Datura

By Minim Calibre

Notes: Spoilers for AtS Season 5, Lilah/Eve, R.


Her smile is serpentine, cool and twisted, meaning layered on meaning. If it doesn’t meet her eyes, it’s only because there isn’t a need. The smile is the only thing that doesn’t change in a form that shifts and alters with a whim.

The serpent lips part in greeting. “Sister.” Not a hiss (looks can be deceptive), instead the word is soft, almost lisped.

“What do you want, Eve?” Lilah’s tired of this game; it’s one she can never quite win. Maybe that’s because she’s not sure why they’re playing. Or maybe it’s because Eve keeps changing the rules.

White hands reach out to pull the scarf from Lilah’s neck, then wrap the shimmering blue-green silk around Lilah’s wrists, binding them. Eve is all white and red today, like a fairy-tale apple, and Lilah wonders if she’d fall into a death-like sleep if she bit her. Probably not, seeing as she’s already dead, the prince has tried to rescue her once and failed, and Hell’s not big on fairy tales, at least not the ones they’ve edited for children.

Corkscrew curls tumble scarlet down Eve’s shoulders, brushing against Lilah’s arms as Eve adjusts the knots, and leaving invisible blisters in their wake. Eve looks up, colorless eyes turning sea-shades from the reflection of the bonds, and smiles again, sweetly, the picture of apple-cheeked innocence.

She stands and the eyes go blank. “Why do you always insist on believing that this is about want, sister? There are rules, and there are boundaries, and you overstepped them one time too many. It’s nothing personal.”

“Of course not.” Lilah tugs at the fabric, and winds up tightening the knots where she tried to loosen them. It’s a good thing there’s no circulation to cut off. “Just business. I know your type. Hell, I was your type.”

Eve leans in, presses her lips against the exposed seam of Lilah’s neck, then traces the neat line of damage with the razor-edge of her tongue. Lilah shudders and leans into the warmth just before it’s pulled away.

“You still are.” Eve laughs, malevolent bells ringing in her victory. She runs a hand over the scarf, silk turning to scales and knots to coiled muscle under her touch. Lilah feels the snake squeeze and pulse as it comes to life around her wrists, testing its new-found being before slithering to freedom between her knees.

“I’m billing you for the cost of that scarf,” Lilah says from between gritted teeth. Her hands may technically be free, but she knows if she moves them, they’ll fly up to cover her throat. She doesn’t want to give Eve the satisfaction.

Eve shrugs, glancing in the direction the snake disappeared. “It will be back in your lingerie drawer before it realizes its mistake.”

Her eyes flit to Lilah’s hands, up to her neck, and back down again, and Lilah realizes her own mistake a half-second too late. Eve’s fingers recreate the path her creation took as it escaped, slowly burning over pulseless wrists, down to clenched thighs where the paths diverge and Eve’s fingers move up rather than down, parting Lilah’s legs and creating shadows of sensation that aren’t quite life, but aren’t quite death, either.

“Why?” The fingers reach the join of her thighs, bringing with them a damp heat and need that have been absent for far too long.

Eve raises a perfect brow, as if she can’t quite believe Lilah would ask such an obvious question. “Knowledge.”

She lowers her head, her curls covering Lilah’s skin like casual streams of fresh blood, touching and tasting and yes, knowing. Lilah moans, unneeded air filling her lungs, as a phantom pulse beats under Eve’s tongue, coiling like one of her serpents low in Lilah’s belly, exploding memories and emotions, bringing her close to life for a painful moment.

It’s in Eve’s power to do so much more, but Lilah understands that she never will. Not when Eve can keep her here, a caged plaything provided courtesy of Wolfram and Hart, just another bonus for their first and most successful recruit.

Eve stands, her shape for a moment shifting into a mirror of Lilah’s while she digests everything she’s taken. Lilah watches her own lips form the serpent’s smile before Eve shifts back, and she wonders if Eve will play that trick when she gets to Los Angeles.

She gets her answer sooner than she expected. “I won’t have to, sister.” The soft velvet of Eve’s voice strips the last of the borrowed warmth from Lilah’s body, leaving nothing behind but ice.

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