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It’s too difficult to focus.
Chief curses in her mind as she pushes the documents on her desk away for the umpteenth time this evening, tilting her head back in silent frustration. She’s too damn hungry to work on the reports effectively. It’s usually not as bad — if she puts her mind on something else, it’s easy to forget about the need to feed. But these past days, it has become increasingly hard with no way to satiate the thirst. So far, she's made a good effort to keep it from Nightingale, or anyone else that would get overly concerned.
The MBCC’s supply office has been exceptionally busy lately, and Chief knows blood of all things is not the easiest good to get a hold of. She doesn’t blame Faye in the slightest, but the slight delay of the delivery is undeniably leaving its mark on her body. And psyche, too, since she can barely focus on anything. Working in this state is straight up miserable.
Fortunately, or at least that’s what she tells herself, the hunger is uncomfortable, but not dangerous. She could last without drinking a drop of blood for about a… week, probably. But even though it hasn’t been that long, she’s struggling already. And to her own irritation, Chief can pinpoint the cause of her sudden thirst.
She got used to feeding a little too often, thanks to a certain person’s generous… patronage.
Chief runs a hand through her hair, knowing she is partly to blame for it too. And now, she's suffering the consequences of her own actions. Of course, there’s a way out of this situation — she could call her. That person would come without a word of question, with a bit too much enthusiasm, even. But it’s something Chief told herself wouldn’t happen again. And had been stubbornly holding herself back from these past few days.
(Of course, she also told herself that it wouldn’t happen again last time. And the time before that too.)
Pushing the thought aside, Chief decides to try to focus once more, in a desperate attempt. But, naturally, luck has never been something that would want to stick by her side. The door to her office swings open, and the very source of Chief’s emotional turmoil waltzes in, not bothering to wait for permission.
The swagger in the Legion leader’s step is natural, as if she’s done it a million times before (she did). Without a word, she closes the distance between the door and Chief’s desk in a few steps, only stopping in front of Chief to stare down at her, as if sizing her up. “You look terrible.”
Straight to the point. Very Zoya style. Chief grits her teeth at the obvious statement, raising her head to look up at the Sinner. “Nice to see you too. Did you need something?” She asks as casually as she can, at least in front of someone that tends to see through her way too easily.
Zoya grins. “Not at all. You usually make your rounds around the cells at this time, but you didn’t come. So, I came to check on you, Chief.” She moves to be on eye level with her, one arm holding up her weight as she leans on the wooden desk. “And, as suspected… You’re in a pretty sorry state.”
Chief doesn’t know if she should be impressed or concerned by how well Zoya knows her routine. A bit of both, maybe. She searches her head for an excuse that would sound remotely convincing, but before she gets a word out, Zoya scoffs, her brows furrowing with a mildly displeased, almost scolding look. “You should have let me know. You’ll be no good for the MBCC if you pass out from starvation.” She leans over dangerously close to Chief, the Sinner’s breath now ghosting over her face. “Or,” Zoya draws out, those icy blue eyes not leaving hers for a moment, “is my blood not good enough for you anymore, Chief?”
Chief swallows, feeling the atmosphere in the office grow heavier with Zoya’s words. “I don’t need it. It’s unfair to demand it from you—”
The glint in Zoya’s eyes that Chief is all too familiar with speaks of challenge. Before she can finish her sentence and register what’s happening, the Sinner moves back, and, in a swift pull, takes one of her leather gloves off. There’s a quick, precise movement — without wincing, Zoya slashes her exposed thumb open with one of the sharp metal claws. Chief’s shackles are not fast enough to stop the woman in time. For a second, she just stares at Zoya, dumbfounded and unable to get a word out. She knew to expect a lot from her, but not to this extent.
As casual as ever, Zoya presents her hand right in front of Chief’s face. “You don’t need it. Then I take it this doesn’t tempt you at all.”
It’s such a dirty trick to play. While Chief wants to scold the Sinner for hurting herself, another part of her stirs at the sight of blood slowly streaming out of the cut, flowing onto Zoya’s palm and then wrist. The metallic scent invades her nostrils, a reminder of the intense hunger she’s been desperately trying to ignore.
She wants to lap it up.
Zoya smirks, observing the conflict in the Bureau's leader’s eyes. Then, she tilts the woman’s head up with her clean hand, taking advantage of Chief’s momentary haze to push the bloodied thumb against her tongue. The action makes Chief’s eyes widen immediately, both at Zoya’s boldness and the taste. Although she’s only allowed to appreciate it momentarily before the Sinner pulls her thumb away. But hell, just that drop on her tongue is enough to make Chief desperately yearn for more.
She’s confident Zoya knows that, too. Notices the way her pupils dilate and her hands grip the desk unsteadily. She knows way too much about her, about her body, about her instincts. Those are things Chief never planned to share with the Legion’s leader. It’s not surprising Zoya cares little about her plans, though.
Smirking down at her, the hunger in Zoya's eyes is palpable too — it’s both so similar and so different to Chief’s. Her voice is husky when she speaks, slowly, clearly. “If you’re so concerned about playing fair, let’s make it a deal. I’ll satiate your hunger, Chief. If you satiate mine.”
Chief’s not stupid, she’d like to believe so. Nor is she oblivious. She knows the way Zoya’s eyes trail after her in a way that is anything but innocent whenever they interact. Chief’s not stupid, so she’s aware of her own fondness for the S-rank Sinner. She wouldn’t agree to the first time she proposed it, or to the second, or the fifth one otherwise. So she only takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as if bracing for something before she responds.
“It’s a deal.”
It goes as it usually does, like a strange routine that shouldn’t be taking place at all. Zoya sits back on the office’s couch leisurely, while Chief stands over her awkwardly, wondering what the hell she’s gotten herself into. She never really learns, does she? She avoids looking at Zoya’s face, able to imagine the smug expression the woman wears.
“Where do you want me to bite?” Her own voice comes out more sheepish than she anticipated. She tries not to let her lack of confidence show, for the sake of the dignity she has left if nothing else. “The wrist is pretty convenient, I’d say. Not too messy, and the blood flow is good enough to—”
“My neck.”
Zoya sounds so sure that it catches Chief a bit off guard. Personally, Chief was trying to make it feel a bit less… taboo by suggesting another spot, but it seems Zoya’s plans don’t align with hers. Not like she should feel surprised. It’s an occurrence that’s way too common. Zoya must see the turmoil of emotions on her face, because she raises her eyebrow without even bothering to hide her amusement. “Not good, Chief?”
Chief has to remind herself not to fall for such obvious provocation. She’s lucky her work experience granted her seemingly endless patience. “It’s fine if that’s what you want. You’re the one being bitten, so it’s your call.”
She tries to make the response sound casual, and it somewhat works, as Zoya nods her head without any further comment and leans back against the couch leisurely. “Then get your ass here.” The Sinner pats her lap, inviting Chief to take a seat. Chief reminds herself it’s merely the most comfortable position to do this.
It’s also comfortable for… other things, but that is in due time. For now, just feed.
Straddling the lap of the Legion’s leader, Chief suddenly remembers how worried she was the first time they indulged in this. The underlying anxiety is still there, awake beneath the layer of hunger — she doesn’t want to hurt Zoya, however ironic that may be given the nature of this exchange.
Back then, Zoya had told her she’s more than capable of stopping her if she wants. She’s made out of sturdier stuff than a skinny thing like her, she said. Chief’s not sure what strength has to do with having unnatural amounts of blood taken away — she keeps those witty remarks mostly to herself, though. Instead, she takes a deep breath, her hands running over Zoya’s stomach as she tries to find a comfortable position. She can feel the woman’s abdominal muscles under her palms, exposed by the top the Legion’s leader usually wears. Zoya’s body is warm and well-defined, her muscles hard and toned, and— That’s not what she’s supposed to be thinking about right now.
Chief leans down and barely grazes Zoya’s skin with her fangs when she feels the Sinner twitch under her. It makes a tinge of concern awaken, an instinct seemingly stronger than her own thirst. She hesitates for a moment. “Does it hurt?”
The grip on her waist tightens, and Zoya’s voice takes on a commanding note, one that, even as the warden, makes Chief’s knees feel a little weak. “Keep going.”
Undeniably, it’s an order. Even in this position, it’s clear Zoya’s holding the reins of whatever… situation they’ve found themselves in. So Chief takes in a deep breath and complies, pressing her fangs against the skin of Zoya’s neck once again, not quite piercing yet. Her breath is warm against the flawless spot. It’s tempting, so tempting, and she commends herself for holding back until now. She can feel the blood flow under her canines, testing and provoking her.
When Chief finally sinks her teeth into the flesh, she feels Zoya’s muscles flex underneath her. In a twisted way, it gives her some kind of strange satisfaction. Knowing that she can get something out of the Legion’s leader.
The blood is rich. It flows onto her tongue like dry wine, and although Chief was never too fond of alcohol, it feels like something she could get drunk off. Each time she tastes Zoya, she feels like she does. She laps at the slow stream of blood flowing down the Sinner’s neck, and she could swear she hears Zoya make a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a moan.
Not that it surprises her. There’s something perverse about this situation, a different kind of thirst lingering, the promise of the deal made earlier. Chief shifts her hips slightly over Zoya’s muscular thigh, mind heavily clouded by pure need, the line between hunger and lust blurring. She’s tempted to bite again, and again, and again—
Suddenly, she’s shoved back, met with the icy flames of Zoya’s eyes. Her gaze is always hard to read. It’s also hard to look away from, even though some kind of primal instinct tells her to. But Chief’s not a prey animal, and she won’t give into it — won’t throw away any challenge Zoya gives her.
“Haven’t you gotten your fill?” She stares down at Chief, one hand holding her hips firmly in place, preventing her from squirming. The other moves to grip her face, forcing Chief to meet her glare.
Zoya’s blood is still trickling down her chin, already beginning to dry and darken. Silently, with the hazy, drunk-like look in her eyes still, Chief nods.
“Good. My turn.”
Chief can’t get a word in before the Legion leader's lips crash against hers. Somehow Zoya’s even bolder than usual, more stern. She doesn’t waste time dancing around something she knows she wants — and this kind of arrogant confidence is dangerously attractive. She swipes her tongue over Chief’s bottom lip, and the only thing she can muster in response is to obediently open her mouth.
The Legion’s leader lets out an appreciative hum that makes something in Chief’s stomach flutter. Zoya explores her mouth with such familiarity, like she already owns her — she’s made her hers, not unlike the lounges she forcibly occupies in the Bureau. Although in this case, maybe it was Chief herself that had invited her in.
The taste of Zoya’s blood mixes on their tongues, and the knowledge of the lewdness of this act makes Chief shudder. She can hear the slightest groan from Zoya, too, a low sound that comes off as equally pleased and hungry. It’s wrong on so many levels, the symbiotic relationship Chief holds with the Sinner. But it’s the most addicting rush she ever felt, and with each day, she only seems to crave it more.
Chief’s nearly breathless when Zoya pulls back, barely holding onto the last scraps of her composure. It proves to be difficult when the gang leader immediately moves to get rid of her clothes rather hurriedly. She catches a glance of her lips, blood smudged in the corner of Zoya’s mouth along with the purple lipstick. The sight has an embarrassingly strong effect on her, and the heat growing between Chief’s legs reminds her of itself when she feels Zoya’s mouth on her exposed shoulder.
The woman’s lips are warm, leaving a trail of pleasant heat in their wake. Chief sighs and tilts her head back, exposing the delicate skin of her throat. Zoya takes the offer without hesitation, her mouth ghosting over the sensitive spot before sinking her teeth in, earning a jerk from Chief’s body.
“We’re even,” the Legion’s leader hums lowly against the skin, kissing the spot she just bit before moving to litter Chief’s neck and collarbone with more small bites. Chief wonders who’s the vampire there — Zoya’s canines dig into her skin with ease, making her gasp each time they sink in.
“That’s not exactly… even, is it?” She manages to respond back after a particularly strong bite, only to be met with an amused hum from Zoya.
“Let’s just say I’m more ambitious than you, Chief.”
One of Zoya’s hands presses securely against her back, keeping her in place on her lap as she continues the assault on her neck. Although she’s not using much force to hold her, Chief can feel the strength buried underneath. Against all better judgement she has, she finds it exciting.
She’s not too sure when exactly was her bra thrown to the side, but it does make things more convenient in the moment. Zoya’s palm cups one of her breasts, her hand calloused and deliciously rough in texture. The gang leader rolls the nipple between her fingers experimentally, making Chief let out a moan that sounds more needy than she’d feel comfortable admitting.
Zoya’s smirk is awfully self satisfied. “Still sensitive here, huh?” She emphasises by tugging ever so lightly, making Chief gasp out something between another moan and a whimper.
Her voice strains as she meets Zoya’s eyes, trying to put the pleasure aside to ask the question she was wondering about since the start. “Isn’t this supposed to be about satisfying you? I don’t mind, but how does this satiate you?”
Zoya looks her up and down and licks her lips, a flicker of predatory hunger in her eyes. “Oh, trust me, Chief, it does.”
She doesn’t offer any more explanation than that, dipping her head to wrap her lips around Chief’s other nipple, a small cry leaving the woman’s lips at the sensation.
Zoya’s mouth is invitingly warm, and Chief holds back the urge to grab onto her silvery gray hair. The Sinner flicks her tongue expertly against the sensitive bud, visibly relishing in the way the smaller woman’s body is both squirming away and leaning into her touch. The hand that's not supporting Chief's back moves to play with her other breast, squeezing and rubbing in a way that makes the Bureau's leader's back arch against Zoya.
Needily, Chief bucks her hips, silently pleading for her to move on further. It feels good, it really does — but it’s not enough for her. The Legion's commander seems to get the hint, her lips leaving Chief’s breast soon after, hand traveling down her stomach and stopping teasingly close to the place where Chief craves her the most. Then, she urges Chief’s thighs apart softly, the arousal that’s been pooling between the woman’s legs now exposed to her fully.
“You’re obscenely wet, Chief of Minos,” Zoya coos, collecting the slick on her fingers. Chief shudders a little against her own will as she feels the light touch against her folds.
She only barely holds back the annoyed groan that threatens to escape her mouth when she’s deprived of it, hands grabbing onto Zoya’s muscular shoulders in a desperate attempt to ground herself. “I’m quite aware, so if you could do something about that—”
Zoya smiles wolfishly, observing her struggle with amused curiosity. “Don’t know, Chief. Could I?” She traces her fingertips ever so lightly over Chief’s folds again, teasing with the patience of a predator toying with its food.
Chief swallows. Maybe that’s why Zoya enjoys this so much, despite not getting off herself. Maybe messing with Chief gives her way more gratification than anything else. “...Please.”
“Better, but still not your best.” Zoya circles her thumb around Chief’s clit, pressing ever so softly, and it takes everything for her not to buck into the hand. It’s infuriating how her eyes bore into Chief’s, forcing eye contact that feels way too embarrassing, even more than being naked and soaked on Zoya’s lap. Chief could look away, but that’d be throwing away the challenge. And she knows what a disappointment that would be to the Legion’s leader.
She takes a deep breath, bracing herself. “Please fuck me, Zoya.”
The phrase seems to do the job. Zoya’s grin is tinted with a hint of pride — not for her own sake, but Chief’s. “As you wish, Chief.”
The gang leader’s strong fingers slide into her entrance with ease. Before Chief can gasp at the intrusion, Zoya’s lips crash against hers, kissing hungrily and swallowing the sound. The sensation is almost overwhelming, happening so quickly — the warmth of Zoya’s tongue pushing and playing with hers dominantly while two of her fingers set a steady pace, thrusting deeper inside Chief with just enough strength to send electrizing pleasure right through her body.
Zoya’s lips leave hers when Chief is nearly out of breath, moving to mark her neck again instead. Now spilling out freely, the breathy moans and whines that leave Chief’s mouth echo against her office’s walls, the cold stone the only witness to the utter debauchery she’s indulging in with her Sinner. The room is definitely not soundproof, and Chief would really like to be quieter — but it’s difficult when Zoya takes so much pleasure in the sounds she makes, curling her fingers in the right spot just enough to make Chief cry out at the sudden burst of pleasure.
She grabs onto Zoya’s tattooed shoulders more tightly, her nails surely creating crescent shaped dents in the skin by this point. The gang leader chuckles quietly, satisfied. “Easy there, Chief,” she whispers right next to her ear, the rumble of her voice doing nothing to hide Zoya’s arousal, “be loud for me.”
Chief’d like to protest at the ridiculous demand, but Zoya’s fingers are so long and so deep inside her, making it hard to focus on anything else. Having found the spongy spot that makes Chief’s back arch, Zoya’s digits abuse it relentlessly, earning increasingly loud moans and whimpers from the woman. The pace is unforgiving, each thrust sending shivers of pleasure through her body. The Legion leader’s thumb toys with her sensitive clit at the same time, and damn it, she’s really playing Chief like a fiddle. Zoya’s touch sets fire under her skin, the tight knot in her lower stomach threatening to come undone.
Zoya must notice it too, her gaze on Chief sharpening like she’s staring down at her next meal. She doesn’t slow down the pace, smirking as she pushes a stray strand of hair away from Chief’s forehead with her free hand. “You close, Chief?”
The answer is annoyingly obvious, Chief’s breathing heavy and labored as she rests her head against Zoya’s shoulder. She's barely holding herself back from sinking her fangs into the skin again. She nods, more to herself than to the gang leader in this position. “Gonna come… Keep going,” she manages to gasp out between soft, needy moans. She’s thankful that Zoya’s strong enough to keep her in her lap with no struggle. She can barely hold herself upright right now.
Zoya hums in response, her thumb circling her clit with more pressure. “Anything you say.”
Her fingers curl even more, pressing against the most sensitive spot while she rubs Chief’s clit quickly. Chief’s spongy walls tighten around the digits, signaling the upcoming release, and with Zoya’s practice, she knows exactly how to make the woman reach it. She’s not cruel enough to prolong it any longer. Chief whimpers and cries, holding onto Zoya desperately when the tense knot finally unties, waves upon waves of pleasure crashing through her body with blinding intensity. She sinks her fangs into the gang leader’s shoulder, all senses overpowered by the sinful sensation that is Zoya.
She can make out the sound of Zoya groaning at the bite. She sounds pleased. The woman’s pace doesn't slow down, guiding Chief through her orgasm, granting her the last few sparks of pleasure before she withdraws her hand. Chief flushes at the sight of her own arousal coating Zoya’s fingers, yet the Sinner seems quite satisfied. Of course she is.
Chief only watches as Zoya licks a stripe up her soiled fingers, feeling her own cheeks heat up at the sight. What a show-off. The Sinner grins at her half-irritated, half-aroused expression, as if having read her mind. “You’re not exactly in the position to judge a person for tasting someone, Chief.”
“Shut up.”
Chief’s legs feel a little weak when Zoya helps her up from her lap, putting her down on the couch instead. The Sinner’s leather jacket is swiftly wrapped around her naked body, the earthy and spicy scent Zoya carries enveloping her.
With that, the Legion’s leader prepares to leave. Zoya never lingers for long. With the urges of them both satisfied, there’s nothing left to say. And yet, having her go right now would leave a bitter aftertaste in Chief’s mouth.
“Wait, Zoya—” She doesn’t plan to call out the Sinner’s name, but the words would get stuck in her throat otherwise, lingering uncomfortably until she saw her again. She doesn’t mean to make it sound so desperate, too, and yet, her voice betrays her.
Zoya turns around at the sound, a soft, curious look on her face. “Yes, Chief? What is it?”
Chief clears her throat, trying to make her voice sound natural again. “You might feel fine, but you did lose blood earlier. You should sit down for longer.” The excuse is not a lie. She is concerned about Zoya, and would be beside herself if anything happened to the Sinner as a result of Chief feeding on her. Like her, Zoya has a habit of downplaying any physical discomfort. God knows if she won’t pass out the moment she steps inside her cell. So it’s better to keep her here for a while, for her own sake. Stealing a moment longer of her time was just a… nice bonus.
To Chief's surprise, Zoya stays without a word of complaint.
She sits down right next to her on the couch, her muscular arm coming to wrap around Chief’s shoulders, pulling her closer. The office is quiet for a moment, but then, Zoya’s voice cuts through the silence. “You can just say if you’re disappointed to see me go, you know, Chief.”
Even without looking at her, Chief can just hear the smirk in her voice.
“I’m concerned you’ll faint the moment I get my eye off you,” she responds. Even though the professionalism in her tone is a bluff that the Legion’s leader can tell with her eyes closed. Chief’s aware of that much.
Amused, Zoya raises her eyebrow. “Concerned? Chief, I’ve got plenty of blood. If you’re still hungry, another round is—”
She cuts her off firmly. “Absolutely not.”
Zoya laughs, a low, honest sound. She shakes her head in mock disappointment. “Eh, worth a try.” She tugs Chief even closer to her side, guiding her to rest her head against her shoulder. Chief complies, the position giving much needed solace to her weary body. “Let’s rest, then. Fed or not, your stamina leaves much to wish for.”
This woman really is a master of obvious provocation. Chief doesn’t bother to give her the satisfaction of an answer, closing her eyes and pulling Zoya’s jacket a little tighter around herself.
She hears Zoya chuckle, a hand playfully ruffling Chief’s already messy hair. Before she can drift off, she makes out the sound of uncharacteristically soft words spoken into the silence. “Rest well, Chief. I’ll keep you safe.”
It’s a comforting promise to fall asleep to.