Son of the Dragon

“You’re clingy as hell,” Steph says, trying to sound annoyed, but the way she curls her arm around you gives her away.

“Yeah?” You nuzzle her neck, grinning. “You adore it.”

She rolls her eyes, but her smile is soft, almost shy. “Maybe.”

Steph’s fingers trace absently up and down your spine, your cheek resting against her shoulder. The air between you hums with something unspoken, that kind of heavy warmth that makes every small movement feel loaded.

You tilt your head up, and she’s already looking at you. Her eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen them, her lips parted just slightly, like she’s been waiting for you to move.

So you do. You lean in, kissing her once, quick and sweet, just to test. She makes a soft noise, her hand tightening on your hip, so you kiss her again, deeper this time.

Her lips taste like the soda you shared earlier. She kisses you back eagerly, pulling you closer until your body is flush against hers. The TV fades, the world shrinks until it’s only the two of you, kissing like you’ve both been starving for this.

You push yourself up on one elbow, leaning over her, your free hand sliding into her hair. She whimpers softly when you tug, just enough to tilt her head back, and that sound shoots straight through you.

“God, you’re…” you murmur against her mouth, but the words die in your throat. She’s flushed, eyes glassy, lips swollen already. You don’t know how to tell her how badly you want her without ruining the moment.

She swallows hard, her fingers trembling slightly where they grip your arm. “I… I need to tell you something.”

You freeze instantly, pulling back just enough to search her face. “Steph? What is it? What's wrong?”

You had a truthful worried look in your eyes that only made her feel more stupid. She could feel the heat in her cheeks grow.

She fiddles with the hem of her hoodie. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s just… personal. Embarrassing, maybe.”

You squeeze her thigh gently. “Steph. You can tell me anything.”

Her chest rises and falls too fast. She bites her lip, looking anywhere but at you. “I’ve never… done this before.”

You blink, heart stuttering. “You mean…?”

She nods quickly, cheeks bright red. “Yeah. I’m— I’m still a virgin.” The words come out shaky, like she’s embarrassed. “I know it’s stupid, okay? Don’t laugh.”

Your chest aches. “Steph. Look at me.”

She does, reluctantly, blue eyes wary.

“I'm not laughing. It’s not stupid. Not even close.” You brush your thumb over her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It doesn’t make me think less of you. At all.”

Her lip wobbles like she’s trying not to smile. “You mean that?”

“I swear.” You kiss her forehead, soft. “It just means… you want this to be with me?”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in forever. “Yeah. I do. I want my first time to be with you. If you want me too.”

The sheer trust in her voice nearly knocks the air from your lungs. You kiss her again, slow and reverent, until she melts against you.

“I want you,” you whisper against her mouth. “But we go slow. I’ll take care of you. Okay?”

Her nod is frantic. “Please.”

Clothes come off clumsy, both of you laughing between kisses as hoodies and jeans hit the floor. You keep checking in, asking if she’s okay, and every time she nods, her hands tug you back down for another kiss.

She gasps when your mouth trails down her neck, your hands sliding under her shirt. “Wait— I’m nervous,” she admits, breathless.

You kiss the corner of her mouth. “Good. Me too. We’ll figure it out together.”

That makes her laugh, and the tension eases. You pull her shirt over her head, kissing her again before she can get self-conscious. Your lips wander down her throat, over her collarbone, until she arches when you finally close your mouth around her nipple.

“Oh— oh my god,” she gasps, her back bowing off the mattress.

“Feels good?” you murmur, glancing up.

“Yeah,” she breathes, cheeks pink. “Really good. Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You take your time, worshipping her with your mouth and hands, until she’s squirming under you, whining softly with every kiss lower.

When you kiss the inside of her thighs, she lets out a shaky laugh. “I feel like I’m gonna die.”

“You’ll survive,” you grin, pressing a kiss just above her panties. “Promise.”

And then you finally taste her, licking a long strip with your tongue on her sex.

She jerks so hard she nearly knees you in the face, a broken cry tumbling from her lips. “Ohmygod— ohmygod—”

“Shh,” you murmur, holding her open, your tongue moving slow and deliberate. “I’ve got you.”

Her hands fly to your hair, trembling, pulling you closer without meaning to. She’s overwhelmed, babbling nonsense, gasping your name between curses.

“Feels— feels so good— oh fuck—”

You hum against her, the vibration making her squeal. Her hips buck helplessly, but you pin her down gently, working her until her thighs shake and her voice breaks.

“Please, I— I can’t— oh my god—”

You lap at her lazily until her hips start moving, chasing the sensation.

Then you let one hand wander lower, circling her entrance with your fingertip. “Steph,” you murmur against her skin. “Can I?”

She gasps, body tense for a moment, then she nods, biting her lip. “Yeah. Please.”

You move slow, easing just the tip of your finger inside. She squeezes around you instantly, and her breath hitches, eyes going wide.

“How does it feels?” you ask, frozen in place.

Her cheeks are flaming, but she nods frantically. “Uhh, weird, but… good. Don’t stop.”

So you don’t. You inch deeper, slow and careful, letting her adjust. Your tongue rubs her clit gently while your finger curls inside, and she cries out, clutching the sheets.

“Oh my god. Oh my god— that feels—” she breaks off in a whimper, grinding down on your hand.

“Good girl,” you whisper, kissing her thigh. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You add a second finger once she’s loosened a little, and she gasps, clinging to your hair. Her legs shake, her hips jerking helplessly as you work her open. Every little sound she makes is needy and honest, and you can’t stop watching her face as she falls apart.

When you curl your fingers just right and circle her clit with your thumb, her whole body arches off the bed. She sobs out your name, eyes squeezed shut, thighs trembling around your hand.

“Fuck— I— I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, baby,” you murmur, kissing the inside of her knee. “I’ve got you. Come for me.”

She does. She comes hard, clenching around your fingers, shaking so badly you have to hold her steady with your free hand. The sound she makes is desperate, broken, raw, like she’s giving you every piece of herself at once. You don’t stop until she whimpers, pushing weakly at your shoulders, too sensitive.

You slow down gradually, easing her through it until she’s limp, boneless against the mattress, gasping for air. When you finally pull your fingers out, she whines softly, eyes fluttering open.

“Holy shit,” she croaks, voice hoarse. “I think you broke me.”

You laugh, crawling back up to kiss her slow. “Not broken. Just blissed out.”

She melts into the kiss, wrapping shaky arms around your neck. “You’re amazing,” she whispers. “I can’t believe I get to be with you.”

You press your forehead to hers, your heart pounding. “I’m the lucky one, Steph.”

Her smile softens, but there’s something fragile in the way she looks at you, like she’s teetering on the edge of saying something, afraid you might not catch her if she falls.

You brush a strand of hair off her damp forehead and kiss her temple. “Hey,” you whisper, “what’s going on in that little head of yours?”

She shakes her head quickly, nervous, cheeks still glowing pink from everything that just happened. “Nothing. Just… I don’t know. I feel stupid.”

“Steph.” You tilt her chin until she’s looking at you. “You could never be stupid.”

Her lip trembles, and she hides it with a quick laugh. “I just… I’ve never let anyone that close before. And you—” She swallows, her voice breaking a little. “—you make me feel like I don’t have to be scared of it. Like I can just… be.”

Your chest aches so hard it almost hurts. You kiss her softly, slow enough that she sighs against your mouth.

“I love you,” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

Steph freezes, eyes wide, lips still parted from the kiss. For a second, you panic: you’ve ruined it, it’s too soon, you’ve scared her.

But then her hands are in your hair, tugging you back down as she kisses you again, deep and desperate. When she pulls back, her eyes are glassy, her smile helpless.

“You can’t just drop that on me after you— after that,” she stammers, cheeks blazing. “Not fair.”

Your stomach flips. “I mean it, Steph. I love you. You don’t have to say it back, I just—”

“I love you too,” she blurts, cutting you off. Her voice cracks halfway through, but she says it again, firmer this time: “I love you too.”

It knocks the air from your lungs. You bury your face in her neck, laughing breathlessly, trying not to cry. She wraps her arms around you and holds on tight.

The TV hums quietly in the background, her posters staring down from the walls, the sheets tangled around your legs. Her room smells like her shampoo and takeout you had hours ago, and it feels like the safest place you’ve ever been.

You tilt your head to look at her again, brushing your thumb across her cheekbone. She’s still flushed, still trembling a little, but her smile is wide and certain.

You check your phone, of course your lockscreen is a picture of you two, her straddling you with her face hidden while you take a picture in front of the room's mirror.

You remember the day, not too long ago. Steph complained about not having any pics together so she can post or for when someone asks her about her jaw-dropping girlfriend. So you spend all evening taking all types of pictures with Pinterest inspo.

Now you just checked the time, you had two hours before your father calls you to work. Before that, you have enough time for Steph asking for a round two, showering together and Alfred making you a visit to leave you dinner.

You were talking and making out at the same time when you had to leave. It was always the hardest part, the most uncomfortable. You always crossed your fingers so she didn't ask questions.

Your lips are still swollen from kissing when you finally roll off her, your cheek pressed against her chest. She’s laughing breathlessly, her hand carding through your hair, her other arm wrapped tight around your shoulders like she’s never going to let you go.

You could stay like this forever. The lilac sheets smell like her fabric softener, the posters above her bed rustle with the hum of the fan, and her skin is warm beneath your cheek. Safe. Too safe.

"Babe," you muttered against her lips. Steph didn't stop kissing you all the time, from your lips to your neck. "Babe, I have to go."

She whined a little, frowning and cupping your cheeks, pressing them a little. "Why don't you stay the night?" She kisses your nose.

Her question lands exactly where you never want it to. Right in that hollow place in your chest that aches every time you pull yourself away from her warmth.

You try to laugh it off, brushing her hair back from her face. “You know me. I’m terrible at sleeping in other people’s beds. I’ll keep you up all night tossing around.”

Steph narrows her eyes, and you can tell she doesn’t buy it. “That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard. You literally sleep on top of me every time we cuddle. You’re like a human weighted blanket.”

“Yeah, but that’s different,” you joke weakly, kissing her forehead so she won’t see the panic flicker in your eyes. “Weighted blankets are cute. Tossing and turning, not so much.”

She pouts, lips pushing out in a way that makes your chest squeeze. “You’re clingy all day, but the second it’s past midnight, you vanish like Cinderella.”

You groan, burying your face in her neck, partly to hide your grin and partly to hide the guilt crawling up your throat. “Don’t compare me to Cinderella, I don’t even own glass slippers.”

“Fine. Batman, then.” She pokes your side, smirking when you squirm. “Always disappearing before sunrise.”

You freeze for just a second too long. She doesn’t notice, at least, you pray she doesn’t. Instead she’s laughing, tugging you closer again, her smile so soft you feel like you’re being stabbed with it.

“Steph…” you whisper, trying not to sound wrecked. You kiss her one last time, slow, memorizing the taste of soda and chocolate cake still lingering on her tongue. “I promise, it’s not about you.”

“I know,” she says quickly, almost too quickly. She squeezes your hand. “It just… feels like it sometimes.”

That breaks you. You swallow hard, pressing your forehead to hers. “I swear it’s not. You’re… you’re everything, Steph.”

Her eyes glisten like she’s trying not to cry, but then she kisses you again, fierce and messy. “Then prove it next time. Stay.”

You smile against her lips, but you don’t promise. You can’t.

Not when you know exactly what waits for you outside these walls. Not when you know how badly she’d look at you differently if she ever found out who you really are when the mask is on.

You love your dad. You really do. Every bruise you’ve ever taken for him, every bloody knuckle, every job that left your throat raw from breathing in Gotham’s filth, you tell yourself it’s for family. He raised you, trained you, gave you purpose. And in this city, purpose is everything.

It’s easy to believe the story you repeat in your head: Gotham is already rotting, already drowning in crime. Another drug trafficking line doesn’t change a thing. If anything, your dad’s network gives you both control, stability, a way to keep order in chaos. At least, that’s how you sleep at night.

You’re good at the role he carved for you. Black spandex suit, mask that covers your whole face, combat instincts honed sharp as a blade. You’re his shadow, guarding the block while his men move the product. You don’t flinch when things get bloody, you don’t hesitate when someone needs to be silenced. You do the dirty work. You’re good at it.

But lately? Lately you’ve been slipping.

For the past month, there’s been a goddamn thorn in your side.

A vigilante.

Every time you hear the slap of boots on a rooftop, every time you catch the flash of a cape in your peripheral vision, your blood boils. That woman, purple suit, cheap mask, cocky smirk you can practically hear in the way she moves. She’s been ruining deals, scattering your crew, making the streets hot.

And she’s clever. Too clever. She doesn’t just swing in and bust heads like the Bat does. No, she stalks you. Studies you. Waits until you’re about to close a deal before she snatches it out from under you. Makes a mockery of your work.

She’s a pain in the ass.

You don’t know her name, not really. She calls herself Spoiler, and god, you want to strangle her every time you hear it hissed out by one of your crew.

Spoiler. Like you’re a fucking game to her.

The worst part?

You can’t stop thinking about her when you take off the mask. She's guilty of taking you time with Stephanie and ruining your father's job. How could you not hate her?

The night air bit cold against your sweat-slick skin as you bolted across the rooftop, boots pounding the tar. You’d been on edge for hours, keeping your crew covered during a late run, and of course she had to show up.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Her voice rang out, smug and taunting, from somewhere above. Spoiler always did this, playing cat-and-mouse like she enjoyed dragging it out.

You clenched your fists. “Why don’t you stop hiding and actually fight me, purple?”

“Aw,” she crooned, dropping down from a fire escape with acrobat’s ease, crouched in her stupid little mask. “Someone’s cranky tonight. Daddy didn’t give you enough allowance?”

Your blood boiled. She always made it personal. You charged before you could stop yourself, swinging hard. She slipped past you like water, her laughter bouncing off the walls of the alleyway below.

“Slow,” she teased, springing back onto her feet. “Do you even train or do you just, I don’t know, flex in the mirror?”

“Shut the fuck up.” You lunged again, this time catching her shoulder. For half a second, you felt the rush of satisfaction, until she twisted, wrenched your arm behind your back, and flipped you flat onto the roof.

“Better,” she said with a grin you could hear. “But still sloppy.”

You snarled, rolling back to your feet. The two of you circled each other, her bouncing lightly on her toes while you fought to keep your breath even. Every move you threw, she countered. Every strike you aimed, she read before you made it.

“You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” she panted after landing a sharp kick to your ribs. “I mean, I admire the dedication, but…” she gestured at you, doubled over, “this is getting embarrassing.”

You spit blood onto the tar, forcing yourself upright. “Keep talking. One day I’ll—”

“Not today.” She cut you off, ducking under your swing and driving her fist into your stomach. The air fled your lungs. You stumbled backward, arms flailing.

And then you felt it, your mask slipping.

“Shit—” you reached up too late. Spoiler’s last punch caught the side of your jaw, and the mask snapped free, skidding across the rooftop.

The world stopped.

You froze, chest heaving, bare face burning in the moonlight. And so did she.

Spoiler stood with her fist still half-raised, eyes wide behind the dark lenses of her mask. Her whole body stiffened like she’d been electrocuted.

“…You,” she whispered. The voice cracked, losing all its smug confidence.

You couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Just with that word, you could recognize her voice. Stephanie’s voice —your girlfriend’s voice— cut through the Gotham night, raw and horrified.

“It’s you.”

You coughed and didn't bother to put your mask back on. "...Steph?" you said slowly.

She backed away a few steps, taking the hood of her head revealing her gorgeous blonde hair. A second later she removed the cowl, pale sweaty skin, big blue eyes and rosy lips. Yeah, that was definitely your girlfriend.

Isn't it perfect? Your nemesis is actually the girl you just said "I love you" for the first time. Spoiler is the girl that has made you smile for two months like a idiot, who made you forget about your job duties and made you feel wanted.

The second her mask came off, your stomach dropped straight through the roof.

Steph’s face —flushed, sweaty, strands of blonde hair sticking to her forehead— was a mirror of your own horror. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. The silence between you was deafening, broken only by the wheeze of your own ragged breaths.

“…You,” she said again, voice trembling this time. Her fists were still clenched at her sides, like she couldn’t decide if she should punch you again or cry. “You’re—” she choked on the words, her eyes scanning your face, every bruise, every drop of sweat. “You’re her. You’re one of them.”

“Steph—”

“No!” she shouted, the word cracking like glass. She staggered back another step, shaking her head like if she kept moving, she could unsee it. “No, you don’t— don’t you dare say my name. Don’t you dare.”

You swallowed hard, chest aching. “Please. Let me explain—”

Her laugh cut you off, sharp and broken. “Explain? Explain what? That my girlfriend, the girl I trusted, the one I let into my bed, into my life, is a fucking criminal?” Her voice cracked, tears spilling now. “I trusted you. I loved you.”

“I love you too,” you blurted, desperate, reaching a hand out. She flinched like you’d struck her.

“Don’t—don’t say that!” she screamed. Her face was wet, eyes burning holes through you. “You don’t get to say that, not after lying to me every second we’ve been together. Do you even—” Her voice broke off, a sob choking her throat. “Was any of it real?”

“Yes!” you shouted back, the word raw in your throat. You stepped forward despite the way she was backing away from you like you were poison. “Steph, yes. Everything was real. I didn’t fake one second with you. I didn't know it was you. I swear to god.”

Her chest heaved, sobs breaking through her words. “Then why? Why would you—” She punched her own thigh in frustration, nearly doubling over with it. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me? You—god, I gave you everything. I let you take my first time—” her voice cracked in half, and she pressed a fist to her mouth, trying to keep it together, failing miserably. “I thought you were safe. I thought you were mine. I thought you—”

“Steph—” Your throat was burning, your own eyes stinging now. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

She let out another broken laugh. “What, you were just gonna keep sneaking out? Keep fucking me in my room, cuddling me, telling me you loved me, and then go out and work for your father?” She spat the word like venom. “How many people have you hurt? How many lives ruined while you came back to me and smiled like—like you were anything but a goddamn monster?”

You flinched, but didn’t deny it. Couldn’t. Your silence only made her sob harder.

“You don’t get it,” you rasped, voice cracking. “I didn’t have a choice—”

“Bullshit!” she screamed, so loud your ears rang. “You always have a choice. You just didn’t care enough to make the right one.”

You tried to move closer again, but she shoved you back with both hands, her whole body shaking. “Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever touch me again.”

Your heart shattered, pieces splintering inside your chest. “Steph, please, I love you—”

“Shut up!” Her sobs were ragged now, unstoppable. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare ruin those words for me.”

She wiped at her face furiously, but the tears kept coming, dripping onto her cowl still clutched in her fist. For a second, she just stared at you, like she was memorizing every inch of your face, burning it into her brain so she’d never forget the betrayal.

Then she turned, stumbling for the fire escape.

"Steph, please—" you walked behind her even though she wasn't turning around. "Please, don't go."

Her shoulders stiffened at the sound of your voice, but she didn’t stop. One boot hit the first rung of the fire escape, her whole body trembling like she was holding herself together by threads.

“Steph—” you reached out, your hand hovering inches from her arm, afraid that if you touched her she’d shatter or worse, she’d look at you with that same devastation and push you away again. “Don’t walk away from me. Please. Let me explain.”

She froze. Just for a second. Her knuckles went white around the railing, her breathing harsh in the cold Gotham air. When she turned her head, only slightly, you caught the side of her face. Tear-streaked, red, broken in a way you’d never seen before.

“Explain?” Her voice was raw, shaking, but there was steel under it too. “What explanation makes this okay? That you work for drug pushers because you think Gotham is already fucked? That you lied to me every single night you crawled into my bed?”

You swallowed, words clawing their way out of your throat. “I never lied about us. About how I feel about you. Every kiss, every—every time I held you, every time I told you I loved you, it was real. All of it.”

She whipped her head toward you now, and the fury in her eyes nearly knocked you back. “You don’t get it, do you? You can’t separate it. You can’t be this person with me and that person out here and expect me to pretend like it’s fine. You’re the same person. The one I—” her voice cracked, her chest heaving. “—the one I let into me, the one I trusted with everything I am. And the one who helps destroy people’s lives.”

“I didn’t have a choice—”

“Don’t!” she cut you off, voice breaking like glass. “Don’t you dare say that to me again.” She shook her head, backing up a step onto the ladder. “You had choices. You just chose wrong. And you chose wrong every day since the moment you kissed me.”

“Steph,” you begged, your throat burning, your chest splitting open. “Don’t leave me like this. I love you. I can’t lose you.”

She closed her eyes tight, a sob ripping out of her chest. For a second, her fingers slipped on the railing like she might collapse. But then she steadied herself, jaw tightening, tears running unchecked down her face.

“You already lost me,” she whispered.

You nod absently, continuing your strikes. “Right, flow… I’ve got to let it flow, not force it. I noticed when I tried yesterday that my elbow locked too early, so I kept throwing the pivot off. Yeah… that’s it. Thanks, Talia. That helps.”

Her lips twitch in a small, amused smile as she realizes you haven’t noticed the flirtation, the way she lets her body press slightly against yours. “You’re… very focused,” she says, more to herself than to you.

“I am!” you say, tightening your grip. “I’ve been trying to improve every strike. There’s a rhythm, right? And I think I’m catching it now. Watch this, see how I twist my hips this time? Should make the strike smoother.” You demonstrate, oblivious as Talia’s fingers brush again against yours.

She suppresses a sigh, part frustration, part amusement. She talks through everything and never sees me. Not even a flicker of awareness…

The next morning, you kneel in the garden, cross-legged on the stone floor, sweat still drying on your skin. Talia sits opposite you, her posture poised, her eyes flicking over your form. She’s quiet at first, watching your steady breathing, the way your shoulders relax slightly as you center yourself.

“You’ve improved tremendously,” she says softly. “Faster than I expected. You have the discipline of a seasoned fighter…”

You open one eye and nod, speaking before she can continue. “Yeah, I’ve been focusing a lot on balance. It’s hard to hold the posture, but I feel like I’m stronger already. My core, my legs… everything. I can feel it tightening as I hold each breath. My shoulders aren’t locking up as much.” You exhale slowly, fully absorbed in your physical awareness.

Talia reaches out, letting her fingers hover near yours. “Your hands… they’re so… expressive in motion.”

You glance at her hand briefly and shake your head. “Hmm? Oh, right. Hands. Yeah, I’ve been trying to relax my grip, keep them soft but ready. You know, like… flexible but firm? I read somewhere that it keeps your movements fluid instead of jerky. I think it’s helping.” You resume your breathing exercises, completely missing the subtle brush of her fingers against yours.

You were so informed, so well-prepared. It was admirable.

She leans closer, her knee brushing yours. Her voice drops, teasing, intimate. “I wonder… if you knew how much attention someone has been paying to you… would it distract you?”

You blink, consider it for a second, and reply earnestly. “Distract me? Hmm… maybe a little. But not really. I mean, focus is all about shutting out everything else, right? I guess that’s what I’m doing. I think it’s working.”

Talia’s lips twitch into a frustrated, half-amused smile. She know about everything: analysis, observation, focus. Nothing slips past her. And still, can't even realize what I'm doing.

“Very… analytical,” she murmurs. “I should have guessed your mind wouldn’t betray you so easily.”

“I analyze everything,” you say without hesitation. “It helps me predict moves in combat. Timing, angles, reaction… everything. But you probably already know that.” You exhale, completely unaware that she’s smiling at your oblivion, the tension building in her chest as she leans ever so slightly closer.

Later that night, the rooftop is quiet except for the soft clatter of your strikes against your opponent. Moonlight glints off the stone, and Talia watches, leaning against the edge, shadows hiding the glint of amusement in her eyes.

“You move beautifully,” she calls, her voice low and teasing. “Like poetry in motion…”

You spin and counter a strike, speaking between breaths. “Thanks! I’ve been working on my footwork with the pivot. It’s tricky to keep the balance while delivering the strike, but I think I’m getting it now. If I adjust my weight here, I can land the hit without losing momentum. See?”

Talia’s lips curve in a small smile. She steps closer, letting the moonlight catch her hair. “If I were your opponent, I’d be too distracted to defend myself…”

You spin again, answering automatically. “Distracted? You? I don't think so... Your fighting is amazing, Talia."

Talia’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of both amusement and exasperation crossing her features. She tilts her head, letting her hair fall across one shoulder, brushing lightly against your arm as she steps closer. “Amazing, you say?” she murmurs, voice low and deliberate. “I wonder… does that include all the ways you keep me… guessing?”

You pause for a fraction of a second, wiping sweat from your brow, and reply earnestly, “Guessing? Oh, I mean… well, yeah, you’re unpredictable. Your stance shifts subtly, and you always find the weak spots in their guard. I’ve been trying to anticipate it, but I can barely keep up.”

You swing your sword in a smooth arc, pivoting expertly, eyes on your opponent, oblivious to the subtle brush of her hand along your back as she adjusts your posture.

Talia suppresses a sharp exhale, letting her fingers linger just a heartbeat longer on your arm before pulling back. “You really never notice anything, do you?” she asks, a teasing lilt in her tone and her eyes burning.

You nod, still focused on your sparring partner. "Notice what?” You pivot again, landing a clean strike, turning smoothly to face her. “If you mean my mistakes… I think I’ve gotten better. See? My angles are tighter now, and my footwork. Oh, and my grip on the sword is less tense. That’s what you were saying yesterday, right?”

“Yes,” Talia says, her voice a little tighter, a hint of frustration slipping through her calm exterior. She steps closer again, this time letting the edge of her body brush deliberately against yours, close enough that you feel the warmth, but your mind is still only on the sparring. “Exactly that… but there’s more than technique, you know. Awareness, subtleties… intention. And yet you miss every other… subtlety.”

You nod enthusiastically, still speaking without pause. “Awareness, subtleties… intention… got it! So I should... wait, are you talking about my stance again? Or my pivot timing? I think I’ve been holding my elbow correctly now. I noticed yesterday when it started locking too soon… okay, pivot, sweep, strike… I think I’ve got it now. Look!” You demonstrate the combination, landing it flawlessly.

Talia bites her lip, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, her hands twitching with restrained impatience. “No… not that,” she murmurs, stepping closer, letting the faintest brush of her knee against yours disrupt your balance for just an instant. “I meant… everything else. The way I’m watching you. How I… feel about you. And you’re completely oblivious.”

You tilt your head, sweat dripping down your face, and reply cheerfully, “Oh! Oh, right, that… um, yeah, I—I notice, kind of? You always have great timing with corrections, and you step in just enough to fix my guard without breaking my rhythm. That’s really impressive, Talia. I’ve been trying to learn from it!”

Talia closes her eyes for a fraction of a second, frustration curling into desire. She steps even closer, letting her chest press just slightly against your back as she adjusts your elbow, lingering in a way that makes your heart unknowingly thrum against hers.

“Learning from it?” she murmurs, letting her voice drop lower, almost a growl. “You don’t understand, do you? All this… watching, correcting, guiding… it’s not just about training. It’s about me, right here, right now… and you, still talking about pivoting and angles.”

She does a soft movement with her hand and you opponent leaves within seconds.

You pivot, finishing the combination flawlessly, turning to face her and speak breathlessly, “Angles! Pivot! Yes! I nailed it this time, right? I feel like I’m actually getting it! Your guidance really helped, your timing, the way you mirror their movements…”

Her eyes flash, a mixture of desire and exasperation blazing in them. She’s done. She can’t wait any longer. Without another word, she steps so close that you feel her hands gripping your shoulders firmly. Before you can react, she leans in, pressing her lips against yours in a sharp, demanding kiss.

Your body freezes, sword dangling uselessly in your hands, as your mind catches up for the first time to her. The warmth of her body, the heat of her lips, the subtle, intoxicating scent of her hair, it hits you all at once. You gasp, trying to step back, but her hands hold you firmly, pulling you closer as she deepens the kiss.

“T-Talia…” you manage, breathless, but she silences you with a teasing brush of her lips.

“You’ve been so… oblivious,” she murmurs against your mouth, voice low and husky. “And I can’t take it anymore. You never pay attention unless I make you.”

Her hands slide down your arms, pulling you flush against her, and you feel a shiver run through your body, every muscle suddenly aware of her touch. Your mind is spinning, your heart racing, your training completely forgotten as the reality of her attention, her desire, crashes down on you. You finally kiss her back, landing your free hand on her waist while she guides the kiss.

When she finally pulls back just slightly, forehead resting against yours, her eyes glint with triumph and longing. “Now,” she whispers, “you’re finally paying attention.”

You swallow, heart hammering, voice barely audible. “I… wow… I didn’t realize…”

Talia smiles, brushing a finger over your cheek, eyes dark and glimmering. “I know you didn’t. And that’s why I had to do it myself.”

She leans in again, softer this time, brushing her lips against yours in a tender, almost possessive kiss. “Rest for tonight,” she murmurs. “Tomorrow… we train. But maybe next time, you’ll notice me before I have to take such drastic measures.”