He listened. Worked the rag over the lines of his neck. Across the curve his nape, side of his shoulder. Cool trail of sweat and grime wiped up to let the cold trace its fingers over him. Skin turned to goose flesh in the wake of each pass.

Still, his head hung over, his spine bent, back spanned as his elbows rest against his knees, hair spilled over his brow. He looked up to see her. Looking again. Cut a smile cross his lips. Wry and tart as a lemon. With just a hint of sugar.

"Its the Fell," he jabbed. Straightened up in his chair, all lean muscle, and wiry sinew. Shift. Some softness there, where his body remembered to rest against the wood of the old chair. Relaxed. Abs and hips shifting with his weight. Tossed the shirt unto the floor.

He shook his head. Kicked up a foot, and peeled off a boot. Set it down with care. Then the other. Almost ginger there beside each other. Reverent as he put them aside. Planted his toes against the cold earth.

"Two bit muckers get choked out and stabbed every day," elbows on knees, feet planted, he slid fingers down side of shin and into calf muscle.Toes wiggled and felt the floor beneath them. Turned his head away Tongue point clicking against a canine. "But I do owe you," he admitted. Fist bundled up the fabric, and he turned to see her again. "You gonna gouge me?" teeth bared. Breath hot, as he craned his neck, and fingered the tendons there flexed by his collar bone.
 
"Sure... Just happened to be in the middle of the bloodiest brawl that shithole has seen all week. Someone saw. Someone heard. Someone always does."

Her hands reached slow and smooth beneath her coat, and pulled the dagger free. No rush, no threat in the motion... just a sort of casual inevitability. The thief let the blade spin between her fingers, glint catching from the candlelight as it turned.

“I suppose,” she murmured, “you’re not talking about this...” The point flicked toward him, a lazy wave. The blade was still coated with blood, dried brown. She watched him over the edge of the blade, his bare chest, the lean muscle mapped in bruises. The way he sat there like a cocky revenant, all fire and scars and that damned grin.

The dagger dipped, rested against her collarbone. Silk tapped her nail against the dagger’s hilt. A steady tik-tik-tik.
You gonna gouge me? He did not mean the blade. But damn him, the way he said it... like he wanted it either way. She sat up slow. The blade thunked into the shelf beside her with a quiet, final sort of sound. She leaned forward, elbows on knees.

"Must’ve been more kick in that Henhouse Mash than I remember," she said low, eyes on him like a knife under the ribs. "Yer slurring nonsense."
 
A raise of the chin, at the flash of steel, and the drop of a promise not quite made. The almost offer sent a tingle up his spine. Set his hairs to stand. "And if I was?" He shift in his seat, legs wide, fingers rolling down to his collar bone, across the dark hairs that curled on his chest.

He liked how she got up.

...Yer slurring nonsense.

"You don't seem to mind it none," his head tilt over as his spine arched. His hand trailed down, two fingers, bladed, crossed an X over those ribs she eyed. "Right here?" he played on. "That where you'll take me?"
 
"And if I was?"
Her eyes lingered on him longer. Every caress was a damn invitation. She liked the way he looked, no denying it. But she hated how much she liked watching him play that game. The longer she stared, the sharper the prick of sense, telling her this was a trap she didn’t want to fall into. Because it was stupid. Dangerous. Silk knew better than to let things get tangled this way.

Watching, weighing, waiting, before she finally let her fingers curl around the dagger’s hilt. Slow, deliberate, and pulled it out from the wood. The thief slid down from the shelf, her movement fluid like water. Boots hitting the earth floor without a sound. Any sound was swallowed by the stale air thick with dust and moisture. She closed the space between them.

Her eyes locked on his, unblinking as she let the dagger’s tip trail a path from the curve of his collarbone down to the hollow just beneath his ribs, right over his diaphragm. Right where a single strike would fold him in half, the breath cut clean off. A fire need air to burn. He’d lose his breath before he even hit the ground.

“Choking like that can leave a man dizzy, half-gone. Best you rest.”
 
Spine rigid, breath shallow as her eyes bored down on him, the cold trail of the knife's point, traced across the groove of his bones, the bumps of his skin. Settled there just beneath rib and cartilage. Forced all of him to rise to attention. Skin prickled, nipples pointed. The whole of him charged, as his toes gripped the cold damp floor. His pulse pounding in his chest. In his head. The thump after thump against his ribs, just enough to let the knife sink, millimetre after millimetre. Kissed sharp with its sting. Bead of red slow to well there beneath the prick.

Made every breath the sweeter.

His eyes never flinched from hers. His same fingers that had marked the X trailed up the edge of the blade. Up and up to the hilt.

An electric push of breath. A sound, mixed between wanting ache and heated groan. "Oh," he laughed. "I was getting all settled in," a stretch of spine and abs, "cozy like," a shift of hips, fingers on the blade traced back down the cold flat that just wanted more. "But here you are," teeth hungry beneath curled lips, and a wild look in his fire painted eyes. "Gouging me," his fingers stopped at the point, there the fresh blood beaded. "Go on then," he dared. "Put me to rest," his head swimming.
 
His eyes, jasper, glinted up at her when he shuddered under the blade, when his skin prickled up, heat and cold fighting their little war over the skin. She was close enough to catch the heat off him.

The way he breathed through the pain. The way he liked it. How he sat there like a wolf. Grinning, bleeding, daring her to twist it.

She tilted her head, curious. Maybe she was thinking about it. She did nothing at first. Just let that moment simmer. Let it sting. And then...

A flick of her wrist.

The knife dipped, traced a slow, lazy curling path over the ridges of bones, down the centerline of his torso and tight lines of muscle.

It slipped lower. Over the hard dip of his navel. Then down further, to the edge where skin met fabric. It came to rest at the line of his pants, tip gently pressed to the knot of the next cord.

“Right here?” she asked, mimicking his earlier tease.

Then, with a flick, she cut one of the laces. A single lace on his trousers snapped like it had volunteered.

Then she leaned back with silent ease. She propped herself against the edge of the table, one hand braced behind her, the other still holding the dagger. Loose. Casual.

Her gaze drifted, down the line of him. Then back up to meet his.

No words.

Just a smirk curling at the corner of her mouth.
 
A shudder of breath as the knife moved. Cold twisted with heat. Flesh rippled, and shift with the push and pull of tendon and bone. The hard steel tip trailed down the dark and bristly path. Popped a chord.

Zalan shook with a cool laugh. Delightful agony mixed with a wanting madness. It made his head spin. He sucked breath through teeth as the knife came off him. Hands on his thighs fingers splayed about the run of muscle, thumbs rubbed deep into the bone. Spine curled in her wake. Hips rolled with that smirk on her lips.

How she saw him, and set herself back. All ease and cool in that little space between them. He burned toward her, on the furthest edge of his seat.

Untouchable lines, soft curves he'd already seen snap tight to squeeze a life out. "You," he let trail in her ear, as his eyes traced down her neck. "Tell," hungry through his teeth. The look followed down the sinew of elbow and wrist as lungs filled with heated air. "Me," he took in the scent of it all, iron and musk, smoke and sour tang. "Gouger," the knock of his tongue in his throat, almost a prayer to the moons.

Fingers still gripped tight about his knees.

His eyes on the knife so sure in her hand, so close to falling out. His look sparked upward. Met cold sharp grey in her eyes. Saw the fire of candles flicker there, with their dance. His grin again, all teeth that wanted to sink in a bite. His blood dripped down from her work. A red trail to the snapped chord. Pooled on the hem of his pants.
 
Watched him burn in that fragile space between pain and desire. Her gaze flicked down. To the blood trailing like molten garnet down the ridge of his belly. She watched it bead, run, and catch in the fabric. Her free hand reached out and ran her fingers through the blood, slow and thoughtful.

She rolled a shoulder, then the other. Unbuckled the straps across her collarbone. The coat slipped free, rough wool, rag-stitched, the hem stained from alley muck, river scum and old nights worse than this one. It slumped to the floor behind her in a heavy fall.

Beneath it, her armor was exposed, a patchwork of boiled leather and blackened steel buckles. Thief’s rig. Quiet gear. Made for silence and slip-throughs. Her hand slid toward the buckle of her leather armor, fingers curling with intent. The chest was close-fitted, buckled close at ribs and hips, and darkened with old linseed oil. Reinforced where it mattered. Flexible where it counted. She unclasped the first buckle, just beneath her throat. Another at her ribs. Then lower. Fingers deftly working the silent buckles. The fitted leather groaned faintly as it gave way. With a final tug, the armor came free, and she tossed it aside. Beneath, she wore only a brown tunic, sweat-darkened at the spine and threadbare at the edges.

The dagger never left her other hand. Then she leaned forward, slow as a sigh. The flat of the dagger met the underside of his jaw, pressed up under the scruff of his beard. Rough stubble rasped against metal. If he swallowed, the muscles in his throat would flex hard against the cold edge. She turned the blade. Just a little. The point kissed beneath his chin, right in that soft hollow of the mandibular. Tilted his head up with the cold steel.

“Take them off,” the thief said, voice as a cutthroat’s whisper in a dark alley. The dagger glinting in her hand as she nodded slightly towards his trousers.
 
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A low laugh throbbed through him, up from the pit of his gut, where about light fingers had smeared red trail about him and twisted him up all the more. His foot tapped eager and fingers clawed into his own legs.

The corners of his mouth ached shameless with want as she closed.

Knife slipped up his throat. And a giddy ripple of breath almost bounced out of lips pursed with surprise. It hurt so good.

Fuck. he mouthed. The cold he felt dig through the thick scratch of his beard. Turned sweet sting of a point pressed so sure against the hollow there. Where he had seen her take that man who's hands were still printed purple about his neck.

Take them off,

Ripples of devilish breath rolled out of his lungs. Measured pushes out his throat as clawed fingers eased and carefully slipped up to the hem she had been so kind to cut loose. Worked to his waist, thumb hooked under the first layer of fabric, as fingers gripped and peeled. Every hair of his body tantricly aware of the tool so expertly pressed to soft and vulnerable flesh. One leg, out, her still between him, he shift to the next.

Heart hammering the harder each time the point sunk its tooth in, just a little deeper. A little more. The second leg fell to the floor, and a low curl of a sound, like the low rumble of smoke betwixt the flame, poured out of him. He eased back. Tent pitched and full against the small clothes his cock seemed so ready to be out of.
 
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"Careful." she advised him as he wormed his way out of his trousers. It seemed to take hours before he managed to get the pants undone. Her eyes flicked down. She didn't bother to hide her smirk as she took in the sight of him, his undergarment stretched taut over his erection. She could make out the shape of him through the fabric.

Slowly she slid the dagger down from his throat. The point dipped, grazing the skin like a scratch, leaving a crimson line smeared in its wake. The point stop just under his collarbone and she leaned back. It pinned him where he sat. Stay. He could feel the pressure, not enough to break skin, but enough. If he twitched, he’d earn himself a new mouth just under the collarbone. The linen tunic, clinging across her ribs, swayed as she shifted her stance. Her breath was quiet, but the grey eyes, were full of a hunger.

Her free hand dipped again, this time beneath the hem of her tunic. The fabric lifted just enough to show the work of her trade. Leather straps, dark with use, wrapped firm around the curve of her thighs. Two blades on each side. Slender things. Not the kind you threw. These were made for slipping in under ribs in tight alleys or for cutting ropes. One by one, she loosened them.

The daggers were set down on the table behind her without a glance. Her fingers found the buckle at her waist. Tugged the worn leather belt free with a soft pull. The weight of it, her tools - her life, hung for a moment in her palm. Then down it came, coiled like a dead snake across the table. It landed beside her daggers. Tools of her trade, laid bare on the table. Next came her boots and pants, the laces sliding free with a whisper of sound. They joined the rest of her discarded clothing.

She stepped in between his legs. Silk seized the thin fabric of his small clothes in a merciless grip, the edge of the blade kissing the inside of his thigh. The dagger parted the fabric like butter, baring him to her greedy thief-eyes. His undergarments fell away in tatters. The thief drank in the sight of him, the planes and hollows of his body, the jut of his arousal against his belly.

She straddled him in one smooth motion, knees bracketing his hips as she sank down onto his lap. Slick heat against his hardness. The first press of his cock against her sex drew a ragged gasp from her.
 
"There it is," his voice twist down an octave at the site of her smirk, and he twitched, jiggled and stiff come the nick of her blade. An itch given a fresh scratch. Wet that welled in its trace, turned to new point. Pricked.

He growled, mouth splayed wide and all too toothy.

Stay

His breath hissed out. Those damned eyes. Cool as cloud cover.

The knife pressed in good enough to bite though. His jaw snapped shut and he felt that new made mouth open beneath his collar. Run wet its new trail. Slow across black swirls spread down the valley of his chest.

That fucking tunic. Clung so greedy against her curves. Stuck to parts he wanted to feel. His lips pulled back excited, his eyes too glad to see the straps shown. The cold lines that ran up her thighs. His empty lungs knocked against his ribs.

Without a sound, the tools came free. One, by one. Then the boots, and the pants. Tossed. And his skivvies felt all the tighter. Nethers all the more hot and bothered with wet throb.

Damn if she didn't have good legs.

She stepped forward. Had him suddenly solid as a fucking rock. His feet flat against the cold earth, toes digging for grip as she snatched and cut and stared at him.

"Fuck," fell out his mouth, split wide into a grin as he stared down at his bare cock with a laugh. Squirmed in his seat, as he saw her looking. Greedy and wanting. He grinned all the wilder. She climbed onto his bones. Her legs sure about him, pressed her heat against his. Wet lips that kissed the underside of his length. He rasped-turned-groan, and his fingers grabbed tight about her thighs, as he hinged his hips, to feel the rub of her folds run slick across his sticky firmness.

But he remembered the knife.

Laughed cold drops of sound, as his pulled in, lungful of greedy lungful, hips bridged up, to better grind cock against maddening mess, "Careful," he shuddered a whisper. Moaned. Grabbed her just a little higher. Wanted so bad to bite and be bit. "You'll get more blood on ya,"
 
His hands clawing into her legs. She watched his blood run down the dagger's edge, so crimson. His skin was furnace-hot against hers. The scent of him headily with the coppery tang of his blood, sweat and smoke, skin and embers, curled into her senses like opium. Turning her mind into a haze. Her body tense in the way that had nothing to do with fear.

A good thief kept control like a second blade. Tucked close. Hidden, but always there. Distraction got you gutted in alleys and left cooling in the dark. This, this! was how thieves got killed, in a moment like this. No doors watched. But here she was. Not just lingering, drowning. Crumbling. Her eyes flicked down to his mouth, red and parted in a gasp he tried to swallow.

Licking her lips, she tasted copper and salt on them. She dipped her head, her lips brushed his neck. A breath. A graze. A kiss. Right where his pulse thundered under skin. Ran her tongue along a bloody trail, lapping at the evidence of her handiwork.

"Careful," "You'll get more blood on ya,"

She brought her lips to his ear. "Getting anxious?" she cooed, before she nipped at the lobe of his ear. She rocked there, painting him with her slick even as the blade never wavered. She grinded her hips, the head of his cock catching against her warm, wet folds. His hips bucked up to meet her instinctively. It would take nothing for him to reach out and seize back the control, if he wanted it back. She knew it. He knew it. The room knew it.

Finally, she took mercy on both of them, not by moving the dagger, but by reaching back and guiding his hardness to her entrance, taking him inch by inch. Broken moans fell from her lips. The thief closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the pleasure.

"Oh, hell..!"

Didn’t even know if the latch was locked.

Didn’t care.

The dagger hand trembled. Just enough to betray her. The sharp pressure against his chest eased off. Her fingers opened. The dagger slipped from her hand, silent as a breath, and clattered to the floor at his feet. Fingers skimmed through the coarse hairs on his chest. Her fingertips traced over the edge of the wound she’d given him. Her fingers skimmed over his chest, as if reading his old scars like braille. Her fingers curled in his hair.
 
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Lips tingled close their breathy charge against his ears. A moan from his throat as head lulled to show the trail of her mouth there along sinew, muscle and vein of his tongue cooled neck, til coo called him close, and teeth sank clean and sharp with tingle that stirred shivers down his spine. Cock stiff and sure and fat for all the weight of their want and stir.

"Terrified," timbre breathless and burned. his eyes came shut.

His head lulled back with lazy roll as she did her dirty work. Pressed and pressed him down to smoldering coal. "Greedy," he pant a ghost of a laugh. Like embers loosed from shuddering throat. His fingers spread wide about the firm plump of her ass. Grabbed and pulled her all the closer betwixt the rocks of them. Twined in ripple and flex. Desperate for those bristles and bumps that painted so sure against the swell of his excitement.

A shift. Fingers, cold for that instant nerves burned so hot they knew not how to feel, bled warm press down his shaft. A grunt from the back of bruised throat, his head keeled toward her. The press and wrap and rub of folds that slicked him down a fiery trail. He hinged to find ridges to rasp against. Better set the fuel all to happy to burn.

Oh, hell...

A laugh that rolled through teeth clenched. Smoked and swirled. Fingers held tight what they'd won. Grasped for bone to better feel the shift and sway of her hips. The pump of her legs as they slapped thigh to thigh. A drum that beat between them. There beneath it all. Legs to shift in rhythm as heels tapped and sack swung and smacked against greedy wet cunt. All the better to set and move and feel how she fit about his glowing ache. The ease of blade against his chest let his lungs take in more the air they fought for.

The cold clatter. Harsh ring. Had his eyes widen with the bolt of shock shot up his spine. Turned too rigid. Frozen there a blink. A soldier. All sparked awake and set away to bitter breeze. Till fire trailed burns across tangle of chest.

His eyes saw how she searched. Pressed and felt. Across his scars. Across his cuts. Across him. Pulled at him. Kept him here. Breath sure in his lungs. Heavy as he let his own hands work. Slipped under fabric tunic, over the dip of small of back. Up each gentle ridge of spine. He counted as they rocked and he looked for those cold grey eyes. Cool as cloud cover. Lungs pushed out their hot ah that shook through the whole of him and set his cock to twitch.

He melt toward her, hips steady with the warm wet work, his legs plied strong beneath her as chair creaked and ground against the floor.

Fingers at the back of her neck. Grasped at cropped dark strands. Pulled slow, tugged sure about those locks. Let his head knock soft against hers as they shift in their twist and tangle. Face buried toward hers. Pressed cheek to cheek as he pant. Where she started and he ended lost in the desire for more.

"Bloody, gouger," words smoked in her ear. Bared his teeth wide. Head dipped. He took a bite at her shoulder through the fucking tunic. Gave it a shake, with low rumble in his throat. Kissed the side of her neck. Then another. Up, closer to her ear. Again. Wet press of lips turned to bite. Gentle at first. But he would keep pressing down his teeth as the pace spiked and he drove low, and full with each flex of his gut, and ragged breath.
 
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Greed would always be the ruin of thieves.

Not the hunger for coin, that was just profit. Gold and silver were always someone else’s trouble. But the other kind? The want. True greed was deeper. Keep your hands light, your heart lighter. Never stay too long. Never get seen. Never get close. But here she was, tangled in his arms and blood and breath, and he was counting her vertebrae like they were his marbles.

In his warm jasper eyes she only saw an inferno. A man burning. Not the clever glint of a man weighing his odds. Her eyes were dark with lust, the icy grey almost black. She didn’t flinch her gaze away. Couldn’t. Not with his gaze like that. She drank in his every shudder and gasp, cataloged them like precious gems. She was kindling. Let him eat at her, take her apart in bruised breath and teeth at her throat. Her breath came too fast, too ragged, chest rising in shallow pulses that made the welt on her ribs ache.

She wanted to blame the drink.
The blood.
The madness of the night.

As her pleasure surges, the heavier become her breathing. His teeth sunk into the curve of her shoulder, hot breath spilling over cloth gone damp. The bastard had teeth! She felt the tug through linen. He growled low in his throat and shook her. Like some street mutt. She jerked, tried to twist. Her breath hitched, caught between a growl and a gasp. "Animal!"

He kept moving. Lips dragging up her throat, breath hot and uneven. He bit down so hard she thought he would leave with a piece of her in his mouth. With a hiss between her teeth, Silk reveled in the sting. Whined for more.

Every moan dragged out like a shout in a temple. Every shift of their hips, every scrape of skin or wet slaps, sounded like chains in the dark. Each thrust of her hips sent a creak through the old chair. A thief was meant to be weightless. Quiet. Fog on a window. The way his hands gripped her made it worse. Or better. Who could tell anymore? Making noise like a goddamn amateur. She could hear it, how loud she’d become. Too loud. Too present. Too real. No ghost in the night now.

Pressed down to him, bones thrumming, pulse roaring in her ears like a mob at her heels. Her moans fill the air as she takes what she wants from him, bouncing and grinding in whatever rhythm she pleases. Driving him deeper into her and stretching her more. Each undulation sent molten sparks coursing along her nerves, pleasure building to a fever pitch within.

"Bloody, gouger" his words curled into her.

Her hand found the small wound she'd carved into his ribs, still warm and slick. Two fingers pressed in, sharp and sudden.

"Call me that again." Words uttered both as a curse and a moan.
 
Bone to bone. more lumber set to burn. He moaned. For all he was, was wild for her. Alive, with her. Set to breathless blaze, by her. Twist and shift, grab and pull. And neck, and hair. Nails raked across her back. Head lulling toward her. Wanting for her touch. He traced his snout and scratched his bristled beard up along her nape. Rub and scrape, and lick up long the side of her neck, bit her ear. Kissed behind it. Felt all her weight against him full and sure in his arms that snaked and squeezed about her, as fingers grasped and spread across with firm hill and valley of whatever muscle and bone they found in their crush and shift. Groans, and moans rattled and rumbled down his throat, and through his spine as more of his tinder spent with each thrust and hinge and shift. The fire brighter and brighter in the hollow of his hungry pit. The tongues of ecstasy and thrill tingling higher and higher with each rock and shift of bright and living friction between them.

He couldn't feel her hand slide over him smooth with it. Jammed fingers in wet warm gash there beneath his ribs. A grunt deep in his throat that stole all the breath from his lungs. Pulled lips away from plant and kiss. A whimper through his lips as he bent a twinge wrong, stiffened all the way through his cock, mid tangle and felt sack shake and taint pucker all the more as he shivered in sharp breath. Toes gripped for life against the floor.

White hot and at the brink to bust, her fingers sank there in their work, and he quivered broken breath. Heel tapping desperate all of him clamped tight below in a cold and disciplined stop. A huff. Then a laugh hissed through his teeth. A low and rumble, like ash on a cold wind. His eyes blazed the brighter as he rest his head against hers.

He was going to savor this.

His hand at the back of her head twist her strands about fingers and pulled so he could drive himself up and pull her down the more to match her. Other hand down to her ass, took firm grasp of cheek. Felt the plump muslce, shift and work, stretch as he dug fingertips hard to spread her just the more. Ran fingers to bracket over his thick and pulsing desire. Clamped tight his cumming. Felt her fat and swollen lips brush there beneath the curl of knuckle and bone. Played there with the tips of his fingers. In those greedy folds so warm wet and welcome.

A grin, as he looked deep into those pitfalls of honest want her eyes had become. Dark as storm clouds. Close to the truth as a fool could find. His breath rattled out of him as she bounced her slick cunt that smothered and ground him so good. All of him ached and pounded with his pulse, so charged with the electric mix of pain and pleasure. It spidered across his every fiber.

"Bloody," he grinned the wider as his legs bounced their rhythm. Slow and steady and full. "Fucking," he growled the more as he lovingly languished in each pump. Eyes like wildfire as the heat between them shimmered with each hammering pulse of heart. "Silk," the name rasped out on secret and ragged breath. Embers on his tongue, hot across his lips.The space between them burned away and he caught her mouth with his. A moan, full of want in his throat, whilst he shift and keeled to ply a more tender want.

Awash in all the pain and pleasure that let him know he still lived.
 
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