I do not want it! (he cries. his delirious resistance after receiving such a confusing blow to the chin manifests physically in another battering of set wherever he may land a hit or a push. limbs lurch out at him, but his legs become tangled by long robes; had he known he would be fighting shard-bearers tooth and nail, voryn thinks that he would have worn something combat-ready.

fingers wrench at the sash of his robe, pulling it open until it becomes a half-lain rug beneath them. the shift beneath it is thinner, lighter, and affords him better movement.)

This sap is yours—(he is interrupted by set's mouth. the kiss is romanceless, a means to an end. voryn can feel the golden sap thrust into his veins with every second they are adhered to one another while the zenite taint within him scratches to the surface. it may as well bubble out of him like water from an artesian well for how easy it is to draw out of him. its foul ambitions and fouler reticence leaves him and voryn gasps noisily against set's cheek.)

I do not need it! I am as firm in my convictions as ever! Do you intend to betray Meridian? Do you intend to betray me?

(their hips come together, dragging. while it would be impossible to find it mentally pleasurable, his body finds the friction of their wrestling to be just what it requires. voryn pants with effort. he even grasps hair in fistfuls to pull on and to force set's neck to crane, biting into set's lower lip before closing his teeth around a small section of his pale throat.)