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The only time she drops to her knees is when a pretty woman asks her to.
The redhead sitting next to her at the bar, dressed in the uniform of a Devil Hunter, tilts her head. “Am I not pretty?”
Quanxi lifts her hand towards the bartender, silently requesting another shot. “You are, but you’re not a woman.”
The fiend’s yellow eyes gleam, the red rings around her pupils like targets. “My name is Makima.”
“That’s a beautiful name for the dead girl you possessed.”
Her laugh is like silk. “I’m not a fiend, either.”
Quanxi frowns, and a fresh shot is placed in front of her. “Then why do you look human?”
“Why do you?” Makima picks up the glass before she can, knocking back the vodka like it’s water.
She scowls. “You’re paying for that one.”
“I’ll pay for all of them,” Makima slides the glass back to her, dragging her fingertips across her mouth to catch the stray droplets.
Quanxi tracks the slow, deliberate movement. “I know what you’re doing.”
The devil sucks her fingers clean. “And what’s that?”
“Tell me your real name and I’ll answer.”
Makima’s stool squeaks against the floor as she scoots in close, her chest pressing up against Quanxi’s shoulder. She cups a hand around her mouth and whispers in her ear, “Is this a contract?”
Crossbow itches behind her eyepatch. “No.”
Makima’s hand lands on her thigh. “I think you’ll like what I’m offering in return.”
—
She has the bathroom door locked and Makima’s legs spread on the sink, her tongue shoved between her thighs, when fingers curl in her hair and the devil says, “Three guesses.”
Quanxi pauses, coming up for air. “What?”
“Three guesses,” Makima is unfazed by all of her hard work below the belt, her breaths even and her cheeks lacking color, “for my real name. You get three guesses.”
“And if I’m wrong all three times?”
Her nails dig into Quanxi’s scalp. “You become my dog. I can’t stand to leave a stray out on the street.”
Quanxi swallows her taste and fights the sudden urge to bury her face back between her legs. She snarks, “BDSM Devil.”
Makima raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
Quanxi shrugs, “It was worth a shot,” and gets back to work, resolutely ignoring the pounding on the door behind her and the voice of a drunk man yelling that he has to take a leak.
That gets a chuckle, and Makima at least has the kindness to fake her moans to drown out his desperate cries.
—
In the cab on the way back to Quanxi’s place, they sit on opposite ends of the backseat.
Makima, buckled in behind the driver, looks out her window with no expression. Quanxi stares at her in the reflection of hers, tugging at the buckle of her unfastened seatbelt. The radio plays idle chatter as the host transitions between songs. The driver doesn’t attempt at conversation. His signal clicks as he turns off the main road down the side streets.
“You work at Public Safety, too, don’t you?” The devil asks.
“Yes,” Quanxi replies. “I train the newbies.”
In the window, Makima’s eyes land on Quanxi’s tank top and jeans. “How come you’re not in uniform?”
“Today was my day off.”
“Do you take those often?”
“Not unless my partner is extra annoying.”
That gets her to turn her head and look at her. “Your partner?”
“His name’s Kishibe,” Quanxi explains. “He’s young. Keeps asking to take me out for a drink.”
“And you tell him no.”
“Yes.”
“Why? He’s not unattractive.”
Crossbow hisses in her missing eye. She questions, “How do you know him?”
Makima smiles, unbuckles her seatbelt, and shuffles closer to her on the squeaking leather. The car beeps, indicating the loss of protection, and the driver glances at them in the rearview mirror before focusing his attention back on the road. She answers, “I met him earlier this week. All he could tell me about was you.”
“Is that why you sat next to me at the bar?”
Makima nods. “I wanted to see what all of his fuss was about. I thought you smelled nice.”
Their thighs touch. Quanxi lowers her face to Makima’s neck, presses her nose to the space where her jaw meets her throat and inhales deep. She smells like the bar, like cheap beer and the vodka shots they shared and something electric, something dangerous, something that shouldn’t even be touched with a ten foot pole for fear that it’ll snap in half and they’ll collide. She can’t smell her name. She seals her lips around her pulse and locks a hand around her hip, pulling her into her lap.
“What about now?” she whispers into pale skin, trailing her lips down to the collar of Makima’s pristine white shirt, “What do I smell like?”
Again, Makima curls her fingers in her hair and pushes her head back. With her other hand, she tilts Quanxi’s chin up before leaning down and kissing her, licking into her mouth with a mechanical expertise.
“Crossbow,” she whispers against her teeth, her fingers sliding up from her chin to rest over Quanxi’s eyepatch.
—
Her apartment is in a sorry state when they walk through the door, old takeout that needs to be thrown away strewn across the kitchen counter, paperwork haphazardly left on the couch, the antennae of the television all kinds of crooked.
The devil only points down the hall and asks, “Bedroom?”
Quanxi smirks and responds, “First door on the left.”
—
Makima pins her to the mattress, straddling her, holding her wrists above her head with one hand.
Quanxi asks, breathless, “What do you want from Crossbow?”
“The only thing Crossbow can provide me is you,” she shoves her tank top up, and something in her face changes.
Quanxi only grins. “What, surprised I don’t wear a bra?”
(Her swords are mounted above the headboard, five feet away.)
Warm fingers close around her breast. “I thought all women did.”
She arches her back into the touch. “I find it restricting. Don’t you?”
Makima straightens, unfastening her tie with one hand before rolling it up and placing it on the end table. She unbuttons her shirt and lets it drop to the floor.
(She could kill her with ease.)
Quanxi reaches for her breasts but Makima tightens her grip on her wrists, pressing them down into the bed and restricting the movement of her hands.
“Not particularly,” she undoes her bra and slips the straps from her arms, freeing Quanxi’s wrists for one glorious moment before she tosses it back over her shoulder and resumes holding her in place. “What do you like?”
The word, Control, lives on her tongue, simmers beneath the way her wrists still strain against Makima’s strong fingers, begging for release, but Quanxi knows that a devil asking that question is a devil asking, How can I kill you? What would be most painful?
She replies, “Three guesses,” and sucks in a breath through her teeth when Makima pinches her nipple.
(She doesn’t.)
—
Makima’s breathing finally hitches when Quanxi cums around three of her fingers.
Quanxi savors the imperceptible whine she hears when she lays flat on her back and pulls Makima’s thighs around her head for the second time that night.
—
After, when they’ve finally had enough of each other, Quanxi lights a cigarette, staring up at her cracked popcorn ceiling.
“Pleasure Devil,” she guesses.
“No,” Makima refuses, propping her temple on her fist, settled on her side next to her.
“How many chances do I have left? One?”
A twitch of the devil’s lips. “You really want to count BDSM Devil?”
“Is that so bad?”
“It’s certainly stupid.”
“Fine, then,” Quanxi closes her eye, inhaling the smoke deep into her lungs before blowing it out. “Two guesses left.”
“I hear those will kill you.”
She takes it from between her lips and holds it out in the other’s direction. “Want to try it?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Why not?”
“Why haven’t you tried to kill me yet?”
Quanxi opens her eye. Makima’s yellow gaze glows in the dark. She tells her, “It’s rude to kill someone you just fucked.”
A coy smile plays on the devil’s lips. “And you have experience in that?”
“No, but it just feels like common sense,” Quanxi takes another drag of her cigarette. “I would be offended if you killed me right now.”
“I’ll be sure to delay my plans until morning.”
She laughs.
—
“You don’t know who she is,” Crossbow warns in her dreams, “You don’t know what she’s done.”
“Then fucking tell me,” Quanxi insists. “Why are you so afraid? What’s her name?”
“I...cannot say.”
“And why is that?”
“I am bound by a contract.”
“With who?”
“With her.”
—
Makima is in her kitchen, dressed in her uniform from last night, making breakfast as the sun rises over Tokyo.
There’s a knife in her hand as she chops up vegetables, eggs scrambling in a pan on the stove, and Quanxi wonders where she learned to cook, if she was born with that ability, if it helps her sell the human facade.
(After all, her eyes can be explained away by any particularly strong contracts she as a Devil Hunter allegedly makes. Sayato in Division Two’s eyes from his contract with the Maze Devil is still freaky.)
“Crossbow says that she has a contract with you,” Quanxi greets, leaning against the entryway.
Makima nods, wiping the knife clean and setting it aside. “She does.”
“To not speak your name?”
“The nature of the contract is between her and I.”
“She’s bound to me.”
“She lives in your eye, if I’m remembering correctly,” Makima dumps the vegetables into the scrambling eggs, stirring them around the pan with a wooden spoon. She wonders how long it took her to find everything. “I’ve always wondered why she chose you.”
Her mother, impaled. Her brothers, headless. Her father, disemboweled. The Crossbow Devil brought to its knees by her vengeful hand ten years later, laughing as blood spilled from its lips, You. You’re strong.
Quanxi smirks, crossing her arms. “I guess you devils just can’t resist me.”
Makima throws her head back in what sounds like a genuine laugh, and Quanxi’s stomach flutters.
—
Kishibe places a steaming styrofoam cup of black coffee on her desk. “Hajime’s, seven o’clock?”
“Good morning to you, too,” Quanxi picks up the drink and burns her tongue on her first sip. “How many times do I have to punch you for you to understand that I don’t want to date you?”
“A few more,” Kishibe grins, pulling his shoulder away from her launching fist, “Do you know why they have us on desk duty today?”
“There’s a division meeting,” she shrugs, picking up her pen to sign documents confirming her presence at the most recent batch of devil exterminations, “something about the new head of Four, but I think it’s stupid. If they want me to do my job, they’d send me out in the field so I have horror stories to tell the interns.”
“You mean our new boss?” he sits on the edge of her desk. “Wonder what kind of crazy bastard they’ve hired now. Think he’ll croak like Kawano?”
Quanxi chuckles. “Anyone would be better than Kawano.”
—
It happens two hours later, when Crossbow itches behind her eyepatch.
“You must be Quanxi.”
Quanxi’s pen freezes in the middle of her signature. She looks up.
Makima stands over her, offering a hand. She’s dressed in her uniform from this morning, this time wearing a long black coat over the white shirt and tie. “My name is Makima. I’m the new head of Division Four.”
Quanxi glances at Kishibe to find him already staring at her, hiding the lower half of his face behind his flask.
“Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Makima,” she shakes the devil’s hand. “Where were you working before?”
“The Prime Minister’s office,” her yellow eyes glitter, her voice almost playful in how she answers the question. “I couldn’t stand politics any longer. There’s one particular devil I’ve been searching for in my spare time, and I thought the best way to actually find it would be to offer my services here.”
Quanxi tilts her head. A devil hunting another devil? “You’re after the Gun, too?”
Makima smiles. “Of course I am.”
—
At the bar that night, Quanxi asks, “Do the higher-ups know what you are?”
Makima shakes her head. “You’re the only one in the building who knows.”
“And that doesn’t worry you?” Quanxi waits as the bartender places two shots in front of them. When he’s gone, she continues, “I could go back and expose you right now if I wanted to.”
Makima chuckles. “You won’t do that.”
Quanxi leans against the bar. “How do you know?”
The other woman picks up her shot, the small glass dangling from her fingertips. “Drink, Quanxi.”
She picks up her shot and takes it, slamming the glass back to the bar. The vodka burns as it slides down her throat.
“That’s how I know,” Makima answers.
Quanxi frowns. “What does that mean?”
Makima takes her shot, delicately putting her glass back in the reach of the bartender. “Ask me your next question.”
“Did you really come from the Prime Minister’s office?”
“Yes. I have a contract with him.”
Quanxi guesses, “Power Devil.”
“You’re getting warmer,” Makima praises.
—
“Fuck,” Quanxi gasps, her head lifting off of her pillow, her limbs going stiff, “Fuck fuck fuck-”
Her orgasm passes. She relaxes back into the sheets, catching her breath and listening to her heart pound in her ears.
Makima raises an eyebrow, removes her fingers without a care for the way it leaves Quanxi empty and wanting more. “That was fast.”
“Is that an insult?” Quanxi questions, sitting up to kiss her, “Come here. Let me return the favor.”
She grabs Makima by the hips and pulls her into her lap, deepening the kiss before trailing her lips down her neck, taking a handful of her breasts.
The other woman sighs, “Open your mouth,” and Quanxi parts her lips, closing her eye when she places her wet fingers on her waiting tongue.
Makima strokes her hair, petting her as she sucks. She leans into the touch. Her hands fall back to her lap.
—
Quanxi’s phone rings on her desk. She picks up with a terse, “What the fuck can I do for you?”
“Come to my office,” Makima beckons over the line.
Quanxi hangs up, gets up from her chair, and obeys, ignoring Kishibe’s questions about where the hell she’s going when he’s in the middle of telling her about his mother’s disease.
(How could she refuse when it ends with Makima bent over her own desk?)
—
She meets Makima at a diner in the afternoon, during her lunch break.
She slides into the booth across from the woman, requesting a black coffee and an omelette from the waitress when she’s asked.
“Why did you want to come here?” Quanxi asks, glancing around at all of the full tables and booths, the small children pawing at the jukebox and loudly counting their coins, “It’s busier than-”
“Lift your eyepatch,” Makima commands.
Quanxi blinks. “What?”
“Lift your eyepatch. I need to speak to Crossbow.”
“Makima,” Quanxi leans across the table, lowering her voice when she refuses, “This is a crowded place, if I let Crossbow out who knows how many people will get hurt or-”
“I need to speak to Crossbow, Quanxi,” Makima cups her face with one hand, her spiraling yellow eyes like a whirlpool in the middle of a storm as she places her thumb over Quanxi's lips. Quanxi stares at her mouth and thinks about kissing her, about shoving her tongue between her teeth, about taking her right here in this crowded diner for everyone to see, so they know she’s hers- “This is an order: Lift your eyepatch and let me talk to Crossbow.”
Quanxi lifts her eyepatch. Makima reaches inside and drags Crossbow to the surface.
—
She wakes up in the same booth, her head against the window. Her clothes are in tatters, her skin stained red, and there’s blood on her omelette, soaking into her eyepatch, matting her hair to her forehead in a twisted dye job.
Makima smiles, drinking her coffee. “Thank you, Quanxi. We had a very productive conversation.”
Her clothes are spotless. Her skin is clean. There’s a hole in the body of the waitress on the floor. The children by the jukebox have been flattened. The diner is silent and her feet swim in an inch of blood.
Quanxi stares at it all, not comprehending the sight. “What…What did she…”
(Why can't she remember the transformation?)
Makima pushes her omelette towards her. “Eat. I’m sure you’ve worked up quite the appetite.”
Quanxi picks up her fork and knife and gets to work.
—
Kishibe asks to talk to her on the roof of Public Safety.
“Do you like Makima?” he interrogates, unscrewing his flask.
“Yeah,” Quanxi lights a cigarette, blowing a thin stream of smoke out over the tops of the nearby buildings. “Doesn’t everybody?”
A bird caws overhead. Kishibe glances up at it, biting his lip. “Why do you like her?”
She shrugs with one shoulder. She hears Makima’s voice in her head asking, What do you like? She tells him, “She’s nice. We go out for drinks after work.”
“Quanxi,” Kishibe grabs her shoulder, something insistent in his voice. “Quanxi, do you know what she has contracts with? Have you seen her out on an assignment?”
“I don’t have to,” she shoves his hand off of her. “She gets results. She’s miles better than Kawano and Ashido.”
The bird caws again. Kishibe takes a knife out from the inside pocket of his suit and throws it at the thing with an accuracy that makes Crossbow hum in appreciation behind her eyepatch. The bird squawks and drops to the pavement below.
“I saw what she does, Quanxi,” he lowers his voice. “The way she kills, it’s not…it’s not human.”
Quanxi looks at him. She finishes her cigarette and flicks the butt down onto the bird’s corpse. “What are you saying, Kishibe?”
“You know what I’m saying. Just look at her eyes.”
“She has strong contracts-”
“With which devils? She can obliterate someone by pointing her finger at them and saying a single word. She can flatten them out of thin air by sacrificing prisoners. She-”
“Explosion Devil, Pressure Devil-” Another bird lands on the roof, pecking lightly at where Quanxi’s hand rests on the railing. “Why are you so against her all of a sudden? She’s been working here for almost six months-”
“You stopped bringing your swords to work,” he whispers, taking a step back, his eyes on where she pets the bird’s head with her fingers. “She keeps you on desk duty, confines you to this building except for when she takes you to lunch. You used to complain about it all of the time, but now you’re happy to sign paperwork all day.”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind about it, so what?”
“Quanxi-”
“Are we done here?” she demands. “I need to get back to work, and so do you. I hear we’ve got pieces of Gun’s flesh.”
The bird flies off. Kishibe watches it go before he nods.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah, we’re done.”
—
“You did good today,” Makima whispers in her ear over the slap of the shower water hitting the tile, two fingers shoved inside of her as she presses her to the wall from behind.
“Yeah?” Quanxi pants, thrusting back against the other woman’s knuckles, “What do you mean?”
“Talking to Kishibe on the roof,” Makima curls her fingers and Quanxi’s knees almost buckle, “You protected me. I thought you were going to give me up, being ‘buddies’ and all.”
“You’re my buddy,” she babbles, focused only on chasing the orgasm tingling in her stomach, “More-”
Makima obliges, slipping in a third finger, and there’s amusement in her voice when she repeats, “I’m your buddy?”
“Yeah,” Quanxi whines, rolling her hips, groaning when Makima’s other hand locks around her throat, “Yeah yeah yeah-”
“You still have one guess left,” she fucks her harder, punishing in how she shoves her fingers in and out between her legs, “I think you should make it.”
“Fuck me,” Quanxi begs, she’s right there- “Makima-”
“Wrong,” Makima’s teeth sink into her ear. “Guess.”
“Makima-”
The other woman’s hand tightens on her windpipe, “Guess, Quanxi.”
What do you like?
“Control,” Quanxi moans as she cums, shuddering against the wall and gasping as Makima squeezes her neck, “Control Devil.”
—
Quanxi rests her head on Makima's chest, curled into her side as they lay naked on her bed. She sighs when the other woman strokes her hair.
"I'm already your dog, aren't I?" she asks.
Makima nods against the top of her head. "How did you know?"
She chuckles, "I don't beg."
She sighs, "It seems that's where your leash tightens."
Quanxi tilts her head up, staring at her swords mounted on the wall. "I'm not allowed to kill you, am I?"
"You can certainly try," Makima's nails lightly scratch over her scalp. Quanxi sags against her ribs. "I have no trouble putting my dogs down once they turn rabid."
"And if I wanted to break from my collar?"
The Control Devil breathes a laugh, pressing her lips to the top of her head. "You can certainly try."
—
"How?" she demands.
Crossbow answers, "Get as far away as your leash allows. Over time, without her there to tighten it, you'll be able to slip through."
—
"I'm moving to China," Quanxi tells Kishibe. "I hear there's better work over there, and I won't be stuck behind a desk."
Her buddy only smiles, raising his flask. "Congratulations."
"You don't want to come with me?"
He shakes his head. "Someone has to keep an eye on her."
—
Quanxi looks out the window of the plane, staring at the dark sea below and wondering if the pilot ever gets bored of the sight. She certainly is.
A flight attendant taps her on the shoulder, tells her with a vacant stare that there’s a phone call waiting for her at the front of the plane. Quanxi swallows before unbuckling herself and following the pretty girl to the phone reserved solely for the staff.
She picks up, “Hello?”
“You quit?”
Makima sounds…not angry, anger doesn’t suit her, she sounds…disappointed. Makima sounds disappointed. Quanxi disappointed her. Quanxi should jump out of the plane and swim back to Japan. Quanxi should crawl back to Public Safety. Quanxi should put her head in Makima's lap and apologize for causing trouble and be a loyal-
“I did,” Quanxi fights to get the words past her lips, clenching her free hand into a fist and digging her nails into her palm, “I quit. I’m moving to China.”
“I thought we were happy.”
“We-” she bites her tongue. We are. I’m sorry. I’m coming back. I love you. “I’m hanging up.”
“Don’t hang up, Quanxi.”
I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry. Can’t you forgive me? I love-
"You'll come back to me eventually. Runaways always return home once they get hungry."
Quanxi shoves her fingers under her eyepatch, biting her lip at the sharp pain that spreads through her face. “I’m hanging up.”
“Quanxi-”
She hangs up.