'Twixt
2: For Beggar or for Cat

A push. Her hands on the silk of his shirt, his voice, his mask. Her hands had yet to know the silk of his skin, yet he could boast familiarity of her softness. It was unfair, she thought as he pushed her to the bed, his bed. So intimate a place, sheets so dark the sun could not extract their secrets. And what secrets they held, what stories -- never before Evey had the sheets of V's bed known lust.

The leather of his glove pushed her shirt up to her breasts, baring not just her underwear but a much more uncontrollable form of nudity: the tremble of her hips against him belied any reaction she tried to stifle. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he smoothed the mask along her stomach, pausing only to breathe in the scent of her skin. A long inhale, Guy Fawkes a smiling filter to the scent he really wanted.

A frustrated noise, almost a growl, came from V's throat. "Evey. Do you trust me?"

She blinked, almost as if trying to expel the darkness of the room from her eyes. Her entire body was uneven from the lines she had not expected to cross this night; her breath and hands shook, her abdomen flexed involuntarily in anticipation of him against her.

"Yes," she said, tipping her head back, almost a moan. There was a beast of fire stirring between both of them, and when V rose suddenly, Evey felt her breasts tighten at the lack of heat. A physical cry for him she had neither the desire to stop nor the control to. The bedroom door closed, as if asking for privacy from the rest of the gallery. Evey waited, suspended in darkness thick as water, for him to return, finally unafraid at the absence of light. But instead, there was a strike and a flare as he lit a candle, the small flame making the room flicker and dance like her skittish muscles. But there was more V held in his hand; a sash of black cloth that looked softer than anything she'd seen him wear. When he approached, he pushed it onto the skin of her stomach, rolled it across her. Her throat tightened.

"Chinese silk, Evey," he said, voice slightly hoarse. "Believe in me to be your eyes."

And then the candlelight was gone as V wrapped the strip of fabric across her eyes, pulling it tight enough that command was established and yet gently enough that she could appreciate the finery of Chinese craftsmanship. His hands moved to her hips in a harsh and unyielding grip, suddenly, violently, the creak of leather pulling her skin into obedience. He hooked a thumb into each side of her underwear and effortlessly it was gone, leaving Evey gasping; she found herself rendered helpless not so much by the blindfold but by the presence she could feel, almost see, even without the aid of her eyes.

"Lilliman will want to rape and maim you without your trust, Evey. He will not ask permission as I have."

Again, his hands were on her, bruising on her hips. She found herself wishing there to be handprints in the morning, a different kind of brand and mark of possession from this madman. Madness -- that's what this was, a downward spiral of chaos that tasted of the most heavenly spices. With V, Evey forgot what it was to resist.

Suddenly the touch was gentle, light. "Sweetest Eve. I won't let him harm you. It is not fit for table for beggar or for cat. You will not be that monster's... feast," the last word was spoken as a snarl. "I will have him know that you are mine, and I will break him for his attempt."

"V!" Evey gasped when she felt his lips, his real lips, hot and searing on her right hip. She felt the touch of his tongue, softer than the silk that kept her sightless, as he sucked her skin. This time she could not deny the willingness of her hand to rise to the back of his head and push him closer; she would not try to feel the marks of his triumph over fire yet. Her hips bucked to meet his teeth as he marked her, branding a vibrant rose on the curve of her hips. Almost reluctantly, he pulled away, kissing her thigh reverently as he pulled her nightshirt back to its proper place at her knees. His breathing was noticeably ragged, as was hers. Together, they pulled in the night air and fed off it, fed off the scents of each other and the taste of the heat they knew simmered under the skin.

"Who goes to dine must take his feast
or find the banquet mean -
The table is not laid without
till it is laid within," Evey recited.

"You are quite fond of Emily tonight," V said, standing and trying to compose himself before he released her from her blindness. "But I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"Finish what you started, V." Evey knew better than to believe he didn't understand. She heard a clink as the mask was lifted from the vanity, a rustle as its ties were redone. A swift exhale as the candle was blown out, and a sigh as her own blindfold was lifted. She blinked as if exposed to the sun, as if she had never seen the world before; the room, however, was too dark to even see his mask.

He rested beside her on the bed, where she remained dazed. He too was in a mood for Emily, it seemed.

"A wind that woke a lone delight
like Separation's Swell -
Restored in Arctic confidence
to the invisible."

"What does that mean?" Evey's voice was thick within the richness of the darkness, a blend of textures V wished he had the pleasure of tasting.

"It means soon, Evey. Very soon."