LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

Poker Face

merrykk

Title: Poker Face

Pairing: Kahlan/Dahlia

Rating: R

Length: 2800

Spoilers: post-Tears

Summary: While on an undercover mission, Kahlan doesn’t have many options, but even if she did this role calls to her.

Notes: For Porn Battle X ( http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/30726.html ), prompt “covert”. Slight AU where Eternity never happened but Dahlia was still a Mord’Sith.

Poker Face

merrykk

Kahlan breathed out as Cara tightened the laces at her back, and put a hand to her breasts as she felt the leather fit against them like a wet shift. Her heartbeat was already pulsing at the collared armor high around her neck, just above normal. With her dark hair pulled back in a tight braid and her body poured into the maroon leather that Cara usually displayed, with the former Mord’Sith kneeling at her feet as she tried to hide how the leather was a little short, it was anything but fear making her heart race.

Cara, wearing one of Kahlan’s travel dresses, rose to her feet wiping her hands together and raising her eyebrows. There was just a hint of appreciation there that didn’t help the heated feeling in Kahlan’s cheeks, as the blonde said, “I’ll admit—I’d find this enterprise more comfortable if the wizard just spelled me a disguise, no matter how dangerous.” Her green eyes met Kahlan’s as she slid an agiel into the sheath at the belt the Mother Confessor now wore. “But I’ve heard from Richard you’ve performed this role before.”

“Just long enough to confess the right man,” Kahlan said, raising her hand to tuck hair behind her ear just as she realized that there was no way to do it, not with every strand contained in the long plait down her back. Her hand dropped to her side, her stance tightening.

Cara gave her a firm look. “The jewel will be in the lowest dungeon of the temple. The others will not know its powers, so there will be no particular guard. Simply refuse to answer questions, state that you are there on Rahl’s orders…”

She made it sound so simple. “But I am not in authority,” Kahlan said with a frown. “If I’m approached—”

“Take control,” Cara said. “You are not from their temple, and you have a mission from Lord Rahl himself, and you may use both those.” Despite the gravity of the mission, and the reasonable fear of failure that Kahlan possessed, Cara smirked just slightly and continued, “You are not Kahlan. You are Mistress…call yourself Mistress Karla. Believe it.”

For the sake of their need, Kahlan shut her eyes and tried to dissolve into the leather. Powers thrust under a thick curtain of control and body held tightly by this symbol of dark sisterhood, the gloved hands were the most potent reminder of how much they were not Confessors. Kahlan found the pain of her past and took it to heart, just for today, letting it feed the strain of power that normally she cast aside. She had done this once—she could do it again. It frightened her to think that she might pull it off.

A slap to her face caught her before she had opened her mind again, and the sting of it shot an impulse to her fist, and before she’d found herself she backhanded Cara with a hiss. Cara’s head was tossed to the side, and when she popped back up with a half grin, there was a tiny split in her lip.

“Cara—” Kahlan started, slightly horrified.

“You do get into the part,” Cara said, dabbing her finger at her lip. “Good. Because you must survive, Kahlan.”

The concern in Cara’s eyes soothed over Kahlan’s last cautions, as she clenched her hands into fists at her side and felt her pulse become steady. “I’ll be fine,” she said out loud. Then, curling her lip, “You don’t dare doubt me, do you?”

Cara met her eyes with sharp honesty, and yet just a little mix of caution and amusement behind it. “I would not, Mistress Karla.”

* * * * *

Mistress Dahlia stood at the gates as the lone horse rode in, the tall dark-haired sister astride it one she hadn’t ever seen before. She dismounted with a grace more than a power, but her long stride up to the doors of Jandralen Temple held all the stalking that Dahlia had come to expect from any sister not under her direct authority. Her eyes were cold blue as she approached Dahlia, and the Mord’Sith noted the porcelain and iron qualities to her face.

“What brings you here?” Dahlia asked, hips slightly canted where she stood in a mockingly relaxed fashion. “We had no word in the journey books.”

“Mistress Karla,” the newcomer said, with the hint of a dry smile. “From Lord Rahl himself, on a personal mission. He saw no purpose in spreading information that only I need know.” If there was a slight twitch in Mistress Karla’s lower lip, her eyes did not reveal it, meeting Dahlia’s straight on. Almost, it read as condescending amusement.

Dahlia raised an eyebrow. The tension was not unfamiliar, especially as she was hardly a renowned leader among Mord’Sith leaders, and so for the moment she played the game. Submission and dominance were passing things, each easily toyed with. She dropped her eyes, let Lord Rahl’s choice among the sisters pass through the gates unhindered.

There weren’t many in the temple, but they all turned their heads as Dahlia and Mistress Karla walked in. The new mistress, back surprisingly tight, barely gave eye contact before wheeling on one tall heel to gaze down at Dahlia. “I did mention ’personal’, did I not? Lord Rahl’s business will not take me long.”

“Of course,” Dahlia offered, face blank. Intrigued, she watched the newcomer walk off. She had the confident step, the high neck, the disregard for any eyes on her. But Dahlia did notice that there was no sway to her hips, and wondered.

With sharp eyes, following ’Karla’ from a distance, she wondered.

* * * * *

It was almost refreshing to walk through a place and not be treated like a frightening novelty. Most of the Mord’Sith barely gave Kahlan a glance, a few bore a look as if she was a long-absent relative, none grew tense or aggressive. She held her head high as she descended the long stairs to the dungeon here, her self-control keeping her from looking too closely at all around her. There was a reckless tension here, where nothing was quite off limits, and while she did not wear her Confessor identity Kahlan was drawn to it. Freedom teased dangerously at her deepest desires.

Heart pounding so that it would have been obvious without her high collar, Kahlan found what she was looking for at last. The room was not locked; only Mord’Sith were allowed freely around the temples, and the bond of sisterhood bore no distrust. Fingers only slightly trembling, Kahlan opened the gate. It was dark inside and a little musty, and the faint iron smell in the air might have been from the grates or blood, Kahlan couldn’t tell.

The multitudes of objects were not organized in any fashion that Kahlan could see. Stolen from slaves, pets, fallen enemies, and random raids alike, most were worthless. But just in case Lord Rahl knew better, they were all stored for future reference. Nearly ten minutes passed for Kahlan to find the large fake-looking jewel that Richard needed to restore the safety to a spelled D’Haran village. The flattish blue stone just fit in the pocket in her leathers, and breathing out a slight sigh, Kahlan turned to finish the mission.

She’d barely taken four steps away when a cool voice stopped her. “Well, Karla.”

Hoping her flinch wasn’t visible, Kahlan turned to see Dahlia leaning lightly against the spiral staircase leading out of the dungeon. A dry smirk graced the other Mord’Sith’s pomegranate lips and gave away nothing. “Mistress Karla,” Kahlan corrected without pause.

“No, not that,” Dahlia countered, walking forward with long and easy steps. Her eyes held Kahlan’s like dark blue diamonds, and for a second Kahlan didn’t know what to say. Dahlia’s hand came up and pulled at the buckle on Kahlan’s collar, forcing a little sway into her tight stance. “You’re no mistress.”

Frozen where she stood, the thought danced across Kahlan’s mind that maybe she could use the agiel to escape. But she’d never been able to touch the weapon without the agony overwhelming all else, and she needed every fiber of control now. She didn’t move a muscle, gazing into Dahlia’s eyes. “You dare question me?” she asked in a low voice.

“You dared enter my temple in a disguise you’re not worthy for,” Dahlia said smoothly back, tugging a little more on the buckle, forcing Kahlan’s rod-straight stance to stoop a little.

Kahlan had to drop her eyes before she revealed everything. Heart racing like a horse, she knew she was finished if things didn’t go precisely according to good luck, and focused on keeping her breathing from growing frantic. Dahlia was just one Mord’Sith, just like Denna had been, just like Cara was. Until the whole temple was alerted, Kahlan had an advantage that this other woman couldn’t know about.

“You’re not dead yet, I hope you’ve noticed,” Dahlia said, voice chill. She waited for Kahlan’s eyes to rise again before continuing, “I have to know, Karla, where you got the leathers. The agiel. How did you get your hands on them?”

Even if she’d had her Confessor powers on at full, Kahlan could not have read a Mord’Sith, but she didn’t need to. There was a disturbing respect in Dahlia’s face—not a kindly one, but that for a worthy enemy. Lips tight, Kahlan went for an answer that she hoped came across as straight. “She’d been confessed in battle.”

A small smile threaded across Dahlia’s lips. She didn’t move, just glanced down Kahlan’s form and back up again. “You’re very confident. It took me a while to discover what exactly you were lacking. But—I’ve rarely been quite so impressed, so I don’t think I’ll hand you over for punishment.”

Kahlan didn’t relax a muscle, or even let out her breath, as she murmured the only words she knew would be appropriate. “Thank you, mistress.” Her gloves made confession impossible even if she could find a way to do it without attracting the entire temple. Her body ached with tension, and she cursed herself for overconfidence.

A brief moment passed in which Kahlan thought Dahlia would draw her agiel. But instead, the barest of smirks marked her lips as she said, “You’re too much of a bother to detain, and too cocky to let go. Well, Karla, that only leaves one solution.” Her smile spread. “Submit to me, and I’ll let you go without a word.”

Kahlan’s intake of breath was like a gasp as she froze in place, unprepared. There wasn’t so much menace in Dahlia’s words as there was challenge, a sort of toying amusement. So far she had fooled Dahlia into thinking she wasn’t worth any attention other than this trifle. What Kahlan could feel deep in her heart, though, was that it was true for all practical purposes. Underestimated or not, this was the one chance Kahlan had of making her way free.

Dahlia’s expression held, expectant and in control, and wanting only one thing. There was no twitch in her body, just the hum of anticipation. For the mission’s sake, Kahlan brought herself into another role, and chose the easy way out. Dropping to her knees before Dahlia and lowering her eyes, she took a deep breath and reached for the laces at Dahlia’s waist.

“Good, you’re not ignorant,” Dahlia purred, as Kahlan stripped the leather down.

Her mouth had gone dry with the intensity of what she was doing, giving in to a Mord’Sith of all people. But Dahlia’s thighs were soon warm and bare beneath her fingertips, as Kahlan knelt and tried to breathe steadily, realizing now just what this was. Cara had spoken of dichotomy, of each Mord’Sith as both master and slave, relishing in both. Kahlan had never willingly gone to her knees, and couldn’t have imagined Cara doing so either. Until now. She thought of what Cara had mentioned of her past, and suddenly in her mind she saw Cara kneeling before Denna, pleasing a mistress greater than her.

The image wrapped around her mind, and Kahlan was caught in it, fascinated, and the warm musk of Dahlia sent an unwanted rush through her body. Danger added a deadly thrill, and Kahlan was not relaxed at all, but she knew what she was doing when she leaned in and pressed her lips against Dahlia’s folds. Soft, submissive, pleasing.

Dahlia shifted silently, spreading her legs as much as possible as she stood. Kahlan brushed her thumbs along Dahlia’s inner thighs, focusing on only this moment, only this terrifying intoxicating necessary moment for survival. She let her tongue brush out at Dahlia’s already-swollen clit, tasted Dahlia on her tongue. Dahlia’s breath was like a hiss, her thighs clenching, and then Kahlan was in.

She buried her face in Dahlia, tongue lapping, lips caressing. Kahlan understood giving pleasure, and it was almost satisfaction to hear even Dahlia moan softly as Kahlan’s tongue delved deep, sweet juices flooding her tongue. Adrenaline coursing through every muscle, Kahlan kissed and suckled and thrust her tongue, exploring Dahlia’s cunt like a long-awaited treasure, completely dissolved into the role she now played. Cara would have been proud.

By the time Dahlia’s breaths came like gasps, hips tipping just slightly into Kahlan’s face, hand reaching down to tangle in Kahlan’s braid, it was no longer worry that made Kahlan find it hard to catch her breath. Release hit Dahlia in a way that Kahlan could taste and feel against her lips and tongue, and she sat back with a shuddering exhale of her own, staring up at the bliss that glorified Dahlia’s face for a moment.

For a second, Kahlan forgot that she’d never been a Mord’Sith glad to be at the feet of her mistress. The next second sent a wrenching confusion and sharp guilt to her mind, that she had to thrust out of the way as Dahlia’s eyes went clear again, and she looked down at the woman still kneeling before her.

“Did I please you?” Kahlan asked, even though she knew the answer.

“You satisfied my need to see your apology for this insolence,” Dahlia said. She wound her hand at the top of Kahlan’s braid and pulled her sharply to her feet. There was nothing but desperate submission in Kahlan as Dahlia yanked her head back, exposing her neck. “You will have two minutes of my tolerance, unless you want to stay for more penance. Simply be glad I recently had another under my hand to soothe my needs.”

As soon as the hand released, Kahlan found herself moving swiftly up the stairs, boots clicking against the stone steps. She didn’t notice if Dahlia followed her; it didn’t matter. Bewildered, she focused on the one fact that her mission was completed, and left the Mord’Sith behind her as she exited the gates and grabbed for her horse. Galloping away to leave the temple behind, she could still taste Dahlia on her tongue.

* * * * *

Cara had been pacing in Kahlan’s impractical dress for hours, wondering not so much why Zedd and Richard were taking so long, and more about Kahlan. Of all her companions, she considered Kahlan the most capable, and yet her worry for the Mother Confessor always struck hardest. It didn’t help that the picture was magnetic, that of Kahlan as a Mord’Sith. Cara didn’t like to admit how much she needed to distract herself from following that thought to a logical conclusion.

When she finally caught sight of Kahlan’s horse approaching, rider looking upright and intact, she realized that she’d been clinging to her agiel. She let it go and breathed out as she saw Kahlan dismount without a hitch. Collecting herself, Cara walked forward, raising an eyebrow to hide her worry and saying, “I’m impressed.”

But when Kahlan’s eyes met hers, chaotically bound by conflicting emotion, Cara had to swallow. A little control, and a little of the immaculate costume, had been lost. Kahlan composed herself quickly with a brief swallow and a relieved smile as she held up the retrieved jewel, and then with a typical Kahlan look, “I need a drink and to get out of these constricting things.”

Yet when the Mother Confessor walked past, at the same moment that Cara saw the slight mess in Kahlan’s braid, the slight breeze wafted an unexpectedly familiar scent to her nostrils. Cara’s breath stuck in her throat as Kahlan walked off, still gleaming perfectly in Cara’s blood-red leather even as her steps were not as assured, a hesitancy in her moves. And she smelled of Dahlia.

Cara shivered, wondered, and knew for a fact that she would never, ever be told for sure about anything.

~ ~ ~