Warning: This story will contain copious amounts of kinkiness and smut. If this is not your cup of tea, please do not read any further. Consider yourself warned. If, however, you happen to like your tea with a healthy dose of lemon... please sit back and enjoy :D

He is there every night, like clockwork. Without fail, the sole individual left in the old training facility of the Institute of War. After the influx of so many new champions into the league's ranks, a newer and much more modern complex was constructed in the west wing to accommodate everyone's training needs. That new facility really is state of the art to be honest, with alchemically augmented fitness equipment, magic dueling rings, and even an onsen-style relaxation area. The whole nine yards.

He doesn't seem to care though. This old, rundown training room seems to suit him just fine. Free of clutter and distraction… the perfect place for him to ply his craft.

I happen to share his sentiments.

By this time he has already moved from his warm-up and free weight routines to floor exercises. Currently he is practicing unarmed on a wooden training dummy of Ionian design. I can hear the audible crack of muscle and tendon upon teak every time one of his sinewy forearms smacks into a peg… and without fail it never ceases to make me cringe just a little bit inside. His arms must be made of rock to take such punishment; I feel as though my ulna would snap in two if I were to give it a try. Alas, I am a fencer sans égal, not some boorish, blood sport gladiator.

I can't help but stare at the lines in his shoulders and back – you'd do the same if you were in my position, trust me. His body is so… cut… lean yet muscular like a jungle cat. I have… a thing for slender men. Bulk, be it muscular or otherwise, is neither attractive nor functional. Talon is la exemple ultime; every muscle in his body, much like every movement he makes when striking that dummy, has a purpose… and it shows. It doesn't help that he always seems to be clad in the same damn thing every time he trains. That is to say, not much – he is always shirtless with nothing but a pair of satiny training pants resting low on his angular, powerful hips to offer any modicum of modesty whatsoever. His long chocolate-brown tresses, normally hidden beneath some type of vulgar and ominous cloak or hood, are swept back behind his ears right now, tied up with a red ribbon in a rather disheveled and trés sexy bun…

…ahem.

I am clad in my usual exercise attire as well, consisting of a tight black sports bra, flimsy ivory tank top and sheer black leggings. They offer maximum support and mobility but do little to hide the curves of my… ample assets… the bra and cotton top in particular. Sometimes when I really turn the intensity up my coral nipples can't help but harden quite visibly underneath from all of the… friction. These particular leggings are rather tight in certain places as well, but for some reason that little bit of pain and discomfort seems to put me at ease. My taut, pale midriff is always left bare for training – I need to stay cool after all – so this might be one of the only times you could catch a glimpse of the flowery tattoo that adorns my back and, of course, the sapphire piercing dangling from my navel. Not even my mother knows about that one.

Increasingly so, I choose to go sans underwear when I fight, sometimes even outside of combat these days. What do they call it? Going… commando? Really there is something to be said about the freedom one is allotted… oh, don't look at me like that! This is war, not some sort of beauty pageant. Form follows function. Besides, with the faded, burnt-out material of my current leggings, everybody would clearly be able to see the lines of an undergarment underneath anyway. It is better this way. Cela ne sert à rien. Normally I would never give my choice of attire a second thought, but this man… he… flusters me in ways I cannot accurately express. Whenever I see him I begin to feel rather self-conscious, like I am being judged in some way. I suppose this is not a new sensation to me. As a female duelist and the youngest child of House Laurent, I have always been forced to prove myself to others. This current feeling… is different however. This man makes me doubt myself on a whole other level. It is not just in the heat of battle either – indeed everyone seems to unconsciously clutch at their own throats just a little bit more when Talon is lurking about, but this feeling is fundamentally different. His mere presence… flusters me.

"Are you ever going to actually work out, or do you just like to stand there and watch?" His low, even voice snaps me out of my reverie almost instantly. Such a rich and deep tone, but so cold… so caustic. It sends a chill down my spine, and I cannot decide whether this is a positive sensation or a negative one.

Wait… how did he even see me?!

"W-what? What are you talking about?" My lips quiver just a bit, heart racing a thousand miles a minute as my gaze darts hither and yon. I can feel the heat boiling over in my cheeks as I step out from behind the corner, fingers balled into fists. "I-I am exercising already... s-stretching and doing calisthenics. Keep your comments… and your eyes… to yourself, you Noxian cur."

No response. Unless of course, you count the rhythmic slap of his legs and arms against the wooden training dummy as a 'response.' I let out a rather audible sigh, turning away in frustration as I begin to make my way back down the corridor. Perhaps tonight is not a good night to train.

"Figures."

I stop dead in my tracks. My heart begins to pound on its own accord, for reasons I cannot explain. Slowly I turn about to face him again, glaring daggers into the back of his head. "What figures? What does this mean?"

He continues to throttle the training dummy with his sinewy arms of steel, the strikes becoming more and more vicious until one of the pegs simply snaps clean off. I could not make this up. One brutal strike and the peg sails off into the distance as the jagged wooden stump left on the dummy opens up a thin line of blood along the outer edge of his forearm, another scar to add to his already quite impressive collection. He stops now and turns to cast a sidelong glance at me with those lucent amber eyes of his. I can see the profile of his face now… his jaw is so angular and chiseled, with just the merest hint of stubble painted along its sharp lines. A single lock of chocolate-brown hugs his sweat-caked brow and chin, the only strands to escape being pulled back into that bun.

"Figures that you'd just walk away. I may be a cur, but at least a Noxian dog's bite is worse than its bark."

It takes me a moment to process his words and my lip trembles again as I struggle to maintain my posture, brow creasing with something akin to rage. My chest rises as I inhale sharply. Did he just… say what I think he did?

"How… dare you insult my abilities like that, you… you… peasant!" I cannot help but spit the words out as I stride up to him with a bit of purpose and swagger in my step. "I am the finest fencer in all of Demacia… nay, Valoran. Where others try, I only succeed." We are but a hair's breadth apart now and I jab a finger into his bare chest. He reeks of sweat and of manliness and my god, is he so tall. Why did I never realize this? I barely come up to his collarbone.

No… no… think about something else. You are angry. Stay angry.

"Y-you wouldn't last sixty seconds in a proper duel against me," I growl, my sapphire gaze narrowing with as much contempt as I can muster. He cocks his head to the side in response, arms folding across his chest… and then… he just smirks. Yes, he's smirking. I've never seen him do that before, ever. Until now I wasn't even sure if he was capable of it.

"Is that a challenge?"

He gazes down at me in a derisive sort of way. I cannot tell if it is out of contempt or in amusement. Either way, I am clearly not amused. At least, I think I'm not… why the hell is my heart beating so fast? I can feel warmth flooding my cheeks, heat dappling the bridge of my nose. It is actually taking a surprising amount of willpower to keep myself from shaking. Why do I feel so… giddy? Talon and I have faced off countless times in the Rift of course, but never alone… never un á un.

"If you wish it to be, cur. But be advised, I never hold back." It is the truth. As the head of House Laurent, I cannot afford to show any sign of weakness. My guard must always be up and I must be strong, dominant and in control at all times… a difficult cross for me to bear. But more on that later…

"Sixty seconds in a duel," he repeats my words back to me. "No hidden weapons. And if I disarm you?"

I can't help but scoff at the absolute arrogance and pomposity of his words. If he disarms me? Just who does he think he is? "My dearly delusional boy, if I were you, I would worry more about losing a finger or ear than coming close to disarming me. If, in sixty seconds, you can wrest this blade from my grasp." I heft up my trusty rapier, la Rose de L'acier, the Steel Rose. I have never lost a duel with this blade at my side. Never. "Not only will I concede defeat, but I will- "

"Do as I say."

I freeze as he interjects with four simple words. For a few moments my lips remain parted in mid syllable, unable to finish. The butterflies in my stomach are swarming en masse and I look up at him incredulously."W-what?"

"If I win… for one week you will do as I say, when I say, exactly as I say. No questions."

My brow narrows sharply. I can feel a cold sweat dribbling down my spine and lower back, pooling in the dimples above my bottom. "W-what kind of-"

"You did say you were the best duelist in Valoran, did you not?"

"Y-yes, but-"

"Prove it."

I glare at him, the only thing I can reliably do right now. My mind is racing, heart pounding. I can barely string three coherent thoughts together and worst of all, I do not know why. This is a very dangerous wager indeed. But… there is just no way… no way in hell… this man can beat me in a duel. It is just… inconceivable. I glance around for a second, my ice-blue gaze darting from one side of the room to the other, and finally, I look him squarely in the eyes… and I say…

"Fine. I will."