so it goes
pairing: lizardhat
summary: when she reluctantly calls black hat as a last ditch effort for a ride home after an online date goes horribly wrong (she ends up having to stab him with a dinner fork), demencia finds out that her boss thinks more highly of her than she was led to believe.
rating: nothing truly explicit, but there is some spice! a piping hot pile of sexual tension!!
(ao3 link)
Demencia eyed the blistering oranges and reds beyond the gloam of the night sky, snubbing out her Newport on the sidewalk with a stomp of her boot. She sneered at the laughter coming from inside the restaurant and reached for the pack in her purse, fingers searching for the last smoke at the bottom. She sure as hell deserved it.
Thinking back on the past 24 hours gave her whiplash, and she desperately longed for an ice cold shower along with an ice cold beer to cleanse the lousy memories away until she had no recollection of them. How could she possibly think that Evil Singles™ was a good idea? Its infamously seedy reputation only spoke of B-list henchmen seeking out a quick fuck in the shadows of the night and nothing else. She was under that disreputable impression up until an alright-looking lackey calling himself “Torpedo” messaged her and opened with an actual goddamn courtly question about how her day was going and how if she wouldn’t mind him saying this but her eyes looked absolutely dazzling in her profile picture, did she have a map, because he was getting lost in them. Right away she knew that was bullshit because nobody in their right mind would look at that clouded yellow haze in her one eye and call it dazzling, but she gave him points for trying.
Demencia presumed that she was acting out, but she never really knew for sure if that outweighed the curiosity. Veiled by a thin layer of almost drunken stupor, her hands hovered over the keyboard, clenching the air. What she did know for sure was that as soon as he gushed about how lucky Black Hat must be to have her on his crew, she lost it and typed out an invite to a local restaurant. Their crab cakes are killer, she told him, you’re totally gonna flip out. If you don’t like them, I’ll probably have to take you out again another time ;)
She thought that was funny, because in the end, she was the one who totally flipped out, when he brought up her devilishly frustrating enigma of a boss and how fortunate he was to call her part of the team. All she could do was flop around like a fucking fish out of water and pathetically ache to type out, Oh, he definitely is. Lucky to have me, that is. In fact, he tells me every day how absolutely positively friggin’ lucky he is to have an ace like me. I kick ass and take names, just how he likes it!
But she knew she would be lying to Torpedo, and to herself. So she thumbed through the unruly file cabinets of her mind and decided to rebuff with talk of seafood and good-natured, flirtatious jibes.
Now that she considered it, there was only one historical recording of verbal praise from Black Hat, and she only knew this because it was dated and stamped in her diary as something of a milestone for her. She kept it under her mattress with a padlock smacked on top of it. Lately, she’d been dreaming about a place where Black Hat acknowledged her and Flug’s work more often, one where weekly progress reports came in and their grueling efforts were recognized. Christ, not that they weren’t paid generously, because they were, as generously as Black Hat could manage. He was just as much a bloodthirsty mogul as he was a bloodthirsty hellion. And contrary to popular belief, she was a woman who cared about her career. She knew she did a good job— she knew she knocked it out of the park and then some— but sometimes Black Hat’s taut, gruntled nod just wasn’t enough.
Demencia knew she was on the team for a reason. She supposed she would’ve been kicked to the curb if she was shit at what she did. It’s just that she could never tell what he was thinking, and that truly pissed her off. She wanted to hop inside his head and pull his thoughts out like one of those never-ending magician scarves. He puzzled her, mystified her. He was a paradox of destruction, 6 feet of ancient eldritch in designer slacks and shiny shoes, and she longed to open him up like the dusty book he was. A biblically ghoulish entity like him had to have some secrets, maybe even a weakness. Everything was a show to him; he was a theatrical individual. So perhaps the truth was closer than Demencia thought, laid out in the most obvious of places.
She herself even put on a show, diamond-studded in nature, where on the outside she played the part of the silly air-headed henchmen who could kill you in the blink of an eye, unruffled by the world around her. Whereas on the inside, she longed for everyone to like her, to commend her triumphs, to fall into raptures about how she was the best in the field, Black Hat being the first to do so. Flug would say that was called "mental illness," but she could put a pin in that for later.
Demencia wasn’t afraid to admit this to herself, but somewhere deep in her bones she had a thing for praise, and hearing it from her own deathly delectable demon boss would absolutely send her careening hornily across the whole town. Settling for the next best thing— a seemingly pleasant, nice evil guy she found online who complimented her from the get-go— she expected to get totally worshiped tonight. If they hit it off, that is. A girl had needs after all.
That obviously didn’t play out the way she had hoped. She sat down and the slimeball immediately looked down her shirt when she reached for a breadstick. He didn’t even try to hide it. Not that Demencia wasn’t used to people ogling her— in fact, she quite liked it— there was just something about this guy’s leer that put her on edge. Like she owed it to him to sleep with her just because he planned to buy dinner. A real creepshow. The moment he grabbed her thigh under the table she had him in a headlock, her other arm burying a fork in his back. So much for hoping.
Reality came rushing back in a jolting wave when her gaze suddenly caught the golden headlights of Black Hat’s antique 1920s Ford Model T. She squinted past the brightness to see two floating eyeballs and a sharp row of teeth glowing in the dark like a beacon of malevolence. His silhouette seemed to pulse against the shadows, a phantom of his own design, the one and only manipulator of the murky blackness called night.
Black Hat shifted into smoke and appeared on the other side of the car, the click of the door sounding foreign in the breezy undercarriage of the moon. Holding it open for Demencia, he stood solemnly like a royal guard, unreadable as always, waiting for her to make the next move. He looked to be in no rush, and Demencia gathered that getting in was her choice.
Dressed to the nines at 11pm at night, Demencia couldn’t help but let her eyes rave over the tightly tailored suit vest wrapped around his torso, or the way his thin legs looked alarmingly alluring in the pale gleam of the street lamps. She gulped and took a step forward, trying not to trip.
His car hummed and so did Demencia as he extended a hand to help her over the curb of the sidewalk and into her seat. He watched her the whole time, eyes flashing, hand squeezing hers so lightly she thought she imagined the firm, steadfast press of his fingers to her palm. Then she blinked and he was next to her in the driver’s seat, pulling out of the parking lot and into the night without a word.
Demencia never prided herself on being a quiet person, but that night she sat there, unashamed, unbothered— a little bit smug— that her prim and proper eldritch boss had to slip out of his cute little PJs and nightcap to come fetch his wayward crony. Flug didn’t answer his phone, and she sure as hell wasn’t trekking two miles back to the manor on foot, so she called Black Hat. The lizard had his number on speed dial, always expecting to play Russian Roulette because she knew how much he hated technology and being inconvenienced, but knew how much he liked driving his car. Demencia found she didn’t even have to beg for him to come. Through the receiver, she heard he was already out of bed and on the move. She was surprised, to say the least. But she didn’t question it.
Even though she was trying to appear apathetic towards him, Demencia wanted Black Hat to ask her what happened, if she was okay. Flounce and fawn over her like they were two teenagers going steady and some douche catcalled her at the bar so he had to teach him a lesson, even though she could handle it herself, and she did. But he stayed quiet, and so did she. Yet, she didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered on her fishnets, her thighs tan and powerful beneath the wispy black fabric. A shiver carried down her spine, her face growing hot. His gaze didn't come in the form of a leer, heavy and expectant. Instead, it engaged her, drew her in, tugged her forward like it had his own magnetic field. She supposed that very well could be a possibility.
A couple minutes into the drive, Demencia came to the conclusion that she couldn’t handle this balmy, soupy silence they created between the two of them, pressingly intimate. She felt like the air was charged—almost wired— which made her mind wander to places it probably shouldn’t, fantasies she had yet to unlock. She reached ahead to click on the radio.
Black Hat broke out of his hardened layer of stillness and shot forward, like he was a toy action figure and someone just gave him a fresh new pair of batteries. “Demencia, you imbecile, my mobile is connected—!”
The catchy chorus to ABBA’s “Dancing Queen” erupted through the bass, Flug’s modern modifications to the car slapping them both in the eardrums with a rhythmic shock wave.
A beat passed, and suddenly all former claims to Demencia’s night flew out the window and she was slapping a knee, wheezing as Black Hat struggled to switch off the bluetooth while keeping one eye on the road. It was definitely a hilarious sight to behold. Black Hat, The Black Hat, supreme super villain who caused worldwide famine and brought on wars, cursing and fumbling with his radio’s settings while a beloved 1970s Europop disco hit he pretended not to like blasted through the speakers. Demencia likened the view to a giant, flailing butter knife.
He wailed, smacking the touch screen with his fist. “Why are you laughing? This is modern pop music at its best!”
She yelled over the piano. “This song is almost 50 years old.”
Her boss garbled out another string of obscenities before huffing and flopping back into his seat. Demencia muffled a giggle behind her hand, her forgotten cigarette in the other. She went to take another drag, but it was abruptly plucked from her grip by an exasperated Black Hat and thrown from his claws out the window.
“Dude, what the hell?” she spluttered, dramatically throwing her hands up.
He grunted, turning down their street. “I don’t want you stinking my car up and killing yourself. Flug told you nicotine reacts horridly with that reptile DNA nesting inside your body. You’re an important asset to this team, and me, for that matter. Plus, your breath positively reeks of rancid tar fumes, it’s truly disgusting.”
Demencia froze, blankly watched as the manor grew before her eyes, the garage door opening up with a squeak, the row of candles on the cement floor flickering to life. Black Hat refused to pay for electricity outside his house, not that he used it much inside. His Victorian, borderline Gothic Revival tastes traversed over the whole expanse of the estate, but she found it to be quite endearing.
She sat rigid, staring at the dancing flames, paying no mind to the casual insult. Her brain was still stuck on how he admitted that she was, in fact, important.
Important.
Important.
Important.
The word spun around her head and she outstretched a hand to grab it and bring it closer to her heart. She beamed at him, her whole body brimming with warmth, her grin stretching from ear to ear. The way he said it had left her thrumming, pure giddiness shocking her system, rendering her dizzy.
Black Hat narrowed his eyes at Demencia and leaned back to hold her gaze, but she caught the corner of his lip twitching up in amusement. “What, why are you looking at me like that? What’s got you all smiley?”
With a sly look painted on her face, Demencia laughed. Her shoulders relaxed and she noticed her legs parting on their own, knee bumping into Black Hat’s. He didn't move it. “Oh, nothing, it’s just that you need me. You, horrible destroyer of worlds and ABBA enthusiast, need me, hottest hitman on the block. No take backs, I heard it clear as day, dude.”
A different look crossed over his face suddenly, eyes hooded under the brim of his hat. They flicked to her lips, then back up to meet her stare. Almost immediately, Demencia ceased her giggling, heart thundering against her chest like a tidal wave being pulled by the moon. Held in the small space between them, it was the only sound.
Black Hat pushed his knee more firmly against hers, voice gravelly. He said it as if it were obvious. “I do. I do need you.”
Demencia caught the double meaning in his voice, breath hitching in her throat, thighs squeezing together. His teeth glinted in the dark and he lowered his head in a way that made her think he'd been wanting to do it the whole way home, lips ghosting over her temple. Her whole body was tingling, aching.
“My dear, you are simply a powerhouse.”
The fire in her belly burned white hot, the redness of her cheeks traveling down her neck to her chest, heaving up and down. A wave of boldness swept over her, and she took hold of the reins with ease. “Maybe you should show me how much you need me.”
Black Hat, chuckling darkly, hooked a claw in Demencia’s shirt and tugged her close.
