Tailor-Made
He got a good half-dozen punches in before reciprocation came, which is probably why he wasn't as careful as he should have been. The blow was just humanly strong this time, but it was aimed with enough precision to disrupt his balance; its effectiveness took him by surprise. Gunn fell backwards, stumbling over the coffee table and gaining much unwanted momentum before he crashed to the floor.
And, of course, the back of his head collided with the side of his desk.
The pain in his skull was sharp with silvery brightness and, keeping his eyes closed against it, he swore. It was a long and rather detailed curse, and he pronounced each word with deliberate gusto, waiting for the pain to subside. "Wow, creative. Where'd you pick that one up - the 'hood'?" Eve's heels made an elegant, rhythmic clinking noise across the hardwood floor as she approached him.
"No, you clueless white bitch – heard it from a Knothaar demon. Right before I..." He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. "Right before you what?" she demanded, standing at what appeared to be safe distance; except he knew better.
He was also supposed to know better than let himself turn speechless at the sight. The woman was now wearing those clickety-click heels, a vague expression of mockery at his dumbness, and nothing else. And she knew she looked good, despite the smear of blood at the corner of her lip and a few reddish bruises that already shaded her jaw.
He cursed again, this time only in thought. By now, he should be used to these abrupt disrobings mid-fight; it was her standard trick. Then again, he knew she made it standard only because he consistently fell for it.
"Right before I yanked a hatchet from his chest and pulled out some twenty feet of lavender guts – and his brain – with it." Eve chuckled, walking a casual semi-circle around him. He stood up, very slowly, never taking his eyes off her. Rather appropriately, the throbbing ache in the back of his head seemed perfectly synchronized with the clicking of her heels: bi-tch, bi-tch, bi-tch.
"I bet you enjoyed that," she said. "Getting off on your own testosterone. Very macho-cute. And... kinda masturbatory, don't you think?"
He noticed that she took one step too many in his direction, and forced his features into a boyish smile. "Gotta admit, it was fun." His left arm shot out and grabbed her wrist, then yanked with all his strength so that she slammed into him. Within a second, he had her trapped in the vise of his arms. "And it taught me a thing or two about violence," he whispered against her neck.
He'd noticed that she was oddly relaxed in his grip, and a moment later, when her stiletto pierced a hole in the soft leather of his Italian shoe - and kept going - he realized why. A suppressed groan rattled in his throat, now tightened with anger.
"I guess it taught you a thing or two quite literally, then." Her voice was unnervingly calm and tinged with laughter, although his grip must have hurt; hell, he could swear that her ribs were squeaking. He was hoping she was in as much pain as him; his foot was now burning, still mercilessly pinned to the floor by her stiletto.
"Suppose that's why I appreciate these little jam-sessions with you, sugar." She smirked and leaned her head back to look at his face, then gave him a deep open-mouthed kiss. He forced his arms to remain tight around her; he'd learned to recognize diversion attempts.
Eve noted his stillness and laughed into his mouth, finally lifting her heel from his sore foot. Then her lips moved over to his earlobe, and he tensed, anticipating a vicious bite. But instead, she whispered into his ear, gently, in the barely audible voice of a seductress revealing a particularly kinky fantasy.
Except that she spoke in Latin, and the next moment, every muscle in his body felt as if it turned to liquid.
Gunn slid off her, dropping rather inelegantly onto the floor and thinking that the impeccably ironed creases of his business suit were the most solid aspect of his appearance at the moment. Once again, he cursed in his thoughts only, but this time because he couldn't speak.
She tsk-tsked at his limp form curled at her feet. "Still falling back on brute force, Mr. Nouveau Lawyer. You need to develop some tactics more befitting of your present social status, you know." She waved an outstretched palm over him, and strength (or sheer tension; he couldn't say) returned to his flesh with uncomfortable suddenness of an icy shower. A muscle in his leg twitched nervously when he tried to move.
Gunn carefully got up on one elbow and glared at her. "You know how much I hate that whole-body popper shit." She grinned in return. "Oh yes, I know."
Getting to his feet with deceptive shakiness, he suddenly sprung on her, this time clamping a hand over her mouth and tackling her backwards until her backside hit the desk with a satisfactory thud. He saw her wince and smiled broadly. "Now, that's gonna be one black- and blue little derriere, baby."
Eve squirmed, trying to maneuver herself into a position in which she could use the old kick-in-the-crotch move; but Gunn had already wedged his knees in between her legs and appeared oblivious to the blows her one free arm was landing on his side. When her fist caught him in the ear, leaving in its wake a highly annoying ringing sensation, he roughly twisted her head to the side and rammed his forehead into her temple.
Her body swayed in his grip, but she blinked rapidly until she was sure she'd stay conscious. When she looked at him again, her eyes were aflame with fury. He smirked.
"Brute force can be pretty darn useful, you know. It can put you in a position where you can really explore all that subtle strategizing crap that you go on and on about." She tried to fight him off again, but instead of punches, she opted for some rather ineffective wiggling in his arms. His hand was still covering her mouth; and when she mumbled something, probably a request to be let go, he felt the hot humming of her breath against his palm.
These sensations, coupled with the fact that he was fully dressed while she was fully naked, brought back a particularly vivid memory of one of their recent encounters. The warm mumble in his hand turned into a chuckle as she felt his erection against her stomach. Her eyes were smiling defiantly at him now.
He smiled back. "You know, you're almost pleasant company when you got your mouth shut." Rather too eloquently, she rolled her eyes at the predictability of his comment. He observed her wearily. "Yet somehow, even when you're mute, you manage to be the rude little bitch I've been fucking these past few weeks."
Eve replied with a deadpanning blink. Gunn sighed in resignation. "OK. But one syllable of that spell out of you and I'm gonna knock you out cold. Got it?" She nodded.
There were red imprints of fingers and some crescent nail marks on her cheeks as he removed his hand from her face; but she didn't seem to notice. Her little pink tongue darted out, licking her lips. "So, you inconvertible brute," she murmured, "what about a little demonstration of that subtlety you've mentioned?"
Gunn smiled and tasted the spot of wetness on her lips, imitating her gesture. Then, his tongue drew a warm line down her neck, slowly continuing south. "Since you ask so politely..." he spoke into her skin, tasting the spicy spot in the ravine of her neck made by the dab of her perfume. Fracas – how appropriate. If he remembered correctly, she usually put a drop on her bellybutton as well... Better check on that a little later, he thought absent-mindedly as his mouth reached the upturned peak of her breast.
At the first twirl of his tongue around her nipple, Eve breathed in and arched towards his body, closing her eyes. She knew she could let her guard down for a while. Every time Gunn would begin to "work her", he'd drop the warrior stance and turn into Mistah Luvah – probably modeled on the bedroom chivalry of those corny double-oh- seven movies, except her personalized Bond also gave surprisingly good head. For some reason, she couldn't imagine Sean or Roger or Pierce eating out any of the Bond girls. Well, maybe Timothy. She decided she'd give that idea some serious thought later.
Shifting her weight onto the desk so she could throw one leg over Gunn's shoulder for steadiness (hers) and better access (his), Eve decided to let herself indulge for a minute before getting them back on track. Yeah, just a minute...
The first time they fucked was a bit of a shock to him, and an item on the self-made daily agenda for her. Of course, the Senior Partners must have known that, once the elation of his newly acquired skill wore off, Mr. Gunn would need two things: one, a way to reassert himself in the firm after being put through the, albeit fantastically enriching, still undeniably violating enhancement of his mind; and two, a way to adjust to his new identity, adapting the personality of Charles Gunn, the rugged ghetto warrior, to that of Charles Gunn, the shark attorney-at-multidimensional-law.
Which was why Eve positioned her cross-legged self at the right place (the lobby through which he had to pass on his way to the office) at the right time (the mellow semi-darkness of the evening after the insertion process) and there she waited, sitting in the shadow so he wouldn't see her immediately. This advantage afforded her a glance at his unguarded face as he stepped into the lobby.
As predicted, Gunn looked rather frazzled; the profound change that took place that day was beginning to sink in, and worry was now spelled out in his features. After his very first appearance in court and his very first spectacular legislative victory, he found it amazingly easy to be confident in front of Angel and the gang. But now he was alone, and his unconcealed anxiety was palpable. The surge of empowerment was being replaced by deep irritation, to say the least.
Shortly, he'd begin to dwell on the process by which he had acquired his power, and he'd be repulsed by Wolfram & Hart on a very personal level. After all, the firm had pretty much fucked him in the head.
So, in order to prevent him from developing full-blown hatred for the firm beyond his standard White Hat attitude, the firm would have to let him reciprocate. As soon as possible.
Eve's approach in the lobby that evening was so subtle that Gunn was convinced he'd seduced her. He let her into his office, offered her a drink, and after some fairly imaginative banter of the film noir variety, he fucked her brains out.
Well, so to speak.
She knew it wasn't a coincidence that he ripped her clothes off, but although the sex had the violent edge of near-orgasmic abandon straight from the get-go, he could not seem to cum. That is, not until she took him in her mouth and sucked him dry as his hands pulled ferociously at her hair. Not surprisingly, it was one of the most cathartic orgasms she'd ever witnessed. Well, in his species at least.
Of course, that was just to help Gunn get his rocks back. The next encounter was tailored to examine how he was coping with his new self. Eve walked into his office the next evening, strode to his desk, and, while he was looking uncomfortable and trying to decide what to say, she greeted him with "hello, lover" and punched him right out of his chair.
They exchanged blows and insults, then had some more rampant sex. This time, she showed him just how aggressive she could be. She reduced the majority of breakable things in his office to rubble using his body elaborately in the process, and gave him a severe rug burn, a wobbly tooth, a black eye, and the usual assortment of bruises. Lastly, she bit down hard enough to give him a forked tongue when she came.
Gunn's demeanor was admirably valiant until that point, but the sheer volume of bleeding would be enough to put any would-be hero in a state of distress. To settle matters, Eve put a simple spell on him that healed all the damage, and informed him that he'd be under the extension of that spell for as long as their trysts continued.
Another spell erased all other evidence of their contact, and he seemed to appreciate the discretion; Angel would probably have something utterly awkward to say if he were to smell them on each other.
Spells were extremely practical for most clandestine purposes. Eve kept a repertoire of the handiest ones, as cautiously selected as the contents of her purse.
Of course, she had to be more careful with her body, being a temporary human and all; any spell applied to her physique would be too risky. But she didn't really mind healing herself the more pedestrian way; that new Neh'Maudri Overnight lotion did this incredibly pleasurable flary-tingly thing wherever she applied it...
Speaking of pleasure, if she occasionally stepped out of the antagonist femme fatale role long enough to allow her charge to demonstrate his mastery of oral sex, well, that was just a necessary step in the process. She was supposed to aid his adaptation by making him feel good about his accomplishments. Hey, it said so in his evaluation file.
Her job definitely had a few perks.
Eve threw her head back and moaned, shaking and thrusting her hips forward as Gunn continued to draw out the chain reaction of her multiple O's. He was remarkably good at this, she noted again; not too aggressive on the hyper-sensitized flesh (her clitoris felt raw, overheated, and the size of a baseball), and not too gentle either with bringing out the last shivers of pleasure. He was now sucking deeply at the less vulnerable flesh of the labia, one lip after the other, then pressing his tongue flatly over the center, creating a light throb with this small, lapping motion she especially liked while his fingers did whatever they did to make her feel this, this, oh...
Well, so much for sobering thoughts.
Eve shuddered one more time against his mouth and, with some regret, decided this was more than enough. Her leg rose abruptly from his shoulder; she placed a firm foot on his collarbone and, in one fierce push, shoved him away.
Gunn landed on his back. A line of anger etched itself between his brows, but he still looked overwhelmingly smug. "You're welcome," he said.
Eve narrowed her eyes, and then forced herself to tear them away from his lips, still swollen with her heat and glistening with wetness. It was time to get back to business, she thought, pushing herself off the desk. Nothing in her motions betrayed the weight of delicious soreness she felt between her legs; still, she had to make sure he wouldn't pay too much attention to her current state.
The words came out in syllables as clear and cold as a frozen mountain stream. He recognized the spell immediately, and wasn't surprised to find himself naked. His instinctive physical response was a mere shadow of his first reaction to magic-stripping, but it still betrayed underlying discomfort.
She surveyed him with contempt.
"I could have killed you about eight hundred times while you were trying to get me off."
Gunn smiled and deliberately sprawled out his lean frame on the floor. "Did you say, trying? 'Cause, from my point of view, it sure looked like I was succeeding, sugar."
Eve gave him a condescending frown. "The point is that your guard was down. I could have loaded a Civil War rifle with gunpowder and taken a very slow aim at you, and you wouldn't have noticed."
His forehead wrinkled in exaggerated wonderment. "Really? Hm. Well, it seems that you're assuming I was just as oblivious to my surroundings as you were. In which case," and here his eyes slid down her body, "you should really be more careful in the future."
She forced out a dry chuckle. "Oh, don't worry, you're not that good. And don't dodge the point, which is this: I could have killed you if I wanted to."
Gunn arched his eyebrows but kept smiling. "Yeah, and my point is, I made sure you wouldn't want to."
Well, he sort of had a point.
Eve looked at him for a moment, then shrugged. "OK, you get credit for that. Well done." She gave him a calculated smile; he wasn't aware of this yet, but she was already moving on to the next stage.
An hour later, they'd be sweaty and exhausted, covered in bruises and bites, angry but sated. It was all a part of the process. Her selected charge may have been chosen by the Panther, but he still had to learn how to deal with being chosen; there was baggage in his past, the least of which was his pathetic romance full of vanilla-sex with the nerdy chick.
Eve would help him get a grip on his insecurities, get to terms with his new identity, and learn all about the balance of power in his relationship with the firm.
Not that the Senior Partners knew about Eve's undertaking of this project. But they'll read about it in her report once her private mission is accomplished; and if she doesn't get a promotion then, she might be really tempted to eviscerate a few members of the board.
Well, this evening's exercise will make a good entry in the part of her report relating to Gunn. She managed to piss him off only four times with remarks about his heritage, masculinity, and stamina, which meant he was growing more confident about his old self. In addition, he only got angry twice when she mocked his intelligence and current profession, which meant that he was also getting comfortable with his new self; and he replied to those insults using the new part of his personality, which was all very positive.
Even when she magicked away the clothes that had figuratively made him a new man, he replied with a fairly coherent argument rather than a juvenile reminder of what he could do to her with his penis. That was commendable progress, and Eve felt a flutter of pride.
She'll make sure Charles Gunn will wear his Wolfram & Hart suit with more style and success than any others the Panther has ever picked. She'll also make sure that the rest of her plan, spanning well beyond her current (and remarkably pleasant) engagement, comes to fruition just as beautifully and timely. Yes, there was plenty of work ahead...
But now, she should focus on issues at hand.
The man underneath her moaned, and Eve began to move more feverishly up and down his body. His skin was shiny from the glaze of sweat, his face contorted with pleasure bordering on pain as she descended onto his crotch with progressive roughness. Yet, he appeared almost transfixed, staring at her slight but brutally dynamic form rising over him; and for a brief moment she tried to imagine the expression he'd make if she were to show him her real visage while in the throes of passion.
The thought made her laugh, and to mask the reaction, she threw her head back in a show of mixed delight and empowerment.
"Enjoying the ride, sugar?" he breathed heavily.
"You've no idea," she replied.