Chapter Text
Terezi wonders out loud whether they're too old to be playing games, and Vriska grabs at her wrists, holding Terezi's bloody hands up to her face. She takes a deep breath of the rustblood and colder hues splattered across them, scrunching up her face in nothing close to disgust. Campaigns aren't just games when there's a trail of dead chumps left in their wake, and besides, Vriska didn't think that Terezi would ever take her fixation with justice so lightly as to try dismissing the whole process.
They return to Vriska's castle on the rocks, seal away the spoils in the treasure chamber, and Terezi rubs her hands against the parts of her Flarp outfit that drape, as if the whole of the fabric isn't encrusted with dried blood. When they're out on the high seas or striking out across the land, Terezi places herself into the role of neophyte legislacerator well enough. With her cane in hand, a blade she rarely ever needs to use hidden away in the handle, Terezi utterly terrifies Vriska with the way she can bend others to her will, no eccentric powers of control required. But then they return to their hives, and Terezi lets the illusion of a scourge fade away all too quickly; she suddenly notices the blood on her skin, in her hair, and grumbles that such a flood of colour is going to leave her with a migraine, because her head's already spinning; she takes off her glasses, plays with them between her hands, prodding them against her fingertips; she laughs madly at the recollection of the campaign just ended, as if reflecting on it as a stranger, rather than one who had a dozen throats cut; and while Vriska may never have met Redglare, this isn't the woman Mindfang described in her journals.
Vriska falls down against one of the sturdier chairs in her livingblock, because though she wants nothing more than to sprawl out across the sofa, that would be far from in character. She's still garbed in Mindfang's outfit, petticoats and chemises bunching up under the thick, black-blue-bloody jacket and shirt, and it wouldn't be right to simply lounge about. She sits with her back straight, hands gripping the wooden ends of the chair's arms, and crosses one leg over the other, thigh-high boots not helping the whole process go as smoothly as it could. Terezi yawns out something about getting cleaned up, and Vriska only grunts, staying where she is for a good few moments.
Letting herself sit down has only served to remind her just how exhausted she is, but there's still work to be done. Vriska forces herself back to her feet, and collects the dead bodies left at her doorstep, lugging them over her shoulder and dragging them behind herself as she makes her way down, down, taking the endless staircase one step at a time. Tired though she is, Vriska keeps her eyes wide, because Mindfang wouldn't back down from something like this. Mindfang wouldn't let her body tense up at the mere thought of having to feed her lusus.
Her obligation fulfilled, Vriska marches back up to her hive, feeling more like herself than the fearless pirate she's supposed to be. Even at the age of a dozen sweeps, Mindfang's hat still feels far too big for her. She keeps fiddling with the brim, twisting the feather into place, as she ascends back to the livingblock. Still, though the hat may not sit too well atop her tangle of hair, and though the spider-patterned boots may cause her feet to slip and slide inside of them a little, Vriska's hive doesn't feel as enormous as it once did; it won't be long before she has to start ducking in order to avoid scraping the tips of her horns against door frames.
The scale of the place is harder to appreciate when she can hear Terezi in the washblock, gurgling with what Vriska sincerely hopes isn't sopor slime, splashing around in the ablution trap. Vriska smirks, and hopes it comes off as being smug enough. It's harder to feel ridiculous in her Flarp outfit when Terezi is around, and with a final tug, Mindfang's hat decides to allow itself to be properly positioned around her horns.
Throwing a few logs into the cinders at the pit of the fireplace, Vriska kindles the flames before sinking back into her chair, and allowing her eyes to flutter to a close for a moment. Any peace the set-up alludes to is quickly shattered, because Terezi comes stomping in a handful of seconds later, short, wet hair, sticking to her face, Flarp costume clinging to her scrawny frame where she's neither bothered to change her clothing nor dry off properly. Putting the bloody outfit back on more or less ruins the point of washing altogether, but Vriska says nothing. She just grins, leaning forward in her seat, and when Terezi passes, reaches out to snatch her cane from her.
“Hey!” Terezi says, lips curling into a snarl. Vriska laughs, crosses one leg over the other, and then rests the cane across her lap. “We had a truce, remember?”
A truce in the loosest sense of the word, but enough to ensure that Neophyte Redglare and the Marquise could work together without constantly being at one another's throats. There had even been some element of real teamwork there, when the seas became particularly rough or the victim they'd hauled on board was tougher to crack than usual; a real spark of mutual respect, though grudgingly admitted to. Well, all of the great kismesissitudes have always been founded in blackened reverence. Vriska opens her mouth to point out that the truce doesn't hold if they're not playing anymore, and then promptly manages to get herself to snap her jaw back shut.
It's not often that Terezi allows the fanfare of Flarp linger on once they're back at the hive, and Vriska shuffles in her seat, fingertips brushing across the dragon-head handle of the cane as she considers the implications of Terezi holding character. She can't back down from such an obvious challenge, can't reach out and thwack Terezi with her own cane as she otherwise would, under any other circumstances.
“Does the truce still hold if we're on my territory?” Vriska muses out loud, and stares down thoughtfully at the dragon's head as Terezi tugs one of her cherry red gloves back up to her elbow. “Surely I have all the say here.”
Vriska strikes her open palm with the cane one, two, three times, just hard enough for Terezi to hear what she's doing. Terezi frowns, and then takes a slow step forward, back to the fireplace. When her legs bump against Vriska's knees, she does her best not to let anything in her expression flicker or twitch, and then folds her arms across her chest. She does a good job of towering over Vriska, there's no doubting that; looking up, Vriska sees the orange of the flames create a stark outline around Terezi's frame, around her horns, as her shadow's thrown against Vriska. It probably takes up the whole of the wall behind her.
“If there's no truce here, Marquise, then I see no reason to hold back the full force of the law.”
Taking the cane in one hand, Vriska presses the hook of the dragon's snout beneath Terezi's jaw, tilting her head back. Terezi leans forwards, hands pressing to the back of the armchair, effectively confining Vriska to the seat, but whatever it is she has planned next, Vriska successfully manages to ruin. She drops the cane back onto her lap, takes hold of Terezi by her hips, and then tugs her closer. Not wanting to flail, Terezi goes down easier than she'd like to, and ends up kneeling on the chair, thighs clamped around Vriska's.
When she reaches for her cane, huffing, Vriska beats her to it, gripping it tightly between both hands. Terezi tugs on it, but Vriska doesn't relent.
“The law? What is your precious law system going to do to me, Redglare?” Vriska asks, eyes fixed on the burning red of Terezi's. Terezi lets out a commendably flat, humourless laugh, and presses their foreheads together. “You've been trying to confine me to the gallows for decades. What makes you think you can succeed this time?”
It's horribly dramatic and comes out sounding nothing short of entirely exaggerated, but Vriska can tell Terezi's in the exact sort of mood not to care how ridiculous it might seem in retrospect. Terezi shifts in her lap, just enough to make Vriska grip the cane tighter, and when she licks at her own lips, Vriska almost unsheaths the damn thing. Her breath is warm on her lips, and then it's not just Terezi's breath alone she can feel; and part of Vriska wants to point out that no, this is wrong, it's too abrupt and out of character, but she's not about to be the one to break off the kiss.
There's a rustle of fabric as Terezi does something, but it's difficult to care about anything that isn't avoiding jagged rows of mismatched teeth with her tongue as Terezi wastes no time in deepening the kiss. Doing her best to keep her hands on the cane, Vriska arches up against her, wonders why the hell she's wearing so many thick, heavy layers, and then let's out a yelp of surprise into Terezi's mouth when she feels cold metal biting at her wrists.
Terezi laughs in return, and the noise travels down every link in Vriska's spine as Terezi takes hold of the sides of her face, clearly not intending to break things off straight away. When Vriska manages to tear her mouth away, Terezi keeps herself pressed close, nose against the line of her jaw, teeth grazing at her throat. Vriska scowls, does her best to block out the feeling, and then looks down at her hands. Her now restrained hands, considering that Terezi's gone ahead and slapped a pair of handcuffs around them. Vriska groans (definitely not because of the way that Terezi's tongue swipes over the shell of her ear), mentally kicks herself for forgetting that of course they were part of her stupid roleplaying costume, and then tries to tug her wrists apart, though she knows it'll do her no good.
“You let yourself become distracted too easily, Mindfang,” Terezi says, finally leaning back, confident enough now to move away from the realm of titles. The links in the chain between her wrists straighten out and pull taut, and then rattle as Vriska decides not to give Terezi the satisfaction of struggling too much.
The grin spread around Terezi's face is intolerable, and Vriska forgets all about being exhausted, forgets about the muscles in her body aching. The only thing of any concern to her right now is knocking that grin off Terezi's face, and Vriska doesn't need to be able to move her hands independently of one another to do that. She narrows her gaze, lips curling into a cutting smirk. She hopes that Terezi can smell the frighteningly sudden rush of confidence that seeps from her.
“Underestimating me again, Redglare?” she asks, sounding out her name slowly, cane falling from between her hands. The cuffs dig in at her wrists uncomfortably, but she doesn't let that stop her from running her fingertips against the strip of skin that flows between the top of Terezi's thigh-highs and her hips. The slits that run the whole length of Terezi's skirt gives Vriska plenty of room to manoeuvre. “No wonder you're still only a neophyte.”
“That has nothing to do with—” Terezi begins, words lost to a hiss as Vriska rests her hands between Terezi's thighs, fingertips idly brushing against the fabric of her underwear.
When Terezi doesn't immediately pull back, Vriska knows that she's going to get her way. It's strange just how easy the outfit makes this all, and for once in her life, Vriska's focused enough on what she's doing to ignore the sound of her own heart suddenly picking up the pace. She even manages to stay perfectly still when she feels Terezi's hips rock ever so slightly.
“Nothing to do with what?” Vriska asks with a light, playful hmmmmmmmm at the end, and doesn't worry about how she'll pay for any teasing later. Terezi may usually have the upper hand in these situations, but this isn't about Terezi; this is strictly between Mindfang and Redglare, and about as far from being as a game as things get.
Terezi growls from the back of her throat, then lolls her head forward, foreheads coming together harder than before. Vriska presses a little harder with her fingertips.
“I've got you right where I want you, Mindfa—ah,” Terezi mumbles out through grit teeth, just as Vriska decides to push her underwear to the side, fingers sliding against her. Face twisting up, Terezi seems to relent in some small way, and drapes her arms around Vriska's shoulders.
Vriska thinks it seems very, very much like she's the one who has Terezi where she wants her, but she doesn't even need to voice that much out loud. Terezi knows who's leading here, evident in the way that Terezi's hips rock forward when Vriska doesn't speed up her movements any more. Naturally, with her wrists bound, she can't hope to work quite as effortlessly as she usually would, but something about the awkward, unusual positioning of her fingers and the fact that Terezi's the one having to put in the real effort here seems to get to her. The chains rattle when Terezi just can't keep her still, and Vriska's throat turns dry when Terezi lets out a perfect little whimper.
“What are you going to tell them back in the courtblock?” Vriska asks, lips grazing against Terezi's. She bites down on them, and Terezi screws her eyes shut, as if she's trying to grasp at the last dregs of self-control in her system. “I doubt they'd be pleased with hearing that your attempt at capturing me ended like this.”
Terezi purses her lips tightly together, doing all she can to keep the words and noises alike back, but in the end, she can't help herself.
“Hurry the hell up, Marquise!” she whines. A little blunt, Vriska thinks, but she thinks it's not completely unreasonable to assume that Redglare would act like this under duress. “Come on.”
Vriska might laugh at the neediness suddenly racking Terezi, but that isn't to say that she doesn't intend to comply. Exhaling shakily, she repositions her hands, what with Terezi's constant to-ing and fro-ing, and slips two fingers inside of her. The fact that she hasn't purposely held back catches Terezi off-guard, and she gasps loudly, like she's trying to suck all of the air out of the room, and then makes no noise, for a moment, as she lowers herself onto Vriska's fingers.
Terezi breaks their foreheads apart as she leans back, hands grasping at Vriska's shoulders, nails digging into her jacket. Vriska doesn't mind the diminished contact, because like this, she can watch Terezi as she pushes herself up and down on her knees. Vriska works her fingers inside of her as much as she can, chains clinking and digging in at her wrists as she does so, but she's beyond caring about any pain at this point. She can see Terezi's eyes screwed shut even through the coloured lenses of her glasses, the way she tilts her head back as she moans out, and Vriska takes the opportunity to tell her just how much she hates her, and how she's never going to be good enough to capture her.
She's grateful that Terezi's never been able to keep her voice down, because the more into it Terezi gets, the more noises that Vriska hears passing her own lips. She doesn't think it's very befitting of a Marquise, but she can't help it; she should be congratulated on staying in character for this long, because the feel of Terezi warm and wet around her is enough to throw her think pan into a state of disarray. Terezi gasps out something about a guillotine awaiting her between groans, but it's as incoherent as it is heady, and Vriska can't latch onto her words well enough. God, she regrets lighting that fire. Her costume sticks to her skin, her hair is matted to her forehead, and all she's doing is holding her hand out for Terezi.
When it finally occurs to her that she could do more, in spite of any restraints, Vriska stretches her thumb out, drawing rough, inconsistent circles against Terezi. Terezi moans out something she can't make sense of, followed by Mindfang, Mindfang, Mindfang, and Vriska decides that she'll let Terezi off for the fact that maybe, just maybe, that last Mindfang was followed by a whimpering of Serket.
Vriska flexes her fingers deep inside of her, and then Terezi tightens around them. She leans forward, panting and gasping incoherently into Vriska's neck, and Vriska has to twist her wrists to manage to pull her fingers free. Terezi shudders with the sensation, riding it out in Vriska's lap, and Vriska tolerates it for all of a moment, until the heat builds up far too much. Now that Terezi's stopped moaning, she's suddenly painfully aware of the pounding between her own legs, and she has every bit of confidence that she can hurry things along without seeming desperate.
Mindfang is never desperate, after all. Mindfang always has these things planned out to the last detail.
Terezi pushes her glasses back into place as Vriska eases her back, and she allows Terezi a moment more to compose herself in the spirit of lowering her guard. Her face is flushed teal and her lips are parted every so slightly, and when she catches her breath, Terezi reaches down, trying to reclaim the cane that's been awkwardly pressed between them the whole time. Vriska manages to snatch at Terezi's wrist, even with her own bound, but doesn't keep hold of her for long. Her hands move up, fingers bunching in the collar of her shirt.
“We're not done yet,” Vriska says, and with a great deal of precision, luck, and the fact that Terezi's head is likely still spinning, she manages to get Terezi off her lap, down onto the floor, kneeling before her. Her fingers tangle in Terezi's hair, still damp at the tips, and Terezi scrunches up her face, trying to duck out of the way of Vriska's hold. “You're a woman of the law, Redglare. Do try to play fair.”
Sneering so that her teeth show, Terezi places both hands against the knees of Vriska's boots, as if to push herself back onto her feet. Unfortunately, Vriska's actually managing to think one step ahead. She throws the chain binding her cuffs together behind Terezi's neck, hands either side of her throat, and tugs her closer, between her legs. Terezi growls, nails scraping against the leather of her boots, and Vriska just laughs, lifting her hips and not letting Terezi wrangle her way free.
“Come now, Redglare. You wouldn't want them to say that you didn't give as good as you you got,” Vriska says, disproportionately pleased with herself. That definitely sounds like something Mindfang would say.
And it seems to work. Terezi mutters angrily under her breath, complains that the chain hurts the back of her neck and tries to twist free, but within a matter of mere moments, she's got her hands under Vriska's skirt and petticoats, trying to fight her way through the fabric.
Vriska lets out a pleased sigh, toes curling in her boots as she tries to steady herself, tries to thwart any anticipation she's subjected to. She can barely withstand the ache that ties her stomach in knots and sinks lower still as Terezi bunches back the fabric, and wastes neither time nor energy on pretending that she wasn't always going to tug her underwear down around her ankles, over her boots. Vriska's breathing picks up, and then Terezi's tongue is all over her inner thighs, and she's already making greedy, enthusiastic noises against her skin. Trying not to buckle and moan already, Vriska reorganises herself in the chair, hips sliding forward just a little, one leg lifting so that she can drape it across Terezi's back.
Terezi works her tongue about as well as one would expect of a blind girl who sees the would through a myriad of tastes, and Vriska jerks in her seat, certain that not even Mindfang herself would be able to keep her composure. Goddammit, she's practically trembling as Terezi strokes her tongue against her, inside of her, and her fingers tug at Terezi's hair, wrap around the base of her horns, and she isn't sure whether she's moaning out Redglare or Pyrope or something else altogether, but it doesn't seem to matter a damn bit. The point is that she's got Terezi on her knees, caught up in the same chains that she tried restraining her with, and she's keeping her exactly where she is right now. She's in control here. It doesn't matter how forcefully she reacts to the way that Terezi's tongue swipes and coils and laps against her.
“Can't believe they let you out of the courtblock for this,” Vriska murmurs, biting down on her lower lip over and over again. She tilts her head back, horns scraping against the back of the chair, hat tipping off and falling forwards.
Terezi hums against her, either in agreement or just to be dismissive; Vriska can't tell which it is, but the sound reverberates through her, and she feels it down to her fingertips before she so much as hears it. She tries to say something more to goad Terezi on, moans out something about Redglare facing trial herself when the courtblock finds out that she's been using their time to fuck her target, and she's rewarded with a low, throaty laugh for her efforts. Her vision blurs, flashes and then blinds her, and when Terezi pushes two fingers inside of her, Vriska sees absolutely no reason to even try holding herself back.
It surges through her, and even her teeth are left tingling. And Terezi, Vriska knows that she's well aware that she's already finished, but she keeps kicking away at her, sending little jolts through her that Vriska swears are going to be the end of her. It takes her a good handful of seconds to realise that Terezi can't exactly pull back, what with the chain pressing into the back of her neck, and with a groggy noise of realisation, Vriska lifts her arms, effectively freeing Terezi.
Terezi stands back up in her own time, and then makes a show of licking her lips as loudly as possible.
Vriska stretches out, goes to stand, but before she gets the chance to rise to her feet, Terezi's flopped down on her lap. She sits side on, legs hooked over one of the chair's arms, and Vriska would complain, if she wasn't currently in the process of unlocking the cuffs that are still holding her hands in place. They open with a click, and before Vriska gets the chance to rub at the sore, blue marks that are probably going to blossom into bruises around her wrists, Terezi's grabbed at her hands, and is licking at them.
“God,” Vriska says, tries to sound unimpressed, but can't stifle a laugh. “You're so fucking weird, Pyrope.”
Terezi just gives her an obnoxious, self-satisfied grin, because she knows that she's done well, and holds both of Vriska's hands between her own as she leans back against her. She doesn't even take the chance to snatch her cane back up, and as Vriska's bleary vision focuses on the fire before them, she recalls that right, she'd been caught up in the very important process of being tired as hell. She shakes one hand free from Terezi's grasp, wraps it around her shoulders, and absent-mindedly traces the shape of the fast-fading indents left by chain links.
“Maybe you were right for once,” Terezi says, smiling away softly, now that she doesn't have to worry about rubbing anything in or flipping quadrants for the sake of Flarping. “Maybe we're not too old for games.”