By the ever-increasingly apologetic Kryss LaBryn. Blame Spicy Sith's "Red" for this one (see end for url).
It was all V's fault, thought Evey, as she struggled to breathe. He started it!
She had noticed that various lacy panties were disappearing out of her laundry hamper, only to reappear a few days later in her underwear drawer, freshly laundered and folded. And while yes, she did "booby-trap" her red pair for him (while having deliciously naughty fantasies of what he might be doing with them), he was the one who decided to keep them!
He definitely started it!
And then, after a week or so, when the red panties hadn't reappeared like the rest had, well, what choice did she have?
She still had no idea when or where V did his laundry. But she had a pretty good idea where he'd keep it…
And so she waited until he had gone off again, out on some mission or other (she really didn't want to know), and, feeling both guilty and giggly, crept off down the hall to his room.
She knew which one was his, of course, but she'd never been in. Not that he'd expressly forbidden it, or anything, it just …wasn't done. She was so nervous listening for the sound of his return that she didn't even glance around, just made straight for the dresser against one wall. Oddly enough, the top drawer was full of paperbacks (uh oh, thought Evey, what if he goes commando?), but the second one yielded fruit. Of the Looms, she giggled to herself, snatched a pair, and ran giggling all the way to the safety of her room.
Collapsing on her bed, weak with laughter, she waved them in triumph over her head. "Gotcha!" she yelled giddily.
Sobering a trifle, she finally stopped to examine her prize. She wasn't quite sure what she had expected; something in black silk, perhaps? But the navy blue boxer briefs seemed somehow appropriate. Sexy, yet supportive. She snickered, imagining the effects a roundhouse kick might have in boxers. They'd be flapping all over! she thought, and collapsed again in helpless laughter.
When she was finally able to drag herself upright again, she carefully rolled them up and hid them inside a pair of her socks. She was nonchalantly reading when he returned.
He never gave any sign that he'd noticed anything amiss, but a few days later, when she went into her drawer, her yellow panties were missing. Her clean yellow panties. And sure enough, a week later they were still gone. "What does he do, count them?" she asked herself. "There were, like, a dozen in there! How did he know any were missing!"
There was nothing for it. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, and manties for panties. The next time he was out she swiped another pair.
Again he said nothing.
But the next morning, when she got out of the shower, her blue pair was missing.
"Right," said Evey. This time she didn't even wait until he left; as soon as he was busy practicing his fencing again, she casually wandered out as if to the loo, grabbed the black marker from the laundry room, ducked into his room, and wrote, very carefully and neatly, in large black letters, "Property of Eve Hammond" across the waistband of every single pair.
That'll learn him, she thought with immense satisfaction, carefully closing his door behind her again, while the sounds of his practice echoed in the distance. She headed back to her book, flushing the toilet on the way by to maintain verisimilitude, and sat down, struggling to suppress her grin.
V said nothing.
She honestly thought that would be the end of it.
She really did.
…this morning, when she had staggered out of bed, running a hand through her rumpled hair and yawning hugely, and opened her drawer…
There was nothing. Nothing.
"Bloody hell!" she growled, slamming the drawer back in, "All of them! That bastard!"
What was she to do?
Hmmm… a wicked grin spread across her face. Well, she did have a couple of other pairs of underwear stashed away… They'd be like shorts on her, but under the circumstances… She opened her sock drawer, unrolled his shorts from her socks, and giggled, torn between aggravation and amusement.
'Property of Eve Hammond' stared back at her. "How in the hell did he know where they were?"
Well, the hell with him then! They were soft; she was sure they'd be very comfortable, but if that was how he was going to be…
A small while later, she strolled into the kitchen, casually dressed in a T-shirt and sweats. "'Morning, V," she said, slipping into her place at the table.
"Good morning, Evey," V turned from the stove, wearing another of his ridiculous flowered aprons, and handed her a mug of tea. "Sleep well?"
"Yes, thank you, V, and you?"
"Oh, very well, thank you, Evey," he replied, turning back to the stove, and humming under his breath.
"I don't think I know that tune," Evey said, momentarily distracted by her curiosity. "What is it?"
"It's from an old musical, 'West Side Story'," said V, setting a plate of eggies in a basket before her. "It was an updated retelling of 'Romeo and Juliet'." He sang a few bars, "Modest and pure, polite and refined, well-bred and mature and out of her mind!"
"Hmmm…" Evey took a mouthful. "Appropriate, somehow…"
"I thought so."
He's dying to know, I'm sure of it, she thought. Should I keep him in suspense, or let him off the hook?
She slowly ate a few more bites, considering, then reached for her tea. "They didn't fit," she said casually; "I had to go without." She glanced up at him, regarding her, motionless. Ha! that got him, she thought in triumph, and toasted him with her tea.
He leaned against the stove, hands crossed in front of him. "So, Evey," the mask tilted, and he deliberately, damnit! waited until she was about to swallow, "Marking your territory, are you?"
Evey almost drowned.
Find Spicy Sith's "Red" at http/community. Find the rest here, especially if you don't recognise the song: http/