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Numair had complained of the cold, so far away from the fire, so Daine had snuggled under the crook of his arm and told him she'd keep him warm as if it was something she'd done a hundred times. He didn't protest. Just put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her closer against him.
“You’re Drunk,” she murmured, turning towards him and settling in with a happy sigh. Her breasts and belly pressed firmly against his side—warmth pooled in all the places their bodies touched.
“You’re drunker,” he laughed, and brought his free hand to rub the bridge of his nose. She could feel the reverberations of his chest in her own. Reaching out without thought, she caught his hand in hers and ran her fingers along his palm.
“I like this,” she said, watching his fingers run down her own, “We should do it more.”
Numair grunted. “Do what?”
“This.”
“You are drunk.”
“You don’t like being close to me?” She pouted.
His hand, which he'd been using to run lines along her fingers, paused.
“I do, actually,” he swallowed and hesitated before grasping her hand, lightly, and bringing it to rest against his lips. She sighed and laid her head on his chest, draping her arm across his waist. His heart was racing. A strange thing, for all that they were resting.
She sighed, deeply, and turned into him so that she could rub her cheek against her chest. From there, it felt a natural thing to slide her knee over his leg.
He gave a pleased sound—something like the start of a laugh from the deep part of his throat—and slid the hand on her shoulder down to run along her rib. She shuddered and exhaled too loudly. There were too many lines she wanted to cross and her hazy, wine-soaked mind was making it difficult to choose the next.
Before she could decide he sat up, lifting her with him.
“I think it’s time that we call it a night, Magelet.” There was a husky quality to his voice she was unfamiliar with. She liked it.
“Why?” She was pouting again. He brushed a curl from her cheek and she pressed he cheek into his hand, enjoying the way he let her.
“Nothing good happens after this many drinks. Nor at this late an hour.” Despite his words he made no effort to draw back and stroked his thumb across her cheek. She turned and kissed his fingertip, lazily and felt him shudder when she let it just barely slide past her lips. Grazed it a little with her teeth.
“That sounds like a theory to me,” she giggled, feeling silly and in love. “You’re always telling me that theories are made to be tested.”
“You’re proving it right now,” he murmured. His thumb dragged across her bottom lip, making her feel giddier than all the drink had. When he finally pulled his hand back it was with a featherlight touch that ghosted along her neck before he brought the thumb to his own lips.
“This isn’t good?” Her eyes fluttered and she leaned in, watching his lips as he traced them with the ghost of hers. She wondered what they would feel like in earnest. He sighed and she could feel his breath, warm in the cold night air, mingle with her own.
“It’s complicated,” he said finally, dropping his hand and pushing himself to stand. She was suddenly very cold. And a little confused.
Numair rubbed his face with both hands and brushed the hay from his breeches. She watched him pull himself to rights but was too busy being miffed to join him.
He was looking away from her, his tall form swaying, and seemed to be focused on something far away. The breeze picked up just enough to send another chill down Daine’s spine and her intake of breath brought him back to her. He held out his hand to her with a mild smile, as if it were any other night.
“I’ll walk you to your rooms.”
“Well,” she lurched to her feet and he caught her around her waist, steadying her, “If that’s the offer I’d be happy to go.” She leaned back into his chest, feeling his chuckle reverberate in his chest.
“I just need to make sure you actually get there and don’t just find a nice, soft pile of woodland critters somewhere.” He spoke into her ear, hands still at her waist, and guided her forward.
She found her balance and then regretted it when he moved away. Unhappy with the distance between them, she leaned against his side until he put an arm around her shoulder. Their progress was slow—straight lines were proving difficult—but she didn’t mind.
The walk passed in a weighted silence. Numair’s hand found its way from her shoulder to her waist, where her shirt had pulled from her breeches a little and his fingers found a small expanse of skin. It was all Daine could do to focus on staying upright.
The barracks were still, all the other occupants having fallen into a drunken sleep, a lover’s embrace, or both. It must have been late for them to have outlasted everyone else and she wondered, idly, just how long they'd tucked away together. There didn't seem to be any prying eyes to see them now, but she'd bet a gold crown there had been plenty to see them creep away.
She found she didn't much care.
Daine fumbled with her lock until Numair stepped behind her and covered her hands with his larger ones to assist. She let him take over and leaned back against him. She could feel the muscles in his chest move as she worked at the lock, only slightly more coordinated than she had been, and his hips moving, ever so slightly, to steady them. She arched back and was pleased by the exhale of breath it drew from her friend.
“Daine,” it came as a whisper, and a warning she did not understand. The lock clicked open suddenly—the door swinging open with it—and she turned to face him in the same motion he stumbled forward. He reached to steady them both but she was taking her chance. Her fists were clumsy where they clutched at his shirt to pull him with her, but his were no better when they tangled in her hair and his lips met hers.