[ P ] i need you like god needs the devil

Ginevra has long since lost track of time. It's been pitch dark outside the windows for hours, so she's certain that she's reached some ungodly point of the night where she ought to have been asleep long ago. Granted, it's not entirely her fault. None of this is her fault at all, she reminds herself with conviction. Who could blame her, really, for accepting more than her fair share of glasses of sweet wine? The numbness is a welcome comfort, the heady warmth pushing away the ache in her heart until Ginevra knows little more than the thrumming buzz behind her eyes.

The maid that guides her back to Matteo's quarters is patient with her somewhat unsteady pace, and she sways into the woman a few more times than her pride is willing to admit. They're just down the hall from the door when Ginevra realizes rather suddenly that she has never been drunk before. She's had a drink here or there, but her parents would never allow such a display of lack of self control. She snorts, and then giggles. She's breaking all the rules.

Her whispered "grazie" is likely louder than she intends it, as is the manner in which Ginevra closes the door behind herself. Biting her lip, she slinks towards the bed and steadfastly refuses to look in the direction of the couch Matteo was lounging on when she'd last been in here, as if looking at him might be the act to awaken him, and not any one of the numerous noises she's made to get here.

code // art

He wasn't surprised, the moment he'd given an ounce of leeway, the girl had left his room thinking that he had some sort of upper hand. Secure in his position and knowing that there was a chance that Alessa would run into her - which would open an entire can of worms on it's own, in which he most definitely didn't want to deal with right now - he knew all he could do was wait, and see if she decided to return.

In the meantime, his mismatched eyes closed and he fell into a much needed slumber.

...

His ears twitched, noises coming from outside his door. His yellow eye opened, glancing towards the window and observing how dark it was... hours had passed. Lifting his head, he slunk off of the couch and towards the opposite side of the room, camouflaging himself in the curtains. Fucking with the minds of others was a favourite passtime of his, and he knew she would be looking for him once she opened the door.

A snort, followed by a girlish giggle. Someone opened the door, and a very drunk Ginevra came stumbling through as she thought she whispered her thanks to the maid quietly. Her behaviour is that of one who thinks they're genuinely stealthy as she tip toed towards the bed, and he can't help the smirk that crosses his face.

"Good evening, Miss Ginevra," he greets casually, walking from the window as if he was just looking through it. The scent of wine wafted through the air, mixed with her own perfume and...

He had to bite back the groan that threatened to rise from his throat.

Alessa. Fuck.

He forced a smile then, his eyes watching her haphazard movements as surely she was startled that he was awake - but this was an opportunity he wouldn't miss if he could help it. While he hadn't banked on her getting drunk with his sister, he figured there would be some sense of mischief, whether it would be beneficial to her or not was up to her. Regardless, she seemed to have enjoyed herself.

"Welcome home," he then said, laughter lilting his voice subtly as he tried not to allow the smirk on his face to become too cocky.

When Matteo's voice comes from the exact opposite direction she'd been expecting it, Ginevra squeals in surprise, her head whipping around to find him lingering by the window on the other side of the bed. "Ciaooo," ( Hellooo ) she greets with a tittering little giggle, all of her earlier anger at him seemingly forgotten. She can't quite tell if Alessa had pushed a few too many drinks on her, or if she's just a terrible lightweight—but she doesn't really care at the moment, either.

She sways a little where she stands, frozen in the middle of the room a few feet away from the edge of the bed. She'd had every intention of crawling into those soft sheets and letting sleep drag her under, but now she's acutely aware that she'd have to get closer to Matteo to do it, and his intense stare intimidates the hell out of her.

Ginevra focuses on his bemused tone instead, her ears swiveling forward and her eyes narrowing slightly. "Stai... ridendo di me?" ( Are you...laughing at me? ) she asks haltingly, uncertain what to make of the expression on his face. She's not...laughably drunk, right? Right?

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Her squeal was music to his ears, and his first instinct was to make her sing more for him. But his quieter, more rational side of his brain reminded him of how she had bolted after their last encounter, and for some reason he was determined to gain her trust. "Ciaooo," came her drunken greeting, following by a cute giggle. If he wasn't certain about her inebriation before, he definitely was now. Regardless, the Vincenza man was quite pleased at how relaxed she appeared now, even if it took an unknown amount of liquor to get her there. She was a flighty bird beforehand; her erratic behaviour silently disclosing there was a level of trauma she had recently experienced. He knew the signs simply because of the work he'd been involved in throughout his life so far.

And so he knew she needed to feel safe. So he daintily lifted a paw, waving it in a cutesy fashion.

She swayed a little, appearing uncertain on what to do now. Then her green eyes find his with impressive acuteness despite her condition as she focused on him suddenly.

"Are you... laughing at me?" she questioned sharply, and his ears splayed backwards against his grey skull as he shook his head once.

"Absolutely not," he reassured, the white lie rolling easily from his tongue. He averted his eyes then, glancing towards the bed, and then the couch. She'd need to sleep soon, reduce the blood alcohol level back down to a reasonable amount.

But not before he had his fun.

Mismatched eyes flickered back to her now, and he made a point to relax the muscles in his body; to lean back while giving a nod to her. "Please, make yourself comfortable. I'll take the couch." a change of topic, to distract her mind as he sequed into what he really wanted to know. "How is my dear sister? She's a party animal, that one. I hope she treated you kindly," he kept his tone light and casual, as if they were two girlfriends gossiping after a night out.

Ginevra just stares rather dumbly back at Matteo when he waves casually in return, as though they're across a field from one another and not standing in the same room. She doesn't expect such a...silly gesture from him—though it would be asinine to think she's figured him out after, what? A day? And she sure as hell isn't going to figure him out while the room is swaying around her. Or maybe that's just her. Drinking was really not her brightest idea, especially since the few days before she got here had been spent hungry, dehydrated, and on the run. She'll no doubt be reconsidering her choices in the morning.

It doesn't take much convincing for Ginevra to accept the offering of the bed—she should have the bed, after all. She's the princess here. Or—she was. She frowns a little at that thought, her brows nudging together, but it doesn't deter her from clambering onto the mattress with far less grace than she usually possesses; she circles three times (or was it five? She lost count rather quickly) and then drops a bit heavily into the furs, curled on her side. Ginevra drags a pillow between her forelegs and rests her cheek upon it, her glassy eyes shifting back towards Matteo as he asks about the woman who'd gotten her into this state in the first place.

"Lei era gentile," ( She was nice ) Ginevra murmurs, shrugging a little. Alessa had been a lot of things, and had ruffled her wrong at first, but in her defense, Ginevra had run right into her. Literally. "Mi ha fatto fare un giro," ( She gave me a tour ) she continues, leaving out the part where they hadn't gotten very far on that tour; the hot springs had been exactly what Ginevra needed to soothe the aches and pains the last week have left in her.

She draws in a breath through her nose, and is flooded by the heady, citrus scent that's threaded deep into the fibers of the pillow she cuddling. Matteo's pillow. It should be criminal to smell that good. Ginevra flushes hot at the litany of inappropriate thoughts crossing her mind, and then turns slightly to bury her face into the pillow—which does nothing to help temper her sudden acute awareness of, well, him, but it does hide the redness in her cheeks from Matteo—as if he hasn't been watching her this entire time, and isn't intensely aware of every subtle change in her. A girl can hope, right?

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He was having to flex the practiced muscles of restraint tonight. Since she had her feathers ruffled from his laugh a few moments ago, he was trying his damnedest to maintain a lazy, almost disinterested façade. However, each move she made only got funnier. Mismatched eyes glittered with what was his only tell that he was incredibly entertained, sparkling with mirth as he bit down - hard - on his bottom lip.

The familiar, coppery taste of his own blood filled his mouth as she haphazardly climbed up onto the bed. He observed her in measured silence as she spun not once, not twice, not thrice, but five times, with a cautionary halt after three before she finally situated herself comfortably amidst his bedsheets. His pillow was tucked between her forelegs, and his vision dropped to consider it for a moment with an undistinguishable expression before he lifted his gaze to watch her again. The faintest of smirks lifted his black lips.

"She was nice," he nodded once, expecting this. "She gave me a tour," his ear flicked before they both swiveled forward, interested in this "tour", but Ginevra gave nothing further. His eyes narrowed slightly, instinctually knowing there was more to be said but ultimately deciding to drop it for now.

He wondered how many drinks Alessa gave her. Was she well-versed in the art of holding her alcohol from wherever she had come from, or was this the result of a glass of wine or two, at most? Regardless, he was simply happy she hadn't arrived to his bedroom just to vomit it all up again, though the night was still young in that aspect, he supposed.

The woman was quiet, and he almost looked away to stop staring at her for a moment. But the burning crimson of blushing cheeks caught his eye, and he honed in on her like a moth to a flame. His pupils dilated further in the dim light as a smirk teased his lips as she tried to hide her face, embarrassed from whatever thoughts were suddenly infiltrated her mind.

"Il rosso ti sta bene," (Red suits you,) Matteo mumbled, his voice nearing a purr as he latched on to this new distraction, his mouth watering at the idea of making her even more uncomfortable. "Qualcosa che ho detto ti ha fatto arrossire?" (Did something I say make you blush?) he mused, head tilting to the side a fraction as he watched her squirm under his sights. Her nervousness bled into the air, so thick he could taste it and fuck was it delicious. The bold, confident waitresses at the bar were always a treat with their flirtatious banter, but nothing could compete with an innocent girl put under the gun by a man like him. A strong desire made the muscle in his jaw jump, wanting to climb on top of her, but what restraint he had remaining kept him tethered to his spot... for now.

A thought flashed in his mind then, questioning whether it was him who had made her respond this way, or perhaps she was recounting a recent memory with Alessa. His face darkened then, but he forced his tone to remain teasing and amorous. "Oppure Alessa è diventata... amica con te?" (Or did Alessa become... friendly with you?) He stifled a growl.

"Red suits you." She would have thought it impossible, but Ginevra flushes an even more furious red, until even the tip of her white ear looks a little pink, and buries her face further into the pillow with an embarrassed whine. She can feel Matteo's eyes on her, burning her from the outside whilst some other inexplicable force is burning from the inside, a candle at both ends. "Nooo," she denies his query, shaking her head without looking at him. The smell of the godsdamned pillow is still lighting up every one of her senses.

"Or did Alessa become... friendly with you?" That question does manage to distract her slightly from her wallowing, and she turns her head enough to crack a surprised eye at him. "Cosa? No!" ( What? No! ) she exclaims, her tone too shocked to be anything other than genuine. If Alessa had flirted with her, well, she hadn't noticed. Ginevra has never had such attractions to females, but as for Matteo? She is annoyingly attracted to him right now.

"È solo—uhm—tu—intendo—" ( It's just—um—you—I mean— ) Ginevra stumbles over her words like she never has before, having no idea how to backtrack out of this conversation and good fucking fates how does his pillow smell so freaking good. "Ugh!" she huffs, suddenly throwing the pillow from her grasp with no regard for what direction it goes or where it lands before she's once again turning face-down into the bed, her head buried in her hands this time. "Per favore, lasciami solo andare a dormiiiiire," ( Please, just let me go to sleeeep ) Ginevra whines, mumbling into the mattress in desperation for this embarrassment to end.

code // art

Goosebumps traveled across his flesh, the sound of her whines and whimpers enticing a reaction from him he hadn't experienced in quite a while. Ginevra protested against his assumptions, denying him wholeheartedly and with such authenticity that he couldn't doubt her. Intoxication typically brough out ones innermost desires and thoughts so he had no reason to question her regardless.

Instead he smiled - just as genuine as her, but with a darker flare that may not be caught by someone in her... Condition.

She stumbled and stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence but he caught a word that most intrigued him - you. As in him. Both ears pushed forward in interest; what about him? He was about to ask, when she buried her face again before lifting the pillow and whipping it away from her.

Unfortunately for her, and he assumed it was because she clearly wasn't thinking straight, the pillow came straight for him. With snake like reflexes, his jaws opened and snapped at the pillow, catching it between his teeth. Not a sound was uttered as he rose to his paws, striding over to the bed in seconds. There was an eerie calm about him now, the smile having faded once the pillow had soared through the air. But once he was beside her, leaning over the edge of the bed, that smile returned as he dared to touch the shell of her ear with a ghostly trail of his lips touching along the sensitive flesh.

"Princesses shouldn't throw things," he mumbled huskily, voice dropping low and gravely. He continued then, running his earthen cheek fur along hers before he finally retracted, completely oblivious to the actual weight of his words as he positioned the pillow between her legs again, silently wishing it was him there instead of the plush object. "What about me?" He then asked, refusing to give her much breathing room as he leaned his body against the side of the bed; his ass dropping to the ground. Mismatched eyes watched her attentively, drawn to the sudden arousal she seemed to have of him.

Ginevra is so wrapped up in herself, she thinks she just might die of embarrassment right here. She doesn't even realize that the pillow had nearly hit Matteo in the face, that he'd caught it, or that he has crossed the empty space to the bedside. So when the cool flesh of his nose brushes the edge of her ear, Ginevra jumps visibly, her head twisting to the side to stare at him in wide-eyed shock. She lays so still she doesn't even think she's breathing, and much to her horror, heat flares even lower in her belly, making her fight the urge to squirm.

Ginevra is so shell-shocked from his featherlight touch gliding across her skin that she can't form the words to respond to his gentle reprimand, which is probably for the best. Her mind is racing, trying to figure out how he knew that about her, but before she can think too hard about it, she's distracted by the godsdamned pillow being pushed back into her grasp, brushing against the sensitive skin of her belly. Absently, she curls a forepaw back around the cushion, her eyes still fixated on the sharp planes of Matteo's face.

"Cosa?" ( What? ) she asks breathlessly and a little dumbly. What about him? Ginevra squints, trying to make sense of the question; the dawning is slow, but her head clears just a little with the inches of space he allows her. "Oh," she murmurs as she realizes what he'd picked up on while she was stumbling gloriously over every word out of her mouth. "Niente," ( Nothing ) Ginevra lies unconvincingly, "Io solo, ehm—" ( I just, um— ) Biting her lip, she flushes pink again and tucks her muzzle down in between the pillow and her chest, hiding her face again as she mumbles hastily against the fabric, "haiunprofumodavverobuono." ( yousmellreallynice )

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Shark like eyes watched her quiver and squirm from his presence and that did nothing but rile him up with each passing second. As she accepted the pillow back and tucked it in to herself, his gaze dropped to hungrily roam her body before they slowly focused back on her face as she stammered over pointless words.

Until the end, that is. Yousmellreallynice. Both brows rose as a sudden, though remarkably gentle laugh escaped his throat. He was used to having women fawn over him, even fighting with one another just for a minute of his attention. Ginevra hardly seemed like the type to partake in such demonstrations, but by god was he enraptured by her. She was so cute and meek, nothing like the women he was using to bringing home to his bed.

“Why, thanks sweetheart,” he purred in response, leaning into her suddenly to brush his cheek fur along her own. “we could cuddle, you know… then not only would you be surrounded by my scent while in my bed, but you’d smell like me too.” the thought nearly made him feral; he flexed his paws into the bedding to each side of her, muscles running up his arms taut with restraint.

Black lashes framed heavily lidded eyes as he searched her face for a moment before deciding he simply just didn’t fucking care.

So he kissed her - hard.