Drinks by the fire.

The skin passes between you two as you take turns seeing how much of the bitter liquid you can brink at a time. It's a remarkably unpalatable drink, a 'vintage of necessity' Gideon had called it as he dealt you your first ration at the start of your journey "nothing says quantity over quality better than Dwarven peat wine". Still, it did the job. With each swallow you feel your skin flush and before long that all too familiar pall had fallen over your senses.

As the wine runs low you and Sylvia exchange drunken tales. She tells of her life on the road; of bandit raids, strange lands and the time she had tricked a bridge troll out of his toll. Your life, on reflection, had consisted of much less adventure, although it had had it's moments; you tell her how you had stolen away in the dead of night to meet a local girl from the village only to be interrupted when her father appeared. Thinking you were done for you had both scrambled away to hide in a nearby tree. However, as it turned out, he hadn't come for you at all, as you had found when a local slattern emerged from the tree line to meet him. "...Then they started undressin' and we decided we should leave.... only, then I saw the bees nest." You'd used a pair of stones to drop the hive a foot away from the couple, just as her father was easing himself inside. "Took 'em a couple of seconds to work out what had happened, but when they did... you should have seen 'im run; stark naked and screaming forgiveness from the gods. She said his ass was stung so bad he couldn't ride for a week. I said I doubted he'd be riding her again any time soon." Sylvia snorts wine out of her nose at that and the two of you fall about laughing.

Somehow, though in your wine addled state you can't piece together how, you end up lying on the floor, the cold stone hard against your back. Sylvia is lying on top of you, her face hovering inches from yours. The drink makes it impossible to hide your nervousness and once again you see that elusive look play across Sylvia's face; the slightest of twitches transforming her usual smirk into one of mischief and hunger. The hunter has sighted her prey.

"Well now, it seems you've not had much luck in love yourself. Tell me did you ever kiss that girl?" Her voice flowed from her with the faintest hint of a purr and betrayed no influence from the wine. Do elves even get drunk?

You splutter slightly at the question, fighting to form a coherent thought in this situation proving more difficult than you expected. "Sort of. I mean... *cough* well, you know, after we'd finished running she, well, as thanks mostly and it was only on the cheek if that counts. After that, well, I think us finding her dad made everythin' awkward."

"Oh my poor little Farmboy, whatever will we do with you?" Sylvia rears up over you, arching her back and pressing her pelvis into your abdomen. She draws up the wineskin and shakes it quickly. "Looks like there is only enough for one of us and I'm feeling generous so I'll let you have it, to help you forget your lost love. Do you want it?" The question hangs in the air for a second as she locks you with those pale eyes. Where is this going? You nod and see that mischievous look emerge once more. She uncorks the wineskin and, tilting back her head, drains the remainder into her mouth. Looking back at you, mouth full of wine, with the faintest trickle running down her throat from where it had escaped at the edge of her mouth, she slowly lowers herself, tilting her head slightly, until your lips are touching.

You open your lips, then so does she. Wine pours into your mouth, some missing and running running down the sides of your face. As you struggle to gulp down the liquid you feel Sylvia's tongue **** its way into your mouth. Shocked for a second, you recall one of the older farmhands bragging of this - Temari kissing they'd called it - and quickly set about using their half remembered advice. You dart your tongue up to meet hers and together they dance as your lips open and close over each other. Her mouth is wet and warm with a sweet taste that keeps your tongue thrusting back in for more. Growing more accustomed to the experience you suddenly become aware of the rest of your body - "you gotta touch her too" the farmhand had said, "her back or her arms, anywhere there's skin on skin. You gotta get here thinking of where you want to touch until she's beggin' for you to go there" - you push one hand under her skirt, caressing the flesh of her outer thigh as she kneels astride you, the other you run along the arch of her back, feeling its tight muscles through her roughspun tunic. Her skin is still cold to the touch but exquisitely soft.

Eventually she breaks the kiss, her lips planting a smaller kiss on yours as she's pulling away. She hovers over you for a moment, regarding you with those pale, all-seeing eyes, then a full smile breaks across her face. "I think it's time I stopped toying and went in for the kill. And don't worry, there aren't any bees nests in here."