Neverwinter Forest Places far away and we're not you and me, but

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No response. That did not strike the bounty hunter as strange; they were both reticent creatures, and his own loquaciousness was far more out of place. He gave up on verbal conversation and tuned in to the baser language of bodies and touch.

Even this left things a little uncertain between them; they had both learned to hold their cards close to the vest, and had discarded others like a snake shedding skin grown too small and tight. Sociability was for children. Adulthood made all things that did not aid in survival feel like unaffordable luxury.

Still. It was difficult to read her actions as anything but amorous. The question, then, was why — but it was not one that Catamaran felt compelled to ask.

His head turned; he reciprocated in further mockery of tender touches, wielding the weapon he had turned his body into as gently and as sweetly as he knew how. But they way they came together was like blade against blade; each touch seemed almost necessarily to be a parry or riposte. No matter how much they practiced yielding to one another —

"I don't know how to fuck you without making that worse," he told her, gesturing to her leg after an unsuccessful (embarrassing) go at getting on top of her. He was reluctant to put any of his significant weight on her, and he was not so much taller than her as to make their coupling easy. Catamaran considered himself clever; a problem-solver. This, however, seemed to be a problem best solved by time.