The Fleuve Cendre was a place of secrets, a dripping, stone carved wound in the underbelly of Fontaine, and tonight, Navia was hunting one of its most dangerous. The air in the abandoned Maison Gardiennage depot was thick with the scent of rust, damp stone, and the faint, metallic tang of forgotten machinery. Water dripped from a corroded pipe somewhere in the cavernous darkness, each drop a slow, maddening tick of a clock counting down to a confrontation she both craved and dreaded.
This was a fool's errand, and she knew it. The lead was flimsy, a whisper passed through the Spina di Rosula's network about a new piece of evidence a ledger, a witness statement, something related to the conspiracy that had ensnared her father and led him to that fatal duel. The Palais Mermonia and the Gardes were moving with glacial, bureaucratic caution, their progress a suffocating blanket over her burning, grief fueled need for justice. So, she had come herself, cloaked in the midnight shadows, armed with her Geo powered parasol, Fleuve Cendre, and a reckless, furious love for a man whose memory was her guiding star and her heaviest chain. She was the Demoiselle of the Spina di Rosula. She solved her own problems.
She was so focused on the shadows ahead, on the ghost of her father's name, that she didn't hear the other ghost until it was too late.
"This is as far as you go, Navia."
The voice was a low, calm alto, cutting through the damp air with the clean, sharp finality of a duelist's blade. Clorinde stood ten paces behind her, a silhouette of obsidian and violet against the faint, sickly green light filtering through a grime caked window high on the wall. She hadn't made a sound. She was a specter of duty, the living embodiment of Navia's most complicated, painful history.
Navia's hand tightened on the hilt of her parasol, her knuckles white. "Clorinde," she said, her voice a low, dangerous growl that echoed softly in the vast space. "Come to finish another job connected to my father? Or just to get in my way?"
The barb, cruel and deliberate, landed with a soft, satisfying thud in the silence. She saw Clorinde flinch, a barely perceptible tightening of her jaw, a slight narrowing of her amethyst eyes. The reaction was a small, bitter victory.
"I am here to stop you from joining him," Clorinde replied, her voice as steady and cold as the polished electro vision that glowed at her hip. "The lead is a trap. Melus and Silver confirmed it an hour ago. There are a dozen Fatui skirmishers, including a Pyroslinger Bracer and a Cryogunner Legionnaire, waiting in the main warehouse. You will not win this fight. You will be captured or killed."
"Then I'll die trying," Navia retorted, her pride a brittle shield against the cold, logical truth of Clorinde's words. "It's more than you did for him."
"Do not," Clorinde's voice dropped, the calm fraying at the edges to reveal the raw, dangerous steel beneath. "Do not speak of what you do not understand. I am not leaving here without you."
"You don't get to give me orders," Navia snarled, turning to face her fully, her golden curls whipping around her shoulders. The old, familiar battle lines were drawn, etched in the scars on both their hearts. The reckless, passionate heart of the Spina versus the cold, unyielding blade of the Champion Duelist. "You lost that right the day you stood opposite my father and raised your sword."
"I am not asking for a right," Clorinde said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, her boots making no sound on the gritty floor. "I am stating a fact. You are leaving. Now."
"Make me."
It was a challenge, a dare, a scream of years of grief and rage and a deep, buried love that was so tangled up in pain it had become unrecognizable. And it was a mistake.
In a blur of motion too fast for Navia's eye to follow, Clorinde closed the distance. It was not a charge, but a fluid, silent advance, a predator closing on its prey. Navia swung her parasol, a wide, powerful arc of Geo energy meant to create a barrier, but Clorinde was already inside her guard. A firm, leather clad hand clamped around her wrist, another, stronger one on her shoulder. There was a sharp, brutal twist, a move of pure, economic violence honed in a thousand duels, and Navia found herself slammed face down onto the cold, wet concrete, the air driven from her lungs in a choked gasp. Her parasol clattered uselessly a few feet away, its Geo light flickering and dying.
"I said," Clorinde's voice was a low, panting growl in her ear, her body a heavy, dominant weight pressing her down, "that you would listen to me."
"Get off me!" Navia thrashed, her strength considerable, her body honed by her own battles, but Clorinde was a master of leverage and control. Every buck and twist Navia made was effortlessly countered, her own energy used against her to press her deeper into the unforgiving floor.
"You are a brat, Navia," Clorinde hissed, her composure finally, blessedly breaking, replaced by a raw, furious frustration that was almost as potent as Navia's own. "A reckless, stubborn, beautiful fool. You think with your heart, and it is going to get you killed. And I… I cannot allow that."
"Better than not having one at all!" Navia shot back, managing to get her hands beneath her, muscles straining as she pushed up against the unyielding force above her.
But Clorinde was ready. With a grunt of effort that was almost a sob, she shoved Navia forward, using her weight to unbalance her, forcing her onto her hands and knees. Forcing her to crawl.
"Is this what you wanted, Clorinde?" Navia spat, her voice a venomous whisper, the humiliation a hot, coiling thing in her gut, mixing dangerously with another, more confusing heat. "To see me brought low? On my hands and knees for you, just like everyone else in Fontaine who fears your blade?"
"I want you to be quiet," Clorinde commanded, her voice a raw, desperate plea disguised as an order. "I want you to be safe. And since you refuse to listen to reason, you will listen to this."
Navia heard it. A single, sharp, metallic click that echoed like a thunderclap in the tense silence.
The sound of the safety being disengaged on Clorinde's pistol.
A profound, absolute stillness fell over the room, broken only by the relentless drip of water and their shared, ragged breaths. This was it. The line they had never dared to cross. The point of no return.
The cold, heavy weight of the pistol's muzzle pressed against her temple. "You will not move," Clorinde whispered, her voice a trembling thread of iron. "You will not speak."
But Navia, even now, was not one to be cowed. A low, humorless laugh rumbled in her chest. "Going to finish the set, Champion? Father and daughter, both by your hand? Would that finally balance the scales of your precious duty?"
"Do not tempt me," Clorinde growled, and the gun moved. Not away, but down.
It trailed from her temple, a line of ice against her feverish skin, down the delicate column of her neck, over the fabric of her dress. The cold, unyielding metal was a shocking, intimate caress. It traced the line of her spine, and Navia shuddered, a full body tremor that was not entirely of fear. It was… anticipation.
The gun continued its slow, deliberate descent, over the curve of her hip, down the back of her thigh. And then it stopped.
The cold, round muzzle of the pistol was pressed firmly, undeniably, against the very core of her, the thin, damp silk of her underthings the only pathetic barrier between the instrument of death and the source of her life, her warmth, her wetness.
Navia's breath hitched, caught in her throat. Her mind, a moment ago a maelstrom of rage and grief, went utterly, completely blank. There was only this. The cold, heavy, absolute finality of the gun, the scorching heat of her own body betraying her, and the sound of Clorinde's ragged, desperate breathing behind her.
This was the ultimate act of dominance. The ultimate violation. And in its terrifying clarity, it was the most profound, intimate, and honest they had been with each other in years.
"Now," Clorinde whispered, her voice a raw, broken thing, laced with a dark, possessive desire that had finally been given voice. "You will be quiet. You will be still. And you will feel exactly how much power I have over you. The power to end you… and the power to make you."
She didn't pull the trigger. She didn't have to. She just applied pressure, a slow, deliberate, circular grinding of the gun's muzzle against her sensitive flesh, the hard metal rubbing against her clit through the soaked silk. It sent a jolt of shocking, profane, undeniable pleasure straight through Navia's entire being.
A choked, strangled sob was torn from Navia's throat. Her hips bucked, an involuntary, desperate movement, seeking more of that impossible friction.
"Still, Navia," Clorinde commanded, her own voice thick with a need that mirrored Navia's. "We must be quiet. Remember? The Fatui are just beyond that door. Do you want them to hear the proud Demoiselle like this?"
The threat was real, the danger palpable, and it only served to heighten the illicit thrill coursing through Navia's veins. This was their sex. A silent, brutal, and beautiful battle waged in the dark. It was a vortex of sensation the cold, hard reality of the gun and the hot, wet, desperate need it was creating. It was the sound of their ragged, muffled breaths, the soft slide of Navia's stockings against the concrete, the faint, desperate scraping of her fingernails on the floor as she fought to keep herself upright.
But Navia was a Demoiselle. A queen in her own right. She would not be a passive victim in her own subjugation. She would fight for her pleasure as fiercely as she fought for her father's memory.
"Is this it, Clorinde?" she panted, her voice a low, taunting whisper that dripped with defiance and desire. "Is this all you have? You think this is control? You're trembling. I can feel you trembling against me."
"Be quiet," Clorinde growled, the pressure of the gun increasing, the rhythm of its grinding becoming more frantic, less controlled.
"No," Navia breathed, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across her face as she felt the tell tale shudder run through the body pressed against her. "You came here for me. You followed me. You put your gun against my body not to kill me, but because you couldn't bear the thought of anyone else touching me. You couldn't bear the thought of losing me. You're just as lost in this… this thing between us as I am." She pushed back against the gun, a deliberate, claiming motion, rolling her hips to meet the cold metal. "So pull the trigger, Champion. Or admit what you really want."
With a cry that was a mix of rage, surrender, and sheer, unadulterated need, Clorinde threw the gun aside. It clattered against the far wall, the sound obscenely loud in the quiet depot. And then her hands were on Navia, her touch no longer cold and clinical, but hot, desperate, human. She spun Navia around, her back now against the cold floor, and descended upon her, capturing her lips in a searing, desperate kiss.
It was not a gentle kiss. It was a battle, a clash of teeth and tongue, a silent scream of five years of repressed longing. Navia met it with equal ferocity, her hands tangling in Clorinde's dark hair, pulling her closer, deeper. Clorinde's hands, meanwhile, were everywhere tearing at the buttons of Navia's dress, pushing the fabric aside to reveal the pale, heaving skin beneath.
"You are impossible," Clorinde breathed against her mouth, her fingers finding the waistband of Navia's panties.
"And you are a hypocrite," Navia gasped, arching into the touch. "All that talk of duty and safety… and this is what you do."
"This is my duty," Clorinde insisted, her voice dark and fervent as she kissed a blazing trail down Navia's neck. "To keep you safe from everything… including yourself." Her hand slid down, past the silk, her fingers seeking and finding the wet, hot evidence of Navia's arousal. "And to keep you for myself."
Navia's retort was cut off as Clorinde's fingers, first one, then a second, slid inside her with an agonizing, perfect slowness. A broken moan escaped Navia's lips, and Clorinde's mouth was there instantly to swallow it, her kiss deepening, muffling the sounds of their passion. Clorinde's thumb circled her clit, applying a steady, maddening pressure that had Navia bucking against her hand, her own hands scrambling for purchase on Clorinde's leather clad shoulders.
It was a frantic, silent, and profoundly messy coupling on the cold, dirty floor. It was a battle of two dominant wills, a tangle of limbs and whispered curses and broken, heartfelt confessions. It was the taste of salt and tears, the scent of rust and rain and their mingled arousal. It was Clorinde's whispered, "I will not lose you, too, Navia," against the skin of her breast. It was Navia's choked, "You never will," in reply, her nails digging into Clorinde's back.
Their climax was a shared, silent scream, a convergence of five years of pain and a lifetime of love. It was a soundless explosion that left them boneless and shaking in each other's arms, two broken halves of the same whole, finally, blessedly, fitted back together.
For a long time, they simply lay there in the quiet aftermath, their bodies still connected, their breaths slowly returning to normal. The cold of the floor was a distant, unimportant thing. The anger was gone, the grief was still there, but it was no longer a chasm between them. It was a bridge, built in the silent, desperate dark.
Clorinde was the first to speak, her voice a raw, tender whisper against Navia's sweat dampened hair. "We do this together. From now on. No more running off. No more reckless charges."
It wasn't a question. It was a vow.
Navia tightened her grip on the fabric of Clorinde's shirt, her own quiet vow in return. "Together."
Clorinde slowly, reluctantly, withdrew her fingers, and Navia shivered at the loss. With a gentleness that belied their previous ferocity, Clorinde helped her to her feet, steadying her as she swayed. She retrieved Navia's parasol, handing it to her with a look of profound respect, then scooped her own discarded pistol from the floor, re engaging the safety with a soft click.
"Come," Clorinde said, her voice soft but firm. "My apartment is nearby. It's secure. And we are… unfinished."
Navia just nodded, her body still humming with the aftershocks of her release. Without another word, Clorinde swept her up into a bridal carry, her strength undeniable. She moved to a side entrance and, with an agility that was breathtaking, launched herself onto the lower rooftops of the Court of Fontaine. They moved like a shadow and a streak of lightning, leaping from one slate roof to another, the sleeping city sprawling below them. Navia clung to her, burying her face in Clorinde's neck, feeling the powerful muscles work as she ran. It was terrifying and exhilarating, a testament to the woman who held her both her protector and her captor, her tormentor and her salvation.
In what felt like both an eternity and a single heartbeat, they arrived at a nondescript window on the third floor of a quiet residential building. Clorinde slid it open with a practiced ease and carried Navia inside, setting her down gently in the center of a spartan, yet elegant, room.
The apartment was pure Clorinde: clean lines, minimalist furniture, the scent of ozone, gun oil, and faintly, of calla lilies. The only luxuries were a well stocked weapons rack and a bookshelf filled with volumes on law, history, and combat technique.
Clorinde didn't give her time to take it in. The moment Navia's feet touched the polished wooden floor, she was on her again, capturing her lips in a deep, consuming kiss that was less about battle and more about claiming. Her hands went to the remaining fastenings of Navia's ruined dress, and Navia's own hands worked at the clasps and belts of Clorinde's duelist attire. It was a frantic, collaborative undressing, a shedding of armor and pretense. Garments of silk and leather pooled at their feet until they stood naked before each other, bathed in the soft silver moonlight filtering through the window.
The air was charged, thick with their shared history and the raw need that had just been unleashed. Clorinde's gaze was a physical weight, roaming over Navia's body with a hungry, possessive intensity that made her skin flush.
"Wait here," Clorinde murmured, her voice husky. She turned and walked to a large, dark wood armoire, opening it to reveal not just clothes, but a small, meticulously organized collection of… other items.
Navia watched, her heart pounding with a mixture of curiosity and renewed desire, as Clorinde retrieved something from a velvet lined box. It was an object of elegant, almost alien design. A double ended toy made of shimmering, semi translucent violet silicone, with a sleek, graceful curve that promised pleasure. Tiny, internal lights pulsed with a slow, hypnotic rhythm, and a low, powerful vibration hummed from its core, a sound that promised devastation.
"A Feeldoe," Clorinde explained, holding it up. The pulsing light cast shifting violet patterns on her serious face. "A significant improvement over traditional models. It allows for a more… synchronized experience. I acquired it recently." A rare, slight smirk touched her lips. "It made me think of you."
Navia felt a fresh wave of heat flood her core. The audacity of it, the sheer, calculated intimacy, was breathtaking.
Clorinde then walked to a plush, dark velvet sofa positioned opposite a low, polished mahogany table. She sat down, her posture regal, her naked body a study of powerful lines and soft shadows. She looked at Navia, her eyes dark and commanding.
"Come here, Navia," she said, her voice dropping to that low, dominant register that made Navia's knees weak. "Crawl for me. Come and sit on the table. Face me."
It was an order. A test. A re establishment of the dynamic that had begun in the depot. And after everything, Navia found she wanted nothing more than to obey. Slowly, deliberately, she lowered herself to her hands and knees. The cool wood of the floor was a stark contrast to the rough concrete, a reminder of the transition from a place of danger to one of controlled, deliberate passion. She crawled forward, her eyes locked with Clorinde's, her movements a slow, sensual promise. She felt the weight of Clorinde's gaze on every curve, every shift of muscle.
She reached the low table and climbed onto it, settling herself so she was facing Clorinde, who remained seated on the sofa. The height was perfect. Navia, feeling a surge of her own innate dominance, opened her legs, arching her back just so, presenting herself. It was a pose, an invitation, a silent, coquettish demand.
Clorinde's eyes darkened with desire. "I see the Demoiselle remembers how to issue a command of her own," she purred, leaning forward. She didn't touch her with her hands. Instead, she kissed her. A deep, slow, exploring kiss as her hands rested on Navia's thighs. When she broke the kiss, her gaze dropped to Navia's core, glistening and offered so freely.
"May I?" Clorinde asked, her voice a husky whisper, her breath ghosting over Navia's heated skin.
Navia, breathless, could only manage a nod.
Clorinde didn't need more permission. With a deft movement, she hooked her fingers in the sides of Navia's ruined panties the last vestige of her street clothes and peeled them away, tossing them aside. She looked at the evidence of her own handiwork, at Navia's utter wetness and readiness.
"Ach, du meine Güte," Clorinde breathed, a mix of German and Common Teyvatian falling from her lips in a tone of awe and teasing. "Oh, would you look at you… you're so wet, my Lady. So perfectly, beautifully wet for me." ( uhm hehehe it was supposed to be french but i realized hmmm german would be fitting since ya know GUNS???)
And then she lunged.
There was no more preamble. Clorinde's mouth was on her, a hot, wet, devouring brand. Her tongue was a master duelist, tracing the slick, swollen folds, lapping at her essence, before zeroing in on her clit with unerring accuracy. She nibbled, she sucked, she laved, and Navia cried out, her hands flying to Clorinde's head, not to push her away, but to hold her there, her fingers tangling in the dark violet, silken strands.
"Clorinde…!" she moaned, her head falling back.
While her mouth worked its magic on Navia's clit, Clorinde's hand moved. She inserted one finger, then a second, inside Navia with a smooth, practiced ease. They curled, searching, and found that perfect, spongy spot deep within. Navia arched violently, a sharp cry tearing from her throat as Clorinde began to rub and press against her G spot in a relentless, perfect rhythm.
"Quiet, my love," Clorinde murmured against her, her breath hot. "The neighbors."
The absurdity of it, the sheer domesticity of the concern amidst such carnal acts, sent a fresh thrill through Navia. She bit her lip, trying to stifle her sounds, but it was impossible. Clorinde's mouth and fingers were a coordinated assault, overwhelming all her senses. Her tongue delved deeper, mimicking the act of penetration, exploring her entrance in tandem with the thrusting of her fingers.
"I'm… I'm going to…" Navia panted, her body coiling tighter and tighter, a spring about to snap.
Clorinde increased her pace, her mouth sealing over Navia's clit, sucking hard as her fingers pressed insistently against that sweet, internal spot.
The climax crashed over Navia like a tidal wave. She shook, her entire body seizing as pleasure, pure and blinding, radiated out from her core. She cried out into the quiet room, her voice muffled only by her own arm. She convulsed around Clorinde's fingers, her vision spotting as the waves of her orgasm washed through her.
When she finally stilled, boneless and trembling, Clorinde slowly withdrew her fingers and her mouth. She looked up at Navia, her lips and chin glistening, her eyes blazing with triumph and adoration. She swallowed, a deliberate, sensual motion.
"Such a good girl," she whispered, her voice rough with her own desire. "Shall we continue this? Properly?"
Navia could only nod, her body and soul utterly spent, yet yearning for more.
Clorinde stood and, with effortless strength, lifted Navia from the table and carried her into the adjacent bedroom, laying her down on the soft, grey linen sheets of a large bed. She quickly prepared herself, securing the Feeldoe with its thin, nearly invisible strap. The pulsing violet light cast an otherworldly glow in the dim room. She joined Navia on the bed, lying on her back, and guided Navia to hover above her.
The Suspended Cradle
"Now," Clorinde whispered, her hands on Navia's hips. "Take what you need."
Navia, her arms trembling slightly, supported herself in a plank position over Clorinde. She lowered her hips slowly, guiding the protruding end of the toy to her still throbbing entrance. She sank down onto it, a low, guttural moan escaping her as she was filled, the connection complete. The vibrations from the toy hummed through both of them, a shared current of pleasure.
"You see?" Clorinde breathed, her eyes locked on Navia's. "Synchronized. Every move you make… I feel it." Her hands came up to cradle Navia's face, pulling her down for a deep, languid kiss. "You are in control, Demoiselle. Make us both feel it."
Navia began to move, a slow, vertical rocking of her hips, lifting and lowering herself on the toy. The sensation was incredible deep, filling, and intimately shared. She could see the corresponding pleasure on Clorinde's face with every thrust, feel the subtle clench of her muscles around the internal end.
"All that fire," Clorinde murmured against her lips between kisses. "All that stubborn will… channeled right here. It's magnificent."
"You just… ah… you just like having me where you want me," Navia panted, driving her hips down with more force.
"I love you," Clorinde corrected, her voice fierce. "Any way I can have you. But this… this is a privilege." Her hands slid down to grasp Navia's buttocks, guiding her rhythm, urging her deeper.
The Figure Four Lock
After several minutes of this, Clorinde gently rolled them over. "My turn to lead the dance," she said, a playful glint in her eye. She lay on her back and guided Navia to lie on her back as well, their bodies aligned. Once the connection was re established, Clorinde lifted her right leg, draping her ankle over Navia's left knee, forming a secure figure four with their limbs.
The lock was immediate and intense. It anchored them together, maximizing the contact, turning every small shift of their hips into a wave of friction and pleasure.
"There," Clorinde sighed, her eyes drifting shut for a moment before opening to pin Navia with their intense gaze. "No escaping now."
"Who said I wanted to escape?" Navia challenged, rotating her hips in a slow, grinding circle, eliciting a sharp gasp from Clorinde.
"You are insatiable," Clorinde breathed, her own hips beginning to move in a counter rhythm, creating a delicious, swirling friction.
"You made me this way," Navia retorted, her hand coming up to cup Clorinde's cheek. "With your… your cold guns and your hot hands."
They moved together like that, face to face, their breaths mingling, their eyes speaking volumes that words never could. It was intimacy forged in conflict, a bond tempered in fire and ice.
The Reverse Recline
"I want to hold you," Clorinde said suddenly, her voice soft. She guided them up, settling herself against the carved headboard of the bed. Navia settled between her legs, her back against Clorinde's front, and slowly sank back down onto the toy.
This position was different. Deeper, more protective. Clorinde's arms wrapped around Navia, one hand splaying across her stomach, the other coming up to cup her breast, her thumb teasing a pebbled nipple. Clorinde was the primary mover now, her hips thrusting up into Navia from behind, each powerful stroke driving the toy deep.
"Is this… is this what you meant by protection?" Navia gasped, her head falling back against Clorinde's shoulder.
"This is part of it," Clorinde whispered into her ear, her voice a low, possessive vibration. "Keeping you safe. Keeping you close. Keeping you mine." She punctuated each phrase with a deep, deliberate thrust. "My reckless, beautiful, brilliant Navia."
The words, combined with the overwhelming physical sensation, undid her. Tears, not of grief but of overwhelming emotion, pricked at the corners of Navia's eyes. "Clorinde…"
The Kneeling Press
As another, softer orgasm washed through Navia, Clorinde was not finished. She was relentless, a force of nature. She gently disentangled them and moved to kneel on all fours in the center of the bed. She looked back over her shoulder at Navia, her expression one of raw invitation.
"Now," she commanded softly. "Take me. As you wanted to in the depot. With force."
A fresh surge of dominance rose in Navia. She moved behind Clorinde, kneeling, and guided herself onto the toy. Then, with a growl that was pure victory, she thrust forward, burying it to the hilt. The angle was devastatingly deep.
"Yes!" Clorinde cried out, her back arching like a bow. "Just like that!"
Navia set a punishing rhythm, her hands gripping Clorinde's hips, her own power and strength on full display. This was the other side of their battle. Her control. Her claim.
"You feel that?" Navia panted, driving into her again and again. "That's for following me. That's for your damnable sense of duty. That's for… for everything!"
Clorinde could only moan in response, pushing back against each thrust, meeting her with equal fervor. The sound of their bodies meeting, their ragged breaths, filled the room.
The Scissored Helix
Finally, spent but not yet sated, they collapsed onto their sides, facing each other. With practiced ease, they interlaced their legs high around each other's waists, the 'Scissored Helix,' locking the toy securely in place once more. The motion now was not thrusting, but a slow, sensual, rotational grinding of their hips against one another, a swirling, intimate dance.
"I hate you," Navia whispered, her forehead pressed against Clorinde's, her eyes closed in ecstasy.
"I know," Clorinde whispered back, her hand tangling in Navia's hair. "I love you, too."
It was the final surrender. The final truth.
That confession tipped them both over the edge. Their final climax was not a violent explosion, but a deep, resonant, shared tremor that seemed to go on forever, a harmonious release that left them clinging to each other, shaking and weeping, as the pulsing lights of the toy slowly faded against their joined skin.
A long time later, Clorinde stirred. She gently disentangled their limp limbs and disposed of the toy. Without a word, she scooped a near comatose Navia into her arms and carried her into a spacious, modern bathroom. She started a bath, pouring in scented oils that smelled of calla lilies and midnight rain.
She lowered them both into the warm, fragrant water, settling Navia between her legs. With a soft sponge and tender, reverent hands, she began to wash her. She cleaned the sweat and the grime from the depot from her skin, washed her hair with a gentle, citrus scented shampoo, her touch a world away from the forceful dominance of before.
"I am sorry," Clorinde said softly, her lips against Navia's wet hair. "For the gun. For the floor. For… all of it."
Navia leaned back against her, boneless and content. "Don't be," she murmured. "It was… honest. It was us. And besides," she teased, lifting her head to look at Clorinde, "you haven't seen the state of my sofa. At least yours is still standing."
Clorinde let out a low, amused huff. "Just standing? I believe my apartment maintenance score just took a hit."
After the bath, Clorinde dried her with a plush towel with the same meticulous care, then dressed her in one of her own soft, black cotton nightshirts. It swam on Navia, smelling faintly of ozone and Clorinde. She then led her back to the freshly made bed and tucked her in before slipping in beside her, pulling Navia into her arms, holding her close.
Navia nestled into the crook of Clorinde's neck, breathing in her familiar scent. "Is it just me," she whispered, her voice sleepy, "or did you get a new lipstick? It tasted... sweeter."
Clorinde kissed the top of her head. "I did. It was a gift from Sigewinne. It's supposed to be a limited edition berry tea shade. Want to try it? I think it would look magnificent on you."
"Oh, I think I'll definitely try it," Navia replied with a playful yawn. "Tomorrow. When I can make sure I put it on perfectly... and then see how long it lasts before you kiss it off again."
"A challenge," Clorinde murmured, her arms tightening around her. "Duly noted."
Navia then turned her head, resting her chin on Clorinde's shoulder, and looked at her with a mischievous, soft expression. "So," she said, her voice dropping to a teasing purr. "Clorinde, my champion, all this devotion, the running across the rooftops, the complicated German teasing... Do you love me?"
Clorinde's breath hitched. She tightened her arms instinctively, and her gaze darted away, fixed on a point in the dark ceiling. The usually unflappable duelist seemed to genuinely falter, a faint blush rising on her cheeks despite the darkness.
"That's... that's an unnecessary inquiry," Clorinde mumbled, her voice rough, attempting to revert to her detached persona.
Navia simply waited, her smile widening. "Oh? Unnecessary? After you practically broke my table proving your feelings? I think it's the most necessary inquiry of the entire day. Tell me."
Clorinde sighed, a sound of deep, resigned fondness. She turned her head, finally meeting Navia's eyes, and the usual sharpness was replaced with a shy, vulnerable intensity. "Yes," she confessed, the word barely a breath. "I do. I love you, Navia. Completely. Profoundly. I have for a very long time. Are you satisfied?"
Navia kissed her tenderly, a soft press of lips. "Perfectly satisfied. Now I can sleep." She paused. "Tell me again when I wake up, though."
"We face the Fatui tomorrow," Navia whispered into the darkness, her voice sleepy.
"We do," Clorinde confirmed. "Together."
And as Navia drifted into the first truly peaceful sleep she'd had in years, wrapped in the scent and safety of the woman who was her past, her pain, and her future, she knew it was true. Whatever came next, they would face it as one. The duel was finally, truly, over. A new, more complex, and more beautiful partnership had begun.