Vastra's sword slides and grates down the edge of her own. The motion is mesmerising, every aspect its own thought.
The slithering hiss of metal reminds her of Vastra's tongue, flicking out to prey on unwary people who don't realise just how far she can reach. The wary, too, sometimes: who know her as a danger but underestimate her strength.
The sparks that fly up every time their blades make contact brings to mind the stars at night, outside the dirty yellow glow of the city lights and the blanket of smog. The memory of lying in her lady's lap somewhere far away from any other being.
Edge clatters against edge, flat against edge, flat against flat. Jenny's skills improve daily; she parries Vastra's blade almost as easily as her lovely partner parries hers, but still Vastra slides beneath her guard, sometimes, in so many ways. The speed, strength, skill. The inhuman beauty of her that so nearly distracts Jenny from her sword, especially at times when she doesn't dare let her mind drift away; the present, for example.
Vastra's green skin glistens under the lamplight, and she wants... oh, she wants her.
Her lady draws her in suddenly, snatching at the hilt of her sword with sparkling hands to toss them both aside. Jenny gasps against her throat, startled, delighted, feeling the solidity of Vastra's arms across her back, where her corsets would be were they not alone and engaged in an activity entirely inappropriate for stays.
"My dear," Vastra murmurs against the shell of her ear, her breath cool, "I don't want to hurt you. You weren't considering your sword. What were you considering?"
Jenny almost laughs, held tight against her mistress, and tilts her head back to meet Vastra's eyes. Here she can be unafraid of being too bold for her station. Here, being a maid doesn't feel important. Here they need not be separated. She smiles at Vastra coyly.
Vastra's grin widens, takes on a sly edge. "Oh, I see."
Jenny giggles, finally, and lifts her face to be kissed. "My lady?"
"Say no more."