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"Ware below!"
The bellow from above comes barely in time for Silas to jump away, snowplumes kicking up in her wake. A breath later a lance and drachen armor slam into the ground where she'd stood.
"Seven hells Estinien, you'll do the dragon's job for them cavorting about like that." She hisses, tail fluffed to twice its usual volume.
Rising from the crater of snow, Estinien looks every ilm the quintessential dragoon. He flicks his lance to dislodge the powder at its tip, turning to face Silas.
"And rob Ishgard of another Azure Dragoon ere my revenge is satisfied? I think not. I warned you with plenty of time to spare." He scoffs. "You were here to train, aye? Then let my lance be your battlefield."
Silas shivers. While the soul of the dragoon wards off the worst of Coerthas's cold, she's only crossed weapons with Estinien under Alberic's learned eye. To engage in such a spar without their mutual teacher seems...unwise on a night such as this.
Moonlight sparkles over the fresh snow, a relatively undisturbed patch for Silas's practicing just in view of Camp Dragonhead's eastern wall. Wind moans through Witchdrop, sending snow to dance around their feet. A night with potential the likes of which had sent Silas from her bed. Itching with the need to move, to feel her lance in her hands and feel the power of her form leaping upon aether enforced air only to dive back to the ground with all her strength.
The kind of night where it feels like the stars sing in her bones.
"I don't know that I can hold back, Estinien. Not tonight."
Estinien tosses his armored head, unimpressed.
"When have I ever asked you to stay your blows. Now, come."
Falling back into a crouch, Estinien levels his lance at Silas. She should argue more against this, disengage and do right by her mentor.
But.
The fire warming her blood blossoms in the face of Estinien's challenge. What would it be like, to cross weapons - Azure Dragoon to Azure Dragoon. A grin splits her face as Silas mirrors his crouch, lance blade pointed at the joints of his drachen mail.
Levin sparks between them as they tense, feet shifting for purchase in the snow before they charge. Between one heartbeat and the next, the plume of breath barely left their parted lips, their lances meet. Parry. Thrust. Silas uses her lesser height to her advantage, sweeping out with leg tucked low to whack at Estinien's unguarded shin. The attempt to knock him off balance succeeds as he topples backwards with a curse.
And then she pounces.
Lance shaft laid across his throat in a gesture that demands submission, Silas straddles Estinien's chest. Her armor-clad thighs lock around his ribcage, scaled plates rasping over his breastplate.
"Yield." Silas growls, heart pounding loud in her ears. Estinien bares his teeth, and for a breathless moment Silas thinks he might growl as the dragons do. Instead, he knocks her lance aside with his gauntlet and pushes up to catch her in a kiss.
Lips that ought be blue with chill from the Coerthan night sear her with their warmth. An unexpected surprise, but not unwelcome. Blinking away her astonishment, Silas returns the kiss with fervor.
Always so swift to escape after their all-too brief meetings, only answering Alberic's call with the most perfunctory of appearances, Silas has been left with little more than speculation as to her fellow dragoon's proclivities. Not for lack of wanting, however. To a miqo'te, his impressive jumps and lancework are swoon-worthy. Yet her people's traditional methods of courtship - hunting gifts of use - would avail her little in expressing her interest. Oh, she'd contemplated bringing him a dragon's hide, but come to realize only Nidhogg's would do. And so she'd kept herself to wondering and wanting in absence of an understood signal from him.
Thank Menphina she was drawn to practice tonight of all nights. Silas sends a quick prayer to her people's goddess, Her moon bright above them. The humming in Silas's bones fails to abate with having bested Estinien, however. If anything, the unknown melody grows.
Estinien's mouth works, the prow of his helm scoring a line along her cheek. A sting and well of fresh blood follows, the first shed despite the intensity of their bout. Silas shoves him back, growling.
"Get that wretched thing off if you wish to kiss me further."
Silas shivers as Estinien's dry chuckle fills the air. Entertainingly enough, he obliges, thumbing at the catches to his helm. Shaking the helm loose into his hands, a silver river of hair flutters free to rest over his shoulders. A hair tie falls free a heartbeat later, denting a small ring in the snow.
"Blasted thing can't keep my hair up like it ought." Estinien grouses, snagging the tie and tossing it carelessly into his upended helm. "Now, where were we."
"I believe you were kissing me, Ser Estinien?"
The shifting of drachen mail is her only warning as Estinien flips her into the snow. His legs prove the stronger, hooking the spurs of his greaves into her thigh armor's plates. Panting at the sudden change in perspective, Silas feels a pang of arousal gather in her gut. Estinien smells heavenly after their tussle, his scent sharpened by sweat and armor oil.
"Have you been thinking of this, too?" The question falls off Silas's tongue, unintentional. Too much an admission of her stifled feelings.
Estinien pauses a handspan from reclaiming her mouth, emotions flitting across his bared face. His hair falls like curtains to either side of her head, blocking her view of the snowy fields and enveloping her in the crisp scent of him.
"You've wanted to lay me, from before tonight?" Estinien's voice rumbles like rocks down a hill. The timbre makes it hard to parse his tone. Is that disbelief? Hope?
Ears pinned close to her skull from uncertainty, Silas nods.
Another round of emotion on his normally concealed face. If he's this open without his helm, tis no wonder he keeps himself veiled. He no doubt would find it embarrassing if she pointed out this grand revelation.
"You really--arg." He sits back, scratching at his head. His weight makes for a pleasant band across her middle. "I want to-I've wanted to-seven hells I'm cocking this up."
Muttering words in the shape of curses, Estinien stands and extends a hand to Silas. Tail lashing with nerves, she accepts.
"There's shelter nearby we can avail ourselves of. Much as I'd enjoy tumbling you here, words will be easier out from under the starlight."
Snow crunches as she follows in his wake. He leads her to a rocky outcrop near the lee of the camp's eastern wall. An alcove between two boulders stretches into a homey cave. Sizeable enough to expect a bear, but for the fire pit etched into the center of the floor. Oilskin wrapped parcels tucked into the walls appear to hold bedrolls, provisions. An established shelter from blizzards, most like.
Estinien gestures her to sit as he starts up a fire with the dry deadfall at the cave's limits. Silas keeps on her feet, however. Estinien is tall enough without her sitting to put herself even lower in his sight.
The fire crackles in short order, filling the cave with welcome warmth.
"So. I want to tumble you. I've wanted to since that dust up with the Ixal, where you covered my back unasked for." His words come quick as water down a stream, undammed in the dim cave. He paces restlessly. "Tonight I found you thinking you'd be open to the idea, but not because of any daft mooning."
"Has Alberic told you of Dragonstar summers?"
Silas cocks her head in inquiry. The Dragonstar is what the Observatorium uses to mark the Horde's attacks, but what would that have to do with them?
Seeing her lack of recognition, Estinien sighs.
"Did you feel the song tonight."
"Oh, yes. Stronger after I'd pinned you."
Estinien scrubs a hand over his face, grumbling.
"That'd be it then. Even without the--" He gestures in her direction, sharp flicks somehow encompassing the whole of her and implying recent revelations. "The starlight has a ways of making a man want to bed the nearest equal he can find. Equal in means of arms, that is. The scholars could say more, but I've no eloquence to offer save for blunt fact. You'll feel that humming in your bones until you've had your lay, or the sun rises and you feel like you've aged a score of years."
"Speaking from experience?"
It's faint, but Silas's keen miqo'te eyes pick out what might be a flush on Estinien's cheeks.
"...Aye."
"Then it's a good thing I want to bed you with or without celestial intervention." Silas chuckles, crossing the distance to peer up at him.
Estinien's mouth works, brow furrowing, but no words emerge. Sparing him further indignity, Silas jumps into his arms with a clatter of armor. Her legs clasp his waist to anchor her in place as she resumes their earlier kiss.
Even in the shady embrace of the cave, far from the twinkling snow, the melody in her blood and song in her bones roar that she's found a worthy mate - and she couldn't be happier. For his voice joins with hers in pleased chorus.
That happiness remains hours later when their armor litters the cave and a new set of aches from a more personal spar settle in.