Rivusa - Specialism Partners
He’s not going to say he’s disappointed when they’re paired up together.
He expects that this isn’t quite what she meant, when Musa had stormed up to Saul and demanded she be given the physical training, demanded she be more useful in armed situations rather than in prevention and conflict resolution.
But again, Riven’s not complaining.
After Saul pairs them up together, she steps obligingly up onto the podium, and huffs in mild-irritation.
Riven grins at her. “Am I not your idea of a good time?” He asks, and it’s a brutally hot July, and he’s already gone two rounds with Dane in the warm-ups and his hair is sweat-slicked to his forehead.
“I like my partners to take things seriously.” She says with a faux-sweetness, picking up the dulled swords and getting into the starting position.
Riven shrugs, moving at a much more leisurely pace back over to his side of the platform. “I take things very seriously.” He calls over his shoulder, “Like the way you look seriously hot in that get-up.”
Musa scoffs, but he thinks he can see a spark of humour in there, he just needs to tease it out. And damn if she doesn’t look fine. In those sports leggings and the criss-cross of her skin-tight mesh shirt, her hair pulled back into two braids that drape over her shoulders.
“Go!” Saul calls, and Riven’s a little too caught up in his daydreaming it turns out, because Musa is across the stage in three swift leaps, there’s a sword at his throat, he’s kicked to the ground, and she’s got him pinned in less than ten seconds.
“Brilliantly done, Musa.” Saul calls, and Riven can hear a few other students chuckling at how easily he was taken down as he tries to regain his breath.
Not that he’s complaining. God, there is nothing to complaint about here. Musa’s thighs spread across his own, her body on his, her elbow to his throat, and that gorgeously smug look on her face.
“So, that’s how you like it, is it?” He asks, winking at her, still wheezing a little, “you like being on top? I can accommodate that.”
She rolls her eyes, presses down on his neck once more for good measure, before she gets off him. “Fuck you.” She says, a smile on her lips, as she holds out her hand to lift him up.
He takes it, uses the momentum to swing in close to her, lean down and whisper into the shell of her ear. “I wish you would.” He murmurs, and he swears he isn’t imagining the hitch in her breath, or her dilated pupils.
Her eyes flash purple, and then widen in surprise. “You’re being serious?” She says, reading his emotions, and he steps away from her.
“You should be careful in my head, little mind-fairy,” he warns, “I promise thoughts about me and you are not very PG in there. I’m not sure you can handle it.”
Musa lifts her chin haughtily, and goddamn it if he doesn’t like her. “The way I just took you down? I can handle it.” She says.
He watches as she walks away and for the first time in an age, he feels excited for the next class.