LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

Be Faster Next Time

foiblesfables

Title: Be Faster Next Time

Characters/Pairings: Cara/Kahlan

Rating: R

Word Count: 1,887

Summary: Mock fighting manages to develop into something Cara didn’t exactly bargain for. But she can still offer assistance.

Notes: Random and quick. I need to go to bed.

Be Faster Next Time

foiblesfables

Cavorting along the countryside with the Seeker’s band of merry do–gooders, detouring form their quest at almost every turn, becomes irritating at times. Cara becomes exceedingly efficient at finding ways to entertain herself. It’s a defense mechanism, just in case their attitudes become even more contagious. It keeps her from going quietly insane. This is merely one activity of choice.

She waits in the fringe of the trees, using their cover wisely – she can see but can’t be seen. Her eyes are trained on her prey, the very picture of focus. She senses every movement, every twitch, every pulse. The surrounding woods melt away until it’s just her and the body just beyond the edge. But this is no ordinary hunt. She licks her lips, one side pulling upward into a smug smirk.

Her target bends over to gather another handful of kindling. Not a wise choice, Cara chides silently, mirroring the action as she picks up a decent–sized branch from the ground beside her. It doesn’t make the slightest noise against the underbrush as she lifts it. She’ll never see or hear her coming, Cara knows, and there’s a surge of excitement to accompany the thought. There’s danger involved here, grave danger, the kind that makes the blood in Cara’s veins dance. Her ears ring, her stomach tightens, her fingers tingle. She breathes quickly and her heartbeat keeps rhythm with it.

When Kahlan straightens, sweeping her long dark tresses behind her shoulder with a flick of her wrist, Cara makes her move. Her muscles bunch and tighten as she takes two fast, long, powerful strides before pushing herself airborne, into a graceful leap. Sailing through the air, time slows down, and she grips the stick in a gloved hand. Kahlan reacts, but not until after Cara whacks her across the shoulder blades with the branch – not hard enough to cause any sort of damage (Richard would not approve), but it gets the point across. Kahlan lets out a yelp of surprise and whirls around to the apparent source of the contact, to the rear, but Cara’s already standing in front of her, tossing the stick aside and folding her arms over her chest. Satisfaction. The first score.

When Kahlan turns back around, reaching across with her right hand to touch the opposite shoulder, her humorously–furrowed brow and narrowed eyes that read not amused only serve to twist Cara’s grin even more. She cocks her hips to the side, taking a wide–legged stance, raising her eyebrows at Kahlan. She clicks her tongue.

“If I was a baneling,” she comments, shaking her head (Kahlan’s frown deepens), “you’d be dead right now.”

“I was alone and you jumped me,” says Kahlan, shifting the brushwood to the crook of one arm and placing the other on her hip. “Don’t you realize what a bad idea that was? I could have killed you!”

“Could have.” Even though Kahlan is completely right – Cara could have been dead where she stood – banter is banter.

“You used a stick as a weapon.”

“Oh, nothing gets by you, does it, Mother Confessor?” Cara smirks, tilting her head. “Well, almost nothing, I suppose.” Kahlan rolls her eyes, but there’s a hint of a smile and Cara takes it as a go–ahead. “Would you have preferred me to use these?” She reaches for her hip and unsheathes her Agiels, squeezing them in her palms, milking the shocks of pain from them. Kahlan’s wearing a smile to match her own now as she drops the kindling in a pile, pulling out her own daggers.

Once upon a time, Cara would have considered play–fighting to be utterly useless. No substitute for the real thing, no comparison to the actual intent of bloodshed. Now, it keeps her from becoming restless, keeps her on her toes. And with a fighter like Kahlan (Cara learned by watching at first, then firsthand in the tomb), maybe it’s not so useless after all.

Besides, in a real fight, Kahlan would win. This is Cara’s only chance to test her skills against her.

In a sudden motion she pounces at Kahlan, leading with the Agiel, teeth bared in aggressive exertion. Kahlan sidesteps fluidly, passing Cara’s extended hand with her elbow, using the Mord’Sith’s own momentum to throw her off–balance. But she catches herself quickly and does an about–face, preparing herself once again, clenching her weapons tight in her fists. She lunges, much closer this time, feet planted to the ground and knees bent, providing a sturdy base. After a few seconds of struggle between them, all elbows and grunts, Cara uses an Agiel to tag Kahlan’s forearm for a fraction of a second. Block and counter. The Confessor lets out a hissing breath at the contact.

“Fast.” Cara nods and tosses her head, flipping blonde hair out of her face. “But not fast enough.”

It’s met with a charge by Kahlan, two daggers dancing through nimble fingers and arcing through the air. Cara hisses and moves in tandem with them, ducking and dodging as fine silver points slice the empty air in skillful patterns, but never finding purchase, never catching leather. A few come dangerously close, though, close enough to make the tiny hairs on the back of Cara’s neck prickle. Kahlan takes another swing; Cara arches away before lifting her leg, finding Kahlan’s hip bone with the bottom of her boot, and giving a gentle–but–solid push. Kahlan stumbles backwards, giving Cara room to reach for the upper hand once again.

She catches Kahlan’s wrist as the Confessor rears back to strike again. While attempting to wrench herself free, Kahlan’s other arm swings for Cara’s side, which the Mord’Sith thwarts with a tight block before trapping it beneath her own arm. She uses the Agiels to disarm Kahlan of both knives simultaneously. But she holds Kahlan in that deadlock for just a second longer, enough time for lips to curl into a triumphant sneer.

She releases her and replaces her Agiels. Level ground once again. But Kahlan’s arm is quick to come around her neck from the side in a quite persuasive headlock. Cara responds quickly, shifting her hips to roll Kahlan to the side, using her thigh to stabilize Kahlan’s back as she goes to the ground. She’s not looking to actually incapacitate her, and landing on her back like that would surely take her wind. Still, Cara’s merciless as she clambers on top of her supine form, pushing her legs out of the way with a little more force than necessary. Her open palms make a reverberating crack against the Confessor’s calves. Kahlan’s eyes don’t show any pain, only of determination to get back on her feet. Cara pins her there, forearm resting against her throat (a true negotiator in real circumstances), her other hand pressed to Kahlan’s shoulder.

But Kahlan’s suddenly smiling, and Cara realizes too late that it’s because she’s found a weakness in the hold. Kahlan’s hand wriggles free of its trap and comes flying upwards, softly striking Cara across the jaw. The incredulous outrage that manages to sneak past Cara’s mask for the briefest instant, burning in her blue–green eyes, makes Kahlan laugh, distracting her enough to allow Cara to grab her wrist and press it to the ground next to her head. Using her leverage and weight as a placeholder she does the same with the other, spreading herself evenly over Kahlan’s body to provide an almost–perfect hold. Kahlan writhes and flexes, trying to break out of it, and she’s holding back more laughter at her predicament. Some escapes. She wrenches again, arching her back, and Cara meets and redirects it with a downward shift of her own hips.

It’s not long, though, until Kahlan’s laughter becomes very breathy and her eyes darken. For a few seconds, Cara attributes it to exhaustion or fatigue. But when Kahlan pushes her hips upward in a motion completely unnecessary to escape, directly into Cara, she knows. Without having to look down, she knows that her thigh is snug against the apex of Kahlan’s. Red leather splits bare, porcelain skin and the skirt of Kahlan’s traveling dress is folded up. With a tightening in her stomach, it dawns on Cara that Kahlan is enjoying every movement, all of the pressure and friction, a little too much. It’s intense stimulation in exactly the right spot, and Kahlan’s mind is quite obviously reeling.

Cara slides her thigh against Kahlan’s center quite subtly, an experiment. There’s a tiny strangled whimper from the Confessor that Cara wouldn’t have heard if she hadn’t been listening for it. Kahlan’s blue gaze, still locked with Cara’s, swirls with a mixture of embarrassment, fear, and heavy, heavy arousal. Her breasts heave and she’s going rigid. Cara pretends not to notice.

All of the contact between them must have caused quite a stir, she figures, and it’s not a surprise. Suppression in that sense is an absurd concept to her, like refusing to take water when one is thirsty. But it’s a part of Kahlan’s reality. To be starving for physical attention and affection, body craving, aching, suffering through urges that can’t be satisfied in any convenient way. Cara tenses her thigh and Kahlan shivers beneath her. Again, Cara pretends not to notice. She still has Kahlan’s hands pinned to the ground, and her luxuriant waves are splayed there as well, with a few wisps defiantly lying across her face.

It would be almost impossible to imagine herself in Kahlan’s place: so much pent–up, smoldering energy waiting to burst into flames. Trembling liquid threatening to gush over.

Kahlan helped Cara with her boredom. Cara can help her with this. It’s a fair exchange, a payment of debt. It’s not a far cry from what she used to do for her sisters.

So Cara begins to move, masking the force of her thigh as attempts to stop Kahlan’s escape. It quickly becomes rhythmic as Cara takes hints from Kahlan’s barely–concealed reaction, whether to go quicker or harder or slow down. Kahlan draws a shaky breath and tries not to whine as she squirms, rubbing against Cara, biting her lip and riding the pleasure out. When Cara changes the angle of her weight, leaning farther forward, Kahlan’s mouth opens wide in a silent gasp.

But when Cara feels her body begin to tense dramatically, she has to stop. If she lets Kahlan finish, one touch could kill her. It’s not worth her life, she decides. She was able to help get Kahlan this far. That counts for something.

So she lets go of Kahlan’s wrists and slowly draws herself to her feet. Kahlan remains on the ground, motionless, probably very dizzy and very frustrated. Her eyes are half–lidded and glossy, her lips are parted, and her cheeks are flushed with deep pink tinge. Cara gazes down at her sprawled body, pursing her lips.

“I’m going back to the campsite,” she says, turning away and taking a few strides away from Kahlan. She’ll leave her here to finish herself off, if that’s what she decides to do. The safe way. The only way. There’s a rush of pity here, but it passes quickly. She won’t mention this again.

Before she can travel too far, she glances over her shoulder, not enough to make eye contact with the woman still splayed on the ground.

“Be faster next time.”

She leaves it up to Kahlan to decide what meaning those words have.

~ ~ ~