I’m not that drunk.

[ Which is exactly what someone who is drunk would say. Whatever serious conviction she tries to imbue into it is lost in another giggle as she’s rolled onto her back. Her legs hook around his waist as they shift positions, dragging his lower body down on top of hers demandingly. No space was allowed to exist between them while they were in her bed.

The smell of the tavern is long gone thanks to the bath, but her body still feels lit up from the inside out. While some of it is realistically the effects of the alcohol, Sylvain’s attention, his gaze, the low timbre of his voice certainly adds to that. A small moan escapes her this time, muffled by the tangle of tongues and press of his lips before she returns it with equal fervour. ]

I really did want to take care of you - [ She’s insistent in the small break of their kiss. The rest of the sentence is hurried out before she grasps his face with her hands to drag him in again. ] but I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t think about that too.

[ This is a good consolation prize, she thinks. Tangled in the sheets with his weight on top of hers, the smell of him around her. ]