can I request something smutty with Laura De Mille in the white suit please 👀
Sitting outside the office, you drummed your fingers on your thighs. Normally, having two men turn up and haul you out of your workplace would be disturbing, but quite frankly your greatest desire at the moment they showed up had been to not be there, so you weren’t entirely sure that it hadn’t been some sort of trick of your own design.
Having the power to discover people’s desires was a strange enough power as it was, without the mystifying addition that sometimes, when you felt strongly about it, those things would just… happen.
It could be coincidence, but you didn’t really believe in those anymore. Not after… well, probably best not to dwell on that again at this moment.
The door opened and a woman floated out, as though she were on a red carpet, and was escorted by one of the men down the corridor and through a door. Your eyes lingered on her as she disappeared; had she been dragged in here too?
The call from the room had your head whipping around again, and you strained, searching to see the owner. After a few seconds, the man beside the door grunted, and you looked to him, only to see him gesturing for you to go in.
Standing quickly, you headed to and through the door.
Inside was a curious office, or was it a laboratory? Mice were squeaking in a cage and something in the corner was smouldering. It looked like a mannequin had been set on fire.
Your eyes fell on the figure at the desk, and your footsteps faltered.
Dark hair, curled and pinned into an updo with a few free curls hanging free, neatly framed a sharp face largely hidden by big, circular glasses. Red lips pursed as the woman looked over what she was writing, and they seemed to shine when set against the crisp white blazer she wore.
She didn’t look up, gesturing for you to sit down.
Chewing your lip, you lowered yourself into the seat and continued to stare at her. She continued to ignore you and instead her pen scratched over the paper until she had finished her sentence.
Then, and only then, did she look up.
Even as you answered her, you strained to see a glimpse of her eyes. The eyes were the windows to the soul, or so the saying went, and you found it accurate in that it was only by seeing people’s eyes that you could see their desires.
“A person.” It was exactly as deadpanned as you’d hoped, and you watched an eyebrow raise over the glasses.
“How original.” Her tone was equally as sarcastic, and she made a note in her folder. “Why are you?”
She tsk’d at you, and then her head dipped and her eyes looked at you over the glasses.
You inhaled sharply and gripped the arms of the chair.
Her desire tasted sharp, hot and left an aftertaste of tea, cigarettes and something unfamiliar in your mouth.
“What?” She tilted her head, studying you.
“You’re quite ambitious, aren’t you?”
A hand, with nails painted to match the red of her lips, raised and she took off her glasses, tossing them on the table.
“You’ve been working so hard for so long and all you want is to feel like it’s worth something, like all of your hard work is leading to security so you don’t have to hide who you are. So that someone might-“
“Fascinating. Is that all you can do?”
Her fingers lingered over a stamp and you cranes your head to see what was written on the top. ‘Weapon’.
“You are here to be categorised. Weapon, or not.”
“So because you don’t like what I see in you, you’re going with weapon?”
“You skill could be useful to us.”
“My skill also scares everyone who speaks to me. You’re not the only one who hides.”
She blinked and then leaned over the table, her lip curling.
“Well they don’t know that you’re like me or else you’d be this side of the table, wouldn’t you?”
She pressed her lips together, and then the teacup sitting on her desk went flying off, smashing against the wall.
She stared at you, breathing heavily, and then straightened her jacket, standing.
“Probably not a good idea to piss off the person holding your future in her hands.”
“I’m not exactly the kind to beg for my life.”
“No?” Her eyebrow twitched, and the taste in your mouth warmed slightly; a hint of something sweet and spiced colouring the precious flavour.
“No. I only beg in the fun way.” The taste in your mouth became stronger and you decided that pushing this further would taste even better. “Want to see?”
Her nostrils flared and her eyes darkened, and with that you had to lick your lips, the sweet, spiced taste enveloping your mouth.
“Are you flirting with me?”
Her eyebrow twitched, and the taste in your mouth started to burn your nostrils and slide pleasantly down your throat, warming your stomach. Oh my.
You stayed like that, sizing each other up, until she broke eye contact and, very business like, sat down and stamped your file. You looked down.
You were dismissed, and even as you were shown to your new quarters and duties, the taste of her desire lingered on your tongue.
Late at night, when you lay in bed, you wondered what she would actually taste like.
