ZAKNAFEIN

Iswen snorted as she rested her head on the lip of the tub to look over at him. “And if I say you’re interrupting the start of a damn good brood?”

There were times she did have to wonder about him and his intentions. There were times she wondered about her own damn intentions, but those at least she could ignore.

He smiled, stepping inside and closing the door. When he sank down to the floor against the wall, he was all easy grace-- even tired, he was as limber as a cat.

Zak raised an eyebrow at her, his lips teasing at a smile. “If you want me to go, I will. I just thought you might like a little company.”

It’s embarrassing to admit she’s FLUSTERED. How does he do that to her so quickly? She leans back on her heels, shaking the toxin of his proximity.

“Of course you were.” They both know it’s laughably far from the truth. One eyebrow sketches upward, a glint to the gaze she sets on his, so much like crosshairs for a killing blow.

“And as a well raised drow boy, you must know better than to invoke their WRATH.”

He’s grown to love that smolder in her eyes-- that passion that so mirrors his own. He feels as though she’s ignited a fire underneath his skin, and in such close proximity to her it’s aching to break free. Placing his hands on top of hers, he guides them slowly down his chest, leading her touch across every chiseled muscle.

Kendrial and Iswen and Zak: Aww, how cute, but you’re still an asshole.

“You really are an arrogant son of a bitch,” she said, nearly cheerfully. She called him an arrogant son of a bitch almost daily, on the grounds that it was true. “You seem to be underestimating the enjoyment to be had in riding,” she said, eyebrows arching.

They made an odd pair, quite nearly night and day to each other. Maybe there had always been a part of her - the part that slept through dawn prayers, most like - that had always wanted the night, no matter the danger lurking under the darkness. The sensible part of her knew that this was not going to work long-term, as little as living at night truly worked for human born for the sun.

But damn if wasn’t fun now, and something she’d desperately needed.

He offered no defense against the insult. As a matter of fact, he seemed to wear it as a badge of pride most days, dismissing it with a swaggering grin. That was the nature of their relationship: he was BAD for her, and they both knew he was bad for her. But in a way, they were good for each other, too. And there was no way in all the hells they meant to stop.

“On the contrary. I enjoy riding very much.” He maintained his composure as he went about the business of checking his tack, holding back the impulse to smile.

Never one for frivolous compliments, was he? And certainly not known for playing along. She’d put effort into this spell though – and Lloth help her, he would admit it was great.

“That sounds like nearly the same thing, she counters, eating the distance between them. “But just so we’re clear…” a hand drifts down the front of his shirt, stopping to grab a handful of fabric, draw him close, “why don’t you just SAY IT once for me?”

He grins, pulling her closer by her hips. The space between them seems to tingle with tension-- a spark just waiting to ignite-- and he leans closer, sharing her breath for one feverish moment. Teasingly slow, he catches her lips on his, teeth pinching at the petal-soft skin.

And then, as he draws away--

Iswen hid her smile as she dismounted and loosened Nutmeg’s girth, with another fond pat for her warhorse. Traveling with Zak, there were things that she was forced to accept: namely that he was better than she was at most things. It was small of her, but she was happy to have just one thing that was hers.

“It’s fun,” she agreed as she walked the warhorse to cool her. “It’s also good for the rider,” she added with a grin. “Strengthens calves and thighs, improves balance, helps teaches communication through touch…” She arched an eyebrow, and skimmed her hand down Nutmeg’s neck, rather pointedly.

He shot Iswen a grin over his shoulder. “I don’t need a horse to strengthen my legs or improve my balance. And as for the last...” he paused, tightening the buckle on his saddle bag with a little more enthusiasm than was necessary. “I can think of other, more ENJOYABLE activities that accomplish the same thing.”

He glanced at her again, the look laden with meaning. He knew that he was a terrible influence on the young paladin. She’d lived only a fraction of his centuries-- and her philosophies, though full of good intention, also struck him as NAIVE. Perhaps that was just the gift of his heritage; perhaps after centuries in Menzoberranzan, the whole world would seem naive.

She sniffs. “Of course it wasn’t.” A beat. Kendrial raises a brow. Something like mischief colors her eyes. “But were you IMPRESSED?”

“For now,” Iswen said, slipping her feet from the stirrups and loosening the reins to stretch herself; anyone who thought the horse did all the work had never been an active rider of one. Her own shirt was clinging to her sweaty back, but there was some pleasure in that, too. Nutmeg would come around to that line of thinking after she stopped sulking over being made to piaffe.

“Any time you want to learn, I promise I won’t start with the airs above the ground,” she added with a grin.

Zak raised an eyebrow at her, his gaze skittering down Nutmeg’s sweat-streaked form and back up to the rider. Try as he might, he couldn’t quite picture himself atop a prancing horse, performing acrobatics like a fool in a circus.

“I didn’t.” ( But she did. About eight times. )

theweaponsmaster:

“How many times did you have to rehearse that?”

“I will have you know,” Iswen said as she reached down and gave Nutmeg a few solid pats, “that, while generally useless in general mounted combat, the pattern as much as the maneuvers builds strength and conditioning - which she needs because she’s getting fat.” The last, leaned over and addressed to the warhorse, was meant with an unhappy snort and a shake of a sweaty mane. Half of that was on her not schooling her horse, but they so rarely had both time and a large enough flat surface.

Zak snorted, shaking his head. He still hadn’t grown completely accustomed to HORSES, different as they were from the giant lizards commonly used as mounts in the Underdark. The inability to traverse walls and ceilings had taken some getting used to-- as well as the general clatter of hooves versus the quiet tug of adhesive feet. 

So if I start listening to the Homeland audio....How much am I going to cry in public?

I may or may not have done a NWN-based Police Procedural for one NaNoWriMo. It was wild.