"Emma, I don't think," Jules began - and broke off, flabbergasted, as Emma plucked off one of the multiple pairs of steel cuffs adorning the walls. "What are you doing? You shouldn't be touching that stuff."

Julian watched suspiciously as she weighed the object in her hand, turning it over and running her fingertips over the surface of the sparkling metal. He had grown accustomed to Emma's familiar habits, even the more personal ones that had merged into her daily training routine over the years since her parents had died: the way she studied Cortana almost hypnotically before setting her mind to training, the way she caressed the hilt as if it were her only love.

He knew that bond had been forged the day Jules himself had offered Cortana to her after she'd discovered her parents deaths', and he had watched her, helpless, as she'd clutched the blade so tight to her chest that blood ran down her bare arms; she had the scar that ran up her right arm as a symbol of her grief, a haunting memory that never failed to make her scream herself awake at night.

But this item in particular was a pair of metal shackles, and bore no connection to her whatsoever. So why was she gazing at it with that dreamy look in her eyes?

Still gripping the manacles in her left hand, she reached up and selected a wicked-looking whip from the nearby wall before turning on her heel and leaving the room.

Julian stared after her for a moment, confused. He knew his parabatai only too well that this meant he were to follow. He shadowed her footsteps, shaking his head irritabily.

As soon as he walked into her bedroom, Emma turned and banged the door closed in his wake. Julian tore his eyes away from her to scour the room, searching for any sign of change in her routine. Nope: there was her dissaranged mountain of dirty clothing dominating a single corner of the room; there, her violin lying carefully in its case on the trunk at the foot of her king-sized bed; here, the doors of her wardrobe standing open, revealing the shelf of glittering garments inside. The floor-length curtains were thrown aside, letting in bright afternoon sunlight. The ocean shimmered like a glass surface far, far down below.

Jules started when he felt a warm pressure on his upper arm. He turned and saw Emma standing beside him, her eyes following her hand as she slowly began to move it up his arm. Her touch sent little shivers over his skin.

"Are you alright?" he asked. Goosebumps rose on his arms. "Emma, what's wrong?"

"Are you cold?" she asked quietly, ignoring his question. She moved closer to him and raised her head, her eyes meeting his own. Hers were a very dark brown, like melted chocolate, the pupils dilated like endless black tunnels.

He searched her face frantically, but he had witnessed Emma intoxicated enough times to know that this was something else entirely.

As he drew breath to reply, she said, softly, "Kiss me."

Jules made a sputtering sound. "What?" Emma merrily looked at him, blinking like a lizard. "Emma, we can't. We're - we're parabatai! It's against the law!"

"Oh, screw the law! Actually, no, don't. If you're going to screw someone, screw me!"

"Emma!"

"Julian!" she retorted. Her expression had hardened; she sighed and it smoothed out, like wrinkled paper. "Look, it won't mean anything. The Clave can't punish us if it doesn't mean anything. Just kiss me."

Jules wasn't convinced. He and Emma had shared chaste kisses when they had been younger, because their curiosity had gotten the better of them. But this seemed ... different. They were both in their teens, and Emma had had experience with this sort of thing before. Surely she couldn't be that curious. "Why?" he asked.

"Because I'm asking you to," she said. "I want you to."

He was shaking his head before she'd even finished speaking. "No. No, Em, we can't-"

His eyes fluttered closed at the familiar tickle of her fingertips on his forearm. She wrote: K-I-S-S M-E. And then, when he gulped nervously, she added: I-L-L S-H-O-W Y-O-U H-O-W.

He opened his eyes and looked down at her. It was almost impossible to see Emma, his best friend since childhood, as something other. She was physically beautiful, he realized: soft brown eyes, long blonde ripples draping to her waist, elegant cheekbones that formed shallow dimples beneath them. He had never thought, never even dared to conjure such a thought: that she was beautiful on the outside. He'd never regarded her as such. He'd always admired her for how beautiful she was on the inside, her determination and the fire that drove her to drastic actions.

As he looked at her, really looked at her, he recognized that steely stubbornness seeping out of her. She wore it like protective armour, and he had been too oblivious to realize it.

She was beautiful, inside and out.

As if in a dream, he reached up to cup her face between his palms, felt the hot flush of her skin as she blushed. When she closed her eyes, her long fair lashes cast spidery shadows over her cheeks; never had he noticed such a subtle movement. Never had he taken the lead in such situations, nor had he ever been in such a situation. But suddenly, it was as if he'd done this a thousand times before; the movements came naturally to him.

He stared at her mouth, wondering what they tasted like, how soft they would feel to his touch. He marvelled, drinking in her features. Emma's eyes fluttered open. "What are you -?" she started, but the rest of her words were lost against his lips as he brought them down on hers, softly.

It was a bit like kissing a dishwasher; all saliva and tongues and lips and Jules wondering whether he was doing it right and Emma grabbing a hold of his hand to entiwne her fingers with his, ordering him to slow down. Jules relaxed at her touch, and he was drowned by the sudden flash of comfort he received at the thought that it didn't matter to Emma where his lips touched; it was okay to get it wrong the first time. What mattered was this moment. Time ceased to exist.

Their lips brushed together, once, twice, three times, and then they were gasping for air as if they had been drowning, and Emma was laughing and Julian was smiling back at her.

And then silence.

They stood and regarded each other warily, their faces flushed, breathing hard - and then they were kissing again.

Jules couldn't have said who reached for who first, only that they reached for each other, fingers tangling in hair and lips meeting lips. His hands were pressed against the small of her back, crushing her to him; hers explored his body as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world, fisting in his hair and rucking up under his shirt, looping into the waistband of his jeans and urging him onward.

She tasted like sulphur and cinnamon and unbelievably Emma - how was it possible for someone to have a taste? She bit down on his lower lip; he tasted blood, and grimaced momentarily before he returned the gesture. She gasped and guided him toward the bed, stumbling as they went.

They fell against the duvet, gasping and breathless, Jules's heart beating like a hummingbird. Emma lay beneath him now; he raised himself up onto his elbows so as not to crush her with his weight.

Wide brown eyes stared up at him, wondering and dangerous. Driven by a strange desire, Julian bent and brushed his lips to the pulse at her throat, and he was savagely pleased when she gasped and arched up against him, her breasts flattening against his chest.

Slowly, deliberately, he kissed a trail down her throat as he drew her shirt upward and paused momentarily as he jerked it from over her head. He stared. Underneath she wore a black lace bra, her waving locks falling over her breasts like a waterfall. The skin of her stomach glistened as if she'd smoothed moisturizer over it, but then he realized that her six-pack was gleaming with sweat.

He ran a hand over the compacted muscles wonderingly; she shuddered. She was so beautiful, his heart contracted in his chest at the sight of her. He went to kiss her chest when she held a finger against his lips. "Wait," she whispered.

He stayed silent as she rolled partway over on the bed, her hand twisting beneath her. She drew her arm back. In her hand was the pair of metal shackles she'd picked up from the Weapons Room earlier, the silver winking in the sunlight like a promise.

"Tie me," said Emma, and offered them to Jules.

Jules stared. "Um … That's … kinky …"

She giggled knowingly, but didn't answer.

With a sigh, Jules took the cuffs.

"Tell me what to do," he said.