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What does Sivir know about Samira? She can name everything important on a single hand.
Samira is an incredibly adaptable fighter, both close combat and ranged with her modified weaponry.
Samira is loud, and annoying. She beats out Draven on the fact she doesn’t look like a spade, which brings Sivir to her next point-
Samira is gorgeous. Her long luscious hair, full shiny lips, muscular tattooed arms and abs so cut it gives Sivir flashbacks to Shurima’s tombs.
It’s not a forked tongue that invites her to day drink, but Sivir gets a flash of the silver ball embedded in her tongue and it might as well be. She already smells like wine when they enter the bar on the edge of Shurima, oppressively warm and filled with smoke.
Samira’s slung an arm around Sivir’s shoulders which Sivir pushes off as soon as others can see them. A couple of the patrons laugh at her attitude, strangely ignoring the way she flashes her blade. She feels… small. Her intimidation won’t work here, syphoned by Samira who kisses the large barkeep on both cheeks after he pulls her into an embrace. Leaning over the bar, light catches the blades strapped to her back and disperse the leering gazes once on Sivir.
Samira’s accent is much thicker, but Sivir deduces they’re getting a window seat a moment before she’s been pulled by the wrist up gilded steps. The bar is built up an incline. Sivir’s eyes widen at the thought Samira has got them a roof top seat.
Shaded and secluded, sat with cold drinks as they watch the warm sun descend over the sand. Samira’s warm laughter filling the afternoon air, her gauntlets glinting as she casually sets her hand on the table where Sivir can reach it - if she dares - but then Samira ducks into a damp booth a level down and Sivir suppresses an eyeroll.
Don’t get your hopes up with this one.
“Take a load off, princess!” Samira teases, twirling Sivir around in a flourish before she dumps her on the sofa seating. A cloud of dust erupts around Sivir who coughs in response, waving the smoke from around her as Samira crawls around to sit next to her. Her arm returns to its claimed spot around Sivir’s shoulders and jostles her into Samira’s side.
“ Don’t call me that.”
Samira grins with narrowed eye and smacks on the table to get the gaunt waiter’s attention. He views Samira with as much disdain as he’s allowed as she orders their drinks and a mountain of food before Sivir’s even got a word in. She interjects adding - “-And eka’sul feet.”
The waiter stares at her and Samira blinks, swiftly cut off mid-sentence. Then again, that slow smile and she holds up two fingers. “Make that two, Markel.”
Sivir tries to ignore the flush of pride that she seems to have impressed her.
The pleasant conversation lasts until the food arrives, Sivir actually feeling some semblance to winding down before Markel reappears. Samira’s already ordering another drink which predates her question - “So why haven’t you accepted my date proposals until now?”
Sivir and Markel make the same face. To his credit, Markel does offer Sivir a look of sympathy before he leaves her to fend for herself.
Taking her time answering, Sivir sips from her goblet and pointedly doesn’t meet Samira’s leering gaze as she stares at the food she didn’t really come for anyway. “Who said this was a date?”
Samira smiles, admiring the artful attempt at dodging, and twirls a lock of Sivir’s hair around her finger. “I did, just now. Keep up.”
Sivir scoffs and smacks Samira’s hand away, sitting up but not moving out of Samira’s embrace. She continues before Samira can dare comment - “I’m not interested in being a one time hookup you can add to your body count.” Samira tilts her head and Sivir continues. “I’d rather die than be used for bragging between generals.”
Samira watches Sivir pick apart a roll to eat before taking more of her wine, leaning her elbows on the table. She follows her, tightening her one-armed embrace with a look of reverence. “You’re killing me, dear Sivir,” She says, sounding hurt. Sivir lowers her drink, face softened with the widening of her eyes. Samira takes her own roll in the sad beat of silence. She speaks through her mouthful. “You think I’d let this be a ‘one time’ type of deal?”
Sivir’s sigh is long-suffering whilst Samira gulps hard, pulling a platter of skewers closer and coating them in the sauce provided. “Trust me baby, you’re someone I’d write home about.” Sivir takes her own skewer sullenly. “That’s at least a triple date lock-in, don’t you say?”
Sivir doesn’t answer, very annoyed she doesn’t hate the sound of that.
The further they get through the meal, the more bearable Sivir finds the conversation. Alcohol, oddly enough, isn’t a huge contributing factor. She’s only on her second drink by the time she’s finished eating, snuggled up into Samira’s side who graciously gifted Sivir with her full attention.
Samira’s telling Sivir about her time in the capital before she took her latest mission, and how it accumulated in her throwing Draven through a table at the climax of a particularly heated meeting, as Sivir rests her head on Samira’s shoulder. Sivir sips her wine, never taking her eyes off the sparkle in Samira’s. “-So I tell him, no, your mother fucks goats! But then, I remember his mother is dead! So now I look like the bad guy!”
Sivir can’t hold back her laughter, snorting over the mouth of her cup and lowering it to guffaw into her hand. Samira looks positively dazzled, smiling wide. “Ahh, so the mighty Sivir isn’t made of stone afterall!”
It only encourages Sivir to laugh harder, even if the joke wasn’t that funny. She loves that look on Samira’s face, still grinning as she reaches to grab the wine bottle. “And here’s me thinking I’d have to really work to get that sour look off your face.”
Sivir wipes her eyes as Samira refills their cups, letting the easy smile rest on her face. “Oh yeah? And how were you going to do that?”
Sivir doesn’t get a straight answer. What she gets instead is Samira, possibly by accident, spilling wine down Sivir’s front.
Suddenly cold, Sivir jumps up from the comfortable cushion of Samira’s bicep and tries to stand. She’s almost upset when the moment is over, until Samira pulls her back quickly with a hand around her shoulder. Sivir’s head bounces off the plush seat, stunning her.
“Oops! Don’t worry, I’ll clean it up.” Samira says, then almost tips the table over as she gets between Sivir’s legs and drops to her knees with a clunk.
Sivir scrambles to stabilise it before her legs kick up in the air like a vexed animal, back sliding down the cushioning under Samira’s demanding hands. She folds herself to try and pull away, the position squashing the breath out of her throat. In her panic she pushes Samira’s head with both hands, making her knock into the table with a pained grunt. Sivir holds her there, legs spread and breathless as she plans her next move.
Samira, through slitted vision squished by Sivir’s hands, watches her look around in a flustered panic for anyone watching. The back of her head throbs but the alcohol warms her, pacifying the pain that will spoon her hangover later. Her gaze drops.
Sivir’s position pulls the fabric over her crotch tight. They’re little more than panties, tight, black and wet . Sivir catches her watching and pushes her face harder, baring her teeth like an angry cat.
Samira wants more than anything to hear her purr.
So Samira relents, holding up her hands in a show of graceful surrender. She, for once, doesn’t say a thing. Leaves the ball of yawn in Sivir’s court, letting her make the next move. If Sivir pushes her away now Samira will stand and they will finish their date as comrades. She might even buy her dessert.
What happens next even Samira doesn’t plan for, as Sivir’s hands delicately slide back into Samira’s hair. They lock around her head like a closed latch, strong and sharp down to the point of her claws. She still looks just as annoyed, jaw tight with his gritted teeth behind pouting lips and narrowed gaze.
When Samira parts her lips, Sivir stares at the metal in her tongue. It dangles enticingly like an anglerfish's light and then disappears, burying itself in the waves of black fabric as Samira leans in to collect her bounty.
Sivir stares at the ceiling, gaze hooded as she watches the dancing smoke mirror the careful unravel of the fabric around her lower half. Her stomach clenches, squeezing around the curve of her abs when Samira’s warm tongue traces the cut of her hip. Her lips aren’t soft like in Sivir’s fantasies, they’re slightly rough like filed sand. It makes her hips twitch, makes her hands tighten in Samira’s hair.
They pull harder when Samira drags her lips down, pulling her away instinctively when they barely caress the apex of her sex, and Sivir hears her grunt as a few hairs come loose. Sivir’s not aware of her own strength at times.
Then Samira looks up at her, lips parted an inch from Sivir’s bare cunt and has the gall to look annoyed. Her lipstick is smeared, evident by the smudged kiss mark on the blade of Sivir’s hipbone.
Sivir’s eye twitches, frown a deep curl that’s only made cuter by the red of her cheeks.
“You’ll let me treat you to drinks but not eat you out?” Samira sounds so confident, so cowed, Sivir has a moment of contemplation where she thinks ‘maybe I’m the inappropriate one in this situation’ - as if it’s expected dinner dates should end with a dessert platter of pussy.
Instead of answering with words, Sivir pulls her hands out of Samira’s wild mane. She quietly rests her legs over Samira’s shoulders. The second the softness of her thighs dents across Samira’s broad shoulders, Samira smiles. “Good girl.”
Samira presses a kiss right above her clit and Sivir diverts her eyes, face burning and nails digging into the cushion to stop her grabbing onto Samira again. Samira’s lips trace down her inner thigh, teeth grazing the sensitive skin and making her legs twitch open further.
Samira’s whispering something, talking about how sweet she thinks Sivir will taste, and Sivir makes the fabric creak with how she claws at it.
And in a single moment Sivir recalls her own observations. Samira is loud, and she eats like she’s been starved. Why, logically, would Sivir be any different?
Sivir has no time to react, before Samira’s lips press over her pussy. The loud, deeply satisfied slurp that follows has Sivir slapping her hand over her mouth and practically screaming into her palm. Not only does it immediately send shockwaves up to her abdomen, arousal digging its claws deep like Samira’s nails around her thighs, but it’s so mortifying.
The bar is so loud but surely someone must have heard that. She carries a reputation with her - a famed mercenary that came back from the dead. She can’t be devalued as another of Samira’s exploits, another notch in someone else’s belt.
And yet Sivir can pinpoint her downfall in the silver ball that rolls over her swollen, pink clit when Samira drags her tongue up.
Sivir, shivering, can barely keep her eyes open when wet lips wrap around her clit and start bobbing up and down slowly. Each stroke has Sivir’s hips jumping, barely restrained in Samira’s grasp. Her thumb grazes Sivir’s hip, dragging through the remnants of her lipstick as it intermingles with Sivir’s sweat.
Samira pulls back and sighs heavily, satisfied, against Sivir and kisses the swollen nub gently. She picks hair from her face and glances up. “Hold my hair, girl.” Samira orders, lines of cum connecting her lips and chin to Sivir’s trembling, pink pussy. “And don’t pull it out this time.”
Sivir opens and closes her mouth, gasping in place of words, and covers her mouth again whilst the other hand bundles her hair up in a clumsy ponytail. Samira spreads Sivir’s lips with two fingers, narrowing her eyes at the tears in Sivir’s own.
“Good.” Samira repeats and dives back in. She laps at Sivir’s tight hole and feels it clench against her tongue. She gives it quick, teasing little strokes that make Sivir’s eyes roll and her legs part so sharply her tendons bulge. Pinning her open, Samira takes a breath and presses her lips flush as she pushes her tongue inside.
The first, deep lick inside her has Sivir whimpering into her palm. The brush of Samira’s nose on her clit has her sobbing through her first orgasm.
A mistake that lacks restraint, Samira will never let up. She eats messily, devouring the poor woman from the inside out as she drinks every drop of her nectar - even sweeter than she’d dreamed about. She moves her head to thrust her tongue, pinning Sivir’s thighs to her face when they snap closed around her head.
Sivir’s spasming like a woman possessed, eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling, feet kicking uselessly at the table, pulling on Samira’s hair like reins. Samira’s eyepatch has come off with all her squirming but they’re squeezed shut, brow furrowed as she pulls off only a second to jam two fingers in and suck on her clit with hollowed cheeks.
Sivir arches like a bow-string, yanking Samira’s hair and biting the meat of her palm. Heat curls inside her like a coiled serpent, its fangs glistening as it watches its prey writhe and suffer. But the suffering is sweet, Samira’s gloved fingers stroking deep inside her and tongue rolling her clit in teasing circles.
Teeth graze the sensitive flesh and the serpent strikes, Sivir throwing her hips against the cruel tide of Samira’s tongue and soaking her face and jaw with cum. Samira pulls back, mouth open and tongue out to accept her reward. Each stroke of her tongue after has Sivir crying out, high and shaken, drooling over her own fingers as she continues to offer herself completely.
When Sivir’s body finally falls, Samira pushes up, picking Sivir up by her thighs until her back is up straight. Samira glares down at her, lips dripping and pulled in a grin as she kneels with Sivir held up on her shoulders. Her legs hang open, bent at the knee. Samira has hold of her ankles, pinning them to the back of the seat.
Samira then, making Sivir hold eye contact, presses the softest kiss to her core. Sivir’s hip twitches, whimpering, and then she helps hold herself up with two hands on her back.
Samira rewards her again with her tongue.
If the bar can hear her or not hardly matters anymore. Sivir secretly hopes the cheers she hears a couple rows down are just for them.