Zacharias Barnham, former leader of knights and current baker of delights, liked Fridays. He only had to work half a shift at Mrs. Eclaire's, since the shop closed at noon to balance accounts and prepare for the next week. It gave him time to eat a light lunch and clean up before walking the long stretch of dirt road towards the lake. Friday night was date night.

He didn't mind the long walk. It gave him time to clear his head, and the path through the wood was beautiful no matter what time of year. Even in the coldest, most biting winter he could find inspiration in the icicles hanging from the leafless branches, and nothing was insurmountable when the reward at the end made it all worthwhile.

But now it was autumn, the leaves above him trembling in the crisp breeze, gilded in yellows, oranges, browns and beiges. Pockets of sun warmed the worn path, dampened to a dull muddy hue in the recent morning rains. The air was fresh, fragranced with mulchy earth and changing season. It was a good day for a stroll, but he'd promised Eve a night at the tavern for a change of pace.

The land surrounding the lake was golden brown from the sun, waves of wheatgrass dancing in afternoon light and hiding the few remaining red flowers left from the summer fields. He knew that the first frost would kill both grass and any lingering blossoms, but even that had its own charm, dormant and silent through the long winter months until the first greens of spring crawled from the wreckage.

Whistling as he crossed the bridge, he tromped up the hill to the front gates, pausing only to pet the horses still stabled at the edge of the property. They were used to him, the boldest of the pair leaning over to nibble at his pocket in hopes of a treat. It wouldn't do to keep her waiting, however. He gave the horses a farewell pat before hurrying up the front walk and knocking on the door.

He adjusted his collar, patting down his hair and trying to assume what he hoped was a casual stance. Espella had 'helped' with his clothing, and while he trusted her, he felt… silly. It wasn't at all what he'd normally wear, with dark jeans instead of khaki slacks and a white button-up beneath a navy coat he'd worn to a wedding once. She hadn't even let him put on a tie or even a watch. He turned, making sure for the umpteenth time that his pockets were properly stuffed into the constricting fabric of the jeans, and heard the door open behind him.

"Well…" He spun around, the smile on his face dropping when he caught sight of her. "Is this a special occasion? I feel underdressed." That was the understatement of the century. She was far more than adequately dressed, but his mouth was suddenly too dry to convey that thought.

There was something new that he assumed to be a shirt, though it looked more like she'd merely draped white silk across her and let it hang. Her shoulders were bare, though there were sleeves that hung widely from her upper arms. There was even a bit of cleavage visible under her bared collarbone. She was also in his favorite black pants, the ones tight enough that every curve was hugged in the smooth, stretchy fabric. And she'd left her hair down, only a few curls pulled back with a white ribbon while the rest tumbled down her back. She was desirable, delectable, truly… truly….

His jeans were far too tight.

"It's different," she continued, and his mind vaguely recalled that she'd been speaking in the meantime. He was more focused on how her eyes were looking him over, lingering in different places as she unconsciously bit her glossed lips. "I like it, though."

"Yeah?" God, his voice was so choked. He cleared his throat, trying to play it off as allergies.

"Are you ready to go?" She stepped out of the house, turning to lock it behind her. His gaze fell on her rear, the blouse stopping just above it and flashing peeks of her skin, so creamy against the dark cloth….

"Go?" The only thing worse than a choked voice was a breaking one, and his sounded like a teen's. "Ah, ha-ha… erm, why don't we just stay here?" She glanced over her shoulder, one dark brow arching imperiously, and he felt a blush steal over his face.

"So early?" she laughed, the sound breathy and soft and going straight through him like a chill. "Come now, Sir Knight: get a hold of yourself." She stepped close, his nose filling with the fragrance of her perfumed hair as she reached up to readjust his collar, tugging slightly harder than necessary. "Maybe later, if you can manage to behave."

If it weren't for his fear of accidentally tearing or mussing that smooth, beautiful fabric, he would have grabbed her then and there. He loved it when she was like that, assertive and blatant, teasing him and knowing full well what she did. It tore him two ways, half his mind wanting to fall to his knees before her, the other wanting to throw her on the nearest hard surface and make her beg. One or the other always won out, but either way she reminded him of just how lucky he was to have gotten to her before anyone else could.

Speaking of which… every low-down, no good eyeball in that tavern would be watching her, he was sure of it. Not many women frequented Rouge's, other than Rouge herself; even less were of the high-class caliber that his girl was. The more primitive side of him wanted to grab her anyway, to mark that bared, beautiful neck somehow, to show every slimy sleazeball in that building that she was taken.

"Are you certain you wish to go to the tavern?" he asked half hopefully, wishing that she'd choose someplace, anyplace else and save him the trouble of physically beating back anyone who dared to make a drunken pass.

"We told her we'd come," she pointed out, nonchalantly weaving his fingers through hers and urging him on with a tug. "It would be rude to change plans now that we're expected."

"Aye, only…." He couldn't think of the right words to explain his concerns to her without sounding either possessive or overly guarded, so he bit his tongue. Perhaps he was over-thinking. "Never mind."

"Hey, you two! Right here!"

He tried to ignore the tavern keeper, steering Eve towards one of the more secluded tables in the back, but she ducked beneath his hand and stepped across the lively hall towards the bar.

"Rouge, how are you?"

"Busy as ever." She made a face as Eve sat in one of the two empty proffered stools, looking pointedly over her shoulder. He followed, frowning as he took the other seat, looking around cautiously. A knife narrowly missed his ear, bouncing off the bar and flipping to lodge itself in the staircase railing. Rouge ignored it, wiping a dingy rag across the scuff mark before grinning at him. "What'll it be, Zacky?"

"The usual, I suppose," he replied gruffly, eyeing a pair of knights involved in a heated arm wrestling competition on the other end of the bar. Rouge clicked her tongue.

"Coming up. And you?" she asked Eve politely, not yet having figured out a properly cringe-worthy nickname for the former High Inquisitor.

"Hmm… what do you suggest?" She eyed the hastily chalked 'menu of the day', which was filled to the brim with odd names for drinks that seemed only to exist in the confines of the tavern, and did nothing to help explain what was in them.

"Are you up for trying something experimental? There's a new formula I've been working on, now that I can keep some of this shit cold." She motioned with pride to the modern industrial refrigerator/freezer, shoved haphazardly between two kegs of ale and a shelf of clean, albeit dented, chalices.

"S-sure." Eve looked at the menu again. "Why not."

"Za-kay!" He flinched, lips pursed thin as the voice echoed over the raucous laughter and clank of metal. The last person he needed to see, and already half-drunk, by the sound of it. Rouge gave him a sympathetic smirk before turning to fill their orders, shoving a middle finger towards a table that kept chanting her name and banging their empty cups.

"Adam." He pasted a strained, yet amicable smile on his face as the man fell over him, clapping him on the shoulder before stumbling into the empty seat on Eve's right. He clenched his hands into fists, squashing the urge to tear her from the seat and swap places so that he could be between the two. "It's been a while."

"Ya." The man scratched at his stubble, swishing the remainder of his drink in a chalice. "Been out in the damn woods, fighting off bugs and birds while we get these bloody tree houses ready for winter."

"Interesting." Then return there forthwith. He pressed his lips together tighter, until he was sure they were bloodless with the pressure.

"Where are me manners?" He seemed to notice Eve for the first time, his bloodshot blue eyes laughing as he reached for her hand. Before he could stop him, the drunken knight pressed a rather sloppy chivalrous kiss to her knuckles. "High Quinhisitor—High Inquos—Milady."

"How do you do, Sir Adam." She subtly wiped her hand on her pants, the picture of serene.

"Not as good as you, hahahaaaa…." He trailed off, glancing over her appreciatively. Barnham stiffened, willing himself to remain still even as every cell was urging him to fight. He caught Rouge's eye, scowling as he jerked his head. She shrugged with another, less benevolent smirk. Take care of it yourself, Zacky. He mouthed a choice curse at her, and she mouthed one back before carrying a tankard towards the chanting table. "…and you really are quite a lovely thing, you know."

"Why, thank you." Eve seemed more amused than anything else, but he still felt the green monster of jealousy unfurling in his gut. Adam, despite being a git, was still a handsome man and almost a good a knight as himself. There had been a fierce rivalry between the two when they were both new to the Order, volleying for position to see who could be the best at everything. Being made an Inquisitor, along with the natural maturing of age, had dampened some of the anger between them. But it had been no secret that Adam fancied the High Inquisitor as well, and despite neither of them openly acknowledging that new competition it had still been burning in the back of his mind.

"Adam, don't you have some work to do?" The harsh words had left his mouth almost before he'd thought them. The knight snorted knowingly, raising the chalice to his lips.

"At the week's end? Pshaw! I'm not one to leave me office in a messy rut." Red lips twisted into a proper sneer. "Besides, it's rude to leave conversation with a lady right after entering it." He winked unsteadily at Eve, who hid a smile behind her hand, muffled as a cough.

"Adam, you sod." Rouge slapped the back of his head as she walked by, tossing the empty tankard on the bar. "How many have you had now?"

"Only a few." He stared at the empty bottom of his chalice. "One more?"

"No." She leaned against the bar, twirling a dagger in her fingers. "Your tab's already sky high. You and I both know you're gonna regret it tomorrow," she pointed out glibly. "If you want more, you better get into the back and start on those dishes."

"You're a cruel one, love." He handed the chalice back with a pout.

"Aye, 'n I'm everyone's love when they're drunk. Go home and get some rest, blue-eyes." He sighed, and then rose with a wobble to his feet. He offered a bow to Eve, who nodded her head in reply.

"G'bye then, beautiful," he hiccupped. "See ya around, Za-kay. Tell the bread-lady I said hello." Without waiting for a reply, he stumbled up and out the door, weaving around a kissing couple and nearly plowing headfirst into a pillar. Eve took one look at her companion and rolled her eyes.

"Don't say anything. He's harmless."

"He's absurd!" She huffed, and then her eyes narrowed shrewdly.

"And you're jealous!"

"I am not!" She bit back a laugh.

"You are. Good grief, if I acted half the way you do every time a girl came up to you…."

"That's not the same at all," he growled, his face burning.

"Why? Because it's you?" Rouge interrupted them, a smile still playing on her face as she deposited a plate of grilled meat and a mug of ale before Barnham.

"The usual," she announced blithely, before offering a chalice to Eve. "And for the lady, my new recipe." Ice was heaped in the cup, along with frosted peaches and cherries. As she watched, the woman popped the cork off a bottle of wine and poured it over the ice, staining it a lovely maroon and drenching the fruit. "Bon appétit, or whatever else they say in fancy restaurants." She wiped her hands, licking a drop of wine off her thumb before moving to help more customers.

"Anyway, why are you jealous?" Eve picked the conversation back up, stealing a piece of meat from his plate and popping it in her mouth with a hum of approval. He drained his ale, mostly to keep from speaking. Why washe jealous? It was like asking the rain why it was wet. He threw his head back, finishing the last dregs of ale, and something occurred to him.

"Wait." He paused, mind hurrying to catch up. "You're jealous too!" She bristled.

"What are you—"

"You just said it." He pointed a finger at her, wagging it condemningly. "If I acted half the way you do'; that means you're jealous when other women are around." He grinned, feeling somewhat triumphant. She couldn't be a hypocrite if he called her on her bluff. She turned a fetching shade of pink, scowling before grabbing her spoon and chomping down on a mouthful of wine-flavored ice.

"So what if I am?" she asked after a moment, rolling a cherry around on her spoon. "It's not my fault you let them hang all over you." His mouth opened, prepared to answer that it wasn't like that, when he remembered that theoretically, all Adam had done was kiss her hand and call her pretty. Perhaps with another he could argue that point and win, but this was a woman who was just as much of a natural born prosecutor as he was. She'd pick his reasoning apart before he had time to make a rebuttal.

"Just forget it," he grumbled. She sighed, still staring at the cherry making rounds across the shallow divot of her spoon. He watched her, waiting for some sign that he'd upset her. He hadn't meant to, but Adam grated on his nerves even in the best of times. At least he was already drunk, so his flirting skills had been sub par from the get-go. She caught his eye and stared. "What?"

"Nothing." She ate the fruit, lips closing slowly over the spoon with a soft sound of relish. The blood rushed in his ears and he turned away quickly, eating and trying to keep from embarrassing himself in a public tavern. "Mmm." He couldn't stop his eyes from betraying him, sliding over to see her lick the last of the ice from her spoon, tongue flicking at the very end. It was nearly his undoing, but he hadn't been a top Inquisitor for nothing.

"Rouge." The woman turned and he lifted his empty mug. "When you've a moment." He had to commend himself on his ability to keep a straight face; years of dealing with the most inefficient, silly witnesses had honed that art. Still, it was easy to do it while staring down a golden-clad, drunken old fool. It was another thing to sit and pretend he didn't see how suggestive she was being.

"Oh—!" She'd lingered too long, and a drop of the cold liquid had landed on her collarbone, sliding down towards her breasts. She looked around for a napkin or a cloth, goosebumps forming on her skin from the chill as the drop skated closer to the immaculate white cloth. He checked to make sure Rouge's back was turned before reaching out, catching the drop on his finger before following the faint trail back up towards her neck. She muffled a gasp as he licked it from his knuckle, the wine sugar-sweet after the savory meat. Her eyes darkened, lips slightly parted, and it was his turn to sneer as he turned flippantly back to his meal without a word.

"For someone on a date, you two sure are being quiet." Rouge topped him off, scratching at the heart tattoo. He shrugged one shoulder, and Eve smiled placatingly at her. "Hmm." Tilting her head slightly, green eyes a little too knowledgeable, she considered the two of them before snorting. "Suit yourselves. Just let me know if you need something."

"Aye." She wandered off again, and he waited only a moment before resting his hand lightly on Eve's thigh. She stiffened, and then relaxed, looking away and pretending to study the patchy banner on the wall. He took a drink, his fingers trailing slowly along her inner thigh before slowly tapping a spot of skin he knew to be sensitive. It was almost impossible to keep a straight face when he could feel the warm just within reach, even through her clothing. The thought of drinking the icy wine and then going straight to that warmth, contrasting sensations on his tongue—he clenched his jaw, focusing on the slow, steady tap of his finger in time with the awful strumming of a woozy Birdly lounging on the staircase.

She squirmed when she couldn't stand it anymore, thighs trapping his fingers as they closed before she grabbed with punishingly sharp nails and brushed him away, a warning scowl warring with the feisty glow in her eyes. It was a challenge, but half the fun was keeping her guessing, not falling for the look that almost begged him to take her home early. He'd make her say it, light her on fire and let her debase her lofty morals by whispering to him in the middle of the crowded tavern, pleading until he gave her exactly what they both wanted.

If they'd just chosen the back booth, they wouldn't be in this situation. Still, he ate the last pieces of meat on his plate and imagined what he could do, with no one paying any attention as his hand stole down her pants, her subtle shifting and reddening face chalked up to the wine, the muffled squeak she'd give as she came, right in the middle of the damn tavern, no one but him seeing as the candlelight played across her panting lips….

A shrill whistle broke through his thoughts and he barely managed to duck as a sword flew over his head, a dozen or so voices calling and laughing as it lodged in the wall. Rouge shouted and tried to yank it out, cursing up a storm and demanding that they pay up or get out. Eve's eyes widened, turning to look over her shoulder and pinpoint who'd thrown it.

"Throw a sword, pay a shilling, throw a sword, pay a pound," Birdly cawed, kicking his feet in time on the stairs as he parroted Rouge's words in the most annoying way. He couldn't even keep time on the instrument anymore, strumming wildly as he laughed.

"It's getting late," Eve remarked wryly, tipping the chalice to drain the last of the melted ice and wine into her mouth. Her eyes were just a little brighter from the wine, her cheeks barely pink. She shook her head at the loud antics.

"'m not ready to leave yet," he announced, working on his third helping of ale. She pursed her lips, but signaled to Rouge.

"May I have more cherries?"

"Sure." She left for the back, returning with a bowl piled high with the diamond-fruit. "Help yourself." She slid a smaller dish across the bar, "For the pits." She arched a brow. "Unless you want to be like the rest of these buffoons and just spit them where you like."

"No, thank you." She began eating slowly, waiting for him to finish. He watched her, but she was through with her antics for the moment, it seemed. The sword had taken her mind off their little match… he could remedy that.

"Oi." He pointed the bowl. "Lemme have one." She slid the bowl towards him absently, working a pit out with her tongue before putting it in the dish. He opened his mouth, aahing and nearly bursting into laughter at the face she made.

"I'm not going to feed you," she hissed, looking around at the other patrons, most of whom were more interested in the impromptu dagger-throwing match that had been drawn up on the opposite wall.

"Please?"

"No!"

"Pretty please? My hands are full." His fingers found her leg again, this time playing it safe near her knee. She snuck a glance at Rouge, whose back was firmly turned to them while she chatted with Cutter.

"Pssh. Fine." She reached for a cherry, her eyes imploring him not to try anything funny as she held it with her fingertips and offered it to him. He took it happily, and nearly let her get away before nibbling her fingertips. She jerked her hand away, mouth tight.

"Don't you dare spit that at me," she snapped, eyeing him as he worked the pit in his mouth. He grinned, showing it between his teeth before spitting it into his hand and dropping it into the dish.

"Another?" She frowned, but it went oddly slack as she obligingly picked up another cherry, her eyes occasionally making sure Rouge was still busy. He opened his mouth again and this time, her fingers slid enticingly along his tongue, brushing his lower lip before retreating. He almost forgot to chew, his mouth going slack as his lips tingled. He bit too hard, pit jarring his teeth before he fished it out and dropped it into the dish without looking. His eyes were locked on hers.

"Another?" she asked sweetly, looking at him through her lashes. He nodded, unconsciously leaning forward in anticipation. She picked up another cherry, forgetting to check for Rouge this time; the fruit's skin brushed against the seam of his lips, but when he opened she yanked it away and popped it into her own mouth instead. He was tensed from head to toe, watching the fruit juice stain her mouth and unable to look away. "Are you ready to go?" she asked in a different tone, rubbing her thumb over her lips and sucking the lingering juice away.

"Wait outside while I pay," he answered, trying to stand in a way that brought as little attention as possible to the front of his jeans. She brushed against him as she passed, the scent of her hair still noticeable even over the heavy, lingering odor of ale and sweat that permeated every board of the tavern walls. He handed a few crumpled bills to Rouge, who took one look at him and leered.

"You be careful out there," she gloated, tossing her hair as she counted out his change. "Don't strain yourself, Zacky."

"Oh, shut up." He snatched the coins from her hand, shoving them into his pocket. "Lewd."

"Honest," she replied, blinking up at him. "Bring her by again soon. She seems to like cherries."

"Shut it."

"Ooh, angry." She waved him away dismissively, ring glinting against the black of her glove. "Better go take care of that." He snarled, unable to think up another good reply, and stomped out of the tavern. It didn't matter, anyway, if she knew what he was going to do. Every second spent arguing with her did nothing to ease his… tension. He wasn't even sure if he could wait until he got Eve home before showing her exactly how her teasing affected him.

It was already dark, or very nearly so, when he stepped out of the tavern. Only the barest hints of pink and dusky grey-blue still colored the sunset sky, the stars twinkling merrily above. She stood against the wall, foot resting on one of the various kegs Rouge kept outside for lack of space and watching the lights dancing through the broken windows of the alley's few residential homes. When she saw him, she pushed off the wall and began walking towards home without a word, an extra swing to her hips.

Damnit! He grabbed her wrist, dragging her down a side street and throwing her as gently as he was able against the roughened hewn stone of a decrepit, abandoned house. She yelped in surprise, giving just enough of an opening for him to grab the back of her neck, bending to slant his mouth over hers. He didn't wait for permission, unable to stop himself as his tongue swept over hers, picking up every last taste of cherries and wine before catching his breath, heart hammering.

"I saw you." His voice was raspy and there was someone passing by a little too close on the main street, but he didn't care and from the look on her face, she didn't either. He dipped his head to where the wine had trailed earlier. "What were you thinking of?" He licked from the valley of her breasts up to her neck, catching the remnants of the sticky trail and delighting in her shudder. "That?" He raised his eyes to hers with a smug expression. "Is that what you wanted me to do back there?"

She shoved him off of her with a grunt, panting with alley dust on her white blouse and a glistening trail on her exposed skin.

"I thought I told you to behave," she snarled, wiping at his saliva with her hand.

"You started it." He pushed her back to the wall lightly, challenging her without saying a word. "What's the matter?" He leaned close, biting at her lips. "You're tense, love."

"Ugh!" His cheek smarted, the sound of a slap ringing in his ear. His skin felt cold and he knew she'd brought blood, wittingly or by accident. Either way, it didn't matter. He grew drunk on the feeling, the slight pain building on the fire blazing in his veins. He nearly shook with it, the sensation too much after a date's worth of teasing.

"You really wish to play these games right now?" he murmured. "You know what happens."

"I'm not frightened of you." She struggled, a writhing wildcat he had to fight to keep pinned where he wanted. When physically overpowering him proved impossible, she moved back to what she excelled in: verbal cuts. "What do you plan on doing? I could have you groveling at my feet if I wanted." It was true, but he wasn't in the mood to indulge her at the moment with playing the gentle, loving boyfriend. And, if he could read her well—he'd had more than enough time to learn by now—that wasn't really what she wanted from him. They were empty words; she wanted a fight, and he was more than willing to give it to her.

The blood tickled his cheek as it trailed down the side of his face. He wiped it off, licking the iron tang off his fingers before rubbing the remainder away. She hadn't got him good—an accident, then. Shame.

"Plan?" he repeated sarcastically, running his tongue along his teeth to catch any last bits. "I didn't plan on doing anything. But now that I see how much you want it…"

"I don't want anything you can offer!"

"Oh?" His hand wormed between her legs, finding that sensitive spot just inside her right thigh. "You expect me to believe that when you're so warm? Tell me, milady—if I take off these pants, how wet will I find you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, speaking directly in her ear; even in a place like this, where things happened in the streets more often than not, he didn't want anyone else hearing. It wasn't their privilege.

"Fuck you." A thrill went through him, as it always did, when he reduced her to curses rather than eloquent quips.

"In the alley? And I thought I was supposed to behave." He left her against the wall, hands rising innocently as he turned and walked out of the alley. "Better get home, Eve. There are dastards and rogues in these alleys." He heard her frustrated shout and had to make a face to hide the laughter bubbling up in his chest. She wants it. She eats up every second of it.

The lights from the tavern were the brightest in the street, and beyond only the gentle flickering of fireplaces in houses and the occasional torch bled through the pale light of the full moon. He walked towards her house, knowing that she would follow. A sharp, quick punch to the shoulder had him faltering when she passed, not sparing a glance as she turned the corner.

They were silent through the woods, her taking three steps for one of his to keep a distance between them. He didn't mind, taking the time to admire her figure and silently laughing at how annoyed she was. The fields were quiet, devoid of the frogs that had croaked all summer and, save for a cricket or two, clear of insects.

They stopped at her house, her directly in front of the door and him two paces behind, still on the walk. She turned, the moonlight highlighting her dark hair; her face was shadowed, but he could still see the irritation marring her normally calm features. He raised a brow in silent query, and she smirked before unlocking the door and throwing it open. For a moment, everything was still. It even seemed that the waves on the lake had stopped mid-ripple, the breeze ceasing until the only sound was the heavy beat of his heart in his ears. The tension was nearly unbearable, and his fingers twitched as he waited before her, two tigers tensed to pounce, neither one of them content with playing the role of prey.

"What do you want?" She let out a breath, lip curling as she shook back her hair. When she spoke, her voice was so purely Darklaw, the sound going straight to his groin.

"Make me scream." God, yes. She wasted no more time, turning on her heel and running through the door, slamming it behind her. So it was a chase she wanted… fine with him. He followed, shouldering his way through the door and kicking it shut behind him as he let his coat drop. Sorry, Espella. Guess it was too much after all.

"Why're you running?" he laughed, shaking his arms through the sleeves before stalking down the hall after her. She stood near the stairs, eyes wild as she kicked off her heels at him. He stepped over them when they fell short of their mark, working on the buttons to his shirt as fast as his fumbling fingers could go.

"I'm not," she retorted, pulling the ribbon from her hair and letting the wavy curls fall around her face. She stood her ground as he rushed at her, shirt flapping around his chest as he picked her up with ease. Compared to body-slamming 200 lb men in full armor, she weighed little more than a doll.

"Hey!" She scratched at his back, cursing when he nearly dropped her climbing the stairs. "You Neanderthal! Put me down! …Zacharias!" Her voice ended in a choked cough as he threw her down on her bed, finally yanking his shirt off before working on his boots.

"Take off your shirt," he ordered, throwing his boots against the wall as soon as he could get them unlaced, socks following.

"As if." She crossed her arms, unwilling to bend. He rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. It didn't matter; she knew how much she had his blood pumping when she was like this, all claws and teeth and cursing. He gave her just enough time to struggle into a sitting position before tackling her back to the bed, the springs beneath them protesting at the motion. "Ugh!" She pushed at him, trying to work her legs between them in order to better get him off.

"Stop fighting!" She shivered when he tore off the shirt, no longer caring about keeping it pristine. She'd have to wash it anyway, to get the crud from the alley wall off. "I said stop!" he hissed when she raked her nails down his chest, red welts rising in their wake.

"I want to be on top!" He struggled with her hands, working to keep her pinned beneath him as she slipped and slithered out of his grasp.

"Tough luck; you don't always get what you want." She kneed him in the hip, working one arm free to pull at his hair when he bent to kiss her. He set his jaw against the pain, giving up on keeping her still and working at getting the button on her pants loose. The world flipped and somehow she found the strength to have him on his back, smiling victoriously as her hair tickled his bare chest. "Eve!"

"Aww," she mocked, leaning down to lick over the raised welts from her nails. "You don't always get what you want." He selfishly let himself have a moment's reprieve, head hanging off the bed as she pressed hot open-mouthed kisses down his chest, over his ribs, to his stomach and beyond.

He pulled up when he felt her pause, breath puffing over his abdomen. Their eyes met and she sneered, tongue darting out to lick over the straining bulge in his pants. He bit off a groan, clutching at the edge of the mattress.

"Is this what you want?" she purred, fingers rubbing through the coarse fabric. "Hmm? Beg me for it." For a fleeting moment, he considered giving in. Just the thought of her mouth on him, teasing him until he couldn't take it anymore…. He shuddered, feeling hot from head to toe. But begging? Not tonight.

He didn't answer, using his developed abs to sit up, keeping his hands free to grab at her before she could escape. He dragged her up the bed, finding the waistband of her pants and yanking them down around her knees along with her underwear. She shouted angrily, unable to kick with her legs tangled in her pants.

"Don't make me get rough," he warned, trying to hold both hands down with one of his own. It didn't work, and she paid little attention to him, biting whenever he had her hands tied up and raising new scratches along his shoulders when she fought them free again. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd be sore in the morning, but it was well worth it to see the blazing light in her eyes whenever he managed to outwit and overpower her. "Alright, I warned you." As calmly as he could, he grabbed her waist and flipped her over onto her stomach.

"Wha—no!" She arched against him as he wrestled her legs out of her pants, shoving his own down to his knees. He could barely contain his sigh of relief as the pressure on his erection vanished, but he had no time to spare. He boxed her under him, finding it far easier to hold her arms down this way. She felt him nudging against her and wiggled harder, gasping when he reached a hand beneath her and slid it down her stomach.

"That's what I thought," he chuckled, running his fingers between her legs and through her wet folds. She scowled, but her desperate bids for freedom were quickly turning into a steady grinding against his hand. "I'm surprised you went to that sort of place without a bra."

"The shirt had one built in, you idiot," she muttered darkly, huffing impatiently when he drew his hand away. "Are you going to do this or not!?"

"Of course. After you beg me for it." He stretched his arm to its limits, keeping hers in place as he kissed as far down her spine as he could. She arched into him with a moan, grinding back against him. The action nearly threw away what little resolve he had, but the need to prove a point overcame the animalistic side of his brain. "Come on now, Eve. Tell me what you want."

"Pssh!"

"Then I'll just go home." He made as if to leave, and she finally twisted to look at him as best she could.

"Zacharias." It was plaintive, but not what he wanted. He leaned to run his cheek along her shoulder, rubbing his nose into her hair.

"Hmm?" he prodded. She winced before rolling her eyes.

"P-please."

"Please what?"

"Please don't make me break up with you."

"And miss this?" He thrust lightly, bumping his hips against hers.

"You're not doing anything either way!" She rose up on her arms, letting her head fall against his shoulder. "I thought you were going to make me scream."

"You've been screaming the whole time," he pointed out.

"Zach!"

"Fine, fine." He brushed her hair over one shoulder, petting it and enjoying the way the silky strands ran through his fingers so easily. "But stop fighting."

"At least let me turn over," she complained.

"Like this, or not at all." He leaned up, hands running over her hips as he eyed the smooth expanse of her back, the way her muscles tensed, the beautiful shoulders and the little dip of her spine. "Don't fight," he cautioned again, trusting her enough to let go of her hands.

"Is this doing something for you?" she sighed, trying to crane her head enough to see him before slumping down and getting comfortable on the mattress. "Some hidden kink," she added just to spite him, voice muffled in the quilt. He didn't answer, his hands worming back underneath to feel her breasts, squished against the mattress. She hummed softly, one hand leaving the quilt to run over his arm. "I'm not in the mood for dragging things out."

"I wouldn't expect so; you've been doing it all night. So—" At the expense of sounding exasperated, he wiggled his pants the rest of the way off and ran his hands down to her hips, yanking them up off the mattress. "Get ready."

"I've been ready. You're the one that didn't want to leave the ta-ah!" She bit her lip as he entered her, words cut off. They both stilled, the feeling of her surrounding him too much. After a moment she squirmed, a little whimper managing to escape. "Move, damnit…."

"Hang on," he growled back, panting sharply.

"Zach—"

"Would you give a damn minute!" He thrust once, pressing her to the bed. Her fingers twisted in the sheets and he covered her hands with his own, starting off slow just to make her pay for her impatience. She pressed up into him, cursing under her breath. "It's not my fault you're in a hurry," he grunted, willing himself to ignore his own urges.

"It is too!" She jerked one hand away, fighting despite his words. She reached behind her and sunk her nails into his hip, urging him on. "In the alley…."

"You've been at it all night!" he pointed out, voice tense. "From the minute you opened the door, in fact!"

"And? So!?"

"So, it's my turn now!" He pulled out, waiting.

"Oh, just get it over with!"

"Sorry, what was that?" He pinched her hip. "Didn't hear you, milady."

"Just… just fuck me already and get it done with! For heaven's sake, Zacharias!"

"As you like." Pressing her back into the mattress, he finally let himself go and sunk back into her willingly. She still snarled and clawed like a wildcat, but her clawing was at the quilt, her harsh sounds collapsing into panting mewls and little wails as he, for lack of a better term, roughed her up.

At the expense of losing focus, he let his weight rest on her as much as he dared, his chest against her back, his teeth dragging over her pulse before sinking into the soft meat of her shoulder. She seemed to like it, body tensing and toes curling against his calves as she pressed up to meet his hard thrusts. Come on already! He wasn't going to be able to last long thanks to the heat between her legs, the little sounds she was making driving him crazy, the sight of her white knuckles clutching the quilt, her scent and her sweat and her lithe body against his.

"Eve—" She shivered, and he adjusted himself to slam his hips against hers rather than the quick, muted movements he was able to make when clutching her to him. She moaned loudly, head bowed as she slammed her fist against the headboard, fingers spreading to lay her palm flat before digging her nails into the varnished wood.

"Just like that—just—" She wasn't in the mood to drag things out, and he was getting there fast. He sank his hand back into her folds, stroking her mercilessly as he licked the sweat from her back, nipping where he could and leaving little marks over her skin as he worked his way back up to her ear.

"Come on then, love." She shivered and tensed, clenching around him as her cries became something of a relief, arms shaking as her chest heaved. Thanking his lucky stars that he'd managed to make something go right, he focused on his own pleasure before she became too sensitive. He focused only on the feeling and the motions, the lagging sounds of her little moans, her trembling legs against his thighs, and with one last heave felt himself go over the edge, hearing himself laugh hoarsely without really recognizing it as his own voice as he emptied into her.

Better not crush her, the logical side of his mind managed to cut in as he felt himself grow exhausted almost immedialtey. He rolled off to the side, breathing heavily as he wiped the sweat from his face with one hand. His body began to ache pleasantly, the welts and the bites and bruises stinging but adding to the euphoric high. He was vaguely aware of her rolling onto him, his leg finding a comfortable space between hers from habit and his arm curling around her torso, pressing her breasts against his side.

"Good job," she mumbled, spreading little kisses over his chest before resting her head to hear his heart slowing. "Was good."

"Mmhmm." He was always so sleepy after a good roll in the sheets, no matter how hard he tried to stay up and cuddle. He didn't want her thinking that he was just some rogue—well, she probably already thought that, but he might redeem himself when he could.

"…not doing it like that again for a while, though." Her voice faded in and out, both amused and stern. "My back hurts, and I still wanted to be on top." He managed to pick out the last part, focusing it on it long enough to answer.

"You can be on top tomorrow," he promised with a yawn.

"Tomorrow? Someone's feeling lucky." She nestled against him, thighs pressing his to her damp core. "Maybe." The cooling sweat made him cold, and she felt nice and warm against him. Still, he untangled himself long enough to figure out how to get the blankets over them properly, and she held out her arms for him when he managed to drape it over their naked forms. He buried his head between the pillow and her shoulder, sighing in contentment.

"Oi."

"Hmm?" She stroked his scalp, looping her leg over his waist. "What?"

"If that Adam kisses you again, tell him he's a son of a witch and to sod off."

"He kissed my hand." She laughed, tickling his ear with her fingertips as she traced the path of his hairline. "Jealous man."

"Damn right I am." He was too tired to argue now, especially when it was a moot point.

"Well… I still say he's harmless."

"He's a prat."

Afterword: I'll just… ya know… hide forever.