AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sanguine refers to blood, and someone with a sanguine personality is said to experience elation, happiness or joy with an almost frivolous frequency.

This is also the part with the smut, so make sure you're of legal age to read/view such materials in your county/province/country. You are, of course, responsible for your own activities.

xXx

He had hoped she would be angry, that she would turn against him, her eyes flashing with indignation, that same rebellious spirit he'd seen in her as her guard, her interrogator. But there was no anger, no fury. Her eyes were still soft, still accepting, and even desirous. His anger evaporated, and he sighed heavily. She was still looking at him, and he still did not know how to respond to her. In the years since the fire, there had been no one. He had never sought out prostitutes, never sought out companionship, sharpening his skills, his knives and his focus.

Unable to accept her, unable to leave her, V turned away. His mind whirred through all the possible scenarios, and none of them ended to his liking. Many of them, too many of them, ended in his bed, and it was a place that had never known lust before Evey. He thought that part of him had died out a long time ago. And yet, he couldn't rinse her away, couldn't get her willing body out of his head.

His inner turmoil served Evey well, and she saw her opportunity. Stepping forward, she wrapped her arms around him, pressing herself against his back, a small smile teasing her lips as she felt his sharp inhale. "V," she started, her voice lowered, "please. Let me love you. Just for tonight." He was still, his breathing shallow, and she pushed her luck. "No strings, no expectations. Just us."

"Evey," he moaned, his mouth dry. "You are an evil woman. If I had known it would come to this, I would have left you on the floor of that television station. I would have left you…"

Her cheek touched his back, smoothing over the brocade. "But you didn't."

"No. I didn't. And now I am going to pay for it."

He turned, that mask still grinning, offering no clue to the state of the man underneath it. "To think that you would turn seductress, after all I've put you through," he muttered.

"Does that mean you accept?"

"Yes, Evey. I accept." And he picked her up effortlessly, his forearm under her knees, carrying her into the bedroom. Her arms fell around his neck, and his lips quirked; for only a few seconds, he had acknowledged his love, his desire for her, but already her embrace, the weight of her in his arms, seemed so natural.

The sheets were rumpled from his restless sleep the night before, speaking to his state-of-mind before her return. He set her down on the bed, and she promptly stood.

"Is something wrong?" A small doubt crept into his voice, and he dearly hoped that she had not reconsidered.

She did not answer, but reached for his collar, finding that the archaic costume was simpler than it looked. A simple hook-and-eye closure was time-consuming to remove, but he stood still, letting her peel away his protective outer layers. A thin black shell rested underneath, but she would deal with that later. Evey eased the tunic off his shoulders, pulling off his other glove and casting it aside.

V's eyes were closed, and he trusted her. The air hit his body, cold after the padding of the tunic, but he relished the change in sensation. The fabric, he knew, did not hide his deformities. But there she was, holding her warmth against him! His head felt light, and he reached up with one hand, curling his arm around her shoulder, pressing her to him. Her smell, her body; she was in his senses and overloading his brain. His control was slipping.

Her hands moved to his waist, sliding under the hem of the shell, and she followed the ropes and mottled keloids on his flesh, tracing the way his skin had melted and dripped down his chest, her touch tender, not hesitant. She pulled the thin weave up, over his shoulders, freeing his arms of it and leaving it around his neck, the sleeves trailing down his back. His body was significantly more scarred on its left side, and some parts of him were even smooth pale skin, untouched by fire. He trembled, another human's touch on his skin awakening a dormant nerve between his legs, and his control slipped further.

And then, her lips were there on the planes of his muscles, her soft mouth murmuring entreaties against him. V groaned, his head falling back, the fringes of his wig falling away from the top of his mask, and he shivered again as it brushed his neck. It was becoming an increasing nuisance. He nearly flung it away from him, lifted his hand to do so, but stopped. His control slipped further.

She stopped touching him, her hands gone, and he opened his eyes, finding her nearly nude, and then completely so, leaving her panties in a heap on the floor. He could still see where his hand had struck her, though there were no marks; it was his own mind that damned him, and he whispered his apologies behind the mask, wondering how it was that God did not strike him dead for daring to use brute force against her. The gentle curves of her hip, the swell of her breasts, the shadowed triangle at the apex of her thighs; she enchanted him and his control slipped further.

Spurred at last to take part in his own seduction, he sat, pulling off his boots, and she leaned against him, her hand creeping underneath his arms, stroking his bare skin, and then worming their way under the waistband of his trousers. V left his boots haphazardly askew, so unlike their normal order, and fell back on the bed. His chest rose and fell rapidly, the scars giving and taking up slack. Evey sat up, climbing off the bed, and she lifted each foot, tugging off a sock and tossing them somewhere over her shoulder. She leaned over him, fiddling with the clasp of his pants and finally undoing it, her fingers clutching at the fabric and tugging them off over his hips. She made equally quick work of his undergarments, and he lifted his hips willingly to let them go free. All his will was bent on maintaining what shreds of control he had left.

It was during this struggle that he felt the shock of her breasts sliding up his legs, over his chest, her breathing as heavy as his own, and he lost his fight. Why fight her, why keep his control, when he had already revealed so much? Why continue to hide? V realized then that she had been right; his elaborate costume, which he had always told himself was a part of the illusion of Guy Fawkes, was little more than a cage of his own making. He lifted his hand up, his fingers steady, and pushed the shell, mask and wig over his head, away from himself, leaving the ideal empty on the corner of the bed.

He was so vulnerable, so exposed, but Evey slid up over him, covering him with her body, shielding him from the air. Her lips caught at his, her hands brushing his cheeks, pulling him into her kiss. V sat up, intoxicated and he marveled again at her. "Evey," he murmured huskily. She did not smile as he had expected; her lips were parted, her eyes half-lidded with longing. She buried her face in his neck, nipping at him with small kisses and writhing against him. His hands skimmed her back, and he pulled her away from him, laying her head down on the pillow and hovering over her.

Evey sighed when his mouth closed over the tip of her breast. Her weak voice surfaced, pleading for more, for him. It thrilled V to the core, and his body responded fully, blood rushing to his groin and engorging his length. Though he had not been with a woman, with anyone, in the many years since his own incarceration, his body had not forgotten the feeling of pleasure.

V slid his hand lazily down her abdomen, feeling goose bumps rise on her skin as his fingers sought and parted her labia. She stiffened, her teeth clenched, and her hand sought his shoulder, fingers curled into hooks. Massaging further, his fingers pressing and fondling elicited more cries, more delicious moans from her, until she finally broke, her voice begging him for more, or no more, which ever, but pick one, please, because she couldn't continue like this or she might die. He heard all of this in her simple gasps, her whimpers closed off with her strain both toward and away from orgasm.

He granted her the second one, withdrawing his fingers, though he stroked her mound. Her eyes met his, intense and direct, and he kissed her again, crushing her lips under his. She yielded willingly, pulling him on top of her. He hesitated for a moment; there was no protection for either of them. He looked at her, frozen in indecision.

"V, I need you," she pleaded. At his continued hesitation, she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him nearer. She reached up, pulling him down until she could kiss him again.

"Evey, I don't have…" He was tortured, unable to continue, unable to go back. She was quiet, and then whispered in his ear. "Don't stop. I don't care whether or not we have that, just don't stop."

"You are sure?" V picked up her knees, easing them apart, sliding his hands to her hips.

"Yes."

Her words were his salvation; he leaned against her. His invasion was resisted at first, but then he sank into her, gasping at the moist warmth, pressing forward until he could go no further. Her eyes were closed, but her hissed breath, her hands tightening around his upper arm, his name under her breath—they spoke volumes. Her eyes fluttered open and she watched him when he began to move, looking down at where their bodies joined, and then back up at him.

V's coherence was failing, but he saw her eyes move, caught them with his own, and he knew. She was not imagining some other man's face over his, some other body in her arms. He felt her body welcome him, her legs tightening around him, and her upturned face lift toward his. She constantly returned her gaze to his face to make sure it was really him, this was really happening. And then she arched against him, bucking her hips up against his quickening thrusts.

He fell upon her, supporting himself on his elbows, his muscles aching with tension. "Evey," he breathed, closing his mouth over her kiss-swollen lips, as his pace quickened. Her rising voice was cut off by their kiss, until at last she came up for air and he buried his face in her neck. Evey's moans grew to shrill cries, and she clutched at him, writhing against him, screaming his name as her pleasure reached its pinnacle. Only as she came down, only as the fever of her orgasm began to recede, did he allow himself his release. His hips jerked wildly as he lost himself in her.

The silence pressed in on them, the only noise their gasping for air. V's hips twitched, and Evey gasped. He smiled, letting a kiss fall on her forehead, before easing himself out of her and rolling to one side. A quick motion freed the bedclothes, and V gathered them up, covering their still damp bodies against the chill. He pillowed his head on her breast, and Evey stroked his neck, his shoulders as he succumbed to sleep.

Evey woke and found V missing, her arm half-asleep from the weight of his head. All trace of the previous night had been erased; boots, tunic, mask, wig, all gone. She stretched, finding herself much refreshed. She tugged her panties on quickly and wandered out into the main room in search of V.

He was there, reading, in his full costume. His mask and wig were back in place, as if they had never been removed. She smiled gently at him, folding her arms over her bare breasts. He stood suddenly. "I… laundered your clothes. You didn't have any others here."

She smiled and shrugged.

"Are you alright?"

His voice was back to its measured self. Gone was the impassioned man of the night before, gone were his vulnerabilities, ensconced behind that mask. She smiled weakly.
"I'm fine."

"Evey, about last night…"

"It—you were wonderful, V."

He stopped, brought up short by her admission. She wandered over to him, her arms falling away from her breasts, and she kissed the top of his head. "Thank you, V. For everything."

This was it. This was her goodbye, her parting words. V smiled sadly under his mask. "Of course, Evey. Of course."