Work Text:
A firey redhead squirms, leaning back against her partner, who herself is leaning back against a wall, holding tight to the first woman before her to keep her from cresting the parapet she had just taken a shot over. The avian sniper squirms in the arms of her partner, attempting to load another round in her gun, swearing under her breath in Old Lateran. "Dammit, just... let me take another shot. They're getting away!"
The dim halo of the woman struggling to keep her in cover barely radiates any light, but the glow it casts on the red, feathery hair of the fussy sniper emanates a subtle, personal warmth, unbecoming of the battlefield in attempt to soothe the sniper. "No~"
Her furious voice comes out as a hiss, practically spitting at the demeanor of her captor. "Dammit, he's right th-!"
"I said no." The blue-haired woman reaches very abruptly into the pants of her partner, earning her a furious glare from the very armed and fuming bird doing her best to express herself without alerting the enemy. "Your hands are shaking. You need to relax."
"Mostim- Ah, no! I-!" The sankta's gloved hand finds exactly what it's looking for, pressing gently against the outer lips of the liberi who, at this point, had been shaking more with rage than anything. Blindly feeling around, she rolls two fingers over the woman's lower lips, massaging, rubbing, preparing the bird for what was to come.
"You're too pent up. Stop struggling, it'll make it take longer." Fiammetta's groan is only muffled by the fallen angel's other hand covering her mouth. "Quiet, or they'll hear us." A stark blue tongue sticks out of the assailant's mouth as she teases her friend, giving a coy smile while she presses in, catching the redhead's clit between her two fingers and teasing at the entrance beneath, letting the slick leather slide over her partner's nethers for a few moments, feeling around to see just how much a mess the bird's arousal had made of herself. "Just let me get you off. That thing is silenced, anyway. We have time before they become alert. And don't lie, you wanted this~"
The two digits slowly invading Fiammetta's body pump slowly at first, taking far too much time for the squirming liberi's taste, earning Mostima a handful of muffled curses and swears into her glove. Beneath her clothes though, she could tell Fiammetta needed this. Slippery leather finds no purchase dragging over the avian's walls, slipping and sliding far too readily for anything else to be the case. Her thumb comes up to the bird's clit again, rubbing away at it as she starts to rock her wrist, making a concession to the situation at hand, and the limited time, rushing her partner along towards a hurried peak.
The angel leans up against her partner's back as she feels the bird getting closer and closer. Despite the muffled complaints, Fiammetta's body gives in, squeezing on the slender digits that pump into her, and drooling all over Mostima's palm as the fallen angel brings her to a battlefield orgasm. Her hips twitch and shake, and her body spasms a bit. Her mind goes white with rage, and she bites into the gloved hand silencing her. Not hard enough to have any effect, but her resistance does seem to get a response.
"No, no, no~" The assailant whisper "Not like that. You're still way too pent up. You have to want it. Stop holding back. Give in, just for a bit. I promise, I won't tell anyone." Mostima's thumb brushes over the bird's lips while she withdraws her fingers, switching from her middle and ring finger to her ring and index, all under cover of Fia's clothes. "Cum for me. Cum nice and hard. Leave the battlefield. Pretend you're in your bed. In anyone's bed that you want. You're having the time of your life. I'm not me, I'm whoever you want most right now. Shh, shh. Let it all out~"
The complaints stop as Mostima's fingers dig in, not pumping, but roaming Fia's walls, digging deep, searching for just the right spot while her thumb rolls over the bird's clit "There, there~ Want it. Relax~ You're in bed~" Her fingers schlick through wet, pliant, willing flesh as Fiametta melts for her. She clutches at her loaded gun, holding it tight to her chest while her partner slowly works through the end of her first, rushed climax, keeping the high in a search, until the bird's voice comes out from between Mostima's fingers with a quiet moan rather than the dozen hushed curses that had been there moments before.
Mostima lowers her hand, uncovering her partner's mouth "You ready~?"
"Mmmnnh.."
"You trust me?"
"I-Implicitly"
The angel lets her partner lean back in her arms a bit as her finger rubs over just the right spot to get a quiet groan "Sink into your fantasy, moan for whoever you're thinking of, and I'll kiss you like I'm them so that nobody hears~ Not even me. Okay?"
"N-No!" Fiammetta's feathers ruffle in heated panic as several realizations catch up with her all at once. Mostima, however, refuses to accept that as an answer, instead rapidly rubping her slickened fingertips in circles over her partner's most sensitive depths, hoping to force the bird from the edge to the highest peak she can reach, succeeding well enough to earn a long, drawn out moan before the angel silences her with a kiss. Her tongue garbles any words the bird may have had, while her fingers scramble any thought that may have formed them. For a brief moment, Fiammetta lives in bliss. Not enraptured by any fantasy that might be painted for her, in any imagined paradise that Mostima may fool herself into thinking that she's helping emulate, but the very tangible reality of having the woman that she hates to love paint the inside of her pants with a torrent of her own juices. Who needs fantasy, after all, when the one you'd imagine has her tongue down your throat? Her mind goes the purest white, as do the next seven minutes. All she remembers by the end is the leg-shaking orgasm, the support of the cold stone below her as she lined up a shot, and the silenced click of a rifle delivering its target to a painless end.
Hours and hours later, perhaps twenty, she finds herself alone in bed, thinking back, trying to remember those seven minutes. She squirms to herself atop her covers, touching herself without thinking about it.
"Damned sankta..." She sighs "What I wouldn't give for that damned connection..." What was that woman thinking? What did she know? Did she know how Fia felt? No. She could never know...
Another sigh escapes her lips as she tries to emulate the grace of the sankta's hands. Mostima should never know... Even if that mission would haunt Fia's brightest dreams for the rest of her life.