InsaneJournal

Fic: Burn (Baccano!, Rachel/Nice)
So yesterday, in aid of my kinkfest list, I found myself listing Baccano! pairings I wanted. I got to... seven or eight?... just listing the obvious ones. ^^

...This is not any of those.

I also found myself going, "With so many awesome girls, there has to be a decently plausible femslash pairing or two in here somewhere?"

...this is probably not one of those either. But it's what my brain came up with while I was attempting sleep last night. ^^; (As we all know, the time when my most insane brilliant ideas arrive.)

*cough* Anyway.

Nice likes explosions a lot. Rachel takes advantage. ~800 words, explicit = not worksafe. Minor spoilers - knowing who Rachel is helps.

Burn

It should be an easy job, just some follow-up to get Rachel back on her feet. In the really obvious sense, since she's just gotten the okay to be off her crutch.

So it should be quick. She's just supposed to go down to the old district and get some more information on the juvenile delinquents that were on the Flying Pussyfoot. Only she begins to suspect as she approaches the area that the director didn't tell her quite everything, as usual. Because there's definite sounds of gunfire. And explosions.

But she must be in the right place, because the woman from the group she's looking for—Nice Holystone—comes running and ducks into the alley where Rachel is hidden. She's impossible to mistake—her shirt doesn't do much to provide basic modesty, not to mention to cover her scars.

She stops, back against the brick wall, and breathes heavily for a moment. On impulse Rachel stands up and steps into view.

The woman has a knife brandished in her hands remarkably quickly, but when she sees Rachel's face she pauses and looks contemplative.

"Wait—I know you. You rescued us on the train." She relaxes, and even lowers her knife hand.

Even if Rachel doesn't have much talent for getting information directly out of people, she's been around the shop enough to know that means she's got an advantage—this woman trusts her, even though she doesn't know her.

Nice slips her knife back away, though the lift of her shirt as she
does it flashes a glimpse of explosives. Rachel makes a mental note.

"Right," Rachel starts. "What are you—"

She's interrupted by a loud concussion from a few blocks down, and Nice shudders against the wall.

That explosion was close. After a few moments, Rachel can smell hints of the smoke. "Is there anyone still left?" she tries. Who knows who the delinquents are fighting with, but whoever they are, they're not likely to discriminate if they see Rachel here.

Nice doesn't answer, instead sort of glancing back out of the alley. And... squirming, mostly with her hips, like—like she—

Rachel feels a low burn of her own.

Dammit. Well, she hasn't heard anyone else yet. And she's always been terrible at making conversation.

She moves close, to pin Nice against the wall as much as she can, and tilts her head up to kiss her. Nice freezes in surprise but doesn't push her away.

It's easy, with the way Nice's red shirt dips low, to side a hand into it to cup a breast, and now Rachel really expects to be shoved away. But Nice doesn't shove her. In fact she sort of shifts forward to return Rachel's kiss, and that's like lightning through Rachel's body. Nice's nipple is already hard when Rachel thumbs it firmly, and she makes a strangled noise. Maybe—

Rachel pulls away, looks at the wall off to the side. "Do you..." But she's not sure what to ask. She forces herself to return her gaze to Nice's face anyway.

Nice's visible eye burns, and she's flushed as she speaks. "I—don't stop."

Rachel manages a nod, then moves back in to feel Nice's soft skin again. But there's a rough patch, below her right breast—burn scars there, too. Rachel strokes the strip of unmarked skin above it.

Nice moans, and breaks off choked when Rachel palms her through her pants with the other hand. Her hips shift, bear down, and Rachel finds herself fumbling for the catch of Nice's pants.

She gets it undone, and slides her hand inside, and Nice is wet. The lining of her underwear is nearly soaked through. It's easy to slide two fingers into her, to press down with the pad of her hand, and Nice gasps and pushes back against it.

A few moments to get a rhythm, and then Rachel looks up just as Nice tosses her head back, black ribbon stark against her bared neck. Rachel leans in to bite at it gently, her breasts pressing against Nice's.

It doesn't take long after that before Nice is shuddering hard, muscles clamping around Rachel's fingers. She slumps back against the wall as Rachel removes her hand—and she's still pretty like this, exhausted and boneless.

Nice pants a few times before brushing hair out of her face, composing herself somewhat and looking up. "I'm terrible. I don't even know your name."

"I—I'm Rachel." Rachel answers automatically, and her face heats. This can't be—

But Nice just pulls her back close and kisses her tentatively. Her hand lands on the back of Rachel's head, and she pulls at the the knot of fabric. It comes loose, letting Rachel's hair fall down over the back of her neck.

Rachel feels suddenly vulnerable. This isn't how it's supposed to work. She's almost grateful when they hear voices on the street, despite how much her cunt aches in protest as she pulls away.

It's clearly time to be gone, and she's good at that, so she is—up the crates in the alley, onto the roof and out of sight—before Nice can ask any more questions.