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Detraeus drew his finger along the shaft of an arrow, studying the markings thereupon, and then nocked it, attention flicking to a distant line of marked posts. Targets.

It was early evening, Eowyn’s tireless sun hanging midway into the lower half of the sky and making long shadows across the sand. Detraeus had spent the earliest part of the day hunting, a latter part training with Casseth, mid-afternoon at the pit to sign on for another set of matches, and now, he was testing a particular set of spelled arrows, designed — when shot in formation — to erect a barrier. Helpful for a physical fighter in particular when pitted off against mages of various sorts.

He waited, holding himself locked in firing position as a gust rolled through. When it petered away, he fired. Three shots in rapid succession hit their targets — thhwp, thhwp, thhwp — and he felt the ripple of magical energy bend through the air like a pulse on a breath. The barrier was barely visible, all but wholly transparent, the only noticeable difference between it and air being that vision beyond it looked vaguely distorted. Bent, like a reflection in an imperfect mirror.

He counted the seconds that it lasted in his mind — one, two, three… — and made it to nineteen before the barrier cracked, and dissipated. Twenty seconds, he guessed. Useful, if timed right. But then, that was a qualifier for nearly everything, regardless. So, satisfied, he went to retrieve the arrows, inspecting to assure himself the tips were undamaged before slotting them back into a specialty pouch on his quiver where they belonged. It was on his way back, his mind distracted by the mechanics of battle strategy and the potential opponents he might face in the coming pit match, when Ara emerged from the house, and Detraeus paused midway into a stretch of his bow. His gaze tripped down over her like a pebble skipping across the surface of a lake, and his thought process, likewise, took a sharp bend in direction.

“Ara.”

Detraeus blinked, and then hummed, allowing his posture to relax and his bow to fall to his side as she kissed him and his hand. When she laced their fingers, his attention was fixated on the way sunlight looked on the curve of her lashes, and how easy it was to hold her now.

“Mm,” he grunted in response to her question. “Yes…”

But his focus was largely elsewhere, and instead of allowing her to pull immediately away or guide him off, he put up his bow on his back and placed his spare hand on her hip, holding her in in order to kiss her properly. Less quickly. More lingering. His tail took this as sufficient invitation to sweep around, coil around to the backs of her legs and skirt up them, and sometime in the midst of the process he apparently came to a mental breakthrough because, whether or not he fully intended to voice the statement aloud or not, as soon as the kiss broke, the words left his mouth:

“I’ve decided I would like to sleep with you…”

Araceli stilled, and blinked. “What…here?” she responded. “Now?”

Immediately, Detraeus’ face heated, and he took a half-step back, shaking his head rapidly. “No, sorry, I mean—not…here. I…” He cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders and blinking rapidly as he glanced away, abashed. “I just…later. In private. When it…makes sense…I would like to. Instead of…not…” He frowned, and grimaced. “That is. If you would like to. Too. Obviously…not if…” He swore beneath his breath. “Dinner. I can help with dinner.”

“Ah…bu—mm…” Detraeus’ brow pinched, but he didn’t object when she guided him off. He honestly hadn’t intended to do anything ‘now’. The words had simply come out. Thus, even once they were inside, he continued to mumble something about pastries, and dinner, and plenty of time for other things later…

But Ara seemed to have no interest in listening, and he wasn’t especially forceful with his objections to begin with. He let her kiss him, and then, as it progressed, it became more than ‘let’. He wound up with her against the closed door, his arms caging her in and hers holding him locked tight. At her question, he grunted and shook his head.

“No…” But he let their foreheads rest together anyway and relaxed his posture a fraction, his arms dropping down from the door to come to a rest on her hips. “I don’t—not everything now…just…one small thing…? And others later? I want to…try to do…or to learn how to…” He hesitated, feeling immensely awkward in the moment, “…please you.”

“Detra…” Her fingers brushed his cheek, and he lifted his lashes, meeting her stare. “You know you do please me already. If you don’t want to—”

“I want to learn to please you in this way,” Detraeus said, this time with conviction. A ripple of concern remained in his expression though, and after a long moment, he eventually added, quieter, “Just…slowly. Please?”