A Means to an End

NOTE: Here's the next chapter. Not a lot of explicit stuff this time because it's early days. I have about three more chapters planned for this story which I hope to post soon. It's gotten a bit longer than I expected but I'm also enjoying the process because there's a bit more character development than I anticipated. But I hope it holds your interest. Enjoy.

**My alternative, silly title for this story would be: "She wants the D(ilandau)". Anyway, carry on.

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She feels disloyal.

Which is strange since she isn't betraying anyone. No one is even aware of her new…interest. And she intends to keep it that way.

It's not as if she's changing sides. There aren't even any sides to speak of. The war is over. It's been over for years.

True, he had been an enemy. But that no longer seems to be the case. At the very least, he has not shown any hostility towards Van or any other allies. His experience seems to have sapped him of his cruelty and though he sometimes seemed angry and bitter, which is only natural, he no longer scares her like he used to during the war. These days he has a very different effect on her.

But she isn't even going to act on this. She isn't betraying anyone.

And yet, despite all her arguments and rationalizations, this unexpected attraction continues to plague her.

At first Merle chalks it up to not having been exposed to appealing male figures during her nights of torment. After all, she had stumbled upon him by accident. It could have been anyone.

So she tries to replace him with others, first with familiar faces (but not too familiar so that it would be even more awkward), and when this proves ineffective, she tries to imagine good looking strangers, but all to no avail. In her dismay, she always ends up remembering him again just so she can be sated. She feels guilty afterwards, but as time passes, it nags at her less and less.

It doesn't help that he makes such a striking silhouette in the moonlight when he trains alone, an image that never ceases to fascinate her.

It doesn't help that on some warm nights, he decides to take off his shirt for the duration of his exercises.

It also doesn't help that he always wears tight leather pants. Extremely tight leather pants.

"I'm not that weak," she tells herself. She doesn't usually swoon over impressive specimens of the male figure and she knows she has seen her fair share. His is neither the first nor the finest specimen she has ever seen.

So there must be something else about him that made her nights so much more satisfying. But she refuses to dwell on it. It's risky enough as it is.

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"Don't you have anything better to do?"

Merle is taken aback by the question and at first wonders if he is addressing her since he does not turn to face her. But no one else is in the courtyard. She says nothing, foolishly hoping he won't pursue the conversation.

Dilandau sighs with exasperation and turns to her, his crimson eyes directed at her face. There is no doubt about it now. She meets his gaze nervously.

"I hope you didn't think I'd be stupid enough not to notice you were there," he says coldly.

They have never spoken before and she never expected him to be the one to initiate any communication. She is at a loss for words even if she knows she should have prepared an excuse ages ago. She wasn't exactly discreet in her nocturnal observations of him and he was bound to notice sooner than later. But she always thought he would not bother to ask her about it since he had not said anything the first time.

"Well?" he asks impatiently, taking a few steps towards her. She stiffens and tries to look as nonchalant as she can.

"Why do you care?" she retorts, struggling to maintain her composure.

He raises an eyebrow. "Well, if you're spying on me, you're not doing a good job of it."

"I'm not spying on you."

"So answer my first question then."

"There isn't much to do around here," she says, hoping she sounds unimpressed enough. She curses herself for not being prepared for this and for not coming up with a better response. But she is having trouble thinking straight and she wonders how she can even form a sentence when he is looking at her so intently.

He shrugs in agreement and she feels relieved. If he believes that she is just as bored as he is, there should be no problem.

"And I'm just making sure you aren't up to anything suspicious," she blurts out for some reason and she regrets it as soon as the words leave her mouth. But it's too late.

He walks up to her and being so close to him throws her off balance. His expression is more of amusement than malice though she cannot be sure.

"And if I was," he whispers, "are you going to be the one to stop me?"

She shudders. She can feel the heat radiating off his skin. She can smell sweat mixed with his own scent. His gaze pierces hers so she looks away and she cannot help but stare at his lips as he speaks. This is too much.

"There isn't really much to do around here," she repeats weakly, unable to say anything else but needing to break that silence.

Her face turns red with embarrassment. Dilandau sees how intimidated she is of him and he smirks with satisfaction. He's glad he still has that effect on people. He backs away and gives her one last condescending glance.

"Do whatever you want," he says casually, "just don't get in my way."

And just like that, he resumes his exercises, like she isn't even there. She is too flustered by the whole encounter so she makes a show of storming off.

Part of her is afraid he will chase after her. Another part wants him to.

She hates feeling so torn. Surely she must be going mad. But she makes it back to her room in one piece, though still shaken by the whole thing.

That was the first time they had spoken to each other, the first time he acknowledged her presence. It lasted only a few minutes but she feels a slight shift in the balance. She hopes that nothing will change.

But already that night, she comes harder and faster than she has ever done and she has to put a hand to her mouth to muffle her cries.