kinkfest | Dragon Quest VIII (Angelo/Jessica)

Title: Not One Word
Author/Artist: dragovianknight
Rating: R
Warnings: none
Word count: 1670 words
Prompt: July 31 - #9 - Angelo/Jessica: Bunnygirl!Jessica - "Not. One. Word."

Jessica tugged at the far-too-form-fitting outfit one last time, and settled the bunny ears on her head with a resigned sigh. Immediately, she felt magic wrap protectively around her, warm and reassuring like a buff spell; it was almost enough to make up for the humiliation of what she was wearing.

It could be worse, she reminded herself. The bunny suit was light and easy to move in - she knew she'd be even less happy if she were weighted down by non-magical armor like poor Yangus - and the idiot who'd designed it had at least acknowledged that fighting in the high-heeled shoes of a traditional bunny girl costume would be next to impossible. It didn't even reveal as much flesh as the dancer's costume she'd just replaced, even if - without the skirt - she felt infinitely more exposed.

Still, she vowed as she surveyed herself in the room's full length mirror, she was going to figure out how to get the magical effect without the ears and tail if it was the last thing she did.

A final tug and she turned from the mirror to gather up her whip and leave the room. The men were gathered in the hall, waiting, damn them, though at least Eight had the decency to flush and look away.

"Not. One. Word." Angelo opened his mouth to speak anyway; she glared at him until he rethought the decision, then stormed past.

It was going to be a very long trip to Baccarat.

I should have told him not to look at me, instead, Jessica thought around midday. Eight and Yangus had long since gotten over their reactions to what she was wearing, but whenever she dared glance toward Angelo he was watching her; not the open mouthed gawking she'd tolerated from Yangus much of the morning, or Eight's blushing sideways glances, but long, appreciative looks that warmed her skin as surely as the magic surrounding her did, the slight smile on his lips making her hold her tongue even when she thought she ought to scold him.

"You know, I could do without you leering at me," she said, exasperated as much by his silence as his gaze. "Though if you're going to insist on it, you might at least try to be better company."

His smiled widened, and he pressed a gloved finger to his lips.

Jessica rolled her eyes. "As if you've ever done anything I asked before," she muttered, and quickened her pace to join Eight by Medea.

Odd, how much she missed Angelo's impertinent comments, when she ought to be grateful for the respite.

They reached Baccarat well after sunset. Even at night, it was just as impressive as everyone had told them, and Jessica - tired, hungry, and aching in ways healing magic couldn't alleviate - was in no mood to appreciate it at all

Eight looked up and down the streets - still busy, despite the late hour - and Jessica could practically see his exhaustion warring with his sense of duty. "We ought to find a room and get some rest," she said, and rubbed at the phantom ache left behind by an orc's spear; even revenge paled before the thought of a good night's sleep so her body could forget the day's injuries. "If we do find a lead on Dhoulmagus here, we'll want to be able to fight him without falling over."

Eight hesitated a moment longer, then nodded and led them toward the opulent hotel that stood just inside the gates. A merchant in the lobby gaped at her when they entered, while a sign just inside the door announced a nightly bunny girl show; Jessica flushed at the reminder of how she was dressed, and tried to comfort herself with the thought that the bunny girls would provide Angelo with a distraction.

Or not, she amended when he followed the rest of them upstairs to their rooms.

Followed her to her room, gloved hands settling on her bare shoulders as she unlocked the door.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. She started to shake him off, but his fingers dug into her shoulder, easing muscles drawn up tight around an injury which was no longer there, and the pure bliss of it made it hard not to close her eyes and lean into his touch.

He worked his way along the curve of her shoulder and down her arm, following the pain's invisible path. Of course he'd remember how the wound had run, she thought; he'd been the one to heal it, the soft murmur of the spell the only time she'd heard his voice all day.

For just a moment, she allowed herself to indulge, then she pushed the door to her room open and stepped through, determined not to ask him to follow, not to think what a horrible mistake she was making, not to be disappointed when his hands left her shoulders.

He did follow, after a moment, closing the door behind them while she lit the lamp. She fussed with the wick longer than was necessary, not turning even when she heard the soft splash of water in the wash basin, his quiet tread approaching her.

She thought surely he would speak now, but instead he lifted the band with the bunny ears from her head, so that the magic which had protected her all day fell away. She had a moment to feel cold and exposed without it, before Angelo settled one hand - free, now, of the gloves - on her shoulder. The other hand glided a damp cloth over her neck, back, arms, hands, gently stroking away the dust and sweat of the day's travels, the water leaving the faintest hint of lavender on her skin.

He ended with her right hand, and curled her fingers around the cloth, leaving her to wash her face and the exposed swell of her breasts, while he unfastened the collar from around her throat and removed the whip from her waist. It was all so oddly respectful that she could nearly forget this was Angelo, and that whatever might happen next would mean less than nothing to him.

She had no idea what became of the cloth when she finished with it, only that he took it from her, then caught her shoulders and held her still when she would have turned to face him. Speaking seemed wrong, a violation of the odd game he'd decided to play, and so she didn't ask why, just relaxed while his fingers kneaded their way down her back. His hands were warm and surprisingly soft against her skin, soothing away the last lingering ache of the spear, moving to the spot on her back where a bomboulder had landed on her with uncanny accuracy, and it seemed rather ungrateful to protest when his ministrations required him to pull the bunny suit down a bit.

His lips pressed against the base of her neck, just where the collar had rested, and a new kind of warmth replaced the lost defensive magic. His hands curved around her waist, atop the bunny suit though the back was certainly cut low enough that he could have slid them inside. He seemed perfectly content to simply hold her and rain gentle kisses on her neck and shoulders, hands not even straying, much less attempting to undress her...and after several moments she realized he wasn't going to do more, unless she gave him leave.

Surprise - that Angelo, of all people, would voluntarily accord her the kind of courtesy she'd had to fight to get from Lorenzo - briefly held her still. A part of her wanted to test him, see if he'd go away if she simply asked; another part, the part currently leaning back against him and angling her neck to give his lips access to her throat, thought that was a perfectly stupid idea.

Instead, she covered his hands with hers, drawing them up her sides and forward to cup her breasts. His kisses faltered, just enough to make her think he hadn't expected her reaction, then those strong, graceful fingers were tugging the bunny suit down, stroking patterns on her skin, rolling her nipples into hard, sensitive nubs. His chest was solid against her back, solid and very, very warm - the jacket, like the gloves, had been abandoned, so only his thin black shirt separated flesh from flesh - and when she tipped her head against his shoulder he abandoned her throat to press his lips to hers.

The kiss was leisurely and thorough, not hurried as if he feared she'd change her mind given a chance; he managed to guide her to the bed without breaking contact, and she found she couldn't resent his skill, regardless of how he'd developed it.

And he was skilled, she discovered, with lips, teeth, tongue, fingers; skilled at making her twist and arch and cry out for him, at bringing her to the edge time after time, at making every touch feel like worship and the night feel like forever.

At length, he pushed into her, thrusting hard and fast, and her body bucked up to meet his with equal fervor, nails digging into his shoulders when he brought her to completion.

After, they lay together for a long time, relearning how to breathe, sweat chilling their skin. She shivered; Angelo extricated a blanket from the tangle hanging half off the bed and curled around her, the blanket cocooning them both.

Jessica smiled and twined her fingers with the hand resting on her waist. "Next time, I'll expect more conversation," she said, though Angelo didn't really seem the type for next times. His answer was to laugh and kiss the back of her neck, and oddly, that was enough.

She thought he did finally speak, just as she was hovering on the edge of sleep, but the three words she heard could only have been a dream.