Warnings and Disclaimers: Femmeslash, some adult content. The title is from a Pet Shop Boys song ("Domino Dancing," naturally. Characters and Pokémon belong to Creatures and Gamefreak, and are used here only for fan speculation.
For my Floria, who even she is blind to Domino's charms, was her usual sweet, supportive and helpful self. Love you, baby.
"Let them think you're going to let them fuck you, right up until they moment they realise that you've fucked them over."
They were the first words I ever heard drop from the rosy lips my fingers are tracing, slack and so very kissable in sleep. Such vulgar words from such a pretty, childlike little mouth. But then, they were carefully calculated… I wonder, sometimes, if everything you do is calculated, even the way your gold dusted eyelashes are flickering slowly open now over slumber-dazed violet eyes, as your lips part to take my finger between them for a wet kiss.
You stood there and said the obvious, in tinklingly clear tones, lecturing a room of Team Rocket elites on what it meant to be a woman in Team Rocket, merely because you enjoyed forcing on us the knowledge that you outranked us. That you could talk complete crap, and we would have to sit meekly and listen. No matter how desperately we hated you.
I could hate you very easily myself, little Domino. Don't I have reason enough to? You stole my place by the Boss' right-hand side, the place that was rightfully mine, that I stole and fought and worked and lied for, sacrificed truth and honour and even Jesse on the altar of my ambition. And you, little girl, waltzed out of nowhere and became Giovanni's lieutenant.
And decided to claim the Boss' former favourite as your prize. Yes, I know that was why you chose me, why my finger is sliding in that soft wet mouth of yours even now. I'm just a trophy in your wicked little games.
"Seduction is always the most direct route to establishing trust," you said, your sugary smile becoming sweet enough to turn my stomach, as you basked in the hatred of the room. Those violet-blue eyes rested directly on me, and… I'm not actually stupid, you know. Quite the contrary, although you wouldn't suspect it right now by the way my lips are caressing the delicate whorls of your ear. I knew you were challenging me to walk towards my own doom, and I fell anyway.
Maybe I'm stupid after all.
If I was as clever as I used to think myself, I would hate you. I would still be in this bed – why not? You're pretty as anything with those curls and wide eyes, and just my type, as well as being the conquest of conquests in Team Rocket. Well, barring the Boss himself, which is a nauseating idea. I would still be your lover. But I would not be the one destined to be fucked over.
You take my hand in yours and pull it away from your mouth, depositing a kiss in my palm before you drop it. "Good morning, sweetheart," you whisper, and the hatred in me melts at the endearment, and I could almost believe that the frozen core of resentment consists of pure water instead of acid. Why do you have to seem so delectably sweet? Giovanni's infamous Baby Doll, his personal assassin, the child who sustains all the evil rumours even Team Rocket can imagine without a skipping step faltering.
I still feel the urge to cherish and protect you. It's all wrong, somehow. I was never the maternal type. Even my pokémon obey me out of fear, not affection.
And it's all wrong that I'm kissing you again, as if I will never stop. As if I can't help myself. As if the tangle of lips and tongues and curves pressed together is all that matters, and the real life in Team Rocket is only a dream. As if I belong to you…
I belong to no one but myself. Not even the Boss. Butch and I made that pact long ago, when we realised that Giovanni was not the dark messiah that we had fooled ourselves he was, that he was never going to sweep us under murkrow wings to the white tomorrow he promised us. Butch and I would reach the heights ourselves, and belong to nobody but ourselves, the R on our uniforms only that… a uniform, not a brand.
I won't accept that I belong to a golden-curled girl with the hard cold prettiness of a porcelain doll.
I won't accept, most of all, that Butch is right and it's the doll who will cast the girl away when she becomes bored, not the other way around.
But even if your heart is cold, your skin is warm against mine, the luscious dew of your mouth and tongue is more than sun-warmed. Hot enough to scald my heart.
"Cool it, Cass." That bright, tomboyish smile of yours. Cute, cute, and the cuteness so carefully judged. "We played enough last night. I need my shower." You tug a lock of my bangs, and there's an expression on your face I've never seen before. "I need to leave HQ for a few weeks. I'll see you when my mission is complete." No danger I'll ask you what your mission is. Even if I thought you'd answer, I'd probably prefer not to know. I stick purely to the pokémon thievery side of Team Rocket. I don't want to know about darker games.
I didn't know I could feel like this. Not over you. As if part of me was collapsing inwards. Weeks… Weeks without you.
Well, Butch will be happy. He's been fretting being in HQ for so long. Much longer, and I might have to find myself a new partner, which I'd hate. Butch is perfect for a partner. We'll go out to one of the outlying towns, maybe try a new scam to try and win points lost with the Boss over the last few disasters. My mind has been strangely empty lately, but I know Butch has ideas he never had a chance to try out, overborne by me as usual. I'll give him a chance – he deserves it.
I think I'm going to be sick. A few weeks… A few weeks without my particular brand of toxic candy. It will be good for me.
I follow you to the shower anyway, slip onto my knees and take you with water drowning in my eyes and ears and nose, until I can't distinguish your taste under the inundation. It feels good to be submerged and painful inches from breath. I wish I could drown completely. Die here, making love to you, and stop waiting for the betrayal.
When I come up, gasping for air, my body still fighting for life despite myself. For water-drenched kisses, knowing fingers caressing me. I climax with my head bent down on to your shoulder, wondering if you're going to return to me at all. If the game is finished.
Your shoulder shakes under my face, and I realise you're laughing. "Cass… My very proper Cassidy, the perfect Rocket girl. You look like a drowned raticate." And surely this is real affection, your lips on my cheek and an unselfconscious hug.
"I like raticates." I try to toss my hair back regally, but it slaps wetly against my back.
"I know." You stroke my cheek lightly with one hand. "But they don't suit you. You deserve a better pokémon." One last kiss, your tongue gentle in my mouth, as warm as the water pounding on my shoulders, and you're gone.
I take my time finishing the shower, giving you time to dress and leave. I'm not the kind of girl to go running after a lover and begging her to stay. The water pressure is so hard that it hurts my face when I tilt my face up to wash away your last kiss.
There's a note on your pillow. I didn't expect that. And a gift…
The paper is pink and lily-scented. Still playing the innocent little girl. The writing loops girlishly in red ink. I thought this might suit your style and personality better. See you in three weeks, Cassidy dearest.
I toss the present into the air. "Pokéball, go!"
The rapidash rears onto its hind legs, beautiful and dangerous, and I call it back hastily before it can smash the bed frame or set fire to the sheets with its flaming mane and tail. You really should have warned me before letting me set something like that loose in the bedroom, you know.
I start to laugh. And I'm still smiling as I finish dressing, my new treasure firmly strapped to my belt. I can't wait to train her.
But as I leave the room, I still can't help wondering how long it is until I realise you've fucked me over.