He seems surprised when she goes for the hard liquor.

Manuela smirks. It's like this with most men; their brows draw into a terse line as she orders her drink, then they try to sweet-talk her out of it. As if she can't throw back a finger of whiskey just as well as any man.

Jeralt doesn't balk. He looks surprised, but then motions to her glass, waiting for her to show off. So she does. Manuela doesn't even cringe from the burn of it down her throat.

"Impressive," he says and then swallows his own glass down all the same before flagging the barkeeper for two more.

"Not really." Manuela scoffs. "It's not as though I have anything better to do. I live a lonely existence; just me, myself, and my cabinet of booze."

To his credit, Jeralt looks amused. Manuela doesn't know why she bothers to compare him to other men. They aren't on a date, they're just sharing a drink. He's nothing more than a friend. Single, but not ready to mingle. Entirely hands-off.

Still, he puts up with her. "Now, none of that. Self-deprecation isn't allowed around me."

"Pfft. It's just a fact. The older I get, the worse it is."

"I'm here, aren't I?" Jeralt rubs at his neck.

Yes, she thinks, but not in that way. It is nice though, the camaraderie. He doesn't know how to soothe her woes, but she isn't asking him to. Manuela smiles. "At least you aren't bothered by the fact that I can drink any man under the table."

"Of that, I have no doubt." Jeralt laughs, nudging her with his elbow. "Hey, earlier you said something. That it's 'only a fact'. What gets worse?"

She sighs dramatically, motioning to herself. "Me. I'm too old for most of these men to care, and I'm sagging in parts that—well, you don't need to hear any of that nonsense. The point is that I come out to get a guy and I only manage to get drunk."

Jeralt watches her for a long moment. "I—well, I can't speak for most men, but you're easy enough on the eyes. And I mean that honestly." He sips at his whiskey to hide his awkwardness. "Maybe they're just intimidated? You aren't exactly a blushing maiden—and by that, I mean you hold your own."

Manuela frowns at that. She can't help it, she just isn't the type to just let things slide. Her mouth is sharp, but her hands are sharper—she has a good right hook, and just about everyone knows it. "Cowards, then," she says.

"Absolutely," agrees Jeralt. Then, he hesitates. "Hey, I've got an idea—let's spar."

She isn't sure that she heard correctly. Maybe the alcohol has killed her brain function more than she thought. "I'm sorry, what?"

Jeralt shrugs. "You know, get out there in the training grounds. A little down and dirty, loosening our limbs. Beat those frustrations out. You'll feel better."

Manuela thinks about it, dragging her finger around the rim of her glass. "You think that I can take you?"

Jeralt raises an eyebrow. "Do you think that you can't?"

That's a challenge if she's ever heard one. She isn't the type to back down. Manuela cocks her head to the side and says, "You're making it sound as though you're really looking forward to the idea of it."

"Of you coming at me? Yeah, I'm into it."

Oh. Manuela feels those words sink straight into her gut, which she shouldn't—she shouldn't. But she's only human. Manuela then smirks, draining the rest of her drink. "Well?"

Jeralt grins back and leaves a tip for the both of them.

#

It occurs to Manuela halfway through their spar that Jeralt is flirting with her.

Unusual. Manuela doesn't flirt with Jeralt, and she certainly isn't used to being on the end of it instead. Certainly not while sweating profusely, looking a damn mess, and wearing only a thin cotton shirt and trousers.

Jeralt gives her a look as he tugs his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. Manuela's gaze rakes over his form, taking in those muscles and jagged scars. "Oh, that's just unfair," she says. Friend or not, she can't help but stare.

"What?"

"You're half-naked."

Jeralt chuckles, rolling out his shoulders. "Distracted?" he asks with a crooked smile.

Objectively, she's always thought he was good-looking, not to mention the deep timbre of his voice. "Yes," she finally says. But then, Manuela pauses. "Isn't that awkward?"

"Why would that be awkward? It's the point—"

"I mean, we're friends."

Jeralt bursts into laughter. "I—yes, we're friends. Does that mean we have to be only friends?"

Manuela blinks. She's never thought of carrying on a casual liaison. She assumed that as a widower he'd want nothing of the sort.

Jeralt clears his throat. "If you have no interest—"

"I never said that."

Manuela shifts, taking a fighting stance at the edge of the pit. They haven't been taking the spar seriously. Even though she isn't a slouch when it comes to fighting, Jeralt could easily overpower her. Instead, it's been a jaunty row full of laughter and snark.

"Oh? So you are?" Jeralt mirrors her, hands held up as he bends at the knees.

"Who wouldn't be? Have you seen yourself?" If Jeralt can flirt, then so can she.

"Do tell."

"A lady doesn't spill her secrets so easily," says Manuela with a smirk. "You've got to win them from me."

Jeralt moves first, jogging across the dusty ground in a loping gait. They meet in the middle, Manuela slinging her right fist out in a curving hook. Jeralt ducks, surprisingly limber, then darts forward, catching her by the arm.

She's just as pliant, twisting out of his grasp.

"Slippery thing at times, aren't you?" says Jeralt with a chuckle.

Manuela grins as she steps back, brushing the dust from her thighs. "That's what happens when I wear trousers and not that blasted dress."

"Hey, I like that dress, particularly on you."

"I didn't think you were a man for such honeyed words." Manuela smirks at him. "Again?"

Jeralt resets his stance. "Obviously."

Manuela is the first to move this time, catching him off guard. She hits him against his middle, wrapping her arms around the bulk of his waist. They grapple, their steps circling about in the sawdust on the floor.

"Shit," hisses Jeralt as he tries to wriggle from her grasp. "You've got a good grip."

Manuela pulls at him, throwing all her weight into her legs as she tries to topple him. An easy principle—she lacks strength as a whole, so she uses his bulk against him. Jeralt manages to hold firm, but his heels slip across the ground.

"Come on," she says, "just give in."

"And let go of you? Not a chance."

Manuela tugs at him again. Jeralt twists, trying to adjust his grip on her, but just barely misses. "Quick," he says, impressed.

"I still train, just like anyone else around here."

"Must be all the running after men you do."

"Jealous?" asks Manuela. She hooks her fingers into the belt loops of his trousers and yanks as hard as she can.

Jeralt goes down like a boulder, hitting the ground with a grunt. Manuela follows, slotting herself over his waist, knees on either side. Jeralt lays prone underneath her, sweaty and grimy from the dusty floor. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath.

Manuela tuts. "Whatever happened to the infamous Blade Breaker?"

"It's a name that means little when it comes to fist fights." He wipes at his brow. "Besides, what if I wanted to end up like this? It's been a while since I've had a pretty lady sprawled across me."

She cocks her head to the side. "Did you lose on purpose?"

"Call it how you like, but I don't see how I lost." He says it so smoothly, so smugly, grasping her gently by the waist.

Oh. Manuela's mouth goes dry at the sudden touch, heat rising in her core. She shifts, ever so slightly, knees a little bit weak as she swallows down her feelings.

Then, Jeralt's grip tightens and he tosses her to the side, rolling them over in a fluid motion. Manuela grunts when her back hits the ground, Jeralt hanging over her. "So much for your training. Weren't you taught to never let your guard down?"

"Oh, is that what that was?"

Jeralt hesitates as he leans over, watching her. Manuela watches him back, the air thick with charged energy. His hand finds her side again, warm through the soft cotton of her blouse. "Is… this okay?"

A loaded question, but the answer feels easy. She reaches up and drags a hand down his front, delighting in the sweaty drag across his skin. Muscles bulge and tense as Jeralt strains slightly. "Yes," she says firmly.

It's the only confirmation he needs. Jeralt kisses her, and Manuela eagerly responds, wrapping an arm around his neck to pull their chests flush. The heat of his skin deeps through her clothing, and Manuela moans into his mouth.

Jeralt catches her by the chin and angles her mouth to swallow it down. He swipes his tongue against the seam of her lips, and Manuela opens them thirstily. She wants to drink him up, wants to melt against the ground.

"Jeralt," she murmurs, nipping at his mouth, "This—"

"It doesn't have to be anything." Jeralt pulls back. "Or it can. It can be whatever we want it to be, but right now I just want it to be fun."

Manuela loves the sound of that, so she pulls him down for another searing kiss. Jeralt slots between her legs fully, pulling her hips higher until her core is pressed against the front of his trousers.

He's deliciously hard, his cock thick and hefty, trapped by the rough-spun fabric. Jeralt moans as he grinds against her, sharing her breaths and licking into her mouth. They kiss in a heated, desperate sort of fashion, perfect after their fight. They're sweaty and worked up.

"Gods, look at you," she says, dragging her hands down the sharp edges of his biceps. She could damn him, for being so half-naked.

"I want to look at you," he says in return, tugging her blouse from her trousers. Manuela helps shrug it off, freeing her breasts to the chilled night air.

Jeralt stares. And stares and stares and stares, those calloused fingers surprisingly nimble as they slide across her collarbone and down her sternum. "I've—it isn't strange to say that I've imagined you, is it?"

"I've come to the realization that perhaps I have been blind to your advances," says Manuela with a chuckle. When she looked at Jeralt, she never considered anything else. What a regret—they could've been doing this far sooner.

"To be fair, I wasn't very heavy-handed in them." He sighs softly. "Some would say downright out of practice, even."

"Good thing you're keen to please, then." Manuela smiles, surprised by how relaxed and natural this all feels. "Does that eagerness extend further, though? I wonder to what lengths you'll go to please a woman."

Jeralt's smile widens into a smoldering grin. He leans forward, rubbing that scruffy beard against the soft skin of her neck. The sound she looses is almost embarrassing. Heat coils in her gut. Manuela is already slick, she can feel the dampness of her underthings. She squirms slightly underneath him as he kisses across her shoulder and down her chest.

Manuela gasps as he thumbs over a nipple, circling the pebbling nub as his beard scratches its way downward. Fluttering kisses over the edge of her rib cage, next to her belly button, at the edge of her waistband.

Jeralt nuzzles the skin there. "Here's your chance to tell me to stop."

"Goddess, don't."

He laughs, undoing her trousers with a deftness that belies his large bulk. He presses a warm palm against the silky soft skin just under her navel. Manuela whines, the touch just barely close enough.

"Patience," he says, tugging her trousers and underthings down in one go. Manuela kicks them off until they're hanging around an ankle. Good enough for her.

Jeralt stares again from between her thighs, his gaze debauched as it washes over her. Manuela swallows thickly, her lips parting in anticipation. "Say something," she demands. "Otherwise a woman might worry that she displeases."

"You could never," he says. "You're perfect, more so than I've imagined." He spreads her thighs, dragging his fingers through the coarse hair at the apex of her thighs. Then he sweeps his thumb lower, grazing her clit.

"Oh, that's—"

"So wet for me already," he says, that dangerous thumb slipping lower to swipe through the slickness of her core. Manuela bucks against his hand, her back arching, and legs splaying wide. Jeralt watches her like a man starving.

Suddenly his tongue presses against her folds, lapping at them. Manuela moans, raising her hips, melting against his mouth. "Jeralt," she cries out.

He smiles against Manuela, his tongue swirling around her clit. He sinks a finger into her cunt, and then a second, fucking them into her lazily as his tongue works its magic.

"Oh," she whines, reaching down to grab a fistful of his hair. Perhaps it's just because it's been a while, but Manuela feels like she's on a hair trigger, already lost to his touch. Jeralt's fingers are thick inside her and all she can think of is how his cock will feel instead. "Please—"

"Shh," he whispers against her, his breath warm against her slick skin. "Just enjoy this."

"I'm—Jeralt, I'm—"

"Close? Goddess, that's a boost for my ego."

She nearly laughs, but his tongue is too distracting, too good at pulling her right to the edge of her pleasure. Manuela yanks at his hair. "Get to it, Jeralt. Fuck me."

Jeralt pulls back, wiping her slick from his mouth. His gaze rakes across her body, eyes half-lidded and lustful. Oh, he looks handsome like this, grizzled, but tender. Like he wants her in whatever way she comes.

Fun, he'd said earlier. Fun indeed, she thinks now, reaching down to spread her folds to make her point clear.

He doesn't even bother unfastening his trousers the entire way; Jeralt just slides them down the swell of his ass until they're slung around his knees. His cock is thick and long, and Manuela stares.

Jeralt chuckles as he settles between her thighs, pulling her closer. "Another boost to my ego," he says lightly, slicking the tip of his cock against her wet folds. They both moan when he finally sinks in.

"Fuck." The curse slips past her lips before she can stop it. "Goddess."

Jeralt pulls out to the tip and fucks back in, right to the root. "Shit," he says in a pinched moan. "Manuela—shit, feels good."

Oh, it does. Jeralt's cock fills her to the brim, her toes curling every time he slides in deep. Pleasure builds in her gut, coiling tightly. She's wet almost to the point of sloppiness, her thighs coated in her slick. All it does is help ease the delicious friction with every thrust as Jeralt carves his way deep.

"I'm—Seiros above, Jeralt, I'm close."

Jeralt grunts, hooking her calves around his hips. The angle changes, his cock nailing her most sensitive spot. Manuela cries his name, clinging to him in a wanton haze.

"Perfect." He drags a thumb across her clit.

"There," she hisses."There, there—"

Jeralt rubs there, circling around the swollen nub until the heat in her gut catches fire. Manuela tips over the edge, coming, fingers digging into Jeralt's forearms as she shakes against him.

He presses her thighs back with a groan, watching where they're connected. "You take me so well. Manuela—" Jeralt moans her name, his face ruddy with desire.

Manuela loves that look on him, how stares at her, the way thrusts lose their rhythm the closer he gets to his orgasm. The sound and squelch every time his balls slap against her ass. It's fast, quick, and dirty in the training yard.

The spar was a good idea. This is better.

"Come on, Jeralt," says Manuela, squeezing his bicep. "Come inside."

"Manuela, that's—"

"As if I wouldn't be on preventative tea. Do as you wish. Make an utter mess of me."

He moans again and drops her thighs. Jeralt leans over her for something that feels a little more intimate. His thrusts slow to a lingering roll, aiming to press in deep. "Goddess," he says against her neck, "I'm—"

Jeralt comes after several more thrusts, filling her with wet warmth that settles deep. Manuela rakes her nails across his back, raising little pink ridges. Jeralt sighs, pressing a kiss to her collarbone, holding himself up just enough to keep his weight off.

They doze like that, floating about in their post-rut bliss. "We should get out of here," says Manuela eventually. "We weren't…quiet."

Jeralt laughs as he pulls himself out. He can't help but watch the way that his come trickles from her red and puffy cunt. "I've…look, it's been some time since I—"

"Am I complaining? Goddess, I needed that. You needed that. It was good." Manuela stands on wobbly legs, wholly satiated.

"Are we finished?" he asks quietly. He reaches out to take her hand, pulling it to his mouth for a gentle kiss.

Manuela pauses, her other hand still holding up her trousers. Jeralt watches her with hopeful eyes. "Why, Jeralt—are you asking to say the night?"

"Would you let me?"

He should be careful what he wishes for because the moment he finds her bed Manuela isn't likely to let him leave it for some time. She has plans for those muscles of his, and his cock as well.

"I suppose that I can be convinced," she says coyly.

Jeralt smiles against her knuckles, and they eventually leave the training yard, giddy like fucking teenagers.