She honestly had no clue what she was aiming for.

What are you doing?! Her mind was screaming, warning lights flashing like the electric bulbs of the modern cities in her brain. You're going to get in over your head, she continued to scold herself. Just look at you, straddling some man's lap dressed in your work uniform; you're like some sort of tart!

But that wasn't quite true—after all, she was in the sanctity of her own home, and it wasn't just some man that she was with. Besides, he was technically holding her hostage, his fingers tangled in her hair and grip tight on her back. She always seemed to forget that he was used to wearing heavy armor and carrying a weapon; he wasn't a weakling, and he had the strength to attest for this daily exercise.

She was easily able to hide her growing nervousness beneath a mask of anger; she had done the same for years as the High Inquisitor, and it was far too easy to fall back into that role. It was about like slipping on a well-worn pair of socks, comfortable from use. And Rouge's borrowed cosmetics had given her a small confidence boost, despite all odds. She even had a mind full of the woman's advice, though she'd protested time and time again that she wasn't looking to actually bed him… or at least, she didn't think she was.

It was just so confusing! He was holding her against his body, staring at her with a smug expression of complete and utter ease of mind, as though he had everything under his control and was well aware of it. It was too frustrating to see such a look on his face, to the point that she wanted to rear back and slap it off of him. But at the same time, it made her want to kiss him until he no longer knew where he was. How could one person be so conflicting?! He made her want to rip out her hair and scream sometimes!

"Something different?" he repeated her words snarkily, one brow arching with a particularly infuriating indolence. "What do you mean?" He didn't seem to notice her befuddlement, nor was inclined give her time to sort out her own feelings. "I doubt you can think of anything worse than immolation."

"Shut up," she muttered, still trying to free herself from his hold. There were certain parts of him rubbing uncomfortably close to certain parts of her, and she really, really hadn't planned on doing—did she dare even think it? Why did you lead him to your bedroom, then? a small voice in her head piped up in a sneer. She forced it back, refusing to think about such a thing when she was in such a compromising position. "Besides, no fire in Labyrinthia could compare to that hot head of yours, so why bother?" He laughed at that, his head thrown back so that he missed the blush of anger spreading across her cheeks.

"I didn't say that so that you might find it amusing, Sir Barnham!" she shouted, twisting his forearm in a vain attempt to make him let go. "Release me at once!" He did take his hand off her back, but only to replace it on her leg, his thumb gently chafing her inner thigh through the maroon cloth.

"Oh, Eve." He continued to chuckle, his teeth glinting in the lantern's light as he surveyed her. His grin softened the longer he looked, thumb continuing to caress her thigh in little circles, barely pressing down.

"High Inquisitor Darklaw," she ground out, glaring back at him the best she could, under the circumstances. His movements were becoming far too distracting; she needed to regain control of the situation before it got too out of hand. How had she even lost it? One minute she had him in the chair, putty in her hands, and the next she found herself on the wrong end of the proverbial blade.

"High Inquisitor Darklaw," he amended in a soft growl, sending a shiver down her spine. It rested in her stomach, settling into a low throb and spreading warmth throughout her limbs. She licked her lips, tasting the bitter tang of her lipstick; she'd almost forgotten about it. She rubbed the edge of her thumb against the corner of her mouth, hoping that her thoughtless action hadn't smeared it. His eyes followed her movement ceaselessly, only adding to her growing anxiety. "Am I allowed some reprieve for surrendering so easily?" he asked, gray orbs flitting from her mouth to meet hers in a steady gaze.

"A-absolutely not," she hissed, swallowing hard. This was becoming a very dangerous situation…. She tossed her hair, mind scrambling for something that would give her the edge over him again. A ray of light shone in the dark and she smirked. "I don't think you deserve an inch, Sir Apprentice Baker." There, that would be sure to irk him; he was an apprentice baker now, but they both knew she was referring more to that bumbling blue defender and his loudmouthed, childish cohort.

It worked, all too well. His lips pressed into a thin line, a spark of indignation lighting his stormy irises as his face simultaneously darkened in comparison. His grip tightened on her hair until it was almost painful, thumb stopping its errant, never-ending trek on her thigh. Now it was her turn to be smug, and she took full advantage, sneering at him in silent challenge as she undertook the façade of the indomitable High Inquisitor once more. Would he let such a remark go unopposed? An argument would be better than this—this strange repartee. She could win fights easily; this, however, was something she had no experience in.

"I am not Sir Apprentice Baker," he snarled, eyes flashing dangerously. The vehemence behind his anger always struck her by surprise every time she heard it, and this was no exception. He was a forceful, passionate man by nature; he never gave less than his all, no matter whether it was baking, fighting, sparring, or his duties as an Inquisitor. The consequence of this was that he excelled in almost everything he tried, mostly from sheer willpower with a bit of luck and some natural aptitude mixed in. I wonder what other things he'd be good at… again, she pushed the thought away with a forceful will of her own and listened as he continued.

"I am leagues above that foolish defender and his absurd logic." To hear him talk, one would think that he wasn't on good terms with 'that defender'. Maybe it still stung his pride that he was beaten by the man in the Courtroom? Before she could pursue that train of thought, her entire world lurched as he stood abruptly, still holding her. She panicked, her golden claws digging into his skin through the shirt, but to his credit he didn't drop her or even falter for a single moment. Perhaps the fates were on her side today.

Or maybe not; she was deposited on her bed, which she had pushed aside in order to better create the atmosphere of an interrogation cell. Before she could move he was on her, noses brushing as he stared down with a domineering look on his face. Her heart skipped a beat before working overtime, thudding heavily against her ribcage. His breath wafted over her face and she felt a stirring of unwarranted desire in her chest, despite all her mental chidings and insistent denials.

"I-Is that so?" she managed to sputter, her mind catching up and stalling like rusted gears. Any control she'd had was long gone now, but to her astonishment she was…excited. It was a strange sort of adrenaline rush to be this way, trapped with someone else holding the ropes. She'd been in control of everything for so long—the Shades, the town, the flow of the Story—that she'd forgotten what it felt like to notbe in charge for once. He hummed in agreement, sitting up and carefully keeping his full weight off of her.

"And if I must convince you of it, then so be it," he added warningly as he stripped off his shirt in one swift move. She couldn't help but stare at the defined planes of his chest, unable to properly breathe as her eyes travelled down his body of their own accord, resting where the flat ridge of his abdomen disappeared past the hemline of his pants. She gulped— or tried to, at least. Her mouth was suddenly as dry as a bone. "But you'll be saying my name when I'm through, I assure you."

She was unable to move as he threw his shirt behind him; it landed with a whomp on the floorboards somewhere out of sight. He reached forward and caught her hand, gently pulling off the clawed gauntlet and freeing her fingers from the metal. This too was tossed off the bed—albeit more gently. Then her cloak, unclasped from around her neck and allowed to remain beneath her.

It wasn't until he unwound the yellow ribbon from around her neck that she understood that he was undressing her; she fell back against the bed in disbelief, partly because she never imagined him so bold as to actually initiate anything like this. How could he stand an hour and be afraid to give her a birthday present, and then move on to be daring enough to strip her down on her own bed when they'd first kissed just a few days before!?

He was working on the buttons holding the stays of her blouse closed when she realized that she still wasn't stopping him. He cursed under his breath as his nimble fingers tried to untangle the stays in the dim light. They brushed against her stomach as he worked, and she was reminded of that day, and the words he'd told her, or at the very least tried to convey. Comprehension washed over her, making her feel almost stupid for not fully understanding it before: he really liked her. Rouge's blatant tones rang in her ear. He's head over heels in love with you, you know.

She made some small sound—even she didn't fully know why. But it made him pause, and he looked up from his current task to meet her eyes. His face softened and crinkled in that same goofy grin he always wore around her; she felt her heart give up trying to fight him anymore, and it melted.

"This is okay, isn't it?" he asked, a little sheepishly. You think to ask that now that my top's almost off? She thought, and inwardly shook her head in exasperation. She thought about pretending for a moment that it wasn't, but that might make him panic at the thought of forcing himself in a very unknightly manner on a young lady. So instead she just flipped them over, pressing his shoulders down to the bed. Her blouse sagged, halfway undone, but she didn't bother worrying about it. "Eve?" He looked up at her, puzzled.

"If it wasn't, do you really think you'd be here right now?" she replied contemptuously. "You'd be on the floor, in pain and unable to have children." He laughed, but not unwarily. She ignored him and ran her hands down his chest slowly, feeling the warm skin beneath her fingers, relishing the sensation. It only reminded her that she didn't often touch other people, and most certainly not in all the places that she was touching him. Was it a privilege to touch another human being? Perhaps it was, she decided; she lingered in spots, enjoying the mere feeling of his body.

He didn't seem to have a problem with her taking her time; on the contrary, his eyes slid shut in satisfaction and he arched into her touch. She counted his ribs, feeling the muscles contract when she found a ticklish spot, and listening to his breathing grow heavier as she trailed her fingernails lightly across his stomach.

"Zacharias." Was that her voice? It sounded foreign to her ears, filled with a pleading intensity she hadn't known she possessed. She'd just felt the need to speak, to cement that this was no dream of hers (not that she dreamed about him…often). His eyes opened, dilated and glittering with desire. He smiled.

"See? I told you that you'd say my name." Her face contracted as she tried to keep from laughing at his pompous remark, and she smacked him on the chest in response. He winked and she rolled her eyes, looking thoughtfully at the red mark that blossomed from her hand before leaning down swiftly and kissing it. When she rose, her lipstick had left a smudged imprint just below his collarbone.

She stared down at the mark, something in her chest stirring. She wanted…she wanted to mark him all over like that. Leaning down again, she pressed insistent kisses to his throat, feeling his hum of pleasure vibrate beneath her lips. She reached his shoulder and bit down, feeling him jerk in surprise; he choked on a moan, hands finding purchase on her hips and squeezing. She ran her tongue over her teeth marks, nails digging into his shoulders as she continued to press her full weight against him.

"Eve!" His hips arched up and ground roughly against hers, his hands holding her lower body firmly and meshing it to his. "D-damnit…" he muttered, face flushed and eyes screwed tightly shut again. "You're—you're—" He seemed to be beyond coherent sentences at this point. She trembled at the sensations coursing through her, covering his chest and arms with lipstick and teeth imprints. She could've sworn he wanted her to bite him harder, pressing up into her whenever her teeth scraped teasingly along his flesh.

He released her hips long enough to yank her back up; he kissed her eagerly, leg winding around hers and keeping her still until he flipped them over again. She ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the thick tangles as his tongue swept past her lips and claimed her mouth. Eventually they both had to breathe and broke apart; when she came back to her senses, he'd finally divested her of her blouse and was trying to push it off her shoulders. She helped him and he stared down, eyes locked on her bra-covered chest. His eyes were wide, lips darkened with the remainder of her lipstick.

She reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes, lingering on the scar above his eye. He grabbed her wrist and nipped her fingers playfully before pulling both her hands above her head, holding them there as he bent his head to kiss her chin.

"You know, I promised that I would behave myself, and you've made me break my promise," he said huskily. She blinked in surprise, trying to discern his meaning. Who had he promised? Mrs. Eclaire, most likely. Her mouth opened to ask him, but she instead yelped as he lowered his head further and flicked his tongue along her collarbone. Her back arched instinctively, pressing her breasts up in a silent supplication, but he only grinned and continued to lathe her pulse points until her entire throat was damp.

"Zacharias, please—" Had she really been reduced to pleading? But she could only imagine what else he might do with that tongue of his. He leaned up, looking her straight in the eye.

"Please what?" he asked haughtily. The question caught her off-guard and she felt her cheeks burn.

"Don't make me say it," she mumbled, looking away. But he was relentless.

"Please what?" Her lips twisted, fighting to say the words she was just too shy to openly proclaim. Finally she compromised with herself.

"T-touch me." There was a pause.

"Touch you where?" Dumbfounded, she looked back at him. Would he really make her say the whole thing?!

"You know where!" she hissed indignantly. He clicked his tongue at her frustration; the look on his face suggested that he thoroughly enjoyed his new position as the devil's advocate.

"Here?" he replied, one finger stroking the inside of her elbow. She growled under her breath and shook her head. "Here, then." Now he tickled the sensitive skin just beneath her jaw. She tried to rub his hand away the best she could with her shoulder, both her arms still being held above her head.

"No!" He frowned, expression growing serious for a moment.

"Eve, if you really want to do this, all ofthis, I have to hear it from you." She continued to stare incredulously at him, unresponsive. "I need you to say it. 'Tis only two words; just say it." He mouthed the words when she still didn't answer, and she felt her entire body heat up. She just couldn't say that out loud; it was crass a-and lewd, and frank!

But he seemed entirely serious about his threat—she had to say it before he'd move on. Her mind searched for a better term, but came up blank. Everything she thought of was either too clinical or too bawdy for her to repeat out loud. And then she decided to say the one thing that was awful and mushy, but at least she could probably get the whole thing out without dying of mortification.

"Zacharias, m-ma—" She swallowed, closing her eyes. "M-make love to me," she finally managed to blurt out. Damnit, now she was really red! She'd probably spend the rest of her life with a pseudo-sunburn from this sort of humiliation! There was complete silence, and she was too frightened to open her eyes until—

"Love?" She opened her eyes to see him looking down at her with an undefinable expression. She nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. Then, before she knew it, she was being kissed within an inch of her life. "A-alright then!" he conceded giddily when he let her breathe. "My sweet Eve."

"Sweet?" she repeated, still half-dazed. He never answered, his hands running behind her to fiddle with her bra. It only took him a moment to figure out how it worked and then it was off. He wasted no more time, taking up her breasts with both hands and releasing her arms. She found her fingers wound in his hair again as he ran his tongue over the soft skin, biting down gently and returning every one of her bites, spread evenly across her chest until she was shaking and panting.

He climbed off her and tugged at her boots until they were off, followed by her pants. She lay on the bed in her underwear, feeling vulnerable and exposed. She didn't want him to look, but at the same time she did, if only to see his reaction. He stared down through the murky darkness at her for a moment or two, unmoving. Then his hands moved to his own pants and in the span of a blink they were on floor, his boxers following.

He stood fully naked before her, allowing her to look at him as long as she pleased. He didn't seem to be quite as bashful as she felt, though his cheeks were stained darker than the rest of his skin. He looked quite a sight, his hair messy and unkempt, covered from the chest up in lipstick and red marks. She was curiously shy about looking down, but finally forced her eyes to stare straight at his groin.

It wasn't the first time she'd seen a man's—well—privates; many times she'd been forced to throw drunken sods in the dungeons, only to have them rage and rip off their clothes before falling into an inebriated stupor. And sometimes men swam naked in the river; the girls always pretended that they never snuck around to peer at them through the bushes curiously. But this time was different, and she knew it. Besides, she'd never seen his, and now she had. What she was about to do finally sunk in and she was decidedly beyond nervous.

He slid back onto the bed, fingers hooking the sides of her underwear. She raised her hips high enough for him to slip them down her legs and then she was entirely exposed. His hands ran back up her legs, simply feeling her, and then he gently nudged them apart. He looked at her, not saying a word, and she tried to close her thighs back together. He huffed and kept them apart, settling between them and sliding a hand back up her inner thigh. His thumb caressed her skin again and she was nearly ready to tell him to hurry it up when he moved.

He touched her, experimental in his soft ministrations as though he were afraid of breaking her accidentally. Her head fell back as he continued, hips twisting as he seemed to know exactly where to go next. She pressed her hand to her mouth as she moaned, teeth digging into her lower lip.

"No," he whispered, voice stern. He reached up and pulled her hand away. "I want to hear everything." Her hands fisted in her cloak instead, still between her and the quilt. She couldn't stop the soft cries he kept wringing out of her, body singing as he brought her to the brink. She was hardly this vocal when she was alone, but then again, this was far more overwhelming than when she was alone. He pressed down firmly and she was finished, voice breaking as her back bent off the bed.

When the stars blinked out of her vision, she saw he was staring hard at her again. She cleared her throat and pushed the sweaty hair from her forehead, knowing that she probably looked absolutely ridiculous a few moments ago. Her body still shook with the aftermath as he looked openly at her.

"W-what?" she asked somewhat defensively. "Why are you staring?!"

"You're beautiful," he replied bluntly, leaning down to kiss her. "I could stare at you all night.

"Well… I'd rather you not." She licked her lips, her throat feeling hoarse as he ran his hands under her legs and positioned himself. She felt him rubbing against her core and arched up, sighing contentedly without really thinking about it. His face was taunt as he entered her, hands squeezing absently and jaw set. She clutched his shoulders as he stretched her, toes curling against his calves and eyes widening when it began to hurt.

"Eve," he panted, eyes shutting as a grim resignation crossed his face. She didn't even have time to brace herself before he surged forward, thrusting in completely. She barely kept from crying out, the sharp pain rushing through her nerves and making her short of breath. When she finally calmed down and began to relax, she realized he was speaking. "Are you alright?" he repeated, voice strained as his hands smoothed her hair. She nodded, not trusting her voice to be completely unshaken if she spoke. "Can I move? I-I have to—" he murmured apologetically, drawing out of her and slowly sinking back in, a low moan reverberating in his chest.

He moved at an agonizingly slow pace, presumably to let her get used to the feeling. He shivered beneath her touch, alternately kissing her and tried to bite back his own sounds as he continued to thrust into her. She met every movement with her own, legs wrapping around his waist of their own accord as the pain faded and was replaced by a new pleasure. She gasped his name, holding onto him for dear life as she quietly urged him to go faster.

"Eve—Eve, look at me," he pleaded, arms wrapping around her back and pulling her as close as she could possibly be to him. It was difficult, but she managed to open her eyes. He loomed over her, a bead of sweat running from his hairline down to his temple, lust and need burning in his eyes. "Don't look away," he ordered, shifting them both as he picked up speed.

"I—" How could she possibly explain what it was that she felt; that in this moment, for the first time in God knew how long, everything seemed to be absolutely perfect? There were no words for it, but she knew he could see it in her eyes, and his reflected the emotions perfectly. If only they could be this way forever, joined and complete in this room, time standing still while the rest of the world ran on without them.

But all too soon she felt the edge of her orgasm coiling in her stomach, ready to spread through her body in a sweet fire. She grasped for his hand and he laced his fingers through hers, pressing his lips to her jaw as his breathing grew ragged. She pressed her hips to his desperately, eyes unable to remain open as she sought release. Then they both shifted and he hit something deep within her. She tensed and cried out, limbs melting and hand clenching his tightly until she slumped against the bed. He didn't last much longer, his grunts muffled as he buried his face into the crook of her neck, body trembling and jerking uncontrollably.

He pulled out of her and collapsed at her side, both of them silently trying to catch their breath. Eve looked down at her cloak, now wrinkled beyond recognition, and let her head fall back onto the pillow. Her thighs were sticky, entire body covered in their combined sweat, and starting to ache. Still, she felt pretty damn good. Tired, but good. She turned her head to see him watching her quietly, a cryptic smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Zacharias?"

"Hmm?" He propped his head up on one elbow, his other hand still holding onto hers.

"Are you finally warm now?" He chuckled and nodded. "Are you going to stay here? We shouldn't leave the lantern on too long. It'll start a fire if we're not careful."

"Do you want me to stay?" It was a simple enough question, but the implications behind it were staggering.

"I—I do." He got up without another word, padding across the room naked and extinguishing the lantern. The room was thrown in darkness, and immediately she heard him bump into the chair and stumble, hitting the side of the bed with a curse. She sighed as he crawled back into the bed next to her, rubbing his knee. "Idiot. You could have carried the lantern to the bedside table before you blew it out. Or at least moved the chair."

"I'll be alright." He wrapped his arms around her; he was just as sweaty, but surprisingly she didn't mind. Maybe after their nap they could clean up… she tsked, shaking her head. It wasn't worth scolding herself for having such lewd thoughts, not now. Still, if she could get a round two out of him before he went back to the bakery…. She smiled, pressing her cheek to his chest and closing her eyes.

She'd have to make sure the lipstick was gone, in any case. She didn't need Espella asking any questions.

Afterword: Zacharias is warm. Show's over. Go home.

Presumably you're already home, but maybe not. I don't know where you read fanfictions. You might be kinky like that. Juju don't judge. Especially considering I wrote it.