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when you move, i’m moved

Chapter Text

“What are you doing?”

Eve stopped clicking her ballpoint pen, pulled out of her daze by the crackling sound of Villanelle’s voice through her earpiece.

It was late, she wasn’t expecting to do much else for the evening, with Villanelle about to call it a night and, hell, Hugo was already passed out on the bed behind her. So Eve had let her thoughts wander a bit, until Villanelle called her back from her daydream.

She briefly wondered if there was trouble brewing. Was Aaron coming to Villanelle’s room? Had their cover been blown? Eve had a moment to form those worries in her mind, cursing that she had no way to communicate from her end, before Villanelle came through the line again.

This time she sighed heavily, releasing her breath almost as a chuckle, but mostly in a huff of air that wasn’t quite frustrated, but almost. Eve sat up straighter in her chair as Villanelle took a slow breath followed by a heavy pause.

“Are you going to listen all night?”

Eve stayed motionless, knowing Villanelle was well aware that Eve couldn’t answer her questions. She was the only one with a mic. In that sense it was like a game. A new take on a familiar role where Eve was forced to react rather than take control.

“Are you having fun in Rome?”

Villanelle’s voice dripped, molten, into Eve’s ear, before she let out a low chuckle.

”You should let yourself go once in a while.”

There it was, Eve thought. Not what she’d necessarily expected, but where she’d hazarded a guess it would go. Had, maybe, hoped it would go, this game of theirs. She tried to think of what to say or do, only to remember again that she had no mic. That Villanelle held all the power. She wondered, fleetingly, if she should just take the earpiece out and leave Villanelle with no audience. But curiosity stayed her hand. Curiosity, and the growing knot in her stomach, the heat between her legs, and the voice that told her to stay, listen, you need to listen.

Villanelle’s shaking breath, followed by a slouching sigh, like liquid fire pouring into Eve through the earpiece, were the final nails in her coffin.

Eve felt herself taking a steady, slow breath, tilting her head back ever so slightly. As if she were allowing Villanelle to press her lips to her neck between snarky remarks about her work ethic. As if Villanelle were pulling her hair, forcing her jaw up, exposing her skin to gnashing teeth. As if she were tumbling over the edge, throwing her head back as her body clenched around slender fingers-

“I can help you.”

It was followed by another low chuckle, husky and rich and teasing. And in that moment Eve knew that she’d lost.

She was warm all over, burning in some places with a need so strong she thought she might combust. In the back of her mind she wondered if this had always been there, curling inside her like a serpent waiting to strike. Or was this just simply the power that Villanelle had over her, to turn her ravenous with nothing more than a few words whispered into a microphone at night. Eve didn’t stop to think on it, instead feeling the tension build in her like an elastic about to snap, and she needed a release, she needed, needed-

Villanelle’s breathing, like curling smoke, flowed into her ears. Eve turned her head, looking over at Hugo, asleep behind her. Villanelle sighed again, a noise bordering on a moan that threatened to set Eve aflame. She needed something, anything.

She needed to listen, she wouldn’t stop listening. But to listen in stillness and silence was an unbearable option. Villanelle would be in her ears, inside her head, breathing and sighing and moaning and whatever other noises she would make (and fuck, Eve needed to hear it all). She needed an outlet, and so she rose slowly out of her chair and made her way to the bed.

Some small voice of reason almost convinced her to stop. But the voice had been weaker and weaker as of late, and that hungry, needy part of her was stronger. Villanelle’s sighs, each breathier than the last, each a promise of something more, continued to come through the earpiece and threatened to unravel Eve before she’d even crossed the floor. It only fueled her forward, and when she reached the bed she tugged the covers off Hugo’s sleeping body and flipped him over on to his back.

“What are you doing? Okay-“ he fumbled, before he saw the hungry look on Eve’s face, and the way her hands grasped at him. When realization dawned on him, he almost smirked. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Don’t talk,” Eve commanded. It was a shame to have to use Hugo, and he didn’t know, couldn’t know what had motivated her to need him at that moment. She thought a sane person might have felt guilty, but in that instant all she needed was his body and his silence. He had to stay quiet so she could hear-

“Mmh, I wonder how you would touch me.”

Villanelle’s voice dripped into her, and Eve felt an urgency take over her. She needed to feel something, anything, if she was going to be listening. Hugo obediently kept his mouth shut as he slid his briefs down his thighs. Eve stepped back off the bed, undid her pants, and let them fall to the floor. She didn’t bother with her underwear, she just pulled them aside roughly with one hand while climbing back onto the bed. Out of the corner of her eye she felt Hugo watching her but she didn’t return his gaze. She just let her eyes drift shut as she lowered her body onto his.

“Jesus,” she heard him whisper. She didn’t bother to reply. She knew she was wet, too wet for him to be the reason she was so turned on. It would probably dawn on him eventually that he had nothing to do with what she was feeling. But he’d get a good lay out of it, she figured, before she let those thoughts drift away and focused on the woman inside her head.

Villanelle’s sighs had turned harsher, huskier, and Eve felt herself burning with curiosity to know Villanelle’s every move. Was she stroking her nipples? Teasing herself at her thighs? Circling her clit? Eve bit her lip at the thought and ground her hips down. It made Hugo groan, and he lifted his hands to her hips to steady her. She didn’t care enough to move them away, and let him hold her as she planted her hands against his chest.

“I think-“ Villanelle’s voice crackled to life, only to be cut short by gasp of breath, a sharp intake that had Eve dying to know if it meant she was inside herself. “I think you would want to be rough with me,” she finished, barely holding on to her casual tone as more heavy breathing flowed to Eve’s eardrums.

“Fuck,” Eve groaned, rocking her hips against the body beneath her, feeling pressure build as she pictured Villanelle touching herself, Villanelle touching her, Villanelle choking out her name while Eve wrapped her fingers around her throat. 

“And-“ another moan from Villanelle, this one coming from the back of her throat, vibrating through the earpiece to the base of Eve’s spine. “I think you would want me to be rough with you.” 

Eve couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her lips. When she let out her next breath it came out as a ragged moan. Unconsciously, eyes still shut tight, she dug her nails into the skin under her fingers. It wasn’t a man beneath her, it wasn’t someone’s chest she was grasping at. It was Villanelle. She was clawing at Villanelle’s back, forcing DNA evidence underneath her nails that would prove it, prove that they’d been together in a mess of sweat and sex. She would scratch at her with every intention of leaving marks completely unlike the scar she’d already marred her with. Eve shivered at the thought. 

Villanelle moaned again, and Eve briefly wondered if it was a holy or unholy thing, listening to the sounds of a killer, and liking it far too much. 

She imagined Villanelle fucking herself on her bed, hair splayed out around her like some sinful halo, one hand clutching the bed sheets while the other worked between her thighs. She felt her orgasm building, preparing to unravel her the more she listened to the breathless voice crackling in her ear. 

“I want, mmh, I want to taste you.” 

Eve shuddered and felt her hips rut against her partner, her thighs began to clench. She vaguely registered pressure on her hips, like someone digging their fingers in to keep her grounded, but she was already so far gone into her fantasy, nothing would pull her back. 

“I would, mmh, push you up against the wall and hold you there and get down on my knees and- and eat you out-“ Villanelle’s breaths came quicker, the words pouring out between gasps and moans and fuck, Eve was picking up her rhythm now, grinding her hips and letting Villanelle’s voice send her closer to coming undone. A desperate whisper fell from her lips.

Oh, god.

She felt the pressure between her legs, the pleasure of someone inside her, and she knew it was Villanelle fucking her. Villanelle beneath her, inside her, taking over her like a plague. Eve sucked in a breath, wanting more, needing to feel more.

”-and I would not stop until your legs were shaking so much you couldn’t stand, and, fuck, you would be begging me, and saying my name over and over-“ 

Eve felt it then, the dangerous betrayal of her lips as Villanelle’s name formed between them. She clamped her mouth shut, but it echoed in her brain all the same. 

Villanelle, Villanelle, Villanelle.

”-and I would come up and kiss you, with your taste all over my mouth and, fuck, baby-

Eve’s orgasm came then as Villanelle cut off, her words devolving into a series of ragged breaths and shuddering moans. It was too soon, Eve thought, she wanted more and more and more but she couldn’t help the way Villanelle’s voice, calling her baby, had thrown her over the edge. She felt her muscles clench and she threw her head back, her mouth dropping open but refusing to let any sound come out aside from a shaky gasp. She listened to Villanelle’s orgasm through the earpiece, a series of moans that threatened to turn high pitched before they tapered off into choking breaths and then heavy sighs.

Fuck, Eve thought, gasping for air. It wasn’t long before Villanelle’s voice came through the line again. 

“Mmh, I hope that was as good for you as it was for me.”

Another chuckle, husky with sex. A long pause followed by with a deep, contented sigh.

“Goodnight, my darling Eve.”

And like that she was gone. Eve knew she’d hear nothing more from her tonight, and let out a ragged breath. She enjoyed her post-orgasm bliss for another second before she forced herself to open her eyes. She lowered her gaze and found Hugo gazing lazily up at her. She wasn’t sure if he’d finished, and she really didn’t care. It was sort of a shock to find him there at all. 

Before that mess of consequences could crash down upon her, she hummed at the back of her throat and rolled off of him. She threw off her jacket but otherwise left the rest of her clothes on, before laying down on the far side of the bed and rolling away from him. 

She thought she might’ve heard him mutter something under his breath, but she couldn’t bring herself to care in the least. She felt herself growing sleepy, and drifted off remembering the sound of Villanelle’s voice, her gasping breath, and the way she’d called her “baby” as they’d come undone together. 

Chapter Text

“You should let yourself go once in a while.”

The words left Villanelle’s lips in a drawl, slow and rich like molasses. She was staring at the ceiling of her room, lips twitching into a smile, but as she dipped her fingers lower across her stomach, she let her eyes drift shut, picturing Eve.

She would be sitting, unsatisfied, bored, at some generic hotel room table. Her equipment, a laptop or some other portable computer, would be propped open in front of her. The earpiece connecting them would be in place, nestled beneath layers of her curled, black hair. Villanelle imagined herself running her fingers through it, shaking it out, clenching her fists in it.

She sighed. A breathless, heavy thing that she hoped would translate into a tangible touch once it reached Eve through the mic. Something to curl into her ears, trickle down her spine, and settle at the apex of her thighs. She followed the thought with another shaking breath. Then she grinned to herself and went in for the kill. 

“I can help you.”

And she knew she could, in so many ways. She’d envisioned it enough times alone and while soaking in the sighs of other women, always calling them Eve, always finding the visions in her head more satisfying than the feel of them beneath her hands.

Eve. Would this teasing be enough to turn her yet, pull her away from her supposed work and push her towards what Villanelle knew she was actually craving. What they had both been gravitating towards.

Eve, of course, had always denied it, run from it. Villanelle, on the other hand, embraced it, this attraction, addiction, obsession. But she knew from Paris that she’d pushed too hard, dancing out of Eve’s grasp only to force her too close all at once, causing her to snap, instead of bend. And after Amsterdam, she’d almost thought about abandoning it altogether. Almost. Recent times had convinced her otherwise, convinced her to dance around Eve once more, only the context, and the endgame, had changed. She knew Eve better now.

Villanelle sighed again, fueling her arousal by picturing Eve equally turned on, but powerless to do anything about it. She imagined that she would be listening, intently, reverently, to the sounds of Villanelle breathing and sighing and moaning into her ear. She imagined she would cross her legs, frowning all the while, only to uncross them again when the pressure reminded her just how badly she wanted, needed, something more. Maybe she would stand up from her table and heave a great sigh in frustration. Run her fingers through her hair in exasperation. Villanelle let out a soft moan at the thought, hoping that when it reached Eve it would be coated in sin, dark and sticky and weighing Eve down with the almost, the not quite.

She slunk her fingers from where they’d been teasing herself at her hips down to rest them between her thighs. She sucked in another breath, knowing that Eve was hanging on to every noise, the sounds of her breathing like the incantation for some spell, designed to pull Eve in and leave her enchanted, a prisoner to the rise and fall of her staggered sighs.

She wondered, briefly, if she ought to stay silent and wordless, forcing Eve to figure out for herself all the things she could be thinking, doing. But she decided to tease her more instead, to present her with thoughts and ideas amongst the gradually increasing intensity of her moans. 

“I wonder how you would touch me.”

She let the words fall from her lips slowly, drawing them out like the slow tracing of fingers against skin. Her own fingers crept lower, until she was dragging the tips through skin slick with want. She moaned at the thought of Eve, equally wet, equally wanting, and began circling her fingers around her clit.

It wasn’t long before she felt herself trembling. Thoughts of kissing Eve, touching her, exploring her, drove her fingers to press harder.

“I think-“ she began to press into herself, and she imagined the gasp escaping her lips as a living thing, crawling down Eve’s throat to give her a shaky breath of her own. “-I think you would want to be rough with me.”

She exhaled in a huff, frustration and arousal intermingling. She wanted Eve there. She wanted the press of her body, warm and willing and nothing at all like the press of a knife. Eve would want to discover her, explore her, and most of all, conquer her.

Villanelle knew this. Their cat-and-mouse, push-and-pull, was awakening things buried within Eve that only she had the power to draw out, like sucking out a poison and turning it into polish, and Eve would be brand new. All thanks to her. It made her shiver, thinking of all the power she had. All the change she’d forced.

She dipped her fingers inside herself, moaned again, long and languid, before speaking again into her mic.

“And I think you would want me to be rough with you.”

In many of her daydreams she’d pictured Eve as brought down from being a determined fanatic into a pliant devotee. She saw herself pulling her hair, cornering her against walls, pushing her down onto beds. Rough, eager, unstoppable.

She continued her movements, pushing her fingers deeper, feeling pressure build inside her. This part was the sweetest, like the second-to-last bite of her favourite cake. Not quite finished but necessary to savour. The buildup mattered as much as the climax, and she felt shuddering gasps leave her as she worked herself closer to the edge.

“I want-“ she moaned, picking up the pace of her fingers, in and out, the heel of her palm rubbing against her clit. “-I want to taste you.”

She imagined Eve, frustrated and dripping. She wondered if she would be listening, laying back on her bed with her fingers twitching towards the hem of her pants. Maybe she would excuse herself to go to the bathroom, and fuck herself hurriedly, desperately, bent over the sink, a hallowed reflection the only company aside from Villanelle’s teasing in her ear. Maybe she’d find someone to fuck, a certainly distasteful idea, but one Villanelle used to her advantage all the same, imagining Eve in someone else’s embrace but completely devoted to her alone. It was enough to take her to the brink.

“I would push you up against the wall and hold you there-“ the words began to pour out. She was shaking, eyes squeezed shut, and she wanted to give Eve more, one last taunting tease before she came undone. “-and get down on my knees and eat you out. And I would not stop until your legs were shaking so much that you couldn’t stand.”

Her fingers worked faster, harder, and she felt her breathing coming in fits and spurts, a ragged sort of symphony. She saw the scene in her mind, Eve pressed between her and a wall, Villanelle in control and-


She saw Eve grab her by the hips, hard, and flip them. Eve pushing her flat against the wall, hard enough to make her teeth chatter and her jaw drop open in surprise. Eve, eyes hooded, bringing her lips to her neck, kissing her, biting her.

Villanelle gasped, a noise borne from both pleasure and surprise. She saw Eve dipping her hands below the hem of her shirt, clawing at fabric and tugging it over her head. Eve, moving her hands over bare skin, pressing her teeth to the flush of her chest, digging her nails into the scar saved from the last time Villanelle had sought to have her.

No, no, no.

She was in control. She held the power. She-

She saw, no, she felt Eve dragging her fingers lower, pushing aside the fabric of her underwear, caressing skin that was wet, so wet-

Villanelle tried to regain control. She found her voice and again used words to paint her picture, her desires.

“And I would come up and kiss you-“

She saw Eve pushing her down onto a bed.

“-with your taste all over my mouth-“

Eve crawling, prowling over top of her, drinking her in, biting her neck, straddling her hips.


Eve’s lips all over her, her breath hot against her, her fingers inside of her and reaching, reaching places not worshipped in too long a time.

Eve, Eve, Eve.

“-fuck, baby-“

She caved, and she came, and Eve was all around her, consuming every inch of her and lapping up whatever might fall between the cracks. Villanelle bit down hard against her bottom lip, refusing to allow more words to slip out, the treachery of her unbidden thoughts already staining her with something not quite shame, but close enough.

She couldn’t help the moans, however, which travelled from the back of her throat and out into open air, where she felt they would be written like confessions to be whispered into Eve’s awaiting ears.

I want you.

I need you.

Take me, I’m yours.

When she finally caught her breath she steeled herself, ready to again play her role in their perpetual game. 

“I hope that was as good for you as it was for me,” she hummed, glad for the distance between them, the ability for her to disguise her weakness and paint it as simply the heady unraveling that came from good sex. 

“Goodnight, my darling Eve,” she breathed, hoping it would leave Eve hanging, leave her needing even more.

But more for her own sake, Villanelle resolved to stay silent for the rest of the night. Her fingers were slick, her thighs getting sticky, and somehow she found herself still throbbing, her body still wanting. 

She rolled over onto her side and scrunched her eyes shut tight. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she tried not to think of Eve, for all she saw were visions of her teeth biting at her skin, her fingers curled around her neck, her tongue lapping at her clit. And always herself, powerless, willing and eager to do anything Eve asked. She felt herself quiver, and she knew she was a goner.