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When It Rains, It Pours

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Caitlyn’s Saturday starts like any other. She wakes up at six o’clock to the hazy early morning sun streaming in through the large windows in her bedroom - better than any alarm clock - and drowsily meanders out to the kitchen to turn her coffee maker on. While her coffee brews, she heads back to her bedroom to change out of her pajamas and into her workout clothes, stopping in her bedroom doorway on her way back out to the kitchen to gently stretch her shoulders and quads with the aid of the doorframe. 

She finishes her short trip to the kitchen, retrieving her favorite mug from the cabinet above the coffee maker - it’s a hideously ugly thing, but it makes her smile every time she sees it, remembering that disastrous pottery class she had taken with Jayce a few years ago, both of them (and the instructor) completely stunned when they managed to make each other’s Snowdown gifts watertight. After grabbing some oat milk creamer from the fridge and dumping a liberal amount into her coffee - she’s never been able to drink it black - she walks around her kitchen island and over to the plush couch in her living area to plop herself down and watch the news while she waits for the caffeine to start making her feel like a person. 

“...Earlier this morning, a Zaunite citizen was caught on security footage from several stores on Progress Avenue running through the streets of Piltover, carrying what looks to be a heavy bag. The suspect was pursued by police, who you can see here, and, we’re told, was later apprehended.” 

Caitlyn watches the grainy footage with interest, noting what looks to be a young Zaunite citizen running down Progress Avenue in the dark, tripping on cobblestones and disappearing from frame, the camera observing the empty street for a few moments before no less than five uniformed officers run past…with their batons out. The footage ends, and the trite garbage that passes for news in Piltover resumes. 

“Well, Cindy, all I have to say is thank goodness for our brave officers. I personally can’t imagine having to contend with these criminals every day…”

Caitlyn tunes out for a moment, not needing to hear anything more, already making a mental note to keep an eye on her email, and to reach out to her contact tomorrow to find out if there have been any attempts from concerned parties to contact the young Zaunite, or if Caitlyn needs to go down there are get the kid out herself. She fights the instinct to go right now, since it’s one that hasn’t served her or her clients well in the past. She knows now that, with her name, and her face, and her general “Piltie” demeanor, she’ll either spook the kid if they’re still alone, or be written off as a swindler by the family. Zaun has an extraordinarily tight-knit community, and Caitlyn has learned that she can help the most by being available when she’s needed, and by working to make sure that the appropriate people are keeping a close eye on the well-being of the arrestees after they’re brought in. She can’t do as much as she’d like about the officers with chips on their shoulders and ready access to weapons, but she can send a quick text to Viktor at the hospital, asking him to swing by the police station as soon as he can to tend to anyone there who might need help. 

After listening to the weather report - it’s nearly winter, and bitterly cold outside, though the forecast doesn’t predict any precipitation over the next few days - Caitlyn switches off the tv, deposits her coffee mug in the sink, grabs her water bottle out of the fridge, and makes her way to the front door to grab her coat and scarf off the coat rack, slip into her warm boots, and grab the workout bag she always leaves right by the door. 

In just a few minutes, she’s out the door and on her way to her morning Pilates class with Mel. Her friend is on the Council, and therefore even busier than Caitlyn herself is - and that’s saying something - but she religiously makes time for herself and for Caitlyn every Saturday morning. 

_____

 

After class, sweaty and limber, Caitlyn and Mel make their way to a nearby coffee shop, where Mel orders herbal tea and a scone, and Caitlyn gets her usual double shot oat milk latte, complete with disapproving look from Mel, and a slice of chocolate cake. 

As they move to one of the small tables by the fireplace, Mel sits gracefully in the plush armchair and leans forward slightly in her chair, “So…”

Caitlyn’s arranging herself in her own chair, but looks up at Mel’s leading tone, reading the overly excited expression, the quirk in her lips, and the hands reaching toward her own over the table for what they are, “No.” 

“Oh, come on, Caitlyn! It’s been ages since you’ve dated anyone. Can you blame a friend for trying to set you up with a nice girl?”

“Yes. Yes, I can. Mel, you have set me up on no less than four blind dates, and all of them have ended in disaster.” Mel looks disappointed at Caitlyn’s observation, pouting thoughtfully and tapping two fingers against her lips as she leans back in her chair. 

“Well, what about Nora? She’s lovely, I was so sure you two would hit it off.” 

“Three minutes into dinner, she started addressing me as ‘Omega’ and insisted that I’d look fetching in a collar that matched the one she was wearing. I didn’t even make it all the way through the appetizers.” 

Mel’s eyes widen slightly, “That’s certainly…something. She’s really been very effective at expanding environmental protections for endangered species in the Freljord. She’s actually been consulting with the Council on how to do the same around Piltover.” 

“I’m sure she’s incredibly good at her job, and I wouldn’t necessarily mind seeing her again in a professional setting if it were required, but I’m afraid our…proclivities really are not compatible.”

As Max, the gangly, boyish-looking waiter who started at the cafe a few months ago to fund his studies at the University of Piltover, comes over with their drinks and treats, depositing them on the table and checking to be sure they don’t need anything else, Caitlyn takes a deep breath, preparing herself for more of her friend’s well-meaning but slightly…forceful advice. 

Max departs, and Caitlyn tucks into her cake - delicious - feeling Mel looking at her from across the table. Caitlyn finishes her bite, primly dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin, “what?” 

“You need to get laid.” 

Caitlyn chokes on the sip of her latte she had just taken to wash the cake down. 

“Mel! Keep your voice down,” Caitlyn hisses, looking around the cafe, already packed even at a quarter past eight. 

“What? You do. You’re wound so tightly I can practically hear you vibrating, and you’re having chocolate cake and caffeine for breakfast. This is a cry for help. Seriously, when was the last time you fucked someone?” 

Mel looks overly satisfied with how much her blunt question startles Caitlyn, somehow filling the action of plucking the teabag out of her tea and daintily setting it on a saucer with enough expectation that Caitlyn starts twisting her fingers together in her lap, a habit not broken by either her mother or a string of exasperated etiquette tutors.

When she can no longer bear Mel’s expectant expression, complete with narrowed eyes - goodness, she’s actually serious about this - Caitlyn heaves a sigh, pressing her middle and ring fingers to her right eyebrow and thinking about the barren plain that is her love life - not her favorite topic, “I suppose it’s been. Well. The last relationship I had ended…two years ago? You know how that went,” Mel makes a sympathetic noise, “And a few months ago, Jayce dragged me out to that new nightclub, Shimmer? Awful name, by the way, do people in Piltover have no empathy? Honestly. I danced with a very beautiful woman, but while I was on the dancefloor, Jayce had a few too many of the ‘Chemical Cocktails’ they were serving, and I had to take him home before the exalted ‘Man of Progress’ embarrassed himself too badly.” 

It’s silent for the few, long moments before Caitlyn takes her fingers away from her eyebrow and looks up at Mel, who is sitting very still across from her, holding her teacup and saucer suspended in the air and wearing an absolutely stunned expression. She sets her china back on the table, opens and closes her mouth a few times, and settles finally on, “...you haven’t gotten laid in two years?” 

“Hmm,” Caitlyn hums a slightly amused affirmative before continuing, “well, it’s not like Dylan and I were even having sex toward the end, so I actually think it’s been more like three.” 

Mel seems to have absolutely no idea what to do with this information, blinking at her with wide eyes. Caitlyn’s never once heard the gorgeous and incredibly poised woman across from her splutter, but Caitlyn’s admission seems like it’s brought her close.  

Taking pity on her friend, Caitlyn continues, “Really, Mel. I don’t even think about it. My practice keeps me so busy, plus no one has really struck my fancy lately,” she pauses to think and adds after a moment, “and I have access to online shopping at some very…useful stores.” 

This admission breaks Mel free of her shocked trance, “Caitlyn Kiramman, are you really telling me that your job and vibrators have replaced your desire for companionship?” 

Caitlyn laughs a little self-deprecatingly, picking up her fork again, “Well…it would certainly be nice to have someone, but my job and my bedside drawer suffice perfectly well for now.” 

Mel nods, picking up her teacup and saucer again, “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Though, really, you know I’d like to,” Caitlyn smiles with her as Mel moves on from her disastrous love life. “You’ll never believe what happened at dinner last Tuesday at Councilor Bolbok’s house…” 

____

 

After finishing her weekly catchup with Mel, Caitlyn makes the short walk back to her apartment, practically running up the four flights of stairs to her floor, determined to get out of the cold as quickly as possible. When she gets to her floor, her neighbor, Mrs. Ainsley, is bringing in groceries, so she stops for a moment to help her carry them in, before gently refusing an offer of some sort of repayment, insisting, “It was no trouble, really, Mrs. Ainsley, I’m happy to help,” and retreating back into the hall to unlock her own door and slip inside so she can finally take a hot bath after her workout class. 

The Pilates instructors at Fitness Progress are known for their killer workouts, and even only a few hours after class, Caitlyn’s starting to feel the soreness in her muscles, a feeling she’s reminded of as she struggles out of her heavy boots and coat and drops her workout bag back by the door. She makes her way through her apartment to the bathroom, stopping to strip out of her workout gear in front of the laundry hamper in her room, excited at the prospect of soaking off the sweat with the aid of one of the new bath bombs her mother had gifted her a few months prior for her birthday, and, well. Mel’s talk about her lack of love life had Caitlyn considering putting her detachable showerhead to good use. Maybe she could use a little extra relaxation. But, when she leans over the edge of the tub to turn the tap for the hot water, said detachable showerhead starts spraying freezing water all over Caitlyn, and her immaculate bathroom. Disoriented from the aggressive, cold spray of water, Caitlyn fumbles to standing, ducking and trying to block the spray with her hands. Since the spray seems like it’s coming from everywhere , that doesn’t work at all, and it’s at that point that Caitlyn’s brain is finally cold-shocked into restarting, and she darts down to turn the tap off. 

Thanks to her long moment of clumsiness, Caitlyn is aware of two things: one, her bathroom floor is soaked, and, two, the water was definitely on long enough to make it clear that the hot water is not working. 

Shit. 

______

 

After grabbing a few towels out of the cabinet and quickly drying off herself and then the floor - God, it’s on the walls - Caitlyn walks back into her bedroom to grab some dry clothes, settling on a soft, light purple long-sleeved shirt, black sweatpants, and her blue fuzzy slippers. Throwing the wet towels in the washing machine as she walks past it on the way to the living room to retrieve her phone from her coat pocket to call her landlord about a plumber.

Twenty minutes, and a very unsatisfying conversation with her landlord later, Caitlyn is considering switching from criminal defense law to whatever would allow her to most effectively sue her landlord for neglect. Or maybe at least asinine behavior. She might be overreacting a little, but apparently her landlord is out of town, and he usually does all the repairs himself. He had no recommendations, other than that Caitlyn should “just use the kitchen sink,” which will absolutely not work for her six-foot frame, and hung up before Caitlyn could come up with a suitable rebuttal, citing “ksssh, bad connection, kssshhhhhhh.” 

Deeply affronted at her landlord’s behavior, Caitlyn stares dumbly down at the “end call” screen on her phone for a few moments before considering her options. After a few minutes of looking between her phone and the kitchen sink - the gall - she decides on heading across the hall to find out if Mrs. Ainsley knows of any plumbers who could come out on a Saturday morning to fix her busted shower. 

Nodding resolutely to herself, she strides over to her door and steps through it and across the hall to knock crisply on the door. She can hear some light shuffling on the other side of the door before it swings open and she’s enthusiastically greeted by her elderly neighbor. 

“Caitlyn! To what do I owe the pleasure twice in one day?” 

“It’s very nice to see you again, too, Mrs. Ainsley,” Caitlyn smiles at the kindness and is glad for about the millionth time that she decided to move into this building, “I’m afraid my shower’s broken and Mr. Bradford is out of town and wasn’t able to tell me when he’d be back.” 

“Oh, that man. Useless. Sure, honey, I’ve got the number for the best repair crew in Zaun - Piltover, too, actually, but they’re based in Zaun, you see. Come on in and help yourself to some of that lemon cake while I find the number.” She walks into the apartment, a mirror of Caitlyn’s own, gesturing to her left at the covered plate on the kitchen island as she walks around it and over to the fridge. She hums to herself, looking over the magnets, postcards, and children’s drawings plastered all over the appliance as Caitlyn reaches under the plastic wrap to grab a light, fluffy, delicious slice of lemon cake. 

Caitlyn is just polishing off her slice and contemplating whether or not it would be rude to reach for another when Mrs. Ainsley lets out a victorious “a-ha!” and waves a business card in the air. She walks back over to where Caitlyn’s standing by the island and eyeing the cake, and hands her the business card with a flourish, “The Last Drop Plumbing and Repair. I’ve had to call them about a few jobs before - they always come right over, and they guarantee their repairs, but I’ve never had any issues. They’ve fixed everything from my kitchen sink to the faulty wiring behind my television that damn near caught the building on fire!” Caitlyn chuckles a little nervously at that revelation, making a mental note to get an electrician out soon to double check that nothing in her apartment is likely to burst into flames. 

“Thank you so much, you’ve really saved me so much trouble. I’ll get this back to you as soon as I can,” Caitlyn says, holding up the business card. 

“Oh, no worries, honey! Keep it as long as you need. And, here, take this whole plate with you,” Caitlyn tries to refuse, shaking her head and only managing to get out an, “oh, no, I couldn’t possibly-” before she’s cut off by her neighbor saying, “It’s no trouble! Those boys loved my baking when they came out the last few times, and you could do with some more meat on your bones.” She finishes out that statement by plunking the plate of lemon cake forcefully in Caitlyn’s hands and placing one hand on her lower back to gently usher her out the door. 

“Now, go on! It’s nearly ten, you’ll want to get that shower fixed before it gets cold tonight.” Caitlyn manages to eke out a hurried “thank you so much,” before she’s again alone in the hallway, this time holding a plate of cake and a business card. Right. 

She turns around and heads back into her apartment, gently setting the plate of lemon cake on the counter and turning the business card over in her long, slender fingers. The business’s name is in standard, block font with an illustration of a faucet with a single droplet leaking out hovering above the text. The office number is just below the logo, and she’s dialing the number with one hand and running the thumb of her opposite hand over the embossed letters while she listens to the line ring. 

A crisp “Whaddaya want?” interrupts the fourth ring, and Caitlyn is momentarily taken aback by the abrupt answer. The voice continues, “Helloooooooooooo? You got house problems or sumthin’?” Caitlyn regains her voice at that, because, yes, actually, she does have “house problems.” She clears her throat and says, “Yes, I’m trying to reach The Last Drop?” There’s loud chewing, followed by a pop coming from the receiver. 

“Yeah, you’ve got the right place. What’s the problem, toots?” More chewing filters through the receiver. Caitlyn’s trying to figure out how she got to a point in her life where she’s having a serious phone conversation with a bubblegum-chewing receptionist who’s calling her nicknames more suited to a prostitute from fifty years ago, but she soldiers on, “Ah, yes, I have no hot water and my shower is broken and spraying water everywhere. I’d really like to get someone out to fix it today, if possible.” 

More chewing. Another pop. 

“Yeah, no problem! I think maybe,” she draws out the syllables of the word so it covers several beats, “yeah, you lucked out. We just had a cancellation, so I can send Vi out right away. If it’s your water heater, we should be able to get that taken care of today, since you caught us in the morning. Right in time, too, right? Colder than an ice witch’s tit out there, ain’t it?” There’s some clattering and a muffled, “Vi! Move your ass, you got a job!” before the chewing is again loud and clear, “Name and address, toots?” Caitlyn gives the brusque but efficient receptionist her contact information, and is left with a, “Great! Vi’s heading out now. Should be there in about twenty minutes.” 

Caitlyn’s in the middle of a “Great, tha–” when the line goes dead. For the second time today, she’s left staring at the “end call” screen on her phone, except, thankfully, this time there’s help arriving soon. 

______

 

Had Caitlyn told Mel that no one had struck her fancy lately? That was now an outright lie. The pink-haired woman in front of her wearing a white t-shirt, thick, worn navy pants, and heavy work boots, casually checking the notes on her clipboard was doing things to Caitlyn’s heart rate she’d rather not admit. Because, of course, “Vi Wick, here with The Last Drop Plumbing and Repair?” was a stunningly beautiful, incredibly muscular woman, and not the typical middle aged “repair guy” in dirty coveralls who scratched his ass while he poked around under the sink and muttered about washers and lug nuts. 

Realizing abruptly that said plumber was now looking up at her expectantly, Caitlyn stutters into motion, stepping back and swinging open the door to her apartment fully while sweeping an arm out in the universal gesture for “come in.” 

“Right! Yes, sorry, Ms. Wick. I, uhm. I appreciate you coming out on a weekend, I know you must be very busy.” 

Caitlyn watches as the plumber, Vi, leans down to stretch blue cloth booties over her boots before stepping over the threshold and into her apartment, “No problem! The morning’s only been a little crazy, and shower troubles are never fun. And, please. It’s Vi.”

“Alright. Vi.” Caitlyn smiles at her before shutting the door and gesturing for Vi to follow her back to the bedroom. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the chance to clean up after my workout this morning. I apologize for my unkempt appearance.” 

Vi chuckles at that, and the low sound of amusement goes straight to Caitlyn’s core, making her clench involuntarily around nothing. Has the temperature in her apartment spiked or something? Maybe she has had too much coffee. Since she’s apparently starting to hallucinate painfully intense attraction to courteous service professionals. Caitlyn pushes off the stirring in her lower stomach, the sudden tightness in her throat, and hums inquisitively in response to Vi’s amusement. 

“You look more put-together than most people I see, Ms. Kiramman. One of the most recent house calls I made was for an elderly couple who needed safety bars installed, and neither of them tied their robes the entire time I was there,” Vi laughed a little awkwardly at the memory, making a face that told Caitlyn everything she needed to know about the couple’s sartorial choices beneath those robes. 

“Goodness! That must have been rather shocking. And, please, call me Caitlyn.” Caitlyn waves toward the bathroom down the narrow hallway just to the right of the door to her bedroom, and Vi nods at her and smiles as she walks past, heading in to deal with the broken showerhead. 

“It just went out this morning, yeah?” Vi asks from her place next to the tub, setting her clipboard on the sink to her left. Caitlyn leans a shoulder in the doorway, watching Vi in the mirror across from her in lieu of staring directly at her magnificent ass - who looks that good in utilitarian work pants? “Yes, it - “ 

But before Caitlyn can get her full sentence out, Vi twists both taps, and the broken showerhead positively hoses Vi - and some of the tile floor, again - with ice cold water. 

Chapter Text

Caitlyn’s staring. She knows she’s staring, and yet she can’t seem to make herself stop. The impression of a particularly enthusiastic geyser that her shower has just performed has left the plumber - Vi - absolutely soaked . It’s really quite unfortunate, and Caitlyn’s years of training in etiquette and perfect conduct in polite society really should have made her first thoughts be of getting her very prompt and professional rescuer a towel or a hot beverage or something, but, rather unfortunately ( luckily , her mind unhelpfully supplies), her traitorous eyes have drifted past a shock of now even more unruly pink hair, past the nose ring, past the lip scar currently contorting itself around an impressively colorful string of curses, along the soft but slightly uneven jaw, over the thick lines of the gear tattoo inked over neck tendons flexing with the effort of twisting the shower knobs to end the impromptu deluge, below the surprisingly delicate collarbones, and all the way down to the object… objects …of Caitlyn’s current fixation: indents on either side of two very perky nipples, barely concealed beneath a now nearly see-through white t-shirt. When the subject of her admiration finally turns around to grab a small towel off the bathroom sink (Caitlyn really should have been the one to hand that over, her mother would be deeply ashamed of how profoundly her manners were currently failing her), it only serves to jolt Caitlyn into noticing that, below the pert breasts and (pierced!) nipples, the rest of the tee is plastered to a torso with a small waist, impressively ridged with muscle. She’s so consumed with the mental image of the divots in the truly impressive set of abdominals under her fingertips that she barely registers that the feminine voice has stopped vehemently swearing at the shower, and started speaking to her. 

An amused “...with me?” breaks through Caitlyn’s daze. Caitlyn’s eyes snap quickly upward to meet steel gray ones, sparkling with barely concealed mirth and, oh , is that interest? Caitlyn’s not entirely sure. She is sure that she has been absolutely, irreparably caught staring at a service professional’s breasts. That realization finally jerks her violently back into the present moment, and she straightens from where she was leaning on the doorframe back to her full height, clearing her throat and finally regaining her powers of speech long enough to eke out a very awkward “uhm, yes?” Smooth, Kiramman.  

“Right. Yes. Sorry, uhm…you were saying?” She should probably stop fidgeting. She’s sure her now very wet ( don’t go there, Caitlyn, bad ) and annoyed? amused? rescuer - Vi, she reminds herself - can hear her depraved thoughts from across the bathroom. The very tiny bathroom. Why has the size of her bathroom never bothered her before? It’s absolutely miniscule. It’s a miracle Jayce can even stand properly in front of the sink to wash his hands.  

Vi takes a long pause before replying, mischief dancing at the corners of her mouth and tugging on her lip scar before she apparently decides on the more professional of whatever options she’s currently rolling around in her mind, “I wasn’t really saying anything other than that a little more warning on your demon-possessed shower would have been nice.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought…I thought you knew? I told the woman I spoke to on the phone earlier - I’m sorry, I don’t remember her name, I was so frazzled - that the shower was just spraying cold water everywhere. I had only just gotten the bathroom floor dried off when I called. She said she’d put it in the notes for the repair.” As soon as she mentions the receptionist, Vi leans across in front of her to grab her clipboard off of the bathroom sink, and Caitlyn is struck dumb for the second time in as many minutes as she realizes that she could now well and truly die a miserable, horny death, because Vi’s white t-shirt is soaked all the way through, and slicked to her back, which is both spectacularly well-muscled, and, Caitlyn can now see, finishes out the beautiful, geometric pattern of the black tattoos that wrap up her neck and skim down past her elbows. The view is gone as soon as it appears, as Vi swears softly and laughs, straightening back to where she’s standing near the tub and rubbing a hand over the buzzed hair of her undercut. Caitlyn tears her gaze away from where it’s landed on a thick, bunching bicep and moves it to the plumber’s - now slightly disgruntled - face, shaking her head slightly to clear the thought that there seems to be very little on this woman that doesn’t inspire in her an insane urge to just… nibble

After a long moment of staring down at the clipboard and turning pages, Vi speaks. 

“The receptionist, Jinx? She’s my sister, and I guess she decided it would be fun to check the box for ‘no hot water’ and not the one for ‘faulty valve.’ Didn’t come up here prepared to deal with a class A gusher.”

Caitlyn makes an involuntary, strangled little noise in the back of her throat at that, which Vi absolutely notices… shit . Caitlyn’s sure she’s now flushing hot enough to make her broken water heater totally irrelevant, but Vi’s looking at her expectantly, and she has to say something before she gets written off in this company’s books as “That Horny Fucking Lesbian Who Couldn’t Even Have A Coherent Conversation with A Very Professional Employee.” She clears her throat. 

“Does that affect the repair timeframe? Jinx, you said?” at Vi’s nod, she continues, “Jinx said that water heater issues are usually resolvable the same day since you had time for a morning evaluation.”

“Ah, yeah. Your water heater’s definitely not working - I need to go check out why it’s being uncooperative next - and the gasket for your detachable showerhead has broken down. Happens sometimes with older units - rubber just doesn’t hold up super well to the harder water here. Pressure means water’s gotta come out somewhere. It also looks like the connector for your shower head is cracked. That’s why the ‘shower’ was so dramatic. Should be a quick fix, since your system’s pretty standard - I just need to turn off the water and run down and grab a replacement from the truck.”

Caitlyn takes a moment to mull the new information over - it seems like it’s going to take a while to do the repairs, which isn’t ideal - she’s still sweaty from her morning workout, after all, but it’ll have to do. Breaking free of her logistical considerations, she notices that Vi is frowning down at her clothing, plucking at her t-shirt and tugging up on the pocket of her pants. Vi scoffs a little at the wet, squelching noises her efforts are rewarded with - goodness, she really had gotten an impromptu shower - and raises her head back up to say something to Caitlyn, who has barely registered her brilliant thought, but is, nevertheless, already speaking, “Wait here.”

______________

“Uh…okay,” Vi says dumbly to the now-empty bathroom. The space feels larger, somehow, without Caitlyn’s tall - fuck, is she tall - and slender form in the doorway. She can hear muffled cursing and clattering through the bathroom wall across from her. She was really not having a great day so far. 

First, her alarm hadn’t gone off, so when she’d finally woken up, bleary-eyed and disoriented at six fifty-five in the morning - almost two hours after her alarm should have gone off - she hadn’t had time for the gym, a shower, or breakfast before she’d had to be at work at seven thirty for her first appointment. She’d raced through her morning routine, quickly brushing her teeth, running wet hands through the longer side of her hair, trying to tame the unruly strands into something that might make her look, if not professional, then at least not insane , and run into the living area of her small studio to find that, apparently, her dryer - which she had tossed all of her work clothes and her sports bras and her underwear in before bed last night in preparation for this morning - was busted, and had taken her wet clothes for a joyride, but had not, in fact, actually dried them. Swearing vehemently at the limp work polo she was holding, she threw it forcefully back into the dryer, where it landed with a wet slap , slammed the door of the useless thing shut, and tromped back into her bedroom to find something appropriate to wear. 

Five minutes later, dressed in a (miraculously not-stained) loose white t-shirt, an old pair of work pants she had on hand for particularly messy jobs, and her trusty work boots, she was sitting behind the wheel of her ancient pickup truck and munching on a tasteless, powdery, yet somehow still chewy protein bar that probably wasn’t too far past its expiration date on her way to work. Vi navigated the empty streets of Zaun - the city really came alive at night, so it was hardly ever busy this early in the morning - and enjoyed the quiet drive to The Last Drop before the craziness the day would likely bring. 

Vi actually loved working with all her siblings - and occasionally Ekko - for the business Vander had built, but her family really couldn’t be described as anything other than “completely chaotic.” An observation that Vi chuckled lightly to herself about as she pulled into the employee parking lot behind a building that was right along the river, like most of the industrial services businesses in Zaun, which were near enough to the border between Zaun and Piltover that the owners could easily do business in either city. 

The building that housed The Last Drop didn’t look like anything special. Like most of the buildings in Zaun, it was narrow and a few stories high, packed in tightly next to the surrounding structures. The only noticeable difference between their building and the ones surrounding it was that their building, which held the storefront at street level and their home on the three floors above it, stood ramrod straight. Vander had bought the property right after all of the unrest between Piltover and Zaun years ago, and had fixed it up good after it had gotten wrecked in the rioting. 

“It’s not very good advertising for a repair business if we can’t even keep our own place fixed up,” Vander had said time and again in his deep, gruff voice as he lit his pipe and gently directed one of his four adopted children toward whatever project needed doing. 

He had built the business from the ground up, building trust with Zaunite residents and Piltovan businesses alike. He had gone into semi-retirement a few years ago - the years of back-breaking labor with no help and long hours had worn him down - but The Last Drop was as busy as ever, operated by his four adopted children, whom he had taught everything he knew. The rest, they had learned on their own. 

Vi finished off her power bar and threw the wrapper on the floor, taking a deep breath as she hopped out of her beat up truck, slamming the door and jogging across the parking lot. She punched in the code for the heavy-duty magnetic lock - hey, she loved her city, but it’s still pretty rough - and entered the store room for the shop to Powder’s voice filtering in from the main area. She dodges her way around boxes of materials and appliances (they would get some sort of actual organizational system, but Powder knew where everything in that store room was. Seriously. A few years ago when they had considered reorganizing after Claggor had tripped over six cans of paint stacked in the “bathroom appliances” section of the warehouse, Powder, who was just out of high school at the time, had casually pointed out that, “only a moron wouldn’t know that’s where the blue house paint goes. Just like only a moron wouldn’t know that there are three pink paper clips underneath the gray cabinet with all the screws in it.” Vander had promptly put Powder in charge of the front desk and inventory, and the rest was history. 

Vi stepped around the corner of a washer that’s sitting partially in front of the door, and into the main office and storefront area. The Last Drop isn’t a hardware store, but they’ve done enough work over the years with the different contractors around Zaun who come in to consult about jobs that they keep the main area stocked with some inventory for purchase - filters for air conditioners, boxes of screws, and a truly impressive display of gummy candy near the front desk (there are a few downsides to putting Powder in front of inventory). 

Powder’s nasally voice greeted her as she finally made her appearance, “Jeez, you look like hell. Pussy that bad last night?” she moved the receiver of the phone back from where she’d pulled it slightly away from her mouth, “No, Mr. Watkins, that doesn’t have anything to do with your order. Mylo will bring it out for install this afternoon,” she rolled her eyes and nodded exaggeratedly, “uh huh, uh huh, yep. Yeah. Yes, Mylo will come out. No, he won’t be bringing any pussy with him. Yeah, great talkin’ to you, too.” She finally hung up and swiveled her chair around to get a good look at Vi, who had walked over to the big chart on the whiteboard behind the desk and was looking for the pink marker that denoted her calls. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” came Powder’s amused voice from behind her. 

“Lay off, Pow. My stupid fucking dryer broke, and this is all I had.” Vi plucked a little self-consciously at her t-shirt, trying to make sure it’s not really possible to see anything…jiggling. She didn’t have a huge rack, but she wasn’t totally flat, either. And she usually wore a sports bra to work to keep everything where it should be. 

Powder snorted and said, “Fine, jeez. Sensitive much?” Powder turned back around to type furiously on her computer. Vi hoped she wasn’t pissing off another supplier, but if she was, at least she probably had a good reason. “You gonna head out soon? You’re already late for your first job. New A/C install at that nightclub in Piltover. Should be a piece of cake. Clagg’s already up there with the units. He’s helpin’ you ‘cause it’s one of those industrial ones.” Vi looked at the time and swore - her sister was right, it was already seven twenty and she had a seven thirty job in Piltover…which was twenty minutes away. Powder started to get absorbed back into her work, and as the phone started to ring again, Vi sighed and said, “Alright, Squirt, I’m heading out! Try not to blow anything up while I’m gone,” Vi kissed her sister on the head, laughed as she dodged Powder’s answering swat, and jogged back into the store room. She heard Powder call after her, “Hey! That’s only happened two times!” 

She was still chuckling when she got into the white van with The Last Drop’s logo on the side and turned the key. 

______

The job at the nightclub had not been a “piece of cake.” First, the manager of Shimmer, a spiky-haired freak who reeked like alcohol and looked hungover as shit, had been a total asshole about Vi being a few minutes late, even though Clagg was already there with the unit and had started the evaluation. 

Second, the old unit was so beat up and leaky, it had rusted to the floor. Also, the unit’s drip tray was overflowing, and it had dumped condensation into the ceiling - which is actually how the manager had known to call in for repairs, since it was raining in the club - but he had neglected to tell Powder about the leak, because, “I don’t know, it was just getting too hot in here, man. We don’t like people to be too sweaty, you know?” Water damage meant extra evaluation, sheetrock removal, and hauling heavy box fans into the tiny, freezing ( fuck was it cold early this year) attic to dry everything out. Vi had also apparently forgotten to wash her coveralls after her last job, and that added a new sensory element to the job she really wasn’t thrilled about. Luckily, the leak was coming from a section of busted sheetrock near, but not under, the unit, so there wasn’t too much water mitigation or structural damage to tend to. They’d have to replace the slab of sheetrock, but that would have to be done in a few days when everything had dried out enough for the new work. 

Third, the unit had been a total bitch to install. The ceilings in the industrial building were about thirty feet high, and had catwalks criss-crossing the space. Powder had called in for a rental of a lift to get the unit (and Vi and Claggor) up there, but the unit was big, heavy, and uncooperative. By the time it was installed, nearly two hours later, both Vi and Claggor (who had nearly saint-like patience) were sweaty, out-of-breath, and cranky as anything. Also, Vi was hungry . That maybe-expired protein bar really hadn’t lasted her very long. 

They updated the manager on the repair status, got a signature on the repair slip, and got the hell out of there (and their sweaty coveralls). He seemed to have forgotten all about Vi’s tardiness by the time they left, groaning and shooting a thumbs up at them from the couch tucked in a dark corner of the converted warehouse, so that was good, at least. 

After the job, Vi swung by the twenty four hour diner across the bridge to grab breakfast for her family, and headed back to The Last Drop.

They always ate at least one meal together, if they could - today, Vi had had a cancellation, so the schedule worked out so that all of them could come back to The Last Drop and shovel in some food upstairs with Vander in his cramped but well-stocked kitchen before heading back out on jobs. 

As Vi was finishing up her meal - Powder had already finished hers and was back downstairs manning the phone - she heard her sister yell up the stairs, “Vi! Move your ass, you got a job!” With a heavy sigh and an eye roll at her brothers at their sister’s bossiness, Vi tossed the trash from her meal, accepted a one-armed hug and a thorough hair-mussing from Vander, and headed back downstairs. 

“Yeah?” she called to her sister as she reached the office, fixing her hair as she navigated around a stack of cardboard boxes that hadn’t been there when she left. “Hot water went out at some Piltie’s apartment. Here,” Powder handed Vi a piece of paper with the address scrawled on it, and a clipboard with a neat stack of papers, “I told her you’d be there in about twenty. You need to get it fixed quick before it fucks the pipes in the building - she’s in one of those converted industrial buildings, right across the river? Fuckin’ dipshits who designed ‘em probably didn’t put enough insulation in ‘em for weather this cold. Be sure to take an extra water heater from the back, you’ll probably need it.”

Vi took the proffered items and nodded her thanks at her sister, moving back toward the store room and the parking lot beyond it, shouting a quick “‘bye!” up the stairs to her brothers and Vander on her way.

______

The drive to the apartment wasn’t awful. She used the relatively short drive to think through a typical water heater replacement job, and to get her thoughts in order. First on the list was that Caitlyn Kiramman was - probably - a relation to Councilwoman Kiramman and Doctor Kiramman, the Surgeon General. Both incredibly fancy, high-powered, hoity toity people. The upper, upper crust of Piltover. So, meeting their snobby, stuck-up, inbred daughter was probably going to put the cherry on top of her shit sundae of a day. Vi chuckled wryly at her luck, and flicked her blinker on to turn right onto the main drag over the bridge. 

She arrived within the twenty minute timeframe her sister had set, only breaking a few traffic laws to get there - Vi didn’t like to be late to calls for new clients - and headed up to the door, where she pressed the buzzer for apartment 410 and was greeted with a crisp and softly accented, “Yes?” that absolutely didn’t do weird, fluttery things to Vi’s stomach. What the fuck? She shook off the strange reaction and relayed the relevant information to her client. A few seconds later, she was greeted with a harsh buzzing noise and the heavy clunk of the door unlocking. 

_______

All of which brings her to this very moment. Standing on her very unexpectedly drop-dead gorgeous client’s pretty, blue bath mat, soaking wet and freezing her tits off, all because Powder sometimes gets a kick out of sending her into jobs unprepared. Or, maybe, she just forgot to write it down. It was hard to tell - her sister was brilliant, but when she was focused on something, everything else tended to sort of fade into the background. Vi’d been waiting for years for Powder to be old enough to be sent out on jobs by herself, since she’d been able to take apart any appliance and put it back together practically since she was out of diapers. Well, maybe not that young. Vander hadn’t even adopted them until Powder was six, but still. 

Unfortunately, while Powder had been legally old enough to go out on repair jobs for the past six years, she hadn’t yet mastered the “don’t put experimental wiring into clients’ houses” rule. Powder’s stuff always worked great, but it had taken The Last Drop a few years to get their ratings back up after the few reviews that weren’t particularly appreciative of Powder’s…artistic repairs. So, her baby sister worked the front desk and sent her siblings and Vander, though he worked a lot less now that he had four grown children to help out, on the jobs they were best suited for. 

Only problem was, Powder was Powder, and it seemed that she had picked today to either forget how to listen, or to play a prank on her big sister; the result of which is that, while she didn’t know she was entering one, she’s now winning a wet t-shirt contest in the home of her unexpectedly very hot, elegant, tall, startlingly blue-eyed client, who, unless Vi is very much mistaken, had been a very eager judge of her frat competition for one. 

Squeezing her eyes shut and shaking her head to clear the memory of when she noticed Caitlyn’s darkened eyes in the mirror, focused on the t-shirt that was plastered to her tits with freezing water - really, she was going to kill Powder for not telling her about the possessed showerhead - she notices that she can no longer hear clattering on the other side of the wall. 

A moment later, a slightly breathless Caitlyn appears, holding out a bundle with one long arm, visibly toned even through her sweater, “Here. For you,” It took Vi a moment to realize that Caitlyn was holding out dry clothes. “They might be a bit long on you, but I’ve always been a fan of cozy house clothes, so the fit shouldn’t be too atrocious.” 

Vi’s eyes traced over the long, slender fingers holding the bundle, up the long stretch of arm, across sharp, delicate collarbones, up a swan-like neck (Vi’s not actually sure if she’s ever seen a swan, but she’s sure she’s heard that phrase before, and it seems to fit), to an even sharper jaw, across to a mouth that’s softly hanging open, breath held in anticipation of her answer, up an aquiline nose and around cheekbones that are sharper still, to earnest, bright blue eyes, patiently waiting for Vi to finish thinking about her current predicament - wet, cold, braless, in a hot client’s apartment, and still reluctant to take help from anyone, especially a rich someone from Piltover, seems to about cover it - Vi’s just opening her mouth to decline, trying to figure out if maybe she can stomach putting her disgusting set of coveralls back on, when Caitlyn speaks again. 

“Really, Vi. It’s no trouble. I know firsthand how cold that water is. I cannot, in good conscience, allow a guest in my home to freeze,” she gently shakes the bundle at Vi, now nearly pouting, “Please?” 

Vi’s still conflicted, but one look into those kind and very, very blue eyes is enough to make her cave. She always has been a sucker for baby blues.

“Thank you, that’s really sweet of you,” she finally breathes, stepping forward to gently take the bundle. Caitlyn smiles brilliantly at her as she hands over the clothes, and Vi thinks that maybe the hot water heater has spontaneously started working again, because her face is approximately nine thousand degrees, and the only possible explanation is that the bathroom is filled with steam. No other reason. Nope.

Vi watches Caitlyn’s hand retract to meet her other one just in front of her midsection, tangling and twining her fingers together in little, repetitive motions. Vi clears her throat and looks down - since when does she find fidgeting cute? - and inspects the soft bundle in her hands. 

A soft “uhm” pulls Vi’s eyes back up, up, up Caitlyn’s tall frame to her face, and she notices that Caitlyn’s also flushed. Vi thinks again that it should be illegal for Caitlyn to be this adorable, and then kicks herself, because she absolutely should not be having warm and fuzzy feelings for clients, even if said client did now know she has her nipples pierced…and seemed to like it. It feels like an eternity waiting for Caitlyn to speak, as Vi grapples with her thoughts for the umpteenth time since the demonic shower had doused her and she had noticed Caitlyn looking .    

Caitlyn seems to notice the silence at the same time Vi is starting to find it completely unbearable, and she says, a little too loudly, “Right! Well, I’ll uhm. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Caitlyn glances toward the sink, where Vi’s handy dandy dry my hands so I don’t get clients’ door handles wet courtesy towel now lies completely soaked in a sad heap and adds, “Extra towels are in that cabinet right in front of the toilet, and you’re more than welcome to use as many as you need. Just toss what you use on the floor when you’re done, if you would, please.” Caitlyn speaks with a little humor in her tone as she continues, “The…'demon-possessed’ shower seems to have rather undone my earlier efforts to keep everything nice and dry. Though, uhm,” Caityn pauses for a long moment, her voice losing its slight mirth, “You seem to have done a very nice job preventing most of the deluge from getting on the floor.” 

Vi had been preoccupied with taking careful, squelching steps over to the cabinet to grab a towel, after sending Caitlyn a grateful nod at her offer, but now she looks up at Caitlyn and starts a bit, because her blue eyes have again darkened and drifted lower than her face, perusing her t-shirt, still plastered to her upper body so tightly you could practically see her goosebumps through it. Something about being looked at so intensely by this absolutely gorgeous woman - client , Vi tries to remind herself - makes Vi stop mid-reach, fingertips barely brushing against fluffy flannel. “Well, uh,” she says, her voice coming out huskier than normal, “Happy to be of service.” 

Caitlyn’s eyes snap back to hers, then just slightly lower, to where Vi’s unconsciously biting her bottom lip, and back up. Caitlyn’s beautiful blue eyes are now nearly entirely black, pupils blown wide, taking her in. Oh, shit. Vi likes being noticed, being appreciated by her client, to whom she really, really wants to be of service. Whew. Bad, bad, bad. She absolutely cannot fuck a client, even if said client is looking at her like she hasn’t eaten in days and Vi’s a decadent piece of chocolate cake. The thought makes her flush - she absolutely is not thinking about the tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed woman a few steps away eating her like a particularly decadent dessert. 

The persistent and unwelcome thought that she does, actually, have professional boundaries jolts her like a cold shower. Well, a second one. Caitlyn seems to notice the change in Vi’s line of thinking and snaps out of the moment in a jerky motion that sends her entire body back back into perfect, ramrod straight posture - gently fidgeting hands aside. Caitlyn clears her throat and looks down and away from Vi hastily, and Vi again thinks, unbidden, that someone who looks like she’s been lovingly carved from marble really shouldn’t be so adorable. 

Her train of thought is interrupted by Caitlyn saying, with a flowing swing of long limbs and quick, backward steps, “Well! Take as long as you need. I’ll just be…out. Uhm. Out in the living area. You know where the living area is? Of course you do, yes. Right.” Vi watches her turn abruptly and disappear down the short hallway, and takes another small, squelching step forward to gently close the door. 

__________

Caitlyn is not freaking out. She is thirty-one years old, and she is absolutely, unequivocally not behaving like an infatuated schoolgirl over the (really very sexy) plumber, who is currently in her bathroom changing. Something she is also definitely not thinking about. Shaking her hands out as if to clear away the cobwebs from her awkward exit from her en-suite, she walks over and retrieves her phone from the arm of the couch before flopping unceremoniously onto it. She sends off a quick text to Jayce, letting him know that the plumber is fixing her shower, but she has to cancel their weekly lunch date because it will probably be a while until the problem is fully resolved. Having taken care of her obligations for the day, she clicks open her work email to scroll through her inbox. Might as well distract herself from the incredibly attractive and competent woman in her bathroom with case information. 

She’s finishing up an email to a client when she hears the bathroom door open, and turns around to see Vi walking around the corner, looking down at her borrowed, oversized sweatshirt that has “UNIVERSITY OF PILTOVER” on it in large, block font, under which is an illustration of two guns crossed over the university logo, and then the word “RIFLE.” Though, really, Caitlyn notices, neither the sweatshirt nor the sweatpants are really that oversized on Vi. Especially not around the shoulders. Or thighs. Goodness, she needs to check the thermostat. 

“You got a badass boyfriend I need to worry about, Cupcake?” Vi asks with a half-smile, finishing her assessment of her attire and yanking Caitlyn out of her reverie (she should really, really stop staring).  

Caitlyn chuckles lowly, “No, that’s mine from university. I did tell you I like my clothes to be cozy.” Caitlyn thinks on Vi’s question for a minute. “Cupcake?” she asks. 

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re so sweet,” Vi smirks. “You know, letting me borrow your clothes, being so nice about me making a mess in your bathroom.” 

Caitlyn lets that sit for a minute, trying to think of how to respond - no one’s ever called her “sweet” before. Polite, sure, Caitlyn’s polite. But sweet? 

Before a suitable response comes to her, Vi has a realization, “Wait, this is yours?” 

“Mhm.” 

“This says ‘University of Piltover: Rifle’,” Vi states, a little incredulously. 

“Mhm.” 

Vi digests Caitlyn’s confirmation for a moment, looking to the side and scoffing quietly to herself, seeming to wrestle a little with some unknown thought, before looking back up at Caitlyn with a teasing smirk on her face, “You any good?” 

“I’m an excellent shot,” Caitlyn replies. She’s not boasting. A string of first place trophies in big competitions, plus the two requisite years she spent in the Ionian special forces elite sniper unit to fulfill the requirement for her dual citizenship have given her confidence in her abilities. 

“Damn, Cupcake,” Vi says, impressed.

Nodding toward the little room tucked in beside her modest kitchen, Caitlyn says, “I have a few pieces of memorabilia in my office. A little shrine to my previous life, I suppose.” Caitlyn doesn’t know why she says it - she’s not a very open person. When she has guests, the door to her office is usually closed, but something about Vi feels…different. She inspires lust at the same time as she feels alarmingly like coming home. 

“Yeah?” Vi takes the invitation for what it is, moving past the sofa and around the kitchen island to the office. Caitlyn follows her, leaning in the doorway and letting Vi walk around the small, organized space. 

“Is this you?” 

“Hmm?” Caitlyn responds, moving from her place in the doorway to where Vi is standing in front of the shelf to the left of her desk, “Oh! Yes. That’s me. With my unit in Ionia, getting sand blasted and sunburnt,” Caitlyn responds with a little humor in her voice. Vi nods slightly at that, a thoughtful expression on her face as she looks at Caitlyn. 

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a military girl,” Vi finally responds. 

Caitlyn feels her lips pull into a smirk at that, “Well, you know what they say about assumptions.” Vi huffs a laugh, nodding slowly as she looks away from Caitlyn and back at the neat, immaculately dusted shelves in the office. She moves carefully around the space, looking unabashedly at Caitlyn’s memorabilia, smiling at the few pictures Caitlyn has of her family, and staring incredulously at some of the trophies, as well as the two degrees on the wall - Caitlyn’s parents hadn’t been able to agree on if they wanted her to pursue law or medicine, so Caitlyn had just done both. Easier than arguing. But, she’d rebelled in her own way, specializing in treatment of PTSD and addiction to help veterans and the shocking number of people affected by the now-ousted chembarons in Zaun, and choosing a career as a defense attorney with a small practice that catered to citizens the Piltovan Council would rather forget about. 

Caitlyn’s practice was the thing she was the most proud of, the thing she’d fought for. The thing she’d built through hard-earned trust, and hard-won independence from her well-meaning but overbearing parents. She didn’t have the kind of life her parents wanted her to have, draped in shimmering dresses and schmoozing politicians for the good of the City of Progress, but she had the life she wanted with a few good friends, a job she was excited to work herself to the bone over, a nice apartment, and, apparently, incredibly good luck with handyman recommendations. She’d have to send Mrs. Ainsley an extra large fruit basket or something. 

The thought of the other person in her apartment brings her back to the present, and her heart squeezes. Vi was finishing up her slow perusal of the office, turning around and walking slowly past the desk to the large windows opposite the shelves, and it strikes Caitlyn that there’s something oddly endearing about watching Vi treat her space with so much care. 

Vi whistles lowly, “Damn, Cupcake. That’s a nice view.” 

Caitlyn finds herself laughing a little at Vi’s observation, moving over to stand with Vi by the windows and look out with her at the view over Piltover Harbor. It’s a bit of an understatement, really. 

“Yes, the windows in here are what sold me on the apartment, honestly. I can deal with a tiny bathroom and a possessed shower if it means I get to look at this. ” Caitlyn and Vi share a brief chuckle together, and watch the boats floating across the harbor for a few long minutes before Vi claps her hands together and says, with some reluctance, “Alright, let’s get your shower fixed up. Where’s your utility closet?” 

Caitlyn had almost forgotten why Vi was there in the first place, but at Vi’s reminder, she pulls herself away from the beautiful view and back toward the door, “Right! This way.” 

Caitlyn hears Vi follow her out of the office and back into the living area. 

_____

As she follows Caitlyn through the living space and away from the office, a veritable monument to the apparently completely fucking incredible woman in front of her, which, you know, holy shit, Vi tries to get a handle on her emotions. She’s too comfortable in this apartment, she’s too comfortable being near Caitlyn, teasing her about her hobbies and her apartment, she wants too much to tell Caitlyn things about herself that she’s never been particularly inclined to share with anyone else. She wants to meet how open Caitlyn’s been with openness of her own. She also really wants to know what the full curve of Caitlyn’s hips that slopes from her tiny, tiny waist feels like under her palms, but that’s an observation she shakes herself out of quickly. She really needs to keep it in her (borrowed) pants. Professionalism and all that. She can be professional. 

Caitlyn turns the corner into the tiny hallway to the bathroom and stops in front of a little closet Vi hadn’t noticed before that she pulls open with a little flourish. “Here it is! I’ll leave you to it, let me know if you need anything else.” 

While looking into the utility closet at the absolutely ancient water heater and cursing her luck with appliances today, first the fucking A/C unit, now the water heater that looks like it was there for the fucking founding of Piltover , Vi misses the slightly questioning look Caitlyn shoots her. She comes out of her mental tirade to a soft “excuse me” and a tentative Caitlyn attempting to slide around her, except the hallway is so goddamn narrow, and Caitlyn stumbles slightly over the big ass work boots Vi’s been clomping around in, letting out a surprised little noise, and now Vi has her arms around that impossibly small waist, and one of Caitlyn’s long-fingered hands is gripping her shoulder, the other is gripping her bicep, and she’s at eye-level with her unfairly beautiful, deliciously warm, surprisingly muscular client in a strange sort of pseudo-embrace. 

Caitlyn’s eyelashes flutter as she glances down slightly, and back up as Vi steadies her. Vi’s not breathing as she holds eye contact with Caitlyn for one beat, then two. Caitlyn blinks rapidly as she finally regains her bearings and pulls away, stepping closer to the door and escape, and Vi inhales sharply while she mourns the loss of contact and fully registers that holy fuck, Caitlyn had almost kissed her

“Uhm…I’ll be…yes,” Caitlyn says as she hastily turns and walks back out into the living area. 

Vi stands in the hall, stunned, and lightly thunks her head back against the wall, uttering a quiet “Fuck.”

Chapter Text

Caitlyn sits on her couch, hand pressed to her sternum in a shockingly accurate impression of her very prim grandmother, God rest her soul, and contemplates the past few minutes. She’s absolutely certain she’s never experienced this level of attraction to anyone, let alone a stranger . It’s all shockingly improper. 

Her heart rate speeds up again and her core clenches around nothing as she viscerally recalls crashing softly into Vi’s solid warmth and the way Vi’s strong arms had felt, sure and strong around her waist, the way she had felt the shorter woman’s breath catch; and, of course, the way Caitlyn had almost thrown propriety out the window entirely and leaned in to capture Vi’s lips with her own to discover for herself if she could feel the small scar splitting her upper lip. 

At that moment, she hears Vi cursing quietly but vehemently, clanging around behind the wall in a moderately concerning manner. The thought that Vi is here to do a job does not disperse her arousal the way it should, and she feels the flush spread from her face down to her chest as wet fluid dribbles out of her swelling core and into her panties. Shit . Maybe a glass of water will help. Yes. A glass of water to cool her…everything. 

She walks resolutely over to the kitchen.

______

Vi’s got her head in the utility closet, but her mind is, it’s fair to say, elsewhere . Like, say, on the woman in the other room who has all but obliterated her expectations - she’s kicking herself a little bit over her assumptions from the drive over - and replaced them with both a large amount of awe and searing, blistering lust. 

She’s still reeling from their encounter in the hallway. The space Caitlyn’s retreat to the living area giving her ample time to remember the soft, surprised rush of Caitlyn’s breath on her neck as Vi caught her, the press of the impressive swell of her chest against Vi’s own, and the sensation of slender, strong fingers on her bicep leaving Vi with tendrils of warmth wrapping over her shoulder and down to her fingers. Vi shakes her head and the arm holding her wrench to clear the memory of Caitlyn’s touch. 

Stupid , she thinks to herself. Stupid to be so worked up over a complete stranger. Stupid to want the inexplicable way she does. Stupid to want to stay in Caitlyn’s life after this - actually pretty straightforward - repair job is over. And stupid to regret that Caitlyn didn’t kiss her with a ferocity that feels like her chest is being turned inside out. 

Scoffing at her self-destructive inner monologue - hey, she’s been to therapy…lots of therapy - Vi tosses her wrench back into her toolbox, standing up straight to crack her neck, and taking a deep breath to prepare herself to walk past Caitlyn and out to her truck to get the water heater and replacement parts for the detachable shower head. 

Taking the few steps back down the tiny hallway, Vi rounds the corner into the living area and spots Caitlyn’s slender frame leaning against the kitchen counter, slightly flushed and holding a glass of water against her forehead. She clears her throat and huffs an endeared laugh when Caitlyn startles at the sound. 

“I’m heading out to the truck to grab the replacement parts - your water heater’s busted, and I need to replace your showerhead, so I’m gonna need to shut off the water for a bit to get everything done. You know offhand where the shutoff for your unit is?” Caitlyn’s been listening to her with rapt attention, and, at Vi’s question, she nods, 

“Oh! Yes, it’s in the basement.” She takes a pause, looking away for a moment, her blue eyes widening and snapping back into Vi’s steel gray ones with no small amount of horror, “There’s no elevator! Goodness, how could I have forgotten? I should have told Jinx about the stairs - you’ll have to carry the water heater up four flights. Do you need to call someone to come assist? Or come back tomorrow? I suppose I can–”

Vi cuts off Caitlyn’s endearing ramble with a laugh. “Relax, Cupcake. It’s really sweet of you to be so concerned, but the water heater’s no problem. They’re really not that heavy,” Caitlyn shoots her a dubious look, but Vi continues on, “I’ll head down and bring up the new water heater, as well as a few options for a replacement shower head while your old one drains, and then I’ll turn off the water to do the rest of the repairs.” 

Caitlyn still looks dubious, but she says, “Okay, thank you,” and walks over to open the door. 

It takes her a couple trips to set her water heater up to drain, bring up the shower parts and the repair pieces for the water heater in case she needs to replace any of the connecting parts, as well as some extra towels, and, finally, haul the water heater up the four flights. 

______

Vi’s sweating slightly by the time she makes the final trip with the new water heater, and Caitlyn can see from her vantage point on the couch that the skin of her face and forearms where she’s pushed up the sleeves of the borrowed sweatshirt is glistening lightly. It really only serves to enhance the tattoos inked over her skin, and the ripple of muscle Caitlyn can see where the baggy sweatshirt is pulled flush against Vi’s heated skin is making her earlier glass of water entirely irrelevant. 

The sudden thought that she’d look even better slung over Vi’s shoulder than that water heater causes Caitlyn to immediately choke on the cup of tea she had made herself while Vi was bringing up the parts for the repair. 

A, “You okay there, Cupcake?” from the subject of her brief but very vivid fantasy does nothing to ease the redness in Caitlyn’s face, though she does manage to respond in the affirmative. 

A few minutes later, Vi reappears and says, “here are the options for the showerhead replacement that match the finish on the other stuff in your bathroom. Your water pressure seems good, so I can put one of these fancy ones with multiple settings in if you want.” 

Caitlyn does her level best not to let her thoughts stray too far into the realm of “yes, I do masturbate in my shower and would love different speed settings,” as she answers, as nonchalantly as possible, “sure, that sounds good. Thank you, Vi.” 

Vi shoots her a quick smile that makes her heart beat a little faster, get a grip, Caitlyn , and says “okay, I’m going to finish up in there. Should take me about an hour? Then I’ll turn the water back on and you should be golden.” It’s at that moment that Vi exhales heavily, hooking one hand in the hem of her borrowed sweatshirt, and lifts it up to her forehead to wipe away the sweat that’s gathered there. 

Small waist, abs, defined lines, ridged muscle, scars…scars?

Caitlyn makes a pathetic, little squeaking noise that she’d deny if anyone ever asked her about it, and her face goes so red she’s sure steam’s about to come pouring out of her ears. Vi seems unaware of her plight, at least until she looks at Caitlyn and abruptly drops the hem of the shirt. 

Caitlyn’s staring again, mouth softly hanging open, but this time Vi just smirks at her, grabs the new shower head, and walks off toward the bathroom to finish the repairs. 

Once Vi’s out of sight, Caitlyn allows herself an undignified groan, slouching back into the couch cushions and pressing her fingertips into both of her eyebrows in an attempt to drive out the image of Vi’s chiseled, scar-covered torso. Another mystery. 

______ 

Vi’s true to her word. It’s just about an hour later - Caitlyn had moved into her office after about ten minutes of pathetic pining - and Vi appears in her office door with a quiet knock on the doorframe. 

When Caitlyn looks up, Vi continues, “water’s back on and everything looks good, Cupcake! If I can just get you to sign these, you’ll be good to go,” Caitlyn waves her forward toward the desk, “repair’s guaranteed, so if you have any trouble, just call in.” 

Caitlyn reads through and signs the neat repair invoice, reaching into her desk to grab her checkbook and fill out the amount specified on the slip, plus a generous tip. She stands and hands the clipboard back to Vi, gesturing toward the doorway as she does. 

Vi takes her cue and walks back toward the main area of her apartment, and Caitlyn follows. As she follows Vi out of her office, Caitlyn spies the plate of lemon cake sitting on the kitchen counter and calls a soft, “oh, wait for a moment, would you?” to Vi. 

The plumber halts, almost at the front door and turns to face Caitlyn, who’s now retrieved the cake plate. She looks curious, and Caitlyn clarifies: 

“My neighbor gave me some lemon cake and told me to share with ‘the boys,’ when they came over to fix the shower,” she chuckles, and Vi laughs with her, “it’s delicious, and I’ve already had several slices, so, here” she holds the covered plate out to Vi, who takes it with a grateful smile, and hands her the carbon copy from her invoice.

“Thanks, Cupcake. You give me a call if anything goes wrong with the repairs, yeah? I left my number on the invoice for you. I’ll need to drop by with the clothes and the plate - thanks again, by the way - it okay to text you about a time?” 

Caitlyn smiles and nods at Vi’s thoroughness, and says, “yes, of course! Call or text any time, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I’m able.” 

“Great! Unfortunately, I do have to get going on other calls, so would you mind?” she nods toward the door and Caitlyn springs into action, swinging the door open for Vi, who’s got her hands full with the cake plate and clipboard. 

Caitlyn’s loath to let Vi leave before she knows more about her, knows what her lips feel against her own, but she can’t keep Vi from her job, so she simply says, 

“Thank you for everything, really, Vi. It’s been a pleasure.” 

She gets a crooked grin and a “take care of yourself, Cupcake,” before Vi’s headed back down the hallway, whistling a jaunty tune. 

______

Caitlyn’s swung the door shut behind Vi, and is now leaning her forehead against it, fighting against the insane urge to - what? Ask Vi to come back? Break something else in her apartment so she has an excuse for a few extra hours with her plumber? Ridiculous. 

Standing up straight with a huff, Caitlyn turns around and pulls off her shirt, walking through her apartment to her laundry hamper and chucking it in emphatically. She does the same with the rest of her clothes, and walks down the short hall to her bathroom, excited to finally wash off the sweat from the morning’s workout. 

She turns the temperature controls for the water, pleased to discover that they respond almost immediately with the correct temperature, and tugs up on the little mechanism that switches the water from the tub to the shower head, figuring she might as well test Vi’s handiwork. She fiddles with the different settings on the shower head until she finds one that seems appropriate for washing her hair and getting herself clean, and hops in. 

Caitlyn’s gotten through washing and conditioning her hair - the one thing about herself she’s always been a little vain about - and has moved on to washing the rest of her body, gently rinsing away stale sweat from her workout and the frustration over her plumbing problems. 

When she reaches between her legs to wash herself, however, she’s reminded of how wet she’d gotten during Vi’s visit, and she startles a little at the slickness and latent sensitivity. Rather than continuing her methodical scrub down, Caitlyn reaches up for her showerhead without a second thought, pulling it down and clicking through the settings until she finds one that directs the water in a narrow, pulsing stream. 

She holds the showerhead a few inches from her body, and traces it slowly over one shoulder and across to the other, letting herself be lulled by the sensuality of the water on her skin. 

Her mind conjures the moment in the hallway, except, in her mind, Caitlyn had followed through with that moment in the hallway, kissing Vi with everything she had, pressing her body to Vi’s and feeling her press back. 

Caitlyn traces the stream water from her shoulders to her sternum and down to lazily circle each of her breasts in turn. 

In her mind, Caitlyn tastes Vi’s gear tattoo, holds the small waist she remembers so vividly from Vi’s dousing in the shower. 

The pulsing water traces from her breasts and slowly down her quivering stomach as Caitlyn imagines sliding to her knees in front of Vi, pressing kisses to her pierced nipples and then to every scar on Vi’s stomach, helping her step out her work boots and borrowed sweats. 

The pulsing stream of water reaches her aching clit, and Caitlyn flings her hand out to brace herself against the shower wall as her inner muscles clench around nothing. 

Her mind pictures vividly the feel of Vi’s muscular thigh draped over her shoulder as Caitlyn leans in and licks her in a broad stroke from her entrance to her clit, repeating the motion and hearing Vi moan. 

In the shower, Caitlyn runs the stream of pulsing water forward and backward, mimicking what she wants so badly to do to Vi. 

In her fantasy, she’s moaning at Vi’s taste, licking deeper inside her to taste her more fully, feeling Vi’s inner muscles flutter around her tongue. She licks her way back to Vi’s clit and suckles it gently, feeling Vi’s thigh shake on her shoulder, her toes curling against her back. 

All of a sudden, the combination of her imagination and the feeling of the water on her aching, straining clit is enough and Caitlyn buckles forward, leaning harder on the hand pressed into the wall as her thighs shake and she feels new wetness rush out of her, dripping out and mixing with the water that’s still rushing over her pussy. 

She reaches down quickly and switches the showerhead to a gentler, more diffuse setting, tracing a path around her thighs and over her twitching flesh to aid in coming down from her orgasm. 

When she can breathe properly again, Caitlyn straightens and replaces her shower head. Stepping back under the stream of water, the persistent ache between her thighs finally satiated, she feels regret about not having actually kissed Vi. As she finishes the rest of her shower, she wonders if she’ll get the chance again.

Chapter Text

Vi’s in her truck on the way back to Caitlyn’s apartment before she can overthink it too much. It’s been almost a week since she had left Caitlyn’s apartment wearing borrowed clothes and carrying a plate of lemon cake. Powder’s needed all hands on deck for a slew of emergency repairs, and she didn’t want to bring Caitlyn’s clothes back unwashed, which meant she had to fix her dryer - she really needs to get a new one, and she’s not hurting for money, but it just seems like a waste to get a new one when she can fix it herself. Also, she’s just…really nervous about being around Caitlyn again. As stupid as it is, having only been around her for a few hours, Vi feels a little (a lot) like she left her heart back in that surprisingly cozy apartment with a gorgeous, brilliant, unaccountably sweet lawyer. 

She’s never experienced this kind of magnetism toward another person before. Sure, she’s been attracted to plenty women, but she’s never felt a pull like this. A need to be with someone, as well as in bed with them. Because, don’t get her wrong, Vi feels weirdly mushy about Caitlyn, but she also hasn’t forgotten the way Caitlyn’s eyes darkened when she watched her get drenched by the shower…and carrying the water heater…and that almost kiss that’s kept Vi up every night since it happened… Fuck, just thinking about the look in Caitlyn’s piercing blue eyes makes squirm a little in the driver’s seat. She realizes suddenly that she’s nearly as wet as she was the other day in Caitlyn’s apartment. She needs to get this over with so she can go home and rub one out. That’ll fix whatever this is for sure. Yeah…right. 

Vi shakes her head to clear the wave of arousal mixed with…something - longing? - and makes the turn onto Caitlyn’s street. It’s not nearly long enough before she’s pulling up to the curb by Caitlyn’s building and hopping out of her truck, clean plate and clothes in hand. 

She walks up the sidewalk to the buzzer, taking a deep breath before hitting the button for apartment 410. It rings a few times before a click sounds, and a soft, slightly breathless “yes?” crackles through the speaker. Vi’s breath catches hard at the sound of the accented voice, and she has to clear her throat before she can respond with a shaky, “yeah, it’s uh. It’s Vi? I brought the stuff you loaned me?” Vi doesn’t know why she’s phrasing everything like a question - she had texted Caitlyn about why she was headed over. 

Caitlyn doesn’t respond for a second or two, during which time Vi’s heart makes an impressive attempt at leaping to her toes, but then her voice crackles through again, “Right, yes! Come on up.” The heavy clunk of the door unlocking sounds to Vi’s left, and she practically jumps all four of the stairs in one go to reach it. 

______

When Caitlyn had gotten a text from Vi earlier in the day about returning the borrowed items, she had taken approximately twenty minutes to think up an appropriate response. Eventually settling on, “Sure, that’s fine! I’ll be home around 2pm.” She was done with work early today, on account of a brunch at which her mother “absolutely required ” her presence, and she had cleared her schedule so she was free to nurse a migraine (or possibly get day drunk with Jayce) depending on how the event went. 

Her morning had been productive, which made her feel a little better about taking the rest of the day off. She had made some phone calls, gotten a few new clients settled, and organized her case notes for that wrongful arrest last weekend - she had been right, unfortunately - a teenager from Zaun in the wrong place at the wrong time. Thankfully, Viktor had gotten to him before too much damage was done, but they still had enough to win yet another suit. After work, she had changed into approved brunch attire and headed over to schmooze and simper and generally do all the things that made Caitlyn want to crawl out of her skin.

A few hours later, on the couch at her apartment and out of her stuffy brunch clothes after a much-needed shower, Caitlyn feels like herself again. Brunch actually hadn’t gone too poorly - she had only had to field six inquiries about finding herself a suitable husband (nevermind that Caitlyn had known she was a lesbian since she was twelve, and had been out since she was fourteen. A choice made for her by the Piltover Gazette in a disgusting exposé that was still the talk of the town when nothing else of interest had happened in a while, but one she stood by) and had only twice had to clench her teeth so hard her jaw popped to avoid saying something that absolutely would have ruined her mother’s brunch to the ignorant, cruel biddies in attendance. 

All things considered, it had been a relatively pleasant affair, as these things go. A fact she made sure to update Jayce on, since the man had been ready with the scotch since eleven, bless him. However, she was back in her apartment and changed into leggings and a loose-fitting long-sleeve shirt, complete with fuzzy socks by half past one in the afternoon. Vi had gotten back to her, saying that she was off work at five, and she’d drop by as soon as she could. Which left her with entirely too much time to stress about seeing a woman in whom she had made it entirely too clear she was interested. …and about whom she had had an entirely too self-indulgent fantasy in her (expertly repaired) tub after she had left. 

Goodness. Caitlyn lightly presses a hand to her sternum and wonders if it’s possible for a thermostat to selectively malfunction. 

Blinking a few times to try to clear the mental images her remembered fantasy has dredged up, Vi’s large hands on her thighs, Vi’s warmth underneath her, Vi’s taste under her tongue , Caitlyn peels herself off her couch and marches determinedly into the kitchen, reaching for the cupboard underneath the sink where she keeps her cleaning supplies. Nothing like a good stress clean to cool the heat now radiating from between her legs. 

______

Three hours later, and Caitlyn’s apartment is more spotless than it’s been possibly since she moved in a few years ago. Honestly, how much dust could accumulate on the tops of her door frames? The answer turned out to be “enough to make it seem like it’s started snowing in her apartment.” So, obviously, now she needs another shower, which she takes quickly, in case Vi decides to just swing by. 

She’s just finished drying off when she gets another text from Vi that just says, “omw” - Caitlyn is oddly endeared by the lack of capitalization or punctuation, though ordinarily that sort of thing irks her significantly - and she decides she probably has enough time to quickly blowdry her hair so that she doesn’t answer the door to the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen looking like a drowned cat. 

About fifteen minutes later, the buzzer rings, and she rushes across her apartment like an eager child rushing downstairs on Snowdown morning to hit the button and gasp out an entirely too breathless, “yes?” 

______

Vi’s hand hovers just above Caitlyn’s door for one beat, then two, before she brings her knuckles down to rap softly on her door, and then run her fingers through the longer, shaggy hair on one side of her head and rub slightly awkwardly at the back of her neck. 

The door flies open and, a little startled, Vi drops her hand. 

“Oh! Uhm. Hi, Vi,” Caitlyn stumbles a little over the greeting, and Vi is struck again by what a strange mix of unfairly beautiful and completely adorable Caitlyn is. 

“Yeah, heh. That’s me. Uh…here’s um. Here’s your clothes and your plate - thanks again for both, really. You saved my life - Powder,” at Caitlyn’s questioning look, she adds “that’s my sister. She goes by Jinx to everybody but family,” Caitlyn nods, “anyway, she would have killed me if I had come down with a cold before our busiest week in months. And my brothers devoured that cake in about two seconds flat - they kept trying to bribe me to break the pipes to your neighbor’s unit so they’d have an excuse to come fix things and eat more of her baking.” 

Vi and Caitlyn chuckle a little together at that, and as their laughter peters out, Vi realizes that Caitlyn’s smiling gently at her, looking impossibly soft if not for the heat in her blue eyes. Lightning crackles up her spine, keeping her rooted to the spot under that intense gaze. Her throat feels thick all of a sudden, and she swallows. Hard. 

______

Since opening her door a little too enthusiastically a few minutes ago, Caitlyn’s again been struck completely dumb by Vi’s presence. She had hoped that the week apart had cooled her visceral response to the pink-haired woman, but it seems to have only intensified it. She feels… drawn to Vi in a way she hasn’t felt drawn to anyone before. 

Caitlyn’s always been a bit of a misfit, and while she’s confident in her sexuality and knows how to get what she wants, she’s thrown off balance by the strength of her feelings toward Vi. It’s ridiculous, really. She’s known Vi for a week, and has actually spent time with her for all of, what, four hours? But she feels how she feels. There’s no escaping it, standing here in her doorway, in front of Vi, who’s telling her an endearing story about her family - letting her in on another little piece of her life. Something Caitlyn aches to know more about. There’s so much more to Vi than meets the eye, and Caitlyn’s always loved mysteries.

They laugh together at the idea of Vi breaking things in the building so her brothers have an excuse to eat some more baked goods (Caitlyn makes a mental note to ask Mrs. Ainsley if she would mind maybe baking her some extras in exchange for a nice lunch), and Caitlyn’s breath catches in her chest at the sight of Vi’s unguarded little smile, the musical sound of her laugh. The sound does things to Caitlyn’s core, and, against her will, her mind turns back to her fantasy in the bath days ago. What Vi would sound like arching underneath her, what Vi’s hands would feel like laced with hers as Caitlyn makes her squirm and whimper and…

Caitlyn watches the muscles in Vi’s throat work, gear tattoo shifting, as she realizes Caitlyn’s no longer thinking about baking, watches as the silvery gray of Vi’s eyes starts to disappear as her pupils dilate, and she thinks, “screw it.”

______

Her arms lift as her long legs carry her forward the single step to close the distance to the stunning woman in front of her before she can think through the possibility of rejection, consider what a bad idea this is, how wanton and silly she’s behaving, like a schoolgirl with a crush…

She slides both hands gently along Vi’s jaw to anchor her fingertips at the base of Vi’s skull, her pink hair soft and fuzzy on the side with her undercut, silky and twining through her fingers on the other, tilting her head up with as much tenderness as she can manage, and slowly, giving Vi enough time to back out if she wants, bends her tall frame down slightly, waiting a single beat before her eyes flutter closed and she finally, finally presses her lips to Vi’s. 

It feels so much better than Caitlyn remembers a kiss could be. Vi’s lips are soft, and, after a beat, are moving against hers with the same urgency Caitlyn feels. She can feel Vi’s lip scar, takes extra care to press a little kiss just to her upper lip to taste it more fully. Vi’s still holding her borrowed clothes and that stupid cake plate, but her other hand has found its way to Caitlyn’s waist where a lightly trembling thumb traces back and forth on her ribs. The gentle motion makes Caitlyn feel lighter than air at the same time as she feels desire, thick and hot, pooling in her core and anchoring her to this moment, to Vi

The unwelcome but persistent thought of the cake plate reminds Caitlyn that she has neighbors and she and Vi are making out in the hallway, for God’s sake , and she reluctantly breaks her lips from Vi’s to lean her forehead against the shorter woman’s. She’s still holding Vi’s face, and as they both catch their breath, she strokes her thumbs across Vi’s cheeks - the VI tattoo pulling slightly with the motion. 

“Hi,” Caitlyn says, breathless and smiling. 

Vi licks her lips, and Caitlyn’s hungry eyes follow the motion. “Hey,” she replies, her lip scar stretching with the width of her grin. 

The sound of the door to the stairwell startles them apart just in time for her neighbor to walk down the hall toward her own unit, enthusiastically greeting Caitlyn along the way, “ah, Caitlyn! So good to see you, honey! How did you like that lemon cake?” 

Caitlyn hastily clears her throat, “oh, it was delicious, Mrs. Ainsley! I took your advice and shared it with Vi,” she nods at her companion, who smiles at her neighbor and says a polite, “Ma’am.” (“companion” isn’t precisely the right word, but that kiss shorted out Caitlyn’s higher thought function, and she figures that saying, “I shared it with this incredible woman I’d planned to bring inside my apartment and fuck until her cum drips down to my elbow,” probably isn’t the best call.)

Vi seems to realize that Caitlyn’s head is elsewhere, and she steps farther away - Caitlyn does not mourn the loss - saying, “My family and I really loved your baking, Mrs. Ainsley. My brothers damn near broke the kitchen table going for the last piece. Thank you for sharing with us.” Vi holds out the cake plate to her neighbor, tendons in her forearm flexing lightly with the weight - why is there no air in this hallway? - her neighbor takes the plate, beginning a lengthy explanation of how the lemon cake was actually a family recipe, and she only makes it for special occasions, but “that grocery shop for ya and deliver it nonsense” had brought her too many lemons, so great-grandma’s recipe it was. 

She’s just starting in on how useless those “internet purchasers” are when Vi, Caitlyn’s hero twice in one week, says “Ah, Mrs. Ainsley, I’m sorry but I’m here to fix a pretty urgent issue with Caitlyn’s thermostat. Seems like it’s getting a little too hot in her unit - I mean, look at her, she’s all flushed!” 

Caitlyn shoots Vi the most vicious glare she can muster with rapidly dampening panties and a heart rate that’s been going haywire since she first laid eyes on Vi when she arrived, and says to her clueless neighbor, “Uhm, yes, Vi’s been so kind as to pay a special house call. My thermostat is being really annoying and I’m desperately overheated.” Vi smirks a little as she picks up on Caitlyn’s meaning, and Caitlyn’s stomach does a swan dive to her toes. Maddening, really, how one person can be this attractive. 

After a hasty goodbye and a “good luck girls! Oh, Caitlyn, honey, don’t forget to call me about my nephew. He’s single and a great catch!” the two women are safely inside Caitlyn’s apartment, where she’s thrown the latch and is now gently thunking her head against the front door in minor mortification at the whole situation. 

“Hey, hey, none of that,” Vi’s voice comes from behind her and two strong hands - Vi must have set the clothes down somewhere - settle on her hips and turn her around so her back’s against the door, “You don’t want to damage your perfect face…you might not be up to par for her nephew if you show up all banged up.” Vi snickers to herself and Caitlyn lightly swats at her shoulder, scowling playfully at the shorter woman before her words register. 

“You think my face is perfect?” she asks shyly, looking into Vi’s slackened face with wonder. 

“Uh…yeah. Yeah, I do. Have you seen you? All of you is just. Wow.” Vi flushes red all the way down to the base of her neck where her collar prevents Caitlyn from seeing how far down it goes, and Caitlyn’s heart pangs with how endeared she feels. She continues talking to avoid saying something truly foolish.

“Really? I’ve always felt like I was too…sharp. Too long, too gangly. I look like a giraffe, honestly. All limbs. And then there’s the tooth gap. Unsightly, but not medically necessary to fix, so I decided against braces.” Caitlyn sniffs a little derisively as she gets to the end of the catalog of her faults. Realizing she’s been looking off to the side to think on what, precisely, she knew was wrong with her body, she looks back at Vi, who looks…shocked? Offended? Something. 

Vi opens and closes her mouth a few times soundlessly, staring up at Caitlyn incredulously. 

“Caitlyn, you… Look, I’m not great with words, but you’re the seriously most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. The first time you smiled at me, you might as well have punched me in the chest. Your legs have literally been haunting my dreams for the past week. And no matter what I do, I can’t stop thinking about how this,” Vi skims her hands from their place on Caitlyn’s hips up to squeeze lightly at her waist and trace back down, “would feel under my hands.” Caitlyn can hear the sheer want wavering in Vi’s voice, and her breath catches for the second time since Vi’s arrival. 

Vi takes a deep, shaky breath, her fingers lightly flexing on Caitlyn’s hips, and says, “Can I kiss you again, Cupcake?” 

Despite her earlier bravado - moment of insanity? - Caitlyn flushes, a little awestruck that this incredible woman wants her, thinks she’s beautiful . Maybe as beautiful as Caitlyn thinks Vi is, and as overwhelmed as she is, all she can manage is a quick nod. 

It’s enough for Vi, though, who leans forward and up on her toes slightly to press her lips back to Caitlyn’s, squeezing her hips harder as Caitlyn gasps into her mouth, clutching at Vi’s broad shoulders as she feels one muscular arm slide around her waist and a large, warm hand slide into her hair, holding her still for a sensual assault of lips and tongue against her mouth. 

Caitlyn feels liquid as she melts into Vi’s front, parting her lips and licking lightly at the slightly parted seam of Vi’s lips, asking, begging , and Vi answers, groaning into her mouth and sliding her tongue against Caitlyn’s. It’s a tentative touch, a learning touch, and one that doesn’t stay shy for long. 

Vi holds her tighter, kisses her harder, and Caitlyn slides one hand from Vi’s shoulder into the longer side of her hair to haul her closer because she can’t stand the thought of any air between them, needs to feel every tiny sound Vi makes resonate in her whole body. 

Caitlyn gasps embarrassingly loudly as Vi tears her mouth away from hers to press blistering, urgent kisses along her jaw and nuzzle into the spot under her ear, panting hot breaths along Caitlyn’s throat that make her fingers tighten in Vi’s hair as she fucking whimpers . God, she’s sure it’s never been like this before. Her skin feels too tight, her breath is sawing in and out of lungs she wasn’t even really sure were still functioning until this very moment, and she can feel a new flood of wetness soaking through her panties as Vi stops nuzzling her neck with a groan and starts sucking - Caitlyn thinks she might pass out. She should really tell Vi not to leave any hickies, but it’s cold outside. She’ll wear a turtleneck if she needs to. She’ll wear four scarves and three pairs of sunglasses to avoid being recognized if it means Vi will keep doing that

Vi starts adding devastating little nips to the suction she’s applying to Caitlyn’s neck with unerring precision, and Caitlyn can’t contain the moan or the harsh buck of her hips as the feeling goes straight to her aching breasts, to her nipples that rasp against the lace of her bra and send little shocks of pleasure straight to her core every time Vi shifts against her. Vi has the audacity to chuckle against her neck, the low, sensual sound causing Caitlyn to thunk her head back against the door with a small groan. An, “easy there, Cupcake,” and a gentle kiss to her ravaged neck breaks through her haze and her eyes flutter open just enough to peer down at Vi through her lashes. 

It’s a sight to behold. Vi’s beautiful, heart-shaped face is flushed, her mercurial eyes wide, her plush, pink mouth flushed nearly red from Caitlyn’s kisses. Absentmindedly, Caitlyn starts running the hand that had been yanking on Vi’s hair through it gently, fixing where she’s mussed it with her desperate grip. 

Vi leans into the touch, letting out a contented hum and nuzzling closer, easing the firm grip her arms have on Caitlyn’s waist. A little overwhelmed by how beautiful Vi looks, how vulnerable, Caitlyn starts to feel slight pressure behind her eyes. She blinks it back, needing to do something with this feeling that’s invaded her chest and made her feel so fond for a woman she’s known not even a week. 

She knows immediately that she wants Vi to feel as good as Vi’s made her feel. Better, even. Wants to see her undone, wants the trust Vi’s placed in her by being this close, by sharing her space and her body like this to be rewarded. She wants Vi to know she sees her. 

Newly determined, Caitlyn tightens her fingers in Vi’s hair again, tugging dazed and clouded gray eyes back to hers. She holds eye contact with Vi for a moment, bringing the backs of the fingers that had been helplessly clinging to Vi’s shoulder to stroke her cheek lightly before pulling Vi’s lips back to hers. Vi melts back into the kiss, holding Caitlyn against her again, snug and warm and perfect. She slips a thigh between Caitlyn’s, pressing up to the aching juncture of her thighs, and Caitlyn nearly buckles to the ground. Would have, if not for Vi’s arms around her waist, her solid strength in front of her and the heavy door behind her. 

A gasping, “Fuck, Cupcake,” followed by an “I can feel how wet you are,” nearly shatters Caitlyn’s resolve, especially once she realizes that Vi is probably right. There’s more slickness than friction between her thighs right now, even with the pressure Vi’s gorgeously muscled thigh is applying. Oddly, that works in her favor, because Vi can’t get her off like this, not without any friction - though, really, she’s happy for Vi to try at another time - and she comes back to herself enough to kiss Vi with new intensity, sliding her tongue in the shorter woman’s mouth and swallowing the delicious moan that ensues.

The kiss is enough for the power Vi had been pressing into her body to relax a little, and she pulls Vi’s hair hard enough to get herself some extra space - earning herself a surprised noise in return - and wiggles herself out from between Vi and the door while the object of her affection is still reeling from the kiss. She doesn’t leave Vi bereft of the warmth of her body for long, pressing her back against the door where Caitlyn just was, smirking in triumph against her mouth as she puts Vi exactly where she wants her. 

When she pulls back a little to check that her assertive move was okay with Vi, she finds the pink-haired woman with pupils blown so wide her irises are almost not visible, and her chest snapping up and down rapidly. She checks in verbally anyway, even as the sight of Vi so raw and wanting for her makes her start to actually drip down her thighs, even encased such as they are inside her leggings, “okay?” she asks. 

Vi nods frantically, reaching for her hips again. 

Caitlyn gives her another second to catch her breath. 

“Yeah, Cupcake. I’m real good,” that confident smirk is back, though it looks a little love drunk, and Caitlyn figures it’s as good a time as any to proceed with her plan. 

She draws on all the confidence she can muster, all the want she’s felt from Vi the past minutes, her desire to make Vi feel good, and says, “I want to touch you, Vi. May I?” 

Vi looks confused, “You are touching me, Cupcake?” 

Caitlyn brushes her fingertips over Vi’s sides, watching the muscles bunch through her gray polo - how are they still fully clothed?  

“No, Vi, I mean I want to make you come for me.” Vi swallows hard at that, looking away from her, and shuffling against the door a little bit.

“You uh. You don’t have to do that, Cupcake. I’m good. Really.” Vi looks sincere, which breaks Caitlyn’s heart a little bit for no reason other than that she knows Vi deserves to feel good, wants Vi to know that, too. Her resolve hardens again. She wants to make Vi feel good more than just about anything she’s ever wanted in her life. 

So she steels her spine, catches Vi’s chin in one hand, asking without words for Vi to meet her eyes, “I want to. Please?” 

Vi takes a second to think about it, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and Caitlyn waits. She doesn’t want Vi to feel any pressure, and she has no idea if she’s doing this properly because it’s been so long she feels like she’s about to burst out of her skin just being in the muscular, tattooed woman’s presence, but something about Vi makes her want to take her time. Show Vi she’s cherished at the same time as she makes her thighs shake. 

Just before Caitlyn’s about to rephrase her offer, maybe offer something else, she doesn’t actually know, Vi responds with a quiet, “okay,” then stronger, as she continues, “yeah, Cupcake. That sounds…yeah. Go for it.” 

Her little smile cracks Caitlyn’s chest fully in two, and she surges forward to kiss Vi, openmouthed and messy and wet. Her searching fingers slide against the sides of Vi’s neck, relishing in the feeling of the tendons flexing under her fingers, to her strong shoulders, bunching as Vi’s hands find purchase, an anchor, on Caitlyn’s back, sliding down the rippling muscle of Vi’s sides to find the hem of Vi’s gray work polo and tug it insistently upward. She gets as far as Vi’s armpits before her efforts are in vain, and Vi laughs at her pouting noise, helping out by yanking the polo over her head. Caitlyn puts her hands back on Vi’s skin the second she can get them there, running her fingertips over defined abdominals and flattening her palms against the warm muscle. It’s better than anything her imagination conjured in the shower after Vi had left her last week with expertly repaired appliances and soaked panties. 

She makes a little involuntary noise in the back of her throat at the feeling of soft skin over hard, bunching muscle, and slides her hands to Vi’s sides to lightly trace her fingertips over obliques that carve hard lines into the sides of Vi’s abs. To her delight, Vi’s not ticklish, shivering with enjoyment into the gentle exploration of the ridges of muscle. 

Caitlyn takes pity on Vi, leaning heavily against the door to her apartment, fists bunched and flexing at her sides and brow furrowed as she wrestles against her own need, letting Caitlyn take what she wants. Without further ceremony, Caitlyn slides both hands up to the band of Vi’s sports bra, slips her fingertips underneath it, and lifts it up and over Vi’s breasts in one quick motion. Just as Vi’s eyes snap open to look at her in aroused surprise, Caitlyn’s ducking down and her mouth is on Vi’s nipple, laving it with the flat of her tongue, and, as she sucks it into the warmth of her mouth, she toys with her other nipple with her fingers, tugging lightly on the silver barbell piercing like she’s wanted to since Vi had stood, dripping wet and magnificent, in that white t-shirt in her bathroom nearly a week ago. 

She feels Vi’s thick fingers slide into her hair and her chest reverberate with a long groan as her head thuds back into the door. Caitlyn teases at her nipples, switching her mouth and her fingertips, lightly blowing a stream of cool air on her wet nipples to make them tighten further. Vi shifts her hips forward, searching for friction, anything to ease the ache between her thighs. Which, if it’s anything like the ache between Caitlyn’s own, has to be driving her halfway to insanity.  

Caitlyn puts her mouth and fingers back on Vi’s now-chilled nipples, and traces the fingertips of her opposite hand down the defined center line of Vi’s torso, taking small detours to brush over her scars with featherlight pressure, all the way to the button on her navy work pants. She dips her middle and index fingers just underneath the waistband, tugging lightly. Vi groans and tightens her fingers in her hair, uttering a strained, “ fuck! ” that has Caitlyn snapping open the button on her pants and unzipping them one-handed with speed that matches the urgency she can feel rolling off the woman she has pinned against the door to her apartment, panting and writhing and beautiful. 

Just after she gets Vi’s trousers undone, as she’s tracing her fingers back and forth over the waistband of her briefs, Caitlyn pulls away from Vi’s tight nipples, leaning up to kiss her and shifting to cup her breast in the hand not occupied with teasing the skin somewhere south of Vi’s belly button. Vi’s panting into her mouth at this point, not really kissing back, and Caitlyn feels a surge of pride that she’s the one who’s made Vi feel like this. She carries that wave of possessiveness through as flicks her tongue across Vi’s jaw to her ear, taking the lobe between her teeth and pulling slightly. She moves just below Vi’s ear to suck a hickey to match the one she’s no doubt sporting, scraping her teeth over the tender skin. She hears Vi’s breath come out in a hiss as she asks, “this okay, darling?” 

Vi groans, pulling and pressing at her head with the fingers that are still woven through her hair, not really pushing her in any specific direction, but communicating her need well enough anyway, “Fuck, Caitlyn, please touch me. I’m so okay. I need, God, fuck–” she trails off without finishing that thought, but Caitlyn’s always been a fast learner, and she’s more than happy to oblige. 

She dips the fingers that have been teasing at the edge of her briefs past coarse curls, and farther until she reaches the curls that are drenched in slick. She moans into Vi’s neck at the feeling, giving the barbell through her nipple another gentle tug. Caitlyn slides her fingers along Vi’s outer lips in slow, teasing strokes, avoiding where she’s most sensitive, where she most wants Caitlyn to go, before she gives in to Vi’s needy whimpering and strokes one finger through the middle, gently separating her outer lips to drag her finger through where the slick is most concentrated and forward to her clit, circling once. 

She presses kisses to Vi’s neck as she feels her tense, hears her hiss and groan, bucking her hips into Caitlyn’s hand, trying to get her to move . Caitlyn acquiesces with a light laugh, dipping back into the wetness and dragging it forward to circle over Vi’s clit, repeating the motion over and over as she feels Vi’s thigh, tense and tucked to the outside of her knee, start to shake. 

“Fuck, more , Caitlyn,” Vi’s panting in earnest now, one large hand pulling free of her hair to grab at Caitlyn’s wrist, the other clenching almost painfully in her hair.

Caitlyn moves the tip of her finger back to the source of the wetness, pressing her fingertip just inside Vi’s entrance and relishing the way Vi’s hand clenches in her hair again. She stays there, fingertip just inside that delicious, wet heat, not moving, smiling into the gear tattoo on the side of Vi’s neck and twisting lightly at her nipple until Vi grips her wrist more urgently, pushing her hand farther inside her briefs, and pants out, “inside. Please.

Caitlyn moans at the needy instruction, and slowly presses her finger all the way into Vi’s slick heat, panting into Vi’s neck at the feel of her, whispering how good she feels into Vi’s neck. They’re caught in their own blissful bubble, teetering on the edge of the pleasurable, straining climb toward a climax, when Caitlyn bends her finger and strokes it forward and down, rubbing against the rough cluster of nerves she knows is right there

Vi bucks hard enough to dislodge Caitlyn’s forehead from her neck and hand from her nipple. Looking down at Vi with no small amount of awe, Caitlyn repeats the motion, watching Vi as she does. The teeth sunk into her lower lip, the tendons flexing in her neck, and the muscles bunching all the way down her torso are all so erotic that Caitlyn hardly has any words as she continues moving her fingers, except: “I want to taste you.”

______

“What?” Vi can barely function enough to stay standing, even with a door behind her and Caitlyn’s lithe strength in front of her, let alone process that she’s just been asked a question. 

“I want to taste you,” Caitlyn repeats, still stroking just one long finger inside her. Vi can feel herself dripping, has been able to since she was sitting in her truck on the way to this apartment, for fuck’s sake. She can feel a whine caught in her throat, her hips stuttering, trying to take Caitlyn’s finger deeper, trying to get closer to what she’s now pretty goddamn sure is going to be an incredible orgasm. 

While she’s trying to formulate some sort of response - Caitlyn had asked her a question, hadn’t she? - Caitlyn pulls her hand out of Vi’s briefs, despite Vi clutching desperately at her wrist, and Vi feels fucking betrayed , snapping her eyes open to glare up into Caitlyn’s hooded blue gaze. She opens her mouth to ask her what the fuck that’s about, when Caitlyn smirks down at her fuck, that’s hot and traces her wet fingertip over the front of Vi’s hipbone. 

A second later, newly breathless, Vi watches Caitlyn fold her tall frame down onto her knees on the floor, and then as her tongue follows the same path as her teasing fingertip. Caitlyn moans into her hipbone and Vi feels new wetness drip into her soaked briefs as she answers Caitlyn’s moan with one of her own. She has a sudden moment of clarity, an almost out of body experience as she realizes the absurdity of the situation. Caitlyn’s still fully dressed. So far, the only article of clothing they’ve managed to lose is her shirt. Her sports bra’s still on, just pushed up over her tits. Her pants and boots are still fully on, and she’s so worked up she was about ready to cum in her pants from just one of Caitlyn’s fingers inside her. 

She laughs lightly and feels Caitlyn’s answering smile against her hipbone. 

“Yeah, alright, Cupcake. Alright,” she finally manages. 

Caitlyn stands from the floor in one smooth motion, tangling her fingers with Vi’s and pulling her back into a kiss that tastes vaguely different - like her , Vi realizes. She breaks the kiss with a smile and backs up, still holding onto Vi’s hands, “Well? Come on, then.”

That tooth gap is going to be the death of her, Vi thinks. How is she supposed to refuse Caitlyn anything when she looks so sincere, so excited at the prospect of eating her out? The thought that they’re headed to Caitlyn’s bedroom so that Caitlyn can put her head between Vi’s own thighs is enough to make her stumble slightly. Which is okay, actually, because Caitlyn catches her, laughing, and kisses her stupid halfway between the front door and her bedroom. 

Suddenly, Vi needs to feel Caitlyn’s skin. She breaks their kiss for a second to yank off the sports bra that still rucked up underneath her arms, throwing it vaguely in the direction of the kitchen, and to kick off her work boots and toe off her socks before she makes a mess of Caitlyn’s spotless apartment. Once that’s done, barefoot and now a little shorter still than Caitlyn is, she reaches forward for the hem of Caitlyn’s soft shirt, waiting for Caitlyn to nod shyly at her before tugging it up and off. 

Vi feels like she’s not breathing as she skims her palms up the warm and soft skin of Caitlyn’s sensitive sides to her bra. Goosebumps erupt all over her torso, and Vi makes a soft, pleased noise in her throat at the reaction, happy that she’s here, that this is real , and she gets to touch this absolutely stunningly beautiful woman in front of her. 

Vi strokes her thumbs over the band of Caitlyn’s bra as she takes her in for the first time. 

Caitlyn’s gorgeous and slender, but not scrawny. Her whole torso is wrapped in firm muscle, interrupted by sharp collarbones flowing to the light indents from the ribs branching from her sternum to the full swell of her breasts, pushing against the thin cups of her lace bra. Vi’s eyes catch something that makes her grin, meeting Caitlyn’s eyes incredulously: “yours are pierced, too?” 

Caitlyn sinks adorably gapped teeth into her bottom lip and nods, shrugging slightly. Vi can’t help herself and laughs for what feels like the hundredth time since she arrived, ducking down to press her open mouth over Caitlyn’s nipple through her bra. Caitlyn’s answering gasp and the long fingers that slide into her hair make Vi shiver, flicking her tongue out to tease at the textured fabric over the hard peak. Caitlyn groans at the extra attention, pulling one of her hands away from Vi’s head. 

Occupied as she is, Vi’s not sure what Caitlyn’s done with her hand until the lace pressed taut against her face goes slack, and she realizes Caitlyn’s unhooked her own bra. One handed. Hot. 

Vi’s not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so she pulls back briefly to drag Caitlyn’s bra down her arms and off, taking a second to marvel at Caitlyn’s bare tits, rising and falling rapidly with her quick breathing and adorned at the tips with beautiful silver barbells with some kind of whitish, shimmery, multicolor stones at each end. Vi’s never been the best with words, so she puts her mouth right back where it was, groaning at the feeling of bare skin and cool metal under her tongue. 

Caitlyn’s knees buckle and she clutches at Vi’s shoulders with her fingernails. Vi catches her around the waist with one arm, using her other hand to grab and lift at Caitlyn’s thigh, encouraging it to lock around her waist. Caitlyn gets the hint, wrapping those gorgeous, long, long legs around Vi’s waist, bringing her burning, damp core flush with Vi’s lower abs, exposed by her undone work pants. 

Vi’s own knees almost buckle at Caitlyn’s gasp, and the feeling of wet heat so close to her own, but she manages to keep her feet, pressing kisses to the plush tops of Caitlyn’s breasts as she walks them as quickly as she can back to Caitlyn’s bedroom. 

She makes her way carefully through the narrow doorway to Caitlyn’s room and sets a knee on the enormous, neatly-made bed. She takes a lot of satisfaction in using her brute strength to slowly lower Caitlyn to the bed, taking care not to drop her. The look of wonder in Caitlyn’s eyes when she meets them makes her flush and duck her head, distracting herself and Caitlyn with laving her neglected nipple with the flat of her tongue. 

Caitlyn’s apparently figured out her tactic before long, though, and two strong arms lock around Vi’s neck, pulling her flush with Caitlyn’s torso. A second later, Caitlyn’s abs flex against Vi’s, her hips lifting and twisting, raising Vi clean off the bed and tipping her sideways and onto her back, where Caitlyn swings a leg over her to straddle her with a triumphant grin. 

Vi’s still reeling from the smooth disarming move, drunk on the feeling of Caitlyn’s skin against hers and the feeling of the wet patch of Caitlyn’s leggings back on her lower abs when Caitlyn puts her hands on either side of her head and leans down to kiss her. 

Vi can feel her hips rolling up against Caitlyn’s, coaxing groans out of both of them, and Caitlyn takes that as her cue to work her way down Vi’s neck, tracing her tongue over what Vi recognizes as the general outline of her gear tattoo, guess Caitlyn likes those , and down to tongue away the light sheen of sweat that’s gathered between her breasts. Caitlyn presses a cheeky kiss to her sternum, shifting fully onto her knees and reaching down to tug at both of Vi’s nipple piercings at the same time. Vi can’t help the desperate noise that escapes, her hips bucking more insistently as jolts of pure electricity arc from her nipples to her aching, swollen clit. 

“Cupcake–” she pants, warning in the endearment, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her head into the duvet as Caitlyn seems to take pity on her, continuing her kisses down Vi’s torso, stopping every so often to press featherlight kisses where Vi knows her scars are, and tracing her tongue through the ridges of her abs, and Vi thinks that this isn’t pity, after all, it’s more like torment. 

But, finally, Caitlyn’s mouth reaches the top of Vi’s briefs, and Vi feels long, talented fingers hook in the sides of both her pants and briefs. She looks down after a few beats of nothing happening to see Caitlyn looking up at her, a question in her gaze, and she manages a shaky nod, lifting her hips to help Caitlyn slide off the last barriers between Catilyn and her dripping, soaked core. 

Caitlyn drops to her knees between Vi’s legs, pulling her a little closer to the edge of the bed  with long fingers around her calves, and, when she seems to deem Vi in the appropriate position for whatever she has planned, presses tender kisses to the inside of one of Vi’s knees, then the other. She uses firm hands to lift first one leg, then the other so that Vi’s knees are hooked over her narrow shoulders, calves and feet hanging down her back. 

Vi can’t help it, and hooks her ankles together behind Caitlyn’s back, contracting the muscles in her legs and trying to drag her closer to where the exposed heat of her swollen core is being brushed by the cool air in the room. 

Caitlyn smiles, and Vi’s pretty sure she’s dead. She’s dead, and she must have made amends with whatever gods she’d managed to piss off in her short but brutal life, because there’s no way this is reality, not with Caitlyn - who kissed her ; Vi still can’t believe it - on her knees in front of her, kissing gently up her inner thighs with so much care that Vi has the absurd urge to cry. 

She doesn’t, though. Can’t, really, not when Caitlyn switches from gentle kisses to suckling hard at the skin of her inner thighs, leaving marks that are sure to be there for days. Vi doesn’t know how long it is until Caitlyn finally presses her beautiful mouth to where Vi wants her, needs her, and she moans like eating Vi out makes her feel just as good as she’s currently making Vi feel. It doesn’t make any goddamn sense, but Vi’s going along with it, because if she doesn’t come soon, she thinks she might die. 

Vi feels like she might never breathe again as Caitlyn’s tongue works her over, tracing from her opening up to her clit, circling and gone before Vi can tell her to never stop. Vi feels like liquid, melted into the impossibly soft bed underneath her and poured open for Caitlyn to take what she wants, anything she wants. 

Here’s the thing, Vi doesn’t usually receive. It’s a carryover from her year in Stillwater, maybe, but Vi usually feels like she has to be guarded, can’t let her guard down with anyone. That’s been the major complaint from the few women who’ve tried for a relationship with Vi in the past. Nowadays, to avoid disappointing anyone, she usually just flirts. There was that friends with benefits thing with Sarah a few years ago, but other than that? She’s thirty and she’s never had a real relationship. 

If she masturbates, it’s hard and fast, tense and nearly silent, a carryover from her time in Stillwater and growing up in a household with three siblings and a slightly nosy father. So this slow, drawn out moment of connection, where she knows that Caitlyn’s doing this for her but also taking her own pleasure from it? It’s almost too much. 

Even without knowing anything about Vi’s past, her issues with vulnerability, Caitlyn seems to know to be gentle. She’s treating Vi with care she’s never experienced before, and Vi feels her eyes well at the tenderness, has to blink back tears as Caitlyn reaches up with one hand and links long, slender fingers with Vi’s, squeezing her thick, scarred knuckles. As she grounds Vi with the contact, she presses the tip of her finger back to Vi’s entrance like before, sliding inside without preamble and crooking it in the familiar “come hither” motion. 

Vi arches and gasps, squeezing harder at the fingers laced with her own, trying to fuck her hips down on the single finger Caitlyn’s using to take her apart, and Caitlyn understands , humming around her clit and sliding a second finger in with the first. 

Vi’s thighs start to shake, a strangled, “yes, just like that,” scraping its way out of her throat, as she lets Caitlyn’s mouth and fingers send her somewhere else, somewhere lighter, consumed with the pleasure Caitlyn seems thrilled to give, and give, and give. 

She feels Caitlyn suck on her clit, hooking her fingers hard, and Vi can’t sense anything but the quaking tension in every muscle in her body, the gush of wetness that escapes her, and the static in her ears as the thread of tension that’s been building since Caitlyn kissed her in the hallway - maybe even since that almost-kiss nearly a week ago - snaps and sends her flying, floating away from her body in a euphoric rush. 

______

Vi slowly floats back down into her body piece by piece. She’s sure she’s never come that hard in her life. Her ribs are snapping up and down like she just finished a grueling three hour gym session, and she can’t feel her legs. 

What she can feel is Caitlyn: still squeezing the hand laced with hers and tracing a thumb back and forth over the outside of her hand, Caitlyn’s gently licking away the evidence of Vi’s climax, nuzzling into the crease of her thigh, and peppering her skin with gentle kisses. 

Vi musters up enough energy to squeeze Caitlyn’s hand back and manage a hoarse, “hey there.” She might have screamed, she guesses from the rasp in her voice, but it doesn’t really matter. Not with the way Caitlyn’s eyes light up when she lifts her head to make eye contact, smiling up at Vi with swollen, slick lips. 

She takes a second to wipe her mouth on the back of her hand, gently setting Vi’s legs down on the bed from where they were draped over her thighs and standing with cracking knees to help Vi shift farther up onto the bed, so her head’s on the pillows. 

The sight of Caitlyn standing in front of her, still in her leggings, wet patch visible and stretching from between her legs to halfway down her thighs even through the black fabric returns Vi’s strength faster than she’d thought possible. 

“Take those off,” Vi’s saying before she has a chance to think about how she phrased it. It’s worth it to see Caitlyn’s mouth form a surprised little “o.” She doesn’t ask any further questions, just reaches for her waistband and tugs them down long, long legs - Vi really likes her legs. She’s going to worship them appropriately when she can move again - and stands in front of the bed, one knee knocked against the other and fingers tangled again at her midsection, endearingly shy after what she’s just done to Vi. 

“Get up here, Cupcake.” 

Vi smirks at her, watches her flush and her mouth open and close a few times before she settles on, “you don’t have to, Vi, really. I just wanted to make you feel good, you don’t owe me anything.” 

Vi’s heart squeezes a little at that, because she can tell how honest Caitlyn’s being, how sincere she is about only wanting to bring Vi pleasure, and not needing anything for herself. But she can also see how worked up Caitlyn is, especially with the leggings out of the way, and so she gambles a little that Caitlyn likes how blunt she is and says, 

“I know, Cupcake. I want to. But you made me cum so hard I can’t feel my legs, so I’m gonna need you to help me out. Crawl up here and sit on my face, would ya?” 

Vi smirks again as Caitlyn flushes all the way down to her perfect tits and utters a shaky, “o-okay,” setting a knee on the bed and doing exactly what Vi’s asked her to. 

She’s so graceful, even having to crawl on her hands and knees on a plush mattress over a fucked out Vi, laying sprawled and boneless in the middle of the bed like she owns the damn thing. Vi takes a second to enjoy the view and the hot, wanting kiss Caitlyn presses to her lips before she rises fully on her knees to get herself arranged properly over Vi’s head. 

This close, the sweet, musky scent of her has Vi nearly salivating. Her pussy is perfect - pink and swollen and dripping between lips covered in neatly-trimmed hair the same color as the inky blue strands on her head. She can see that Caitlyn’s slick is smeared into the crease of her thighs and down her legs quite a ways, and the evidence of how worked up Caitlyn had gotten eating Vi out makes her groan, wrapping her hands around Caitlyn’s thighs and tugging her burning core directly onto her mouth without further preamble. 

Vi doesn’t have Caitlyn’s patience for teasing right now, even fucked out and reeling from that incredible orgasm. She licks hungrily through her folds, moaning at the taste and the new rush of wetness against her tongue. 

She can feel one of Caitlyn’s long-fingered hands reach down to tangle in the longer side of her hair, pulling slightly as Vi reaches her clit, sucking it into her mouth and swirling her tongue a few times for good measure. 

The sound is muffled from where she’s laying, pinned to the pillows with Caitlyn’s pussy smearing wetness across her face (the thought makes her own cunt clench around nothing), but she hears Caitlyn gasp out a, “yes, darling,” that makes her immediately redouble her efforts to make the incredible woman above her cum. 

She presses her tongue to Caitlyn’s entrance, where she’s still dripping, and slowly presses her tongue inside, flexing the muscle to press it forward and stroke back out. Caitlyn’s thighs are already starting to quake on either side of her head, so she plunges her tongue back in, fucking Caitlyn with her tongue until the quaking intensifies, pulling out abruptly to lick her way back up to Caitlyn’s clit and suck hard, flicking her tongue back and forth across the bundle of nerves. 

Vi’s rewarded with a loud wail that might be her name, and a flood of slick that drips down her chin and neck as Caitlyn’s whole body shakes and the hand in her hair tightens to the point of pain. 

While she waits for Caitlyn’s muscles to relax from the strength of her orgasm, Vi busies herself with pressing little kisses all around Caitlyn’s clit, avoiding where she knows she’s still too sensitive to be touched, and, when Caitlyn starts seeming like she’s coming back to herself, Vi leans her head to one side and sucks a hickey into the soft flesh of Caitlyn’s inner thigh. 

______

Caitlyn huffs a laugh and leans back, sitting up on shaky legs and slowly swinging one over Vi’s body so she can shimmy down to press a kiss to her lips and brush the backs of her fingers against Vi’s cheek before sliding down further to lay against her, face tucked into her neck and one of Vi’s strong arms wrapped around her shoulders. They’re still on top of the covers.

She can’t stop smiling. Her heart’s still racing from the best orgasm she’s ever had, her whole body feels jelly-boned, and Vi’s warm and solid and happy underneath her. She can’t help the thought that squeezes in before she can stop it that this doesn’t feel like just sex

Caitlyn shakes her head to clear it, anyway, and Vi makes a questioning noise at the movement that’s jostled her a bit. 

“Nothing, just…” but Caitlyn can’t voice her thought yet, it’s way too soon, so she says, instead, “are you hungry?” 

______

They’re showered, dressed in Caitlyn’s softest sweats, and on the couch with a pizza that’s half tomato and mushroom, half pepperoni about half an hour later. A reality show Vi had started watching to appease her sister, but had eventually started to actually enjoy is playing softly in the background. 

Caitlyn’s watching Vi watch the tv and eat her pizza with what looks like absolutely no regard for actually chewing it before cramming the next bite in her mouth, when she dabs at her own mouth delicately, clears her throat, and says,

“I, uhm. I’m free next Saturday after five. If you’d like to go to dinner?”

Vi looks up at her, significantly slowing the rate at which she’s devouring her half of the pizza, and stares at Caitlyn as she continues, “You don’t…of course you don’t have to want to go to a proper dinner, there’s no pressure, but I thought that maybe–” 

Vi cuts her off with a laugh and kiss that tastes a little like pepperoni and feels a lot like a promise, “It’s a date, Cupcake.”