You were surprised to see her. Not even one of those unexpected surprises that in hindsight might've made sense. The surprise was more of a dumbfounding one: as in, what the fuck is a pony doing in a truck full of cocaine? That sort of nonsensical weirdness.

Even though you were baffled by her presence, you didn't let a shadow of it darken your face. It was your job to not be fazed by anything: just sit there and look scary. So while your drunk companions yammered in their merry way, tossing poker chips around like rice at a wedding, you watched her.

She was stunning. Always beautiful and well-dressed but that night, the reality of her radiance shone through like nothing else. She leaned against the bar like she'd done it a thousand times, perfecting the slow swivel and pose of her hip atop the perch of those shut-up-red stilettos. The seam of her hose traced up the backs of her legs as if they were guides for someone's hands over every elongated curve of calf and thigh until they hid away, tempting followers to venture beyond the tight fabric of her black skirt. Somewhere, those lines joined and softened into a perfect curve of spine that extended its graceful reach into the burgundy of her hair. Though her front may have been covered—draped in satin billows of gold across her breasts and down her arms—her back was bare and the ivory of her flesh unblemished. A delicate chain sparkled at her nape and its excess trickled between her shoulders in a silver stream.

In your mind, you had already marred that silky canvas with blue kisses all the way up her spine and left a dark, bruising bite at the shimmering juncture between neck and jaw. Her loveliness could not be more perfect and pure, more vulnerable.

She didn't seem to be with anyone. When she turned, you outlined the slopes and sharpness of her profile, pausing to watch her lipstick smudge the glass she sipped from and then following the point of her gaze to see what she watched.

Her eyes were on the dancefloor without a particular focus. Truly alone, then. There were no darting glances as if she waited for someone else and her relaxed body language—the jingle of the bangles at her dainty wrist like bells—said plenty. She wanted an encounter. Waiting for someone to notice.

You smirked.

Well, guess who found you, Miss.

"For luck?"

You refocused as an offering of dice was held up to you, clutched in Eridan's gripping fingers and next to you, his drunkenly assured grin. You sneered at him; he seemed confused. You made a show of pretending to spit on his dice and then kissed his cheek before you got up and left.

Your hands slid easily into the pockets of your jacket as you sidled up alongside her. You gripped gently at her elbow. She gasped. You leaned in and whispered,

"How many spankings are you going to get for being out after curfew?"

You took a moment to inhale, breathing in the light bouquet of her. Definitely something from an expensive bottle but at least she was classy enough to not drown in it. The sweet and spice of it was enough to make you want a bite….

But you resisted and pulled away in time to see the tail end of her pursed-lip scowl and the scrunch of her cute little nose before she fell into a carefully composed mask.

"Vriska," she said, possibly in attempt to sound cordial but her hasty recovery overrode and echoed the truth of her words, "I didn't expect to see you here." She took another sip from her glass, unable to look you in the eyes.

"Likewise," you said, leaning against the bar in front of her. You stared at her straight on. Smiled as pleasant and predatorily as you might. She was brave enough to look you right back but even beneath the rouge she'd already brushed on her cheeks, you could see her blushing.

"Do tell. What lured Miss out into the open where the wolves come to feed?" You hailed the bartender casually. He nodded back and your usual drink was in your hand before Maryam finished speaking.

"Boredom and curiosity," she said all clipped and businesslike.

"I thought obedience and your tight ass usually won those things out," you said. She scowled at you.

"Well, obviously, you thought wrong," came her firm reply.

"Were you looking for a dance?" you asked her, changing the subject with a smooth smile while sidestepping her attempts at being caustic.

"I was considering it," she said noncommittally.

"You think could dance like that?" You jerked your head towards the throng of people. It was its own organism. Sweating, grinding, beautiful chaos: crowded and suffocated under strobe lights and electronica. She looked past you to the undulating creature of the crowd. You watched her eyes.

Dark green, almost black in the dim lighting. They puzzled for a moment, as if breathing in a work of art for a first impression. But then her gaze sharpened and began calculating, factoring herself into the equation and seeing if it could still balance. You ended up smiling along with her when she gave that little nod and said,

"I can."

You got her.

"I'm eager to test that theory," you said, flicking an eyebrow up and emptying the remains of your glass. You set it down on the counter and smirked at her before turning away.

You left her and became a part of the mass, deep enough in so that you could feel bodies on all sides but not so far that she would have trouble finding you. It seemed you had poor timing at first; the song faded as soon as you made yourself comfortable near a delicious looking guy with a red Mohawk and a playful grin. But then your favorite song was on and you smiled. Feeling conspiratorial from the delight of you impending victory, you crooked a finger to beckon Mr. Mohawk towards you. He accepted your invitation with a smooth step over, his broad chest pushing up gently against yours. You wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and tugged him down so you could press your lips to his ear and avoid shouting over the music.

"See that girl by the bar?" you asked. "Short hair, gold top?" His laughter was surprisingly gentle as it spilled over your neck.

"I do but she doesn't look very happy to see me," he said.

"I'm trying to get her. Help me out?"

"But if I let her get you, that means that I can't." His hands wrapped carefully around your hips and the two of you began to sway.

"No, it doesn't," you laughed. "I promise I'll still be here after I'm done with her."

"Wicked girl." To you, the words were like drops of sugar and only tempted you deeper into the behavior. Yes, you were wicked. And it was so rewarding.

You danced with your stranger as if you'd done it before a dozen times. Luckily for you he was actually a very good partner, which wasn't what you were expecting. You never expected anyone to be competent at anything you were a master of. You personally always made it a point to be better than everyone at anything you could do well. People noticed. It was worth the effort.

But the guy had good rhythm and was ballsy enough to put his hands where most people hadn't. You just played right into it, rolling your hips a bit more as you grip his shoulders and look up into his eyes. He's smiling at you, all suave and calm but you're not really thinking about him. You're extending your sixth sense to try and feel Maryam's gaze burning through your back. You hope you've set her on fire with burning jealousy so when she finally catches up you'll feel it in those perpetually icy fingers of hers. Always so soft and delicate but so cold…. You imagined them between your lips and couldn't help the smirk that bloomed out of that particular fantasy.

"Here, come here."

You usually wouldn't allow yourself to be led—by the change in your expression, you voiced that to your impromptu partner—but you decided that you could use it to your advantage. After all, it would be hilarious if you walked away with a hookup when Maryam was the one who wanted one all along. How deep would that cut? You almost laughed just thinking about it.

Your new friend twirled you about so his hips pressed against your ass, his hands soft on your thighs as you grinded back against him. You smiled, chancing a daring glance up to Maryam, if only to scope the extent of her progress: her jealousy, her pouting, her challenge to rise to wherever you raised the bar.

Jump, Miss, like you want it.

Unfortunately, she wasn't even looking at you. It was difficult to see her completely through the crowd but when you caught sight of her, she was decided focused on someone who wasn't you. Someones, actually. There was a group of three guys who had her surrounded, all smiling and chatting her up. Miss didn't look pleased; she stood there with her back to the bar and an arm over her chest, the other holding her glass to her lips.

Fuck it all. You groaned audible and your hips went still as you pushed yourself out of Mohawk's grip and shoved through the throng.

Your plan wouldn't work if she got distracted. You had no idea when you would ever get another opportunity like this and you sure as hell weren't going to let it pass you by.

With Bad Girl mask set in place and the crash of your boots at every footfall becoming steadily more dangerous with your approach, you were ready to redefine everyone's facial features, mouth open to start spitting poison. But before breath could even form into a syllable, Maryam had grabbed the bloke who stood directly in front of her. She yanked on his collar and spun, pinning him to the bar. There was a collective gasp from everyone in the vicinity; the nearby flunkies didn't even move to help out their friend. Just like you, they were stunned by what had just happened.

Maryam's hand that wasn't strangling was right at the bloke's crotch, looking dangerous. Her face was hidden, pressed close against his cheek as she whispered in his ear. But you could see his expression perfectly as it went from shock to fear and then started melting into something obviously aroused and unsteady.

And you just stood there wondering what the fuck was happening. Maryam? This was the girl who couldn't hear any shade of dirty joke without turning red. The girl who had perfect attendance and perfect grades and a perfect wardrobe with every hair on her perfect head absolutely perfect: untouched and innocent. Maryam the tightass who didn't date anyone and shut down all advances. Next number up on your list of vaguely interesting but altogether boring people to put under your boot. She was only fun to you because you had a kink for corrupted innocents; you knew spoiling that sweet cream would be enough gratification for a lifetime. Only….

When she dipped her head, you caught the bright glint of her teeth as her mouth opened and she bit the line of the man's jaw. It made your pulse do something unfamiliar and wild in your chest.

She withdrew, her eyes immediately locking onto you. She grinned. You felt the world around you crumbling.

"Later boys," she said lightly as she cat-walked right over to you. "Thanks for your help."

You felt a twitch in your face as your mask fell off unceremoniously when she wrapped her fingers around the lapel of your jacket and dragged you—you stumbling and wondering—to the bathroom. You were ushered inside and then shoved into the handicap stall. The stall door banged shut and the bolt shifted. You turned to give Maryam your most bewildered gape. She laughed in your face.

"You're a lot easier to tug around than you would lead people to believe, Vriska," she said, crowding your space. Your heartbeat was rapidly getting out of control and it was terrifying you. She was just so simultaneously gorgeous and out of character that your brain couldn't keep up. You didn't even have a coherent—much less clever—retort to offer. Her hands pressed against the wall, trapping you, and then she leaned in, eyes not closing, but focusing on your open lips.

Her kiss was too gentle. Not like it didn't make you feel anything. In fact, when you had imagined Maryam's kisses, they were like that. But juxtaposed against the display you just witness and participated in, you were shaken to the point that you were struggling to remember your own name. She kissed you like your lips were the flesh of a peach, her tongue reaching in to taste the curve of yours. Her fingers tangled in your hair and her thigh pushed between your legs, right up against you and you couldn't help the groan that pealed through you.

As soon as you got back your senses and tried to salvage your situation, your hands reaching to cup her face, she planted a hand against your shoulder and pushed away from you. Her lipstick was smeared with yours in a strange twist of colors. But on her flawlessly painted face, the debauchery was nothing short of erotic. You caught your breath.

"On your knees."

The command made your head go blank.

"What the hell are you—"

"I said get on your knees." She put pressure on your shoulder to enforce her words. Out of pure curiosity—seriously, what the hell was going to happen next; you had no fucking clue—and because there was something in you that definitely didn't want to say no, you gingerly sank to your knees, unable to take your eyes off hers. The hand on your shoulder went to your hair and when she looked down at you, there was an indescribably pleasure that crossed her features.

"You do look beautiful from this angle," she whispered, as if she'd been considering the possibility for a while. She had the words of a goddess accepting meager offerings at her altar. You were cute but she was nowhere near satisfied with you. Not yet.

Unwilling to just sit back on your heels with your hands on the floor, you grounded yourself by curling your hands around her calves, still staring up, trying to figure her out. That pleased her; her eyes slid shut like a cat being stroked. Her fingers slid down to caress your jaw and she murmured words of affirmation that made your veins tangle and breath fall short. Her other hand…. You watched it as she gripped the hem of her skirt and pulled it up. All the way up.

She wasn't wearing any underwear. Under her panty hose was nothing save the neat triangle of hair between her legs, dark and soft-looking. Maryam's breathing was steady and loud in the echo of the empty bathroom. And you just stared, listening to her and feeling her fingers against your skin.

The silence and nothing must've gotten to her after a while; her nails dug into your jaw and like a threat, words came spilling from her messy lips.

"Eat your heart out, Serket."

You broke faster than porcelain on concrete. Your hand swept up to grab her thigh and you hoisted it upwards. Her hands lifted and braced the wall so she could keep her balance. Unflinchingly, you put your lips to the meshed juncture of her legs and ran your tongue along the dampened fibers. She moaned and your heart was set aflame. She had this perfect scent and taste: clean but so human and warm. Your other arm swung awkwardly around the back of her hips and you just pulled her down to your lips.

"Oh…nnngh, that's wonderful…." Purring…. Soft and sultry and like a song in your head.

Your tongue ran flat against her spread lips, back and forth in steady rhythm and she moaned with almost ever exhale, humming like a dignified lady with her skirt hiked up. When she seemed to get used to it, you slid your hand a bit lower to grab at her ass and your tongue flicked against her clit, light and teasing.

Breath shuddered and hitched in her and all you could think about was how the blade of one of her red high heels was digging deliciously into your shoulder. You were buried between her thighs, slowly realizing you didn't want to find yourself anywhere else. Her whimpers and gasps at your movements against her soaking folds just spurred you on. You had to make her come. You needed it more than anything at that moment. For her to fall apart so you could climb back on top again.

There was another part of your mind that was whispering how you didn't actually want to be on top. The same part of you that liked Miss's foot pushing down on you and talking to you like she could eat you.

You wonder….

So you stop. You pull back and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to relax against the wall with the point of her heel still biting you.

"You aren't done," she whispered. Not angry. Not desperate. Just factual. Smooth and cold. When you found her eyes they stared deep into you, green and half-shuttered in disapproval. She raised an eyebrow at you, the frown obvious on her lips. "Feel like pushing me?"

"I do," you challenged, flashing a smirk.

She gave a nod, pursing her lips as if you proposed an interesting possibility.

You weren't expecting her to yank you up to your feet and slam you against the wall. Hard. It made stars burst in your vision and words just push out of your mouth just for the sake of complaining about pain. It's almost enough to distract you from the way Maryam jerked your pants down to your knees and then pressed her manicured fingers to your clit.

She said nothing but kept her lips near your ear so you could hear her breathing.

"Goddamn…Maryam!" You clenched her shoulders hard when she pushed two burning fingers inside you without any preamble. Her only response was to kiss you again. Her tongue played with yours while you keened and moaned at the deep scratches she was leaving inside. Your camisole was almost ripped off as she pulled it down and then popped the clasp of your bra to push it away from your breasts.

Fingers pinched your nipple, fingers pushed and stretched your hole, and tongue teased and taunted you inside your own mouth. She breathed out and it hissed through you in a growl that gave you shivers. Miss was growling at you. For you.

You were dissolving into a quivering mess, unable to do anything but hold on and kiss her back as deftly as you could manage while your hips bucked heedlessly. Far from you was the skilled dancer that owned dance floors and orchestrated each puppet to her whimsy will but you couldn't find it in yourself to care because Miss's thumb was nudging your clit in gentle circles.

"I'm not gonna…," you started to say, your head leaning back as you arched into her touch.

"Shut up and come, Vriska," she hissed in your ear.

You've never been so obedient in your life, never so gladly. The force of your orgasm almost brought you to your knees again. And she wasn't nice. Her fingers worked you just as mercilessly to the point where the pleasure was so blinding, it became painful. You literally could not handle it. You screamed as you held tight to her.

Somewhere, she found compassion in her and stopped, only she stepped away at the same time, leaving you no crutch and you slid gracelessly to the clammy bathroom floor. You tried to breathe and gather yourself, shivering like you were freezing cold but it was only every single nerve in your body still firing in terror and excitement.

Miss fixed her skirt and fixed her face. You watched her all the while and by the time you steadied yourself to the point where you were sure your teeth wouldn't chatter if you attempted speech, she returned to tower over you, just as excellently assembled as she was when you saw her at the bar.

"You aren't done," she said again. She sneered at you: an expression you'd seen on your own face in the mirror but it was perfectly reflected in her features. When she turned without another word and walked out of the restroom you had no choice but to haphazardly collect yourself and rush after her.

Kanaya managed to beat you at your own game. But you definitely weren't done playing.