Chapter Text
1
Kafka usually does things in measures, careful and exact, right down to the little details. Usually. It must be exhausting doing that constantly because that is the only excuse Silver Wolf can give her for being this way.
Kafka passes by, touching her shoulder to let her know - a familiar gesture. Until she leans down and nips her neck.
Silver Wolf jumps, dropping her phone. She fails to catch it with one hand as the other instinctively goes up to cover her neck. She stares at Kafka turning a corner, bewildered. The woman is gone so fast, Silver Wolf is nearly convinced she imagined it. Why would Kafka bite her?
But it’s Kafka.
She leans down to pick up her phone, grumbling. When she turns the phone over, a death screen greets her. She hisses.
2
Kafka is really good at masking her intentions. You can’t tell what she is paying attention to, what she will do next. So, why does Silver Wolf feel her eyes burning into the back of her head?
Silver Wolf drops her hands, her keyboard and screens falling away. She sighs. It’s a little dramatic. Behind her, Kafka snickers.
She ignores it, reaching up to fiddle with her earrings. As she contemplates what to do next, she thumbs it, rotating it in her ear. A hand joins hers, causing her to jump, nearly falling out of her seat.
She turns in confusion, but hot air passing over her ear freezes her. What the…?
Teeth close over her earring and tugs, a tongue swirling over it as the teeth leave, dragging her ear until it releases. Heels click quickly out of the room.
Silver Wolf stays, heat flushing her face, burning all the way to her ears. Anger and embarrassment make her legs twitch, but she doesn’t get up. She sits there, ear wet and tingling, until Elio calls them to action.
3
Kafka’s hands are an instrument. They manipulate strings, do sleight of hand, and play air violin. They are a weapon. Kafka uses them with ease, turning them into whatever the situation calls for. It can only explain why Kafka has been watching her closely the past few days.
Specifically, her hands.
Kafka asks her about it - her WPM, how she learned to type and play so fast, and if she plays any instruments. Silver Wolf is annoyed by the attention, but she answers each question, hands never stopping.
The way Kafka stares at them reminds Silver Wolf of the way she looks at coats. It makes her a little flushed, makes her spine tremor.
Silver Wolf ignores it, demonstrating how fast she can type without making mistakes, since Kafka questioned her skill. As if she needs autocorrect. Her mischievous smile lingers in the back of her mind.
Kafka grabs her hand. She makes a mistake. Anger bubbles up her esophagus. She turns, telling Kafka off, but the words stick to her tongue as Kafka raises her hand to her face. She studies it, tracing over her fingers in a way that makes Silver Wolf shiver.
Kafka’s eyes stay on her hand. Slowly, Silver Wolf’s index disappears into her mouth. It’s wet and uncomfortably hot. She stares, lips parted, as Kafka sucks on her finger. Heat sears down Silver Wolf’s spine.
She bites it.
Silver Wolf jumps, yanking her hand back. She raises her head to ask what is wrong with Kafka. The woman is gone.
4
Kafka eats elegantly. Silver Wolf has never seen her scarf food, even when they go days without eating. Her though? She enjoys the food, shoveling it in or savoring it. That’s why, it’s not unusual that she takes her time eating while Silver Wolf stuffs her face.
Her cheeks bulge with the amount of food in her mouth. It’s a little difficult to chew. Perhaps Silver Wolf overdid it a bit. But who could blame her? It’s been so long since she had fast food.
Across the table, Kafka stares as she swallows little by little, her cheeks deflating. She sets down her silverware.
Movement catches Silver Wolf’s attention. She swallows as she looks up, brows furrowed, only to be face-to-face with Kafka leaning over the table. She nearly spits her food in her face.
Kafka’s fingers touch her chin, sliding up her jaw to cup her cheek. Silver Wolf looks at her, wide-eyed, goosebumps following her touch, but Kafka is transfixed on her cheek. She leans in.
The table bumps, shaking the dishes and glasses on it. Silver Wolf sharply inhales as Kafka’s lips open against her cheek. She bites it. Silver Wolf chokes.
Alarmed, Kafka pulls back, tipping over her wine. Tears well in Silver Wolf’s eyes as she tries to swallow. The food, thank Aeons, goes down. Silver Wolf is already making a scathing comment when she finds Kafka gone. Her cheek stings.
This woman is trying to kill her.
5
Kafka has a dangerous ability. Her Spirit Whisper. It’s what soothes Blade’s Mara, sets the Stellaron Receptacle on their path, and ensnares their enemies. She has never used it on Silver Wolf. It makes her curious. Would Kafka’s strange power effect her too?
Silver Wolf leans back, reclining the chair as thinks about it. She pops her bubblegum. She blows another one, trying to make it as big as she can. It pops, splattering over her lips. A bad feeling overcomes her, even as her heart speeds up.
Suddenly, Kafka appears over her. A napkin is in her hand. Silver Wolf sighs, relaxing. She reaches for it, and Kafka meets her halfway. Magenta blocks her view and tickles her face.
Kafka kisses her. Well, her lower lip. Silver Wolf locks up, heat rushing to her head. She can’t think, only feel. Kafka’s tongue runs over the bubblegum, her teeth capturing her lip to pull it off.
She leaves.
Silver Wolf lays there, stunned. Her lips tingle, a phantom of Kafka lingering there.
+1
Kafka leans against the railing, sipping wine. She takes in the sights of the city, one last time. They will move soon, to prepare the next Script. The wine glass is yanked out of her hand. She blinks.
Something hits the back of her knees and she crumples. Instinct kicks in and she twists, but she goes still when she sees Silver Wolf leaning over her, annoyance on her face. She opens her mouth to make a comment but receives a “shut up” before she can say anything.
Silver Wolf presses against her, her hand tangling into her hair as she leans down, bending Kafka to accommodate her height. She pulls her head to the side. Kafka’s surprised by the move. She turns her head to see what she plans to do when lips touch her neck. It burns where Silver Wolf kisses. The sting when she bites is even better. Kafka’s breath shortens, excitement pulsing straight down.
Silver Wolf’s other hand digs into her side, pressing against the side of her breasts, her rib cage, her hips… Kafka goes still, breath hitching. Two fingers undo the button of her pants. Silver Wolf’s hand ghosts over her. Her mind goes blank.
Pain springs from her neck, making her jolt. The warmth disappears from her back. It takes a moment to register. She looks back.
The way Silver Wolf looks down at her, cheeks slightly red, makes her clench.
“If you do it again, I’m not going to be so nice.” she says, giving one last glare before she turns and leaves.
Kafka is stuck in place, watching as she disappears into the apartment. Was Silver Wolf threatening to punish her? Kafka’s breath hitches.
Yeah. She’s going to do it again.