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Violence

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When she kisses him, it's violence. Every soft touch of her lips on his attacks his every belief on what her people were, on what she continues to be. The gentle pucker of her lips as she pulls away drags him further from certainty, until he's left picking up pieces of truths he lived his whole life upon.

He swears he feels ice in her kiss, as if her name were anything more than that.

Ysayle smiles at him now, a gentle expression so different from the wild grimace she wore on the Steps. 'She's still the enemy.' he thinks, and when did that become something he had to remind himself of?
Even with his visor pulled back, she has to tilt her head to move in once more. Her silken hair slips along her shoulder as she does and Estinien feels the sudden desire to feel that hair between his fingers. He settles for the small of her back instead, deepening the kiss and pulling her just that bit further into the mock dragon's maw of his helmet.

His own kiss is violence as well, all crushing lips and bursts of breath. He can't hold her accountable for his own feelings, he knows this. Yet he can feel his frustrations grow as she returns his passion in kind, feels her finger tips graze the exposed skin of his arms.

It's a moment before he pulls away, hands on her shoulders to put space between them. The Warrior and the boy will be back from gathering wood soon and this, whatever this might be, is not something Estinien wishes to discuss over dinner.

"You aren't so different you know." Ysayle breaks their silence, and Estinien doesn't need to ask who she's referring to. It brings more frustration, and more emotion than he feels like dealing with at the moment. He closes his visor with admittedly more force than necessary and speaks.

"Find out where the flying rodent went, they'll be back soon." He stalks off to put distance between them, but the image of Ysayle's knowing smile and the feel of her lips against his would stay in his mind all night.