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"I don't understand what this section means," Adaine mutters to herself, repeating the Draconic aloud again as she tries to puzzle through her boyfriend's writing. She's fairly certain that what she's translating is incorrect, but unfortunately, Oisin's abysmal penmanship means she can't figure out what it's supposed to be instead. She tries the section again; the odd rasp of it unpracticed but not altogether unfamiliar in her mouth.
"You could be helping, you know," she adds, glancing over at her boyfriend to make sure he's paying attention. She's surprised to meet his gaze immediately, wide gold eyes behind his spectacles and a lilac blush staining his cheeks. He looks shocked and she feels something insecure inside her curl up and go defensive. "What?"
"You speak Draconic," Oisin says, his voice faint. Adaine flicks her gaze down to the spellbook in front of her, the spellbook written entirely in Draconic that she had asked to look through, now more confused than upset.
"Obviously, you- you knew that?" It comes out as more of a question than a statement, because he surely must know.
"I knew you could read and write it, I didn't know you could speak it." For a moment, she's offended, because of course she can speak it. Adaine Abernant is not the kind of girl who would learn a language and fail to commit to one of the key factors of learning said language.
Except–
Oisin is still looking at her, flushed and surprised and awed, she realizes. There's a tiny flex of his shoulders and when she tracks the movement, tracing those glowing tattoos and admittedly impressive muscles in his biceps, his fists are clenched in his lap. His khaki slacks are noticably tighter than before, despite his hands covering the most incriminating part of his anatomy.
"Oh," she says dumbly, feeling her cheeks heat to match his.
"Sorry, this is–," Oisin starts, before she cuts him off.
"No, it's fine. You're fine," Adaine stresses, because it's really not that big of a deal. It's unexpected, but the more she considers it, not exactly unwelcome. She knows she's been more reluctant than most girls would be to do anything even vaguely sexual, and Oisin has been lovely in giving her space to figure out how much of that is nerves and how much is a genuine lack of interest. It's wonderful and romantic and– as she's realizing now, means she is woefully unprepared for what's happening now.
It doesn't mean she wants what's happening here to stop.
"I'm going to keep translating now," Adaine hedges, gives Oisin time to ask her to stop or leave the room or– well she not exactly sure what else he might do but she wants to give him the chance to do it. Instead, he uncurls one hand from his lap, Adaine keeping her eyes resolutely on the page in front of her as Oisin snakes it around her waist to tuck her closer.
He's a solid mass against her, cool scales against her bare arm and sharp claws she can just barely feel through the fabric of her jeans. The contact is grounding, her slowing heart letting her know just how quickly it had been racing in the first place. In that moment of calm and clarity, Adaine makes a decision, pushing his other hand out of his lap and clambering into herself. She settles before she can second guess, letting her back come to rest against his chest and guiding the arm that had been around her waist to wrap around her stomach. He's hard beneath her, she knew that objectively but it's different feeling the strong line of his cock under her thigh.
"Adaine," Oisin starts, a warning or a plea, she's not sure. She likes how he says her name, the older Fallinel pronunciation, the soft a and stressed second syllable. Hearing it makes her head spin a little.
"I might need your help on some parts, knowing your handwriting," she deflects, proud of how nearly unnoticeable the quiver in her voice is.
There's a tense moment before he says anything, harsh huffs of breath against the back of her neck that feel like static. Then–
"Okay."
The Elvish curls around her and, for a moment, she understands what he's feeling. The rough way his voice bends around the language sparks something warm inside of her.
But this isn't about her right now.
Adaine shifts on his lap, clumsy but intentional, just to hear the cut off little groan he can't suppress. She pulls the spellbook off the table in front of her, dragging it on to her lap so she can stay perched on him easier. The hand not wrapped around her she directs to the spellbook, letting him curl over her shoulder to read the pages.
"Pick something," and even just those few words in Draconic have him tightening his grip on her, sighing against her shoulder and letting his snout rest against her cheek.
With a finely shaking hand, Oisin flips through the pages until he makes his choice, claws delicately tracing the page while she scans it.
Dominate Monster.
Adaine knows the spell, which means translating isn't the main goal, talking is. She lets herself fall into reading it aloud, sinking into familiarity of practicing a spell until it's route in her mind. She makes it twice through reciting the spell when his hands suddenly readjust to grasp at her hips and pull her impossibly closer before she's unceremoniously lifted from his lap and dropped back on the couch. His spellbook tumbles to the ground in her surprise, and as she leans down to grab it, she can hear Oisin muttering the verbal components of a Prestidigitation.
When she looks over at him again, he has both hands over his face, glasses off and set beside him, that lovely purple blush peeking through his fingers.
"Um," Adaine starts, giggling nervously before she can says anything else. His shoulders shake and before she can worry she's upset him, she can hear his low laughter.
"I can't believe that just happened," Oisin says, disbelief coloring his voice.
"I can't believe I did that," she agrees, shaking her head slightly.
"Hey," his voice is quiet but certain, as he lifts one of her hands up to press a kiss against the back of it. "This doesn't have to be a thing, if you don't want it to be."
"I don't know what I want it to be yet." She hands his spellbook back to him. Anything she had wanted from it today will certainly be tinted in her memory, so there's no point in continuing. "Is that okay?"
"It's perfect." Oisin's expression goes sheepish before he adds, "I probably need to go now, though. Prestidigitation is only an hour long and–"
"Right, no, of course," she flushes to match him as he stands.
"I'll see you tomorrow?" Spellbook in hand, he looks at her from the top of the tower staircase.
"See you tomorrow."