The sun hadn’t come up yet, and already I wanted to shoot something. Preferably Cal. The fog was heavy, curling round our boots, thick with smoke from the coal pit they had rigged up behind the chapel. Someone had adjusted the courtyard valves so steam hissed theatrically from the iron grates. It all set the scene perfectly for the duel.

I stood at the mark. Full gear. Longcoat, leather and brass holster, red silk skirt spreading out from my waist. My pistol was warm in my glove. I’d checked the chamber twice. The nerves were getting to me a bit.

Cal stood ten paces across from me, looking far too relaxed and well rested considering our hook-up last night. He was grinning cockily, smiling and waving at people in the crowd. I hated it. I hated how good he looked. I hated how I kept having flashbacks to last night every time he made eye contact.

“Any last words?” I asked, voice sharp and steady.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” he said.

We raised our pistols. One hand on the grip. The other behind our backs, proper duel etiquette. The crowd had gone still, watching from behind decorative piping and ivy-covered trellises. More people were filming with cameras hidden inside props. We both knew this would end up clipped and memed by noon.

“Three...Two...”

“Stop!”

The voice cracked through the fog. Some lad in a wrinkled coat sprinted in, red-faced, glasses steaming, hair sticking out under his bowler. He skidded into the courtyard, waving a rolled-up note like a white flag.

“You can’t! Don’t shoot! You’re both rebels!”

I groaned out loud and let my pistol drop.

“You are joking.”

“Swear on the engine,” he gasped, hands up. “There’s been a mistake. Someone wanted you to turn on each other. They fed you false intel.”

Cal tilted his head.

“So you’re saying she’s not secretly working for the Barons?”

“You smug prick,” I muttered.

“I’m just clarifying.”

I stepped forward, boots loud on stone. The intern handed me a sealed envelope with a new mission stamp. I cracked it open with one thumb and scanned it.

The name at the top made me snort.

“Eli.”

Cal came to stand beside me, reading over my shoulder. He was too close. His coat brushed mine. I could feel the heat from his arm.

“Of course it’s Eli,” he said.

“Little shit’s been dying to start a war between us since the Heathrow con.”

“Said it’d be ‘narratively satisfying.’ Wanker.”

We started walking together. The crowd began to break apart behind us, half of them already texting, some following. Eli was meant to be in the parlour, playing his greasy little diplomat character, probably sipping brandy and pretending to be important.

We didn’t speak for a bit. The air was still thick. Tense. My heart hadn’t settled from the duel. Or from how close Cal was. His fingers kept brushing the back of my hand as we walked. It wasn’t deliberate. I knew it wasn’t deliberate. That made it worse.

“So we’re working together now?” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Looks that way.”

“Temporarily.”

“Obviously.”

We passed under an archway where the steam came out hotter, real heat, engine lines running through the walls. I pulled off one glove to wipe sweat from my brow. His eyes caught the motion. He didn’t say anything. Just smirked. That smirk. Made me want to slap it off his face. Or sit on it.

‘Stop it.’ I thought to myself. ‘Don’t get distracted’

He shifted a little closer. My hip brushed his. His coat pressed up against the side of my corset and stayed there.

I didn’t move away.

‘Fuck.’ I thought again. I was getting distracted. 

I hated how aware I was of him. The way he moved. The sound of his breath. The memory of his fingers pressed into my thighs, of his cock twitching deep in me as I clenched around him and came all over it.

I shouldn’t be thinking about that now. We were mid-mission. Mid-game.

He wasn’t even touching me, and I could already feel my cunt pulsing.

I glanced at him. He caught it. Smiled.

I looked away.

“You’re thinking about it,” he said quietly.

“Shut up.”

“You can’t help thinking about it.”

“Shut up.”

“I bet it’s driving you wild.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

I picked up my pace. ‘I don’t like him. I don’t. I just want to fuck him and maybe scream in his face a bit after. That’s not the same thing. That’s not feeling something. That’s madness. Right? Right?’

The path to the parlour wound through the east wing. Steam pipes overhead, cracked tile underfoot, the occasional hiss from a pressure valve to keep things atmospheric. It was all very dramatic. 

“You know he’s going to pretend he’s innocent,” Cal muttered, breaking me away from my thoughts.

“He’s going to monologue,” I replied. “He always monologues. Probably wrote it last week.”

“If he tries rhyming, I’m shooting him in the kneecap.”

We turned the corner and walked straight into the ambush.

Five, maybe six of them. Steam vented behind them, hiding the approach. All of them kitted out in over-designed leather trench coats with exaggerated pauldrons and gear-stamped bracers. It was loaned gear, these guys were new. 

The first dart hit the wall next to my head. I ducked back behind a boiler console and fired.

Got one in the chest.

Then another.

Then click.

Empty.

“Fuck. I packed for one duel, not a bloody firefight.”

I looked at Cal.

He was already grinning. That awful, smug, punchable grin that meant he was about to enjoy himself.

He tossed his gun to me. The thing was huge. Neon trim, spinning chamber, something that whirred every time I moved it. It even pulsed when I gripped it.

“This thing’s a monstrosity!” I said.

“Just try it, you stuck-up prat!” he yelled as he drew his rapier and dove into the fight. He ducked low, blade flicking out, foam blade snapping out to hit his targets with precision that was far too smooth for someone who spent half his time gluing LEDs to waistcoats.

I watched him for half a second too long. Broad shoulders. Quick feet. That hair falling in his face. The bastard was good. Infuriatingly good.

I snapped out of it when one of the others shouted and tried to flank me. I raised the gun and fired. The dart hit centre mass, directly where I was aiming. Then another. Then another. It was fucking brilliant. Obnoxious, glowing, ugly, but efficient. I knew from experience how difficult it was to get these modded Nerf guns to fire accurately. 

“You absolute bastard,” I muttered. “This thing’s better than mine.”

Another shot. Another down.

By the time I was done, there was one standing, and Cal had cornered him with the blade pressed to his chest.

“Yield?” he asked.

The poor sod nodded fast and dropped to the floor.

Cal turned, breathing a bit heavier, grinning. His goggles were half off, hair damp with sweat, coat swinging open to show the harness under his shirt. I hated how fit he looked. I hated that I noticed. I hated that my core pulsed again just seeing him catch his breath.

I tossed his gun back.

“It’s disgusting.”

“It’s good, isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

He just smirked as we stood in the steam, just for a beat, breathing hard. As our defeated foes walked off to get new roles to play.

I could feel the heat rolling off him. He was flushed, damp, and grinning. The fucker looked alive. Bright-eyed. Chest rising fast. Hair a mess. Sweat on his neck. Sword still in hand, tilted toward the floor.

He was too close. Far too fucking close. And then he kissed me. His hand at the back of my neck and his mouth on mine. And worse? I kissed him back.

My lips opened. My tongue met his. My glove curled in his lapel and pulled. I felt the edge of his grin against my mouth and kissed him harder.

And then I pulled away. “What the fuck was that?”

He looked at me. Still smug. Still calm. Still too damned close.

“A kiss.”

“We don’t do that.”

“Seemed like we did.”

I turned away. Fast. My skirts caught on his boot, and I pulled them free. “Someone could’ve seen.”

“No one did.”

“That’s not the point.”

My chest was tight. From the corset, sure, but not just that. I adjusted the top buttons of my coat with shaky fingers.

“We don’t kiss. We fuck. In private. In rooms with locks. You don’t get to kiss me in the middle of a corridor.”

“You kissed me back.”

“I wasn’t thinking.”

“You never do when I’m around.”

I spun back round and glared at him. His eyes flicked to my lips. Mine stayed on his. My mouth was still tingling. My cunt was still aching. My head was a fucking mess.

“You do that again, I’ll bite you.”

“That could be fun.” God, he was infuriating. I needed to move. Needed to shake it off. This wasn’t what we did. This wasn’t the game. We didn’t kiss. Not properly. Not like that. It had felt different. I hated that it had felt different.

“Let’s go find Eli,” I said. “Before I reload and shoot you instead.”

I turned on my heel, stormed toward the end of the corridor, pretending I wasn’t flustered. Pretending I wasn’t replaying it in my head already. 

‘No. No. This is nothing.’ This was heat and adrenaline and leftover tension from the night before. He was a smug, ridiculous, neon-coated idiot.

We weren’t a couple.

We weren’t even friends.

I could still feel the kiss in my throat.

‘Fuck.’

The rest of the day passed in a haze of missions, shouted commands, and another round of double-crosses. We caught Eli, cornered the bastard right after supper. Turned out he wasn’t the one pulling strings. There were more names. More traitors. More layers to the plot.

I didn’t give a shit.

All I could think about was the kiss.

I tried to focus. I really did. I pulled my weight, played the part, fired my shots. I even helped a bloke with a cracked prop pistol and too much enthusiasm. But my mind kept slipping back to that moment. That hand in my hair. That mouth. The noise I made. His fucking mouth.

By the time evening came, I was tired and furious with myself. The house was alive with the usual post-mission drinking and roleplay flirting. Music drifted in from the garden. Someone had rigged coloured lanterns in the trees. Giddy rebels and inventors were already four pints deep.

I found a quiet spot with a good view of the encampment in the background and finished a quick vlog recap. Then I shoved the camera in my bag and headed inside.

I didn’t get two steps before I bumped into Cal.

Still in costume, waistcoat open, collar askew, hair damp at the roots from too much exercise. His goggles were slung on one hip. His lips parted like he was about to say something clever.

I didn’t let him.

I grabbed his wrist and yanked him after me, down the corridor and through the side parlour door. The room was empty, though the floor still had Nerf darts and someone’s busted gauntlet lying in the corner.

I shoved him against the wall. Hard. His breath caught. I pressed in close.

“You kissed me.”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t kiss.”

“You kissed back.”

“We fuck.”

“Do we?”

I didn’t answer. I kissed him. Not like he had kissed me. It was fast, rough. Just tongue and teeth and heat. I needed to feel it, to remind myself what this was. Pure. Physical. Nothing else. No strings. No softness. No feelings.

I pulled his belt open. He groaned, deep and low, that sound he always made when I took control. My hand slipped into his trousers and wrapped around his cock. Hard already. 

I turned him and pushed him down into one of the armchairs. He hit the chair with a grunt, legs spread, one hand already braced on the armrest.

I grabbed the front of my skirt and hauled the layers up, satin, tulle, lace, the whole lot bunched at my waist. I planted one knee on either side of his thighs and sat right in his lap. 

I shifted my weight, grinding against the thick shape of his cock. The friction dragged the wet heat of my cunt over the length of his cock. He groaned, deep in his throat.

I lined him up with my pussy, still holding my skirts bunched up with one hand, and sank down onto him. My cunt swallowed him whole, muscles clenching around him as I seated myself fully in his lap.

He filled me. Perfectly.

My breath caught, chest pushing tight against the corset. My thighs shook slightly as I held myself still, grinding slow. I could feel every inch of him inside me. Every twitch. Every pulse.

His hands clutched my waist, thumbs digging into the fabric of my overskirt. He moved, trying to thrust up into me. I didn’t let him. I pushed him back with one hand against his chest. I needed to be in control.

I started to speed up. Small thrusts at first. Just enough to feel the drag of his cock along my walls. I rolled my hips, working him deeper. His head fell back against the chair, jaw tight, eyes half-lidded. 

His hands slid up my sides, thumbs brushing over the seams where my corset met the blouse. He gripped tight again and let me ride him, didn’t speak, just let out the occasional growl when I clenched or twisted just right.

I was already close. I could feel the burn low in my belly, the pressure building. My clit throbbed. Every bounce sent a fresh jolt of pleasure through me, sparks down my legs, heat in my gut.

He was watching me.

Eyes on my tits, on my mouth, on the way I moved on top of him. I didn’t break eye contact. Not once.

“See, it’s just sex. That’s what we have. That’s what’s so good.” I said, breath ragged.

“Then fuck me harder.”

My thighs ached. My cunt was soaked. Every time I dropped onto him, I felt him push deeper, stretching me just right, dragging that filthy sound out of both of us. I had him buried in me to the hilt, his cock twitching against my walls, his fingers digging into my hips. My corset squeezed every breath into something desperate.

And I still couldn’t fucking cum.

I was grinding down harder and harder, chasing it with everything I had. My cunt clenched, greedy and furious, but the edge kept slipping. My clit throbbed. My rhythm was solid. My whole body was begging for it. Still no release. Just heat and pressure and frustration boiling in my gut.

He was holding back. I could tell. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked on mine, cock stiff and twitching inside me, but he wasn’t letting go. He was waiting. Waiting for me.

I bounced harder, faster. I used his lap like a fuck machine, skirt rustling, the chair creaking, our sweat-slicked bodies grinding in the low amber light. Pipes hissed behind us. The whole parlour smelled of steam and leather and sex.

But all that was really going through my mind was that kiss. It kept creeping back in.

I tried to push it down, ride it out. I slammed down on him again, cunt squeezing, breath hitching. I was close, so fucking close. But the edge just teased me and fucked off. My body begged for it. My mind wouldn’t let me have it.

Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his lips felt when he wasn’t trying to shut me up.

I snapped. Gave in. Grabbed his face and kissed him again.

Slow. Deep. passionate.

His mouth opened under mine, warm and patient. His hands stilled. Our lips moved together in a way that made my stomach twist. I tasted sweat, heat, something too tender for what we were doing.

That was it. Fuck that was what I needed. What my body had been craving. 

The orgasm hit like a sledgehammer. My core clenched down so hard I saw stars. I gasped into his mouth, shuddering, thighs shaking, the heat flooding through me and snapping every muscle tight. My whole body pulsed, over and over. My clit throbbed against him. I couldn't breathe. I didn't care.

He groaned into the kiss, deep and rough, finally letting go. I felt it. His cock twitched hard, hips jerking up into me. I felt the heat flood my cunt as he came, the aftershocks rolling through both of us in waves. He held me tighter, mouth still on mine, breath ragged.

When I pulled back, I was shaking. Sweat beaded on my chest. My lipstick was ruined. My cunt was full.

And my heart was hammering in a way I didn’t want to name.

I didn't speak. Couldn’t. Not yet.

Because that kiss had ruined everything.

It had felt good.

Too good.

And that scared the shit out of me.