[Final Fantasy XII] On Easy Terms
Characters/Pairings: Drace/Gabranth
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Non-explicit sex, spoilers (Up to the Salikawood)
Notes: ~2900 words. A thousand thanks as ever to first_seventhe for the beta. This was for the spring round of het_challenge. Yes, I am slow to repost.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII belongs to Square Enix. I own neither the characters nor the setting, nor do I gain any profit from my fanfiction, which is purely for my own enjoyment.
Summary: Gabranth dislikes the layers and complications of any interaction with a native Archadian, but occasionally it's worth it.
He has been some years in Archades now, but he thinks sometimes he will never grow used to the layers upon layers of meaning that native Archadians pile upon each statement. In legal and martial matters, he is confident; the law is beautiful in its clarity, and he knows his own skills and limits with the heavy double blades and thick plate armour. Conversation makes him flounder and wonder, sometimes, if perhaps he might not have done better to follow his twin into another of the smaller nations that struggle to stay outside Archadian borders. He socializes as little as possible given the demands of his office. Even the other Judges have agendas in every word they speak, couching offers of aid or implicit threats in layers of image and metaphor. It is to be expected, for he guards the one third in line for the imperial throne.
Judge Drace speaks little, and it is that which draws him to her in the beginning; when she speaks, it is curt and brusque, focused on the realities of their assignment. She speaks as she fights, straightforward and direct, yet he does not doubt that were she called to, she could be as subtle as any of their ilk. He hears in the barracks many remarks about the lady Judge; some few are complimentary, but for the rest, he would have broken the nose of any man of Landis who spoke thus about a woman in his hearing.
For all her curt manner with the Judges, she is patient with Lord Larsa, though she never speaks down to him or coddles him. It seems strange to Gabranth that Archadia treats her children as adults, but it is not his place to dispute it. Then again, Lord Larsa is a solemn child, clever and perceptive far in advance of his years.
He is seated next to Lord Larsa, across from Drace as she sets out chess pieces on the table. Lord Larsa watches the board and counts the pretty onyx and ivory pieces, his brow furrowed with concentration. Gabranth finds such precocity mildly unsettling, but he supposes it is a good thing for a potential Imperial heir.
For himself, Gabranth watches Drace. She has set aside her helm, as has he, though they both wear the remainder of their armour. Her expression is serene as she finishes placing the pieces on the chessboard and begins to explain their names and abilities to Lord Larsa. Gabranth listens carefully, for as his father once told him, you can learn a great deal about a man (or a woman) by playing a game of chess and seeing where her priorities lie.
"For myself," she tells Lord Larsa, "I prefer a subtle opening move. I tend to a defensive style to leave myself as many options as possible. Judge Gabranth prefers to go on the offensive from the first, though he holds back enough pieces to build an effective defense. You must decide for yourself what you prefer."
"Judge Drace has given you the white pieces," Gabranth tells his charge, "and thus the first move is yours."
"Yes," Lord Larsa says, "I gathered as much from her explanation. I prefer you do not assist me save that I ask for it, Judge Gabranth."
Lord Larsa has ever been stubborn. Gabranth sits back in his chair and watches Drace, who is studying the board as Lord Larsa's fingertips hover over his pieces, moving here and there as he considers his move. She prefers such games of intellect and strategy, he has found, for there she is always on equal footing with the other Judges; she is not hampered by her slighter frame.
Lord Larsa moves his first pawn, and the game begins in earnest. Drace moves her pieces into a stronger defense than usual; she is playing conservatively to give Lord Larsa time to adapt to the rules of the game. From time to time her gaze crosses Gabranth's, and he sees somewhat in her eyes; a challenge, perhaps, or an invitation.
"You are holding back," Lord Larsa says abruptly, studying Drace's pieces. "I pray you do not; I shall not learn if you treat me as a child."
"You will learn as much from overcoming a good defense as you would evading a strong offense," Drace replies. "Playing against Judge Gabranth will teach you the latter. I wish to teach you the former." She is looking at the young prince, but Gabranth has the feeling she speaks to him instead. "There are ways round any defense if you are determined enough to find them."
The faint frown this statement evokes is reminiscent of Emperor Gramis's expression when he is faced with a thorny political problem. Lord Larsa studies the board intently. "Judge Gabranth," he says after a moment, "I would have you advise me."
"Do you wish advice for a specific move, Lord Larsa, or do you prefer I speak in general terms?" Gabranth looks at the array of pieces. Lord Larsa has spread his forces thin and has lost some of his pawns, but the stronger pieces still stand. Drace, for her part, has arranged her pieces in such fashion as to be nigh-impenetrable, but no defense is perfect.
"Both." He pushes back loose strands of dark hair. From his expression, he might have been twenty years older and examining a battle map.
"In general terms," Gabranth says, "your first moves are important because they set the expectation for how you will play the match. As you see, Judge Drace has created a powerful defense for herself. Your first moves were oriented more toward an attack. Yet you need not always begin as you mean to go on. You might attempt to draw her out with quick strikes, or you might withdraw and regroup."
"There is much to be said for setting an expectation and then doing something entirely opposite." Drace moves her rook to take a white knight, and Lord Larsa grimaces. "Keeping your opponent off-balance often works to your advantage, though it requires significantly more flexibility on your part."
Gabranth points to a white bishop. Lord Larsa holds up his hand in silence and studies the board. After a moment, he moves his queen to take Drace's knight.
Drace wins the match, but not until Lord Larsa has taken all her pawns, one rook, one knight, and both bishops. Gabranth saw the trap she was laying some fifteen moves ahead of time, but Lord Larsa has done well,
A knock at the door signals the arrival of their replacements. They don their helmets and bow to the young lord. He nods in acknowledgement. They depart, and the door closes behind them with a quiet click.
"He did well, for a first time," Gabranth says.
Drace begins walking down the hallway, and he has to hurry a bit to catch up to her. She is a long time in answering him. "Yes, though perhaps I erred in giving him too many opportunities."
Gabranth smiles faintly. "If he did not catch you at it--and it seems he did not, save the single time--then it is of little consequence. It is good that he saw how close he came to victory; he will try the harder for it, when next he plays."
"Yet it would not do to lull him into complacence."
"I doubt very much that Lord Larsa is inclined much toward complacence." Gabranth nods at Judge Bergan, who is rushing past them on some errand, and pauses at the corridor that would lead them to the Judges' quarters. "Have you other tasks this day?"
"There are always other tasks, but none so pressing they will not wait until I have eaten." Drace turns the corner. "Will you join me?"
"Certainly." They fall silent until they have reached the Judges' mess. Given the variety of tasks and assignments the Judges carry out for the sake of Archades, their kitchen staff is used to requests at odd hours. In a short while he and Drace are settled at one end of the long table reserved for Judge Magisters, with hearty sandwiches and a thick soup to combat the winter chill. Even the marvels of moogle engineering have not quite solved the problem of palaces built in an age when any large building was plagued with drafts.
With their helmets once again set aside, they begin to eat, and do not speak. He fancies he is subtle about watching her, and if he is not, she gives no sign, devoting herself instead to the important matter of her meal. He has been curious about the lone female Judge Magister for some time; it is not usual for women in Archades to pursue a profession, least of all a martial one, and he wonders what drove her to take up such a challenge.
When they are done, she stands, and he with her, for he was taught it is rude to remain seated when a lady stands. She raises an eyebrow, but makes no comment as she leads the way out of the mess.
Outside, she pauses, and turns to face him. "Do you intend to make an opening gambit, Judge Gabranth, or shall you sit examining the board unto infinity?"
He is taken aback by her directness, though he has witnessed it before, and can only stare for a moment before he recovers himself. "I suppose I have been obvious?"
Her smile is faint, but real. "Let us speak of this elsewhere," she says, glancing down the corridor at a pair of young Judges hurrying their way. "I would not broadcast such discussion for gossip and speculation."
"Your study or mine?" he asks, and her eyes narrow.
"Mine," she says, and leads the way. He is unsurprised at her choice; easier by far to build a defense thus, in her own place, than on unfamiliar territory in his.
Her study is much like his, as all the Judges' quarters are built alike, and hers possesses a singular lack of decoration. The walls are lined with thick tomes of Archadian law, and the room smells of leather and parchment. She sets her helm on the stand made for her armour and sheds her gauntlets as well before she turns to face him. He holds his helm under his arm, unsure of his welcome despite her invitation.
She is standing beside a table, her arms loose at her sides, and watching him expectantly. When he does not speak, she raises a brow. "Your move," she says.
He finds himself nervous, perhaps as much as the first time he kissed a girl. Her name was Christina, and she had enormous dark eyes and long blonde plaits; he has not seen her in years, and knows not if she even survived the fall of Landis. He pushes the thought away, for he mislikes the thought of what Archadian soldiers might have done to her, and regardless there is a situation at hand to which he must devote his attention, lest he misstep and invite the displeasure of the only Judge Magister who has shown him aught but disdain.
Yet now he is here, he knows not what to say, and the more he thinks on it the more flustered he becomes, and so he steps forward and kisses her.
When he steps back, she is calm, perhaps even cold. Once committed, 'tis folly to cut short his action, and so he forces a smile despite the too-fast pounding of blood through his veins, and says, "Your move."
"I have put a great deal of effort into being more than just a Judge Magister's wife. I will not be a Judge Magister's whore." Her expression is as calm as when she studied Larsa's first efforts at chess. He, by contrast, is aware that his jaw has dropped and his mouth hangs agape.
After a long moment he closes his mouth and forces himself to think through the rage that threatens to haze his vision with red. Did she really object, he has no doubt she would have expressed it in more forceful terms; this, then, is a feint, a test to see how he will respond. "It was never my intent to treat you thus, and I would be severely remiss if I did not teach better manners to anyone who spoke of you, or indeed any woman, in that way."
The faint smile curves her lips. "What odd manners they teach in Landis, to defend the honour of a woman who steps out of her place to do a man's work. Do you think me incapable of defending myself?"
Once again, he curses the complexity of any conversation with a native of Archades. "I would never be so foolish as to suggest that you cannot defend yourself," he says carefully. "And I do not consider this to be 'men's work.' You are as capable as any other Judge Magister, and gender is naught to do with it."
"They will call me your whore, do we act on what I have seen when you look at me." She is studying him intently, and he is not sure if he has passed or failed this test.
"You are no one's whore," Gabranth says. "Did you take the easy road to power, you would be hanging on the Emperor's every word and coming to heel for the most meager scraps of approval. You have done this on your own merits."
For an instant she looks surprised. "And you, Judge Gabranth? What will they say of you, does this become known?"
He smiles faintly. "The same thing they do already, Judge Drace: that I am a mongrel dog begging scraps at the feast of greatness that is Archades; raised high in regard by an indulgent master because it amuses him to see a mule in Senator's robes, and rubs the Senate the wrong way entirely. They will say I seek to enmesh myself in the halls of power still farther, perhaps the better to betray the Empire into the hands of a resistance that does not exist save in the minds of foolish, frightened nobles."
"Shall it become known?"
He senses this is the last, and by far the most important, of the questions in this test. "As you wish, Judge Drace."
"One can keep a secret only so long in Archades," she says. "Yet I would savour this while I may, not let it be clouded by the darkness of what might be." She pauses, and in her manner he sees somewhat of the patient tutor she is when instructing Lord Larsa. "It will not be easy for either of us, though I have never shied from difficulty, and the price may be higher than you care to pay."
Gabranth meets her eyes steadily. "'Tis hardly worth having aught that comes easily, and I reckon it worth the cost."
"Should you change your mind--" she begins, and for the first time he interrupts a senior Judge Magister.
"Should I change my mind, I give you my vow that I shall tell no one that once we were on easy terms." He bows to her, and waits, hoping that he has not discarded his single chance with his forthright speech.
She steps forward and takes his helm from him, setting it on a marble-topped table. "I am pleased to hear it."
When she kisses him, it is as with aught else she does--she is straightforward rather than coy. She smells of leather and steel, not delicate flowers, and he finds he likes the scent. He does not touch her, for he yet wears his gauntlets, and would not mark her skin with cold metal.
She steps back and helps him doff his gauntlets, and they strip each other of their armour and the leather padding that lies beneath. Without the armour, she is slight of build, and he wonders if his own armour makes him seem almost larger than life. Neither of them is willing to rush, and later, when her strong legs are wrapped around his waist and her quiet, stifled cries sound in his ear, he closes his eyes and presses his mouth to the side of her neck, willing himself to wait, until at last she arches and her nails dig into his back, and it is only then that he lets himself move as he wishes, faster and faster until he, too, is spent.
He knows they both have responsibilities to attend to, and they must not linger overlong. Still, he smooths her hair down gently, and kisses her forehead lightly. She kisses his cheek, and rises, beginning to don her clothing and armour.
He leaves her study first, and greets Judge Zargabaath as though naught had happened. They go on as they were before, but sometimes their eyes meet for a moment, or her fingertips brush his as she hands over a report, and he makes himself be content with it.
~*~
Author's Note: In my head, this song goes along with Michael Ball's recording of "On Easy Terms," which got stuck in my head while I was writing it.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Non-explicit sex, spoilers (Up to the Salikawood)
Notes: ~2900 words. A thousand thanks as ever to first_seventhe for the beta. This was for the spring round of het_challenge. Yes, I am slow to repost.
Disclaimer: Final Fantasy XII belongs to Square Enix. I own neither the characters nor the setting, nor do I gain any profit from my fanfiction, which is purely for my own enjoyment.
Summary: Gabranth dislikes the layers and complications of any interaction with a native Archadian, but occasionally it's worth it.
He has been some years in Archades now, but he thinks sometimes he will never grow used to the layers upon layers of meaning that native Archadians pile upon each statement. In legal and martial matters, he is confident; the law is beautiful in its clarity, and he knows his own skills and limits with the heavy double blades and thick plate armour. Conversation makes him flounder and wonder, sometimes, if perhaps he might not have done better to follow his twin into another of the smaller nations that struggle to stay outside Archadian borders. He socializes as little as possible given the demands of his office. Even the other Judges have agendas in every word they speak, couching offers of aid or implicit threats in layers of image and metaphor. It is to be expected, for he guards the one third in line for the imperial throne.
Judge Drace speaks little, and it is that which draws him to her in the beginning; when she speaks, it is curt and brusque, focused on the realities of their assignment. She speaks as she fights, straightforward and direct, yet he does not doubt that were she called to, she could be as subtle as any of their ilk. He hears in the barracks many remarks about the lady Judge; some few are complimentary, but for the rest, he would have broken the nose of any man of Landis who spoke thus about a woman in his hearing.
For all her curt manner with the Judges, she is patient with Lord Larsa, though she never speaks down to him or coddles him. It seems strange to Gabranth that Archadia treats her children as adults, but it is not his place to dispute it. Then again, Lord Larsa is a solemn child, clever and perceptive far in advance of his years.
He is seated next to Lord Larsa, across from Drace as she sets out chess pieces on the table. Lord Larsa watches the board and counts the pretty onyx and ivory pieces, his brow furrowed with concentration. Gabranth finds such precocity mildly unsettling, but he supposes it is a good thing for a potential Imperial heir.
For himself, Gabranth watches Drace. She has set aside her helm, as has he, though they both wear the remainder of their armour. Her expression is serene as she finishes placing the pieces on the chessboard and begins to explain their names and abilities to Lord Larsa. Gabranth listens carefully, for as his father once told him, you can learn a great deal about a man (or a woman) by playing a game of chess and seeing where her priorities lie.
"For myself," she tells Lord Larsa, "I prefer a subtle opening move. I tend to a defensive style to leave myself as many options as possible. Judge Gabranth prefers to go on the offensive from the first, though he holds back enough pieces to build an effective defense. You must decide for yourself what you prefer."
"Judge Drace has given you the white pieces," Gabranth tells his charge, "and thus the first move is yours."
"Yes," Lord Larsa says, "I gathered as much from her explanation. I prefer you do not assist me save that I ask for it, Judge Gabranth."
Lord Larsa has ever been stubborn. Gabranth sits back in his chair and watches Drace, who is studying the board as Lord Larsa's fingertips hover over his pieces, moving here and there as he considers his move. She prefers such games of intellect and strategy, he has found, for there she is always on equal footing with the other Judges; she is not hampered by her slighter frame.
Lord Larsa moves his first pawn, and the game begins in earnest. Drace moves her pieces into a stronger defense than usual; she is playing conservatively to give Lord Larsa time to adapt to the rules of the game. From time to time her gaze crosses Gabranth's, and he sees somewhat in her eyes; a challenge, perhaps, or an invitation.
"You are holding back," Lord Larsa says abruptly, studying Drace's pieces. "I pray you do not; I shall not learn if you treat me as a child."
"You will learn as much from overcoming a good defense as you would evading a strong offense," Drace replies. "Playing against Judge Gabranth will teach you the latter. I wish to teach you the former." She is looking at the young prince, but Gabranth has the feeling she speaks to him instead. "There are ways round any defense if you are determined enough to find them."
The faint frown this statement evokes is reminiscent of Emperor Gramis's expression when he is faced with a thorny political problem. Lord Larsa studies the board intently. "Judge Gabranth," he says after a moment, "I would have you advise me."
"Do you wish advice for a specific move, Lord Larsa, or do you prefer I speak in general terms?" Gabranth looks at the array of pieces. Lord Larsa has spread his forces thin and has lost some of his pawns, but the stronger pieces still stand. Drace, for her part, has arranged her pieces in such fashion as to be nigh-impenetrable, but no defense is perfect.
"Both." He pushes back loose strands of dark hair. From his expression, he might have been twenty years older and examining a battle map.
"In general terms," Gabranth says, "your first moves are important because they set the expectation for how you will play the match. As you see, Judge Drace has created a powerful defense for herself. Your first moves were oriented more toward an attack. Yet you need not always begin as you mean to go on. You might attempt to draw her out with quick strikes, or you might withdraw and regroup."
"There is much to be said for setting an expectation and then doing something entirely opposite." Drace moves her rook to take a white knight, and Lord Larsa grimaces. "Keeping your opponent off-balance often works to your advantage, though it requires significantly more flexibility on your part."
Gabranth points to a white bishop. Lord Larsa holds up his hand in silence and studies the board. After a moment, he moves his queen to take Drace's knight.
Drace wins the match, but not until Lord Larsa has taken all her pawns, one rook, one knight, and both bishops. Gabranth saw the trap she was laying some fifteen moves ahead of time, but Lord Larsa has done well,
A knock at the door signals the arrival of their replacements. They don their helmets and bow to the young lord. He nods in acknowledgement. They depart, and the door closes behind them with a quiet click.
"He did well, for a first time," Gabranth says.
Drace begins walking down the hallway, and he has to hurry a bit to catch up to her. She is a long time in answering him. "Yes, though perhaps I erred in giving him too many opportunities."
Gabranth smiles faintly. "If he did not catch you at it--and it seems he did not, save the single time--then it is of little consequence. It is good that he saw how close he came to victory; he will try the harder for it, when next he plays."
"Yet it would not do to lull him into complacence."
"I doubt very much that Lord Larsa is inclined much toward complacence." Gabranth nods at Judge Bergan, who is rushing past them on some errand, and pauses at the corridor that would lead them to the Judges' quarters. "Have you other tasks this day?"
"There are always other tasks, but none so pressing they will not wait until I have eaten." Drace turns the corner. "Will you join me?"
"Certainly." They fall silent until they have reached the Judges' mess. Given the variety of tasks and assignments the Judges carry out for the sake of Archades, their kitchen staff is used to requests at odd hours. In a short while he and Drace are settled at one end of the long table reserved for Judge Magisters, with hearty sandwiches and a thick soup to combat the winter chill. Even the marvels of moogle engineering have not quite solved the problem of palaces built in an age when any large building was plagued with drafts.
With their helmets once again set aside, they begin to eat, and do not speak. He fancies he is subtle about watching her, and if he is not, she gives no sign, devoting herself instead to the important matter of her meal. He has been curious about the lone female Judge Magister for some time; it is not usual for women in Archades to pursue a profession, least of all a martial one, and he wonders what drove her to take up such a challenge.
When they are done, she stands, and he with her, for he was taught it is rude to remain seated when a lady stands. She raises an eyebrow, but makes no comment as she leads the way out of the mess.
Outside, she pauses, and turns to face him. "Do you intend to make an opening gambit, Judge Gabranth, or shall you sit examining the board unto infinity?"
He is taken aback by her directness, though he has witnessed it before, and can only stare for a moment before he recovers himself. "I suppose I have been obvious?"
Her smile is faint, but real. "Let us speak of this elsewhere," she says, glancing down the corridor at a pair of young Judges hurrying their way. "I would not broadcast such discussion for gossip and speculation."
"Your study or mine?" he asks, and her eyes narrow.
"Mine," she says, and leads the way. He is unsurprised at her choice; easier by far to build a defense thus, in her own place, than on unfamiliar territory in his.
Her study is much like his, as all the Judges' quarters are built alike, and hers possesses a singular lack of decoration. The walls are lined with thick tomes of Archadian law, and the room smells of leather and parchment. She sets her helm on the stand made for her armour and sheds her gauntlets as well before she turns to face him. He holds his helm under his arm, unsure of his welcome despite her invitation.
She is standing beside a table, her arms loose at her sides, and watching him expectantly. When he does not speak, she raises a brow. "Your move," she says.
He finds himself nervous, perhaps as much as the first time he kissed a girl. Her name was Christina, and she had enormous dark eyes and long blonde plaits; he has not seen her in years, and knows not if she even survived the fall of Landis. He pushes the thought away, for he mislikes the thought of what Archadian soldiers might have done to her, and regardless there is a situation at hand to which he must devote his attention, lest he misstep and invite the displeasure of the only Judge Magister who has shown him aught but disdain.
Yet now he is here, he knows not what to say, and the more he thinks on it the more flustered he becomes, and so he steps forward and kisses her.
When he steps back, she is calm, perhaps even cold. Once committed, 'tis folly to cut short his action, and so he forces a smile despite the too-fast pounding of blood through his veins, and says, "Your move."
"I have put a great deal of effort into being more than just a Judge Magister's wife. I will not be a Judge Magister's whore." Her expression is as calm as when she studied Larsa's first efforts at chess. He, by contrast, is aware that his jaw has dropped and his mouth hangs agape.
After a long moment he closes his mouth and forces himself to think through the rage that threatens to haze his vision with red. Did she really object, he has no doubt she would have expressed it in more forceful terms; this, then, is a feint, a test to see how he will respond. "It was never my intent to treat you thus, and I would be severely remiss if I did not teach better manners to anyone who spoke of you, or indeed any woman, in that way."
The faint smile curves her lips. "What odd manners they teach in Landis, to defend the honour of a woman who steps out of her place to do a man's work. Do you think me incapable of defending myself?"
Once again, he curses the complexity of any conversation with a native of Archades. "I would never be so foolish as to suggest that you cannot defend yourself," he says carefully. "And I do not consider this to be 'men's work.' You are as capable as any other Judge Magister, and gender is naught to do with it."
"They will call me your whore, do we act on what I have seen when you look at me." She is studying him intently, and he is not sure if he has passed or failed this test.
"You are no one's whore," Gabranth says. "Did you take the easy road to power, you would be hanging on the Emperor's every word and coming to heel for the most meager scraps of approval. You have done this on your own merits."
For an instant she looks surprised. "And you, Judge Gabranth? What will they say of you, does this become known?"
He smiles faintly. "The same thing they do already, Judge Drace: that I am a mongrel dog begging scraps at the feast of greatness that is Archades; raised high in regard by an indulgent master because it amuses him to see a mule in Senator's robes, and rubs the Senate the wrong way entirely. They will say I seek to enmesh myself in the halls of power still farther, perhaps the better to betray the Empire into the hands of a resistance that does not exist save in the minds of foolish, frightened nobles."
"Shall it become known?"
He senses this is the last, and by far the most important, of the questions in this test. "As you wish, Judge Drace."
"One can keep a secret only so long in Archades," she says. "Yet I would savour this while I may, not let it be clouded by the darkness of what might be." She pauses, and in her manner he sees somewhat of the patient tutor she is when instructing Lord Larsa. "It will not be easy for either of us, though I have never shied from difficulty, and the price may be higher than you care to pay."
Gabranth meets her eyes steadily. "'Tis hardly worth having aught that comes easily, and I reckon it worth the cost."
"Should you change your mind--" she begins, and for the first time he interrupts a senior Judge Magister.
"Should I change my mind, I give you my vow that I shall tell no one that once we were on easy terms." He bows to her, and waits, hoping that he has not discarded his single chance with his forthright speech.
She steps forward and takes his helm from him, setting it on a marble-topped table. "I am pleased to hear it."
When she kisses him, it is as with aught else she does--she is straightforward rather than coy. She smells of leather and steel, not delicate flowers, and he finds he likes the scent. He does not touch her, for he yet wears his gauntlets, and would not mark her skin with cold metal.
She steps back and helps him doff his gauntlets, and they strip each other of their armour and the leather padding that lies beneath. Without the armour, she is slight of build, and he wonders if his own armour makes him seem almost larger than life. Neither of them is willing to rush, and later, when her strong legs are wrapped around his waist and her quiet, stifled cries sound in his ear, he closes his eyes and presses his mouth to the side of her neck, willing himself to wait, until at last she arches and her nails dig into his back, and it is only then that he lets himself move as he wishes, faster and faster until he, too, is spent.
He knows they both have responsibilities to attend to, and they must not linger overlong. Still, he smooths her hair down gently, and kisses her forehead lightly. She kisses his cheek, and rises, beginning to don her clothing and armour.
He leaves her study first, and greets Judge Zargabaath as though naught had happened. They go on as they were before, but sometimes their eyes meet for a moment, or her fingertips brush his as she hands over a report, and he makes himself be content with it.
~*~
Author's Note: In my head, this song goes along with Michael Ball's recording of "On Easy Terms," which got stuck in my head while I was writing it.