Chapter 14: Mud and Silk
The steam from the bathroom still clung to their skin as they tumbled into the vast expanse of Shego’s bed. The black silk sheets were cool, a shocking contrast to the heat they generated. Kim lay on her back, staring at the ceiling’s subtle glow, her fingers idly tracing the elegant line of Shego’s collarbone. Shego was propped on one elbow, watching her, a strand of her own dark hair falling across Kim’s sternum.
The city’s nocturnal hum was the only sound for a long while. Then Kim took a breath that felt too big for her lungs.
“I think I want to tell my mom,” she said. The words hung between them, simple and terrifying.
Shego’s tracing finger stilled. Kim felt the minute tension wire through the body beside her, a coiling of something ancient and defensive. “About this?” Shego’s voice was carefully neutral, a boardroom tone. “About us? The former villain currently corrupting her pristine daughter?”
“You’re not corrupting me.” Kim turned her head to meet Shego’s gaze. The green eyes were unreadable in the low light. “And you’re not ‘former’ anything to her. You’re just… you. The person I’m with.”
“She’ll have a dossier on me a mile long, Kimmie. My juvenile record alone is a trilogy.”
“She already has that dossier. Probably annotated.” Kim managed a weak smile. “It doesn’t matter. I need her to know. I’m tired of… compartmentalizing. You’re not a dirty secret.”
Shego was silent for a long moment. She rolled onto her back, staring at the same ceiling. Her profile was sharp, a cutout against the dim light. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yeah. Fine. Tell her.” Shego’s head turned. Her expression was stark, vulnerable in its bluntness. “But if she freaks out, if she says one thing that makes you feel like shit about this… about us… you walk. Right here. You move in. This is your place, too. Has been for months, you just keep your toothbrush in a go-bag.”
The offer wasn’t romantic. It was a tactical extraction plan. It was so perfectly Shego that Kim’s throat tightened. She reached for Shego’s hand, lacing their fingers together on the cool silk. “She won’t freak out. Not like that.”
“You’re an optimist. It’s your fatal flaw.” Shego squeezed her hand. “When?”
“Next Saturday? Lunch? Low-stakes environment. Public, but not too public. We can do that little bistro she likes.”
“A tactical lunch. I can respect that.” Shego’s smirk returned, a shadow of its usual strength. “So I have a week to brace for impact.”
Kim shifted, rolling to face her, their noses almost touching. “You’re braced for anything. It’s my mom who needs the warning.” She leaned in, kissing her softly, a silent thank you. When she pulled back, she brushed Shego’s hair from her face. “Now change the subject for me. Before I overthink it into a panic attack.”
Shego’s eyes glinted, the vulnerability sealed away, replaced by a predatory warmth. “Gladly.” She shifted, stretching like a cat before settling back. “So. Dream idea for the week. You’ve been quiet. I need inspiration.”
Kim felt a familiar thrill, dark and sweet, curl in her stomach. The dreams. The device in the lamp, the one Shego thought was her tool of corruption, their shared, unspoken playground. She’d been turning an idea over for days.
“Okay,” Kim said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Medieval fantasy. No castles, though. Mud.”
“Mud.” Shego repeated, intrigued.
“Yeah. You’re a queen. Not a nice one. Like, conqueror-queen. Furs, leather, a ridiculous crown. I’m… a peasant. I stole an apple from your orchard, or looked at you wrong, or something. You’re hunting me. On horseback.”
Shego’s smile widened. “I’m liking the hierarchy.”
“It’s a storm. The field is just… churned earth, rain, cold. I’m running, but I’m slow. I’m terrified. You corner me. No guards, just you. You get off your horse, you’re covered in mud and majesty.” Kim’s pulse was picking up, describing it. “You don’t say a word. You just… take me. Right there in the muck. The rain is pouring down, it’s cold, but where you touch me it’s so hot. It’s rough. It’s about power. Ownership.”
Shego had gone very still, listening. Her eyes were fixed on Kim’s, absorbing every detail. “Is that what you want?” she murmured. “To be chased? Caught? Owned?”
“In the dream,” Kim clarified, her face flushing. “Yeah. In the dream, that’s exactly what I want.”
A low, approving sound vibrated in Shego’s throat. She leaned over, her lips grazing the shell of Kim’s ear. “The sensory details are key. The smell of wet earth and horse. The chill of the rain on your skin. The heat of my hands. The unforgiving ground.” She pulled back, her expression one of fiendish creativity. “The degradation… and the thrilling, shameful arousal of it. Giving in to a force you can’t possibly resist.”
Kim shivered. Shego had understood the assignment perfectly. “Can you… make that?”
“Oh, princess,” Shego breathed, the old nickname taking on a new, literal meaning. “I can make you taste the mud.” She reached across Kim to the minimalist bedside lamp, her fingers finding a nearly invisible seam. A soft, almost inaudible hum filled the air, and the faint, clean scent of jasmine was momentarily overlaid with something else—ozone, and the petrichor scent of an approaching storm.
Shego settled back, drawing Kim into her arms, their bodies slotting together with practiced ease. “Next Saturday,” she murmured into Kim’s hair, her voice already thick with impending sleep. “Lunch with the parental unit. And every night until then… a different kind of feast.”
Kim nestled closer, the earlier anxiety sublimating into a heavy, anticipatory calm. The last thing she felt before sleep took her was the ghost of a sensation: the imagined chill of cold rain on her skin, and the certain, warming promise of hands that would always find her, in any world, real or imagined.