Work Text:
It’s midnight at the U.S. Embassy in London, and Diana Barrigan’s got a revolver pressed against her hipbone and another woman’s lipstick on her mouth.
“I thought you didn’t carry anymore,” says Diana – gasps, really – and Eve Moneypenny laughs into the hollow at her neck, counters, “I thought you were working Stateside.”
“I’m on loan to the Legal Attaché.” Diana slides a finger through the side of Eve’s shirt collar, finds a strap of lace, sweat-slick against warm skin.
Eve slides a long, muscled thigh between Diana’s legs, one hand working under the pencil skirt and tracing up a garter. “Lucky for me.”
Diana grins into Eve’s hair. “Lucky for us both,” she retorts, flicks the rest of the shirt open, and leans in to swallow the swear and the gasp of surprise both, desire rough like the taste of whisky on both their tongues.