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One Last Dance	By : DrkVrtx Category: +S through Z > Super Smash Brothers Views: 4301 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Metroid, Mario or Super Smash Brothers, or their respective characters. I make no profit from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-One Last Dance
- 1
The path before her feet was awash with neon light. Ahead of her gleamed a silver pole, sunken into a rounded platform and reaching up into the darkness of the ceiling. Music was pumping through the walls, a soft vibration that echoed the rhythm of her heartbeat. She let it wash over her, feeling intangible hands ghost along the curve of her shoulders and hips, teasing them into motion. Full lips shimmering burgundy began to curve into a small, playful smile, and the lids of sparkling blue eyes fell just so to hood her gaze, which she levelled at the night's patrons. Her audience.
Bulbs of rose-pink light were set into the edges of the platform, illuminating her form as she began to walk forwards. Her hair, a defiant shade of vanilla, remained untainted. It was cut short, curling outwards when it reached her cheeks. Her fringe was carefully arranged, a small lock of hair falling between her eyes. The woman wore a thick and elaborate fur jacket, its original hue tinted pink. Beneath it was swaddled the prize that the eyes of her audience desperately sought, and with fingers wrapped in silk, she clutched it tightly about her chest.
But not for long.
After taking another step, the woman took pause. She let her gaze drop, turning her face aside and softly pouting her lips. The beat of the music fed into her small movements, dropping one shoulder and then the other. She moved her hips in time with them, each sway minute and measured. Her audience was granted an appetizer of the things to come, for she moved with a natural grace. The roll of her hips remained fluid as gloved hands began to tease apart the thick fur jacket, exposing the delicate porcelain flesh of her throat. It opened further, and neon light swept across the curve of her clavicle, dipping to tantalisingly frame the valley of her cleavage. The woman could taste impatience upon the air, and smiled in response.
She shrugged the jacket from her shoulders completely and the air, heady with the mingled incense of smoke and alcohol, was cool upon her flesh. She lifted her eyes and tilted her face, haughty as with pride she bared her body. Dark leather braces clung tightly to her skin, their straps trapping the soft pink nub that capped her breasts beneath them.
And what breasts they were, as rose-pink light cupped the pale cream of her luscious mounds, lovingly tracing the curvature of their shape. They drew the eyes so completely, invoking such lewd, monosyllabic thoughts. They stood proud and firm, in the mind's eye conforming just so to the shape of one's hand, or claws, or perhaps sucker-laden appendage. She did not discriminate; her body was put on glorious display for any and all.
The woman sauntered towards the pole, each leg sheathed in brown stockings and each foot armed well with killer heels, black, polished and filed to a point. The straps of her braces slanted in towards the apex of her thighs, smoothly joining with the black lace of her panties. The woman lifted her hands to her hips, lightly tracing an upward path with her fingers.
The feel of the arm-length, silken gloves against her skin allowed her to enjoy an imperceptible shiver of pleasure. She allowed her hands to roam until they reached the underside of her breasts, at which point they paused. She smiled, and let them fall. The narrow, illuminated path had given way to the rounded platform and the lone, silver pole at its centre. She reached out for it, and with lips puckered drew herself slowly against the cool metal.
The eyes of her audience glittered in the darkness encompassing the platform, hungry and unblinking, shimmering with a plethora of colours. Bulbous orbs stripped her utterly naked, and narrow, crimson slits blinked quickly, locked in a perpetual asynchronicity as they roved over every last inch of her form. Mouths wide and narrow, gleaming white and yellow, curved into appreciative grins. A long, crimson tongue flicked out into the air, perhaps seeking to taste feminine arousal.
The woman had long since learned to suppress the shudder that crept up her spine underneath such leers. She maintained her own smile, lips softly curved as she stretched forward a long leg and moulded her body around the pole. The woman curved her right arm upwards along its length, planting her feet and lowering her weight. Allowing her hand to trail along her thigh, she parted her legs and squatted, feeling the cool, smooth metal against her back.
At that moment and by sheer coincidence, her eyes shifted, moving away from the shadowed visages of her audience to the bar across the room. Professionalism and the beat of the music pumping through her veins kept her body in motion, even as her gaze halted momentarily. Her hips continued to slowly swivel as she leaned back against the pole and used it as leverage to straighten her body. The woman, try as she might, could not take her eyes away from the other, sitting at the bar with a leg crossed casually over the other.
Watching her.
This woman, this stunning, breath-taking creature, was watching her, with eyes so blue that her chest tightened as though she were physically drowning. Long, golden hair tumbled down her back and spilled around her shoulders in thick waves, shimmering like a beacon in the low light of the room. Two long locks fell to frame her face, settling upon the upper swell of her chest as she remained still. Her plump lips were a rich, dark shade of red, and at present pressed lightly to the rim of a small, wide glass. That glass was gripped carefully by long, poised fingers, and in a heartbeat the woman knew that the other could crush that glass to dust with a mere flex of her strength.
She could see that strength in the shape and definition of the woman's arms, in the way that her healthy cream skin was pulled taut over her muscles, her thighs and biceps and shoulders boasting their capacity to propel, crush and lift without a single utterance. Her stomach was a flat, smooth plane etched with slightly curved lines and, by the manner in which she was sitting, cast into delicate shadow by the fullness of her chest. Her breasts were fitted snugly into the short top she wore, its hue more brown than orange. Her shorts and boots were of an identical colour. Her ensemble was simple then, intended purely for her own comfort.
And yet, it almost seemed that this woman was oblivious to the form which she inhabited. As though she were almost unaware that her body managed to, with sublime perfection, redefine one's prior opinion of strength and beauty. She did not blur the lines between one and the other, but instead shattered those decrepit standards entirely. And in the mere moment in which the woman glanced at the other, her attention stolen and body moving of its own accord to satisfy the simplistic needs of her audience, she was captivated.
Even more so, when that woman looked away from her.
She felt a frown rising to mar her features and quickly caught herself, but the image of the other woman's expression was burned into her mind. Her gaze had grown cool, disinterested, and suddenly she needed to know why. She needed that woman's eyes to meet hers again, if even for a split second. She needed her to watch, because now the worth of her audience mattered even less. Let them leer and grin and curl long, rough tongues obscenely over their teeth. Let them stare at her, the hunger for her body in their eyes tasteless and unrefined. But let that woman look at her again, let her deep blue eyes gently simmer, and her red lips curve ever so slightly…
She danced with renewed ardour, with a fervour that had never gripped her before. It held her tight in its grasp, filling her limbs with liquid heat and stirring something seated deep at her core. She made the silver pole hers, owning it completely, possessing of it selfishly, and using it as it was meant to be: a medium through which to display the rhythmic, powerful sensuality of her body. She set alight her flesh and burned with passion, and soon her skin shimmered with her efforts, crystal drops of moisture beading upon her brow, the cream of her throat, and settling into the valley of her breasts.
She hugged close to the pole, wrapping her thighs and calves around it, rolling her hips as she pressed her veiled sex into it, whispering desire against its warm, gleaming surface with heavy lips. Her eyes were chiefly upon her audience, who were each and all sitting forward, tongues practically lolling and their arousals made evident by tented trousers or pulsing cranial glands. She was putting on quite the show.
But it was not meant for them.
When she dared, the woman looked over to the other, her chest growing tight with hope, her stomach clenching when a pair of blue eyes were not upon her. But on an occasion all too few, she caught her looking, and oh, did something blossom with her.
The furious heat of a billowing fireball.
The pristine, brilliant flash of a dying star.
Something.
And then, as she brought the dance towards its completion, her body slick and aching, the woman not only caught the other looking, but saw her watching. Their eyes met, and suddenly the room was empty, lifeless but for the two of them. She cared not for how it might seem, how her gaze was very pointedly directed across the room and not at the salivating animals in front of her.
The woman at the bar shifted then, her movement small, controlled and almost inconsequential, merely turning slightly so that she better faced the podium. In comparison, the woman dancing now for an audience of one had succumbed wholly to the implacable heat of her passion. The air about her seemed to shimmer as her hands traced bold paths along her lush form. She blurred a line in reality with her body, her skin flushed with warmth and glistening with sparkling drops of sweat.
Her torso and hips undulated in deep, slow motions as she leaned backwards into the air, balancing herself with a single hand upon the pole. She gazed at the woman watching her, hearing and acknowledging the murmur of yearning deep within her core. She breathed hard with exertion but her body refused to falter, not when it was at last allowed to truly embody the fires of a desire that was neither cheap nor manufactured.
The air between was charged, so much so that that the patrons passing between their lines of sight felt their flesh tingle. The woman pulled herself back up towards the pole and then stepped around it, dropping swift and suddenly into a wide squat. With unequivocal delight, she saw the eyes of her audience fall ever so slightly, rising slowly and studying every inch of her form. That was the touch she desired, that simple caress of true appreciation that made her feel not just wanted, but needed.
She titled back her head and hooded her eyes, parting and puckering her lips to release a gentle puff of air. Her back curved, and her breasts strained against the straps of her braces. Silken fingers were pushed along her spread thighs towards her knees, and when she reached them, she slowly pushed her legs closed. As she rose to her feet, hands tracing the swell of her hips, she was rewarded with the small, knowing curve of a mouth shimmering with promises.
The woman did well to disguise her shiver. The hum of anticipation throughout her body was intoxicating, tracking the curve of her spine and splintering in a thousand directions. It took a great deal of effort to turn her gaze back to those clamouring around the edge of the platform. She was not sorry to leave them behind. She turned her back, her steps dainty, light, and yet sensual, the sashay of her hips and the glistening plane of her back meant only for one.
She could feel that woman's gaze upon her, blue eyes deep with secrets weighted with want. She could feel an almost physical tug on her body, as though the woman's unabashed desire were a force with such mass that it bent all natural laws to her will. She had given herself to it already; there was no question, no intent to struggle against that which she had no hope of resisting. She gave up the burden of choice freely, and her heart sighed with relief as the weight was lifted.
The woman vanished through the curtains at the back of the stage and re-emerged from a side door tucked away near the bar several minutes later. As she hoped – and expected – the other was still sitting there, waiting for her. The glass she had nursed was empty but for softened cubes of ice and droplets of melt-water. The woman, now with a dark jacket wrapped comfortably around her body, occupied a stool beside her.
"Want another?" she asked, gesturing towards the empty glass.
Her companion for the evening shook her head, smiling. "I'm good. You go ahead."
So she did. She ordered something strong. The barkeep sat it down before her and she had it in her hands, no longer gloved, not a moment later. Her tongue and throat burned as the dark liquid slipped between her lips.
"What's your name?" the woman asked her.
She smirked a little at that. "They call me Princess," she answered. "Come closer, Princess! Shake those tatas, Princess! Es'tar om'hur, Ah'mir!"
It was the woman's turn to smirk. "Goombaas, huh."
"Goombaas," Princess agreed, taking another pull on her drink. "How about you?"
The woman's smile returned, small and soft. "Call me Sam."
"Sam," Princess echoed, tasting the name and enjoying the way it rolled easily off her tongue. That would help later on, when she only had the strength to gasp and whisper. "I like it."
"I'm glad," Sam replied, watching her intently, curiously, and Princess looked away after a few moments, turning her gaze to her drink. To try and meet the woman's eyes for too long was akin to staring directly into a source of bright light. She blinked the glare from the edges of her vision.
It was as she brought the glass to her lips another time that the Princess realised her hand was trembling, very slightly. She lowered it carefully, releasing the glass and pulling her arm in towards her chest. She breathed slow and deeply, trying to restore order to the pounding within her chest. When she felt ready, Princess turned back to the woman, fashioning a playful curve of her mouth.
"I saw you watching me," she told her, a hint of a challenge in her tone.
Sam neither blinked nor looked away. "I liked what I saw," she replied lightly.
The woman leaned towards her then, and lowered her voice a fraction when she spoke, making her next words private, personal, and the meanings enfolded within them meant only for the ears of the Princess.
"I'd like to see some more."
And then Sam straightened her back, her smile slanted as she rocked her glass of melting ice gently from side to side.
Princess swallowed, warm and tight beneath her jacket. "Why didn't you come over?" she asked in a silken breath. "I think you might've liked the view."
Even as she spoke and before the woman could answer her, Princess felt a heavy arm settle upon her shoulders. Her face twisted as a musky scent overtook her senses, powerful and reeking.
"Hey baby," a deep, warbling voice crept into her ear, the arm pulling her towards its owner as he spoke. She hunched her shoulders and shrunk, distaste rising to claim her features. She began to turn as the creature continued speaking. "How's about we -?"
Sam coughed. That was all. She coughed, and the voice fell silent.
Princess did not look behind her; her eyes were fixed on the woman in front of her. She felt the heavy arm slide away, felt the presence of the creature to which it belonged making itself scarce. And all that Sam had done was cough, cough and arm her gaze with an almost imperceptible cold edge, one that melted away in the instant that she turned her eyes back to the Princess.
"I don't like to share," the woman answered her question.
After a long moment, Princess pushed back her stool and stood to her feet. "Bathroom," she announced simply, pointing in its direction as she gave an apologetic smile. The barkeep seemed to glance up at the sound of her voice, though she did not try to find his gaze. Sam's mouth merely curved.
The door was emblazoned with a small neon image of a human woman on her hands and knees, purple locks splayed in the air and frozen in time. Princess pushed through into the room beyond, the click of comparatively shorter heels filling the cold space from corner to corner. Her patience was not put to the test. Before she could even check if they would be alone, though perhaps it would have made little difference, the toilet door was pushed open again, and then Sam was upon her.
With strength that she could not hope to resist, Sam pressed her backwards until they met the wall. A long grey shelf into which was built several sink units jutted out into the room at her left side, and at the angle which Sam settled against her, the Princess could feel its edge against her hip. The woman's fingers had closed around her wrist, and her arm was pinned to the cool tiles beside her head. Sam's accompanying hand was at her cheek, tilting her face upwards as she leaned over her.
Now that the woman was on her feet, she realised how tall she was. Not only that, but Sam was heavy, her body packed with muscle that had learned long ago to fight a stronger degree of gravity. Princess hardly had the room or leverage to wiggle, let alone move, and it seemed that the other woman had forgotten she needed to breathe.
Sam's lips were furious, pressing and pushing against the Princess'. There was nothing delicate about the kiss, soft and gentle proving to be abstract concepts to the woman upon her. It was open-mouthed, hard and selfish. Her lips were breached by a live, powerful tongue in a moment, the muscle piercing her mouth and sweeping into the domain of her own. Dominating and possessive, Princess' tongue was lashed into submission, made meek in its own abode. It lay docile and quivering as Sam's roved from the roof of her mouth to the back of her gums, tasting and exploring every last inch it could find.
Her chest was growing tight, in desperate need of air. She lifted her right hand and tried to squeeze it between their bodies, the woman's taut, toned stomach pressed flush against the front of her jacket. But the moment the tips of her fingers met flesh, Sam's hand shot down and grabbed her wrist. Her lips and tongue retreated, and Princess looked up to see threads of shadow stitched across the woman's expression, her mouth seeming to twist with the hint of a snarl, and in that moment she understood.
She was standing in the presence of divinity, and how could she even think herself worthy to lay her hands upon this goddess of a woman? How could she even think to complain or resist, even in the face of her breath being utterly stolen in a moment of self-indulgent hunger? How many would give up their wealth, their sanity, their very lives, to be where she stood, to be the subject of desire for such a perfect, flawless being?
Princess swallowed; she understood. Yes, she understood. But as the woman's deep blue eyes bored into hers and she began to lean forwards with parting lips, the Princess grew defiant. She had been owned and claimed for long enough. Here and now, even in this small, meaningless moment, she resolved to belong only to herself.
Her first act of defiance was to pull Sam's lower lip between her teeth as she was kissed. The woman growled softly as though in warning, but though her heart pounded fearfully, Princess did not relent. She let her teeth sink into the flesh of the full lip captured between them. She traced the indents of their shape afterwards with her tongue. Slowly, she felt Sam's mouth curve into a smile. Emboldened, Princess pulled her hand away from the wall. It rose to the woman's cheek, drawing her mouth down to hers. She accepted Sam's weight, rather than have it forced upon her, and though the woman was still heavy, the distinction made all the difference to her.
Sam's freed hand lowered to the zipper of her jacket and worked it open in one smooth movement. After that, she could enjoy the warmth and tautness of the woman's skin, pressed against hers. She curved her spine, pushing herself further into the woman's body, as though wishing to imprint the etched lines of her abdomen upon her own. The once forceful kiss lost none of its intensity, but now they were both agents in the activity, tasting, touching and moaning.
It was the Princess who was moaning, as she felt Sam's large hand push beneath the open flaps of her jacket and rise to cup her breast. Nonchalantly pulling aside the strap of her braces, she kneaded the round mound of flesh hard. The mildest sting of discomfort oddly seemed to give flavour to each subsequent pleasurable pulse, stirring liquid heat that brought warmth to her flesh. When Sam's fingers made the discovery of her hardening nipple, Princess gasped loudly, the sharp sound of her voice sending shivers up the length of her spine.
Revelling still in her defiance, the Princess pushed her hand into the long golden locks that fell forward to brush along her cheeks. She tangled her fingers in it, finding the woman's hair to be thick and yet akin to finely spun silk, soft to the touch. She moaned at how good it felt in her grip, and then she used that grip to draw Sam away from her lips. The woman hissed softly at the force with which Princess pulled her. She titled her head, seductively hooding her eyes as Sam met them.
"You're treading on dangerous ground," the woman murmured, pinching and pulling the stiff nub of flesh at the peak of her breast.
Princess pulled her own lip between her teeth, eyes flicking upwards. "I can't say I'm not used to it," she breathed, and then she brought her mouth up to the exposed skin of Sam's throat.
She suckled there, smiling against the moistened skin when she felt Sam's throat pulse, and then again when the hand still trapping her right arm in place released her, rising to push its fingers into the Princess' short locks. She winced and then laughed lightly as she was pulled backwards in similar fashion, her mouth slanting with amusement. Sam regarded her only for a moment, before dipping to find the pulse of life at her neck. Princess expelled a soft moan as the woman's hot and open-mouthed kiss blazed a trail upon her flesh. Her fingers, still wrapped in golden hair, pressed Sam closer, and then she turned her gaze to the left, watching their melding forms in the gleaming silver surface that stretched along the wall above the sinks.
She watched herself gasp, her back curving as she felt teeth scraping along her flesh. A tongue lapped at the indents that marked her shoulder afterward, soothing the momentary sting. The hand at her breast fell away then, hooking behind her knee and drawing her left leg up into the air. Sam lifted her head as she planted the Princess' foot onto the shelf beside them, eyes gleaming as they dropped to the parting of her thighs. Without preamble, the woman's hand moved towards the lace panties that obstructed her entrance. Princess caught her wrist just before she reached it.
"Not here," she said.
Sam looked at her with a raised eyebrow and light smile. "I wouldn't think it would bother you, now especially."
Princess lowered her leg from the shelf, pushing away from the wall and forcing the woman to take a step backwards. "There are some things I'd prefer not to share," she whispered.
The cubicle door banged open and then shut, only a moment spared to slide its uneven lock into place. Afterwards, once Princess had propped her foot against the edge of the toilet seat, Sam's hand dove impatiently into her panties. Bracing herself with a hand against the cubicle wall beside the Princess' head, the woman sought her moist, aching entrance and sank a pair of long digits into her.
Princess groaned, penetrated swift and hard. Sam's fingers reached deep inside her, and then began to curl experimentally, seeking every secret the Princess had to hide. She shuddered with each one that was discovered, her head falling forward like a heavy weight as the woman drove into her. She mewled in disappointment when she felt Sam's strong fingers slip out of her, trailing wetly against her skin before being brought up to the woman's inspection. She looked up to see those fingers glistening wetly with her excitement, and Sam turned her wrist with an amused, fascinated expression upon her face.
After a moment, she brought the tips of her digits to the point of her tongue, its single flick slow and elaborate before being drawn back into its abode. Sam's eyelids fell then, and contentment brought a grin to her lips. She hummed appreciatively, and then pushed her fingers into her mouth, tongue working enthusiastically to lap up every last drop of the Princess' essence.
"You taste so good," the woman murmured when she had finished.
Princess felt the warmth clinging to her cheeks, her gaze flitting away in a moment of awkwardness. Sam laughed softly, leaning forward and turning her face with the same pair of fingers at her jaw. She let the Princess taste herself, allowing her to work her tongue into her mouth and explore. Princess barely felt the woman's hand near her chest, unfastening the thin buckles that held her braces tight and in place. They simultaneously sprang upwards and curled down towards her thighs as they were loosened one after the other.
"Hold on to me," Sam suggested then, purring against her parted lips.
Princess took her advice as the woman sank, tracing her hands along the line of her waist and stomach as she squatted in front of her. The cubicle was a narrow space, and Sam leaned her back against the opposite wall as her fingers hooked beneath the edge of the Princess' panties. The wall groaned in complaint as Sam settled her weight against it, and for a moment Princess worried that she would topple it and the entire cubicle altogether. That concern melted away when the woman exposed her sex to the cool air and the lashing of her tongue.
"Sam."
Before she was fully aware of it, her fingers were entwined in the woman's golden locks. At first, she combed through them, loving how soft and smooth the hair felt against her skin. But then, as Sam pushed her tongue into her intimate depths, the muscle probing and curling, the Princess' fingers tightened, gripping hard as ecstasy overtook her. And then she was groaning with wanton delight, eyes screwed shut as her lips shivered in the wake of each cry.
Oh. Oh. Oh.
Her pleasure was beginning to crest, the waves rolling higher and higher as her body thrummed powerfully. Her hips moved of their own accord, grinding her sex against Sam's face, her hands pushing down on the back of her head when her lips rose fractionally to envelope the small, glistening pebble of pink flesh. Her back arched, vision swimming as her legs threatened to give, each explorative moment of Sam's tongue sapping away her strength.
"Sam," Princess moaned the woman's name, chanting it like a prayer. But just as she lifted her eyes and stars begin to sparkle at the edges of her sight, she felt a sudden absence of the woman's touch. In a cruel move, her heat was left to simmer as it dwelt just within reach of that glorious crest, and the Princess did not understand.
"Sam?" she breathed, confusion flooding into her voice. The woman easily overcame the strength of her hands and straightened. "I'm so close," Princess whispered. "Please."
The woman's only response was to pull the Princess' foot away from the toilet seat, afterwards dropping the lid before casually sitting herself down. Princess turned to follow her movements, desperation clawing at the beating heart in her chest. Sam lifted her eyes to her, and with them beckoned.
Princess fell shamelessly into her lap, straddling the thick, muscled thighs that easily bore her weight. Her fingers found the jawline of the woman between them, and she brought her mouth down upon those red, full lips. Her naked breasts spilled from the open flaps of her jacket, stiffened buds brushing along the dark fabric of Sam's top. She moaned deep and needy into their kiss when she felt a hand slip beneath her lace panties.
"Do you want this?" the woman asked, eyes piercing into hers with such lustful intensity. Princess nodded, her breath heavy as the tips of two fingers teased her. "Then work for it," she heard. "I want to watch you."
The Princess was gasping moments later. Her voice was locked tight in her throat, a suffocating force wrapping her wholly in its pleasurable embrace. She needed to scream and shout, and yet she couldn't. Every inch of her being was on fire, every nerve ending blistering white-hot with electricity. She rocked her hips, feeling the long fingers of Sam's hand churning the hot passage of her sex. Their kiss was chaotic, mouths loud and wetly explored with ferocious tongues, and lips pulled and nipped by teeth. And when the height of her pleasure finally came, blasting apart all her remaining sensibilities, Princess fell forwards onto the woman's chest with a shuddering cry. And there, she wept.
Her tears flowed thick and freely, trailing paths down her cheeks and splashing the woman's top. Her body shivered with pleasure and something more, and all the Princess could do was clutch the woman's hand at her waist for support, lest she crumble and collapse entirely.
"Hush," Sam said quietly, her tone not unkind.
"I'm sorry," Princess murmured, lifting a hand to brush at the corners of her eyes.
The woman lifted her own hand to her face, and with the edge of her thumb caught the crystal droplets Princess had missed. Sam curved strong arms around her lower back afterwards, her skin warm against the Princess' beneath her jacket, and drew her intimately against her body. She looped her own arms over Sam's shoulders, and leaned forward to steal a soft kiss. As they parted, the woman spoke.
"You know who I am, don't you, Peach?"
She slowly let her eyes fall, exhaling tiredly.
"Only the best of them," Peach answered reluctantly, "the cold and ruthless queen." Her lips curved then, but her smile was empty of humour. "Sam," she said with the hint of a snort, "how creative."
The woman chuckled quietly. "I can be creative where it counts, no?"
"I suppose," Peach replied. "Then again, a name like yours isn't something you need to hide, is it?"
"What is my name, Princess?" the woman asked with a curious tone.
Peach chose to steal another kiss rather than answer that question, the truth locked in her throat. The woman did not deny her her lips, and a bead of moisture was gently transferred between their lashes in that quiet, blissful moment.
"Samus Aran," Peach whispered when they drew apart.
"You knew, and yet you did not try to run."
"From you?" Peach said sardonically. "What would be the point?"
The bounty hunter smiled. "This is a much more agreeable alternative to my chasing you, I will admit."
Despite herself, Peach laughed, but it was a joyless sound and dwindled to silence soon afterwards.
"I'm tired of running, tired of hiding," she spoke quietly, holding the bounty hunter's eyes. "The moment I saw you, Samus, I knew it was over."
The woman remained silent as Peach brought a hand to her cheek, fingers lightly tracing the pronounced line of her cheekbones. Afterwards, they dipped to the corner of her mouth, following the curve of her lower lip until they reached its centre. Peach gently parted the bounty hunter's lips and leaned forward once more, enjoying a long, final kiss. The woman's hands ran upwards along the curved plane of her back, warm and comforting. Peach siphoned a little strength from them, and when she drew away, she asked: "Are you here to kill me, or bring me back to him?"
"He expressly denied me permission to kill you," Samus answered, "no matter how much trouble you might have caused me."
Peach smirked. "What a hypocrite."
"One who pays well."
Peach released a shuddering breath. "I hate him."
The bounty hunter made no reply.
Peach leaned her brow against Samus', her eyes falling shut. "Can I ask a favour of you?"
"That depends on the nature of said favour."
"Kill me instead," Peach whispered. "It would be better, for everyone."
"Lord Bowser is notoriously unkind to those who dishonour their agreements with him," the bounty hunter said.
Peach laughed softly, letting the darkness of her own making encompass her. "You're Samus Aran."
"I am," she agreed. And then, after a thick moment of silence: "And that is why I took interest in another contract on my way to find you, Princess. From a man who would only refer to himself as 'M'."
Peach opened her eyes. Her breath was caught in her chest, her ears hardly daring to believe what they had thought to have heard.
"'M'?" she repeated weakly.
"I don't know from where or how he managed to acquire the kind of money it takes to capture my attention," the bounty hunter said, "but I tend not to burden myself with such questions. Truthfully, Princess, the amount was not enough to outweigh that which Bowser offered me. Sometimes, however, I am reminded of my humanity."
Samus looked straight at her then, unblinking and unsmiling. "I am in no particular need of money, right now. What is at stake is my reputation. That, I think you would agree, is worth much more, yes? It is, to put it politely, bad manners to shirk one contract in favour of another. Still…"
Peach dared to hope; she knew it was foolish and yet she did so anyway. She had not the strength or pride to attempt to veil that hope in her eyes as she gazed into the bounty hunter's, pleading in desperate silence. Samus lifted a hand then, and placed the tip of a finger upon her stomach.
"It has been a long and interesting evening, Peach. I have spent the better part of it wondering which contract I should fulfil."
Peach waited, only the mere wisp of a breath escaping her lips as she watched intensely the woman's contemplative expression. And then she felt her finger begin to move, tracing a line downwards. That same finger rose again to the top of that invisibly drawn line, and Peach waited. She was barely able to keep herself from trembling as the bounty hunter's finger remained still, and her deep blue eyes subtly narrowed. And when she moved again, tracing a short line that slanted down in the direction of Peach's navel, the princess had no strength left to hold back her tears.
"Thank you," she whispered as Samus finished drawing the 'M' upon her flesh. "Thank you."
"Hush, now," the woman told her again, smiling gently. "I am cold and ruthless only to those I call enemy, never to those I call friend."
"Thank you," was all Peach could say. She embraced the bounty hunter, arms tight around her neck, and her face pressed into her shoulder. Samus held her in return until the joyful sobs that rocked her body subsided.
"Listen," Samus said, lifting her face with a hand at her chin. "We must leave now, and quickly. I suspect that Bowser will have hired others to retrieve you."
"He doubts you?" Peach said, her tone flavoured with surprise as she rose a little unsteadily to her feet.
"Perhaps not," Samus replied. "He is simply obsessed with you. I do hope your 'M' knows what he is doing."
"I should hire you myself," Peach said then, her lips curving warmly, "for added protection."
The bounty hunter smiled in return as she pulled open the cubicle door.
"Let's discuss the details back on my ship," she offered, afterwards sweeping her arm low in elaborate fashion, the gesture accompanied by a small incline of her head.
"After you, Princess."
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One Last Dance