When he opened his eyes again, the late afternoon sun was blazing inconsiderately through his window, casting a warm glow throughout his own bedroom (which, apparently, he was lying in.) The light gave him an instant headache, and he shut his eyes again, both against it and the images that flashed through his head.

She won.

Yes, and then you fainted.

Did I, really? He remembered with some embarrassment how he had launched himself from his seat, trying to call up a few magic missiles to throw across the arena and into Lorne's face; he'd nearly jumped down into the pit with the two fighters. Then the guards had pulled him back, Khelgar has shouted, his mind had gone from chilling, icy rage to warm relief and eventual panic within the flick of an eyelash, and then he'd blacked out.

And everyone...?

Oh yes, the whole crowd witnessed it.

Well. It had been a while since he'd made a complete fool of himself; he supposed he'd been due for it sooner or later. But over a woman? Especially when said woman had just obliterated seven feet of solidly muscled Lorne, all on her lonesome?

He groaned, shifting to cover his eyes with his left hand...except that his hand was pinned down onto the bed by some unknown weight. One eye opened slightly; Sathyra sat next to his bed, bent forward and squash-faced into the mattress, her forehead pressed against the back of his hand while her fingers rested lightly somewhere close to his elbow. She was, if indicated by the soft snoring and tightly closed eyelids, deep asleep.

An unfamiliar flash of tenderness jolted through him. All right. Admit that you like her.

He...respected her, yes. The gods knew (especially Tyr) that he was physically attracted to her. She was one of the few out of that entire group of misfits that could trade words with him on some level of intelligence. And the only one brave enough to tease him. A few times she'd rendered him speechless after a particularly jaunty barb of hers, and he hadn't known whether to be pleased or outraged.

And she'd seduced him. In a church. He wasn't sure if he was pleased or outraged over that, either. His eyes followed the curve of her jaw as she slept, smooth and stubbornly set, running down into the arch of her long, white neck. Images flashed through his mind from the night before, and he felt a rush of heat permeate his skin.

Well. Pleased it was, then.

But, he had to admit, she had quite the ulterior motive for reaching out to him on the eve of what might have been her last battle. Death had loomed on her horizon, and she might have been merely looking for comfort of the basest nature. They were conveniently good enough companions that she could have merely felt more comfortable inciting a one night dalliance with him, as opposed to the other two...candidates. And he couldn't deny that there was a physical pull between both of them, a tension that had existed since the moment she'd turn around to face him as he walked into the flagon, that first day; her delicate, moon-elven beauty offset by the tarnished, earthen, bloodied armor she wore. He had been shocked, aroused, intrigued by the complete paradox she represented, just by standing there. And she had returned his stare momentarily, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, inhaling sharply for the merest of moments...

Then he had turned, as if ignoring her, and had sent a barrage of off-handed insults in Duncan's direction, attempting to regain some ground. Afterwards, the wordplay between her and him was almost constant, but that first moment had been there, simmering under the surface...

His hand, as if by it's own volition, turned underneath her weight, his thumb sliding across the bridge of her nose and down the smooth plane of her cheek. She muttered something, shifted, sucked in the slow, deep breath of those returning to consciousness, and opened her eyes.

Her head remained on the bed, turned towards him; she felt his hand on her face, and seemed to freeze, her face expressionless. Sand felt a surge of panic...

...that disappeared as a shy smile curled her lips. “Look who's awake,” she said, her voice drawling in the same light mockery she always used with him.

“I could say the same for you, dear girl,” he said archly. His hand dropped to his side. “Is it customary for all warriors to drool in their slumber?”

She scowled at him, but her eyes danced merrily. “As customary as it is for all wizards to faint at the sight of battle.”

He sniffed at her disdainfully. “I'll have you know that I was interrupted in the midst of my spellcasting; I can't be blamed for the after effects of such an action.” He sat up, propping his back against the headboard, and realized with a disconcerting downward glance that he was clad in only his trews. Well...it's not as if she hasn't seen it, already. “May I ask where my clothes are?”

She sat up and stretched, yawning slightly as she gestured to the wardrobe on the other side of his room. “Khelgar and Casavir carried you here all the way from the arena; we didn't know what was wrong with you, and Elanee advised that we get you as un-constricted as possible, and in to bed.”

Sand rolled his eyes. “Ah yes, the answer to everyone's ailments; just remove their clothes.”

“And you're surprised, with the way she dresses?”

He snorted a laugh, which quickly died when he felt her hand on his; he met her eyes, and she frowned at him slightly, the teasing gone from her voice. “You are all right though, yes?”

“Perfectly fine, dear girl.” He yawned himself, stretching his arms behind his head...he noticed how her eyes flicked from his face down to his bare chest and back up again, and felt a smirk of satisfaction twitch across his mouth. “Although it's quite possible that I didn't get enough sleep last night.”

Heat flared in her eyes as one delicate, pale eyebrow shot up. “Oh? And why is that?”

His voice was offhanded. “Why, I knew the dangers you'd be facing, girl; I couldn't rest until I'd gone to the temple to pray for your safety.”

She blinked at him, and he felt a momentary flash of triumph when he realized he'd managed to render her speechless, for once. Then laughter burst from her throat, and she lifted herself up, crawling forward onto the bed until her knees were on either side of his waist...her hands slid up his bare chest, and he felt his blood thunder wildly in his ears at the feel of her straddling his lap, the warm weight of her pressing down against the heat that was gathering below his waist. Her face, her lips, were tantalizing close to his as she practically purred, “And what about now, wizard? Am I in danger now?”

His hand lifted from the bed, sliding up the back of her neck and entangling itself in that lustrous, silver hair. His other arm slid around her waist, pulling her down so that her body pressed fully against his. “More than you even know, girl.” And with a slight pressure from his fingers, he pulled her face downward, kissing her with such sudden ferocity that a startled gasp escaped her lips, muffled against his passionate onslaught.

Well, I can safely say that this was not just a one night dalliance...was there such a thing as two night dalliances?

Her tunic was discarded a few moments later, and her fingers were slowly working the laces at his waist; he assumed she was purposefully brushing her fingers against him in the process...

She seems enthusiastic about this whole thing...and in all fairness, death is imminent for all of us on a daily basis, so I suppose it's not illogical

She definitely had a penchant for tossing clothing, as he watched his trews sail across the room and land expertly on the doorknob. Hers landed somewhere behind the wardrobe...

You know, I could get used to this...

He buried his face against her neck, arms encircling her waist, her fingers sinking into his hair as she fused the minute distance between them with a slow, downward thrust of her hips; and after that, the thoughts disappeared, and there wasn't much else that he could have focused on, had he wanted to.

o o o o o o

She stirred slightly, mumbling something, and he opened his eyes drowsily. “Hmm?”

“I said, this is a lot warmer than sleeping alone.”

“Hmm.” He had to agree; thanks to Duncan banking the fires of the common room at night, the rooms were downright freezing, and it was much more comfortable having a nude Sathyra curled up next to him. Yes. Comfortable.

“Maybe we should...?”

“Hmmm?”

“Oh come on, Sand.”

He chuckled. “Is it worth risking being murdered by your uncle just to share a bed with you?”

He felt her shift, saw a pair of green eyes move in front of his vision, pale hair gleaming in the moonlight that now streamed through the window. “You tell me.” She stared down at him, eyes wide, lips slightly parted, inhaling sharply for the merest of moments...

He sighed. Death was imminent anyway, after all. “If you promise to keep your uncle from disemboweling me with a keg tap, then I...suppose it wouldn't do any harm...”

“I'll do my best.” She grinned. “It's not like I'm going to tell him where I'll be spending my nights.”

He gave her a dubious look, and she responded by kissing him, the sensual pressure of her lips igniting a tiny flame inside of him once again. He inhaled deeply, the scent of waterlilies invading his nostrils, and with a swift motion turned her onto her back, illiciting a surprised squeal from her throat.

As her arms wrapped around his neck, he resigned himself, with the grace and stoicalness of all martyrs, to the fact that, from this point forward, sleep was going to be an elusive concept, indeed.