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you make me merry (make me very very happy)

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Dawn light shone in through the window of the hotel room like beams of liquid gold. The air was warm and thick, wrapped around Eve and Villanelle more than the blanket of the bed they laid intertwined on. A colorful suit jacket crumpled in the corner and a turtleneck that was inside out hung limply off of the dresser along with several other articles of clothing.

To be frank, the room was a mess. It didn’t bother Eve in the slightest.

Heat radiated off of Villanelle’s sleeping form curled into her side, her head resting on Eve’s collarbone where the skin met to stick with humidity. She couldn’t help but crane her neck to gaze at the assassin in this morning light, to trace the gentle slope of her cheekbones with her eyes and replay the memory of pressing hot kisses to the expanse of her neck the night before. Villanelle stirred and sleepily opened her eyes. She smiled softly.

Eve never would have known that the woman who came barging into her kitchen to eat microwaved shepherd’s pie would be capable of such beauty and softness. Nor would she have thought that she’d be in bed of all places with the same woman who had killed Bill, Gemma, an endless list of others—but here she was. She saw through all of it and had latched onto the assassin in a full free-fall. Thoughtfully, she threaded a hand through blonde strands in reverence as if diamonds were trickling through her fingers.

“Good morning,” Eve spoke lowly. In her mind’s eye, she rolled over to find Hugo next to her, Villanelle’s presence only coming through an earpiece. Not this time.

“Hi,” Villanelle whispered, voice thick like honey. She tucked herself further into Eve rather than pull away, took the time to press kisses against her bare shoulder. Her insides felt warm and gooey like freshly baked cookies and she was pleasantly sore in places that she didn’t mind so much.

“Did you sleep well?” The older woman asked. A finger lightly ran down the plane of Villanelle’s back soothingly, up and down, up and down, around and around in broad strokes.

The blonde chuckled. “Of course,” she replied, her voice rasping. “When I got the chance. You are full of surprises, aren’t you, Eve?”

Eve’s eyes darkened, her pupils dilating to overtake the brown. She felt heat rise to her skin, but it certainly wasn’t because of embarrassment.

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” She shifted her weight and threw a leg over Villanelle’s hips to straddle her for what would be the second time in a span of twenty four hours. As she slid her hands up the assassin’s body indulgently and followed with her lips, their reverie was broken by the sound of Eve’s cell phone ringing.

I’m on the highway to Hell! On the highway to Hell! Highway to Hell!

Eve groaned.

“Fuck,” she cursed, sitting up properly and grasping blindly on the night table for the phone as ACDC ripped the previously peaceful silence to shreds.

Villanelle smirked underneath her. “I wish you would,” she said, but patiently busied herself with sliding warm hands up the tan surface of Eve’s thighs. She watched a wide range of emotions flicker across the other woman’s face: confusion, irritation, resignation. The cell phone went silent as Eve tossed it aside.

“Carolyn wants us to meet her in ten minutes,” Eve sighs.

“That gives us five,” Villanelle quips, and promptly tugs Eve back down to her by the black mass of curly hair on her head.