Aymeric is, admittedly, torn. There is part of him that enjoys the fights, enjoys Estinien's questions, enjoys the excuse to keep his interest and attention that, he knows, may well wane the moment he gets what he wants.
There is a much larger part of him that is ever more determined to win because every clash of weapons, every ilm of ground given or taken, every question asked, only makes him want Estinien more.
He trains harder, longer, pushes himself further than ever before - the instructors are impressed with him, he knows, and he can't remember the last time any other knight beat him in a sparring match. Any other knight except Estinien.
When they meet on the field again, Aymeric pauses at Estinien's word, looking up at him with quiet curiosity. It masks the concern that has suddenly slipped, icy cold, down his neck. Has Estinien grown bored already? Has he given up on the thought of bedding Aymeric and - ah. No. No he certainly hasn't done that.
For a moment Aymeric finds himself robbed of breath. It was just so... direct. Not a euphemism they both understood, a teasing innuendo, a sly look or a wink or any of the dozen other ways to communicate what they wanted without outright saying it. Just a blunt, honest admission of genuine want that made Aymeric wanted to drag him to the nearest bed right then and there.
But something stops him. Something brings a small smile to his face and has him tilting his chin up in a smug challenge.
"Full glad am I to hear you say such things, for I confess mine own nights are filled with the thought of finally having you in my bed." He starts, letting the confession linger between them for a moment before continuing "But. A deal is a deal, Estinien, and I have not won you yet."
better*
Aymeric is, admittedly, torn. There is part of him that enjoys the fights, enjoys Estinien's questions, enjoys the excuse to keep his interest and attention that, he knows, may well wane the moment he gets what he wants.
There is a much larger part of him that is ever more determined to win because every clash of weapons, every ilm of ground given or taken, every question asked, only makes him want Estinien more.
He trains harder, longer, pushes himself further than ever before - the instructors are impressed with him, he knows, and he can't remember the last time any other knight beat him in a sparring match. Any other knight except Estinien.
When they meet on the field again, Aymeric pauses at Estinien's word, looking up at him with quiet curiosity. It masks the concern that has suddenly slipped, icy cold, down his neck. Has Estinien grown bored already? Has he given up on the thought of bedding Aymeric and - ah. No. No he certainly hasn't done that.
For a moment Aymeric finds himself robbed of breath. It was just so... direct. Not a euphemism they both understood, a teasing innuendo, a sly look or a wink or any of the dozen other ways to communicate what they wanted without outright saying it. Just a blunt, honest admission of genuine want that made Aymeric wanted to drag him to the nearest bed right then and there.
But something stops him. Something brings a small smile to his face and has him tilting his chin up in a smug challenge.
"Full glad am I to hear you say such things, for I confess mine own nights are filled with the thought of finally having you in my bed." He starts, letting the confession linger between them for a moment before continuing "But. A deal is a deal, Estinien, and I have not won you yet."