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The Foundry (which was, in reality, a barely-ventilated broom closet) heaved with heat. The tang of hot metal hung in the steam laden air, and the roar of the furnace was almost loud enough to drown out the caustic whine of Pash’s voice.
Almost.
“It’s not hot enough. The fuck are those arms for, Crown? Decoration?”
Crown scowled as she pumped the bellows harder. Sweat was already soaking her tank, making the thin fabric of it cling to her skin. Even her hair was sticking in dark clumps to the sides of her face, and its usual curls had turned to unruly frizz. She knew her face beneath the mask must be flushed: not the pretty pink of a well won sparring session, but an ugly, blotchy red that she hadn’t known she could turn before she stepped onto this planet. Coronabeth Tridentarius had had no need for that kind of exertion. Ianthe would have told her she looked like a tomato with acne. Thinking about Ianthe made her angry, and that was good. She could hear the growing roar of the furnace, and feel the sweet burn in the muscles of her arms. Ianthe would know their names, she thought, Ianthe would tell her how stupid she was for not knowing. She pumped faster.
Pash was saying something else now, even louder and more insistent. Crown ignored her, pumping the bellows harder, savouring the feeling of the air rushing out under her hands, like the last breath from dying lungs. A gloved hand yanked her arm off the handle.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
It was easy, in the face of Pash’s anger, to shrug.
“You wanted it hotter.”
“And you wanted to burn down this whole facility, apparently. Don’t know why We Suffer puts up with you,” Pash said, because she was nothing if not consistent. Crown rolled her eyes.
“Oh, here we go.”
“What?” Pash spat.
“You’re ever so boring, Pash.”
“Good. If you found me interesting I’m sure you’d want to talk to me more.” It was a predictable answer, and just as boring as she had expected.
It had been a long day, and her skin still itched from Nona getting underneath it. It was her own fault, she supposed, for asking that question, but the answer had hollowed her out and made her needy. Pash might be the worst person Crown knew, but she nonetheless came from a family of hot people, and was therefore, distressingly, hot. Crown dropped the pitch of her voice, adding just a drop of honey when she replied,
“And you’d hate that, wouldn’t you? You hate my talk, and my hair, and my boobs.” She arched her back ever so slightly, practised, as she spoke, and wished that Pash wasn’t wearing those heavy protective goggles because she knew the lieutenant's eyes had flicked down to where damp fabric clung to Crown’s curves. She took a gamble. “It’s alright, you know. You can look if you want to. Everyone does.”
Pash froze. It was the first time Crown had ever managed to shut her up, and she pressed her advantage. Raising her goggles and removing her mask, she gave Pash half a smile. Tomato with acne or not, she knew it was devastating.
“You could use a nice fuck,” she said. “From your general demeanour I’m guessing it’s been a while.”
Pash dropped Crown’s arm as though the contact burned her.
“I would never even—the thought of—with someone like you.” Pash stammered, and this was too easy.
“What?” she crooned. “Someone House?”
Pash nodded.
“It was good enough for Her, wasn’t it?”
She’d known that particular bullet would hit home, but it still thrilled her when Pash ripped off her mask and her goggles, staring at Crown with those pit-black eyes. Ninth eyes, she might have said, if she wanted Pash to shove her head into the furnace.
“Watch it, Crown.”
She was absolutely going to watch it. She was going to watch Pash fall apart, and she was going to enjoy it.
“She fucked both of them: the wizard and his thrall.”
She smiled a real smile at the horrified scrunch of Pash’s eyebrows; in that expression there lived another soldier, who had scolded her for blaspheming against another god.
“I’m not fucking kidding.” Pash’s voice trembled, and it sent a delicious shiver down Corona’s spine. There was about a 70% chance of success, here, Crown thought. A good enough chance for success that any BoE commander would send troops in. There was still a 30% chance that Pash would punch her, that the mission would fail, but she was willing to take that chance.
“You think you’re better than Her? You’d never slum it the way She did?”
“Shut up,” Pash growled, and Corona grinned.
“Make me.”
Crown couldn’t help but admire the speed and force with which her back hit the wall. When Pash’s mouth landed on hers, it wasn’t quite what anyone would term a kiss; the skin of her lip split almost instantly under the onslaught of Pash’s teeth, and the blood in her mouth tasted right.
This close, she could feel the heat on Pash’s skin, even more fierce than the oppressive heat of the room itself. It was almost unbearable to be near her—more so than usual—but Crown gripped her tight anyway.
She didn’t complain when Pash drew back to rip off the thick glove with her teeth, fisting her newly freed hand into Crown’s hair and tugging hard. It was more pain than pleasure, but Crown let out an absolutely filthy sound anyway, and let Pash turn them around and drag her onto her knees. Submission wasn’t usually her style, but it was easier like this: let Pash think she was in control, let her think she was the one winning here.
There were too many damn straps on Pash’s trousers, but they made it work, and as she tugged them down Crown let the blunt ends of her nails leave white-then-red tracks down the outsides of Pash’s thighs. The skin here was no less sweat-slick than anywhere else, and the animal musk of it was the only honest thing in that whole wretched broom closet. She pushed on the insides of Pash’s thighs, forcing them further apart, and let her tongue dart out for a first, experimental lick. She hummed at the taste, heavy and earthy, and Pash whined.
“Get the fuck on with it.”
Crown turned her face to nip at the surprisingly delicate skin of Pash’s inner thigh, and Pash—to her credit—didn’t flinch.
“Yes, sir.”
She felt Pash’s whole body shiver against her tongue, and it felt like victory.
It was a graceless thing, in the end, as she’d known it would be. Pash had come, squirming but silent, on Crown’s tongue before dropping to the floor and shoving her hand unceremoniously down Crown’s trousers, refusing to either look her in the eye or kiss her again. It had taken an embarrassingly short time for Crown to follow her over the edge.
They both sat, panting and sticky, on the floor of the Foundry for a long minute after they were done.
“After all that,” Crown said, still faintly out of breath, “you didn’t even touch my boobs.”
Pash leaned forward and pinched her nipple, hard. Crown yelped.
“Don’t, baby, you’ll get me going again.”
“You’ll have to find a new victim if you want another round,” said Pash, rising on slightly shaking legs. She did up the fastenings of her trousers—straps and all—and looked down at Crown.
“Such a generous lover,” Crown replied, looking up at Pash through her eyelashes.
“You could probably try this little trick of half of Troia cell,” Pash continued as if Crown hadn’t spoken. “They all feel sorry enough for you.”
Looking back, she knew she shouldn’t have taken the bait, but she was riding high on post-coital endorphins and the euphoria of having made Pash debase herself, so she stupidly asked,
“Why would they feel sorry for me?”
Pash’s smile was like a knife wound in her face.
“You’ve begged for her life more times than is dignified, you know,” Pash said, conversationally. “From what I hear, she barely even liked you when she was coherent.”
Corona had come out to have a good time, and she was honestly feeling so attacked right now.
Pash crouched down, idly wiping Crown’s come off her hand with a wet rag. She said,
“I hate your guts—which I think goes without saying—but seeing you with her… even I pity you.”
She dropped the rag in front of her, and straightened up. Our Lady of the Passion didn’t look back as she slipped from the room, letting the door close with a slam behind her.
In the fresh silence, Corona had forgotten what winning felt like.