Chapter Text
The waves of the sea gently rock the royal ship, wind billowing the crested Kiramman flag tied to the mast.
“Do you think she’ll be angry?”
Princess Caitlyn Kiramman leans against the ship’s railing, her blue eyes unfocused as they depart from Keystone, her family’s ancient seat before they claimed the Gilded Throne.
The question is not needing of an answer. She already knows it. Her Queen mother has already been so vocal in her ire these past few years after her father’s passing. Since she’d been named heir, every house in Piltover has flooded her mother with parchment.
All marriage proposals.
Caitlyn had merely scoffed at the idea. But, with wine stained lips and screaming words, Caitlyn had stormed from the Gold Keep on dragon back, the only reason for her returning steps close to her now, a small smirk stretching the scarred divot on her full lips .
“About which part? That you didn’t pick a suitor or that you ended the tour three months early?”
Caitlyn gnaws on the inside of her cheek and squeezes her eyes shut. Her knight chuckles, nudging her shoulder lightly as she joins her against the railing. Caitlyn sighs, frustration boiling right under her skin as she imagines the crass words awaiting her.
She feels a hand on hers, prying her fingers from tearing at her own cuticles, the habit so ingrained she doesn’t even notice herself doing it anymore. Blood dares to stain the skin and Caitlyn hears her mother’s voice in her mind, how uncomely her hands are. But when Caitlyn glances up, soft silver eyes send a shiver down her spine and warmth blooms up her arm from where Ser Violet has yet to move her gloved hand.
Her knight, sworn to her and her alone. Born of nothing and yet fills her entire heart.
“Your mother is likely to be angry but the choice is still yours, Cait.”
Cait.
Her chest tightens at the sound of it. Not Princess or Your Highness . The agreement between them to abandon titles whilst in private still brings a pink tinge to her cheeks. It had been a welcomed change of pace seeing how the knight is her age. And with no friends without veiled stringed, she’d ached for the simplicity of it. Of just being Cait. And Vi is Vi.
“It isn’t my fault that half the suitors were my grandmother’s age or just…horrendously ugly.” Men goes unspoken, her preferences not a secret between them. The tour had been her mother’s compromise in the matter of her marriage.
“Choose him yourself as I chose your father.”
But Vi laughs, the sound so delightful it forces her own laugh out of her throat. “Lord Bolbolk was certainly…” Vi grimaces and shakes her head, seeing them both to a fit of laughter.
“Old,’ they both agree.
Vi keeps laughing, the skin around her eyes crinkling as the emerging sun glints off her white armor. The red cloak attached at her shoulders ruffles behind her, the cloth given to her by Caitlyn herself when she made her vows before the rest of the Queensguard. She blushes at the memory.
“I wish I could just take you on Nyra and live in the free cities. Be done with all of this trouble,” she mutters, her own words not sinking in until much too late.
The knight takes a sharp breath, her hand only just now lifting from where it’s stayed clasped over Caitlyn’s. They stare at each other for a long moment, breathless in the sea air.
This isn’t the first of these moments. Of the lingering looks and longing touches. They’ve only grown more frequent as of late, whether initiated by Caitlyn or the knight she isn’t sure. Only that she craves them so fiercely she thinks she may implode.
But Vi has been duty bound since she dared to enter the capitol with nothing but her name and skill, immediately catching Caitlyn’s eye as she threw Ser Jayce Talis from his horse at her nineteenth name-day tourney. The very favor she threw Ser Vi that day still sits tied to the knight’s belt. But she never deviated from her stoic position as Caitlyn’s sworn protector, however thin that line between them has become, the knight never crosses it.
“Well I suppose she’s finally big enough to saddle two,” Vi chuckles, rubbing the back of her neck with a large hand, her wild red hair only growing longer and more unruly with age.
“We would only eat your favorite,” Caitlyn teases with an embarrassed smirk, hoping she would read her sentiment as a flirtatious tease instead of the truth.
“Cake?” Vi laughs, her brows pinched in bewilderment. Caitlyn hums with a nod.
“The little ones you love so much.”
Vi raises a curious brow, as if actually considering the offer.
“That golden beast of yours scares me still,” she admits after a few moments. “She would surely burn me to a crisp if I so much as touched her.”
Caitlyn rolls her eyes playfully, this not being the first comment like this either. “She adores you. You would be dead by now otherwise.”
Vi merely gives her a deadpan expression, her mouth twisting in disbelief. Another weightless laugh bubbles out of her chest at the sight, endless affection daring to burst from every inch of her body when her knight’s eyes soften.
“Princess, we are preparing to port,” a guard announces, reminding Caitlyn they’re not alone. Vi heeds the reminder as well, taking a cautious step away from her, crisp, cold air taking her place. Caitlyn sighs again, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth and prepares to face the wrath of her mother.
And wholly unprepared to unearth the reason she’s returning without a suitor.
_________________
Golden fury surely awaits her.
The throne room is empty when she arrives, her shoes clacking against the stone floor. Sunlight casts through stained glass, allowing for a myriad of colors to paint her mother’s hardened features.
The throne has aged her, as if the metal forged by her foremothers seeks her very soul. Wrinkles that shouldn’t be there sculpt her brow and eyes, the death of her father adding to the weight of the chair she currently occupies.
Every step she takes cements the stone in her gut, dread acting like a second cloak around her shoulders as she approaches. The only comfort is the echo of her steps, the knight staying close enough for her scent to permeate. Smoke and earth and warm honey.
“Five weeks.”
Caitlyn stops before the steep steps leading to the throne, her mother glaring down at her. But there’s something more etched onto her features. It sinks her heart further. She appears tired. So tired.
“Hello to you too, Mother,” Caitlyn exhales.
“Your Grace,” Vi murmurs behind her, but is promptly ignored.
“Five weeks and every suitor sent away. Do you have no shame, child?” She rubs the spot between her brows, her crown heavy enough to cause migraines.
“My shame?” Caitlyn seethes, her anger alight again. “What of yours? You are Queen of Piltover and yet you’re content to see your only heir sent off to a castle just to squeeze out heirs!”
Queen Cassandra stands then, taking up all the air in the massive expanse of the room. “You must marry and protect yourself. Without an heir our house is in danger, you know this. I’ve explained this countless times,” she takes a step down, her stature only growing despite the closing distance. But when Caitlyn doesn’t budge, the argument tired even for her, her mother finally shouts, “Even I had to marry– I am not above the law, Caitlyn!”
“You are the law,” Caitlyn counters.
“What would you have me do?”
Caitlyn starts, not expecting that question. “You already know.” She’s uttered her desires only once before. Her wish to marry a woman if she had to marry at all. Her mother hadn’t been angry at the notion, confessing to her own similar wishes when she was her age. But the answer was the same then as it is now.
“You know the order of things. Hundreds of years of traditions and duty cannot be broken simply because you demand it so. Is it not enough that I have given you the freedom to choose?”
Caitlyn takes a step back, hurt reddening her cheeks. She dares to look over her shoulder, her heart aching at the sight of the woman behind her, the knight she chose, images of a life she’s only scarcely let herself have in the light of the moon.
When she meets her mother’s eyes she can’t keep the words at bay. “When I am queen, I will make a new order.”
She ignores her mother’s calls as she marches from the throne room, her heart following on her heels.
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Caitlyn huffs indignantly at the sight before her. Knights adorning the color of their houses stand with rigid backs in her mother’s throne room, their banners held in hand as they watch her.
All but one.
Her nineteenth name day as well as the passing of her father have left a chill in the palace, the past six months only evident in the turning of the leaves. Her mother grows more tired by the day, the distance between them growing in a thick stretch of bitterness.
Her council bickers endlessly, making small grabs for power. Battles to the east along the coast are a constant cause for tension. The most recent bid for action is what sees her in the throne room now. Observing and choosing a new knight for the Queensguard.
“Ser Ezreal of House Cormond–” Sevika drones as she motions for the knight to step forward. The Lord Commander lists his accomplishments, none of which make it to Caitlyn’s ears. For she’s far too distracted by brazen red hair and hunched shoulders.
“On his recent journey from Trannit, he brought a would-be poacher to justice.” The words are tinted with a sneer that makes the bannerless knight below snort. Caitlyn likes the sound.
Sevika sighs as she finishes, eyeing Caitlyn with a look that illustrates exactly how Caitlyn feels. Unimpressed. Caitlyn stares down at the knight, scarcely recognizing him from her name-day tournament as well. He begged for her favor, if she recalls correctly. That is, of course, before she joined the joust herself against her mother’s knowledge and wishes.
Which brings her back to the stormy eyes watching her now. Her face is guarded yet calm. Eyes seeking and expressive. Scars she can see from where stands conjure questions of where they came from. How they might taste–
“You might thank him for his service, Princess,” Mel Medarda whispers in her ear, not in a condescending tone, but in a way that reminds her of her surroundings.
“We thank you for your loyal service to Crown, Ser,” Caitlyn says, forcing a tight-lipped smile. The knight grimaces and steps back into place, gripping the pole of his banner a little tighter.
This is ridiculous. She cannot sit here on her pedestal to choose her sworn protector amongst a gaggle of noble tourney knights. With a frustrated sigh, Caitlyn moves from her perch just below the throne, her steps light as she descends the stairs, her gown dragging behind her.
“Princess! Princess Caitlyn,” Mel calls after her, Caitlyn holds a hand up to silence her. When she reaches the bottom, she stands at the center of the throne room, a myriad of eyes watching her with her caution. As though she were a dragon ready to burn them all where they stand. Again, all but one.
“Have any of you seen combat?” she dares to ask. It was the first question she wanted to ask the moment she entered the room, the answer already clear in the nuisance of their house banners flooding the throne room, decorative feathers and jewels hanging from all of them. Peacocks among wolves.
They all stare at her with red stained cheeks. “Real combat,” Caitlyn clarifies when one of the knights begins to step forward, his stature of someone who’s barely seen the sun outside of a brothel. He steps back only for the nameless knight to take a step forward.
Her face betrays nothing but Caitlyn can see a red tinge under a bridge of freckles. Her heart flutters in her chest at the sight of such long lashes and a small braid in the knight's wild hair. Piercings and ink paint her exposed features and crestless armor covers the rest.
Caitlyn doesn’t recall closing the distance, something in the knight acting as a siren call to the princess. “You,” Caitlyn states simply. It isn’t a judgement or an accusation. But remembrance. The way her gloved fingers felt when taking the favor from Caitlyn’s hands, her helmet still hiding the whole of her face.
“The one and only, Princess,” she quips quietly. She doesn’t bow her head as the others had when she met them at eye level. No. This knight raises her chin. Not in defiance but in something Caitlyn can only describe as a challenging reverence.
I dare you to choose me as I am.
Caitlyn smirks, something haughty and, if her mother were here, unbecoming.
Only if you choose me, too.
“Tell me, Ser Violet Hound, of the combat you’ve faced. And why should I choose you over the knight of noble houses,” she says as though she were asking for a secret. The knight before her licks her lips before her mouth twists into something Caitlyn can't read.
She tries to express through her eyes what she already knows before the knight even speaks. I choose you.
“I was a prisoner in a Noxus camp after being flung overboard in the Guardian's Sea. I fought as a gladiator until I won my freedom. And when I returned, I was a foot-soldier in the battle of Ironwater which led to Lord Vanderson Hound knighting me. And now, I stand before you, ready to serve you, Princess. With no title to my name but this,” she says, holding the indigo kerchief with her own house crest embroidered in the top left corner.
Caitlyn’s heart thunders in her chest as Ser Violet’s words settle in her ears, the look in her eyes melting her resolve. She’s done pretending her decision is wavering. She turns back to the Lord Commander and her mother’s hand, their expressions haunted but resigned.
“I choose Ser Violet Hound.”
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Incense flits through her chambers in wisps of curled smoke, the smell of jasmine and leather seeping into her lungs. She leans against the door, the wood digging into her back as she breathes deeply with closed lids. She didn’t utter a word when she marched back to her chambers, barely acknowledging the lords and ladies of her mother’s court on the way there.
Vi had stayed close behind, her presence ever the anchor and a shadow. But also an undoing. A constant unraveling of what she’s been told it is to be… herself. The role she is to play. And when they reached her doors, Vi pushed them open with ease, albeit her face remained stoney and neutral. Something in her shoulders exuded resistance, confirmed when a strong hand wrapped around her bicep when Caitlyn stepped forward. They stare at one another with pinched brows and unsaid words thicker than smoke.
“I need some rest,” Caitlyn said after a few restless moments, the silence before filled with the same heavy air that seems to follow the pair at all times lately. “Goodnight, Ser Vi.”
“Of course. Sleep well, Princess,” Vi breathed, stepping back, the only tell of emotion residing in her eyes. As it always has. Silver irises always quick to betray her. They’ve betrayed her in the nights she sat on one of Caitlyn's many cushions in her chambers to listen to her lament on the vices of her duties, amor distractingly discarded in favor of a loose tunic, as she regarded her with so much intention.
They betrayed her the first time she brought her to see her dragon, fear and apprehension lining her brow. But her eyes, open and gray and so undeniably soft, were so trusting she almost abandoned all sense of propriety then and there. But dragon smoke huffed over them before Caitlyn could force their lips together.
And again they exposed her when she rushed out of the Gold Keep to take to the skies after a fight with her mother, the very one that saw her sent to Keystone to seek a suitor. She had been ready to breathe lungfuls of crisp, thin air and did so for hours. She wasn’t expecting to be met with a silver oasis, her knight standing there waiting for her when she returned under the moonlight. Worry had been so apparent even as Caitlyn landed in the dragon pit. The dragon handlers had been furious with her knight, yelling and cursing at her in their ancient language, but Vi ignored them. She only looked at Caitlyn, rushing to her the moment her feet met the hard earth.
Fingers had gripped her chin, her face revealing the amount of distress even without a word uttered between them. Caitlyn supposes it had been then she could no longer deny what had been pulling at her heart. The moment she acknowledged that their endless flirting had been more than the teasing smirks and wicked banter. She thought the line may have been crossed that night, the sound of dragon wings gusting moonlit wind in their wake, with the way Vi held her. As though Caitlyn hadn’t been privy to brash exits before. Like she was precious beyond her title. She thought surely the knight would kiss her.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I needed to see you safe,” she finally whispered, warmth bloomed along the seams of Caitlyn’s riding leathers from Vi’s hand on her waist, her fingers, devoid of their gloves for some reason, still held her chin, her thumb daring to stroke in small circles.
But she took a step back with a shuddering breath, reality seeming to have washed over her in an icy wave. The next six months had been nothing short of torture.
Their touches had only grown more daring after that. Their gazes wandering and open. And wherever Caitlyn dared to venture, Vi always followed.
“As for your match, seek them out yourself. As I did.”
Caitlyn has barely readied for bed by the time she finds herself at her door again. Flames crackle from their torches mounted on the wall and the incense has long gone out. But the burning sensation lingers over her body, pooling deep in her belly.
She pushes a door open, orange hues and white moonlight greet her before the shock of red and white armor. But she senses her before the door is even open.
“Cait?’ she whispers, her upper body already turning to face the princess, armor clinking with the movement. Caitlyn licks her lips before stepping back wordlessly, leaving the door open for Vi to follow. She does without a word, her boots heavy against the stone floor.
“Close the door,” Caitlyn demands softly, barely hearing her own voice over the pounding of her heart in her ears. Vi sucks in a breath, but follows the order, the door clicking and creaking as it shuts, encasing them both in so much warmth Caitlyn is sure her skin is aflame. She wishes she could blame wine for what she does next, but the distance between them is far more sinful than her desires.
Vi doesn’t move yet her eyes plead what her voice doesn’t. When Caitlyn reaches her, hands outstretched, Vi doesn’t stop her, simply watching as Caitlyn’s long fingers snake under and through the clasps and buckles of her armor. Caitlyn’s breathing quickens and her face flushes with each deliberate click of another strap undone.
The chestplate is frigid against her thin nightdress, but even with the heavy armor, she can feel Vi’s heavy breath, the armor rising and falling in short bursts against Caitlyn’s breasts. Her knight’s eyes are glazed over, pupils widening with every piece of metal dislodged and carefully removed. They rake over her and Caitlyn feels herself preening under the attention and she hasn’t even been touched yet.
“Princess…?” Vi breathes, her hands finally moving. Not to stop her, but she stalls Caitlyn’s movements, calloused thumbs rubbing the skin of her wrists, her breath fanning over her face. Her eyelashes flutter as she glances to Caitlyn’s mouth, her own lips parting. Caitlyn has to stop herself from leaning in, from capturing her plump bottom lip between her teeth. Instead she looks up, her own hands now splayed against the soft skin of her neck, warm ink and a rapid pulse under her fingers.
“Violet.”
Her knight shudders, squeezing her eyes shut and her body leans forward so her forehead grazes Caitlyn’s.
“I… What’re you–?” Vi tries, swallowing and Caitlyn feels a twinge of pity. She chuckles, raising a hand from under the armor to cradle her jaw.
“I’m making my choice,” she murmurs, her voice feeling like a purr in her own chest. Vi’s eyes shoot open, frantic in their searching of Caitlyn’s own. But Caitlyn continues to unlatch layer after layer with deliberation, letting her red cloak fall with a muffled thump behind them. And with it, Vi’s resolve joins it as their lips collide in a kiss that sends Caitlyn reeling.
It’s everything she’s ever fantasized and yet nothing like she expects. Vi kisses with the same fierceness with which she wields a blade. Precise and strong, her lips crashing down over and over again. But where she fights with a quiet ruthlessness, she moans loudly into Caitlyn’s mouth now, her hands coming to cradle both sides of her face as her tongue demands entry and Caitlyn struggles to keep pace at the sudden change in tempo. But when she does catch up, she fights with equal fervor, taking care to suck Vi’s lower lip in her mouth, sucking until she feels it swell between her teeth.
If the sun had a taste, it would be Vi’s lips, her tongue liquid fire down her throat as her taste floods her mouth. And she realizes she’s never needed as much as she does in this moment. More than the inferno building deep in her core, her entire chest burns and aches for the woman kissing her, possession and reverence in every swipe of her tongue against Caitlyn’s lips.
Wetness pools so dangerously hot between her thighs at every sound that leaves the knight’s throat. It’s nothing like Caitlyn could ever have pictured. Whimpers when their tongues dance, spit linking them when their lungs force them to part for air, gasps at the sharp tug in her wild hair.
“Get this shit off of me,” Vi growls into Caitlyn’s neck, sucking the skin gently between her teeth. Her hands having moved to palm at any part of Caitlyn she can reach, eliciting gasps of her own. Thumbs dig into her hip bones, the pressure bordering on sharp but she needs more. So much more.
“I was trying,” Caitlyn chuckles through a moan when teeth nip her earlobe.
Vi’s armor is still handled with care, both of them sliding it off with joined fingers, the chest plate lying like delicate glass on one of the cushions. Only for their lips to join again, the collision a gnashing of teeth and barer bodies, her warmth finally less obscured for Caitlyn to cling to through Vi’s loose undershirt.
It’s too much and not enough. The feeling of Vi against her like this, so solid and warm and present. She hears herself moan before she registers the sound vibrating in her throat when Vi’s hand fists her hair, pulling at the nape to tilt Caitlyn’s chin upward, the kisses growing sloppier and wetter with every pass.
“Oh!” Caitlyn yelps when Vi’s hands grip her thighs, the skin burning from the raw contact as she lifts Caitlyn up, her legs wrapping around her knight’s strong waist and her arms clinging to her shoulders, digging and marking. Crescent stars among vines and bones that ink her entire back. She wants to taste every line.
She’s carried to the side of the room where her bed sits, the wood of the frame tall and supporting the canopy overhead.
“Do you have any idea…” Vi pants as she sets Caitlyn on the bed, the comforter plush and sinking. She throws the feather pillows out of the way, cursing whoever thought decorative cushions were necessary. Vi kisses her again and again. Her lip, her jaw, her neck, finally daring to trail wetness down to her collarbone before black and silver fill Caitlyn’s vision. “...how long I’ve wanted you?” she finishes, her hands bunching the material of her nightdress, pushing it up milky thighs, the backs of her knuckles dragging over the expanse of her stomach, slowing deliberately over perky brown nipples.
“No longer than I’ve wanted you,” Caitlyn husks, helping her to remove the needless garment. Her veins are hot under skin as Vi’s eyes don’t hide her appreciation, raking over her body with a tenderness that brings a stinging prick behind her eyes.
Hands follow the path of her eyes, starting at her knees as they spread open, Vi slotting between them, heat on heat singing her very blood. They skate up toned legs, squeezing her hips before grazing her ribs.
“Look at you,” Vi breathes out, the words seeming to be more to herself than to Caitlyn. But she writhes under the attention, her back arching when her hands move up, the skin of her palm rough against her breast before it slides up to gently hold her throat, thumb brushing as Caitlyn gulps at the sharp pang of arousal. Vi grinds her hips down, wetness smearing on her infuriatingly clothed upper half. “All for me?” Vi hisses at the dampness, her hand squeezing just tight enough to make Caitlyn keen.
Her hips move then, jutting off the made bed, seeking some sort of friction, some sort of release to the pressure building and yet she hasn’t even been touched. Not where she needs. Where she fucking aches. But with the way Vi’s hand feels on her throat, her hips gyrating along Caitlyn’s core, she wonders how Vi knew this would spark every nerve in her body.
As if the knight could read her thoughts, her voice pours over her, hot honey melting on her skin. “Did you think I forgot, Princess?” Vi asks as she leans over Caitlyn, her clothed chest brushing against sensitive nipples. Words evade her as Vi’s other hand caresses the swell of her hip, sliding down to lift her thigh to sit at Vi’s waist, closing her in. Caitlyn tilts her head back while Vi’s lips ghost over her chin, teeth grazing her jaw. “Did you think I would ever forget the sound you made when I pinned you, pretty girl?”
Caitlyn starts at the memory. She trains with Vi weekly, swordplay and hand to hand, all things to better protect herself. But one particular session saw Caitlyn sprawled on her back, Vi underneath her with her elbow around Caitlyn’s throat. The pressure forced an involuntary moan from her lips, causing the knight to freeze under her, but she didn’t move her elbow as her bicep cloaked her throat in a way that dizzied Caitlyn and saw her avoiding the knight’s gaze for a fortnight.
Vi squeezes gently now, capturing her lips in a deep kiss, her tongue invading Caitlyn’s mouth with a gentle dominance, the possibility of Vi’s surrender still an option if Caitlyn were to take it. But she doesn’t want to. Not yet. Not when Vi’s fingers are hinting at what’s to come but avoiding the wetness staining her shirt, to Caitlyn’s frustration.
“I believe you’re still over dressed,” Caitlyn manages through heaving breaths, a hiccupped moan stuttering in her lungs when the pads of Vi’s thumbs graze her nipples, having moved from where it found residence at the junction of her thighs. And it’s true, the knight still adorns her trousers and boots, the tunic now damp with sweat sticking to ropes and cords of muscles along her abdomen.
A wicked grin stretches across her face and Caitlyn feels a flood of wetness slick between her legs as she squeezes them closed after Vi steps off the bed. Sitting up to rest on her elbows, she watches as the tunic falls to the floor, and suddenly, the princess is on her feet, hands seeking and eager, impatience a vice that only seems present when it comes to the woman before her.
“Like what you see, Princess?” she laughs but is cut off when Caitlyn lunges forward, her hands splayed across her muscled stomach and closes her mouth around a perky pink nipple, her tongue swirling and taking the bud between her teeth. “Oh fuck! Cait- shit- I- ha!” Vi’s hands tangle in Caitlyn’s hair, her pants still clinging to her hips. A shiver runs down her spine as the affections slip past Vi’s lips, landing on Caitlyn’s skin and into the ever growing tight ball of heat at her core.
Their movements are frantic. Bites and licks leave red, wet trails across collar bones and breasts, hands grip and palm supple flesh like it's the only time they’ll be able to do this.
“Seven hells,’ Vi curses when her trousers get stuck on her ankles, her boots not having been removed yet in her haste to bare herself. The sight brings a laugh out of Caitlyn’s chest, the sound stopping Vi in her tracks as she tears at the endless strings and lace with clumsy fingers.
“Would you like help, my love?” she asks, and if it were possible, she thinks Vi’s eyes would’ve darkened further as the endearment slips into the air between them. Vi looks up at her from where she crouches.
“Only if you call me that again.”
Caitlyn hums, swaying her hips, well aware of her own desire on display, damp indigo curls slickening her thighs with every step, before crouching, her fingers somehow steadier than she feels when she helps Vi remove her boots, her pants finally following the heap on the floor. The sound of rustling clothes accompanies the suddenly shy smiles on both of their faces, their bodies now bare under the hue of the torchlights scattered along her walls.
The knight is nothing short of mesmerizing. Handsome in the way ropes of muscle ripple with each calculated move, lines of ink trellis tanned skin, the divet in her brow challenging and cocky. But pretty in the almond shape of her eyes, long lashes fluttering against the pad of Caitlyn’s fingers, lips swollen and pink. The orange hues reflecting from her firelit walls paint her now, the canvas of her body littered with scars Caitlyn wants to kiss, her body something so clearly something to be worshiped. A thatch of thick pink curls is already so damp and Caitlyn revels in that she isn’t the only one so clearly affected.
They stand before one another, bare and open for the other, and Caitlyn isn’t surprised when not an ounce of shame works its way through her ribs. Not when Vi is looking at her like she’s hung the very moon. Their chests brush as Caitlyn closes the distance again, Vi already taking a step to meet her, their lips connecting in a slow rhythm that is no less void of heat. But they take more time in their exploration.
Caitlyn’s hands take her in, running along her chest, squeezing a breast in her hand, the flesh fitting there like it’s made for Caitlyn and Caitlyn alone. She walks them backward until her bed greets the back of her knees.
They collide the way snow lands on the ground. Soft and inevitable. The bed begging to swallow them as they tangle themselves, the sounds of their bodies and lips its own harmony.
The agreement is wordless, their bodies refusing to separate in their desperation to touch. To feel. To consume and give so they can’t tell where one starts and the other ends. Vi’s hips move above her, grinding down so wetness smears on the sweat-licked skin of her navel, a string of curses linking them together before Caitlyn swallows the words, yanking them from Vi’s throat with her tongue.
“How do you want me?” Vi says against her mouth, her large hands gripping her hips, just barely lifting them from the bed to give her more pressure, moving Caitlyn’s body for her while her knees sink further into the mattress. Giving and taking all at once. It burns so wonderfully, words evade her in place of stuttering moans, growing louder as Vi grinds harder, her teeth biting down on the spot just behind her ear when Caitlyn still doesn’t reply.
“Shit,” Caitlyn hisses, her back arching and her breasts pushing into Vi’s, earning a soft grunt as her tongue soothes the bite.
“I like it when you curse. But that isn’t what I asked you, Princess,” she purrs, her thumbs digging in, still not touching her, just daring to prick the junction of her thighs with short nails. She wants permission, Caitlyn realizes.
“Touch me,” Caitlyn gasps, chasing Vi’s lips. But Vi dodges, kissing right under her eye instead.
“I am touching you.” She emphasises the point by squeezing her hips to a point that borders on pain, pushing her core even firmer into Vi’s navel. As if she could join their bodies by force alone.
Caitlyn swallows a frustrated groan, her breath hitching with every slow pass of Vi’s abdominals against wet lips, the muscled ridges almost enough. But not quite.
“Vi, please,” she tries, bashfulness creeping up her spine, flushing her already reddened cheeks. She watches something pass over Vi’s face. Soft and subtle but Caitlyn knows her knight like the back of her hand. “Just–” she reaches for Vi’s wrist, pulling and pushing all at once, her pussy throbbing and clenching around nothing, the muscles seeking and hot.
Vi chuckles, warm and throaty as she lets Caitlyn tangle their fingers before diving into the liquid fire simmering between them. Vi’s eyes roll to the back of her head at the feeling, her upper body nearly crushing them both as her forehead rests on Caitlyn’s, her mouth agape as though Caitlyn were the one touching her. Vi’s knuckles slip between swollen lips with how much wetness has collected, the evidence still shining on her own stomach.
“Yes…” Caitlyn sighs, her head tilting back. Finally.
Vi gathers wetness on her fingers, stroking and explorative. She slips in like she’s sunk into clear water, nothing stopping each ridged and scarred knuckle from sinking deeper, the princess’s walls fluttering and gripping, so glad to be filled.
“Oh my gods, Cait,” Vi moans, her mouth still open, and Caitlyn doesn’t hesitate to take advantage, her hip moving against Vi’s fingers, a mewling sound reverberating between them. Whether it’s hers or Vi’s, she can’t tell. She doesn’t care. Not when she slowly pumps her fingers, her hips moving still, rocking against her own wrist with shallow thrusts.
She adds a second finger with ease, the tips curling just so, the spot deep and forgiving as her thrusts grow longer, harder, Caitlyn’s hips desperate to meet her in the middle. The sounds are addictive. Music made just for her. Their bodies the instruments and the conductors, Vi plucking the strings of her nerves, her teeth gently tugging a nipple into her mouth.
“When I imagined this,” Vi husks, her fingers curling. “I always thought it would be my head between your thighs. I imagined the ways you would taste, the way your nails would tear at my scalp. But this–” Each sentiment, each image is punctuated with a roll of her hips, fingers thrusting into wanton, wet heat.
“Oh gods…” Caitlyn squirms, her fingers digging into Vi’s shoulders, her lips seeking any ounce of skin she can reach.
“Feeling you around my fingers is something I’ll die for, Princess.” She sucks Caitlyn’s tongue in her mouth, a damn near keening sob ripping out of her throat as her orgasm threatens to break her.
She reaches her own hand down, squeezing through the minimal space between their bodies, threading through curls until she reaches the apex, reveling in the surprised whimper Vi grants her.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Cait– mmph!” Vi twitches burying her face in Caitlyn’s neck as her rhythm stutters when Caitlyn’s fingers pinch her clit, her own need to give making her vision hazy. But she finds it again, settling as she takes what Caitlyn gives her, arm nearly buckling where it holds her next to Caitlyn’s head.
Strong fingers grip her jaw suddenly, their movements quicker and more frantic, Vi’s thrusts increasing in tempo. Her eyes are open wide, and Caitlyn finds herself unable to look away, a hand still lovingly swirling around her swollen clit, the other holding the back of Vi’s damp head.
Her moans turn to high pitched whines when Vi’s thumb pushes into her clit, the sound of their hips meeting over and over again bringing her so close, so painfully close to the edge.
“That’s it,” Vi encourages, her breath catching at Caitlyn’s ministrations just below, her own determination to bring Vi with her the only thing keeping her from the peak of it all. “Come for me, Princess. I can feel you– hah– you’re right there aren’t you, pretty girl?”
Caitlyn can only nod, her finger moving faster along Vi’s heat, gathering wetness at her entrance before swirling, flicking her finger at a tempo makes Vi’s thighs twitch around Caitlyn’s hips.
“Gods what’re you doing to me?” Vi whines, her nose pushing into Caitlyn’s cheeks, leaving open mouthed kisses in her wake.
“Making you mine just as I’m yours,” she finally husks, knowing she won’t have a choice, her pussy fluttering so violently, squeezing Vi’s fingers so tightly she curses.
“I’ve been yours long before this, Princess,” she whispers, the words carrying such a sweetness, nothing she would expect to hear from the bold warrior atop her. But it’s enough to be her undoing, a shout ripping from her throat as her muscles pull taut, a bowstring ready to fire. Pleasure blinds her senses, white heat breaking open in her belly to spread like a wild fire in her veins. Air barely reaches her lungs as it wracks her body, Vi’s body slowing enough to watch her, their eyes not leaving the other.
And all the while, Vi kisses every inch of her face, words of encouragement spilling from her lips like ink on parchment. “So good, so pretty,” she whispers, kissing her cheeks, her eyelids. Her nose. Her jaw.
Her fingers pump lazily now, drawing out every tendril of her pleasure until overstimulation throbs down to her toes. She hadn’t realized her eyes were closed until they opened, Vi still languidly stroking her insides, a lip trapped under a canine to stop a wide grin from spreading on her face.
“There’s my pretty girl,” she says when Caitlyn’s vision focuses, her breathing finally evening out. And yet, all she can think is how gorgeous the knight is, shaggy bangs hanging to shroud them, eyes still dark and open.
“Did you…?” Caitlyn asks, her fingers still stuck between them. Vi’s hips twitch when she moves, but she smiles shyly and shakes her head before planting a soft kiss on her lips.
“That doesn’t matter. Not right now,” she says, kissing her again, only breaking away to remove her fingers, earning a pitiful whine from the princess at the sudden emptiness at her core. But no other noise is able to escape when Vi brings her fingers into her mouth, making a show to suck on the digits, moaning like she’s tasted her favorite dessert.
“I knew you’d taste sweet, Princess.”
Caitlyn pulls her in for a loud, messy kiss, groaning at tasting herself on the knight’s tongue, and using the element of surprise, she flips them over, straddling the knight’s waist.
They continue like that, stoking flames in one another as if time were of the essence, the unspeakable fear of the sun’s rising ending whatever’s transpired here tonight. So they don’t stop, not until sunlight bathes the room, shadows casting through the latticework of Caitlyn’s windows.
_________________
The sun robs them of nothing.
Well, perhaps her sanity, replacing it with insatiability. There isn’t a moment where her thoughts don’t inevitably drift to her knight. Small council meetings drag, endless bickering a numbing, dragging noise to her ears, her mother’s quips and disappointed demeanor enough to turn her stomach.
But when she looks up, Ser Violet already meets her gaze, a small smirk stretching her lips when Lord Hosekl, the master of coin, guffaws at something Caitlyn doesn’t even pay attention to, her focus on how uncomfortable her core feels at the mere sight of her.
It’s a dance of time and space when they take each other. Moments of sudden whims and an abandonment of her duties when armor clinks to the ground and her gowns are ripped more often than not. It's enough for her handmaiden Talia to notice while holding a gown up before Caitlyn can step into it, the rip traveling from the top of the shoulder down to the waist. A deep blush crawls up her cheeks at the maid’s quizzical brow.
“Must have been during my trip into the city,” Caitlyn says dismissively, the memory of Vi’s hands shredding the dress, nails digging into her back as they made love in the Sept, the distant smells of candles burning so strong and overwhelming. The church of Piltover not something she believed in, truthfully. But she found herself at the altar, the only name on her lips being the woman cloaking her in the dark corner of the Sept of Janna, her dress bunched and wrinkled in Caitlyn’s nimble hands.
Vi, Vi, Vi–
“You like it in public don’t you, pretty girl?” Vi had husked in her ear, three fingers deep while pressing Caitlyn’s back into one of the ancient stone pillars, the wide crest of it enough to hide them from the pious and the sinners alike. “Under the eyes of the gods too,” she chucked, thrusting so deep she saw stars and all the gods at once.
“Fuck you,” she quipped with no bite, her chest heaving through the restricted dress, her breasts so sensitive as her nipples rub along the fabric. Vi’s right, of course. Something sharp and poignant melts in her gut, a numbing under the crescents of her cheeks when they did this. It’s one thing to pull Vi in by the cloak into her bedchambers. It’s another when she finds a corner in the throne room or the garden of the Godswood. Or the Sept. She thinks she’s perhaps driven by the thrill of doing something she wasn’t supposed to. But deep down, she knows this is exactly what she’s supposed to do.
She’s insatiable because she doesn’t know when it will end.
“Perhaps when we return, Princess. Can’t you see I’m here to pray?” she purred in her ear, thrusting up and swirling her clit with her thumb, earning a short whimper, loud enough to make Vi’s eye widen before shoving her fingers in Caitlyn’s mouth.
“You need to be quiet or we’ll both be skinned,” she chastised, but her tone held nothing but a thrilled delight. She didn’t remove her fingers, and Caitlyn came once with Vi’s quiet demand in her ear, “suck, pretty girl.”
She shattered like a sea of stars on Vi’s hand and was peppered with soft kisses after. But they didn’t move from behind the pillar. Their breaths intermingled as Vi’s eyes glinted with hungry desire, insatiable as the Princess’s while her arousal slid down her legs.
“I need to clean that up in such a sacred place,” Vi mused, almost more to herself, her eyes casting over Caitlyn’s shoulder, the sounds of Septas and pleas to the dead echo in the vast hall. Caitlyn watched with a bated breath as Vi lifted her other hand, her leather glove still clinging to the tendons. She uses her teeth to pull it off before gently prying Caitlyn’s mouth open.
“I don’t think I can trust you to keep quiet so I need you to suck on this while I taste you,” she whispered along Caitlyn’s jaw. Already proving her point, a whimper tried to pry through the leather, her tongue savored the taste of it, the hints of Vi lingering along the seams. “Can you be good? Will you be quiet?”
Caitlyn nodded, her breathing picking up, lungs craving air. Vi gave her a godsdamned wink before sinking to her knees, pulling her gown down with her, shielding her as the knight disappeared from view.
But Gods did Caitlyn feel her, her tongue licking up her legs, catching the drips of come that still soaks her. She bit down hard on the leather glove when lips sucked around her clit, her tongue flattened from entrance and back up, doing exactly as she said. Cleaning up.
She comes quicker than ever before.
The carriage ride back to the Keep had been a blissful high until she was met with her mother’s glare the moment she entered the palace.
“Of course, Princess,” Talia says meekly, albeit knowingly now.
She knows other members of her mother’s court notice. She can feel their eyes and whispers when she walks through the corridors and yet she can’t bring herself to care much. Not when she’s so undeniably happy.
It’s more than just a union of bodies. They both know it. There’s no room for denial. Not with the way Vi holds her after, sweet nothings and soft lullabies pulling her into sleep. Nor the way she accompanies her on her royal hunts, watching her with a reverent pride that swells Caitlyn’s chest with such an ache when she can’t kiss the dopey look from her knight’s face.
She feels courted more now than she ever has with the suitors her Queen mother has forced before her. And she also feels as though she’s the one courting if Vi’s brilliant blushing is anything to go by.
They’re in the dragon pit when the words are finally uttered. She’d convinced Vi into the saddle, coaxing her with praise that went straight to both of their cores. The princess ignored the whispers on the walk over, the ladies of court all ogling the knight at her back. Vi was void of armor, riding leathers clinging to hard muscles instead. Deep crimson and the Kiramman crest still marking her as Caitlyn’s.
She took Vi’s shaking hand in her own, placing it on golden scales as Nyra rumbled in delight. But Vi interprets the sound as threatening, her hand moving to retreat before Caitlyn stands at her back, pushing her hand back into the hard scales.
“She’s happy to see you,” Caitlyn coos.
“I guess I would be burned otherwise,” Vi tries to laugh, nerves lacing her voice. Caitlyn merely hums and moves to help the knight of the realm climb onto the dragon.
Vi clings to her like a vice, a shrill yelp muffled by the wind as they glide and Caitlyn feels her heart melt with so much affection when the knight fills the air with laughter.
When they land, their bodies melded together like a forged weapon, heat and liquid flame, the words slip out into indigo locks. The I love you so quiet she isn’t sure she’s heard it until Vi’s voice raises slightly, her chin resting on her shoulder.
“Thank you.”
“For what, my love?” Caitlyn asks breathlessly, her chest still threatening to burst as her heart riots in her chest.
“For that. I haven’t felt so free but when I’m with you,” she admits softly. And Caitlyn knows the time is coming that she can’t contain what her heart has known since she laid eyes on the rogue knight.
If she is to marry, it could only be to her.
_________________
The hiding is exhausting. It pulls and weighs like stones on her back. The ways she wishes she could court Violet and vice versa are an all consuming thought. The struggle toys at her nerves to not show her affection so openly in the training yard or in the corridors.
She stifles the urge to have Vi seated at her side as she dines, all of which she voices to the knight. Just as she’s confided in her for so many things, she doesn't hide her wishes to be allowed to abandon the burden of her inheritance. To be open in her affections. And Vi listens, her hands warm against Caitlyn’s skin, her lips soft on the blades of her shoulders.
She doesn’t say much but Caitlyn appreciates her attentiveness. So when clothes she’s never seen before are laid on her bed after a tense supper with her mother and their envoys from the north, she starts.
She picks them up, their stench alarming and the stitching haphazard. Vi’s script is scrawled on a loose piece of parchment on her pillow, the directions bringing a splitting grin to her face.
The smell fades the longer she wears the garments, the quality clearly that of a peasant. But the pants are loose and comfortable, the tunic flowing and large enough to hide her chest. Her hair is plaited, only loose strands escaping to tickle her cheeks as she pulls the worn boots on, and she vaguely wonders if they’re Vi’s.
She evades the castle with ease, finding an unexpected sight just outside the walls. Violet leans against the brick and stone, her clothes of a similar state, a sly smirk painting her lips. The sight sends a ripple down her spine, the knight’s chest exposed with loose thread as moonlight casts wicked shadows on her face.
“Your hair,” Caitlyn states as she closes the distance. Vi perks up and her eyes speak of a challenge. Daring the princess to comment. She doesn’t disappoint. “You look..” she ponders, pinching a lock between her fingers. “Like an angry oil slick,” she decides.
“Don’t sugar coat it, Princess,” Vi huffs, affection glinting off every feature.
“Where’re we going?”
Vi’s smile widens as she holds out her hand. “Do you trust me?”
Caitlyn purses her lips, hesitating to place her hand in the knight’s gloved one. Vi raises a scarred brow and Caitlyn caves, no longer able to feign the truth.
She’s never seen the lower half of the city before. The smallfolk linger in drunken stupors, their laughter abundant as their wild spirits are free to wander. It’s dirty and ale stains the pavement.
But there’s music and dancing, plays in raunchy debacles that see both of them laughing with the rest of them. No one recognizes them. No one recognizes her .
“You know your way around here very well,” Caitlyn comments as they turn a corner, and Caitlyn knows where they are simply by reputation alone. The Silk Street sees coins lodged between bricks, nude men and women alike flaunting and floundering in sheer linens. Some wiggle their fingers at both of them, whistling and calling out. But Vi pulls her closer before they stop, oak doors already opened, exposing beaded curtains and swirls of heady incense. She drops coins in a short woman’s hands, her wrinkles evident of the life she’s lived. Her feathered robe and dark makeup hold an authority the other men and women here don’t possess. Caitlyn averts her gaze as they pass through a wall of heady smoke, the threshold into another world entirely already leaving a desired taste on her tongue.
“I grew up down here,” Vi murmurs, pulling her deeper inside.
“Here? But I thought–”
Vi chuckles, pulling her in for a deep kiss. Caitlyn pulls back startled, her eyes darting around for wandering eyes, birds that will surely fly back to chirp in her mother’s ear. Vi licks her lips before pulling her back, lips not quite touching before whispering, “I told you I’ve been yours long before now. You’re free to do as you please here.”
She doesn’t kiss Caitlyn fully this time, merely nipping her bottom lip before pulling away. And Caitlyn feels as though she’s on fire. Caitlyn keeps her gasp at bay as they venture deeper, her eyes catching on the myriad of bodies strewn across the pleasure house. The sounds and smells, wanton and earthy, invade her senses, lulling her into a dizzying haze.
Curiosity has been her constant companion, its presence shapely and loud as patrons around them before Vi leads them to a secluded corner, her hands dominating and possessive in a way that sets her skin aflame. A curtain of beads and torches hides them from view of others, but it doesn’t deafen the noises, the pleasure seeping out of the very walls.
“You can be as loud as you want here,” Vi says between searing kisses, hands already skirting underneath the ragged clothing. “And I want to hear every sound.”
“Only if I can hear yours,” Caitlyn challenges, mirroring Vi’s suction on her lip, pulling into her mouth with a heady groan, fingers digging and clawing skin she knows like her own. Vi hums into her mouth, and their hands are nothing short of greedy.
Caitlyn thinks their collective sound must drown out the others when her hands are pushed into the wall, her chest rubbing against the floral wallpaper as Vi crouches down behind her, taking her trousers with her.
She lets out a guttural sound, something she normally would have to keep in her throat anywhere else when Vi pushes her legs apart and feasts upon her like it's her last meal, mewling and humming with every swipe of her tongue, hands gripping her ass to spread her further apart.
She makes Vi come shortly after savoring the way she clenches around her longer fingers, her head tipped back as they lie on the cushions strewn about the floor. And when they return, their hushed giggles fill her chambers as they bathe next to the fireplace. Black swirls of inky black litter the tub when she washes the knight’s hair, but they don’t leave the warm water just yet. Instead, they hold each other, content to exist just as they are.
The weeks progress as spring drips away, summer heat lining the brows of the Queendom and filling the distant fields with crops of grain. A distant war still looms, heedless battles near the canal of Mudtown emptying the Crown’s stores with a slow drip, like ice melting into the earth.
It’s enough to bring out an aggression in her mother, the endless quarrel of her lack of marriage despite the lake of parchment at their doorstep and scorned lords of houses she’s already blatantly refused. Their fights grow more relentless and their words grow sharper than blades. And the threat of her imminent future weighs on both of them.
And with it, she watches her knight withdraw. It’s a slow thing. A plague that starts to spread, black and malevolent in its ending.
Vi holds her one morning, something heavy staining the air. The sun has only just begun to encroach on the moon, the gentle light doing nothing to quell the way her intuition churns in her gut.
“I’ll be joining the forces in the canal,” she admits. Their skin still glows from their love making, Vi having taken every inch of her, as though she were committing her to memory.
“What?” Caitlyn asks, bewildered. It had been days since she’d been able to slip Vi into her bed, the knight noticeably aloof and absent. Caitlyn chalked it up to exhaustion, ignoring the dread that sinks like a stone in her chest cavity.
“I leave at daybreak,” Vi croaks. Caitlyn doesn’t move. She doesn’t breathe.
“You’ll have to pick one eventually,” Vi whispers, running her fingers along the sharp edges of her cheek. Indignation runs hot in her blood and she fights the urge to bristle. “And I can’t be here when you do.”
Caitlyn takes a moment to breathe, brow pinching in the middle as rejection cools her skin, ice running through her veins. How can she really think–?
“Why? Are you– are you telling me to pick one?” she asks, her voice catching in her throat. But she huffs, shaking her head in disbelief. “You know what my choice is. What my choice has always been.”
Vi smiles at her, the gesture a mask she’s familiar with. “You heard your mother at the small council. You have duties and a place and– I can’t give what some lord can. All I could offer is to what? Run off to the free cities? Ask you to denounce your birthright to sell oranges at a market?” Vi asks, her voice cracking and hardening with each word, like it’s been rehearsed in her mind for a while. Caitlyn doesn’t answer, the very idea she’s proposed lifts something from her heart, but she knows her place cannot be so quickly abandoned. “And I… I can’t watch someone else give you what I want to.”
And Caitlyn feels her heart shatter in her chest, the shards stabbing and piercing. She sits up, the ruffled green sheets pooling at her waist. Vi still lies behind her, still and unmoving. Her breathing heavy and labored and Caitlyn feels a lump form in her throat.
“When I’m Queen I will make a new order.”
The decision sits clear as water in front of her now. Sucking in a ragged breath, she turns, surprised to see mist collecting in thick lashes, the knight’s chin quivering.
“I can’t stop you from leaving but know that when you return– and you will return or I will have you executed– that I will have made my choice then. And it’s the same choice I’ve made over and over again.” Stubborn will threads through her voice, and she needs Vi to hear her now.
“Princess I–”
Caitlyn doesn’t let her finish, silencing her slotted lips and a strong grip on her jaw.
Vi stares up at her, eyes wide and lips parted before Caitlyn brushes their mouths together again, not quite a kiss but needing the closeness all the same. “When you return, there will be no need for suitors and I will still do my duty as heir. But I will need no man to do it. You may not believe me, but I know what I’m capable of. You will watch nothing but your ascension as my queen consort and that’s the end of it.” The words are of a biting fierceness and she doesn’t know if Vi believes her. But she has a plan, calculated and cunning.
Vi chuckles at that, pushing ink colored hair out of Caitlyn’s face, tucking the strands behind her ear. But Caitlyn doesn’t smile. She doesn’t laugh. Her eyes remain a source of determined fire that Vi can’t hide from.
“You’re serious.”
Caitlyn hums, an idea striking her like lightning. She stands abruptly, her chest preening at Vi’s discontented noise. But she goes to her vanity, applying a rouge blush to her lips, feeling the quizzical silver gaze watching her every move. Grabbing one of her many kerchiefs, she brings the cloth to her lips, staining it in the shape of her lips before bringing it back to the knight, still strewn amongst the sea of sheets and pillows.
The gift falls in the knight’s awaiting palm, and Caitlyn doesn’t have to verbalize what the symbol means. Vi brings it to her own lips, kissing the same place as the princess, her eyes closing with a content sigh.
They lie for the remainder of the moon’s dance in the sky, kissing and talking of everything and nothing, Caitlyn threatening to come to battle on dragon back if need be. Their touches tender and soft, explorative as though for the first time until sleep had her way, tucking them both in her arms. And when the sun finally rises, inevitable in its ascension, Caitlyn helps Vi dress, clasping the red cloak of the Queen to her shoulders, the kerchief tucked carefully into her breastplate. The red-lipped stain a promise, an oath sealed in the very fires lurking in her blood.
And Ser Violet Hound has never broken an oath.
