Ines never intended to move into W's room. At least not permanently.

Amiya assigned her a room of her own the day she arrived at Rhodes Island. W had already informed Ines that the little bunny from Babel was in charge now, but it was still bizarre to see. She'd set her bags down on the bed and gone to find W.

When Ines did find her, W had immediately dragged Ines back to her room, so they could catch up in private.

They did do some actual catching up later on in the evening. Resting her head on Ines' chest, W had lamented the conditions of the contract Rhodes Island had given her.

They made me turn in my entire collection of guardian guns. Isn't that disgusting?

Then W had said I'll never let them take you though and flicked one of Ines' horns, and Ines knew that the room she'd been assigned was going to stay empty.

The next morning Ines had walked across the ship to retrieve her belongings from her room, praying that no one in the halls would notice she was wearing one of W's t-shirts. She hasn't been back by it since. One day she'll swallow her pride and ask Amiya, who surely already knows, to give the room to an operator who will actually use it.

It's not just pride, though, is it? Even if she's sleeping in this bed every night, even if all her stuff is here; when Ines still has another place she theoretically could go, things don't feel as substantial. She can think of these last few weeks as an extended vacation.

A vacation where their days are spent in a war room plotting regicide, but still.

Giving up her room would mean buying that there's any sort of permanence to this situation, and there's too much up in the air for Ines to accept that yet. Believing something is permanent only makes it more painful when it all comes crumbling down around you.

But that doesn't mean Ines won't enjoy it while it lasts.

Ines has her knees pinned on either side of W’s head, her crotch hovering above W’s face, but she... isn’t really sure how to proceed. As much as W annoys her sometimes, she doesn't want to be responsible for breaking her girlfriend's neck. There's the matter of W's horns too. Ines has had W's head between her legs enough to know that spikes on the top are no joke when they stab your inner thigh.

This had been W's idea. Everything is always W's idea.

"I don't want to crush you."

W laughs at that, grinning coolly up at her. The feeling of W's breath against her bare thighs makes Ines shudder.

"You won't." W cranes her neck up to press a kiss to Ines' pussy, before sinking back into the pillow. Then, W grips Ines' thighs and yanks her down onto her face.

“Ah.”

It takes Ines a few wobbly moments to adjust, tightly gripping the headboard in front of her to help herself stabilize. How W is able to hold this position with no support is beyond her. When she looks back down at W, the Sarkaz seems to be waiting for further instruction from Ines, for once in her life.

"You, ummm." Ines starts to stammer out, but W doesn't wait for her to finish before she gets to work with her tongue.

It's pretty good. Ines immediately sees the appeal. The angle allows W to get in deeper than when she usually eats her out, and there's an odd sense of security in the way W holds her thighs.

Though, Ines finds herself increasingly aware of how quiet this feels. When W sits on her face, she never shuts up. W probably likes talking specifically because Ines can't snark back when she provokes her. Ines thought she'd enjoy giving W the same treatment but... It seems pointless almost, to say anything when she can't know whatever biting remark W would have prepared in return.

It's probably the logistics of having to balance on another person, but sitting like this also makes Ines feel almost too aware of her own body and how it exists in space. Looking down she can tell that her skin has progressed from being attractively flushed to just—red and splotchy. Sweat from the exertion is causing her hair to stick uncomfortably to her back.

Ines wonders if W feels that way too, when their positions are reversed. Probably not.

Ines is pretty sure she knows why, even if it's not something she likes to think about.

Being shameless is easy when your body means nothing to you.

Her ever-expanding wardrobe, her lacquered nails and painted horns, even the war trophies she collects—they're all attempts to add value to a body W doesn't think has any worth of its own. A body with no name.

Ines realizes that W has stopped moving her mouth. Remembering her earlier worries, Ines looks down to her girlfriend, slightly panicked.

W doesn't seem at all distressed, though. She's gazing up at Ines as if in a trance, antennae resting slightly askew against Ines' thighs.

W is looking at Ines like she's something worthy of being revered. Like she's divine.

Deep down, Ines knows that she's seen this expression on W before. In memories she's locked away and has no desire to revisit. So, she'll pretend it's the first time. It's certainly the first time W has ever looked at her like that.

W looks away as soon as they lock eyes, like she knows Ines caught a glimpse of something she'd rather keep hidden. W starts moving her tongue again too, giving Ines no time to pause and ponder what exactly that meant.

One of W’s hands trails up from Ines’ thigh to her ass, which W gives an enthusiastic squeeze. But it isn’t her actual target—Ines’ tail is. Short, fluffy, and unfortunately, incredibly sensitive, it usually stays hidden beneath Ines’ clothes to keep from betraying her Sarkaz disguise. That's probably why W loves teasing it so much, it’s a part of her little lamb only she gets to know.

W grips the tuft between her thumb and forefinger and starts to rub it gently. The added sensation is nearly enough to make Ines lose her balance, but then W decides she’s going to pull.

“S-shit!” Ines’ body dips forward slightly, as she clings to the headboard for dear life. Ines doesn’t dare look down at W again, knowing that she’ll manage to have a smirk even with half her face covered by Ines’ pussy.

W’s peculiar horn shape means they aren’t easy to grab, but Ines reaches for something just as good, grasping both of W’s antennae in her free hand. To teach her a lesson.

W does release the tail, but buries her tongue even further into Ines, her nose nudging against Ines' clit. Ines needs to grip the headboard with both hands again.

Then, W pulls her tongue out almost completely. She transitions to giving Ines long, excruciatingly slow strokes. It's nice, but it's not nearly enough. W is toying with her.

This whole time Ines has avoided moving her hips at all, not wanting to seem, well, desperate. But clearly, desperate is what W wants. There's few things W enjoys more than making her girlfriend abandon her dignity.

Doing just that, Ines grinds herself down as much as she can, trying to get W's tongue to hit right where she needs it. Once Ines has a good rhythm going, W speeds up her tongue again to match it. Ines knows W won't relent until she can make her fall apart. She's already nearly there. Her vision is blurring and her tail is starting to twitch. W digs her nails into Ines' thighs hard enough to hurt.

A decade of being a mercenary trained Ines to be very quiet. In her mind she can hear W hissing No one else is even awake and You don't need to be so prissy in her ear, like she would fucking Ines on the cold floor of the tent they shared years ago.

Ines can't force herself to be loud, though. She's devoted so much of her life to being a fake, but in bed she refuses to be less than genuine. Even if whimpering out W's name when she comes is the best she can offer.

At least W will always know she means it.

Ines stays like that for a while, gradually relaxing her grip on the headboard as she comes back down. It's peaceful. Until W smacks Ines' thigh, reminding Ines that— Right. She should probably move.

Ines lifts herself off of her girlfriend and just about faceplants onto the mattress. After a moment she rolls onto her side. She wants to look at W.

How soaked W's face is should probably embarrass her more, but it mostly makes Ines want to kiss her. Maybe she's just as shameless as W.

Ines does kiss her, open-mouthed and sloppy, ignoring the fact that W was still trying to catch her breath. W indulges her, but pulls away quickly.

"Smothering me once tonight wasn't enough?" she gasps.

"No." Ines tries to pull her into another kiss, but W gently pushes her back.

"Wanna get something, real quick." W explains, as she sits up and begins to lift herself out of bed, patting Ines' shoulder apologetically in the process. If Ines were more with it she would have tried to stop her, but all she can do in the moment is reach out pathetically in W's direction—once W is already halfway across the room.

When W steps into the patch of moonlight on the floor Ines can almost make out her scars. She watches the W tug open their dresser, pull out a washcloth to wipe off her face, and toss it to the floor as soon as she's done. Then W grabs Ines' hairbrush off the top of the dresser.

"That's mine, you know?"

"Obviously it is, Ines!" W waves the brush around to emphasize that this was apparently, a ridiculous thing for Ines to say. "You're the one it's going to be used on!"

Ines remembers hearing somewhere that the back of a hairbrush makes an effective spanking instrument. From W, probably. Who else would've brought that up in casual conversation?

Ines stares as W sits back down on the side of their bed. W places her hand in Ines' hair, reminding Ines of how sweaty and matted it must be at the moment.

"Can I braid it?" W asks.

She sounds so earnest Ines feels a bit bad for assuming her girlfriend's intentions were less than pure.

"...Sure?"

What else could she say.

W moves her legs up onto the bed, and carefully guides Ines' head into her lap. She gathers Ines' hair together, to make it easier to brush.

W's thighs are cool against Ines' cheek, her callused fingers soothing. It's pleasant enough that Ines wonders if she'll fall asleep before W finishes.

W begins to brush Ines' hair methodically, working on one section at a time. With the way Ines has seen W yank a brush through her own hair, she expected to receive similar treatment, but W is taking her time, being careful not to pull.

"My hair used to be pretty long," W says suddenly. "When I was a kid. Not as long as yours is, but..."

W has finished brushing out Ines' hair now, and is separating it into thirds. Ines hums. It's unusual for W to bring up her past unprompted. She's realizing how much she'd missed hearing W's voice earlier.

"The shape my horns grew into, though, I couldn't really keep it. My hair would get wrapped in these like, elaborate knots around them in my sleep. It was—" W pauses, inhales. "Miserable."

As long as Ines has known her, W has cut her own hair, unceremoniously hacking off any excess with a knife every few months. Trusting another person with a sharp object that close to her neck is too risky, she'd say. Cutting it herself is probably how it's always been for W.

Ines pictures W as a little girl, kneeling over a mirror, holding back tears as chunks of hair fall to the floor around her with every stroke of her knife.

To Ines, it's a scene that feels all too familiar.

Ines, did it hurt when you carved your horns to look all Sarkazy? Did they bleed?

Ines has tactless questions of her own she wants to ask now.

Did you cry, W? Could you still cry back then?

She won't, though.

Ines thinks about the wisps of W's hair that sometimes get stuck to the side of her mouth when she's hunched over, hard at work mixing a blasting agent or doodling on a grenade. Too focused to notice. (Or too focused to care.)

Ines doesn't want to interfere with W's braiding, but if she twisted her neck to check, Ines expects there'd be a strand of hair stuck to W's mouth right now.

"Short hair is hot on you," Ines says quietly.

W chuckles a bit. "Well, that's what matters, right?"

W's fingers are deft. She braids Ines' hair like twisting wires for a bomb. Same attention to detail, same steady hand.

"I'm finished now," W announces, pulling the completed braid in front of Ines' face for her to see. Even in the dimness Ines can tell it's unbelievably neat.

W slides her legs out from under Ines, cradling her head to make sure it ends up safely back on the pillow. When Ines glances up she can see the tiny shadows W's eyelashes leave on her cheekbones.

W lifts the completed braid forward over one of Ines' shoulders. Without anything to tie off the end, it won't hold through the night. But it's refreshing to have her hair neatly off of her back, even if it feels a little chilly.

Ines doesn't need to think that for long though, because W is wrapping her arms around Ines and snuggling into her from behind. Her antennae, vibrating with happiness, tickle against Ines' shoulder.

Ines feels the familiar sensation of W's tail snaking around her thigh. W wraps it tight, not uncomfortably so, but enough that Ines' leg is locked in place.

Honestly, Ines had wanted to be the one holding W tonight. She'd wanted to have her turn to run her fingers through W's hair, to scratch the spot beneath W's horns that makes her purr—but W doesn't seem to be giving Ines any say here.

Ines isn't too bothered. She knows W only does the thing with her tail when she's feeling particularly clingy. She'll let W have this.

The beds at Rhodes aren't large enough to comfortably hold two grown adults—but as long as Ines can sleep in the arms of the woman she defied death for again, it's no inconvenience at all.

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