts laughing again.

"Oh, I'm sure know all about sex, Schnee." She says, snickering, and Weiss sends her an irritated look. "I'm aware of what you're implying, Belladonna, and I resent it."

"So you're telling me you weren't a virgin before a couple hours ago." Blake challenges, and is rewarded by a patch of pink appearing high on her cheeks.

"You're being ridiculous." She tells her, chin high.

"What was their name?"

Weiss stumbles a little. "What?"

"The name of the person you slept with." Blake asks. "What was it?"

She doesn't miss the way Weiss hesitates for half a second before answering. "It was Lily."

Blake hums, corners of her lips curling. "Lily. And no last name, too. How very generic." She says, voice perfectly even. Weiss glowers, the tinge on her face growing. "It's a common name."

"It sure is."

Weiss huffs and sits up straight, leveling her with a look of heated annoyance, cheeks still pink. "So you're saying you think a virgin had you begging and crying."

Blake grimaces and blows out a breath, letting her eyes slide shut. "Damn. That is really embarrassing, actually." She murmurs. This plan has backfired completely, her own experience working against her. She can't actually remember ever being on top before, and she'd been far too hesitant to try, always better at taking orders than giving them, whereas the heiress seems to have a natural talent for it.

The image of Weiss leaning over her with burning blue eyes and lips twisted up in an arrogant grin flashes through her mind, and a tiny shiver of warmth crawls up her spine. A very natural talent.

For now, though, that arrogance is nowhere to be found, the embarrassed heiress only managing to conjure a thin shadow of it. The bed creaks under her as she shifts, and Blake can just feel the haughty tilt of her chin as she looks down at her. "Well, it's a very good thing you're wrong then, isn't it?" She says imperiously. And Blake can't just let that go.

"That just makes me wonder what sort of porn you've been watching." She speculates, and hears Weiss's sudden splutter above her. She grins, continuing in a musing tone. "Bondage, obviously. Denial. Hair-pulling seems a bit adventurous. Spanking was certainly a surprise-"

She's yanked onto her back, and the heiress practically jumps on top of her, shoving her back into the bed as she leans over her. "Shut up!" Weiss hisses, face absolutely burning crimson, and Blake laughs outright. "Oh, that's a nerve touched. What else? I think there was some choking in there somewhere-"

Two hands slap at her mouth, and Blake sputters a laugh against them and turns her face away. They follow, trying to cover it, and Blake flops and wiggles around in a vain attempt to escape them, still giggling all the while.

Their brief wrestling match is completely one sided, and ends with Weiss on top of her, both hands plastered over her mouth. She glares down at her, red all the way to her ears, and Blake is helpless to stop the mirth that bubbles up her throat. She can hardly breathe, the heiress's weight crushing her lungs, her hands half covering her nose, but that doesn't stop her from wheezing out strained laughter. She can't believe she'd never thought of this before. The untouchable heiress had been an absolute wreck the moment the word 'porn' had left her lips.

The choked noise coming from her throat are hardly recognizable as laughing, but that doesn't stop Weiss's face from darkening. Visibly gathering herself, she releases her and straightens up, tossing her head with a huff. "If you've got enough energy to spout ridiculous theories like that, then you have obviously rested long enough."

The motion draws Blake's eyes up to her, and the last of her laughter dies as she notices the position their in. Weiss is straddling her stomach, and as she rises her hair falls, slithering down to scatter across her front in a silky white curtain. There's enough that it almost covers her, only hints of skin peeking through, just enough to send her imagination running. But she looks so different like this, so unfettered, not at all like the reserved girl she has known all these months. It's mesmerizing, and Blake finds herself captured.

It's a sight she could get used to seeing, as much as she hates to admit it from this angle. After far to many seconds she manages to lift her gaze, meeting Weiss's amused eyes. She wets her tongue, parts her lips. "Rested enough?" She asks, knowing what's being implied but wanting to hear it all the same.

"I didn't remove my clothes just so you could look at me, Belladonna." Weiss tells her with a twist of her lips that flashes teeth, arrogance firmly back in place, apparently only needing a bit of unwilling admiration to rekindle her confidence, and really, that explains everything about the heiress. Blake can't help the little pulse of her heart, has to school her expression to keep it from showing on her face. She grins instead, unapologetic. "My mistake."

Weiss brings her hands up, presses her palms into her stomach, shifts her weight so she's leaning on them, and the movement cants her hips forwards, pressing the heiress against her. Blake's muscles clench at her touch, her breath quickening. Weiss clearly enjoys watching her reactions, grin sharpening, eyes intent. Her fingers trail along her side, learning the contours of her ribs, beginning to drift upward, nails dragging against her skin, and Blake bites her lip, feels her spine curving on its own.

"I think I've paid my debt to the Schnee empire." She complains, a little unsteadily. But it's without heat, more an observation than an objection. If begging and crying were the requirements, she'd passed with flying colors.

"Oh, you have." Weiss answers without slowing. She lifts her eyes, smirking as they meet hers. "But then, it's not as if you're going to tell me no, is it?"

Gods, this girl is an arrogant little thing. Blake isn't sure how it all fit inside a body that small. Worse yet, she's absolutely right. "The others are going to be back soon." She points out, mostly in an attempt to avoid answering, but also because it's true, and she's not sure either of them are ready for their teammates to walk in on them. Frankly, it's amazing they haven't come back already.

"They won't." Weiss answers immediately, not a hint of doubt. "I told them to stay the night with JNPR."

"And they agreed to that?" She asks skeptically.

"I wasn't asking."

Blake snorts and rolls her eyes, but can't stop her lips from twitching. "Gods, you're such a bitch." She mutters.

"I would argue that you deserve that title more than I." The heiress's smile is positively predatory, and Blake's breath hisses across her tongue as she palms her breasts, thumbs flicking across her nipples. Her skin is still buzzing from her climax, and the little bursts of pleasure are so ragged they're almost painful. Her head falls to the bed as fingers begin kneading, her shoulders pull back to push her chest forwards. Weiss's eyes never leave her, seemingly fascinated. Blake supposes she can't blame her interest. This would the first time the heiress had managed to get her hands on a pair of breasts that can actually fill her palms, after all.

"I'm- ah. I'm probably going to try to- to kill you tomorrow." Blake informs her shakily. Just for courtesy's sake.

Fingers dig into her breasts making her gasp, jerking forward off the bed as her stomach tightens, and Weiss looks down at her, the curl of her lips sharp. "No you won't." She promises lowly, foxfire eyes gleaming cold in the dark. "By tomorrow, you're going to be the most polite student at Beacon Academy."

The arrogance really is astounding. Blake makes sure she can see her eye roll. "Please." She scoffs, not bothering to hide her derision.

A hand wraps around her jaw just tight enough to hold, and Weiss strokes a thumb across her lips, smirk growing. "There you go." She purrs. "You're getting the hang of it already."

Blake manages a breathless laugh before lips cover her own, hair falling across her eyes until all she sees is white, feels the heiress's grin before a hand slips down her stomach and a stuttering gasp is dragged from her throat.

Oh Dust. What has she gotten herself into?