Crimson, Baccano! (Claire/Chane)
Title: Crimson Author/Artist: shiegra Rating: PG13/R Prompt: July 2: Baccano! - Claire/Chane - toe fetish - She painted her toes red, his favorite color.
It was a little unsettling, how he had invaded even the smallest, most trivial parts of her life.
Nice had laughed when she had scrawled out 'who would see my toenails?' on a piece of paper when they arrived at the little place Nice said was there for pampering them.
"Technically they're for you to enjoy." She said, and her eyelashes dropped in amusement. "But they're for your lover to look at, Chane-chan."
And the woman had asked what color she'd wanted and somehow the queston and statement blended together and she thought, red with a blind and startled intensity that shivered over her skin.
Her fingernails were kept practical and bare, and almost always covered with gloves anyway. But when she slipped into his room that night, pulse trembling in her throat, she left her shoes outside of the door.
He sat up in bed when the door clicked shut behind her, and his eyes were very bright. They stared at each other for a long minute, wordless while the night's velvet silence weighed in on them, and then she made herself walk across the rug. Her hand shook a little--she was trembling all over--when she lifted it and touched his hair, fingers stroking over the sharp curl against his ear and then surprisingly soft skin. His eyes went heavy-lidded, intently narrow, and one of his hands rose to curl over hers.
He had the smile of a delighted boy.
Red, she mouthed, and he caught her arm and pulled her into his body, letting her own instincts curl herself into a roll that was aborted when he twisted cat-quick on top of her. Her knees drew up, body tensing in reflexive preparation for a sharp, defensive kick before she caught herself, and then he stilled, looking down, and caught her leg in one hand, examining the glossy color.
The delight in his smile made her hands curl helplessly as heat trembled in her stomach. "For me?" He asked, half-laughing but not like it amused him, like it was out of pure pleasure. Chane wasn't sure where she found the courage to move, to nod, but it was probably somewhere in the glittering darkness of his eyes.
"Oh," he murmured, and slid his hand down her calf to cup her heel, lay a kiss against her ankle. "I'm honored."
She gasped, the sound thin and sharp, and arched restlessly. He was very warm, skin humming with sleepy heat, and wearing only a loose pair of pants. If she touched him--
He drew his thumb in a thin line up the arch of her foot and she squirmed and grabbed his shoulder, his skin warm against her hand, muscles sliding like steel under the skin. He was very strong. She wondered if she could pull free. She knew, in a heated trembling way, that she didn't want to.
He made a sound deep in his throat and bent again, mouth hot on her skin, the delicate tracery of veins beneath the surface of her foot, and her plain unvarnished fingernails dug into his skin.