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thelonelylakei hope you give up on love. succession, shiv/willa. infidelity, seduction. 2.1k words, rated e. for a prompt at bring her bleeding heart to me 2020
"So."
Siobhan's arm slips around Willa's waist as she draws the word out, the chill of her whisky glass pressing sharp and damp into Willa's hipbone. Willa schools her face into careful blankness and pointedly does not look around the room for Connor. If he trusts her enough to bring her to family events, she has to trust herself to be able to handle his family.
The illusion of confidence shatters as Siobhan continues, "What's my brother paying you these days, anyway?"
Willa's not sure why numbers matter to someone like Siobhan. Then again, she's not sure why answers at all, much less why she adds two thousand to the number on all of Con's cheques when she does. Wants to see what she can get away with, maybe — it's pleasingly out of one of her plays, courting danger like this.
And maybe she's three drinks in and full of an anxiety she's been carefully not naming all night, too aware that she's choking on Con's romance harder than she's ever choked on his cock. Maybe it's that Siobhan's blouse is cut lower than Willa's ever thought would be appropriate for a family party and her breath is soft and warm on Willa's neck even though her laugh was colder than her glass.
"Almost decent of him," Siobhan says, and Willa tries to ignore how her teeth are nearly pressing into her neck, the tender veined spot right under her ear that never fails to send shivers down her spine and Con never fails to completely ignore.
"He is a decent man," Willa says, and, shit, it's embarrassing, how much it sounds like the lie it is. None of you are decent, she might have said, if she were braver. If Con had been paying her the extra two thousand, and she didn't actually need to do any more of this shit.
Siobhan pulls away just enough that Willa can see the briefest moment of incredulity pass across her face. "Uh, no, oblivious looks bad on you," she says, and Willa wonders how she makes that sound like an insult. She scans the living room, fake-casual in a way Willa knows she does better, and then the glass is digging into Willa's hip as she urges her down the hallway.
Willa follows. She's not sure if this is her best idea or her worst: Siobhan with an audience is lethal, and Siobhan on her own is an unknown, but Willa doesn't relish the idea of being drawn into conversation with the rest of Con's family. So she follows, uncomfortably aware of her dress clinging wetly to her side and the tenuous grip she has on her own drink.
Siobhan pulls them into a bedroom and locks the door behind them, and Willa determinedly doesn't look around to see who's bedroom they're in. Knowledge is a valued currency in her profession, but when it comes to the Roys, she's more than happy to not know most things. "So, what's this?" Willa raises an eyebrow. "Interrogation? Business proposition? Lecture about how real family shows up without being paid?"
"Harsh." But Siobhan's eyes are wide and shining with something almost like approval, and, hey, Willa will take it. "It's the second, though. I pay you my brother's rate plus a thousand and get to fuck you in this dress." She looks her up and down with frank admiration, and Willa's whole body flushes. It's a good dress, according to her stylist, sleek and black and paid for with Connor's credit card so easily Willa'd never even see the number, and she's pretty sure it's that last bit that Siobhan's picked up on.
She wants to say yes to Siobhan Roy. She needs another drink. Or five. Or the necklace-accented V of Siobhan's cleavage out of her line of sight. Or to move to LA and forget she'd ever heard the Roy family name. "If I say no?"
Siobhan shrugs. "I tell him we did, and you don't get an orgasm out of it." She's got Willa backed against the wall, her knee between Willa's thighs like a threat or a promise or both.
And Willa's going fucking crazy, she must be, must be spending too much time with these people because she grabs Siobhan's glass and drains it before she can think too hard about it, says yes before the whisky's finished burning its way down her throat.
She's not stupid enough to expect a kiss, but she expects — teeth, fingers, something, Siobhan pulling up her dress and making good on all her half-promises and idle threats. Instead, Siobhan pulls out her phone, and the arousal that had been half-building in the pit of Willa's stomach since Siobhan first curled possessively around her in the living room dulls. "What are you doing?"
Siobhan rolls her eyes. "Paying you. I'm not a fucking liar."
She was, though, and the sudden honesty — Willa's phone dings somewhere in the clutch she's forgotten she's still holding, her banking app's custom notification inescapable — is almost more offputting than anything else Siobhan had ever said or done.
She busies herself looking around just enough to find a flat non-floor surface to set her clutch and empty glass down on. Siobhan, less concerned, tosses her phone somewhere behind her, where it lands softly on a piece of furniture.
"So," Willa says. She doesn't usually start this sort of thing without a clear idea of exactly what's going to happen, complete with the sort of specifics Willa's not sure Siobhan is even capable of thinking of. "Is — do you want—"
Siobhan rakes her nails up Willa's inner thigh, dragging the flimsy fabric of her hideously expensive dress up as she goes. "I want you to stop talking, for one thing."
Willa bites her lip and nods, head falling back against the doorframe as Siobhan strokes roughly over the scrap of lace serving as Willa's underwear today. Silent she can do. Silent is a relief, almost, after Con and his endless demands for declarations of love, but like hell is she telling his sister that.
Siobhan presses a finger against Willa's clit over the lace, and it's — uncomfortable, in some liminal space that Willa can't even begin to think of as good or bad. She inhales through her nose, lips pressed together. Quiet.
"Oh," Siobhan says softly, and Willa focuses on her face with an effort. "Sorry, I should have been more clear. I don't want you to talk. Other noise encouraged. Demanded, even, if I'm paying."
Willa's eyes widen. "Your family is literally right outside this door." She's felt out of place before, with these people. She's never felt quite so over her head.
"And? I locked the door. It's not like you didn't know that when you agreed to this." She curls her fingers, nails catching rough on lace and sensitive skin, and Willa can't help the groan that slips past her teeth.
"Fuck," she says, fuck me or fuck you, she doesn't know which — thinks, in the moment, that either would get Siobhan's smirk of approval, her lips like knives against Willa's throat as she presses too close.
Siobhan's fingers find their way lower, pressing against Willa's entrance over her panties, and Willa screws her eyes shut. It's already obvious Siobhan knows her way around Willa's body better than Connor, and Willa doesn't want to think about that too hard — can't think about it too hard, not at all used to the edge of pleasure-pain that Siobhan has her on already.
She's used to devoting her attention during sex to performing whatever routine her partners want. But she has no idea what Siobhan wants — if Siobhan wants anything, honestly, beyond bragging rights, and it leaves Willa too much space in her own head. She tries to focus on just feeling instead, her focus narrowing down to the sensation of Siobhan's fingers pressing her panties roughly inside her. She's never done this somewhere with this risk of being walked in on, and while it adds something of a thrill to being fucked, it's not enough.
Willa's not aroused enough that this doesn't hurt, and it's edging on too much of the wrong hurt. Siobhan, fuck her, picks up on it too — pulls her hand back and lets Willa's crumpled skirt fall, squints at her not-really slick fingers. "So, what?" she says. "Don't tell me I'm not good at this, it'll hurt my feelings."
Privately Willa doubts any of the things Siobhan feels are things capable of being hurt, but she just presses her thighs together, wondering if it might be better to just get this over with. Let Siobhan leave with her hand smelling too faintly of sex to be any fun whenever she tries to remember it later, duck into a bathroom to clean herself up a bit.
And yet, there's something — something about the absurdity of their situation, maybe, or maybe just the fact that sex is part of Willa's job that she doesn't really want to think she's bad at — something that has her wanting to tell the truth. "Not so much used to being on this end of it."
Siobhan's eyes widen, almost imperceptible, and Willa has a fleeting moment where she wants to claim victory for seeing it at all. And then Siobhan's mouth descends on hers, teeth catching sharp against her lip and she tastes like alcohol and nothing else, anything that might've been Siobhan burned away under the expensive whisky, and Willa—
Willa's body responds, at least, because it's impossible to meet Siobhan's hunger with anything but desire if she wants to survive — with this family, in general, she's losing track, under the pressure of Siobhan's tongue stroking against the backs of her teeth. So Willa wraps her arms around Siobhan's neck and digs her nails in, fixes her gaze somewhere over Siobhan's shoulder and even finds a laugh somewhere as Siobhan's palm grinds against her clit.
This is the person Con's family — Siobhan - has turned her into, and, shit, Willa thinks she could kill her for it. Thinks that Siobhan might kill her for it, too, and that's the thing that has her shuddering against Siobhan's insistent fingers and her own wet, rough lace. Sooner than she'd thought possible, hardly even worth being called an orgasm, and yet Siobhan notices anyway: the next twist of her fingers is cruel.
"You seem to be learning fast enough," she says when Willa fails to stifle a groan. "Ever wonder if you're pretending to date the wrong Roy?"
"You ever wonder why you're fucking me and not your boyfriend?" Willa asks, because she doesn't feel like getting into a debate about the meaning of pretending and dating in Siobhan-language, and also because she can tell herself that she doesn't care about this particular answer, though she's not sure why she cares about the others.
Siobhan withdraws her hand again, and now Willa's worked up enough that the loss of contact sends a chill through her. "He doesn't care," she says, which means he doesn't know, and Willa hates how casually she says it — she doesn't care at all that Willa knows she's a secret. Wants her to know, even, and as they regard each other in silence, Willa's positive she's missing something.
Just like she's positive she'll never ask what. What Siobhan gets out of a mediocre fuck in a spare bedroom, what she's going to tell her brothers later, what she'll do the next time they see each other at one of Logan's events.
Willa pulls her skirt back down when it's obvious that Siobhan isn't looking for anything else. "You'll pass on washing your hands, then," she says, and the words sound like someone else's as they leave her mouth.
Siobhan looks down at her hand as if surprised to find her fingers finally slick. Looks back up, meets Willa's eyes as she deliberately places her fingers in her mouth and sucks them clean. "Mine," she says, instead of an answer. "You have no idea what you're worth, do you?"
Willa can't shake the feeling that she's supposed to know what that means, whether this is the latest in a long line of insults or if it's Siobhan's attempt at a compliment. She turns it over in her mind as Siobhan fixes her hair — unpins it, covering the marks Willa's left on the back of her neck — doesn't come to any conclusion by the time Siobhan opens the door with her clean hand and leaves her alone.
Can't stop herself from wondering if she would get anything closer to an answer if they did this again.
Shiv is sick of Con bringing around his call girl, and decides fucking her will show Con how cheap Willa really is, and kill the stupid romantic ideas in his head.
"So."
Siobhan's arm slips around Willa's waist as she draws the word out, the chill of her whisky glass pressing sharp and damp into Willa's hipbone. Willa schools her face into careful blankness and pointedly does not look around the room for Connor. If he trusts her enough to bring her to family events, she has to trust herself to be able to handle his family.
The illusion of confidence shatters as Siobhan continues, "What's my brother paying you these days, anyway?"
Willa's not sure why numbers matter to someone like Siobhan. Then again, she's not sure why answers at all, much less why she adds two thousand to the number on all of Con's cheques when she does. Wants to see what she can get away with, maybe — it's pleasingly out of one of her plays, courting danger like this.
And maybe she's three drinks in and full of an anxiety she's been carefully not naming all night, too aware that she's choking on Con's romance harder than she's ever choked on his cock. Maybe it's that Siobhan's blouse is cut lower than Willa's ever thought would be appropriate for a family party and her breath is soft and warm on Willa's neck even though her laugh was colder than her glass.
"Almost decent of him," Siobhan says, and Willa tries to ignore how her teeth are nearly pressing into her neck, the tender veined spot right under her ear that never fails to send shivers down her spine and Con never fails to completely ignore.
"He is a decent man," Willa says, and, shit, it's embarrassing, how much it sounds like the lie it is. None of you are decent, she might have said, if she were braver. If Con had been paying her the extra two thousand, and she didn't actually need to do any more of this shit.
Siobhan pulls away just enough that Willa can see the briefest moment of incredulity pass across her face. "Uh, no, oblivious looks bad on you," she says, and Willa wonders how she makes that sound like an insult. She scans the living room, fake-casual in a way Willa knows she does better, and then the glass is digging into Willa's hip as she urges her down the hallway.
Willa follows. She's not sure if this is her best idea or her worst: Siobhan with an audience is lethal, and Siobhan on her own is an unknown, but Willa doesn't relish the idea of being drawn into conversation with the rest of Con's family. So she follows, uncomfortably aware of her dress clinging wetly to her side and the tenuous grip she has on her own drink.
Siobhan pulls them into a bedroom and locks the door behind them, and Willa determinedly doesn't look around to see who's bedroom they're in. Knowledge is a valued currency in her profession, but when it comes to the Roys, she's more than happy to not know most things. "So, what's this?" Willa raises an eyebrow. "Interrogation? Business proposition? Lecture about how real family shows up without being paid?"
"Harsh." But Siobhan's eyes are wide and shining with something almost like approval, and, hey, Willa will take it. "It's the second, though. I pay you my brother's rate plus a thousand and get to fuck you in this dress." She looks her up and down with frank admiration, and Willa's whole body flushes. It's a good dress, according to her stylist, sleek and black and paid for with Connor's credit card so easily Willa'd never even see the number, and she's pretty sure it's that last bit that Siobhan's picked up on.
She wants to say yes to Siobhan Roy. She needs another drink. Or five. Or the necklace-accented V of Siobhan's cleavage out of her line of sight. Or to move to LA and forget she'd ever heard the Roy family name. "If I say no?"
Siobhan shrugs. "I tell him we did, and you don't get an orgasm out of it." She's got Willa backed against the wall, her knee between Willa's thighs like a threat or a promise or both.
And Willa's going fucking crazy, she must be, must be spending too much time with these people because she grabs Siobhan's glass and drains it before she can think too hard about it, says yes before the whisky's finished burning its way down her throat.
She's not stupid enough to expect a kiss, but she expects — teeth, fingers, something, Siobhan pulling up her dress and making good on all her half-promises and idle threats. Instead, Siobhan pulls out her phone, and the arousal that had been half-building in the pit of Willa's stomach since Siobhan first curled possessively around her in the living room dulls. "What are you doing?"
Siobhan rolls her eyes. "Paying you. I'm not a fucking liar."
She was, though, and the sudden honesty — Willa's phone dings somewhere in the clutch she's forgotten she's still holding, her banking app's custom notification inescapable — is almost more offputting than anything else Siobhan had ever said or done.
She busies herself looking around just enough to find a flat non-floor surface to set her clutch and empty glass down on. Siobhan, less concerned, tosses her phone somewhere behind her, where it lands softly on a piece of furniture.
"So," Willa says. She doesn't usually start this sort of thing without a clear idea of exactly what's going to happen, complete with the sort of specifics Willa's not sure Siobhan is even capable of thinking of. "Is — do you want—"
Siobhan rakes her nails up Willa's inner thigh, dragging the flimsy fabric of her hideously expensive dress up as she goes. "I want you to stop talking, for one thing."
Willa bites her lip and nods, head falling back against the doorframe as Siobhan strokes roughly over the scrap of lace serving as Willa's underwear today. Silent she can do. Silent is a relief, almost, after Con and his endless demands for declarations of love, but like hell is she telling his sister that.
Siobhan presses a finger against Willa's clit over the lace, and it's — uncomfortable, in some liminal space that Willa can't even begin to think of as good or bad. She inhales through her nose, lips pressed together. Quiet.
"Oh," Siobhan says softly, and Willa focuses on her face with an effort. "Sorry, I should have been more clear. I don't want you to talk. Other noise encouraged. Demanded, even, if I'm paying."
Willa's eyes widen. "Your family is literally right outside this door." She's felt out of place before, with these people. She's never felt quite so over her head.
"And? I locked the door. It's not like you didn't know that when you agreed to this." She curls her fingers, nails catching rough on lace and sensitive skin, and Willa can't help the groan that slips past her teeth.
"Fuck," she says, fuck me or fuck you, she doesn't know which — thinks, in the moment, that either would get Siobhan's smirk of approval, her lips like knives against Willa's throat as she presses too close.
Siobhan's fingers find their way lower, pressing against Willa's entrance over her panties, and Willa screws her eyes shut. It's already obvious Siobhan knows her way around Willa's body better than Connor, and Willa doesn't want to think about that too hard — can't think about it too hard, not at all used to the edge of pleasure-pain that Siobhan has her on already.
She's used to devoting her attention during sex to performing whatever routine her partners want. But she has no idea what Siobhan wants — if Siobhan wants anything, honestly, beyond bragging rights, and it leaves Willa too much space in her own head. She tries to focus on just feeling instead, her focus narrowing down to the sensation of Siobhan's fingers pressing her panties roughly inside her. She's never done this somewhere with this risk of being walked in on, and while it adds something of a thrill to being fucked, it's not enough.
Willa's not aroused enough that this doesn't hurt, and it's edging on too much of the wrong hurt. Siobhan, fuck her, picks up on it too — pulls her hand back and lets Willa's crumpled skirt fall, squints at her not-really slick fingers. "So, what?" she says. "Don't tell me I'm not good at this, it'll hurt my feelings."
Privately Willa doubts any of the things Siobhan feels are things capable of being hurt, but she just presses her thighs together, wondering if it might be better to just get this over with. Let Siobhan leave with her hand smelling too faintly of sex to be any fun whenever she tries to remember it later, duck into a bathroom to clean herself up a bit.
And yet, there's something — something about the absurdity of their situation, maybe, or maybe just the fact that sex is part of Willa's job that she doesn't really want to think she's bad at — something that has her wanting to tell the truth. "Not so much used to being on this end of it."
Siobhan's eyes widen, almost imperceptible, and Willa has a fleeting moment where she wants to claim victory for seeing it at all. And then Siobhan's mouth descends on hers, teeth catching sharp against her lip and she tastes like alcohol and nothing else, anything that might've been Siobhan burned away under the expensive whisky, and Willa—
Willa's body responds, at least, because it's impossible to meet Siobhan's hunger with anything but desire if she wants to survive — with this family, in general, she's losing track, under the pressure of Siobhan's tongue stroking against the backs of her teeth. So Willa wraps her arms around Siobhan's neck and digs her nails in, fixes her gaze somewhere over Siobhan's shoulder and even finds a laugh somewhere as Siobhan's palm grinds against her clit.
This is the person Con's family — Siobhan - has turned her into, and, shit, Willa thinks she could kill her for it. Thinks that Siobhan might kill her for it, too, and that's the thing that has her shuddering against Siobhan's insistent fingers and her own wet, rough lace. Sooner than she'd thought possible, hardly even worth being called an orgasm, and yet Siobhan notices anyway: the next twist of her fingers is cruel.
"You seem to be learning fast enough," she says when Willa fails to stifle a groan. "Ever wonder if you're pretending to date the wrong Roy?"
"You ever wonder why you're fucking me and not your boyfriend?" Willa asks, because she doesn't feel like getting into a debate about the meaning of pretending and dating in Siobhan-language, and also because she can tell herself that she doesn't care about this particular answer, though she's not sure why she cares about the others.
Siobhan withdraws her hand again, and now Willa's worked up enough that the loss of contact sends a chill through her. "He doesn't care," she says, which means he doesn't know, and Willa hates how casually she says it — she doesn't care at all that Willa knows she's a secret. Wants her to know, even, and as they regard each other in silence, Willa's positive she's missing something.
Just like she's positive she'll never ask what. What Siobhan gets out of a mediocre fuck in a spare bedroom, what she's going to tell her brothers later, what she'll do the next time they see each other at one of Logan's events.
Willa pulls her skirt back down when it's obvious that Siobhan isn't looking for anything else. "You'll pass on washing your hands, then," she says, and the words sound like someone else's as they leave her mouth.
Siobhan looks down at her hand as if surprised to find her fingers finally slick. Looks back up, meets Willa's eyes as she deliberately places her fingers in her mouth and sucks them clean. "Mine," she says, instead of an answer. "You have no idea what you're worth, do you?"
Willa can't shake the feeling that she's supposed to know what that means, whether this is the latest in a long line of insults or if it's Siobhan's attempt at a compliment. She turns it over in her mind as Siobhan fixes her hair — unpins it, covering the marks Willa's left on the back of her neck — doesn't come to any conclusion by the time Siobhan opens the door with her clean hand and leaves her alone.
Can't stop herself from wondering if she would get anything closer to an answer if they did this again.
