between, Baccano! (Luck/Chane/Claire)
Title: between Author/Artist: shiegra Rating: PG13/R
Prompt: Baccano! - Luck/Claire/Chane - sharing - Droit de seigneur Word count: 594
The room was broad, the curtains drawn, and Claire was sitting on the big chair, his legs thrown over the arm. She wanted to be curled into the heat of his body, but couldn't; her instincts wouldn't let her, her consciousness of the man across the room, with his politely displayed gun and his calm, even smile.
Instead she stood by the edge of the desk and watched them both steadily, patiently basking in the brilliance of Claire's reckless grin.
She could never have surrendered him.
"This is your official invitation," Claire said, wide eyes glittering with dark heat.
"A quick decision, wouldn't you say?" Luck Gandor lifted his glass to his lips, but did not drink yet, giving her a long, curiously intense stare.
She met his eyes, empty, waiting; keeping herself free of reaction until he acted. Her breathing slowed. She was instinctively treating this like a fight, but something about this felt subtly wrong.
He set the glass down without drinking, crossed the room to extend his hand.
She studied it, frowning faintly, for a long moment before she accepted the gesture. She could feel the strength in his hands even through her gloves, and when he bowed over her hand she looked at the back of his neck, knew how easy it would be to slide the knife in, didn't for a moment want to.
On the couch Claire sat up, watching them with his wide eyes, lips parting. He murmured something deep in his throat, indistinct.
Luck rose and met her eyes. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he said.
Chane inclined her head and let him keep her fingers for a moment more, comfortable for now.
Claire rose and paced slowly around the couch, and then moving fast enough to jerk her hand down instinctively to her thigh and knives. She didn't think she'd ever get used to the way he moved enough to shed that habit, but he didn't mind. Instead he only caught her in his arms and nuzzled her cheek like an affectionate cat, cradling her side against his front.
"She said she'd marry me," he told Luck, voice low.
Luck raised an eyebrow. "Considering you're getting married in a week," he said dryly, "I should hope so." He didn't ask about the fact that she didn't speak, which startled her vaguely. Most people would have, or would at least have felt the urge, even if they were too polite to actually venture the words. He seemed content with Claire's statement.
Claire slid to her back, his palms sliding across her stomach, and then stepped forward, she matched him, in sync without thinking about it, and then looked up from his hands to Luck's eyes, now unexpectedly closer.
"Claire--" He sounded almost surprised. Discomfited, maybe. "Is this--"
"If Chane minds," Claire said, sounding absurdly delighted with the idea, "I'm sure she'll stab one of us."
Luck gave her a sardonic look--a thoughtless, instinctual commiseration, and she felt a tentative smile curling her lips. "Should I call you Mrs. Stanfield?" He murmured, and she shook her head.
"Not yet," Claire told him, and she shook her head again, firmly. She could picture the quick, teasing pout that flickered over his face. "All right, then--" and then "who knows what I'll be by then, anyway."
"Then, Chane Laforet--" Luck lifted her hand to his lips, this time, let his mouth linger.
Claire's grip loosened, and Luck's eyes, going hooded, were focused on her. It was her move.
Chane rose to her toes, tightening her gloves fingers around his, and leaned forward, never breaking contact with Claire, to touch Luck's mouth with hers in a slow, certain kiss.