Challenge

Singe, or “Eve” as Faustus insisted on calling her, never had a real problem with her current roommates. Sure that the knowledge of a creepy, apparently mythological weapon being in her flat was rather unnerving, but the weapon wasn’t going to hurt her.

The other two bipeds certainly could.

Void most certainly could. Most likely even considered, though now it was as if she just accepted that the two of them were there with her and that’s how it was going to be for the time being.

Which brought her to the man, err, Guardian in question. He reminded her of the large cats of old, the leopards. Sayings went that the leopard would sleep by your bed at night, but kill you just as easily in the morning.

Except this particular leopard wasn’t sleeping anywhere near the floor, her mind bit back teasingly, flashing images of what just happened not even a few hours ago.

Black hair draped over her naked chest as Singe looked up at a water-stained ceiling, now taking the time to figure out just what the hell landed them in that position.

If Void walked in, she’d die. She’d take that scythe and slice her throat, right there as naked as a jaybird.

A large hand closed over a breast and she almost died a different way.

The leopard was awake.

Singe gulped as dark eyes overtook her own.

For acting as innocent as he certainly did, he was good.

He was really good.

The Guardian lifted himself from his “pillow” and moved to crouch over the mercenary’s hips, placing an almost fatherly-kiss on her forehead.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, almost childlike in awe, his hands, such big hands, brushed the hair in her face away from her eyes.

Singe blinked once.

Twice.

Face-faulted once or twice before her mind responded with “how can something so PRETTY be such a complete moron?”

Her body flinched as one of his hands grazed the right side of her face, only to be stopped by that large hand.

Hands so gentle, but so deadly.

Hands that helped save her life on too many occasions.

Time to make those hands earn their keep, she silently growled, her own hands reaching up to tangle in inky tresses and yanking him down to her.

“Such a liar,” she muttered, her lips locking onto his own, his own soft lips, making sure the pairs connected and worked over the other, only to stop and expand their territory.

He took over, lifting her slight form under him and stretching them both out as his mouth moved over her neck and chest and oh, she almost died in that happy-floaty way again.

The door creaked open, flooding the dim bedroom with too much light and outlining what could have been a face-eating-mode Void in shadows.

Singe yanked the covers up over her form as Faustus just paused to ask the dragon “what?”

“FOR THE LOVE OF FUCKING GOD!” Void yelled, her age-old face reddening before she bolted.

Singe’s own face burned, oh how it burned from beneath the blankets.

She so wanted to KICK that dragon.