Because secondly, hadn't Denathrius instructed him to keep an eye on her? To find out what he could about her odd appearance in the department? Not that this was what the professor had in mind, conceded Renathal, sliding into his shoes. And certainly any suspicions she might be an Oribos-sponsored spy had faded as he grew increasingly to crave her company.  But he could not deny there were some discrepancies in the Maw Walker's story (such as why the Crimson Shade assured him she had the necessary pre-reqs for this course, when she herself confessed she had little interest and even less experience in the subject) that while probably not nefarious, still made for a plausible-enough excuse should the professor or anyone else question why Renathal continued to meet with her.

Thus validated, he swung shut the wardrobe door and considered his bedroom critically. His darkly striped trousers felt suddenly a size too constricting at the outside possibility the Maw Walker’s pale eyes might wander the same furnishings later. Not that he was expecting her to return here with him, but ... remembering the glances she often threw his way when she thought he was focused on the computer screen ... well, he didn't think the prospect was entirely inconceivable.

But was it ethical?

Renathal considered this as he pulled the bedroom door closed and swept down the short hall to his flat's open concept living space, but it gave him only the briefest pause. After all, Denathrius did it all the time. Or at least, Renathal assumed that's what he did with his interns; those specially chosen graduate students who had the privilege of "assisting" him in his private research and with whom he spent rather a lot of intimate time alone in the department’s sub-basement (nicknamed, the Sanguine Depths). He doubted Oribos encouraged such a thing, but if the department head was doing it, it couldn’t be strictly forbidden. Nevertheless, he made a point of ignoring his copy of the staff's conduct guide as he straightened his bookshelves, did a quick sweep of all surfaces for anything untidy, and gave Vrednic a quick pet goodbye.

Because the last - and most important - reason he was going on this date whether or not it was an objectively good idea was because he really, really wanted to. Renathal had worked tirelessly, selflessly, fruitlessly for Revendreth for years, and intelligent, attractive, interesting people who were just as interested in him had proven scarce throughout them. Another unfortunate side effect to life as Denathrius' second-in-everything. Anyone who had ever shown his TA the slightest interest typically became captivated by the professor shortly after. And, as Renathal reached his parking space, brushed the door's lock panel and felt it click open under his hand, the thought that had threatened him most the last two weeks wormed its way to the forefront of his mind.

Why was the Maw Walker interested in him?

He dropped heavily onto the leather seat and jabbed the engine start button, irritated at the question's very existence. He was the next thing to Denathrius' intellectual equal, ran Revendreth with aplomb, and - Renathal angled the rearview mirror to inspect his reflection again - was just as pleasant to look at, as far as he could be allowed to judge. There was absolutely no reason someone should not find him as appealing as Denathrius. If anything, it was more extraordinary that no one had done so before.

Renathal’s eyes fell to the dashboard interface, and he started at the time. He was late. He shifted into reverse, condemning the question to the deepest recesses of his mind, then sped from the garage (rather faster than usual) determined to feel nothing but entirely self-assured.

This resolve's first test came as Renathal pulled into the dingy alley beside the tall building the Maw Walker had identified as her on-campus accommodation. He eyed the heavily graffitied brick and iron and the overflowing dumpster with distaste. The dilapidated building and its twin on the other side seemed to huddle together for comfort, bowed under the weight of years of neglect. And beyond them, shadows oozing between their narrow gap like some hungry, stygian creature, lurked the Maw. Renathal repressed a shudder as he slid dubiously from the car, and watched - half-impressed, half-exasperated - as the Maw Walker jumped from the last landing of the rickety fire escape.

"Surely that is not this building's recommended exit?" he asked by way of greeting.

The Maw Walker turned, brushing her coat free of rust flakes and other unidentifiable debris. It was the same long coat she habitually wore, though it looked somehow naked without the purple hooded sweatshirt underneath. Speaking of which... Renathal's eyes widened.

"The lift's broken," she panted. "And there's a sofa on the fourth floor landing I didn't feel like climbing over."

This explanation was entirely lost on Renathal, who was captivated by the sight of the Maw Walker’s long, bare legs. An excessive amount of leg for where they were going, truth be told, but even if there had been a tactful way to say this, he had no desire to see her change. She stepped toward him, the movement of her short, violet dress revealing a dark pattern on her thighs... tattoos?

"Wow." The Maw Walker's voice echoed some of Renathal's own breathless admiration. He forced his gaze upward and found her staring at him just as openly. "You look .... dashing," she decided after a pause.

Her eyes flashed with that heavy, dark something that so intrigued him. Then she blinked.

"Is this your car?"

Renathal smirked, momentarily distracted.

"Of course," he declared, placing a proud hand on the hood.

"This is your car?" she repeated.

His smirk shrank by several sharp teeth.

"Is there a problem?"

"No. I just..." The Maw Walker paused, scratching a sudden itch at her nose, and coincidentally hiding her mouth from view. "I've never actually been inside one of these before. Do the doors lift up?"

He brushed the passenger side door lock panel and pulled it open with mock chagrin.

"Not this model."

"What a shame."

Renathal ignored this, instead offering the Maw Walker his hand and his most winsome smile. As he had hoped, she laughed - the sound pairing perfectly with his own growing excitement - and accepted his hand, letting go only when she was fully situated inside. Renathal shut the door and returned to the driver's side, noting absently how the Maw's encroaching darkness seemed much less ominous than it had when he first arrived.

-

"So, is this allowed?" asked the Maw Walker, once they were safely on the road. "Teachers taking students on dates, I mean."

Interesting, thought Renathal, how she waited until they had already left to ask.

"Well, I am not technically a teacher,” he explained, and for once the admission was painless. "I am merely a humble teaching assistant.”

"Ah. Humble. Yes," was the indelicate reply.

For several minutes, the purr of the engine was the only sound, all Renathal's masterful focus concentrated on not glancing at the long, bare legs beside him. Then leather creaked as the Maw Walker shifted in her seat, leaning towards him to ask:

"So, where exactly are you taking me?"

The Ember Club was the newest, hottest entertainment in the Shadowlands. Housed in a renovated turn-of-the-century mansion in the recently gentrified part of the old Ember Ward, the building stood out like a decadent beacon from its envious, abandoned neighbours. It was strictly members-only, memberships extended only by invitation, and only VIP memberships such as Renathal’s granted the privilege of bringing a guest. A privilege he had never exercised, and Renathal felt every inch the visiting dignitary as he escorted the Maw Walker through the gate, across the expensively antiquated courtyard, to the many-gabled, excessively-turreted recreation-gothic mansion.

"Sorry, when you said club, I thought you meant, like, a night club," murmured the Maw Walker into Renathal's ear.

Behind them, the tearful rants of Rovinette (the Ember Club hostess) could still be heard echoing across the imported stone. Securing entrance in spite of his guest's unacceptable attire had required Renathal to invoke Denathrius (a prominent Ember Club patron, whom the staff had no wish to offend).

"I did say it would be a formal affair," Renathal reminded her without reproach; his current high spirits (and the pleasant nearness of the Maw Walker's lips) insulated him nicely from the scandalized looks around them as they navigated the high steps to the door.

The Maw Walker eyed the long, trailing skirts of the whispering socialites ahead of them as they crossed the threshold. Then blinked at the veritable sea of designer finery perambulating within, her own short dress sticking out like a rogue wave.

"I'm afraid I don't own anything this formal."

Renathal glanced down quickly. The imitation candelabras providing the club's only light (its brief foray into real tallow candles having come to a fiery and unanimous end) were dim enough to be considered atmospheric but not so dark he could not see the Maw Walker's face. It appeared as blank and impassive as ever, but Renathal thought she stuck unnecessarily close to his side. He hid his smile quickly behind a champagne flute stolen from a passing waiter's tray. He handed her a second, and fixed his expression into something merely thoughtful.

"I always did think the club's dress code could stand to be a bit less stuffy," he said, tapping his glass lightly to hers. "And I happen to think you look exceptionally lovely tonight."

The Maw Walker's cheekbones were a distinctly darker pink as she blinked, then tipped back her glass.

-

Renathal had anticipated a certain amount of awkwardness. All the questions he might usually ask on a first date such as her major (undeclared), her family situation (a dead sister she did not like to discuss), and her reason for starting university later than standard (caring for said sister until the obligation came to its untimely end) had been covered in their evening study sessions. He had therefore prepared a few subjects of interest in case talk should lull. He used none of them. To his delight and surprise, conversation flowed as easily with the Maw Walker here as it did in his office.

Of course, the Ember Club had to be given credit for some of this. It provided an unending wealth of interesting stories. Renathal led her through a lazy tour of the mansion, regaling her with the exploits and entertainments the club had offered in its short, illustrious history: the various archaic demonstrations it occasionally hosted, the disparate culinary experiences crafted by its picky and eccentric chef. On reaching the grand ballroom and waiting for the small band of musicians to strike up their first song, Renathal reminisced on the time the club contrived to fill the same room with a menagerie of exotic fauna. All of which promptly escaped and ran amok through the old mansion, its courtyard, and the ward at large.

By the end, the Maw Walker was gripping his arm for balance as her laughter threatened to collapse her. Renathal glowed at the sound.

"If they try that again, will you bring me back?" she asked, eyes sparkling wetly with mirth.

"Absolutely," he assured her, his own smile irrepressible at the thought of this joint future plan. "I apologise tonight's entertainment is nothing more exceptional than dancing."

He gestured eloquently to the vast ballroom floor where couples were beginning to gather at the sound of the tuning instruments. The high humour ebbed from the Maw Walker's features. She cocked her head at him.

"Do you dance?"

Renathal raised an eyebrow.

"Of course."

"Oh, of course," she mocked lightly.

"Do you not?"

"Not that sort of dancing."

The Maw Walker jerked her chin at the couples facing each other, then lifted her glass to her lips. It was her second, and its contents were nearly gone. Renathal was still on his first, but felt as garrulous and full of good feeling as if he had downed something much stronger than his hardly-touched champagne.

"Do you mean to say you have never received formal instruction, or you have never had occasion to dance with a partner at all?"

"Both?" She laughed again, though this was a shakier, more self-conscious sound. "Maybe at a wedding once when I was young, but- hey!"

She tried to snatch back the glass Renathal had plucked from her hand, but he had already set it next to his own on the nearest convenient surface.

"Come," he commanded brightly, a hand on her elbow urging her forward.

"I was still drinking that!"

"I promise to procure you another," he said with dramatic formality as he led her to the highly polished floor. "After we have finished your lesson for the day."

She started to laugh again. Then Renathal took her hand and positioned it on his shoulder, placing his own just under her shoulder blade, acquainting himself with the warm, bare skin her backless dress exposed. And the Maw Walker fell quiet. He could feel her delicious shiver underneath his fingers. The band began to play a minor, lilting waltz, and Renathal took up her other hand and - gently, firmly - guided her to movement.

It was slow-going at first, but he hardly noticed the couples whirling expertly around them. He kept up a steady stream of low instructions and encouragements, all directed into the Maw Walker's dark hair as she compulsively watched her feet.

Until the first song ended and Renathal removed his hand from hers briefly to lift her chin, forcing her to find his face.

"Look at me," he ordered softly. "I will not let you fall."

And, for once, the Maw Walker had nowhere to hide. Her fuchsia blush, the sharp catch of her breath, the tug of her teeth against her lip were all laid bare before him. She tried to shake hair across her face, but Renathal brushed it back before reclaiming her hand.

"You are ... very good at this," she murmured as they resumed.

"Thank you," he said, every muscle in his face working to keep his features free from smugness. "I believe you show some talent as well."

"A promising student?"

Her pale eyes glittered with mischief, but Renathal could feel her pounding heartbeat.

"Most promising," he agreed, lips curling wickedly around the words. "But I believe you would benefit from further instruction."

Her laugh was light and breathless, her face still flushed but relaxed; and the Maw Walker settled comfortably against Renathal, surrendering herself to his reign.

And if that was all there was to the evening, Renathal reflected an hour later as they finally stumbled from the ballroom, it was still better then he had ever dared hope. They had danced every dance, the Maw Walker flush against him by the end, and continuing to cling to his arm as they wended through the mansion, retrieved their coats, and crossed the courtyard quickly under the just-beginning rain. But, settling into his car, some of Renathal's earlier trepidation caught up with him. They were leaving behind the sheltered strictures - and myriad chaperones - of his well-planned Ember Club date and venturing into the uncertain night, and he had no idea what came next.

The evening had been perfect. Almost suspiciously so. Some subconscious part of him had fully expected the date to fail, the Maw Walker to realise he was no substitute for Denathrius after all and make some polite excuse for why she needed to get back. But she said nothing, only leaned casually toward him. Her hand tapped a mindless rhythm on the console, perilously close to his arm. Renathal wondered if she too was missing the easy, natural fit their bodies had learned over the last hour.

Wasn't he supposed to be taking more risks this year? Creating his own long-sought change?

"I must apologise," he said, hoping the sound of the rain would hide any audible nerves. "I never did get you that second drink I promised."

"No, you didn't," she replied playfully.

Renathal's gaze strayed to the passenger seat. The Maw Walker's cheeks were still flushed, or at least, they appeared so under the flickering light of the streetlamps. Her eyes met his. She smiled, and he did not think he was imagining its encouraging undercurrent.

"Shall we remedy that?"

There was the briefest hesitation, though Renathal felt every millisecond until -

"Yes, please."

- the tightness in his ribs relaxed. He exhaled, head buzzing with a dizzy echo of his earlier self-confidence, and set his face on the road again, lips twitching in an ill-concealed smirk. What he would do when they actually got to his flat was its own set of unknowns, but surely there was nothing left that could spoil this evening? Unless...

A horrible, unconsidered thought struck Renathal.

"I do hope you are not scared of dogs?"

-

"This is Vrednic."

A quarter hour later, Renathal made the requisite introductions, relieved - in spite of the Maw Walker's many reassurances on the car ride - that neither party seemed unhappy with the other's unfamiliar presence. His enormous beast wound hazardous circles around the Maw Walker's legs, panting approvingly, and she in turn was more openly enthusiastic than Renathal had yet seen her about anything.

"Oh, what a good boy, yes you are," she crowed, petting whatever bit of grey-black fur met her hand as Vrednic coiled round and round her, and Renathal felt as full of heady pride as if she were complimenting himself. She let her talking-to-dogs voice drop as she asked, "What sort of dog is he?"

"I have no idea," Renathal admitted, taking her coat solicitously and hanging it beside his on the rack by his flat's front door. "An amalgamation of different breeds. An absolute gargoyle of a dog," he added affectionately, scratching the spot under Vrednic's chin that made his stump of a tail beat the overdyed rug.

Leaving his housemate to temporarily entertain his guest, Renathal crossed to the kitchen side of the open living space in search of something appropriate to offer her to drink. The number of people he’d brought back to this flat could be counted on one nerve-wracked hand. What could not be so quickly counted was how long it had been since the last one, and consequently he kept little in the way of entertaining beverages. There was half a bottle of white wine in the refrigerator (but that really paired better with a meal), and some champagne stowed away at the top of a cupboard (a gift from Denathrius, Renathal was saving for some future special occasion). He snapped the cupboard door shut, berating himself for being so unprepared. But perhaps alcohol was a bad idea anyway. If this evening continued its promising trajectory, he did not want the Maw Walker drunk.

Tea, then. That was safely unassuming. And hadn't Theotar mentioned something about the Maw Walker enjoying it?

Renathal filled the kettle at the sink and set it on the range, then turned to check how his two friends were faring. Vrednic had rolled all his considerable weight over and was allowing the Maw Walker the privilege of rubbing his hairy underside. This she did with another laugh - a hitherto unheard version, one that wrinkled her nose - and a litany of dulcet praise. Renathal leaned his arms on the counter, watching quietly. And only when she looked up and caught his eye did he become aware of the inelegant grin plastered across his face. 

He turned hastily away, as if checking the kettle. Not a pretense he could realistically keep up for long, but the Maw Walker let the moment pass graciously unremarked upon, saying merely, "You know, I did not see you as a dog person."

"Oh?" called Renathal over his shoulder. On inspiration, he began pulling teapot and cups off a shelf to hide the smile he could not scrub away. "What sort of person did you see me as?"

"I don't know," came the thoughtful reply.

The sound of footsteps muffled by carpet made Renathal glance behind him. The Maw Walker had risen and was conducting a slow inspection of the bookshelves built into one windowless wall. She tilted her head to read the spines of the books and the titles of the modest collection of hardcopy media he maintained. Vrednic followed at her heels, nuzzling her unoccupied hands with indignant determination. She scratched his head absently.

"I don't know what I was expecting," she repeated. "Every time I think I've got you worked out, you surprise me."

Renathal had no idea whether this was good or bad and, currently, did not care. The minute attention she spared each of his belongings felt like a fingernail down his spine, the frisson forcing him to subtly adjust his trousers, clear his throat roughly, and ask "What sort of tea do you prefer?", by way of distraction.

The Maw Walker looked up. Something uninterpretable flitted across her face. She quickly flattened it and waffled, "Oh ... um... just whatever you have," then, glancing around more purposefully, asked, "Where's your washroom?".

She held up her hands, palms out, presumably indicating the shining evidence of canine affection. Renathal pointed her down the hall and to the right before returning to the kitchen and fishing one of the better treats out for Vrednic.

"You did brilliantly," he said, stroking the dog's rough fur. "It would not have gone better had we rehearsed it. You have my thanks."

His housemate accepted the praise and the reward with a wag of acknowledgement and took both away to the flat's spare bedroom to savour.

Renathal washed his own hands, then poured nearly boiling water into the smaller of his teapots and set to choosing the proper tea for the occasion (nothing too caffeinated but nothing that would look like he was trying to put his guest to sleep). He was just debating whether to arrange the settings in the small dining alcove or on the table between the two handsome living room chairs when the Maw Walker reappeared at his elbow.

"This is a really nice place," she said, her vague gesture presumably indicating the entire flat. "I had no idea being a TA paid so well.”

"All Denathrius' doing," explained Renathal proudly. He began laying the tea things out on the counter as the Maw Walker had already slid onto the stool behind it. "He has been excessively good to me."

"Mm."

She made a noncommittal noise and lifted the still-steaming cup Renathal set in front of her to her lips. Renathal might have assumed her grimace was due to the heat had he not noticed a similar response from her the last two weeks whenever the topic of the professor came up.

"He's quite good to all his staff," continued Renathal doggedly. "Most department heads would not take such pains to ensure their TA was so well accommodated."

"I guess he hasn't seen your office then."

The smile she flicked on and off marked her words ostensibly as jest, but they still stung Renathal, and his attempt to return the expression was strained.

"The department's budget has been stretched thin in recent years. Everyone is required to make sacrifices."

"I guess you haven't seen his office then," she said, looking away, suddenly interested in the framed prints on the nearest dark paneled wall.

Renathal stared. He wasn't sure what was most upsetting, the pointed commentary or the fact that she had been in Denathrius' office for some reason. Irascible curiousity reared its head, like a monster rising from some murky abyss. But he could think of no way to pose the question without sounding more accusatory than he had any right to be. He busied his hands with the tea preparations, instead.

"The research Denathrius is embroiled in is important and innovative, and therefore extremely valuable," he said stiffly. He stirred in sugars, the silver spoon clinking offensively against his cup's innocent porcelain sides. "The revenue it will accrue is the key to saving the department from the drought. Whatever the professor needs to complete this work cannot be considered excessive."

"You seem to know a lot about this mysterious research," said the Maw Walker mildly, watching Renathal drop the spoon onto the rest with a tinny clatter. "Do you help with it at all?"

It was Renathal's turn to deliberately avoid the Maw Walker's eye. He brought the cup to his lips without stirring, buying himself time. The truth was Denathrius kept his project extremely close to his broad chest. Only he and Inerva knew the full details, though rumours certainly circulated. They originated mostly from ex-interns - accepted and discarded in rapid succession - and Renathal knew better than to pay them any real heed. But to himself - Denathrius' TA and the "firstborn" of his department - the professor entrusted nothing. A slight that ached at Renathal like a physical wound.

He drank as long as he reasonably could before lowering his cup a fraction and admitting, "No. My purview is the students and staff."

"Odd," she said blithely, "that he trusts you to run Revendreth, but not to help with this incredibly important project that will presumably win the department fame and fortune. I wonder why."

This was too much.

"Denathrius may run his department any way he chooses without input from students," Renathal snapped. "Particularly students who have yet to master even the basics of his subject."

The Maw Walker blinked at him, and Renathal had to bite his tongue to quell his own rising fury. At her, for poking at this most painful of subjects. At himself, for his display of temper. And at Denathrius, who was somehow contriving to ruin their date without even being present. He inhaled shakily through his nose and swallowed more tea.

"That is to say," he said at last, in lieu of apology, "when you know Denathrius and the department itself better, you will see that every decision he makes, however unconventional, is for its greater good."

"Oh, I don't plan to have anything to do with him or his department any longer than I have to."

It would have hurt Renathal less if she had reached across the counter and slapped him.

"Then what are you doing here?" he managed in a strangled voice, slamming his cup into its saucer and spilling tea over the edge. "Why bother with private lessons if you find the subject such a waste of your time? Why agree to see me if my work and my department is so distasteful? I am hardly that different from Denathrius, after a-"

"You are nothing like Denathrius," the Maw Walker interrupted, and the thrum of real anger he had never heard from her stunned Renathal into silence.

"You," she said, pointing a finger at Renathal as she spoke, "are patient and attentive and considerate. And you take education seriously, it's not just about ... accruing an illustrious reputation for yourself." She spat each virtue at him as if they were condemnable crimes. "And no, alright, if you want it honestly, I haven't been coming for extra help because I care anything about the subject, I came because of you. Because you're intelligent and attractive and I like hearing you talk. And I came with you tonight because I wanted to see if I liked hearing you talk just as much outside of your office. And because I - I thought I ... might enjoy myself." Her shoulders slumped as her fit of impassioned pique died abruptly, and she blinked, shocked by her own speech.

Renathal rarely indulged in enough alcohol to be considered properly drunk, but he still recognised the sensation. The elation of her open compliments and her admission of definite interest warred with the indignity of having them thrown at him in such an accusatory fashion. He wracked his swimming brain but could not think up the proper response. In the end, he could only ask, the words slightly slurred, "And ... did you?"

"Yes. I did," she said simply.

There seemed nothing else for either of them to say. For two unnaturally long minutes, there was only the sound of Vrednic's distant, rumbling snores. The Maw Walker dropped her gaze to her teacup and stared, as if trying to remember what to do with it. Renathal reached across the counter and pressed the cup into her limp hands, adding awkwardly, "You should drink it before it gets cold."

She brought the cup halfway to her mouth, paused, then set it back down without drinking, and when she next looked up at Renathal, she had reassumed her trademark impassivity. All his remaining hopes plummeted. He lifted his own still-dripping cup and drank, swallowing his dismay.

"Two things," said the Maw Walker, and held up two fingers to illustrate her concept. "One - when I say yes to a drink, I never mean tea."

Renathal paused his inner battle with bitter disappointment and furrowed his brow.

"Theotar mentioned you were fond of tea."

"No, I'm fond of Theotar. I tolerate his brew for friendship's sake."

She said this with a hint of her usual, serene smile, that grew as she stepped around the counter into what was undeniably Renathal's personal space. 

"What is the second thing?" he asked, voice low and throaty, eyes riveted to hers; unwilling to trust he was reading this situation right, until the Maw Walker removed the cup from his hands and pushed it onto the counter.

"When I say I'll come back to someone's flat for a drink," she said, so close he could feel the breath behind each tantalising word. "I don't mean tea then either."

Her eyes flicked to his lips. And she was still smiling that infuriatingly self-assured smile when Renathal caught hold of her chin and kissed her for the first time.

It was very like their first dance; a slow, careful exploration that the Maw Walker let him lead. Renathal lingered long in the outset, memorizing the pattern of her lips before gently teasing them open. He cupped her face with careful fingers, coaxing her closer, urging her deeper. She followed his mouth's languid pace obediently, but her hands betrayed her eagerness. They skimmed willfully up his chest, plucking at his collar, and had undone the first buttons before his preoccupied brain understood what she was about. She traced the outline of his collarbones, her fingernails conjuring heat across his skin like delicate brands.

On instinct, Renathal clutched her to him, ignoring his better sense; that small, calculating part of his brain that shouted warnings through libidinous haze. It would not do to seem too desperate, too wanton, to let his hands wandering her naked back betray how badly he needed this to last. Nevertheless, his nails drew dangerous patterns down the Maw Walker's exposed spine, and her sharp arch and breathy cry at such comparatively modest affection drowned out any more arguments from Renathal's tenuous self-control.

And then his hands were everywhere, selfishly grabbing and stroking and squeezing any soft curve they could find. The Maw Walker melted at each touch, arms thrown around him as she fought to line her body up exactly with his. She moaned against his mouth in need and frustration at the stifling clothing in her way, her unbridled desire setting Renathal's blood on fire. Before he could think twice - once, even - his hands were sliding purposefully up the pretty patterns decorating her thighs. Another generous gasp fueled his boldness, and he flipped the hem of the blessedly short dress carelessly away to find ...nothing, not even the flimsiest cloth. Just exposed, almost dripping wetness.

Now it was Renathal groaning into their clumsy, broken kiss, a long, guttural sound of triumph and shock. Had she been this bare the entire evening, waiting for him to notice, or had she made some secret adjustment to her wardrobe while in the washroom? He wanted to ask, but the words were lost in a sudden surge of white-hot arousal as the Maw Walker's hands, abandoning his shoulders for his belt, brushed the straining front of his trousers.

His body demanded Renathal find something to pin her against immediately ... but where? The counter was full of ridiculous tea, the walls all covered in what suddenly seemed an unnecessary number of frames and shelves. He struggled to think against sheer mindless lust as the Maw Walker's fingers conquered his belt buckle and slipped under his waistband, tortuously close to where he needed them. He had no sofa (another belatedly obvious design flaw) and the two armchairs, while large, were rather too stiff and decorous for his intended purpose. The bed seemed presumptuous, but surely that was where this was going, except...

His most thoughtless oversight of the entire evening hit Renathal like a punch to his coiled and heated gut. He ripped his mouth away to confess raggedly, "I don't ... have any protection."

The Maw Walker blinked several times, interpreting his words through fervent fog; the most suspense-laden pause of Renathal's entire existence until -

"Don't worry," she finally said between gulping breaths. "I'm well protected." At his own slow blink, she added, "Birth control?"

Renathal felt a twinge of embarrassment for being so slow on the uptake, but it was quickly buried under another wave of demanding desire as the Maw Walker's insatiable hands teased the line of pale hair they had discovered on his abdomen.

"Perfect," he murmured, leaning in to capture her lips again.

This time she spoke between open, messy kisses, "You don't ... do this a lot, do you?"

Ignoring the blush creeping up his cheeks, Renathal focused on hoisting her into his arms, hands fastened securely underneath her dress. Embarrassment dissolved as the Maw Walker gasped and locked her legs around him, and he staggered forward, saying ruefully, "I suppose it has been a while."

"Why is that?" she murmured against his ear before tracing the shell with her tongue, and Renathal's brain wasn't working well enough to think up lies or concoct more flattering half-truths.

"Lack of opportunity," he admitted roughly. He didn't really want to discuss this - he didn't really want to talk at all just now - but the struggle to keep the Maw Walker in his arms and open the bedroom door at the same time left him no way to distract her from replying, "Oh yes, I've heard sex is hard to come by at university."

"It is when you live in the shadow of Denathrius," he growled, the words muffled against her hair, but she must have understood because she joked no more and he had purchase on the doorknob at last.

Renathal stumbled through the door and to the bed, depositing the Maw Walker roughly and hastily following her down. Between both sets of furious hands, they managed to tug off dress and shirt and undershirt and throw them aside. But reluctance to keep their lips from each other for more than a second made the removal of his trousers more of a challenge. Renathal was forced to roll off her to divest himself of his final layers, but the Maw Walker's moan as she drank in the sight of him made the brief separation worthwhile.

She sat up, deliciously bare chest heaving as her eyes wandered his body in undisguised hunger. She brought her gaze to his with a heated smile, and declared, "You are in nobody's shadow."

After which, coherent words were hard to come by for a while. Renathal's tongue was busy seeking out the taste of her praise, and his brain refused to process anything but the exquisite sensations. Skin, so much skin, soft and everywhere, wrapped around him. Music that occasionally had his name in it, which much be the Maw Walker's moans. And then a heat that made focus on anything else impossible, his whole body's singular purpose to be consumed by it, to be deeper, deeper, deeper, to give her more, to give her all...

When Renathal's mind resurfaced, every thought was tinted in bright, peaceful sunshine - despite the black night still lingering outside his window. To be so thoroughly relaxed was almost as orgasmic as his actual climax, and he closed his eyes against reality, basking in long overdue satisfaction.

"This is a lot of bed for someone who doesn't do this often," remarked the Maw Walker casually from beside him. 

Renathal answered without opening his eyes.

"Most of the furnishings came with the flat. Denathrius' doing."

It took a few moments for his bliss-soaked brain to understand why she fell silent. The memory of their earlier argument returned, but Renathal was far too full of good feeling to make any room for further ire. He rolled over and found the Maw Walker sitting up, eyeing the edge of the bed with alarming purpose. He snaked quick arms around her waist, preventing her escape, and a combination of pulling and persuading and a few unfair tricks on the part of Renathal's long fingers and she was safely plastered against him once more.

He tilted her chin, forcing her to find his face.

"Why do you dislike him?” he asked, the question weightless and calm.

The Maw Walker sighed. The gentle air fluttered against Renathal's mussed goatee as her lips sought his.

“I like you better," she whispered. "Can't I just... like you?"

It should not have been such an extraordinary sentiment. After all, there was no reason someone should not find him just as desirable as Denathrius. But it still knocked the breath from Renathal's lungs and reignited his blood's fiery, primal boil. His answer was an equally extraordinary set of demonstrative kisses and an enthusiastic reprisal of an earlier position the Maw Walker had expressed fondness for.