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This close, her scent is overwhelming.
Sickly sweet, like fruit left to rot in the sun, it mixes with her sweat and rosemary perfume in a way Jeanne ought to find disgusting, but can't. The Umbra once used it as more proof of her unnatural being, another nail in the coffin for the omega outcast. Something about it curdles, the hellfire ash on her skin with the angelic ichor she can't seem to bleed out no matter how many lashes she takes from angels and demons, witches and men alike. Half-breed they'd called her, not good enough to be a hole for even the weakest witch's rut.
Perfect, Jeanne used to whisper in the hollow of her throat, letting Cereza bind her arms and use her like a toy. Please, Jeanne used to beg under the cold moonlight, letting Cereza offer her neck without ever taking a bite.
A lifetime ago. Cereza's hands tremble now as she watches their Madamas work to open the portal to the Alphaverse. Somewhere below is Sigurd of the false face. Somewhere beyond is her fate.
They have precious little time, but any is enough for Jeanne after endless years of waiting for this very day, this very moment.
"Cereza."
Her pupils are blown, the rise and fall of her chest too rapid to be explained away by the uneventful tussle with the last of those creatures.
"Yes?" Her voice wavers, knees knocking together as she struggles to stay upright. It's a far cry from her usual composure, and a break in the facade Jeanne had begun to fear was impenetrable. She tries to smother the vindication and relief. Longing roils in her blood. She tastes it on the back of her teeth.
"You're in heat." Not a question, though Jeanne has many; namely, how long has she been off of her suppressants? And what possessed her to do such a thing in the first place?
Cereza's eyes narrow to slits. Jumping through universe after universe, suffering the entire time and hoping no one would notice. Reckless, even for her. Foolish, like the man she's risking it all for. Jeanne tries not to think about him.
"That's none of your concern."
"A bitch in heat facing down a god? That can't be our best plan."
"Fuck you."
"That is what I am offering, yes."
She keeps her voice even, bland. They could be discussing shoes on sale for all the interest she shows in the idea, glancing at her nails as her heart threatens to break through her ribs with it's wild beating.
"Fuck you," Cereza repeats, a reedy laugh punctuating the curl of her tongue. Bayonetta plays the damsel well enough when it suits her. For Cereza, it isn't just an act. Jeanne knows. Jeanne is perhaps the only one who knows.
"It's your choice," she replies breezily, trying to fake casual contemplation as she watches the line of Cereza's throat, the effort it takes her to swallow. She feels flush as Cereza takes a step closer. Her nails find the bare flesh of Jeanne's bicep, deadly sharp. She doesn't flinch at the pain, or growl when Cereza pulls her hand to her mouth to lick Jeanne's blood off her golden talons.
Cereza trained her well, all those years ago. She doubts she'll forget the lessons even once she's rotting in Inferno. Styx twirls overhead, watching. Waiting.
"Awfully charitable of you," Cereza drawls, but desperation cuts through the tease, the breathless quality to her voice betraying her desire just as clearly as the spike in her scent. More rot than sweet. Jeanne takes a deep breath just to savor it.
She presses one golden nail in the center of Jeanne's chest, the ghost of a spear not far behind. They have time, but not much.
Jeanne lets Cereza's hand drag lower, biting through her lip until blood runs down her chin as she traces the length of her through thin fabric. Self control was never her strong suit. Not until Cereza asked it of her, tear stained and feverish in that damned cell, terrified of what would happen to her if someone else caught her scent. Trusting Jeanne to guide her through without violence or future expectation.
"I live to serve, Sister," she mutters, the truth of it ringing in both their ears.
"I was never one of you," Cereza replies, even as she rips the cloak from Jeanne's shoulders and hikes up her dress. Impatience is the color of the sun on her, glowing in every hurried movement. It burns Jeanne, brands her with Cereza's desire. "Touch me, damn it."
"You were the best of us," Jeanne argues, tearing a hole in her black tights as Cereza shoves her down onto the stone. Her braids fall over Jeanne's face. She tugs the end of one with her teeth, bringing her closer. Cereza licks the blood off of her chin but doesn't kiss her. Jeanne noses at her pulse, tastes the sweat and old perfume there. "You still are."
"You're already getting what you want, dear. There's no need for flattery."
She vanishes her clothes and Jeanne devours her through sight alone. She's changed — new scars from the fights Jeanne missed, new stretch marks from the years Jeanne missed, new freckles from the days spent sunbathing nude that Jeanne definitely missed. There is no time for questions, though Jeanne has many. She'll remember her just like this; a vision out of time.
Her skin sings where their hips meet. Jeanne cants upward and grows drunk on the noise Cereza lets slip past her lips. Does it again, and again, until Cereza's hand is wrapped around her throat and she forces Jeanne to remember her place.
An Alpha with no clan, no claim, no mate, hopelessly obedient to the whims of the cursed woman she should have left to rot in a cell. Laughable, if there were any one left to laugh.
But is is just her and Cereza left. And soon it will be just Cereza.
"A protection spell," Jeanne whimpers, a warning come too late as she's overwhelmed by slick, hot heat and Cereza's calloused palms balancing on her thighs. It's just like she remembers, bittersweet and raw and addicting — a shame Jeanne's only ever wanted what she can't have.
"No need."
"Cereza—"
"J-jeanne. Let me have you."
"You've always had me."
"Shut up. Just—s-hut up."
They don't speak again. Pearly whites mark her over and over as her own teeth ache in her skull. The blood runs dark across the stone as Cereza takes and takes and takes. Her tears are hot where they fall onto Jeanne's chest. She lets her lap at her cheeks and guide her hips, lets Jeanne give and give and give.