She manages to retaliate.

"Come on... start using that tongue..." Liam greedily demanded in his mind, working his own tongue as if trying to **** that direction directly into his teacher's head. "I know you can't help it. I know you're feeling it, too...! Wait. What...?"

Something was wrong. Ralli's breathing had quickened pace. Was she just excited, or...?

"Wait, shit. That doesn't matter. What is this? What is this?!" he had time to think, before his survival instincts kicked in and saved him from losing the ability to think at all. He broke the kiss with a gasp, embarrassing himself slightly. "What the hell happened to your breath?!" he growled quietly, no longer smiling.

Vapors of dark fog trailed from the corners of Ralli's mouth, gone before they were noticed. She had managed to release her deathspeaker fog to stave him off. "If he tries again... I don't know if I can make myself..." she admitted, gritting her teeth as defiantly as she could manage.

Liam took two steps back, then laughed, shrugging. "Whew! Teach, your technique isn't bad, but you could really use a mint!" He said this as if to cut through the tension, but the class only gave scattered laughs. It was obvious to him half were imagining themselves in his place, while half were still trying to figure out what was going on. "Unless... some of them have already started to put it together. Dammit, Ralli...!" He coughed, spitting out the invisible vapors that were still lingering inside him. "Ahem. Teach, that's enough for now, right?"

"Yes, more than enough," Ralli agreed, straightening her body. Feeling more in control, she prepared to run over the student she was now sure was playing with her like a toy...

"After all, we need to get to training, don't we?" Liam said with an innocent smile, spreading his arms.

"Yes, we do. Time for training." She walked a few steps forward and towered over Liam with barely-concealed fury. "Today, we're doing sword exercises... Your favorite, Baldwin."

"Can't wait, Teach," the young man said with equally poorly hidden malice, obviously feeling slighted by her successful rebuff of his advances. "Let's go, class..."