[fic: knight]
Title: Knight
Pairing: Lotti / Vincent
Rating: PG-13 (though R undertones)
For teracia. I tried, but I'm horrible at het pairings so ... I hope you like it ;; Sorry it took so long and is just ... yeah.
“What are you doing, Vinceyboy?”
The golden eye scaled over the surface of the chessboard, resting on the Black Knight. The chess piece was carefully situated next to its King; protective and noble. The man’s red eye wandered to the rook a few black squares away, resting with a few white pawns nearby, clustering like an army. After a few moments of sharp deliberation, both mismatched eyes lifted. They came to rest on a pair of almost-red.
“Lotti,” he began in a soft, barely-there drawl as his gloved hand swept over the board, knocking over the King casually. “Isn’t it obvious?” A smile was drawn on his face then as the King clattered to the floor. “Playing a game,” he finished brightly.
Lotti’s brow lifted and she gave an uninterested glance to the now decimated chessboard. “Looks pretty boring,” she drew out in a cadence before resting her chin ever so precariously on Vincent’s shoulder. “You sure like these games.”
“It pays to be prepared,” Vincent lulled.
Pale fingers stretched out and removed the Black Knight from the board. The smile on his face did not falter. In fact, the edges curled up, morphing into the darkened shape of a smirk. “Plus, it passes the time.”
“Looks pretty dull to me,” Lotti responded flippantly.
“It depends who you ask, of course,” Vincent smiled.
Lotti rolled her eyes, growing bored easily. Casually, she reached out to snatch the Black Knight from Vincent. Before her slender fingers could grasp around the neck of the Knight-and choke the life from it, one nail at a time until it lay withering on the ground, and oh how she would smirk, licking her lips as he heart clanged with memories of a time when killing was forbidden and all Glen asked for was privacy--Vincent slapped it.
“What was that for?” Lotti frowned, hand recoiling halfheartedly. “Is Vincey feeling feisty today or something?”
Vincent’s eyes had gone temporarily vacant as his hand cradled the Knight, staring down at it compassionately. His breathing was uneven and when he finally answered, it was disconnected and empty. “I wasn’t expecting it,” he hummed and set the Knight carefully back down.
“You’re odd,” Lotti began in a drawl and rested her chin back in its comfortable spot on the man’s shoulder. Her lips ghosted over the shell of his ear, warm and real. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking of that brat of a brother of yours.”
Vincent didn’t answer, lips taking on the slightest twitch at the derogative statement. Instead, he laughed, that airy almost-giggle of his, and tipped his head back. “My attention is solely on you,” he stated fluidly, eyes shutting as he grinned.
“That’s what I like to hear,” Lotti responded promptly and ran her hand slowly along the curve of his neck. Without warning, she hooked her leg around his thin waist and hoisted herself upon his lap.
“Hmmm~ Of all the seats in this dull place, I think this one is the best. What do you think?” Lotti questioned, fingernails sliding down along the columns of Vincent’s neck. She pivoted forward, hands now resting on his forearms. Her lips lingered briefly over his, imminent and wet.
Vincent only chuckled in response and brought his hand down along her side, paying extra care to altering its path so it ended just above where her skirt began, hidden beneath her top. The smirk grew as the tips flirted lower, curving down, teasingly.
She laughed, that manic laugh that oftentimes broke through the façade, and she pushed her hips into the inviting hand, but not before kicking her foot backwards. It was an innocent act, one that could easily be ignored. But it was quite intentional. The heel of her foot had aimed to knock over the annoying Knight, but instead wiped the board clear of the white and black pawns alike, including the crowded Rook.
The Knight fell last, taking its side solemnly at the side of the fallen King. As her head tipped back and lips met along her marked skin, she watched the pieces on the floor, imagining them coming to life. Blonde hair was everywhere and nowhere all at once. On her neck, pooling over her shoulders, dipping between the divot on her chest, and then lower, brushing sensitively along her inner thighs. And as her noble form arched up, nails digging into the back of the black fabric of the man’s shirt, she could have sworn that the troublesome Knight had taken on a face.
A face of that brat brother of her colleague.