I climbed off him fast. Legs still shaking, cunt still leaking, heart hammering. I didn’t look at him. Just yanked my skirt down, shoved my tits back into place and grabbed my gloves.

He reached for me, slow, like he wanted to say something.

I cut him off.

“See? That’s what we do,” I snapped, fixing my corset laces with trembling fingers. “Just good sex. Filthy, brutal, perfect sex. We’re not some fucking couple. I don’t even fucking like you, you cock-arse.”

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

I saw it. That flicker behind his eyes. The hurt he tried to swallow before it showed.

Too late.

I bolted. Half-ran out of the parlour, boots clicking loud down the corridor, cheeks flushed, cunt sore, throat tight.

I didn’t stop until I hit my bunk and locked the door.

Didn’t sleep much.

Every time I shut my eyes, I felt his lips and saw the hurt in his eyes.

Fucking idiot.

I’d fucked it. No pun intended.

By morning, I couldn’t focus on anything. Missed breakfast. Nearly stabbed the wrong bloke during a fake interrogation. Forgot my pistol for the sabotage op. Everyone thought I was being “in character.” I was just a wreck.

I hadn’t seen Cal since I left. Normally, I couldn’t get rid of him. Now? Nothing.

Until lunch. He walked in mid-briefing, goggles on his head, coat thrown on half-arsed, hair damp from a rushed wash. He didn’t look at me.

He brushed past me to grab a mission note from the NPC steward, muttered something to Lady Smog, and walked straight out again.

No smirk. No wink. No cocky comment.

I felt it in my chest.

Later, I found him near the back garden engine lines, going over some bloody schematic with one of the nerdier artificers. I waited until the others buggered off.

“Oi,” I said.

He didn’t turn round.

“Oi, Cal.”

Still nothing.

So I walked round him, stood in his way.

“You’re ignoring me.”

“Thought that’s what you wanted,” he said, finally looking at me. His voice was low. Quiet. No bite.

I hated it.

“Oh, come on,” I scoffed, trying to play it off. “Don’t go soft on me now.”

He folded his arms. “You said you didn’t like me.”

“It’s what we do,” I muttered. “We fuck. That’s all. You know that.”

His jaw clenched. “You looked me in the eye and said you didn’t like me. Right after you kissed me. Properly.”

I looked away. Steam hissed from a nearby valve. I wished it would scald the whole moment away.

He stepped closer. Not touching. Just close enough to make it hurt.

“Tell me that kiss meant nothing.”

I opened my mouth. Closed it again. My chest felt tight. My cunt still ached from last night.

“We just fuck,” I said. It sounded weak even to me.

“Right,” he said, voice flat. “Course we do.”

He pulled the folded mission note from his coat, waved it once, then shoved it in his belt.

“Lady Smog wants a briefing,” he muttered. “Apparently, there’s a traitor in the smithy.”

Then he turned and stomped off through the steam, coat flaring out behind him, every gear on his belt rattling as he went.

I stood there. I’m not sure how long I stood there, staring at the patterns the steam made in the cool air. Eventually, I left, wandering aimlessly through the camp.

Didn’t have a mission, didn’t want one. Too bloody wired to sit still. Couldn’t think straight. My corset was biting into my ribs. But it wasn’t my outfit doing my head in.

It was the kiss.

That stupid, slow, perfect kiss.

I ended up outside the mess tent, next to a couple of chain-smoking rebels and a bloke who was dressed as an aristocratic dandy. One of those players who always had a new hat every event and introduced himself with full titles no one cared about.

They were deep in it already. Proper gossip mode.

“...no, I’m telling you,” one said, puffing on something that definitely wasn’t period-accurate, “the organisers want Roxy and Cal to kick off again. They’ve been feeding it. Plot notes, setup scenes, ‘accidental’ run-ins. All of it. Bet there’s some twist they’re hiding.”

“Oh yeah,” the hat bloke said, adjusting his sash. “Feels dodgy. None of the people I interrogated knew who hired them. Not one. All their orders were signed with just an ‘S.’ No crest. No name. Just the letter.”

“Same,” said the girl beside him. “One of my marks had a full rebel uniform, perfect documents, entry codes and all. Walked through the outer checkpoint without even a second glance. That’s not normal. The rebellion’s meant to be on high alert.”

I felt it hit me like a steam valve cracking open.

Fuck.

What if all of it, the arguments, the duel, the ambush in the corridor, what if that was all cover?

What if someone wanted everyone watching me and Cal?

Keep eyes on us. Keep the noise level up. Stir the drama. The two loudest bastards at the party flinging insults and constantly arguing. No one watching what actually mattered.

And Lady Smog.

It’d felt weird from the start, hadn’t it? All of us gathered in one place, drinking champagne and waiting round for orders. No movement. No strikes. Just fanfare and speeches. I’d thought it was just to make the game work. But what if it wasn’t?

What if it was staging?

What if it was a setup?

Gather all the rebels. Get them in one place. Let someone else sweep in and wipe them out clean.

My stomach dropped.

Cal.

He was with Lady Smog.

He’d said he had a mission with her. Some briefing bollocks. I turned without a word, skirts flying behind me, boots hitting the path hard. The conversation behind me kept going, but I’d stopped hearing it.

Because if I was right, he was walking straight into a trap.

And if something happened to him while I was off sulking like a prize tit?

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

I didn’t even mean to shout it that loud. It just came out as I charged towards the house. My voice cracked against the courtyard walls and bounced back at me. Half the players froze. A few still arsed around with their prop gear, but most turned.

“We’re about to be fucking ambushed,” I shouted. “The reason you’ve been stuck pissing about in one place for the last two days is because we’re being rounded up. Lady Smog’s the traitor. It’s a fucking setup. We’re all about to get captured.”

That got their attention.

A few people laughed at first. Until I pulled my pistol and spun the chamber with one angry flick. The hiss of the valve beside me gave it some drama. Smoke coiled round my boots.

“Oh, it’s a plot twist, alright,” I snapped. “Every infiltrator came in clean. Papers spotless. Orders signed with an S. Only Smog could have set that up.”

People started moving.

The ones that mattered, anyway.

I saw boots hitting stone as tents were ripped open and weapons yanked from under decorative hay bales. It was chaos, but focused. Scared.

I didn’t wait for any of them.

I was bolting for the house.

My boots slammed the floor. My coat flared behind me. I had my pistol in hand, glove tight round the grip. I think some people followed, maybe two or three. I didn’t fucking care.

I had to find him.

None of this was real. No one was actually going to die. I knew that. We were adults playing pretend in a fantasy where everyone smelt of gun oil and overpriced beard balm.

Didn’t fucking matter.

I had to find him.

Because I’d lied.

I’d looked that man in the eye and said I didn’t like him. After I’d kissed him. After I’d come on his cock and moaned into his mouth.

And then I’d run away.

Because I was a fucking coward.

Because it was easier to pretend it was just sex. Just part of the game. Never talking about how my chest went tight when he looked at me.

I hit the doors hard. Shoved them open and stormed through the main hall, steam curling down the staircase. Pipes hissed through the walls. Gears ticked somewhere overhead. The lights flickered red. Someone’d tripped the emergency rigging. 

“Cal!” I shouted, voice bouncing off marble and copper.

No answer.

“Cal, you stupid bastard, where are you?”

I tore through the west corridor. Boots sliding on the tile. Skirts catching on a loose chair leg. I didn’t stop. I threw open doors. Parlour. Study. Side chamber filled with broken automaton parts and half a tea set.

Nothing.

The others behind me were shouting something. I couldn’t hear them properly.

My heart was thudding so hard it made my ribs ache. Or maybe that was just the corset. The tightness reminded me of two nights ago, of Cal.

I wasn’t thinking about danger.

I wasn’t thinking about the rebellion.

I was thinking about him.

The way he kissed me.

The way his voice had gone quiet when I said I didn’t like him.

The way he looked at me before he walked away.

I needed to find him.

I needed to tell him the truth.

Because somewhere between all the fucking and the fighting and the stupid bloody flirting, I’d stopped pretending.

I burst into the main hall, boots thudding, gun raised. A few others piled in behind me, breathless, confused.

And there she was.

Lady Smog. Dressed in her full oxidised copper armour, talking low and close to Cal like they were sharing secrets. Cal looked round when he heard me, eyebrows up, eyes wide.

Then she grabbed him. Spun him fast and yanked him against her, arm round his neck, pistol pulled from some hidden fold in her coat. 

The crowd gasped. I laughed.

“You’re using Cal as a shield?” I said, grinning sharp. “You do know I’d shoot him any day of the week. Nearly did yesterday.”

He shot me a look. He broke eye contact with me, as if he was unwilling to look at me as I reiterated I didn’t like him. 

I shrugged. I was buying time. My pistol wasn’t good enough for the distance. Not with her mostly hidden behind Cal's head. But then I realised he wasn’t breaking eye contact with me, he was directing my gaze. His gun was lying on the edge of the table near me. 

I scoffed for Lady Smog’s benefit.  “Look at this. Look at the shit he brings to a serious LARP,” I said, picking it up. “I’ll shoot him and you with his own fucking gun.”

I didn’t wait.

Raised it. Took the shot.

It sang through the air, skimmed just past Cal’s shoulder, close enough to rustle his coat. Smacked straight into Lady Smog’s chest. She looked down, shocked.

The crowd roared. Proper cheers, whoops.

I didn’t hear them.

I dropped the gun and ran straight to Cal. Grabbed him by the lapels and kissed him. Right there in front of everyone. No hiding it. 

He froze for a beat. Then kissed me back. Hard. Greedy. Fuck, he was good at it. Always had been. But this one was different. I was no longer pretending it didn’t mean something.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, forehead pressed to his. “I shouldn’t have said that shit. I was scared. Didn’t want to admit it. But I really, really like you. Even if you are an arrogant arse.”

He kissed me again. Slower. His breath caught when we broke apart.

People were filming. Of course they were. Fucking everyone. Half the rebellion had their phones out, the others were already tweeting it. Roxy Nightbrass and Gildgear, snogging in front of a downed villain. The end of an era. 

He looked round, then back at me.

“Should we go and help with the battle?” he asked, deadpan nodding to the sounds of shouting outside as the rebellion fought off the Baron's assault.

I smirked. “Oh, I’ve got a better idea.”

I grabbed his hand and pulled.

I didn’t waste time.

Dragged him through the hall like a woman on a mission. I spotted a side room that wasn’t wrecked, shoved the door open and pulled him in behind me. Locked it. Solid brass latch. We’d have no interruptions.

Cal raised an eyebrow. I was already working the clasps on my corset.

“I thought,” I said, peeling off gloves, “maybe we try actually being naked for once. No gear. No goggles. Just us.” I undid the stays, let the corset fall in a heap.

His mouth twitched. He looked surprised. Proper surprised, not his usual smug smirk. For once, the prick didn’t have a line ready.

Then my clothes hit the floor. Standing there bare, skin flushed, thighs still streaked faintly from earlier. No satin. No lace. Just me.

He stared. Eyes wide. Breath caught.

“You getting undressed or just going to stand there gawking?” I asked.

That snapped him out of it.

He started tearing off clothes. Belt hit the floor. Shirt next. Trousers. Goggles finally came off for good. He kept looking at me between layers, like he couldn’t quite believe I was real under all the costume.

I knew how he felt.

Because this? This was different. Every other time we’d been tangled in each other, we’d kept the armour on. Bustles. Gloves. Coats. Always behind layers. Always part of the show. It made it easier to pretend it wasn’t real.

But this was real.

He stood there in front of me, fully bare, cock already hard and proud, that smug look starting to creep back in. I walked over, dropped to my knees in front of him, hand already sliding round the base of his cock.

His breath caught again. I didn’t give him a chance to say a word.

“I’d like to make up for being such a bitch,” I said, stroking him slow. “Least I can do after being a complete fucking nightmare.”

His cock twitched in my hand.

I smirked and started to earn his forgiveness.

I started slow. No rush. No drama. Just him, bare in front of me, flushed and twitching under my touch. I watched his face as I stroked him. Jaw tight. Chest rising sharp. Eyes locked on mine like I was the only thing in the world.

I knelt up, leaned in, licked the head of his cock, tasting the bead of precum that was oozing out of it. Just enough to make him gasp. Then I did it again. Slow. Wet. Lingering. My hand kept moving, slow and steady, fingers twisting under the head.

He was trying not to react. I could see it. That stubborn little flicker of pride in his eyes.

I wasn’t having it.

I opened my mouth and took him in, just the tip, lips wrapped tight round him. Sucked once, then twice. Slow pulses. Teasing. My tongue curled round the underside, licking where I knew it made his knees go soft.

His hips twitched.

“Roxy,” he said, low and sharp.

“Mmh?” I didn’t stop. Took more of him in, just enough to make him moan. Pulled back with a filthy slurp and looked up at him, still stroking him with one hand, the other resting against his thigh.

“I’d like to make up for being such a bitch,” I said, kissing the side of his cock. “But I’m going to take my time doing it.”

I worked him slow. Kept my mouth busy, dragging lips and tongue over every inch, licking down the shaft, sucking his balls into my mouth one at a time while my hand kept pumping. I could feel how close he was. His legs shaking. His hand tight in my hair. That little grunt he made when he was right on the fucking edge.

I let him hang there.

Held him just shy. Swapped back to my hand, stroking him tight and wet, then slowing it down right as he started to twitch. Drew back with a smirk, licking my lips. “You’re going to make me beg, aren’t you?” he said, voice hoarse.

I smiled. “Only a bit.”

I kissed the head of his cock again, then stood. His eyes followed me up. My cunt was slick, aching, thighs trembling from holding back.

I stepped in, pressing my bare body against his. His cock dragged against my stomach, wet and twitching. I kissed him again, enjoying it, letting him taste himself on my lips. 

“Think you can last a little longer?” I whispered.

“I’ll try,” he said.

“Good,” I said, licking into his mouth, biting his bottom lip just hard enough to make him groan. “Because I’m not finished proving how sorry I am.”

I pushed him back, both hands on his chest, and watched him hit the floor with a breathless grunt. I climbed on top of him. No skirt. No corset. No layers between us. Just skin and sweat and heat.

He reached for me, but I caught his wrists and pinned them to the floor beside his head. He could’ve fought it. He didn’t. He let me. I still liked to be in control.

I shifted my hips, lined him up, and sank down onto his cock with a slow, steady push. No games. No rush. Just the stretch, the slick slide, the way he filled me right to the hilt.

We both groaned.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

I stayed there for a moment. Just sat on him, still. My cunt clenched round him. He was so fucking hard, twitching inside me, like his body couldn’t handle being that deep without moving.

I started rolling my hips. Slow. Deliberate. Every drag of him inside me made my breath catch. My hands braced on his chest, knees pressed into the wood floor. I moved with control. 

It felt different.

Not a game.

Not a bit of backstage fucking to blow off steam.

This felt like something I didn’t have the words for.

I looked down at him. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t teasing. His hands came up to my sides, fingers gentle, guiding. I rocked against him with little rolls of my hips, grinding my clit against the base of his cock with every pass. Every thrust pushed a moan out of me, breath catching, skin slick.

I leaned down, kissed him. Tongue exploring his mouth, hands in his hair. He groaned into me, hips lifting, matching my rhythm now. Still slow. Still deep.

“You feel so fucking good,” I whispered against his lips.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

I froze. Just for a second. Then kissed him harder. My pace picked up, riding him with more heat, more need. I could feel it building. Not just in my cunt. In my chest. In my stupid, stubborn heart.

His hands slid over my arse, gripping, digging in. Our bodies moved together. Every breath shared. Every sound echoing off the walls.

I fucked him harder now, getting closer and closer. Clit catching just right. That coil tightening low and hot. My nails dug into his shoulders. I moaned louder, no shame, no filter.

I was falling.

And I didn’t want to hit the ground alone.

My cunt gripped him with every thrust, needy and soaked, every grind dragging across my clit just right. His cock was deep inside me, hitting every spot that made my body light up. 

My legs were shaking, sweat slicked my tits, breath caught in my throat every time I dropped down onto him. The stretch, the heat, the drag of him inside me was driving me mad. My clit throbbed. My cunt clenched. I was close. So fucking close.

He sat up. Wrapped his arms round me and pulled me tight. Our foreheads touched. He was still inside me, deep. I ground against him, desperate now, chasing it. Chasing that stupid, glorious edge.

“Roxy,” he groaned, voice all fucked and gorgeous.

I kissed him. Tongue, teeth, full mouth. Messy and hot and real.

“I’m gonna cum,” I gasped into his mouth.

“Do it,” he whispered. “I’m ready.”

I ground down hard, rolled my hips and caught just the right spot. My body seized, legs trembling, cunt pulsing tight round his cock. I moaned straight into his mouth, loud, raw, no control left.

My orgasm ripped through me. Cunt squeezing round him again and again, soaking us both. I clung to him, shaking, riding every wave of it like I never wanted it to stop.

He wasn’t far behind.

He kissed me hard, cock twitching deep inside me as he unloaded, spilling every last drop into me.

We stayed like that.

Wrapped around each other, sweating, panting, trembling.

I didn’t say anything.

Didn’t need to.

His hands moved soft now. Stroking my back. My hair. My thighs.

I leaned into him. Rested my head on his shoulder.

“This didn’t feel like part of the game,” he whispered.

“It wasn’t,” I murmured back.

We stayed there, fucked out and tangled, the sound of distant shouting and nerf darts in the halls starting to drift back in.

“Think the rebellion won?” I asked, eyes still shut.

He chuckled. “No idea. Might’ve just handed it to the Barons.”

“Worth it,” I muttered.

He kissed the top of my head.

“I like you too, you know,” he said. “Even if you’re the most difficult woman I’ve ever met.”

I smiled.

And for once, I didn’t run.