A/N: This is for Marfralle! Hopefully you like it c: also I love you too.
Mosen- I think that's the best compliment I've ever gotten, honestly. Thank you so so much, and I'm sorry for giving you the sads! Here's something grossly fluffy so that you feel better. Much love!
When it came to Zed, Syndra loved to be in control.
She was the one to seek him out, she brought him to the fortress before he invited her back to his order, and she was the one who arranged when they would meet next. It was a power thing to her; Zed was the most powerful, exciting person she'd ever met besides herself, and it was paramount to her that she stayed in control.
Which became almost entirely impossible the moment she realized that Zed was not simply just an ally to her anymore.
She also realized that she was hopelessly inept at expressing her changed motives; how, after all, did you explain to someone so detached and unaffected that you were harboring a very unprofessional affection for them?
Currently, she was at the order for the day, slouching in a chair in a drafty meeting room while Zed listened to one of the two advisors present drone on about… Honestly, she didn't even know; she was much more focused on other things. She and Zed were sitting opposite of the advisors, their chairs close enough that if Syndra was so inclined, she could move her fingers from where they were clenched around her armrest to maybe brush the back of Zed's hand, or trace a line across the muscles of his forearm.
But she was most definitely not inclined to do so.
Instead, she fidgeted, unable to force herself to sit still and concentrate, her eyes continuously flicking from Zed's arm to the side of his face, and then back to staring blankly at the wall behind the advisors. Were these meetings always so long? Her fingers itched to tap restlessly against her chair, but she held them still, white knuckling the armrest because she didn't trust herself not to touch something she wasn't supposed to.
It seemed like an actual lifetime before Zed and the advisors were standing, and Syndra followed them stiffly to the door, almost missing when Zed allowed the advisors to leave the room without following and then closing the door behind them. He turned around to fix Syndra with a look that was equal parts curious and amused, the latter of which Syndra was not; she frowned while she waited for Zed to move out of the way, her unease growing the longer he did not.
"Is there something bothering you?"
Syndra pursed her lips, internally chastising herself for being so transparent.
"No."
Zed tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, and raised an eyebrow.
"Really?"
Syndra crossed her arms over her chest, and frowned deeper at the know-it-all look on his face.
"Yes, really."
It was a lie, but she was good at lying; it sounded convincing, and she was sure that Zed would let her go now.
And she was wrong.
He only adopted a very serious look and walked closer to her, closer and closer until the backs of her legs pressed against the table behind her and she was forced to uncross her arms and put them on the table for balance. Her heart pounded while she waited for him to move away, but he stayed there, close enough that his hips almost touched hers.
"Are you certain?"
It was hard for Syndra to even begin to think of a response when he was so close; she could feel the heat from his skin, smell the faintest hint of soap, and although she wished she could, she couldn't look away from the intensity of his gaze.
But she was also finding it difficult to breathe, which made formulating a response practically impossible.
"I… Yes."
She figured a one syllable answer would suffice, would have to suffice, because she really couldn't force herself to form a more articulate answer. She didn't know what it was about what she said that prompted Zed to go further, but he erased what was left of the distance between them until his hips actually did meet hers, until one hand was laid next to hers on the table and the other was on the small of her back.
For a brief moment Syndra considered the possibility that her lack of oxygen was making her delusional; Zed couldn't actually be here right now, pressing his body to hers, trailing his fingers up the soft skin of her back and tilting his head so that his mouth almost (but not quite) touched hers.
"Absolutely sure?"
Syndra was amazed that he was able to speak, that he wasn't as short of breath as she was or that his heart wasn't racing in his chest. She did, for the briefest of moments, feel the brush of his lips against hers when he spoke, and she licked her lips in their absence. She didn't even consider replying to him now, since she was more than certain that she couldn't; all her earlier nervousness disappeared, replaced by a headiness that erased the stiffness in her back and had her leaning in for more.
Oh, how she wanted more.
She figured that she had failed miserably at concealing her newfound feelings for Zed, but since this was the way he'd chosen to handle it (perhaps a little over the top), she didn't really care. And when he stopped teasing her long enough to complete the kiss, Syndra found herself wondering why she was ever nervous about it in the first place.