Chapter Text
Vaggie turned from side to side, looking herself up and down in the mirror. Of all the dresses she’d tried on, this one—a grey silk evening gown—was among the better ones, but she was still unsure.
“I don’t know. What do you think?” she asked.
Charlie, seated on a couch a few feet away, gave her a double thumbs-up and exclaimed, “It’s amazing! You should totally get that one!”
“That’s what you said about the last one. And the one before that.”
“Yeah, well, they all look good on you.”
Vaggie raised an eyebrow.
“There’s a common denominator there. Think you might be a bit biased?”
Charlie blushed and giggled, tucking some hair behind her ear. Vaggie was getting better at this, making flirtatious remarks at the right times or offering a well-worded compliment to get that reaction.
Vaggie grabbed the next dress off the rack—a ruffled red frock—and returned to the fitting room. As she slipped out of her current gown, she reflected that these shopping trips always felt like a game of dress-up. She was nothing more than a doll for Charlie to tote around from store to store, wearing whatever clothes Charlie told her to wear and gushing over each one as if she actually gave a shit. This was their fourth shopping trip in the last month. To be fair, though, this one did have a purpose.
There was a gala coming up that would be hosted by some Goetia duchess. Charlie was obliged to attend, and had invited Vaggie along as her plus-one. This wasn’t the first party they’d gone to together, and Vaggie doubted it would be the last. She’d learned very quickly that royals—especially Goetias—never lacked a reason to throw a feast or a ball, and they were all constantly trying to one-up each other. The host of this upcoming gala, being uniquely extravagant, had demanded all her guests buy new formal wear to show off. Charlie decided that if they had to buy new dresses, they might as well make it a date, and how could Vaggie turn her down?
Four months had passed since she defended the palace from the break-in. At this point, she was fairly certain Charlie didn’t know she was an angel, but that didn’t mean she was out of the danger zone—far from it. Every day was spent bending over backwards to keep Charlie happy. Vaggie attended events with her, hung out in the library with her, and shared no shortage of kisses. Long periods of alone time often led to a makeout session in a closet or on a table.
There was just one line they had yet to cross, the one act Charlie had hinted at many times but Vaggie was determined to avoid. So far, regular dates and plentiful kissing served to make up for the absence of that act.
If Charlie was getting frustrated or impatient, she hid it well. She hadn’t pushed for sex beyond implications and roundabout suggestions. Vaggie hoped it would stay that way. She had sacrificed every other scrap of dignity she had; if she could hold on to this last bit, she would.
She’d been in Hell for over half a year, and she finally had a plan. She finally knew how to get back home. She just needed to hold out a little longer.
She pulled up the bodice of the red dress, but was unable to reach the zipper. She probably could have if she tried, but this was one of those enrichment things best left for Charlie. As she turned to leave the fitting room, she glanced over her shoulder to the mirror and cringed at the sight of her exposed back. Her shoulder blades were marred by twin scars, pale and hideous, right where her wings should have been.
As they so often did, painful memories resurfaced: a blade, burning hot and icy cold at the same time, slashing her eye out of her face; her wings torn from her back, sinew and muscle ripping away in Lute’s hands like tissue paper; the sight of her own blood, brilliant gold and steaming on the pavement. She’d never seen her own blood before that night.
Vaggie shuddered and shook her head to rid herself of those awful visions.
Don’t think about it. Not now. Not yet. One day at a time.
She opened the door and stepped out, fixing her face into a smile, but Charlie wasn’t watching her anymore. Her attention was drawn to a nearby aisle, where a customer and an employee were having a heated argument. The customer was gesturing wildly, and the employee’s patience was clearly waning.
Vaggie was inclined to ignore it. Fights were more than commonplace in Hell. It wasn’t their problem. Charlie was staring at the two demons, though, wringing her hands and worrying her lip with her teeth.
“Zip me up?” Vaggie asked, presenting her backside. Charlie snapped to attention and hopped off the couch.
“Of course!”
Charlie zipped up the dress. It was tight, but not painful. Vaggie lifted her arms and spun to show off the flowing skirt. Razzle and Dazzle, seated on either armrest of the couch, applauded and squeaked their approval. Vaggie grinned at Charlie and prompted, “Well? What do you think?”
“I love it! It’s—”
“Amazing? And I should totally get it?”
“Maybe,” Charlie said, blushing. Her hair writhed happily.
Vaggie checked herself out in the mirror. The dress wasn’t bad, but she didn’t like how it exposed her back. Deciding it was a no, she returned to the dress rack. She noticed that Charlie’s attention had drifted away again, back to the nearby argument.
“This is fucking horseshit!” the customer yelled, waving a blouse in the employee’s face. “I’m supposed to pay that much for a fucking shirt? And I can’t even fucking return it?”
“For the last time, ma’am,” the employee said through gritted teeth, “I have no control over our prices or our return policy.”
It went on like that. Charlie watched with a deepening frown. Vaggie couldn’t figure out why. Was Charlie sizing them up as potential targets? Would she kill them for their annoyance?
No, that couldn’t be it. If Charlie did have a sadistic streak—and Vaggie was still very certain she did—she was going to great lengths to hide it. She went out of her way to appear kind and empathetic by giving handouts to beggars on the streets, rewarding and personally thanking her staff for nominal tasks, and offering to buy anything Vaggie so much as glanced at. As a princess, she had responsibilities, but she always made herself available for her friends. Vaggie had met some of those friends. They were loud and vulgar and as demon-ish as demons could be, but not one of them acted as if Charlie’s behavior was out of place. It didn’t take long for Vaggie to conclude that she must have bribed them. Why else would they act so unsurprised by her inexplicable sugary niceness?
“Two left,” Vaggie announced, holding up a sparkling gold gown and a gauzy purple one. “Purple or gold?”
“Hm?” Charlie glanced over, only half-paying attention. “Yeah, sure, whichever one you want.”
Vaggie sensed this shopping trip was nearing its end. By looks alone, she quickly decided the gold dress was a no and ducked into the fitting room with the purple one. The collar was embarrassingly low-cut, though probably elegant by Hell’s standards. The skirt wasn’t much better; the ruffled hem brushed her ankles in the back, but the front was disproportionately short, falling just halfway down her thighs. When she looked in the mirror, her first thought was that it was the dress of a harlot, equal parts beautiful and sinful.
She could never wear something like this in Heaven. And the fact that the possibility so much as crossed her mind was proof that Lute had been right.
After six months of hard reflection, she’d come to terms with the fact that her punishment was deserved. It was harsh, yes, even brutal, but Lute had never been one to mince words. Vaggie did a stupid, impulsive thing. She let a sinner go, and for what? That kid had probably ended up skewered on another exorcist’s blade five minutes later. Vaggie had replayed that night over and over in her head, trying to figure out why she’d done it, but she could never quite pinpoint the reason.
Maybe it was Ana’s influence. Her sister Sofia had undoubtedly ended up in Hell, so maybe there was a tiny part of Vaggie that couldn’t help wondering if she was among the sinners fleeing through the streets every year. Maybe she had already been exterminated. Maybe Vaggie had killed her, not realizing who she was—not that it would have made a difference.
Maybe it was the imp girl. Maybe Vaggie would have been better off joining in her sisters’ games, and she should’ve MacGyvered a way to kill that imp indirectly. Maybe sparing her had been the first step down a slippery slope of weakness.
Whatever the root cause, she did what she did, and now she was paying the price. She made the wrong choice. She understood that now. If Adam and Lute were reluctant to give her a second chance, surely someone else would see her plight, see how her heart had changed, and sympathize. She could live without Lute’s forgiveness; she could live without Adam’s forgiveness, too, if it came to that. They could demote her, publicly shame her, deploy her to the lowliest guard post—she didn’t care. She just wanted to go home.
Soon, she promised herself, recalling her plan. Just hold out a little longer. One day at a time.
Vaggie took a deep breath, put on her most winning smile, and walked out, ready to declare that this dress was the best of them all and her absolute favorite. She froze when she saw that Charlie was gone. Razzle and Dazzle hopped to and fro across the couch, chirping anxiously. Neither of them had eyes for Vaggie. Their focus was solely on Charlie, who, to Vaggie’s chagrin, had inserted herself between the still-arguing customer and employee.
Vaggie sighed and returned to the fitting room. She took her time changing back into her own clothes, hoping the situation would resolve itself by the time she finished. ‘Twas not the case. When she came back out with the purple dress folded over one arm, she saw that the argument had escalated.
“Fuck off already! Who the hell even are you?” snapped the customer.
Charlie’s smile wavered and her eye twitched, like she was wrestling with whether or not she should invoke her princess status. She apparently decided against it, as she raised her hands in an appeal for peace and said, “I’m just trying to help. I think if we all just calm down and take a deep breath—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down! I’m in Hell! And this stupid bitch is trying to sell me a five-dollar shirt for ten times that!”
“Okay, um. . .” Charlie glanced over her shoulder at the employee, who remained silent and sullen. Seeing she was on her own, Charlie steepled her fingers and calmly suggested, “Look, I get it. Whenever I’m having a rough day, the little things can feel like big things. But is yelling at someone who’s just doing their job going to change anything? I don’t think so. How about this: we all take a breather, and then—”
“Fuck that. I want this ugly-ass shirt.”
“Fine. I’ll pay for it.”
Both the customer and the employee looked at her in surprise. The customer’s face flushed with rage, and she sputtered, “You think I want your fucking charity? You think I want some hippy cunt all up in my business? You take it, if you want to shit your money all over the place!”
She flung the blouse onto the floor and spat on it.
Charlie’s face tightened with anxiety.
“I’m just trying to help. Please, if you’ll just—”
“For the last time, fuck the fuck off!” With that, the customer gave Charlie a hard shove.
Vaggie was across the store in a flash. No one noticed her until her fist cracked across the customer’s jaw, knocking her into a nearby rack of clothes. The customer fell on her ass with a loud squawk, and her hands flew up to guard her face.
“¿Por qué no te a la mierda?” Vaggie snapped. The customer took one look at her stony face and scarred eye and decided the blouse wasn’t worth the trouble. She scrambled to her feet and bolted from the store.
Vaggie thought that was the end of it until she was knocked off her feet by a blast of heat. She instinctively leaped towards Charlie and tackled her to the floor, shielding her with her body. When she looked up, her jaw dropped at the sight of Razzle and Dazzle transforming into huge dragons, one after the other, and bursting outside in pursuit of the asshole customer.
“No!” Charlie shouted, pushing Vaggie away and racing after them. “Razzle, Dazzle, stop!”
They didn’t hear her. Razzle caught up to the customer first and knocked her off her feet with a sweep of his tail. She screamed as he pinned her down with one massive clawed foot. Up and down the block, sinners shrieked and scattered, driven away by the threat of dragonfire as Dazzle opened his smoking jaws to burn the customer.
Charlie jumped between them and waved her arms, yelling, “No! That’s enough! No burning! Let her go!”
Razzle and Dazzle abruptly stopped. They glanced at each other, then Razzle lifted his claws off the customer. Charlie tried to help her up, but the sinner smacked her hands away and skittered off, cursing and tripping over her own feet. Charlie snapped her fingers at Razzle and Dazzle and whistled a sharp note. It must have been a specific command, because they shrank down, reverting to their natural tiny forms.
Vaggie and the employee slowly rose to their feet. The employee looked around the trashed store, raised her arms helplessly in the air, and gave Vaggie the most exhausted, exasperated look she’d ever received.
“Sorry,” Vaggie said awkwardly.
After helping with what little cleanup they could and getting harangued by the manager until they agreed to pay for the damage, Charlie and Vaggie returned to the palace. Charlie hardly said a word the whole ride back, and quietly excused herself to her room once they arrived. Vaggie went down to the library and swung around her spear for a while, but when Charlie didn’t make an appearance, she decided it would be a good idea to check on her.
She went up to Charlie’s room and knocked. Charlie called her in, and Vaggie stepped inside.
Charlie sat in the middle of the bed with KeeKee curled up in her lap. She stroked her black fur slowly, almost lethargically. Vaggie was surprised by how sad she looked. No, not just sad—defeated. Charlie was normally so upbeat. In retrospect, the incident had been fairly small (and could have been a lot worse), but Charlie still looked upset. What Vaggie couldn’t figure out was why. Was it because she’d been aiming for one of those fake-nice moments, and her efforts had failed? Could something so insignificant really cause her this much grief?
“How’re you holding up?” Vaggie asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Alright, I guess,” Charlie said with a sigh. KeeKee butted her small head against her hand, earning a tiny smile.
Vaggie was quiet for a few seconds before she spoke up again.
“You handled that situation as best as you could.”
“Did I?”
“Yes.” Vaggie turned to fully face Charlie, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. “You’re not responsible for other people being dicks. That bitch probably came in looking for something to fight about.”
“I guess,” Charlie relented, but she sounded unconvinced. Her face crumpled, and her voice warbled as she said, “You never really know what’s going on with people, though, you know? She could have been on the tail end of a really shitty week. Maybe she’s tight on money and was just hoping to find some clothes that make her feel good. Maybe that blouse was just the. . . what’s that idiom humans have? ‘The straw that broke the camel’s back’? What even is a camel?”
“Or she might just be an asshole. She’s in Hell for a reason.”
“I know, but. . . no, I don’t know. That’s the thing. It’s impossible to know.” Charlie almost sounded frustrated, but Vaggie sensed it wasn’t directed at her.
“C’mere,” Vaggie said, opening her arms. Charlie crawled across the bed towards her, and Vaggie pulled her down against the pillows. Charlie hugged Vaggie's middle painfully tight and tucked her face against her neck. Vaggie swung an arm around her, pulling her closer.
“I just wanted to help,” Charlie said again. She sniffed. A tear rolled down her cheek and dripped onto Vaggie’s collarbone.
Vaggie blinked at her in surprise. She’d never seen Charlie cry before. What in creation could have prompted that? Surely she wasn’t serious about this. Surely the incident hadn’t legitimately upset her.
Not knowing what else to do, Vaggie squeezed Charlie’s shoulder and murmured, “I know.”
“I just wish I could understand what’s going through some people’s heads. You, for instance.”
“Me?” Vaggie tensed. She could have sworn her heart sped up.
“Yeah. You’ve told me so much about your life, but sometimes, I feel like I hardly know you at all. It’s like I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
Vaggie felt herself slipping into fight-or-flight mode. A deep-seated fear she hadn’t felt in months washed over her, chilling her to the bone. It took conscious effort to keep her breathing steady.
That was the closest Charlie had ever come to admitting the truth. Even after six months, the cat-and-mouse wasn’t over. She was still circling, searching for a crack in the dam, a chink in the armor. It was unclear why, other than that this might just be a sadistic hobby of hers, but why didn’t matter. She was still trying to wear Vaggie down, to break her, and that couldn’t happen.
This was a warning. Her patience was wearing thin. Sooner or later, she would get tired of waiting for Vaggie to crack. She would beat her down, capture her, imprison her, and then she would be free to break her at her leisure, over and over. Maybe she would kill her afterwards, or maybe she would throw her out into the streets, leave her to the mercy of the sinners. They would probably love to get their hands on an exorcist. Horrible scenarios looped through Vaggie’s head, each worse than the last: slavery, torture, rape, murder.
She had a plan to get home, but it required her to stay alive for the next six months. When Extermination Day arrived, she would fall to her knees before her sisters and beg their forgiveness. They would see she’d learned her lesson, and they would bring her back to Heaven—if not for full reinstatement, then at least for a fair trial. Lucifer had gotten a trial, and his offense had been much greater than hers. Surely they would allow her that much.
Everything hinged on Charlie’s goodwill, fake or otherwise. If Vaggie didn’t step up her game, she wouldn’t live to see the next extermination. Everything she was doing now was good, but not good enough. It would take more than shopping trips, gala dates, and kisses to quell Charlie’s frustrations.
Vaggie had one card left to play, one thing that might buy her more time. She’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but she was out of options.
They stayed in bed together until Charlie had to leave for a meeting. As soon as she was gone, Vaggie leapt into action.
With Razzle and Dazzle as an escort, she made a run to the closest beauty shop, then spent the rest of the day prepping herself. She trimmed, rounded, and buffed her nails, then gave them a coat of clear polish. She washed her hair and brushed a sweet-smelling oil through it until it was softer and shinier than ever before. It was long enough now to brush her shoulders, so she pulled it back from her face in a half-updo and tied it with a silky ribbon. She spritzed herself with perfume and rubbed her entire body down with lotion that left her skin baby-smooth and subtly sparkling. Finally, she applied a touch of makeup—not enough to be immediately noticeable, but enough to call attention to her eye, lips, and cheekbones.
Once she was sufficiently beautified, she broke out the purple gown. Charlie didn’t see her try it on, since she’d been busy failing to resolve the fight, and when they hastily made their purchases afterwards, she was too harried to even glance at Vaggie’s choice. It would be a surprise. Vaggie put the dress on, and when she assessed herself in the full-length mirror, she didn’t recognize the angel staring back. She was stunning, soft yet severe, and above all, sexy. It was a word she had heard before, but never consciously associated with herself or anyone else. Not even in her two romantic exploits had she thought the word “sexy” applied to either of her partners.
In all the best and worst ways, she'd turned herself into a painted whore. Even if she made it back to Heaven, the shame she felt in that moment would never leave her.
She was waiting in Charlie’s bedroom when she returned that night. Charlie started rambling about her day as she walked in and took off her jacket, but when she looked up and saw what Vaggie was wearing, she stopped dead in her tracks. She stared, slack-jawed and speechless. Vaggie stood up from where she was seated on the bed and sashayed across the room.
“You never saw the dress I picked out for the gala. I wanted to make sure you got a chance to see it beforehand,” she stated, like it was the most matter-of-fact thing in the world.
“Oh,” was all Charlie said.
Vaggie turned slightly to the side, letting Charlie see how the dress accentuated her curves in profile. She pressed a hand to her bodice and frowned, pretending to be uncomfortable.
“It’s nice, but it does get a little tight after a while.” She didn’t elaborate. She let her actions speak for her as she pulled down the zipper with practiced slowness and let the dress fall to the floor. She turned to fully face Charlie as the gauzy purple fabric pooled around her feet.
She wore only a strapless bra and a set of sheer panties that, in her opinion, completely negated the purpose of underwear. Charlie’s eyes bulged, and her mouth gaped as she struggled for words. Her face was flushed beet-red.
Vaggie stepped out of the dress and closed the distance between them, walking with a deliberate sway in her hips. She unbuttoned Charlie’s shirt and tugged her bow tie loose, pulling it through her collar.
“Are you gonna kiss me?” she prompted when Charlie didn’t move.
That bit of encouragement was all Charlie needed. She cupped Vaggie’s face and kissed her hard. A guttural moan escaped her as she did, the sound of six months of repressed desire.
Vaggie pushed Charlie’s shirt open and ran her hands over smooth porcelain skin, feeling the curves of her waist and squeezing her hips. She tugged insistently at her waistband, and without breaking away from her mouth, Charlie slipped off her suspenders, unbuckled her belt, and shoved her slacks down around her ankles. Vaggie pulled her across the room to the bed, then spun her around and pushed her down onto her back. Charlie sprawled across the bed with her legs dangling off the edge. Her eyes went demon-red, and her fangs sharpened. Her horns manifested, too, long and ridged, sprouting up from her writhing blonde mane.
Vaggie slipped Charlie’s underwear off and knelt on the floor between her legs. She kissed her thighs, nipped blemishes into her pale skin. She held Charlie’s gaze as she touched her lips to her pelvis, just above her sex.
Vaggie knew what she was doing. It had been a while, but she knew how to pleasure a woman.
Her first sexual experience was also with her first romantic partner, long before she met Ana. Yris was Heavenborn, a smith. The smiths harvested steel from the core of a newborn stars, then refined and sculpted it in a specialized forge. Their skin was naturally armored to tolerate high temperatures, and their overly large hands were reinforced with magic, allowing them to work hot steel without the necessity of tools. They weren’t classically beautiful like most other angels, but they didn’t need to be. Their purpose was not to be beautiful. Still, there was something captivating in their towering height, bulky frames, and raw physical strength.
Once, in the early years of the exorcists’ training, Adam brought a group of smiths to the barracks to demonstrate the making of various weapons. Yris was one of those smiths. Vaggie was instantly enamored with her, and her interest turned to awe when she watched Yris plunge her bare hands into a vat of molten steel. She drew up thick and thin ropes of the stuff, holding it in the air with her magic, and began weaving it like thread. Vaggie expected her to make a weapon, but instead she sculpted a small bird, a sparrow. Every feather was clearly outlined and the beak was roughened by subtle ridges. It looked so real, Vaggie half-expected it to come to life and fly out of Yris’s hands. After the demonstration, Vaggie worked up the courage to approach her. Yris was a thoughtful, slow-talking angel with a honeyed baritone voice and an air of calmness about her. When Vaggie complimented her bird, stuttering and blushing and wringing her hands, Yris smiled and gave it to her to keep.
They saw each other with increasing frequency after that, as the smiths brought in regular batches of weapons at Adam’s request. Talking led to flirting, flirting led to dates, and after enough dates, they wound up in bed together in a mutual taking of virginities.
The exorcists were all made with human anatomy, including permanent sexual organs—specifically, female organs. Vaggie had never seen a non-exorcist angel naked before, so it came as a surprise when she found nothing but smooth skin between Yris’s legs. Luckily, Yris’s magic gave her some limited manifestation capacity, so she was able to create temporary organs. They tried sex several different ways, first with male parts, then female, then a unique blend of both. Vaggie found she preferred the female parts, and soon became very proficient in pleasuring her that way. Yris didn’t seem to care one way or another; it was all the same to her. If Vaggie was happy, she was happy.
It was with Yris that Vaggie learned how and where to touch someone, and how gratifying it was to please a partner. Yris’s hands were large but dexterous, and so very gentle. Years of intricate artistry made her fingers perfectly precise in every touch. The two of them stayed together until the smiths' work schedule grew more demanding, and Yris was set to be deployed to the star-forge, far outside of Heaven. They agreed their relationship would be too difficult to maintain from such a distance and parted ways.
Vaggie found solace from her heartache when she met Ana; she also found an opportunity to refine certain skills. When Ana’s children arrived in Heaven, she moved closer to them and drifted away from Vaggie, until they eventually agreed to settle as friends. Vaggie mourned the loss for a while, as she had with Yris, but not once did she ever regret her time with either of them.
Now, as she willingly stuck her face between a demon’s legs, all she could think was that this relationship was the one she would regret. Her hands were tied, but it was difficult not to think about how wrong this was. There was no refuting it. It was a sin, plain and simple.
Don’t think about it. One day at a time. If you can pull this off, it’ll all be worth it, she reminded herself. She didn’t know if that was true, but it was the best assurance she had.
She didn’t waste another second. She shut her eyes, dipped her head, and licked Charlie long and slow. She sucked at her clitoris, covered it with her mouth and exhaled hot breath over it. Charlie moaned, rolling her hips up, gripping Vaggie’s hair. Vaggie wasn’t sure what she’d expected taste-wise, but she certainly hadn’t expected Charlie to taste good. Her soft folds were warm, velvety, and when her wetness pooled on Vaggie’s tongue, it tasted like sweet, sultry heat. The scent of her natural musk mixed with Vaggie’s own perfumed sweat fogged the air. It was intoxicating.
For once, Vaggie allowed herself to forget her hollow vow of restraint. She teased Charlie open and lapped around her wet hole, licked the delicate flesh between her folds, nipped and kissed her swollen clit. She lifted Charlie’s thighs and hooked them over her shoulders. She was effectively locked in place as Charlie crossed her ankles over her back.
Vaggie paused only once, when her bangs became too much of an interference. Charlie understood the problem and held them out of her face without needing to be asked, leaving Vaggie free to plunge back in.
It was wrong, it was so wrong, but she liked it. A trance-like need took over, the same one that had crippled her self-control four months prior. She couldn’t resist, didn’t want to resist. She loved how Charlie’s sex felt under her tongue, loved the suffocating heat as those milky thighs squeezed around her head, loved the noise of surprise and pleasure Charlie made when she pushed her tongue inside her.
Before long, Charlie came, gasping and arching off the bed, pulling Vaggie’s hair so hard it hurt. Pride bloomed in Vaggie’s chest. It was the same sense of giddy triumph she'd gotten years ago, the first time she gave Yris an orgasm with her mouth.
Charlie’s legs slackened, and Vaggie stood, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. Charlie propped herself up on her elbows and gazed at Vaggie with heavy-lidded eyes. Her shirt hung open on either side of her heaving chest.
“C’mere,” she panted, reaching for her.
Vaggie climbed onto the bed and straddled her lap. She kissed her, ran her fingers through her luxurious blonde hair. The strands wound around her hands and entangled her fingers, holding them tight against Charlie's head.
Charlie reached around and unclasped Vaggie’s bra. She whisked it off and threw it across the room, then leaned down to kiss her breasts. Vaggie pushed closer, wordlessly pleading for more. Yes, she liked that. She liked how it felt when Charlie’s hot lips closed around her nipple. She liked even better when Charlie slipped a hand down her panties and rolled a finger over her clit in quick, rhythmic circles.
Charlie pushed a finger inside her, then a second one, pumping them steadily, stretching her open. Vaggie cried out and bucked wildly, grinding her clit against Charlie’s palm, spurring her on with breathless pleas and gasps of pleasure. She buried her face in Charlie’s hair so Charlie wouldn’t see her tears when she hit her climax. Electric heat washed over her, filling her up, scattering all rational thought. In that moment, it didn’t matter that Charlie was a demon. It didn’t matter that Vaggie was only doing what she had to do. All that mattered was the brush of Charlie’s lips on her cheek, the lush softness of her hair, and the warmth of her body.
They lay awake for a long time afterwards, curled around one another under the sheets, talking of idle things. None of what they said stuck in Vaggie’s mind until Charlie kissed her neck and whispered, “I love you.”
Vaggie didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t.