LOTS - CARA/KAHLAN

Fighting For Her

individual_68

Title: Fighting For Her

Author: individual_68

Pairing: Cara/Kahlan

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: none, other than its girl/girl love and has mushy feelings and violence

Disclaimer: Characters not mine, sadly

A/N: Written for legendland fic prompt challenge, prompt being ‘battle’, so here you go.

Fighting For Her

individual_68

I fight for her. With her. Beside her. Sometimes even against her. Each battle different. Unique. And yet eerily the same. Almost familiar.

From the first sighting of the enemy. To the opening clash of weapons. The exhilaration of violence. The thrill of victory. Always a risk. And yet somehow always inevitable.

They rush us in a clearing. The woods. Or some great plain. Come over the ridge. The hill. From behind the trees. A great battle. An ambush. A simple skirmish. The feeling within is always the same.

The beast inside cries out.

She reaches for her daggers. One fluid motion. So graceful it reminds me of a dance. A move I have seen a hundred times or more. Yet still I catch my breath. And in the same instant my Agiels are in my hands. Ready to fight. To defend. To kill. For her. For the world. To satisfy the beast within.

Back to back. Shoulder to shoulder. We stand. To fight off the legions of the underworld. Advantageous bandits. Friends turned enemy. Always together. Strengthening one another.

Move in sync. As one. We have fought together for so long. But this is something more. More than familiarity. This connection runs deeper than practise. A bond stronger than camaraderie. Stronger than death.

The sound of her dagger’s initial blow. Echoed by the scream of my Agiels. Perfect. Fluid. Effortless motion. Her daggers sing. Their brutal poetry. The clash of metal. Groans of exertion. Deathly moans. The accompaniment for this scene.

The beast within me screams in her presence. Pleads for the bliss of battle. Implores me for its freedom.

Men fall at our feet, one by one.

Her every move is known to me. And mine to her. Without a word we work in concert. Extensions of the other. I feel her presence. Almost tangible. Solid. Fell sturdy knowing she is beside me. That she fights with me.

The sound of breathing, heavy in the air. The smell of death hangs heavy here. The beast can smell the blood. Incites me on.

The whirl of daggers and Agiels. Wielded separately, yet still as one.

The rustle of clothing as she turns. A brief flash of thigh. More arousing than a hundred painted whores.

Blood pumps heatedly around my body. Mind works faster than before. Impelled on by something within. Duck. Jab. Turn. Kick. Block. Kill. They fall. Each time they hit the ground my body soars. The beast within roars.

The beast within is scratching at the doors. Not a lust for blood, but victory. For justice.

I glimpse her eyes. The gleam within tells me all I need. Her beast is howling too. Begging for release. Clawing at her insides. We work in unison. Fight as one. With one accord.

Fell ten, twenty, thirty men. Dead. Dying. Longing for sweet release. Take them down. Move on to the next.

And finally I turn. Push up. The last man falls unceremoniously to the ground. Agiel to the chest. Dagger buried beside it. His last breath leaves his body.

Turn to her for the first time. See the beast subside. If only momentarily. Content for now in victory. Tranquilly bathing in the blood of the fallen.

Her chest rising rapidly. Exertion. Excitement. Expectation.

And she is in my arms. Mouth on mine. Devouring me as I devour her.

Violence is not sex. Sex is not a battle. But the similarities cannot be ignored. Pleasure from pain. Exhilaration in victory. The beast within wishing to be free. Fulfilled. Sated. And the sweet release and power found therein.

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