Thank you everyone for your patience. Life's been busy- I know, what an excuse! enjoy! I wouldnt have never abandoned this fun little story, i'd have to finish it, one way or another.
It was fucking difficult to return to ordinary meetings with Dutch and Rock inside Balalaika's office. Any fucking item in that office brought flashes of memories to Revy's aching head. The desk was a prominent one. She'd sat across it, legs spread, cunt beginning to hurt from the rough caresses. The leather couches that was cold to the backs of her thighs as she sat on it, spine straight because damn if being around Balalaika didn't inspire a little prim and proper.
The topic remained exposed, like an open nerve, that neither of the women came close to touching. Balalaika treated her like the good ol' Two Hands she was- an ally true to the cause of Hotel Moscow, to the side of Dutch. But distant. Gone were the feeling of eyes raking down her body, gone were the quick after-meeting chats, and gone was it just being the two of them. Afterwards one soldier would waltz in, statuesque, or another company that she kept tabs on. When Dutch was there it was like she didn't exist. Instead she'd absentmindedly watch the soft slick ring of lipstick wrap around a shrinking cigar in the Russian's hand.
She'd shown up braless, waving her arms about in tight crop tops; in chopped Daisy Dukes, pantiless. Fucking anything. But Balalaika's eyes were always on Dutch or Rock.
There were nights where she lay on her creaking mattress and she wanted to press out Balalaika's personal hotline; maybe hear false formalities with a suck of a cigar. Revy would cup her groin through her underwear and just wish that the Russian had left something, a scratch, a bullet hole, anything to remind her that fucking in that stupidly expensive office was real. Not some drunk hallucination. Just lying there, staring out of the newly-cracked window she shivered. Just thinking of those long acrylics dragging down her skin, leaving thin red lines in their wake, was enough to make her throb again. It had been three weeks.
Her boots hit the ground with soft scuffs. Revy kicked crunched cans and newspapers that stuck to the ground. Her heart was pounding in her chest again; the cars that went by didn't help the stirring hangover in her temples.
"You must actually be like, thinking this time... fuck! " Eda had laughed into her bourbon, which earned her the barrel of a gun almost going up her nose. This was last night, typical Sunday spent drinking, and over the course of a week Revy's fucking nerves were dragged across the floor, ala nails on a chalkboard, because of that fucking persistent hangover. Because every night once she saw Bao's face he'd roll out a bourbon, scollding for a tip.
Hotel Moscow is a heavily guarded fortress that was disguised in the mask of a normal building. Revy could clock the two watchmen- one on the roof and another innocuously smoking a cigarette, leaning against a tinted window.
She confidently strutted across the filthy street and palmed open the heavy door; glancing at the guard dogs who wear coats in ninety degree weather, before walking in.
They do frisk her, and Boris does pay a visit, because it's Dutch who's supposed to call in ten minutes before and bring in the status updates. It was just lucky for Revy to see the stack of carefully-stapled (Rock) papers on the dingy kitchen table.
The sergeant took a quick read through the packet, huge fingers surprisingly deft, as another man patted down Revy's ribs. She fucking hates being touched, hates being frisked, and hates watching her two babies get whisked away to god-knows-where. She'd just feel safer with a gun. Especially in an area full of Ivan war junkies. There's a pulsing pre-migraine train wreck rattling behind her eyes, which almost cost the lives of three people that bumped shoulders with her on the sidewalk.
When she cautiously opened the heavy door, Revy saw her blonde bent head, eyelashes downcast to the slew of paperwork that covered the desk. And Revy fucking tried to ignore how she dripped had cum on the stained wood in their last private meeting.
"You're carrying them today?" Her voice has a slight rough edge to it, as if she drank bourbon with cigar ash. Two paper cups that reeked of black coffee sat empty next to her moving hand. Balalaika raised her eyes up at the entering woman, before returning to scribbling signatures in red.
"Yeah, was passing through and Dutch though to kill two birds with one stone."
"Mhm." She replied, noncommittally and without looking at her. Without really listening to her. The blonde was content to let Revy prattle on as if she was Rock, going on another philosophical rant.
Anger spread like a virus in Revy's chest; red flashed in the corners of her eyes. Once the door clicked reassuringly she paced forward, slapping the documents down. Biting her lower lip to stop any vicious words; she gave a taunting smile. The action almost missed Balalaika's fingertips and she faced the Chinese woman scarily quick, annoyance written clear across her face.
"So, now that I rubbed you off, you don't want to talk to me like a person anymore, huh, sis?" The words left her mouth a second before her brain could catch up, her eyes widening in the heat of the sudden angry glare upon her. If only anger even covered what Balalaika looked at her with.
A fist slammed into her stomach, almost up under her ribs. Revy stumbled backward and gasped. The urge to vomit was overpowering. Taking an uneasy swallow, she glared angrily at the offender. Her fingers touched where her holsters normally were, only to remember her guns where in another room.
Without any delay was her throat choked again, long nails biting into where her pulse thumped beneath, panicked. Balalaika looked at her, teeth clenched and shoulders tight, nostrils flared before bringing Revy closer to her, up front to the gnarled burn down her face.
Revy's stomach pinched into the desk, to the point where she let a labored gasp of pain; her body at an almost angle. Her toes held her standing on the floor. For a split second nothing was uttered, only the slow lack of air entering her lungs. She gripped the thin wrist and glared back at her, chin lifted, a struggling sign of dominance.
Shoving Revy away with, Balalaika rounded the desk. Her hair mussed around her shoulders and fell down her back. Chest rising with each slow inhale, she stood in front of the minuscule light that filtered in from the window.
"What has gotten into that skull, Two Hands?" She hissed, her accent snaking into her words. "Don't you have your salaryman to return to? I'll have you shipped back in pieces, if necessary. And I'll make an educated guess that it will be."
The gunwoman steadied, planting both feet on the floor. "What has gotten into me? Fuck, you think we can just, fuck and forget about it? That you used me like some living sex toy and just stop talkin' to me?"
Revy coughed whilst feeling the ache of an already bruised esophagus.
"You wanted a wedding? An anguished phone call in the middle of the night?" Balalaika teased, running a hand through her hair in a attempt to fix it. The humor left her face in a second, replaced by intrigue at how the mysterious Two Hands would react to such a spat.
Revy looked away. Her fists curled. There was no way she could fight hand to hand with a trained war maniac. There was no way to scramble over to the dragunov that was propped on a shelf. Hell, If she even managed a punch her men would rush in and easily stomp her face in. Soft clicks on the waxed wood snapped her out of making a panicked escape plan. Rock told her of how easily Balalaika could snap a grown man's neck. The sound was cold in the still room, and her stomach prepared for another hit.
"I never thought of you as a sex toy, as you put it so.. articulately." The blonde muttered, resting the side of her hand on Revy's collarbone, fingers wrapping loosely around her neck and pressing into the red marks she already left. She traced the marks softly, before pressing the nail of her thumb into the flesh until Revy hissed.
Revy hated how her body reacted to this shit. Just a brush of her hardened fingertips and she was already docile, legs spread for fucking.
"I'm tired of you not answering my fucking questions." She whispered, her brown eyes almost wavering in their intense shared look. Anxiousness bubbled in her stomach. Vulnerability. Another thing Revy can't fucking stand, add it to the list. "I fucking hate you, I hate you, why the fuck did we do this."
She snarled, shoving the taller woman's shoulder. The blow nicked into the flesh dully, the broad body offering many places to land a half-decent hit.
"How did I offend you, Two Hands? Did you want everyone to know what happened between us? To tell the entire world?" Balalaika let out a soft chuckle into her ear, squeezing the wrist until Revy felt her bones groan. Easily holding Revy's struggling arm, she tilted her head teasingly. "Go on."
Revy opened her mouth to reply, about ready to unload sentence after sentence of how fucking used she felt afterwards. The meaningless meetings where she might as well have been a coat rack. She continued to grunt and hiss while trying to tug her arm away. "Forget that, sis. Why the fuck did you ignore me? Are you tired of me yet, bitch?"
Instead of answering her questions, instead of fucking letting Revy go and sitting her down and explaining whatever sexual frustration she had to get out, Balalaika slid her tongue in between Revy's parted chapped lips and kissed her slowly. Her body felt tense to the touch; her scar grazing Revy's smooth cheek.
And the mask of the face Revy was wearing, the facade she strapped carefully into before finally talking to the Russian again, cracked in two as soon as she felt the other's body press into hers. A strangled whimper left her lips, as the taloned-hand around her neck tightened slightly when she openly groped Balalaika's hip; a silent reminder that no Revy can't feel up her ass. This was happening. It wasn't an awkward drug trip or daydream, it was fucking Balalaika who didn't push her away.
"I-I hate you, I hate you, fuck you," She whined between the kisses, her brows creasing and her fingers digging into the muscled flesh of her ass, deciding to grope her anyway. Saliva wet the corners of her lips.
Balalaika removed her hand from around Revy's neck to her waist, feeling the exposed skin. Revy felt her brushing the thin knife scars she earned in prison. In retaliation she groped higher, along where Balalaika's own scars snaked around her figure. A gasp was muffled against her lips and Revy ran her hands down lower, digging her fingers into the flesh of her hips, nails brushing the no-zone.
The blonde was pushed against the desk, Revy hiking up her stupidly tight pencil skirt up her thighs. The suit was wrinkled around the armpit and the waist, but tight as a drum on her shoulders and hips and of course, her tits. She took a daring squeeze of her chest, massaging where the nipple dented the fabric.
"You need to go," Balalalaika breathed into her hair, before biting her jaw. "I have other arrangements that demand my attention."
"Forget that shit." Revy replied, unbuttoning her suit jacket one-handed. The skirt was around her hips, wrinkled and showing the lace of a garter. Revy grinned, flashing her teeth. She traced where it followed up to black panties.
Snatching her wrist, the blonde pulled back, shaking her head. "No one can suspect this. You show up, alone, carrying a non-crucial-"
"Oh, hell." Revy rolled her eyes and turned away. Balalaika's grip on her wrist narrowed and she dragged her closer until her tight-clad leg glided between the gunslinger's thighs.
"Listen to me. There can be no knowing of what we do."
"Then we'll meet somewhere else. Or will you be surrounded there too?" She snapped back, weakly due to what the blonde was doing with her thigh.
"Cheeky." Balalaika laid another wet, biting kiss, before easing Revy away and straightening her skirt. She brushed her hair over her shoulders before pointing to the door. "I'll call you when we have more then ten minutes."
"So I'll leave with my shorts soaked?" Revy grouched, tugging her shirt down.
"Clench your thighs together." The blonde stated bluntly, already searching for a cigar. She flicked the lighter to make sure it worked with the pad of her thumb.
"We'll finish this."
The blonde took a dry drag and nodded once more, giving a small tired smile with a corner of her lips.
Played around with some different ideas... but this'll be the concluding chapter of our little story. I had fun writing it, and plan to do more revy/bala in the near future! I love both their characters- what i'd give for Rei Hiroe to talk about their personal thoughts... Although Balalaika was the most mysterious. In my opinion revy never had a childhood, never had a chance to emotionally grow up- hence whitman fever and how she acts like a lil brat sometimes.
I'll see you all again soon. Critiques welcome!