It's well into the early morning hours when the two of you stumble your way back to your room, the ceaseless din of the tavern fading into the background as you close the door behind you. The light is dimmer in here, less candles spread about the surfaces and only a single unlit lantern set upon the bedside table. You dig through your pocket and walk over to the table, pulling out your lighter as you stoop over the lantern and light it (it only takes you three attempts). You see Gates in your peripheral vision, wandering in a not quite so straight line over to the loveseat shoved in the corner. She plops down onto it, setting the bottle of tequila she was clutching onto the floor near the couch's legs. It's already getting close to empty after your earlier festivities.

You pocket your lighter, hearing her exhale slowly. When you turn to face her fully she's leaned back comfortably against the couch with her eyes closed, arms resting along the top cushions and head fallen back. Her mask is still draped over her lower face, but her hat lies abandoned next to her. It's been a long day, the two of you having only just gotten back into port after spending several weeks at sea on a smuggling run that definitely went completely according to plan, thank you very much. It'd taken the rest of the evening to finish your various businesses around town and it wasn't until a little after the twelves that the two of you had actually managed to meet up at the bar.

Your lips turn up in a slight smile as you watch her and after a moment she peeks open an eye in your direction, peering at you with affection-laced derision. She lets out a grumbly little noise and a "What?" and your smile breaks into a lopsided grin. "Nothing," you return, breaking her gaze and moving to sit on the edge of the bed briefly to kick off your boots.

She grumbles again, and you stifle a laugh. You rise back to your feet, wobbling slightly, before padding over to her. She watches you approach with muted interest, and you meet her eyes, making a point not to look away as you climb into her lap and drape your arms over her shoulders. You notice her shiver slightly as you align your hips over hers and grind down almost imperceptibly, her hands instantly dropping down to grab at your hips. You huff out a laugh, pleased and amused. Her eyes narrow and she points her chin up and you breathe out through your nose, your own expression softening. Her pupils are wide as you reach up to her face, gently removing her mask and setting it aside with your right hand as your left drags down until it rests against her collarbone.

You glance back up at her eyes, seeing them alit with the same nervousness that fills them every time she has her mask off, and are suddenly filled with a surge of anger, furious at the mere idea anyone would want to harm her for who she is. You dip your head down, cupping the back of her neck and pressing your forehead to her's for only a moment before shifting to gently press your lips against her cheeks. You hear a quiet, choked noise lodge in Gates' throat at the contact, so soft you almost missed it, and you hum in response, kissing soft reassurances against the ragged skin. You drag your lips along her jaw and she tilts her chin up further, letting you dip down to press open-mouthed kisses against her throat.

Her nails dig into your hips as you suck a mark into the hollow of her throat, nipping softly at the bruise before soothing over it with your tongue, her breath stuttering. You've always loved how easily her skin blooms purple beneath your teeth. You feel her pulse beneath your lips, feel her blood pumping hot and frantic just under her skin and you wonder briefly what it would be like to taste it. Her hands leave your hips and you pull back from her throat to watch her tug at your belt and sash, pulling them off and letting them fall to the floor before reaching for your shirt to fumble with the buttons. Her brow is furrowed slightly but her eyes are dark, and she pushes the fabric off your shoulders, leaving you in your bra.