Sharp and Pointy

Noemi kept her head held high as she walked through the palace corridors, ignoring the stares and snickers from servants. Rumors flew fast through through these halls. Everyone knew that a week ago, the eldest princess had sneaked out of her room for adventure. They also knew she had been attacked by brigands and had to be rescued by one of the Brothers she so often denigrated. The details they did not know where the most important. They did not know that she had taken a life and had spent the last seven days unable to sleep and scrubbing her room top to bottom. They did not know that the ones who had attacked her were Glaciens, currently being held in the dungeons and awaiting sentencing - they had been leeched of all information they would give and would probably die. Certainly, no one knew that she had spent the last part of her night on a man's lap like some common hussy.

They did know, however, that she had been switched every day since that night like a child by her mother, the Queen and that she grimaced with every step she took. Noemi did not think it was very funny and she did not see why the help thought it so. She shot a cleaning woman a withering glare and she immediately stopped her smile, dropping her gaze back to her broom. Good. It was improper to be disrespected in such a way by her inferiors.

Noemi hadn't been able to keep her excursion secret and, that night as she drew nearer to the palace with the prisoners in tow, realized that she did not want to. She would face the consequences for her actions as she rightly deserved and place the survivors under her mother's care. In the end, she was glad she had, though the results were rather painful. It was lucky that her punishment was so minor. Perhaps the leniency was because her mother was so happy just to have her daughter alive and well, though it was made clear that the next time she attempted to leave the palace walls, she would be lucky if she was assassinated, as her mother would do far worse. Brother Collins (not Finnagan) had been duly praised, naturally, and not blamed at all for the brazen idiocy of the princess. That had been her mother's words. Brazen, maybe, but idiot?

One of the stipulations of her punishment had been to train in self-defense under Brother Collins. Noemi was not looking forward to this at all. She had not had much opportunity to see him since that night (and she was glad for it), but she knew that he was always around somewhere, unseen. The idea of his presence being so constant but unknown to her gave her chills for reasons she could not place. At least by this point, she had been able to put away that perverse attraction she had felt toward him. Time and distance had shown her that it was the situation that had made her feel that way and nothing else. When she faced him again today, she would not be some blushing, babbling slattern, but a princess.

It helped that she was well-dressed, though her clothing was a little tighter than she was accustomed to. Marzia, her seamstress, was a slim woman not much older than Noemi. She had told the princess many times that she dressed herself vicariously through Noemi and that she wished she had such voluptuous curves to accentuate herself. The result was that the two of them often had to reach compromises when it came to her garments. Corsets and necklines were the two things Noemi would absolutely not budge on, but they could negotiate the shape and silhouette. Today, she wore a blouse that was appropriately loose and with a high collar in a very lovely shade of dark green. Her trousers, however, were very tight, worn under leather boots that reached halfway up her shins. Marzia had insisted that the tightness was practical, considering that she would be physically training. Noemi felt as if at any moment, her pants would split. Marzia had even had a belt made for her dagger, the one that her father had given her. A handmaiden had tightly braided her long, blonde hair and spun it into a bun so it would not get in her face. All in all, the princess felt like a dress-up doll, a caricature of a huntress, but confident in well made clothing.

She entered into the training area behind the gardens exactly when she intended to, which was exactly on time. The sun was still high in the sky, but the breeze eased the heat. At her request, the training grounds were to be empty for the next hour and a half. She would honor her mother by participating in these barbaric lessons, but she would not be humiliated by an audience.

The week had been a long one. When they returned the night of the attack, the Princess changed her mind from wishing to keep as much as possible secret to coming forward with the actions of the night, though thankfully she left out a significant portion of the night concerning his healing. However, when they arrived, another Brother, the woman he saw in the rafters, offered to take his post outside the younger children’s rooms for the night so that he might properly heal. He accepted, though chose to sleep in the rafters anyway, outside of the Princess’ room. Originally he was to sleep in the room he was assigned earlier in the day in the servants’ quarters, but he couldn’t do it. Perhaps it was the residual adrenaline that was coursing through his body or the feeling that he still had a ward to watch, but nevertheless, he kept at his post, though he slept through the night as his fellow Brother watched with careful eyes, occasionally making a round when she noticed he was awake. The next day, when the Princess was out of her room, the other Brother again took his shift and Finn slept nearly the entirety of the day. He was excused by the other Brother when she returned in the evening saying that the blood loss took time until someone was ready again. He was.

That night, the night after he had returned, he began watch over the rooms of the younger royal children, though his main post, he found, was right outside of the Princess’ room. Inside, he could hear her moving around into the latest hours of the night, hardly sleeping unless she passed out from sheer exhaustion. His schedule was similar. He slept when the children where at meals and guarded by the Brothers stationed there, or when they were at lessons. As much as possible, he actually avoided being seen by the Princess, or her siblings. It was clear that they were not fond of being followed, and so the more he stayed out of sight, the happier they seemed. The eldest, Princess Noemi, in particular he tried to avoid. The night of the attack was hazy to him, and after the battle details were more of less lost on him. He was aware they hid at the clinic with the tree captives for awhile, and that she healed him, but other than that, he remembered little except short bursts. One memory was slightly stronger than others, and that was the feeling of her hands and element on his skin. He touched his side where he sat in the rafters before letting his arm drop. He could remember the touch, but he was confused as to how he felt it, and why he allowed it. Though considering how much he had slept when they returned, he must have been near death to allow her to heal him, let alone touch him. Even so, there was a small voice in the corner of his mind that said there was more to remember than that, but it was lost to him.

The striking of a Time System clock echoing down the halls from a main entry way caught his attention. It was time for his lesson. In addition to the Princess’, well, private time with her mother that all the servants talked about freely in the halls, she was to study self defense with him, her protector. Logically it made sense, though he expressed to the Queen privately that perhaps he wouldn’t be the best tutor considering that she was still fretting over the incident nights before. He was told otherwise, that it would be best if there was a Brother to teach her, and a Brother that would be able to play off of her fears so that she would take the lessons seriously. In addition, he had already proved himself to the Queen, and with that, she trusted him with the education of her eldest daughter. He did not argue with the Queen and mother of his new student.

Finn leapt down from the rafters where he had been sitting to land at a crouch on the Wind, the gasps of servants around him reaching his ears along with whispers of the Princess and the Brother who saved her. Those rumors he preferred over the others, the ones that caused snickers to arise when the Princess walked past them, though he often wished to tell them that she was a very capable woman, when she needed to be. But Finn held his silence as he walked briskly in the direction of the training fields. He had already inspected the area and found it to suit his needs for instruction, though noticed that it was very much in the open. That merely meant that the Princess would first be taught hand to hand combat over distance combat, which he would have preferred. If she could run and throw a dagger back at her opponent with decent aim, it would be much more likely to save her life than if she attempted hand to hand combat with an attacker much larger than herself. His mind flashed back to the man he had killed a week ago, the mass of the human more than he himself could handle with ease, and the wound he had received because of it. He had become aware that the Princess could not heal herself, and if she found herself in a similar situation, if she did survive the initial attack by a singular large man such as the one he faced, she would likely be heavily wounded, even if she excelled in what he was to teach her. No, their lessons would not end with hand to hand combat.

The bright sun immediately caused him to squint as he walked out of the Palace and to the training grounds. The Brotherhood’s black suits were ill suited for the Valetudien weather, much to his distaste. Occasionally he would see a Brother moving in their white undershirt, but it was never for long, despite the heat. Eyes adjusting to the sun, he took in the training grounds, which were empty except for him and one other. The Princess was there, hair fastened tightly to her head and clothed in earthy attire that was rather tight considering what he knew of the woman. He approached casually, his Wind Walk silent. The closer he got to her, however, the more aware he was of just what it was she was wearing. It was true what he saw from a distance, her clothing tight, but he had no idea just how tight until he was closer. The leather was perfectly contoured to every shape of her lower half, her posterior included...What? He blinked once. What the hell was he thinking? It had to be the heat, the sun. There was no way thoughts like those would otherwise find themselves in his head, no way.

Doing his best to keep his eyes focused on the Princess while he closed the remaining distance between them, he tried to ignore the tiny thoughts in his head that were surely some result of the sun. “Good day, your Highness,” he said formally when he reached her, bowing from his torso just as formally. When he rightened, a single dagger from his main hip was in hand. “A dagger is a dangerous weapon, a weapon that can be used to cause wounds enough to allow you to escape the scene to wounds that will be fatal to your attackers.” His mind found the image of the large man, from nights ago. “Though dangerous, it cannot always best any attacker. First and foremost, you must always try to flee before your blade is drawn. Hand to hand combat should always be your last resort.” The image of the large man was replaced by the image of the small man, his own dagger protruding from his chest and his face missing entirely. Always try and run away, never towards. Looking to the dagger he had in his hand for a moment, his eyes flickered to the one on her belt and then back. “Two daggers is immediately an offensive stance and should only be used when you have the clear advantage or when your own well-being is not of concern, likely because there are too many targets to be able to deal with one on one. Do you understand?” That was why the Brotherhood always fought with twin daggers. Their own well being was never a concern, they would take any wound to make sure that the attackers would never reach their ward. “ Her Magesty the Queen, your mother, has requested that you be taught self-defense, however, and thus we will be working with a single dagger in the main hand.”

Flipping his dagger so that the blade was pinched between his thumb and pointer finger, he offered her the hilt. “Will you be using my dagger or your own?” He had not been made aware that she would be armed with a blade of her own, though he was not certain how balanced it was nor how sharp. His own daggers were simple. The ones that had hilts and were made for hand to hand combat had black leather wound wooden handles, the leather wound in strips as to create an uneven surface more useful to grip. If he was to spar with real blades while teaching, he would much prefer a dagger that would not slip the hands of a pupil. She could hurt herself.

"Good day, Brother Collins." She greeted him in return, nodding her head. Curtsies were not exactly easy to perform in trousers, especially not when they were so snug. A nod of the head was a suitable salutation to a body guard with whom she had spent intimate time with, right?

Once again, she was struck by his perfect coldness. He was clad entirely in black, yet he showed no discomfort. He launched directly into his lecture, without preamble or formality, or even a progress report on how his recuperation was going. Collins was an entirely different man than the one he had been that night, but then again, he had much more blood now, she supposed. Noemi realized she had paid very little attention to what he said and straightened, crossing her arms over her chest and doing her best to be a diligent student. Never mind the fact that she knew exactly what he looked like underneath all that black. That was not important.

Nothing about that night had changed how she felt about violence. In fact, it only intensified her hatred of it, but she was beginning to respect it as a necessity. Obviously, her anti-healing skills could not be her go-to every time. As it did with that man, that man whose name she didn't even know, it could so easily leave her control. Only her parents knew what she was capable of, but they did not think it a permanent solution where her safety was concerned either. She was not excited or expecting much fun out of these lessons, but she had to learn and if she had to learn, she would excel. That was the long and short of it.

She was always supposed to flee, hm? Fat chance of that. If she had fled that night, there would have been a larger chance that Brother Finnagan Collins would not be there before her. He was saying what he had to say, but Noemi was not a runner. Hand-to-hand combat, though.... Her memory strayed to the hand that had been hanging from her hood. Hand-to-hand indeed. She chewed on her lower lip.

“Two daggers is immediately an offensive stance and should only be used when you have the clear advantage or when your own well-being is not of concern, likely because there are too many targets to be able to deal with one on one. Do you understand?”

"Yes, Brother Collins." She replied immediately, clasping her hands behind her back. She was falling back into the rhythm of being taught, though it had been years since she had done anything other than independent study.

“Will you be using my dagger or your own?”

"I think it would be more prudent if I were to use my own blade so that I may become accustomed to it." She replied, drawing her blade.

It was truly a beautiful thing and of Terran make. The hilt was a silvery depiction of a dragon with emeralds for eyes and rubies worked into its body. The blade itself was long, wicked, and judging by what little she had done with it so far, very sharp. It was a thoughtful gift from her father. He knew she did not like weapons, so he had tried to choose one as lovely as possible for her to use.

"Is this suitable?"

The distraction her movements caused was only minute when she crossed her arms over her chest, but when she clasped them behind her back he felt his heart nearly skip a beat. The sun clearly was getting the best of him, and only after a handful of minutes too. Perhaps he would be one of the Brothers who lost his jacket in the heat. Surely once the Princess was more adept at the drills and he forced to move more quickly he would do so to spare the washroom larger amounts of work. With his other suit nearly in shreds after the night a week ago, it along with his ruined leather harness was sent to Ventus to be repaired and the shirt replaced, though his things had not yet come in. He already had the washwomen working longer by asking them to wash his suit every other day, he did not need to force them increase that work when it could be avoided. He blinked. He should be uncomfortable with the idea of sparring with a woman in his undershirt. Yes, he was uncomfortable with that, he had to be.

Ignoring his heat induced odd thoughts, he flipped his own dagger back so the hilt was in his hand and sheathed it before he wrapped his fingers around the ornate hilt dagger she had drawn and took it from her gently. Though ornate, the craftsmanship of the dagger was not entirely focused on the hilt. The blade was of good quality. Running the edge along the pad of his thumb, he was please to see the evidence of its sharp blade draw a thin line of blood from his flesh. Returning the dagger to the Princess, he nodded. It would do nicely, if she did not manage to wound herself in the process of the training. That would be quite a sight to send back to her mother and father after a session. Sorry, the dagger you gave your daughter was a little too sharp, but I let her use it anyway and she cut herself. It would be a learning lesson for her if she did manage to cut herself, anyway.

Turning, he took a few steps back from her and drew his dagger once again. With it comfortably in one hand, he turned to face her again. “Mimic how I stand,” he said simply, raising his main hand with the dagger and keeping his empty hand closer to his body, and lower. “In this guard position, you have your dagger ready and prepared to attack while your off hand stays back, ready to grab or deflect an oncoming attack long enough for your main hand to move in.” He moved towards her slowly, bringing his dagger down towards her left shoulder. “Never duck when someone is coming at you with a blade, for they very well may slit your throat on accident.” Freezing, he held his hand in place in it’s arc towards her shoulder. “If someone comes at your off shoulder, like this, use your free hand to grab the wrist first, then bring your blade to their stomach.”

There was so much to tell her, and he wasn’t sure what to say half the time, even while instructing. Never duck, but you can dodge. Avoid fighting with a significantly larger person, but if you do, always dodge and not grapple. And never stab, slice. So much he wanted to say. Looking from his dagger held in the air to her face, he felt his breathing quicken a hair. The sun was too warm for this.

She did as she was told, mimicking his stance as best she could. Perhaps the tight pants weren't such an awful idea after all; it was nice not having the restrictions of a skirt. Noemi felt ridiculous. He looked natural, but she was sure she looked awkward. Place a scalpel in her hand and she was fine. A dagger, on the other hand, seemed cumbersome.

Noemi forced herself not to wince when his blade approached her, stiffening instead. Shouldn't they have had practice daggers or, or left them sheathed? There was a very small margin for error here. If he were to trip... But she had to trust him. She had already put her life in his hands before.

As instructed, she used her free hand to grab his free wrist where his skin peeked from beneath the sleeve of his jacket. The touch of skin on skin forcibly reminded her of him helping her to her feet, which in turn forcibly reminded her of her hands on his side and hip. Her cheeks colored slightly and she berated herself in her mind. Get a hold of yourself, silly girl. This is no time to be forgetting yourself. You have a task.

She moved the blade away from her face, her grip on him loose and her motions hesitant. She was no natural. What had he said before her mind had decided to drag her off to places undesired? Oh yes. Thrust toward the stomach. Noemi did so, stopping a good twelve inches from his stomach with the point aimed directly at his navel. This felt very dangerous.

"Like this?" she asked, frowning down at her hand.

Noemi was not accustomed to being uncertain. She was not particularly athletic, but she was a good rider; no other exercise was really expected of her. In academic pursuits, she always excelled and caught on very quickly. It wouldn't be the case with this. She absolutely hated feeling inept at anything - she held herself to very high standards. Of course, wisdom would tell her that practice would help, but in most cases, if she did not show an aptitude to something right away, she would abandon it. Noemi was not well known for her patience.

The Princess was uncomfortable, that much was obvious. However, Finn was unsure if it was to do with his blade out or maybe the fact that she had a very real one of her own in her hand. Then again, it could also be due to her attire for the afternoon. The thought caused his eyes to flicker downwards. Tight pants were hardly appropriate for a lady, though they were indeed appropriate for a sparring session. She couldn’t be flouncing around in a dress for a lesson such as this. So the daggers were the cause then, or perhaps it was him. She did have a rather large aversion to Brothers, from as much as he gathered. Was she cross with him for getting praised when she was scolded for that night a week ago? What did it matter if she was cross with him? He was just here to protect her and teach her. Stupid. He was here to find out about the Glaciens, too. How foolish could he have been getting under the sun here to forget such a task?

Skin on his wrist sent a shiver down his arm, her touch cool against his skin, and yet sending sparks. Speaking of forgetting tasks. A soft red hue rose to the tips of his ears as he watched her tentative movements. The motions were awkward for her, which he was slightly surprised by considering what he had witnessed her doing in the past. Then again, there were no real attackers here, only him. He waited patiently as she moved his hand and dagger from her, offering no resistance as she considered the motion that needed to follow with her other hand. Not a natural at all.

“No,” he said plainly. He knew he should have mentioned the stabbing motion. This teaching thing was more difficult that it looked. Already his respect for his own teachers rose. Pulling his main hand from her hand, he began moving around her. “Stay still.” Once he was at her back, he placed his hand over hers that held the dagger, wrapping his fingers around her own. The touch caused him to hesitate, the touch that he had initiated. In the Discipline, his teachers always made him work until he figured things out by experience or by their verbal instruction. No one had ever physically touched him, with the exception of a dagger being slapped across his back and face when he let and opening occur. So why wasn’t he forcing her to do the same thing? He should have a dummy out here and let her learn why stabbing wasn’t as effective as a clean slice. He should do that. But he wasn’t.

He bent his knees slightly to put himself closer to her height, his arm falling onto hers. The contact was simple, and to anyone unfamiliar with the Brotherhood, it looked completely natural. However, there was intamacy in the touch, be it that of a student and a teacher or some other variation, but it was there never the less. He tried desperately not to focus on it. He should’ve pulled away, he should’ve released her hand, but he did not. The contact with her would help, or so he was trying to convince himself. The voice in the back of his head that was trying to convince him to remove himself was getting stronger as the moments of her cool skin against his grew. He ignored it. “A stabbing motion will slow you down and possibly pull your dagger from your hand.” He moved his hand, and hers under it, to the left, forcing her wrist to bend. “Relax,” he said “And feel how my body moves.” Bringing their hands to the left side of her body, he then pushed it in an arc forward and to the right, the dagger moving away from her and then coming closer to her body as they moved. “When at all possible, move your body in circular patterns, using your own weight to aid your momentum and power.” To demonstrate, he let the weight of his arm fall onto hers and repeated the motion.

Realization overcame him. Pulling his hand back, blood rushed into his face and he took a step from her. What was he doing? This was more than inappropriate, yet it felt somehow familiar. The sun, it had to be the sun. Clearing his throat, he moved so that he stood in front of her once more. Let her learn by experience and his verbal guidance, like he was taught. “Try without me guiding you,” he said softly. Try without me touching you. He was becoming distracted, both by her presence and the touch of her skin on his. Pulling his hands up into the guard position, he waited until her stance mimicked his before he slowly brought his dagger down towards he left shoulder, slowing more the closer he got. She had to learn that her target would not always stand still. Let her think faster and faster with each passing exercise. She didn’t need his physical guidance, he didn’t need to give it. She could learn on her own, she had too.

"Stay still."

Noemi stayed still. She could follow instructions if she wanted to! But when his front met her back, she was more than still; she was a statue. At that point, she couldn't have moved if she tried. His chest was solid, pressed against her in a straight line from her shoulders to her rear. Her shirt was fairly thin and she fancied that his body heat was pouring through him and into her, warming her to the bone. When he spoke, she could feel his breath fanning across the side of her neck, tickling the hairs around her ear. Relax? How could that have even been possible? Her knees were turning to jelly.

That was just the proximity, though. Any man so near to her might have caused the same reaction. It was unfamiliarity with masculine contact that made her so weak in the knees. Or the heat was reaching her. Exhaustion from the very little sleep she had gotten. Her eyes still felt raw, as if her eyelids were being peeled back. Was there a medical term for a woman feeling weak in the arms of a man or was it just anti-feminism at its finest?

“And feel how my body moves.”

Oh, how could she not? Her face was a brilliant shade of pink, darkening her pale freckles. If his stomach growled, she would have felt it. She wanted very badly to slap him away and hide beneath a tree somewhere, but she did not. Brother Collins was teaching her and she needed to stay focused. Her mother would hear about it if she ran away screaming. More over, he was being a perfect gentleman. Any scandal she was creating was strictly in her head.

Noemi followed his guided movements. It still felt strange. He had the benefit of training since childhood - she had never even tried to move this way before. She imagined her body in terms of geometry and angles; it made a bit more sense to her then, though shifting her center of gravity was a bit strange. When he pulled away, she stumbled a touch before righting herself almost immediately. The removal of his warmth and support was entirely too abrupt. How embarrassing! She growled in frustration, then flushed darker when she realized the sound she had made. Angry pups had nothing on Noemi. She looked to his chest rather than his face for instruction, unable to meet his eyes.

She resumed the guard stance again, albeit a bit sulkily. When his arm began coming down, she caught it again and this time, mimed a swiping motion at his stomach rather than a stabbing one. Circular! Clumsy, but she felt it was an improvement. If only this were a real subject, one she could succeed in with study and notes and tests. In this particular area, failure meant humiliation. In a real world application, failure meant death.

"Where should my feet be?" She asked stiffly, staring down at her boots. They were splayed awkwardly beneath her. One good sweep and she would be off her feet and on her behind.

He watched with a neutral face as she caught his wrist and did a small sweeping motion by his stomach, fighting the sparks on his skin that the action produced. Drill, it was only a drill with his student, nothing more. He gave half a shrug at her motions. She hadn’t done them terribly for a beginner who had never held a blade, but they weren’t very good either. She was too stiff, too hesitant. Perhaps it would be best if they worked with unsharpened blades, though she had mentioned that she wanted to become accustomed to her father’s blade. She had a fair point in that. He could wrap the blade in thin leather; though it would make the blade heavier, if he countered the added weight by adding some at the hilt, she would move faster once it was removed and maybe she would stop being so hesitant about everything she did. It was almost as if she believed she could actually hurt him. Either that or she was more uncomfortable with the basic motions than he would have liked. This was certainly turning out to be one of his most interesting sessions yet.

“Where should my feet be?”

He should have thought to tell her that. In fact, there was a lot that he had skipped over in his rush to get things done quickly, to get her to the basics that might help save her life one day, but by doing so, he had skipped the very fundamentals of the body that he worked on for months before a dagger was put in his hands. Fool. He should have started with foot work, and movements, and the circle routines, and everything he learned as a child. Just because he knew it, he must have assumed too much. Though it would be hard for him to teach someone not of the Wind system to move as he did. Most of his foot work and movements were based from his Wind Walk, something he excelled at slightly early for a Brother. He had to teach her as if he had no use of the Wind, at all. Perhaps it would be good practice for him.

Finn dropped from his Wind Walk only a couple of inches off the ground, his soft soles making a soft sound on the ground. Wiggling his toes, he looked to his student. “Sheathe your blade,” he said, doing the same. Once she had done as he asked, he clasped his hands behind his back, standing tall. “Movement is key for any style of hand to hand combat.” And he should have thus covered it before he allowed her to even hold a dagger. “Your feet and legs are your platform. Without stability here, it does not matter what skills you have with your hands.” He took a couple steps towards her until he was about a foot away, his feet coming directly together. “Your stance can not be too tight,” he adjusted his feet so that they stood as wide as his shoulders plus some apart, like a fool, “Nor too wide.” He returned his feet to a casual stance and then tapped the inside of her left foot with his right. “Your off foot should be slightly forward to help with balance, and then somewhere between the width of your shoulders and hips apart for balance.”

He gave her a few moments to adjust her footing before shrugging slightly. It seemed solid enough, even too much so. He moved slightly to the side and then right past her shoulder, eyes still on her feet. Yes, much too firm. “Yet, if your feet are not ready to move and adjust,” the corner of his mouth twitched. When he was a Young Brother, he enjoyed watching as the Masters taught the new ones the fault of standing too firm and tricking them has he had been tricked. In one smooth motion, his knees bent and one leg swept out, knocking the knees of his student and then her legs right from under her. However, unlike his Masters, he was a kinder teacher. As his leg returned to aid his balance and the Princess began to fall, he shifted to her intended target on the ground and braced his arms to fall directly under her armpits. “Your platform is brittle and will cause you to break,” he finished, his chest pressing against her shoulders and neck as he held her mid-fall.

Noemi sheathed her dagger in one try and was secretly proud of herself for doing so. Fitting things into small holes was not her forte. In fact, nothing about this was her forte. She had never saw herself as particularly graceful, but she didn't think herself clumsy either. Collins was proving her wrong. Never in her life had she felt so out of touch with her own body. It already acted of its own volition when Collins was around and it was even worse when the practice of martial artistry became involved.

She adjusted herself into the position he had showed her. She wished she had a mirror. This hardly seemed like a good battle pose. If only he had a book or something to teach her from rather than...rather than this disjointed lesson. He started her with slashing around and now, she was taking stances. It seemed like she was regressing. Maybe she was so bad that he had her put away her blade to avoid injury to herself. Noemi gritted her teeth behind a closed mouth, thoroughly displeased with the entire thing. She was no warrior, she was a healer. He was no teacher, he was a protector. For not the first time, she doubted her mother's unerring wisdom--

Her mind went blank as she felt the ground being swept from beneath her. Noemi couldn't help it - she squealed a curse, her eyes widened, and her stomach clenched only to find that she did not hit the ground at all. She felt that solid warmth again at her back and she tilted her head up to lock eyes with her assailant. He did have nice eyes, though they were not the friendliest. He was stronger than he looked, to carry her weight so easily, and...and...she was still staring at him. She struggled back to her feet and pulled away from him, head down so as to hide her blush. Really! With all the blushing she was doing today, she should have been dizzy from the blood rush! Didn't she say she wouldn't be some blushing, babbling fool only a few minutes ago?

She was angry at herself, but directing her anger towards her trainer was much easier. It most certainly was her exhaustion. That was the clearest explanation. It was making her grumpy, irrational, and distracted and though she knew all this, it did not deter her from speaking her mind. Tonight, she would take medication to carry her past the images of the man she had killed and into sleep. Tomorrow, she would apologize to Brother Collins. Now, she would lecture.

"Was that absolutely necessary?!" She sniffed, hands on her hips. She was standing quite a bit away from him now, wary of his quick feet. "I learn just fine without being tossed around like a ragdoll, thank you. What if I had fallen?! These pants would have split and that would have been a lot of fun, waddling back inside, holding my trousers together!"

She was ranting, but ranting was a lot better than babbling. Ranting was babbling with purpose. Noemi did not realize she was doing it, but she was shaking a finger at him as well. No wonder why the servants called her "the old maid". Her wet nurse used to do this to her.

"'Brittle platform' or not, please try to refrain from scaring me half to death in the future?" The I should box your ears! portion of her speech was left out, but inferred in her breathless tone.

His eyes locked with those of the Princess for a heartbeat. Then another. The warmth of her body slowly began to sink in through the sleeves of his suit and though the white undershirt as well, his body seemingly content with this exchange of heat as he did not move an inch. Instead, he stood there with his eyes locked on hers. She did not seem entirely pleased at her current situation, though there was something there in the glint of her eye that was something else. Interesting. He would take a nights service to a pig in a rundown in to know what she was thinking just then. Perhaps two nights if her thoughts were as interesting as he hoped they were. As he hoped they were? Well, that was a ridiculous notion. There was nothing of note behind those eyes, least of all for him.

She turned to look away from him then, and pushed away to stand on her feet. Finn leaned forward a touch, his chest against her back giving her a little more to push against in her hurried actions, though hopefully not enough for the slightly hot headed Princess to think that he was under the impression that she couldn’t do anything herself. Though, if he had it his way, she wouldn’t have to do anything herself. She should be sitting in the Palace drinking a cup of tea while he and the other Brothers took care of the protecting. Even though he had only been here a week, he knew that would never happen. Pity, someone taking care of her and calling all the shots might do her some good for once.

“Was that absolutely necessary?!”

One of his eyebrows raised. Was she, was she scolding him. He blinked. Why, yes she was. Finn’s eyebrow rose a little higher as the Princess took on the stance that he might imagine a nurse or a mother taking when finding out that their child had gone off and jumped into a mud puddle right after a bath. All in all, it was more than amusing. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly as his eyes gave her a little sweep over. She was quite a bit away from him now, so much so that it would take him a good couple of steps to reach her again, which was tempting. Surely her reaction would only get better if he tripped her a second time. As his eyes scanned her stance though, they widened slightly and shot immediately to her face. Her hands on her hips first began to register along the lines of the frustrated motherly figure but quickly shifted into other thoughts that were very closely related to the shape of her body in the tight leat--

Split leather pants.

The image, were it to follow the thought process it was perviously going, should have sent blood rushing to his face at the idea of it. However, now that she was wagging her finger at him in that ridiculous, sixty year old woman fashion, he could not contain himself any longer. His twitching mouth split wide, his teeth flashing as he watched her scold him, a man almost ten years her elder. As she finished her little ranting and raving session, Finn could feel the corners of his mouth, already stretched, move more. Her huffing and puffing sent him over the edge. His wide mouthed smile erupted into laughter, full blown laughter. His eyes closed as his arms moved to clutch his stomach, but he forced them open after a few seconds, when he had calmed himself down a touch, but the sight of her just sent him off into a second set a rolling chuckles. Hadn’t anyone told her how absolutely ridiculous she looked when she was attempting to scold someone?

His little laughing fit came to a close within seconds, but half of a grin still rested on his lips. “Princess, do you really think I would have let you fall?” He thought about it, but there was no reason to tell her as much. Thinking about it, though, he might have had the opportunity to see her over tight pants split. Amusing, yes, and an image he would not soon forget. “Besides,” he started, taking a few steps towards her, “Aren’t you much more aware of your footing and of mine?” So maybe he was taking his fun at pointing out her stiff footing and trying to make it seem like there were more lessons involved. Wasn’t that what teachers did anyway? He sure thought so.

Half grin still stuck on his wide mouth, he took another step closer to her. So maybe he was thinking about doing it again. Just maybe.

She paused in her diatribe, mouth wide open. He was laughing! At her! Noemi did not think this man even capable of a smile, much less laughter! He had the mouth for it, she supposed, and it was a nice, full-bodied laugh that he should use more often, but still, he was laughing at her. It took everything in her power not to stomp her foot and march away with whatever remained of her tattered dignity. The longer she stood there, though, the more infectious his laugh became. She fought to keep her mouth still, but the corners of her lips were trying to lift themselves. Her arms moved to cross over her chest. Obviously, the hands-on-the-hips thing was not working.

“Princess, do you really think I would have let you fall?”

"I...I don't know!" She admitted huffily, before deciding. "Yes."

She didn't know his teaching style. It might have been the patented Brother Collins way of showing a student to stay wary. Though Noemi did not read much non-fiction, all the books she had read as a child about knights began with some hard Master of Arms, completely dedicated to toughening their pupils. Noemi was no knight by any means, but combat training usually meant someone was going to get scuffed up. Someone who was not a princess.

“Aren’t you much more aware of your footing and of mine?”

At his words, she dropped her eyes from his infuriating little grin to his feet. She didn't answer his question directly, but she did back up with every step he made forward. There was no shame in backing away from him. He did say that fleeing was preferable to confrontation and Noemi did not like the air of mischief about him.

"What are you doing?" She asked nervously. "You're not going to trip me again, are you?"

She loosened her arms to feel behind her as she stepped back. Her fingers met a weapons rack and she nearly tripped again without any assistance from him. Noemi righted herself and the weapons, mumbling furiously under her breath that whoever had put those there obviously had no idea what he was doing. Then, she remembered that she was still being pursued. She slid behind the weapon rack, using it as a barrier between him and her with the wall at at her back.

"You've proved your point! No more tripping!" She demanded. "If you do it again, I swear, I'll...I'll...I'll..." Noemi could not think of an appropriate or believable threat. What did she use on her younger siblings? "I swear I'll give you such a spanking, you won't sit straight for a week!"

The only difference was she was actually physically able to follow through on this threat with her siblings. Not so much with Brother Collins.

As he approached her, slowly, he could see her body fighting to betray her mind. It was very evident that she was angry with him, and it only made sense. Emotions, especially when displayed, could only cause issue and distraction. He really had no reason why he should not be distracting the Princess in this situation, especially considering his teaching had been more than abysmal up to that point. The distraction was welcomed, and thus those carefully trained voices that gave him logic were silent, not yet objecting to the grin that was on half of his wide mouth, nor the laughter that he could still feel inside of him. In a way, it actually felt relaxing to release that laugh. He would have to meditate on that concept in the morning.

His grin twitched a little at her indecision. She had to know that he would never hurt her, could never, as long as she was his charge. A Brother never broke a vow, Finnagan most of all. Then again, she was clever enough to realize that dropping her to the ground wouldn’t necessarily constitute as hurting her in his mind. Granted, this looked very playful and, well, it was. However, he could still vaguely remember his father’s lessons when he was a child. Unlike the Brotherhood, they were not stern nor were they plain. In fact, he enjoyed reading and learning when he was home as a chid, perhaps more so than he did at the Brotherhood. He was a different person then, as any Brother was from his or her childhood self, but that brought him to wondering. Would this humor, these smiles be the key to teaching her what she needed to know? Already she was retreating from his steps, a step in the right direction were this training. Perhaps he was teaching on accident again. It could not hurt to see where these interactions took her upon her defensive learning curve. It could do her well. If it didn’t, well, at least they wouldn’t be negative memories or ones in which she was stubborn simply to be stubborn.

He grinned and shrugged at the Princess, his mind focusing once again on the present rather that the possible future. He could drop her, she knew it. His steps continued, slowly.

"What are you doing? You're not going to trip me again, are you?"

Finn’s half smile stretched once again into a full smile, though one side still rose a little higher than the other. He could trip her again, it would really be rather easy. His eyes locked with hers, his laughter silent but clear in his eyes as he mused about with the idea. Well, if he was going to use this at an attempt of teaching her in an environment she could be more familiar with, he would make her learn. Already she was watching for his feet, which was good for her, but he had to make her think about all the angles at once. He would not trip her again, not this time at least, but she had better keep her guard up in spite of that. “No, I am not going to trip you,” not this time.

He continued towards her, watching with amusement as she felt behind her for objects. She didn’t turn her back on him, that was a smart decision on her part. The moment you turned your back on anyone, you gave them the advantage, and he already had a significant one, so that wouldn’t have even been fair. She had good instincts, at least. Even if she wasn’t perfectly comfortable with them yet, which was evident by her run in with a rack of weapons. He did not slow as she fixed her mess and stabilized herself, keeping his eyes locked on her at all times. If she was to learn, surely she could do so by his example. When her back was firmly against the wall, his lips twitched, his half grin once again resting upon it. Backed into a corner. Would she have an escape plan ready? He would come at her from around the weapons rack, the same way she had gone, still not using his elemental advantage. He was going to, at least, until her words gave him pause.

"You've proved your point! No more tripping! If you do it again, I swear, I'll...I'll...I'll...I swear I'll give you such a spanking, you won't sit straight for a week!"

His eyes widened and a laugh slipped from his lips, a quiet chuckle at first, but it grew slightly. A threat, an empty one, but a threat. She knew she was cornered. He would have to remind her not to panic so much if she ever got her back against a wall. It would have been much better for her to stay collected and calm, let him think that she was onto something. For all he knew, there could be a secret passage behind her, or a plethora of other things that he should keep an eye out for. He maintained his pace, moving around the weapons rack, though his last steps towards her were much quicker. Pushing empty hands against the wall and either side of her head, he leaned towards her. Without his Wind Walk, he was only a few inches taller than her, but it worked nevertheless. From everything he had gathered about the Princess up until this point, she was a rather stubborn and therefore possibly competitive. Already she was irked at being tripped, perhaps he could per her up to a challenge.

Leaning in a little further, he smirked, feeling her hot breath brush across his face. A challenge for the stubborn Princess then. He’d enjoy seeing how she did. “I dare you to try.” With that he backed away, that new and unusual grin still plastered on his wide mouth.

Noemi wasn't quite sure when he had come up so quickly on her, but he was there and encroaching her personal space. She tried not to gasp and instead released a little squeak, gentler than a mouse. Oh, he was very close. His nearness did not intimidate her wholly, but she was forced to fully realize how much weaker she was than him. And she thought she had an imposing presence. Her face had become a violent shade of magenta, half from rage, half from...well...him.

When he pulled away, it was none too soon. Her heart was racing so quickly she was surprised she didn't die on the spot. He was still smiling at her, taunting her, even. In short, not taking her seriously. Little did Brother Collins know that he had just dug his own grave. She was going to somehow, some way, smack his behind until his bottom turned pink. If looks could kill, the glare she was giving him would have been more deadly than any dagger.

Though she told herself and others that she was no longer a competitive person, that she had grown out of such silliness, that was entirely untrue. She was still as driven as she had always been, although she no longer played hours long chess matches with her family. Noemi was the sort who didn't like being told what she could and could not do. As indicated by her last little outing, she broke rules constantly and, when given permission to do something, often didn't do it simply out of spite. On a primal level, she liked being challenged.

She bent her knees slightly, eyes glued to him and then darting to the left. As a child and a teen, she would play tag with her siblings and she would often be separated from her quarry by nothing more than a table. It wasn't too much different here. If she could deceive him, catch him by surprise.... She was good at surprising people. If she had been a cat, her tail would have been swishing and her rear would have been wriggling. If she had been a bull, she would have been stomping her foot.

Noemi feigned a quick left, but changed direction last millisecond, moving forward instead. He was not very far from her and so it was easy to jump on him, hook her legs around his middle, and lock her arms around his shoulders. At some point, she had begun laughing - when did that happen? - so hard that she was snorting. Oh, Creator. Was she having...fun? Victory was just within her reach. Spurred by her adrenaline, she bit down on the nearest thing to her face - his earlobe - with a growl and tugged it back and forth. Gnawing.

Finn watched as his ward moved carefully, almost as if she was a cat. So that was it then, the secret to getting her to learn and move; give her competition. She moved gracefully with ease. He had to think of some way to transfer those movements to the movements with a dagger. Perhaps focusing on the defensive stances wasn’t good enough for her. She moved like a hunter after her prey, not like some prey looking to defend herself. Granted, she did look rather pissed at him, but there was still merit here. He would teach her one handed stances still, but he would stay away from the guard positions and move to the offensive ones. It seemed to suit her more, the little cat.

Though he continued backing away from her, his eyes were on her movements. Cat or not, he knew which part of himself to guard, and he would guard it well. She was after his rear, and he was not going to give her any opportunity to get at it. Not only would it be embarrassing to have a Princess, his student even, catch him off guard and place a smack on his posterior, but if there were any Brothers around, he would surely be mocked. But it was more than that. He wasn’t sure he could remember a time where anyone came into contact with that part of his body. Perhaps a slap of the dagger when he left and opening while sparring, but nothing actually physically from a person. He couldn’t allow her to be the first. Eyes watching her carefully, he once again noticed her smooth movements. Likely she would attempt to get his back against something, or moved around to get behind him or trip. At least, that was what Finn was expecting. However, what he was expecting and what happened where two very, different things.

Before he could blink, the Princess was leaping towards him. If he dodged, it might have given her a clear opening to his rear, and thus Finn braced himself for the body flying at him. When she made contact with his body, he immediately felt her legs wrap around his waist and her hands around his shoulders, gripping him tightly. In all honesty, he was not exactly sure how to respond. His body and mind were a fit of fighting natural instincts hammered into him. He had to keep it playful, keep her mind off of her actions and just let her instincts rule her, for it was very clear that was a better idea that having her mind all in jumbles and second guessing herself. However, though he knew this, his body was pushing at those thoughts roughly, the clear thoughts. All he wanted to think about was how hot het skin felt through their clothing, and how the sensation of her like this seemed entirely too familiar, as if from a drea--

Her laugh brought him out of his thoughts, the playful ridiculous sound bringing a small smile to his lips. She was having -- Creator! A deep purr, or perhaps a groan or even a rumble, escaped from his throat as her teeth tore at his ear. The sensation should have been painful, at least to his pride, his brain was trying to tell him, but any and every logical thought that was attempting to pass through there was severely drowned out by the thudding of his blood as if rushed though his body. He was very keenly aware then of the heat that her body was producing against his, and the absolute tight leather that followed the curves of her body, and more so, the primal sounds that were escaping her throat. He couldn’t think he simply could act.

His hands were immediately at her waist, gripping her tightly, though neither pushing her away nor pulling her closer, as much as he wanted to. He had other plans. Within seconds of the woman’s legs wrapping around his torso, Finn pushed forward, talking quick but careful steps towards the wall just down from where she had her back previously. Right before he pushed her back, roughly, into the wall, he slid his off hand up her back and sunk his fingers into her hair around her bun, pulling her head back. Somewhere inside him, many voices were shouting of the dangers his actions were causing, but he simply couldn’t think for long enough to hear them anymore. The blood was much needed elsewhere.

Her laughter stopped abruptly as she heard the sound he made, felt his hands on her waist and her back against the wall. She had angered him. He had dared her, she had done what her body told her, but somehow, she had angered him. Fear fluttered in her chest as he tugged her bun back, but there was something else too, something darker that she had only known once before, that night in the clinic. The slight sting of her hair being pulled shot through her nerves to pool somewhere low in her stomach. A soft whimper rode a shaky exhale out her mouth.

Though her head was pulled back, Noemi strained to look at him. It looked like he was going to devour her. She felt helpless, frightened, and more, so much more, and all of it so unfamiliar. Logically, she knew he would not hurt her, but a growing part of her wanted him to. If she had been in her right mind at that moment and not a frozen deer, she might have known then that she was in very deep trouble. Some distant part of her knew that they were in public, but a closer part of her did not care. There could have been anyone watching, though the training grounds appeared secluded. Let them look. she thought dizzily.

Everything about her current position on him was perfect in a very wrong sort of way. She could feel something firm growing from Finnagan's pelvic region and pressing against her. Her eyes widened. That was...it was.... There went her theory on the Brothers being castrated. She could not say it was a dagger this time, partially because of where it was and its...growing nature, and partly because oh, dear Creator, she did not want it to be a weapon. Physically and mentally, she was stuck in place, completely at his mercy. So she moved the only part of her she really could in a weak attempt to free herself.

Noemi wriggled her hips against his, against the burgeoning bulge in his pants. The sensation was terrifyingly pleasant, that small pressure she had felt the other night multiplied. She released a choked moan and bit her lower lip to muffle it, unable to believe that that sound had come from her. Please let me go, please let me go, don't let me go, don't let me go. Neither sentence managed to leave her tongue. She could not stand looking at him anymore - she closed her eyes instead, and rolled her hips again, unsure of what she was trying exactly to achieve.

All her life, she had avoided these types of situations, had thought herself too smart and too practical to land herself in wild lust with anyone. Noemi was beginning to find that she didn't know very much about herself at all.

He had absolutely no idea what he was doing. He was supposed to be teaching the Princess, his ward, self defense with a single dagger at the request of her parents, of the Queen and Consort of Valetudo. He was supposed to keep her safe. He was supposed to be doing a lot of things. However, what he was in fact doing was likely the only single thing he should very much not be doing, ever. The Princess had her legs wrapped tightly around him and was pressed against the rough wall of the Palace by his weight and hands at her waist. Logical thought would point out that, as much as his original intensions were to keep her competitive and playful edge sharp in order to see her skills, that intension meant nothing any longer. The position he had found himself in was, without a doubt, a very sexual one. In fact, it was as if everything that lead up to that exact moment was sexual in nature itself. The threat of spanking, the jumping, the biting, and even back to the thoughts of the Princess in her all too tight pants.

As if commanded by his thoughts, Finn’s eyes left the face of the Princess to roll down her body -- over the curves of her chest only slightly hidden by the loose fitting blouse, down her stomach to the waist of her pants, and to where her body met his. He swallowed with some difficulty before his eyes continued down the curve of her legs wrapped around him, spending some time focusing on her posterior that still begged to be held by his hands. She was, in all possible ways of the word, perfect. He leaned into her more, his hips pressing against hers as his hands relaxed around her waist and moved down, running over her hips and --

Creator...

The movement of her hips grinding against the very obvious tightness in his pants was...heart stopping, tantalizing, fantastic, foreign, seductive, and so many other things that his brain would simply not process past the fact that it felt good, damn good. The unfamiliar sensation sent a rumbling groan to his lips and sparks through his stomach and into his loins, the sound emitted from the lips of the Princess making everything that much worse and that much better. He was lost in the feeling, lost between her legs. Hands on her hips where they had stopped at her movement, Finn leaned into her, his hips grinding towards hers rhythmically. Creator, what was he doing?

Logical through was no where to be found in the mind of the celibate Brother. They had never prepared him for these moments, they had never prepared him for the sensations that would rush through his body at the touch of a woman. He had simply be taught to avoid them at all costs, and he had, so well. Even so, there had been women in the past who had gotten close enough to him, not in this position, but close enough, and yet his body had not nearly betrayed him so. He had thought that he was immune, that he was strong enough to resist the ways of woman and their soft curving bodies. So why was he failing this time, why was he trapped between the legs of a woman this time?

His head of unheard thoughts fell to the curve of Noemi’s neck, his forehead pressing against her. Turning his head upward, wide lips parted and finally made contact with the hot flesh of his ward as they trailed from below her collar bone to the sweeping curve of her neck. Breath pressed against her skin and back to his own, the taste of her teasing and begging to be known. Something should have stopped Finnagan Collins, a Brother who had vowed to never know the pleasures of the flesh in any way, something should have made his body return to logical control before he made an absolute fool of himself in the eyes of his ward and in the eyes of himself. Only the Creator knew if there were any Brothers watching him degrade himself, but his body simply couldn’t be stopped long enough for him to care. He was focused on one thing and one thing alone.

Lips parted over her hot flesh, Brother Collins damned himself as he pressed a wide and surprisingly gentle kiss at the curve of his ward’s neck before opening his mouth and sinking his teeth into her flesh as his hips pressed against hers, the taste of her flooding his mouth and sending any and all chance of logical thought from his mind. Against all training, against all logical thought, against all of his beliefs, Finn closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensations that were near the point of overwhelming his body. Gripping her hips tightly, he pressed harder into her while pulling her against him, a growl deep in his throat vibrating against her.

Noemi had never before been a prisoner to her body. She was a passionate woman, surely, but her passion had never been directed toward a person, toward feeling. At a later point, she would look back and suddenly understand why people allowed themselves to become such sensory animals in the wake of desire. She would also be completely ashamed of herself. Princesses did not behave in this way, but more than that, she did not behave in this way. What was it about this man that drew this out of her? Noemi had had her share of suitors in the past, but not a single one evoked this...this bottomless, heart-stopping want.

It might have been the way he treated her - not as if she were some delicate, fragile creature, but as an actual woman. Or it might have been the ease with which he held her and the deadly strength he wielded. The wide mouth he was pressing to her throat, the sensations he was creating within her, the latent fire he hid beneath all that ice and black that so well paralleled hers. Or the simple chemistry between two repressed people and the mysterious way a man and a woman in all the wrong circumstances found themselves intertwined. These would be thoughts for later because his hot breath against her skin was robbing her of common sense and reason.

Finnagan's teeth clamping down on her neck was a reminder of how this whole ordeal had started, but there was nothing playful about this. Noemi had never even kissed a man before, much less let them touch her in any place she might have considered sensitive. Scientifically, it made sense as to why that area was so tender; nerve endings and all that. But science did not explain to her why pleasure dancing so close to the edge of pain sent such a powerful shiver down her spine. That was not to mention the fact that he was between her legs, pressing into her, driving her mad with frustration. Just a little more, just a little faster, just a little harder.... There was a specific goal in mind, but only her body understood it.

She wrapped herself tightly around him, having made up her mind that pushing him away would have been very bad indeed. Her fingers had found their way into his hair, lacing themselves through the strands and clenching. Her mouth was pressed against his head too, stifling the soft string of whimpers she could not stop herself from emitting, her breath coming hard and fast through her nose. Noemi ground her hips against his, forgetting the modesty of inexperience and making her own rhythm, clumsy and uncaring of how he was moving as long as he did not stop.

The sensations were incomparable to anything that had ever presented itself in the life of this Brother. Even when he went through puberty, the Master Brothers at his Discipline were prepared and gave a very lengthy and inspiring speech as to how pleasures of the flesh would rip apart the world they knew and they, if Brothers succumbed to such animalistic and filthy acts, there would be none left with sensible minds to protect the King of Ventus or anyone else that needed protecting. There were a few boys in his Discipline that didn’t take the words to heart, however, but their actions would stop the moment the Master Brothers offered to take away the temptation completely. While Finn had never met a castrated Brother himself, he did not doubt their existence. There was never a reason for Finn to ever think that he would fall to the pleasures of the flesh, to the animalistic nature of humans that would surely be their demise. He was always the prime example of a Brother, the perfect one in actions and thoughts. There was never an issue with keeping his vows, at least, not until he had met the Princess.

These thoughts floated unread through the mind of the damned Brother. Later he would realize his mistakes. Later he would repent and meditate through meals and the night. Later he would request leave from his post. Later he would leave every memory of the Princess behind him. Later he would deal with the repercussions of his immoral actions. Later he would contemplate his damnation.

The movement of her hips against his sent fire pulsing under his skin. Instinctually his hips tried to move with the rhythm hers had sent, the untrained motions that resulted where rough and lacked the skill of movement that he might otherwise possess. It was animalistic and unthinking, driven by his desire that threatened to eat him alive if he even considered pulling away from her. With every movement, he seemed to bring himself even closer to his ward, as if he was going to push right through her, but she was pressing just as hard, if not harder, back into him, her legs clamped tightly around his body.

Her breath in his hair sent goosebumps down his flesh, but that was nothing compared to the hand that found itself there. Gone was the hesitant hand that held a dagger minutes before, instead it was solid and very sure of where it was to be and how how it was to hold. Her hand entangling itself in his hair caused him to lift his mouth from her flesh with a groan. His body was on fire. Eyes locking with hers, he rested his foreheard against hers, looking under the lids of his eyes with fierce and unknown determination. Every place on his body where she touched seemed to focus directly into his loins, setting everything on fire. His hips quickened their pace unbidden, grinding the result of her touch against the warmth between her legs mindlessly. Why her? He didn’t care.

He pressed on faster, his hands tightening on her hips. He could feel their need to move lower, to grab her seductive posterior and pull it towards him. Shifting the angle at which his hips were meeting hers by leaning back slightly and thrusting roughly once, his hands moved around her hips and down her back swiftly, finding a new hold on the part of her body that had tempted him the most. Hands filled, his hips pressed harder into her as he used his new grip to move the woman on him rhythmically with his motions, pulling her away from the wall and towards him with every motion. A tight rumbling growl vibrated in his neck as he forced his body faster, his ward with him. So close, so close to the unknown but ultimate goal. He could feel fire rushing faster with every motion, his body tensing and preparing for something, something he desperately wanted to have.

Faster, harder, he was giving her exactly what she wanted without her having to tell him. It was like having the most exquisite itch in the world being taken care of for her. It was pure bliss. Noemi was not considering at the moment that Finnagan should not be doing this; what few thoughts she had been able to spare before had been concentrating on her own culpability. But how could this be anyone's fault? How could this be her fault when she lost herself around him, when the press of his body against hers was the only thing she had found her life lacking?

She sighed with the loss of his mouth on her neck but was rewarded instead with his forehead against hers and the sight of his face. Noemi was sure her own looked ghastly, with her brows furrowed, her mouth slightly parted, the hideous noises she was making. Her hair was slowly sliding from its bun. None of it mattered, though, because she had the perfect view of his beautiful mouth and the feral glint in his eyes. She had done this to Brother Finnagan Collins, she had made him into this beast with her body and her touch. A perverse pride swelled within her, doubling her arousal. She was bringing him pleasure, making him forget himself, and he wanted her.

He was touching parts of her that she would have never dared allow anyone else, not at any other time. The leather stretched tight over her rear left nothing of his hands to the imagination. Again, an area she had never known was so responsive until now. Then the sensation of being moved and guided, losing whatever control he had been so gracious to give her before. The changed angle gave him much more better access to her and to that part of her that so desperately needed release. The pressure was building all over her body, tightening her stomach and her chest. Breathing was a struggle.

"Please, please..." She whispered, though whether she was speaking to him or to her own body, it was unclear.

It was stacking towards something big and when it hit her, it did so like a ton of bricks. The pleasure reached its apex and she was consumed by the unknown. She arched her back and opened her mouth in a silent howl, only releasing a few strangled pants and mewls. It was if something was expanding inside her, stealing her breath, her thoughts, and her body, white hot pleasure so profound that her head fell back from his and her eyes skewed shut. Her hips had found a mind of their own again, jerking forward and shaking. In fact, her whole body was shaking, even her hands with their white-knuckled grip in his hair. It was good he was holding her - otherwise, she might have been carried away. It was the most perfect moment of her entire life, the first of its kind, and nothing had ever prepared her for it.

Her hot plea against that found his ears sent Finn into near overdrive. The movement and speed of his hips was intensified past the point where he would have otherwise been capable, but her breath on his ear inspired him. Hands tightened against the leather that kept his flesh from hers as he pulled her harder and harder towards him, using her body to stimulate his own while simultaneously fulfilling her wishes. His mind wouldn’t have had an idea as to what she was asking him to do, or not do, but his body knew full well what she wanted. The animal in his nature had taken over fully and completely.

Each movement was quick, was satisfying, was a tease. The fire that was flooding his body was trying desperately to focus, to find release, and he was trying desperately to aid in that. Eyes locked on the ones before him, he moved into her with increasing roughness, sweat dripping down his spine and his wide mouth open and panting. Just when he thought he would never find the release he was working so hard to achieve, he felt the body of his ward begin to change. Her back arched and her head fell away from his while her face twisted into a mix of pure ecstasy and some unseen pain. In his hands, against his body, he could feel her muscles spasming and hips moving sporadically against his while her hands threatened to pull his hair from his head.

Watching her in that moment, knowing that she had found release, sent his rhythm into a furious tempo for but a moment more before he lost himself between her legs. Fire rushed from every part of his body to his core before leaving him in a flurry of pure pleasure. The sensation was animalistic, and a shouting voice was trying desperately to tell him just how wrong it was, but for the moment he clung to his ward and enjoyed the sensation in his loins. When the fire began to fade, and fast, his body fell forward, pressing his ward against the wall and his body against hers. Exhaustion and contentment sunk into his body, as did the newly returning presence of logical thought.

Creator, what have I done?

His head was pressed into the shoulder of the Princess of Valeduto, his ward, as everything came rushing to his head. Everything, everything, was wrong with the entire situation. His back stiffened. This was his ward. So fast that his neck would be stiff later, he pulled his sweaty head away from her shoulder, eyes wider than what should be humanly possible. He had made a vow. How could he have been so incredibly careless? His vow was clear, and he had near violated every ounce of it. The only facets of his vow that he had not completely ignored and violated were intimate acts such as a kiss, though he had violated that, sexual intercourse and the actual act of marriage. He was the worst of the worst. He was absolute scum. Never would he feel clean again, never would he feel deserving of the title the Brotherhood had granted him, never would he think of himself as a perfect Brother. He had broken a vow.

As these logical thoughts finally made it to a mind that was aware, a wave of disgust washed over him, mixing with the pleasure still shuttering and the lust that he felt for the woman in his hands. He was damned. His mouth opened and closed once, his eyes still unblinking. Movement stuck in the indecision of his body still present in the fight against his mind, Finn’s hands slipped quickly up from the posterior of his ward and to her waist. Shaking, he set her gently on the ground, his eyes wide but refusing to make contact with hers. He blinked and his eyes instantly shot to the ground as all the blood in his body rose to a exceedingly bright blush. Taking a step back from Noe -- the Princess, his face fell into a tight expressionless mask, his wide mouth white with the pressure of forming a straight line. There was so much to be done, so much to meditate on. Taking another step away from her, his eyes finally rose to meet hers. The sight of her sent a shiver down his spine, but from disgust at himself or desire for her he was not sure.

“I...” he said quietly before his jaw clenched shut. There were no words for the situation. Shaking his head at himself he backed away from her a few more steps before turning and walking slowly across the training grounds towards the outer wall. What was he supposed to do? Apologize to her? Be angry with her? He couldn’t; it was just as much his fault as it was hers. He just needed to remove himself from the situation, remove himself from her.

Noemi felt boneless, weightless. Residual shivers shook her body intermittently as she toyed with his hair. A lazy euphoria had overtaken her and she had given herself to it wholly, satiated as she was. Her thoughts were still hazily swimming around her peripheries. So that was it. That was what men threw money away for, what women left their families for, what people had even killed for. In all honesty, at this particular moment, she understood it perfectly.

It wasn't until he pulled away from her and set her down that things began to clarify. Her legs were still wobbly and she badly missed his support; she fell back against the wall as her heart began slowing to a normal pace. The euphoria was falling away slowly, piece by piece, exposing what she had done. She braced her forehead against the heel of her palm. His feet were retreating away from her and she did not lift her head to watch.

Bereft, satisfied, ashamed. Most of all, ashamed. What did this mean for her? Why had she not pushed him away? Was she even still a virgin now? For so long, she had been the very example of modesty and restraint. Her little sisters had used her as a role model. Now, she was nothing more than a harlot. She felt somehow branded, as if from now on, everywhere she went, every one who saw her would know. It was probably all over her face, it would be in the way she walked, in the way she spoke.

And what of his vow? Noemi had ruined him just as surely as he had ruined her. She was sullied, but there was no telling what would happen to him should his superiors find out. Much worse than a switching. Her stomach began to churn as the possibilities spun through her mind. Standing was far too much; she sank against the wall. He would have to find another post, obviously, far away from her. She would have to avoid him, or apologize, or something, anything. Apologize, yes. What she had done and allowed him to do was wrong and the only right course of action would be to beg forgiveness, from him and from the Creator.

A knot in her throat was growing, preventing her from speech. She would apologize later; if she called him now, he would see the tears pricking at her eyes. Her entire life, she had never felt so pathetic as at that very moment, crouched on the ground like a punished child, biting back sobs. There were too many emotions and together, they had coalesced into a deep panic and conscious vulnerability. She was an open wound, exposed nerves, and everything hurt. The worst part was that if he had asked to touch her again, she would have allowed it. She might even have begged.

Even with his back to his ward, he was aware of her every motion, he would always be aware. No matter how much he tried to convince himself that it was solely because of the training he had received and his skill at observing with the wind, there was a corner of himself that knew he was aware for a different reason. Something was drawing him to her, and it wasn’t just the draw of a Brother to his ward. She was like an addiction that he couldn’t kick, and he just wanted to go back for more. Every step he took from her was more difficult than the last, his deadly addiction demanding that he turn around and return to her. He wanted to touch her, to reassure her, to protect her from herself. But he couldn’t. He was a member of the Ventus Brotherhood, well, he was. That title was too good for him now, and he was most certainly not deserving. But a even a damned one such as himself had to at least try and rectify the situation, right? The tightness of his face wavered. He was supposed to walk away, right? He was supposed to leave her, the woman who had helped in damning him, the woman who had been the one tempt him, the woman who he could not get out of his mind, the woman he had vowed to protect.

His foot hesitated.

He had vowed to protect her, to keep her safe from anything. Could he leave her as she was? She had a role in damning him, but did he not also have a roll in defiling her? He was damned, but what would happen to her? Would she every forgive him for what he had done? Did she regret it? He stopped walking. Did he? Finn turned around slowly, his eyes locked on the form of the Princess, crouched on the ground. He should never have done what he did, he knew that. If he was placed through the same set of situations, with the same person, would the outcome have been any different? Would he have changed his actions? Would he have pulled away from her if the idea presented itself? After all, his brain was a well working system in his body, it had a role in all of this too. His brain was there, watching, as he damned himself and his ward. If he had wanted to stop, wouldn’t he have? Finn always had perfect control over himself, control that made him a prime example of a Brother, or a former one. His control must have slipped or something else. He took a step towards the Princess. His control could have slipped, but perhaps he had wanted to do what he had done. He took another step. Perhaps he had wanted it all along. It had felt right, natural and primal, and Creator, it had felt good.

His steps towards the Princess continued until he stood before her. He had wanted to, he had needed to. This woman made him, different. He didn’t feel weak, he didn’t feel distracted, in fact, he felt very much under control and very aware of things. There was no doubt in his mind what he would do for this woman, and there was no doubt in his mind that he had the ability to do so. The only thing that he then questioned was the matter of what he should do. He should repent, he should meditate, he should find peace within himself, and he would, but was that all? Should he then move on and ignore every feeling in his body just for the sake of a vow? Perhaps the Creator had put Finn in this situation to teach him more about the people he guarded, to teach him that there was more to instincts than just ones that he was taught. Then again, the Creator had given him to the Brotherhood to learn and grow. He was meant to be a Brother, that much he was sure of, and Brothers made the vows. It was a fact of life, a fact of his life. He had made the three vows, including his vow of celibacy. He blinked. Celibacy. His Discipline had always taught him that this vow included everything that could be considered intimate, but that was not the meaning of the word itself. He was to refrain from sexual intercourse, and distractions that the flesh would press upon him. Was his vow of celibacy of more than just that? Were there ways around the rules, ways that would not mark him as damned? If there was a chance that he was saved, what about her? Their actions had not been the actual ones of intercourse, but were still intimate in nature. He blinked. Why had he never thought about this before? Because he always wanted to be perfect...

Confused but oddly bold, Finn turned and sat next to Noemi, back against the wall. Bending his legs towards him, he rested his forearms on his knees while he wrung his hands together, eyes focused on his hands. He needed to be near her, but he needed a sign that she wanted the same. While there was a chance he was not damned by the vows he had sworn, that did not free him from her scorn at his defiling of her own body. Glancing at her, he forced his hands to separate and reached one out to her, shaking, and took her hand in his.

Noemi had been expecting him to leave her there, awash in the crashing waves of her own doubt and shame. She had been prepared to be alone in her tumult and to leave him alone in his. Maybe she would have even preferred that. Loneliness and betrayal were much easier to handle than...than whatever it was she felt toward him now. In the literature she had read as a child, romance was easy - two people fell for one another and were sure of it, understood what they were feeling as soon as they felt it and would do anything to protect one another and whatever bond they carried between them. This was hardly romance. This was the grinding of two sweaty bodies and the consequences that immediately followed.

As he sat beside her, she hastily pulled her hands away from her face, wiping her tears away with the butt of her palm. Humiliation welled in her stomach and she fought the urge to recoil and hide away again. She knew very well that her eyes were swollen and red, that she was an overwrought mess of emotion that showed all over her face. Again, vulnerability. Noemi hated weakness, most of all in herself. Crying was something to be done in private - as was everything that had just transpired - but curling into a ball and hiding was a far worse display of cowardice than tears. Still, she could not bring herself to look at him.

She would have paid handsomely to know what he was thinking at that moment. Was he angry with her? Not more than she was with herself - that would have been impossible. Abstract thoughts had never been her strong suit. Philosophical meditations on the intentions of the Creator were not either. She had been violated, not by him, but herself and her own treacherous body, her base urges that had never before reared their ugly heads. He had not been the one to jump on her and he had not been the one to make the first damning motion of the hips. He had been playful, innocent, until the point where she had chosen to up the ante. On some level, she must have known what would happen, given her past experience with him that night before, when the first tendrils of desire had been instilled within her. Temptation had never been an issue for her before and, in private, she had often thought herself asexual and been happy for it. She had been proven wrong and Noemi did not like being wrong.

Her head whipped toward him, eyes wide, as he took her hand in his. He was shaking and her lower lip was trembling. What a terrible pair they made. You should pull away. But again, her body thought it knew better and instead, she laced her fingers through his, her tear-blurred gaze dropping to their joined hands. Even this felt extremely intimate, despite the fact that they were still both fully clothed. She liked the feel of him, solid and real, and for once forgot to feel subconscious about the roughness of her hands. He was trying to comfort her, not as a Brother would, but as a conventional man. Though he was likely as torn apart as she, he was offering support. The notion brought fresh tears to her eyes and she turned away again, bringing her free hand to her mouth to hide whatever contortions her mouth wanted to make.

"Finnagan, I.... Brother Collins." She tried, her voice rasping through her fingers, but could not move past his name. There were too many things to say and not enough words for her to convey them eloquently. Instead, she tightened her grip around his hand.

Why hadn't he just left her? He would, eventually. She was sure of that, but he should have left as soon as they were finished and made a clean break. She would have felt used and cheap, but it would have been better than this because this only made her heart ache worse.

At the sight of the Princess’ wide eyes, a strong and sudden fear rushed through his body. She was surprised and angry at his touch, and would pull away. So much in his wanted to hold onto her tightly so that she would not be able to, but he resisted and instead let his hand relax, giving her room to pull away from him if she wanted. It was her choice. His fear was not realized. Instead, she laced her fingers through his, the action setting a soft smile to stretch across his lips. With that smile, he gave her hand a small squeeze, though not entirely sure why other than it seemed like a decent thing to do after she had graced him with her own touch. Her touch was simple, but it was a message he would not soon forget. Through his faults and mistakes, through his actions with her not minutes prior, she still wanted to be near him, to touch him.

He was a fool, and yet in that moment, he didn’t care. It felt right to sit beside her, to touch her, to be near her. He was hooked on her, and after such a short period of time. Only a week prior he was sent from Ventus to Valetudo, a perfect and obedient Brother with a particular set of goals in mind, the protection of the younger royal children there only to be a secondary mission. Yet, things were not as he had expected from the moment he attempted to find his ward. Instead of guarding a typical Princess, he was sent to follow a runaway who worked in a small clinic on nights. He had saved her from abduction, and she had saved him from death. And then they were sitting side by side after his possible damnation and hers as well. Nothing was as he expected, and yet he probably wouldn’t change a single thing if he could. He had always thirsted for knowledge, and now he was addicted to a source of knowledge about a subject into which he had never explored. It was thrilling, exciting.

Movement caught his eye as she turned her face from him, her hand covering her mouth and tears in her eyes. He should do something; comfort her, soothe her with words, hold her, anything. However, as much as he wanted to do something, he just didn’t know what to do. No matter how much he was opening himself in that moment to this woman, that did not change the fact that he was a child to the actions of emotions. He just didn’t know what to do. When she spoke through her fingers, however, he flinched, his hand naturally squeezing hers. Brother Collins. Why couldn’t she have just stopped over his name? Was she so concerned with formalities in a moment like this? Was she trying to revert back to her own training, trying to remove some of the exposed personal intimacy they were sharing with the memory of recent actions and a touch? Why couldn’t she just call him Finn, and he call her Noemi? He swallowed. He was not even sure if he would be able to say her name. It was foreign, and it was a verbal confirmation of...everything.

Finn tightened his hold on her hand as she did on his, not fully understanding why he did so but doing it anyway. His body just took control. With his free hand, he crossed his body and ran a hand up her jaw, simultaneously pushing her hand away from her mouth and turning her face towards him. He wanted to apologize to her, for everything, but his tongue felt remarkably heavy and unnaturally dry. Instead, he just looked at her, into her eyes, and held her hand tight. There was so much to say, but he couldn’t forced himself to say a single thing. As if his entire body was submerged in the thickest air, Finn moved towards his ward slowly, his entire body seeming to shake. Just once he wanted this. With his hand still at her jaw, he ran his fingers down it until just the tips were under her chin, lifting her face up to meet his. Though shaking, a soft smile still held on his lips right until the moment they parted and pressed against hers.

Noemi allowed him to push her hand away, exposing her ridiculous face and her ridiculous tears. A flush tinged her cheeks, both from the force of holding back shoulder-shaking sobs and from her own embarrassment. Who was she kidding? She would allow him anything, would let him do anything to her that he wanted. It was the worst sort of debasement, to know that she was so thoroughly his in only a week's time. She was not a loose woman or an easy woman, but it was difficult to remember that with him. Even more awful was the idea that he did not want her - not beyond a physical sense, anyway. They were of two different worlds completely and there was no room for her in his.

This wasn't love. She didn't understand what love was entirely, as no book or person had ever been able to properly describe it to her, but all sources said that when she was in love, she would know it. Right now, she didn't know anything. She knew she liked him touching her and she knew he made her body experience things ancient, primal, and frightening. He compromised everything she thought she knew about herself as a person. Essentially, he was still a stranger to her. They had never stayed up late into the night in deep conversation, she had no idea if he had any siblings, or if he even had a middle name. Noemi could not love someone she did not know, but she could not define what she felt beyond hopeless longing and a terrified yearning.

His smile was lovely and unexpected. He really was a stranger; his behavior varied from cold to hot, subdued to aggressive. Today, he had laughed at her, consumed her, and now he was smiling at her. He fascinated and frustrated her in tandem, had done so even on their first meeting. Unconsciously, she tilted her head into his hand. Her hair fell free entirely, falling into a messy braid down her back, but she could not find enough reason to care because his face was moving nearer and nearer to hers. Her heart began to race, its beat so cacophonous that she could scarcely hear anything else. His lips touched hers and she forgot the mechanics of breathing. She blinked once, twice, then closed her eyes, for it seemed appropriate to do so.

Her grip around his hand had tightened. This was a kiss. What did she do from here? His lips were parted, so she parted hers as well, letting her mouth fit into the clefts of his. As a child, she had always thought osculation a disgusting, unsanitary exchange of fluids. Of course, it was much more than that. It was electric, thrilling, comforting, confusing. She turned toward him and shifted her weight from her ankles to her knees, leaning into him and tentatively placing her free hand on his shoulder before gripping his collar. Her stomach was all aflutter where before it had been turning in dismay. Truly, kisses were a magical thing.

Her shame and humiliation dissipated into distant memories. Every thought was filled with him, the taste of him and the feel of his frame, his subtle scent. It was just a fantasy, but in that moment, she imagined that she belonged here, against him. She imagined that this was natural and perfectly fine with no looming consequences. Was a testament to her own failings or to his power over her that a kiss could derail her entire thought processes? Either way, she was lost.