Chapter Text
“Alright, let’s try that again.”
“Again?! We’ve been at this for hours”
“It’s only been one, and you are still relying too much on your right side.”
“Dammit, Cullen; I need a break.”
“You asked me to keep after you … not let up until you got it right.”
“That was before I realized you’d take me seriously.”
“Let me make a couple adjustments.” Dagna came running over with a tool that looked moderately like a torture device and started poking at the contraption affixed to stub of Regan’s left arm. “I think the connectors are loose, which is why you’re not getting quite the response you want.” She popped the limb off and started tinkering with bits and pieces inside, walking over to the makeshift workbench and humming to herself while Regan slumped against the nearest fence post.
She knew Cullen meant well; he was just doing what she’d asked. But she hadn’t expected to have this much difficulty adjusting to the new appliance. Dagna had been ecstatic when she and Cullen and broached the subject. A device to replace her arm that could mimic the actions she’d taken for granted would be a god-send. It wouldn’t be able to do everything … but it would be able to do more than she could without. But, Maker’s ass, why was it so hard for her to fight the way she was used to? Wasn’t that the point of the thing?
“You’ll get there, love.” Cullen appeared behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. He knew there was little he could actually do to help, other than what he already did. He gave her someone to rant at … to yell her frustrations so she didn’t take them out on any unsuspecting runners. His offer to work with her in the practice ring had been accepted with glee, at first. But once they’d started and he’d been able to deflect any and all attempts she made when before he’d been scrambling to keep up, she’d realized that even with the new limb, she wasn’t immediately as skilled as she had been. Then her enthusiasm had started to wane. “This is Dagna’s first attempt at such a thing. It will take both of you a little time to get the issues worked out.”
She wanted to snap back, argue that she should be able to pick right back up where she left off. There should be no learning curve for this. She wanted to, but she didn’t; she couldn’t. She knew he was right, and just then, the feel of his lips and teeth grazing the back of her neck was enough to stop any rant before it started. Her eyes fluttered closed as she leaned back, letting strong arms surround her. “I’m sorry I snapped at you,” she sighed, bringing her right hand up to thread through his hair, tilting her head to give him easier access to her throat.
He grinned against her skin when he heard a soft moan just after he’d nipped at her ear. It filled him with pride that, even after all that had happened, such a simple action on his part could earn such a sound. “To be fair,” he whispered, fingers pressing just a bit harder into her hip, “I expected it to start about twenty minutes ago.” He reached up, turned her face toward his and captured her lips before she could make any sort of response. He felt her hand slide out of his hair and down to his shoulder, gripping his shirt collar as she urged his tongue deeper, parting her lips to allow him access.
She was flushed and out of sorts when Dagna returned, triumphantly holding the silverite arm. “That should do it. I had to add a few more nodes to catch all the signals your body wants to send. You’re a complex fighter, y’know?” She busied herself fastening the arm back onto the stub, tightening the straps and checking buckles. “I think we’ve got a really good dragonskin glove to put over it as well … more protection, looks more real … some really nice rune-work inlaid, if I say so myself. But we need to make sure it works properly before we add that. Be too much work to remove it every time adjustments are needed during testing.” She never stopped moving, checking things, and gave one last tug on a strap. “Now give it a go.”
Regan glanced up at Cullen with a tentative smile. She still felt guilty for yelling at him and didn’t particularly want to push her luck by getting aggravated again. But the need for testing, and the possibility that this time might be the one that worked drew her back toward the ring. “One more try, dear husband?”
“Might we make it more … interesting, dear wife?” He plucked up his sword and shield and made his way over to join her. His lips curled into a teasing half-smile, tongue darting out to lick a bit of sweat away from the scar as he waited for her nod. He knew she was already feeling more confident when he watched her twirl one of her blades with her left hand – something she hadn’t dared try before. When she finally prompted him to go on, he reached out, ran a finger along her jaw. “A true sparring match to test out your new arm … winner gets a reward of their choosing.”
“Sounds fair enough.” She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach … and lower … at his touch. She loved the way his fingers felt against her skin; his touch light as a feather but impossible to ignore. She let out a disgruntled puff of air when he pulled back, only to set his weapons to the side and reach for the lower hem of his shirt. She bit her lip as she watched him strip the sweat-soaked tunic off and fling it aside. Dammit, he was trying to distract her. And worse yet, it was working.
“Ready?”
She thought about saying no … about stripping off her shirt in an attempt to distract him just as much as he was distracting her, as she often would joke about doing. His naked torso glistening with droplets of sweat that clung to the soft golden curls leading down his chest and over his stomach only to disappear beneath trousers hugging tight, low on his hips. She started reaching for her shirt to even the playing field, and caught a glimpse of the replacement arm, the shirt the only thing hiding that place where appliance met skin, and she faltered. She was no longer whole, would be distracting in all the wrong ways. But she could still try and fight. She just had to ignore just how much … she … wanted …. “Ready.”
Cullen frowned slightly, having watched her start to relax only to be pulled back to her worries again. He brought his shield up to fend off her first strike, swinging his sword around to knock the second away. She came at him again, left hand swinging toward first, followed by a lower strike with the right. Again, he blocked them easily, narrowing his eyes as he watched her. She either wasn’t trying or had something up her sleeve, but given the expression on her face, he was leaning toward the former. “Giving up already?” He brought his shield around to block yet another strike, this one so obvious it almost hurt him. She’d never been this careless before.
She shrugged faintly, poking a dagger in his direction before moving to one side, slowly working her way around him. Every strike she attempted, he blocked. Every time she moved, he turned enough to keep her in his vision. She was getting tired, hadn’t spent this long in the practice ring since she was a little girl. She needed to end this soon, one way or the other, or she would just fall out in front of everyone. With a breath, she shook herself, loosening up her shoulders as best she could, forcing her gaze away from that chest, that smile … that body to concentrate on what she needed to do.
Her strikes picked up speed, coming at him with a ferocity that her earlier attempts had lacked. While they were still not close to what he’d seen from her previously, it was still an improvement. Cullen smiled as he blocked a blade, barely stepping back to miss the other coming around. “Still some fight left in you? Good.”
They kept at it for another half hour. She attempted several strikes, some even good enough to throw him off balance, though Cullen was still able to block each one. He could see she was growing more comfortable with the new arm; it would just take more practice to get her back to where she’d been. He wasn’t sure if she’d be willing to spar with some of the men who remained, but even if her pride kept her from practicing with them, he was willing to work with her. Eventually, one swing of his shield was enough to knock her to the ground and when she dropped her blades, she sighed.
“Looks like you win this one, love.”
He helped her to her feet and smiled, pulling her to him. “I think you may want to amend that statement soon, dearheart.” He brought his lips to hers, reveling in the way her body melted against his before pulling back and leading her toward the keep … and their chambers …. “You may decide that we both could be considered victors soon enough.”
Now, with art from flockofflamingos on Tumblr:
