Chapter Text
What a bust of a fucking day.
Well, maybe not a bust. Vi was released from prison today, and that’s not for nothing. It’s not like she could have ever hoped to reconnect with Powder from behind bars.
But God, did the most annoying possible person have to be the one to get her out? A fucking Enforcer, some tall-ass bitch who’s done nothing but complain and stare down her dainty Piltie nose at Vi and her home, her city, her people. If she weren’t easy on the eyes, Vi would have ditched her from the get-go.
Well— all that’s also not true. Not really.
First of all, Vi made a deal. Maybe they didn’t shake on it or whatever, but she basically promised to help the Enforcer with her investigation (barf) in exchange for release from that hellhole. Fissurefolk, they have nothing but their word, right? Officer Jugs held up her end of the bargain, so Vi’s holding up hers. Vander taught her that. It helps that they have a common enemy: fucking Silco. He’s got her Pow-Pow, he’s making her build him bombs and shit, which he apparently used to blow up some of Jugs’ coworkers or whatever. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend”, so they say, even if Vi’s new “friend” is a barely-tolerable entitled douchebag just like the rest of those uniformed thugs.
And she only just earned that “barely-tolerable.” Vi just thought it would be funny to bully her into pretending to be a lady of the night while she went straight to Babette herself; Vi didn’t expect Cupcake to show some humanity and slightly skew her perspective on her.
But, Officer Tits-and-Ass looked like a completely different person, snuggled up with that fine thing. Relaxed. Honest. Gentle? Vi already experienced “Matilda’s” acting chops, or lack thereof, so there’s no way she could have faked it. She must have actually been having a Gay Old Time with that woman, despite her being a trencher just like Vi. It doesn’t count for much— who isn’t nicer to total babes than they are to everyone else?— but that’s not for nothing, either.
Vi had shit to do so she didn’t linger long, but the scantily-clad cutie looked ready to break off a piece of that stuck-up ass and honestly? Vi thought, good for you, Jugs. Maybe the rest of their excruciating time together will be more bearable if what’s-her-name gets some and relaxes.
Because they are stuck with each other for now. Vi didn’t find who she was looking for, so unless some critical info was somehow actually to be found down that woman’s panties, Cupcake must be similarly empty-handed.
Seriously, where the fuck was Sevika? She wasn’t at Jericho’s, she wasn’t at Babette’s, she wasn’t playing cards in the alley. She must have been in The Last Drop and there’s no way Vi would have survived setting foot in there if it’s under Silco’s control now. Bullshit. If there’s one thing she knows, it’s that rats like Silco know exactly where to hide their disgusting rat nests. She won’t find them until she finds Sevika. Hopefully, that fucking traitor will be at her usual haunts tomorrow night.
It’s been around an hour, that Vi’s been skulking around the lanes. The pitch black of night has already set in, and the streets get more dangerous by the second. Vi isn’t particularly worried for her own safety, but she figures she shouldn’t leave Cupcake unattended (“unattended”) for too long. She can practically hear Vander’s voice, you have a good heart, echoing in her head. It’s pretty tempting to let that Piltie figure things out for herself, maybe send her running back topside with her tail between her legs, but a person with a Good Heart wouldn’t abandon a relatively helpless, painfully naive topsider at the bottom of the fissure. Vi’s pretty sure the Piltie’s dumbass backpack contains a gun, and if she were forced to fire it in self-defense, that would only solidify her death sentence; it would blow the cover on her already-weak disguise and reveal herself, without a doubt, to be an Enforcer. Fissurefolk are known for hand-to-hand combat and knives for a reason— there are no guns to be had down here, unless you’re crafty enough to make one, Vi supposes.
So, she has to go back to Babette’s for… Catherine? Caitlyn.
Cupcake.
And, they made a deal. All Vi has anymore is her word. No dad or brothers. No sister. No home. Just— her word.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Deep in the labyrinth of Babette’s, she keeps a pretty tidy little bar. Patrons need drinks and some food to keep the money flowing and the hips pumping, right? Mostly, workers bring orders from and to the rooms, so it also functions a bit like an employee lounge, a good place for the working men and women to relax and take a break with few clients around.
That’s where Vi finds Caitlyn, whom she amusedly notes looks a little… disheveled, hood up, nursing what looks like a very stiff drink.
Vi sneaks up from behind and slides onto the barstool next to her and croons, “Hey, sweetheart, you service chicks?”
Caitlyn startles and whips around to face Vi, blue eyes sharp as knives. “You couldn’t afford it,” she snaps back. “Where exactly have you been?”
Vi leans in a bit and takes a sniff and grins at her findings. “Where exactly have you been? You kinda smell like a brothel, Cupcake.”
“Stop calling me that,” Caitlyn protests, haughtily refusing to acknowledge any other part of that statement. Leaning in herself and using her hood to shroud her face from the (disinterested, gimped Yordle) bartender, she whispers, “Well? Did you find anything?”
“‘Fraid not,” Vi confesses, quietly only to humor the Enforcer, the words sour in her mouth. She snatches Caitlyn’s drink from her hand and takes a sip before explaining, “Goons weren’t at their usual spots. Gotta try again tomorrow night.”
Caitlyn’s eyes widen, an unmistakable frustration-bordering-on-fury roiling behind her pretty blues, similar to her earlier expression at Jericho’s. “Tomorrow night?” she hisses.
“Yup,” Vi says, popping the ‘p’ flippantly. As she continues talking, she raises the glass to take another sip. “Good thing you took to whoring like a duck to water, ‘cuz—“
Cheap gin and citrus really fucking burn in your eyes, turns out. Getting a heavy glass bashed into your lips and nose also hurts, turns out. Vi barely had time to register the fresh blaze in Caitlyn’s eyes, let alone the swift lash of movement as she smacked the bottom of the glass with the heel of her palm, simultaneously smashing the rim on Vi’s face and splashing half the contents up her nose.
Vi sputters, coughing up liquor and trying to wipe it out of her eye. She’ll have to give Caitlyn some credit on that move. Maybe she has some hands, but Vi’s are better, no doubt.
Just as she prepares to retaliate and throw the rest of the drink back on Caitlyn, a deep voice booms, “This scrawny rat givin’ you a hard time, Matilda?”
Scrawny! Bullshit.
Still, Vi should know better. Caitlyn has apparently, somehow, managed to convince people she actually works here, and she knows damn well that Babette and her staff take care of her workers. She glances around and three, four bouncers have crawled out of the woodwork and are circling in, menacingly, around the two women at the bar. She’s pretty sure she could take them, but Vander’s name only goes so far and the last thing she needs is to turn allies into enemies.
She sets the glass down on the bar and holds her hands up plaintively, then looks to Caitlyn to call off the dogs and—
Oh, shit.
Cupcake is hot, hot. Like— hot.
Vi has eyes, so she obviously has observed the Enforcer’s objective attractiveness: glossy hair, pretty face and skin, slim yet athletic body, tall as shit. She even called her “hot”, earlier, but she only sort of meant it. Sure, it’s true, but it was really just an intimidation tactic, just another way to get under her pretty Piltie skin.
But now? Whew.
If looks could kill, Vi would be blown to smithereens. Caitlyn’s expression is one of sheer, icy triumph. Her eyes still blaze with anger, pupils blown, but she looks insufferably smug— she knows she won this battle, knows she has Vi trapped and out-foxed. Vi wants to slap the look off her face, wants to see what she looks like angrier, wants to shove her tongue down her throat and see if she can taste any of that babe from earlier. Caitlyn’s chest heaves under her slightly-too-tight purple-and-brown outfit (she’s a little bustier and booty-ier than the random thug Vi stole it off of), the nostrils of her elegant nose flare slightly with each breath, but she’s sitting up ramrod straight, shoulders squared. Proud. Regal? Again— smug.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Vi had been assuming Caitlyn was a bit of a pushover. Despite her barely-concealed contempt, Caitlyn has actually been quite a decent sport no matter what Vi threw at her so far today: parkour, Jericho’s, Babette’s. Based on the posh accent and general hoity-toity aura, Caitlyn is probably some kind of hot shit up in Piltover, yet she let some trencher convict put her through the wringer? Vi figured Caitlyn was either desperate to prove herself by cracking her case or whatever, or a total stooge. Well— she must have an answer, now. Apparently, there is a limit to Officer Cupcake’s good grace, and when it’s reached...
“We’re quite alright, Antonio,” Caitlyn advises coolly, sneering, her little tooth gap peeking out between her lips. Vi wonders what kind of mark those teeth would make on (her) skin.
“Don’t believe I heard an apology,” another bouncer grouses. A heavy hand claps on the back of Vi’s neck, its fingertips digging into the junctions between muscles.
Preening like a fucking queen, staring down her sculpted nose at Vi like the gutter trash she undoubtedly thinks Vi is, even if she’s too civilized to admit it, Caitlyn raises an expectant eyebrow.
Fuck. Cupcake has a personality? A little edge? Who knew.
“I’m so sorry, Matilda,” Vi coos, plastering a big fake smile on her (sore) face. “Can’t I make it up to you, somehow?”
Caitlyn smirks and drains the rest of the glass.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
Admittedly? Vi is a little disappointed that Caitlyn seems to simmer down quickly.
By the time they’ve had a bite to eat, shaken the bouncers, and gotten situated in a private room, where they’ll hole up and rest until morning, Caitlyn is back to her standoffish, detached coolness. The fire in her eyes is quelled; the tension that thrummed between the two of them, dissipated.
It’s not that Vi was truly hoping something would happen but, well, she’d just been in solitary for… god, a solid year? Or was it two? Maybe she should have been the one to stay at Babette’s and enjoy some fine female company and sent Caitlyn out for reconnaissance instead.
(Caitlyn would absolutely be dead in a gutter by now and that’s not as appealing a possibility anymore, now that she’s shown some signs of life.)
Vi locks the door behind herself and surveys the room. It’s not much: similar to the one she saw Caitlyn canoodling in, there’s a plush couch and a few side tables. In the corner, there’s a small powder room with a commode and a pedestal sink—thank god, Vi can wash her face and shirt and not be sticky for the foreseeable future. She makes a beeline for it and whips her white tank and black hooded undershirt off without hesitation.
Behind her, Caitlyn plops down on the couch with a relieved sigh. “Well, this’ll have to do. You can sleep on the floor,” she announces.
Vi whirls around, water dripping off the bangs she couldn’t keep out of the way during her splash-down. “Cupcake, you wound me,” she complains, but not so much that she misses Caitlyn’s quick appraising glance over her body, naked from the waist up except for an athletic-style bra. Duly noted. “You saw my cell. I’ve been sleeping on floors for years. You’d make me do it again?”
“Yes,” Caitlyn replies shortly, the ‘duh’ nearly audible, starting to work on removing her accessory belts and arm coverings. “I’m paying for the room, so I get the couch. You can have the throw pillows.” She stops fiddling with her corset and generously knocks the four threadbare pillows to the floor, shoving the coffee table away with her foot to make room.
Vi shouldn’t say it. She knows she shouldn’t say it. It doesn’t even jive with her belief system; she would never use that word to describe the men and women who actually work for Babette. She doesn’t think, for a single second, that Caitlyn did anything wrong, and definitely not anything she herself wouldn’t have done. Hell, Vi didn’t get all these prison tats for free. But— she saw what happened before. How Caitlyn reacted when her buttons were pressed.
She kinda wants that sort of reaction, again. She kinda wants to see what would happen if there were nobody else around, no buffer to interrupt and give them both time to cool off.
“You’re paying with what— your whoring money?” slips out of Vi’s mouth before she can debate further.
It seems to take a couple of seconds to register in Caitlyn’s mind, or maybe she takes a few seconds to think before reacting. She seems like that kind of person, unlike Vi. Her decision seems to be to not react; she just keeps working on her corset, then moves on to the clasps on her thigh-high boots. “That’s an unkind word, you know,” she says evenly, but Vi can see the energy crackling behind her eyes.
“Walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, must be a duck,” Vi counters as she turns back to the sink. She uses a cleanish corner of her black shirt as a washrag, rubbing away at the sticky gin and juice on her face and neck. She calls over her shoulder, “I’ll try to be more supportive of your new career.”
“Fabulous. Thank you.”
“My absolute pleasure.”
A little frustrated that the other woman isn’t taking the bait, Vi finishes washing up. She’s almost ready to give up when she turns around to find Caitlyn has mostly stripped, leaving herself in a white tank-top (Vi ruefully notes the lines of a bra underneath, not that she could ever blame Cupcake for needing some help carrying those tits around) and a tight pair of black shorts. She’s spread out on the couch, so tall she has her head tucked up against one armrest, ponytail undone and blue-black hair fanned out like a halo, and her ankles hanging off the other. She looks deep in thought, twiddling the thumb and pointer of one hand, drumming her fingers on her stomach with the other, and staring into space with slightly knit brows and a pensive pout on her lips.
Vi swallows a groan. That woman is so, so sexy, it’s unfair. She’s sexy in a way Vi has really never seen before; no woman she crushed on as a teenager, no model on a poster in her bedroom, and no woman she encountered in prison was anything like that.
Unbelievable. Pitiful. Bullshit. How is a Piltie Enforcer the hottest piece of ass Vi has ever seen?
“Wouldn’t have taken you for the boyshorts type,” Vi muses distractedly.
So casually it could only be completely mindless, lost in thought, Caitlyn hooks a thumb in the shorts waistband at her hip and pulls it down just an inch or so, revealing something baby-blue and lacy underneath for just a few seconds before righting herself, as if it never happened.
Vi stares. She nearly forgot what Caitlyn looked like in her Enforcer uniform. The dress. Of course this glorified Piltie Scout was wearing security shorts.
“You flash your drawers for anyone who asks?” Vi challenges, shifting her weight from one foot to the other in a weak attempt to get some pressure on her clit. “Quack quack.”
That earns a huffed humorless laugh from the couch. Caitlyn’s concentration seems to have been broken, and her sneer is back. “Well, I wouldn’t have taken you for a prude. I had as much privacy in the barracks as you did in Stillwater. Plenty of women were 'flashed' with my ‘drawers’ whether they asked or not.”
The vague concept of Caitlyn taking her briefly distracts Vi from formulating a response. After a beat, she manages, “Plenty of women, I bet. Did you have fun today, Cupcake?”
“There were highs and lows,” Caitlyn replies icily, her face broadcasting a warning that Vi is absolutely not going to take. In fact, Vi’s going to double down. Triple, even.
Vi snorts, “Y’know, I figured you were a virgin. Guess not. Or, not anymore.”
Caitlyn snaps, “Why, because I was caught off-guard when you hit on me out of nowhere after dragging me through the god damn muck all day? Very nice.”
Truth be told, Vi wasn’t really hitting on Caitlyn then, but she sure is now. Mustering all her swagger, she stalks toward the couch and shoves Caitlyn’s ankles off the armrest, sitting down in their place, parking one foot on the floor and the other on the couch cushion so she can loom over Caitlyn’s long, lean-yet-somehow-also-hourglass body.
To put it simply, Caitlyn looks pissed. Again, if looks could kill, Vi would be toast.
With a salacious grin, Vi leans forward, elbow on her bent knee, and croons, “Y’know, I was just fuckin’ with you, when I asked you man or woman. I already knew the answer. I could practically hear your panties drop at Stillwater.”
Caitlyn’s eyes widen and her scowl intensifies. She bristles like a cornered cat, fingers on both hands twitching, sitting up slowly. Menacingly? Also like a cornered, pissed cat, she still looks kind of cute.
Undeterred by the posturing, Vi flashes all her teeth and continues, “And all day, I could feel your fuckin’ eyes on my ass while you followed me around like a lost puppy. Thought about asking if you wanted to take a sniff.” Caitlyn’s lips snarl and Vi makes a grandiose gesture over Caitlyn’s body with one hand and announces, “Officer Cupcake, the crime-fighting poon hound.”
It’s a tad late, but it occurs to Vi, as she’s abruptly snatched by her wrist and yanked off the armrest, that Cupcake is kind of a big bitch. As in, a large woman.
Vi isn’t blind so she of course clocked Caitlyn's height on first glance, but her overall grace, outward femininity, and genteel demeanor must have hypnotized Vi into thinking she was some dainty little thing regardless. But, no— now, Vi realizes that Caitlyn is really no waif. She tries to resist, but Caitlyn caught her off-guard and quickly gains the upper hand, switching them into the opposite positions, jockeying herself on top of Vi. She’s heavy, probably heavier than Vi herself, and kinda buff. Muscles criminally obscured by her Enforcer uniform and her trencher costume pop now as she struggles to force Vi flat down onto her back; deltoids, biceps, triceps, forearms, and quads all bunch and flex. She’s not as yoked as Vi—obviously—but her physique is impressive enough… and that’s without going on to appreciate her hefty tits and ass, too.
Is Vi stronger than Caitlyn? Definitely; she’d put money on it if she had any. But the way Caitlyn swiftly pins her (police brutality—figures), sheer strength doesn’t mean shit; Vi needs leverage if she’s gonna buck that juicy ass off her legs or break that surprisingly strong grip, and she doesn’t quite have it.
It’s hot, and it’s kinda nice to know she’s punching within her own weight class. It’s the fairest fight Vi has had in years.
She probably could have tried harder to resist, to be honest.
The skirmish ends with both of them panting, their eyes wild. Vi’s head is stuffed into the corner of the cushion and armrest, more or less diagonal with her legs sticking off the other cushion, feet dangling in the air. Caitlyn has her legs locked around Vi’s thighs, her ass seated heavily over Vi’s knees, and her hands like vices around Vi’s wrists, pressing them to her bare stomach.
“How dare you speak to me like that,” Caitlyn growls breathlessly and Vi laughs at the cartoonish, predictable line, even as she’s been rendered fairly helpless, and Caitlyn’s hands grip tighter over her wrists. “You’d have rotted in that cell forever if it weren’t for me. All you’ve done, all fucking day, is mess with me and waste my time. Is that how you show appreciation? Can you really not be civil for a single fucking day?”
Ooh, Cupcake swearing in that posh accent—hot. Her mouth hangs open, teeth bared, panting like a bobcat catching her breath after a successful ambush. Her face is flushed, red dripping from her ears down her sculpted cheekbones, down her neck, and into the collar of her tank top. The battle put her shirt askew, so the edge of her bra sticks out—also baby-blue and lacy; what a nerd, matching her undies—, highlighted by her heaving chest. She’s broken a sweat. Vi only wishes she could sit up and lick the salty dew off that graceful throat, and maybe sink her teeth into it as well.
Vi doesn’t reply, just makes a token attempt to throw Caitlyn off of her, thrashing at the hips and shoulders. In order to maintain her advantage, Caitlyn uses the heavy weight of her upper body (tits) to press Vi’s hands harder into her lower stomach, the most indirect of indirect stimulation that makes Vi realize, belatedly, that her pussy is absolutely throbbing with want.
And speaking of pussy, Caitlyn’s is white-hot on Vi’s knee as she sinks the heavy weight of her lower body (ass) down on it. With a wolfish grin, Vi jogs her quad muscle, making it shift against the Enforcer’s clothed crotch, and revels in the twitch of her lips as she blatantly swallows a moan.
“You’re getting off on this,” Vi accuses triumphantly, with a wicked grin.
Something flashes across Caitlyn’s face; something sincere that softens her eyes just enough for Vi to notice.
“That—don’t act like it’s not what you wanted,” Caitlyn retorts, with all of the bark but none of the bite of the altercation thus far. She releases one hand from Vi’s wrists and brings it to the back of the couch to support her own weight, lifting her ass and cunt off Vi’s knee.
Vi could easily break out from under her, now—if she wanted to. She supposes the check-in is kinda sweet—like a cupcake. She was being sarcastic when she picked that nickname, an ironically cutesy choice for a haughty dickhead of a cop, but maybe it’s not as ironic as she thought.
Well, if she needs to throw a bone down to get a bone-down…
“Fuck yeah, it’s what I wanted,” Vi purrs, teeth bared. Caitlyn’s pupils dilate, and she sinks back down to straddle Vi’s legs. Feeling extra generous, and also extra horny and unwilling to risk losing the opportunity to miscommunication, Vi looks Caitlyn straight in the eyes and announces, “I want you to fuck me… Caitlyn.”
(Vi didn’t mean to phrase it that way, but that’s how it came out and, well, it’s not inaccurate. As long as she gets off, she’s just as happy being the fuck-er or the fuck-ee, so if Caitlyn has a little frustration to take out on someone (whose fault could that possibly be…), she can be Vi’s guest.)
She said Caitlyn like it’s another insult, and yet the word is barely out of her mouth before Caitlyn’s tongue barges in. Vi would almost hesitate to call it a ‘kiss’; there’s no romance, no tenderness. It’s deep and hungry, with lips, teeth, and tongues all equally involved, but with enough finesse on both sides to make it hot-‘n’-heavy and not messy-‘n’-gross. Caitlyn is in control, selfish, treating Vi’s mouth like it’s just a hole to fuck.
Oh, yeah. Officer Jugs-slash-Cupcake-slash-Caitlyn has exactly what Vi wants.
In leaning down to capture Vi’s lips, the distribution of Caitlyn’s weight changed and now her pussy is pressing hard on Vi’s thigh, and Vi could swear she can feel it throbbing through her shorts and panties, hot and damp. Vi still doesn’t have much leverage, but she pulses her leg up, hard, and makes Caitlyn gasp out of the kiss. In retaliation, Caitlyn moves her hand from the couch back and winds her forearm under Vi’s head, scratching her blunt nails over her scalp as she goes, before fisting into the long side of her hair and yanking their mouths back together.
Vi finally wrenches her hands out of Caitlyn’s control and grabs her by the ass. She groans into Caitlyn’s mouth as her fingers sink deep into a plush pad of fat and a similarly-generous muscle flexes underneath it. Caitlyn is most definitely wet on her thigh, the fabric separating their skin almost uncomfortably humid as she starts to grind. Vi grips her cheeks hard and encourages the motion by pushing and pulling in time, which is rewarded with an unexpectedly soft and girly sigh that tickles Vi’s palate and makes her break out of the liplock with a chuckle.
“Geez, Cupcake—you already got some today and you’re still this horny?” Vi teases. “Greedy topsider.”
Caitlyn just scoffs and drops her head onto Vi’s shoulder, as much as she can with Vi’s head stuffed into the junction between the armrest and back. The position is a little awkward, mostly because the couch is too short and narrow for the combined size of the not-small women trying to bang it out on it, still with Vi half hanging off of it and Caitlyn somewhat precariously perched on Vi’s thighs. It’s also partially because it’s not doing very much for Vi. Her legs are still straight out, clamped between Caitlyn’s, so she’s getting a little pressure on her clit, but nowhere near enough. She never really learned patience.
Maybe Caitlyn is a mind-reader? Vi barely registers Caitlyn grumbling a complaint about the couch before she groans and hoists herself to her feet. The sudden loss of simmering body heat makes Vi feel cold, but she forgets about that as she’s then hauled off the cushion by her waist and her ass hits the floor with a dull thud.
On one hand, Vi could have done with a warning. On the other, she did kinda like it. Caitlyn dumped her on the floor with about the the same care (none) with which she dumped the pillows earlier, possibly even less. Until the little altercation at the bar, Vi would never have imagined this stuck-up, femmey Piltie would have it in her. She’d have guessed Caitlyn to be the three-dates-minimum, chocolates and champagne, rose petals on the bed type and maybe she usually is (when she’s not pretending to be a prostitute, Vi supposes). Maybe Vi is special for getting to see this side of her. Or maybe Vi is decidedly not special for getting to see this side of her: just a random piece of gutter trash to pump and dump, unworthy of her usual decorum and care. That’s kinda hot.
Caitlyn proceeds to also pull the bottom cushions off and drop them on the floor, too (pausing, briefly, to grimace at the filth she undoubtedly discovered underneath the cushions on the frame), giving them more room to spread out without sacrificing the relative comfort of the padding. Smart. Maybe the babe from earlier taught her that trick.
Finished with the love nest, Caitlyn turns on Vi and Vi would have to admit to shivering at the look on her face: she looks starving, focused, wolfish. She’s a hunter, and Vi is the prey. It makes Vi’s clit pulse, even more impatient to get hers than she was a minute ago.
“Come here,” Caitlyn commands briskly and Vi surprises herself by crawling (literally crawling) over without hesitation or making a joke, mesmerized by the desire in Caitlyn’s eyes.
Caitlyn grabs one of the throw pillows and Vi’s shoulder and directs her to lay stomach-down across the cushions, with the throw pillow under her hips. Vi finds the presence of mind to shoot a wink as she arranges herself as requested, flat on the cushion with her ass bolstered.
Settling her cheek down on her forearms, Vi makes herself comfy while Caitlyn kneels next to her hips. She carefully works a hand under Vi’s hip to undo the button there and pulls her pants down a little, giving her access to Vi’s lower back and the waistband of her briefs. Something else that Vi hadn’t thought of is that as a pretty tall woman, Caitlyn’s hands are proportionally pretty large despite overall appearing feminine and dainty; they’re somehow both more callused but also softer than Vi would have expected, but just as strong kneading her tender lumbar. She works her way up the tight, thick cords of muscle that flank Vi’s spine on both sides, using the heels of her hands to apply pressure while her fingers drag lightly, lazily, along with them. It’s equal parts a massage and a blatant feeling-up, as Caitlyn noticeably lingers and admires her tattoos where they spill out from her bra as she makes one trip up and down. Vi distantly wonders if this is the kind of special treatment Caitlyn usually administers. It’s weirdly gentle after the way things started, and seemed to be going—almost romantic.
But then Caitlyn hooks her fingers in Vi’s waistband and yanks her pants and briefs down to her mid-thighs.
That’s more like it.
“Geez, Cupcake, you could buy a girl dinner first,” Vi moans, thrilled by the aggressive move and progress toward some real action, doubly so when Caitlyn grabs her ass with both hands. From her angle, she must be able to see that Vi is very, very aroused, lips puffy and close to dripping down onto the pillow.
Caitlyn snorts. She shows Vi's ass the proper respect, kneading both cheeks reverently, and then she digs her thumbs into the cleft between ass and thigh, hard enough to make Vi gasp. “I did buy you dinner.”
After a beat, Vi realizes that’s right. “Oh, yeah. Guess I owe you some pussy then, don’t I?” she purrs, eyes fluttering shut as sparks of pleasure wash over her.
The pompous laugh that Caitlyn lets out in response makes Vi want to turn around and slap her across the face, but in a more playful and sexy way than the last time she contemplated slapping her across the face. They both seem to be having fun, but not that much fun, so Vi generously decides to let it slide.
It also helps that Caitlyn then glides a hand between Vi’s legs and cups her cunt. Shamelessly, Vi bucks into the touch, thinking it’s about damn time she got some. Caitlyn doesn’t seem to be in much of a rush, though; she bypasses all the good stuff and goes straight for Vi’s mound to scratch her blunt nails into pink curls; she captures some hair between her fingers and gives it a light tug, making Vi groan. Hoping to make her point, Vi wriggles her legs as far apart as her pants allow and lifts her hips off the pillow, straining to flash a better view of how wet and ready she is.
Caitlyn plants her other hand on Vi’s lower back and shoves her back down. “You think you’re so bad,” she coos softly, running her hand up and down Vi’s back, making goosebumps crawl up her arms. “You look good like this. Muscles and tattoos, laid out all for me.”
The compliments are just backhanded enough to keep Vi from buzzing from the praise, but she hums in approval as Caitlyn spreads her lips and slides her fingertips along slick folds, gathering up wetness to drag back to her clit. She starts out slow and light, but before Vi can even complain, she picks up the speed and pressure. After all the buildup and over a year (or two?) only touching herself, Caitlyn’s fingers feel like heaven, every pass sending sparks up Vi’s spine and keying her up more and more.
Just as Vi starts to feel empty, Caitlyn’s thumb circles her opening and sinks inside. Vi strains her hips back against Caitlyn’s hand, encouraging her to go harder and faster, filling the small, gaudy room with the sound of moans and fucking. Every few strokes, Caitlyn hooks her thumb down and drags hard on Vi’s G-spot, making her pant open-jawed into her forearm, more desperate every time and also more grateful that Caitlyn doesn’t seem to be much of a tease.
Vi can hardly hear herself, but little commands for more slip out of her mouth and Caitlyn gives it to her, every time. It would be embarrassing how badly she wants it—wants Officer Cupcake, a topsider, an Enforcer to fuck her so hard she sees stars—but life is short. This might be the weirdest lay Vi has ever had and she will take it as a secret to her grave, but Caitlyn knows how to handle a pussy and that’s all that really matters at the moment.
Caitlyn lays herself down along Vi’s side and works her other hand under Vi’s hips, squeezing her mound in her palm and taking over control of her clit. She withdraws her thumb and replaces it with two fingers, just for a few strokes, before going right for three. That’s enough of a stretch to make Vi’s spine tingle, and she rewards the Enforcer with a hearty sigh. After a few test pumps, Caitlyn gradually picks up the pace, working up to a hard and deep full-shoulder thrust, hard enough to jostle Vi’s entire body with each one, while maintaining a firm circle on Vi’s clit. Vi melts into the cushions below her, letting her weight press down on the pillow under her hips and lower stomach, adding a pleasant extra buzz to the challenging workout she’s getting between the legs.
“Bet your little topside girlfriends don’t let you fuck them like this,” Vi manages to get out between moans, just to say something other than, oh, Cupcake, give it to me, please. She’d hate to give the smug Piltie that satisfaction, but her satisfaction is looming like a tidal wave, her moans growing louder and more strained as anticipation tingles her spine and squeezes her lungs.
Dismissively, Caitlyn replies, “My little topside girlfriends aren’t this desperate.”
Oh, god. Vi hates herself for how sexy that sounded, being talked down to in that highbrow accent. She’s on the floor, face-down, pants around her knees, getting railed by an upper-crust fucking cop who at least sort of hates her, and it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened. Fucking pathetic, but the pussy wants what it wants, Vi supposes.
The steady rhythm lures Vi into a false sense of security: every thrust inside and every stroke on her clit brings her one step closer to orgasm, building up at an even pace, more precise and predictable than the finest Piltovian watch. So, it catches Vi by surprise when Caitlyn rotates her wrist, fingers buried deep inside, and drags her fingertips on her G-spot.
It makes Vi’s vision white out and her spine nearly jump out of her skin. Caitlyn doesn’t let up. It makes her head spin. It makes her blood boil, flashing a fresh dew of sweat over from head to toe, extra hot around her chest and calves which are still clothed. It makes her jaw fall open in a silent scream, or maybe the loudest scream of her life—who knows. It makes her cunt flutter and clench and squeeze and spill on Caitlyn’s hand.
For a while (seconds, hours, days—again, who knows), Vi’s world is reduced to the pleasure that pounds through her bloodstream, lighting up all her nerves with those feel-good tingles and the satisfying ache of a job well done. She needed this, for sure.
As she returns to earth, she registers Caitlyn rubbing her back and murmuring praise. She’d been cooling down, but the tender treatment makes Vi’s cheeks burn back up. It’s just, again, kind of weird to be so gentle and nurturing during a hookup with someone you’re supposed to hate, right? So it makes Vi feel weird. But presumably Cupcake’s prior sexual encounters didn’t all end with trading slaps on the ass and a ‘see ya in chow’, so Vi figures she should let her do her thing because it’s probably the more normal experience.
Speaking of letting her do her thing, she should probably suss out what Caitlyn wants for herself. Their whole relationship (or whatever) is based on quid pro quo, so obviously if Vi got off, so should she.
Looking over her shoulder, Caitlyn looks oddly serene for someone who just fingerbanged a woman into outer space. She’s tousled and sweaty, but altogether fairly composed. But of course, she looks smug as shit. If Vi could feel her arms, maybe she would slap her this time.
Still, Vi has to give credit where it’s due. She says, “Cupcake—I’m not even gonna lie, you’re a champ.” Vi is pleased, and languid, enough to let that same haughty laugh as before slide, again. Vi continues, “So, what do you want?”
It’s not Vi’s most elegant proposition, but it’ll get the job done.
A pause, and another too-gentle caress, this time over Vi’s ass. “Er, would you mind if I picked up where we left off? On the couch.”
That sounds like a win-win to Vi; she doesn’t mind playing pillow princess here-and-there. She starts to roll over, assuming Caitlyn wants her quad again, but she’s caught by the shoulder and pulled back to her previous position. Shrugging, Vi chalks it up to a weird Piltie thing… or maybe it would feel too intimate to do it face-to-face, like, missionary style. They do still hate each other, after all, probably.
There’s a brief rustle of activity that Vi doesn’t bother to try to observe, and then Caitlyn’s hands return to Vi’s back, one crawling up to grab Vi by the muscular yoke of her shoulder, and the other hooking by two fingers into the band of her bra. Chuckling, Vi spreads her legs as far as she can, making as much room for Caitlyn to straddle her hamstring as allowed by her still-half-on pants.
And then Caitlyn presses her naked, soaking wet cunt right on Vi’s ass cheek. Vi’s eyes fly open and a moan slips out of her lips, caught by surprise but absolutely nowhere near displeased.
Despite the shy lead-in, Caitlyn doesn’t waste time. She goes right in with all the leverage she has available, between her vice-grip on Vi’s shoulder and bra and her own powerful core. With every cant of her hips forward, she jerks Vi backward to meet her halfway. The first few thrusts raise a thought somewhere in the back of Vi’s mind that Caitlyn’s short bush would cause rugburn, but her slick spreads so quickly and liberally over Vi’s sensitive skin that it becomes a distant memory before a serious concern. She feels surprisingly-heavy on top of Vi again, heavier than during their wrestling match, her deceptively big-and-strong hands commanding and rougher than they felt just a few minutes (? Or hours, who knows) ago, when they courteously massaged Vi’s back before turning around and trying to break it, now.
Vi can’t do much but lay there and take it. She’s burning up, going weaker by the second as she blazes through her energy stores. Babette keeps the place relatively cool, but the body heat between them is searing and she feels sweat bead along her temples and back, and she’d swear she can feel drops splatter on her skin as they fall from Caitlyn’s looming body.
God, how fucking hot must Caitlyn look just humping the fuck out of her ass? Vi wasn’t joking earlier; she really did sense Caitlyn leering at her ass more than once, but she still wouldn’t have put this kind of thing on her bingo card, but shit—it’s hot. Caitlyn is nothing like any type of woman she’s ever had before—the few blockmates she found some comfort in before getting slapped in solitary—and yet she’s exactly like every woman Vi has ever had before: a fucking animal, deep down, ready to bolt out of the cage the second the door cracks open.
She almost doesn’t even wanna know what Cupcake could do with a cock, though. Unless her dumbass backpack contains a strap-on for some reason (glorified Piltie scout), Vi supposes that’ll remain a mystery… for another day?
Not that she ever wants to see this Enforcer asshole ever again, once their deal is complete. They’re just blowing off some steam, so they can get through tomorrow without throwing punches and/or pistol whipping each other. However, she would like to see Cupcake’s jiggling tits (did she take her top and bra off with her shorts and panties?) and flushed, wild, sweaty face now.
Vi tries to turn around and look, but Caitlyn only presses harder on her shoulder and back, pinning Vi again, and she’s too aroused to struggle. It feels intentional, calculated. Caitlyn probably doesn’t like being seen like this: undignified, feral, greedy, impossibly far-off from the stuffy, boring woman Vi met. Vi can imagine her younger and frustrated, an ordinarily-docile goody-two-shoes overwhelmed by hormones and crawling out of her skin, taking it all out on a pillow or the corner of her mattress, hardly able to look herself in the mirror afterward, as if it weren’t as natural a thing to do as a bird flying. Poor, uptight Pilties. They don’t have time for that kind of petty shame in the lanes, and Vi had to get over what little concern she had about her own animal instincts right quick in Stillwater unless she wanted to go crazy, like she’s going crazy now.
Caitlyn’s soft, feminine moans aren’t helping. She’s oh-ing and mm-ing like she’s the one getting held down and smashed into rubble, the one being used like a mere object for another’s release. Every so often, a shuddering groan sneaks out as she catches just right and breaks her rhythm, rocking backward to rub the whole of her pussy on the abused ass under it, before tipping her hips forward again and dragging her clit on wet, exhausted muscle and starting the whole cycle over again.
“You really are an ass girl, aren’t ya?” Vi mumbles brainlessly, just to say something other than use me, Caitlyn. “Don’t think I didn’t clock the cheeks on your babe from earlier. You could see ‘em from Noxus,” she adds, just to add something other than, please.
“You should be more respectful of women,” Caitlyn admonishes, as she holds Vi down and smashes her into rubble, using her like a mere object for her own release.
With another high-pitched whine, Caitlyn shifts, squeezing her thighs tight around Vi’s hips as she leans forward and drapes her front over Vi’s back. She did take her top and bra off; Vi wishes she’d taken her bra off too so she could feel more of Caitlyn’s skin, slick and hot as blood, as it sinks down over her. What she can feel is jumping, tense abdominals against her lumbar as Caitlyn continues pumping her hips; plush, heavy tits with hard nipples squishing against her shoulder blades; damp tendrils of hair ghosting her shoulder. Caitlyn moves one hand to flex and grip into the shorn side of Vi’s hair, and the other, she rubs along Vi’s folded arm from her deltoid to her elbow and back, groping each muscle in turn. Last, Caitlyn drops her lips to Vi’s neck and shoulder, moaning and mumbling lips soothing the same area she’d just vice-gripped within an inch of its life.
Vi is exhausted even though she hasn’t really done anything; at this point, she wouldn’t be surprised if Caitlyn sunk inch-long fangs into her neck and formally bled her dry like a creature from a horror comic.
The greater skin-to-skin contact is a blessing and a curse; on one hand, it makes it feel a million degrees hotter and Vi is already on the verge of spontaneous human combustion, but on the other, it feels more intimate, less impersonal, less like Vi’s just an insanely sexy hunk of beef for Caitlyn to fingerbang and grind her clit on… which, actually—she does not need that shit right now. So, it’s all a curse. Vi rejects further thought on that matter and focuses on her own breathing as Caitlyn’s grows more and more erratic by the second.
At least from Vi’s perspective, it’s anti-climactic when Caitlyn finally comes: no screaming, no scratching, no squirting. It’s downright modest, despite the intense immodesty that preceded it. Caitlyn just huffs a protracted, girly sigh into Vi’s neck and twitches and slows her hips, and melts even deeper onto Vi’s back, a sweaty, white-hot hundred-something-pound sack of potatoes. If it weren’t for the fingers gently scratching her scalp and caressing her bicep, Vi would think Caitlyn passed out.
Vi’s hasn’t done a lot of cuddling, so she’s not exactly sure what to do with herself while Caitlyn comes back down. Is she supposed to say something? Good game?
Fortunately, Caitlyn stirs just in time to absolve Vi of that responsibility. Clumsily, like her long limbs turned into lead, she hauls herself off of Vi (the breeze of air that washes over Vi’s back feels like heaven) and flops onto the floor—she misses the edge of the cushion and Vi figures that serves her right. She threw Vi onto the floor earlier, so she can throw herself onto the floor now.
It doesn’t seem to bother her. Vi wouldn’t have guessed she could even look that relaxed; turns out her eyebrows can unknit and her jaw can unclench. She actually looks quite pretty, flushed a deep, blotchy pink all the way from her ears to her breasts. On her face is a warm, peaceful smile. Her eyes are closed blissfully this time, but it reminds Vi of her expression from earlier with the patron: relaxed, honest, gentle.
Something (probably, all of Caitlyn’s behavior up to this point) tells Vi that Caitlyn would appreciate it, so even though it feels awkward, or unnatural, she reaches out and brushes her knuckles over her shoulder and upper arm. Caitlyn sighs contentedly in response, so Vi’s hunch feels right.
It also occurs to her that it’s the same shoulder she checked earlier, when Caitlyn insinuated The Last Drop would have bodies buried under it. Maybe they were both unfair for that one. Maybe she should apologize? Not tonight but, maybe when they finally get what they need and can ditch each other for good.
After a while, Caitlyn takes a more purposeful deep breath and lets it out slowly as she sits up. She turns to Vi and offers a small smile and a pat on the knee, then hauls herself off the ground toward the sink. Vi didn’t realize how much her tank top and shorts covered her up, earlier: it seems there’s an impossible amount of skin on display now, and she’s suddenly miffed she barely got to see or feel any of it.
There’s a small basket of washcloths nearby, so Caitlyn plucks two out of the pile and wets them and tosses one to Vi. Luckily, she’s already turned back around and doesn’t see Vi miss the catch.
“We should get some rest. Maybe we can get an earlier start tomorrow after all,” Caitlyn suggests breezily, giving herself a thorough rub-down. Hyper-aware, like her nerves have all been shocked, Vi catches a soft grunt when she reaches her crotch; it must be sore.
Mindlessly, Vi replies, “Yeah, sure, Cai—Cupcake.”
Seemingly satisfied with her cleanliness, Caitlyn turns around and it’s like her tits knock the air out of Vi’s lungs from all the way across the room. But also, Vi feels bad for calling her Officer Jugs earlier, even if it was only in her head. That’s rude, right? Apparently, Caitlyn is an actual human being, despite being an Enforcer. She doesn’t deserve that. She’ll stick with Cupcake.
Caitlyn casually steps over Vi on her way to a side table next to the couch, holding a crystal decanter of water and glasses. “Well,” she says, pouring two cups, “I think we can each take a cushion and two of the pillows and survive for a night. There’s room to spread out.”
As she hands Vi a glass, their fingers brush together and sends sparks up Vi’s arm and down her spine. Vi chugs her glass, trying to figure out what's bothering her.
It hits her like a brick:
Oh, no.
What if Caitlyn catches feelings?