(A/N: As some of you may have noticed by this chapter, yes, the titles are themed. Firstly, to call sexy/romantic scenes to mind if you recognize them, and secondly, because I hate coming up with titles. If you don't recognize some/any of them, I'll be doing a full reveal at the end.)
Chapter Two: Reach and Flexibility
She was going to have bruises everywhere.
When sparring, the two of them were evenly matched. His reach was a bit longer, she was a bit quicker. But he was taller and heavier than she was, and grappling let him use his larger body size against her much more directly. Her flexibility let her twist out of his hold more often than not, but she had only managed to throw him to the ground twice, and he had thrown her…more times than she cared to admit. And her skin was going to show it in the morning.
She caught him off balance, grinning as he began to fall—then gasping as he threw an arm around her waist, dragging her down with him. They hit the ground with a thud, and he rolled so that he was on top of her, bringing his hand to her throat.
"I could kill you now with my belt dagger," he said smugly.
"You have no belt dagger. You are supposed to be completely unarmed," she grumbled.
"I always have my belt dagger," he countered.
"So you wear it to bed?" she asked, raising her brows.
"I keep it under my pillow. Close enough."
"Maybe someone stole it in the night," she said. "Or maybe you had to lay down your weapons for a peace negotiation."
"I would have awoken…and why would I be fighting at a peace negotiation, fool?"
"Maybe they were a master thief, and maybe the negotiation was a trap," she insisted. "As knights of the realm, we have to be prepared for all circumstances."
"Fine," he said, standing and offering her a hand. "We shall do it your way."
She should have known better than to let him help her up. As she stood, he used his control over her weight to twirl her about, pulling her back against his front. He threaded one hand into her hair, fingers against her scalp, and cupped her jaw with the other.
"Now I could break your neck."
God, but she hated him. And it should not have been so disappointing for him to let her go. But it was.
"Again," she said, turning to face him.
"You do need to be able to stand tomorrow, you know," he said wryly.
"I am not the sort of delicate flower that misses training because of a few bruises," she shot back. "I cannot speak for you, of course."
"Unless you improve, I will not have any," he jeered.
"You mule-arsed clotpole!" she hissed, launching herself at him.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"You two forgot the swords," Dragon called from the battlements, chuckling. "Really, you would think by now you would remember them."
"We are practicing fighting without them!" she called up to him.
He snorted. "You shortlives have no claws except the ones Hammer-Boy makes you. You have nothing else to fight with!"
"We can fight without them and we will!" she declared. "We can…throw people. That is fighting."
"So long as they hit their heads on the way," Gunther added.
Dragon cocked one green, scaly eyeridge. "Show me then, Jane. Throw Gunther."
"I…right." She frowned.
Gunther smirked, spreading his arms in invitation. "Yes, Jane, show him."
She hurled herself forward, trying to catch him off guard, but he was just standing there, feet set apart for stability, and she could not throw him off balance with her weight alone. She would have to…have to…
With a start, she realized that she was pressed against his chest, her lips an inch from his neck. His rather delectable-smelling neck, not in an edible way but in a way that made her want to bury her face in it and just inhale and—this was Gunther. Gunther Breech.
She let go as if he were a hot coal and scrambled backwards, face flaming. He looked at her quizzically for a moment before Dragon burst into hysterical laughter above them.
"Fighting. I see. Looks very effective, Jane! Now really, go get your swords, and I promise not to tell anyone you forgot them…actually I will, that is too hilarious not to share! Fighting! And I suppose that makes me an eggplant!" He flew off, still chuckling.
Jane whirled on Gunther, seething. "I am not giving up on this."
He seemed quite all right with that.
