A/N: Some mentions of violence that aren't graphic (it happens as thoughts about violence) and hints at the sexual.
Riven's dorm is a mess, especially now that he's not rooming with the nerd. Clothes are on the floor and it's not even her fault, there are battle schematics on stray sheets of paper–his determination to beat the little squire is oddly endearing along with the amusement it brings her–and a surprising amount of gym equipment around even for his obsessive self-improvement.
A gleam reflecting off a gemstone draws her eye. At first, she takes it for the button of that dumb hazard of a cape they make each Red Fountain student wear but a flash in her mind reveals the truth. It's his sword that has pinned her attention.
She may have been busy crushing the groupie pixie to watch him fight but she has a vivid picture of him drawing the blade on his former friend. For her.
She is no fool. She knows Riven will fight the squire boy just because he breathed in his direction. That time it had been for her, though. In defense of what she'd wanted even if that had been the pixie's head on a platter. It had been a testament to her appeal and skills. His victory would have complimented hers as the crown of her achievements... if there'd been a victory.
She steps forward, crushing the bitter reminder under her heel, and reaches for the tucked away weapon. She wants to feel it drawn again, wants to taste blood on her tongue even if it is her own from where she bit herself to stifle the cries of defeat. Her gaze is trained on the handle of the blade. She's not losing this one. It's just at an arm's length waiting for her to spring free the sharp edges and slash through any strings holding back her schemes.
Warmth brushes her hand. Skin. Riven's hand. And she'll run her nails right through his flesh if he doesn't move.
She pulls away and catches his eye dissecting the tension in his body. Why would he reach for his sword in an empty room with her? There's red bubbling inside her but it's not the blood she wanted. Even if it is her own rust.
She can't move. She's not scared. A sword is no threat to her life no matter who's holding it. Still, the image of him raising a weapon against her leaves a foul taste choking her. Rot. And it spreads through her like the still elusive Dragon Fire.
She doesn't need it. Doesn't need an army to save her from some wannabe hero that somehow resisted both her allure and the addiction to her magic in his head. She can blow his brain to pieces with a single sentence, yet, the blood bath in her mind is not enough. She has to have his heart in her hands and crush it into nothing. She will leave no space for the pixie to touch even a single thought of his. They are all hers.
Riven reaches for the handle and offers it to her carefully so that he won't stab her by accident. And to stab her purposefully, he'll never get the chance. "Is that what you were looking for?" He plays it suave but his smile is more sheepish than confident. He's probably running some fantasy in his head of teaching her some basic moves with his body pressed into hers.
She's not taking it. She'll cut herself. She's bled enough on sharp edges and she'll take no guidance. Least of all from a Specialist boy. The only thing he specializes in is thirsting for her and that's all he needs to do.
Her magic knocks the weapon out of his hand and she pulls him into a kiss, her fingers around his neck catching him off guard but the response to her tongue is instantaneous. And so is the push of his hips into hers. His hands grab at her waist to cement her in his neediness as he grunts in her mouth.
Her teeth clank against his with the force of her blood lust. She needs to kill something. The duck those pixie losers riddled them with is, for once, out of touch and breaking the musical nerd's fingers won't be enough, though she does tuck away the idea of breaking her larynx before bushing her skull in. For later.
Right now the only thing she can murder is Riven's lucidity or his comfort. She settles for both and drives her nails into his delicate flesh until it breaks and she swallows his groans along with the breath draining out of him. He'll hold her hands later and kiss them the same way he worships his sword, and the only song in his head will be her name.