A Champions Heart

Jen hoisted the rattan sword a little higher, glancing across the arena to the opponent she was to face. This was it; this was her final challenge. The man she was to face was last year's champion, and her fight with him would determine whether all her hard work would pay off or be only in vain. If he fell beneath her weapon, as so many before him had, he would lose his title and she would be bestowed that rank upon her shoulders. If she lost, it would be another year of hard training and work to gain another shot at the medieval fair's annual tournament.

Jen did one final check of her armor, suddenly a lot less confidant that she had been a few moments previous, and then stepped into the ring to face the man. They approached each other with caution and extended gloved hands for a sportsmanlike shake before the match. Jen did her best to block out the world around them, making the sounds of the hundreds of excited spectators fade away, ignoring the trickles of sweat that ran down her temples and over her cheeks. The champion's face and body was hidden by a suit of full armor, as was her own, but in the dark depths of his helm she could see his emerald eyes glittering with fierce determination.

She focused on those green orbs, feeling their intensity burning into her, trying to find her weakness. Dimly in the background, she heard the referee calling for the match to begin, and they began to circle each other. For a long and tense moment neither of them made the advance. In a quick attempt, Jen lunged in with a quick blow. The expert man parried her blow, and counterattacked with a wide overhead shield. Swinging up her shield, Jen felt his straw-woven sword crack against the thick wood of the barrier. Both of them backed away, and the circling began again. Jen felt uncertain as she paced around the arena.

The champion was good; she was unable to read anything in his eyes or his careful movements, except the shining arrogance that sparked beneath his face covering. That very emotion started a pit of rage deep in her stomach. How dare he take her so lightly, the bastard! She had defeated ten excellent fighters this day, and countless more before them had fallen in previous tournaments. Goaded by anger and impatience, Jen charged in again. She feinted in with a side blow, and as he was sidestepping aside, she hooked her left foot behind his right ankle, and brought him crashing to the ground. The thrill of victory made her careless, and she advanced without caution, preparing for the final blow.

She had him for sure! She, Jen, would have the medal that hung under his armor for her very own! Letting out a scream that echoed the intense cries, she swung down with all her might. Her opponent whipped up his shield at the last moment, and the force of her blow caused her rattan sword to shatter in half when it connected.

Staring dumbfounded down at her destroyed weapon, Jen didn't see the coming attack. The champion's sword came up before she could react, slamming into the side of her helm. The sound of the weapon hitting the metal echoed twice as loud inside the protective garment, hurting her ears. She dropped sword and shield with a shriek, clawing at the leather strap that held her helm on her head, ripping the cap from her head. Her attacker used her pain to his advantage, leaping up from the ground and slamming his body into hers.

Jen was knocked back onto the ground, flat on her shapely bottom, and she felt the cool press of the rattan blade at her throat. The crowd went wild, and the referee came over to hold up the champion's hand in victory. He had defeated her….Jen sat in disbelief and anger, staring up at the man who had defeated her with her mouth gaping open. He turned and looked at her with those intriguing eyes, and she saw the amusement dancing there as he extended a hand to help her from the ground.

She forgot about fair sportsmanship, she didn't care about losing with dignity, not with those cursed orbs mocking her. Slapping his hand away, she got up from the ground on her own, and grabbed her fallen gear. Some of the crowd booed her unchivalrous actions as she fled the arena, not wanting to watch the hosts of the medieval fair name the man as the tournament champion for the second time.

Jeff walked from tent to tent of the renaissance camp after the arena crowd had dispersed, searching for his defeated foe. When he had faced her in the ring, at first he hadn't known she was a woman. She certainly fought like no girl he'd ever faced before; her moves were aggressive, calculated for the most part. He'd been forced to goad her into attacking out of spite, and when she'd ripped the helm from her head, he'd almost stopped with surprise.

He'd meant no disrespect by offering her his hand at the end; instead, he enjoyed taking the moment to drink the sight of her sitting there on the ground, her blonde hair in a tangled cloud around her shoulders and her blue eyes spitting fire. He had to look for about ten minutes before he found her, asking around at all the shopkeepers until one of them pointed out her tent. Pausing at the flaps to the canvas house, Jeff called out her name and waited.

Finally a voice barked for him to come inside, and he pushed his way beyond the cloth, into the dome of her quarters. She had her back to him when he entered, pulling the last remains of her armor from her legs. With all the metal and leather removed, Jeff was free to admire the womanly curves the protective articles had masked. Beneath all her trappings, she dressed simply, a white cotton shirt that hung over tight breeches, and soft leather boots. The rough brown cloth of her pants clung to her sweaty legs, giving the vague outline of tight thighs and well-defined legs. She turned, and when her eyes caught sight of him, her features melted from angry to icy stone.

"What do you want?" She seethed, her words practically dripping acid. Jeff realized he still had his helm on, and reached up to work the strap. He pulled the helm free of his head, running gloved fingers through his sweat-soaked hair. He could see she was taken about by his relative good looks….obviously she'd been fantasizing her opponent was some fat beast behind all his black armor. He fought back a smile when he saw her eyes widen, then her expression went unreadable again, and she sat down on her cot to remove her boots. "I asked you what you wanted," she repeated again. "And speak normal English, please. I'm not in the mood to try and translate pretty Old English speeches."

"I came to tell you that you fought well," Jeff admitted. "You left the arena before I could congratulate you on a good battle."

"You'll pardon me if I don't jump for joy at your announcement," she announced dryly, pulling off one leather boot and busying herself with the laces on the other. "Is that all, or did you want to rub it in a little more?"

Jeff had to admire her spunk; even under the veil of blonde bangs that partially hid her face, he could see that her cheeks were streaked with tears of frustration. It was a brave face she was showing, not wanting to admit how much her defeat had cost her, instead choosing to come off as a callous bitch to drive him away. Instead he plopped down in one of the spare chairs in her tent, and set about removing his own armor. "You're not being very accepting of this, you know," he teased, pulling at the straps of his breastplate until the metal came free. "I did beat you fairly."

"Fairly?" She scoffed, her sarcasm unmasked. "Let's talk about fair. For a whole year you didn't have to fight anyone. You sat up on the dais with the reigning king and queen, and you looked pretty while we sweated our way up to your standards!" She stood up and flung her last boot to the floor. "And today, I fought and defeated ten fighters….and still you sat there, refreshed and just waiting for your shot at me! So while I was exhausted and sweaty when I stepped into the arena, you weren't even warmed up yet." Jen stalked over to where the wooden bowl rested on her traveling trunk, and dipped a rag in the cool water there to wash her face. "I want you to take your things and leave my tent, and never talk to me again about being fair." She turned away from him and began scrubbing her cheeks, muttering "Bastard" under her breath. Jeff pulled the last of his armor off, and grinned. She was trying hard to ignore him, but he had no intentions of leaving her tent.

He stood up and wandered over towards where she was washing her head and neck furiously. "My name's not Bastard, you know. It's Jeff. Jeff Mattson. And did you ever stop to think that the only way I got the title I have is because I earned it? That I fought for it because I wanted it as much as you did?"

"Really," she sniped back. "And here I thought it was because you used your pretty boy face on several of the female renaissance committee."

"You know, that's the second time you've said I was attractive. You think my face is pretty?" He practically purred, and she realized she had slipped up and complimented him instead of insulted him. "No," she corrected, "I think you're an asshole."

"Such language from a lady," he murmured. "A nice temper, too. What's your name, anyways?"

"Go to hell," she cursed back.

"Unusual name," he smirked, pretending to mull it over. His words oozed charm, and she felt him move up behind her. "I think we started off on the wrong foot, anyways. Why don't we forget about the tournament, and just start over as equals?" His breath was hot on her neck, teasing the little hairs that were still damp from her washing cloth. Jen moved away quickly, fighting to summon the rage and injustice she'd been seething with before he'd arrived at her tent.

His charm was softening her up a bit; she didn't feel quite as angry as she had been. It didn't help matters any that his short black hair stuck up in patchy spikes, making him look boyishly cute, or the fact that when he smiled, a dimple appeared on the left side of his smart mouth. "Why don't we not and say we did?" She mustered up, and asked him again to leave her tent.

"Now that's not a nice way to start things off…" He paused, glancing down at the nametag taped to her trunk. "…Jen," He finished coyly, looking over at her. Jeff knew the effect he was having on her. He could see the doubt flashing in that sapphire gaze of hers, could see the flush that was dotting her pale cheeks. Part of him was doing this because he knew he could smooth her ruffled feathers a bit, and another part of him was doing this because he was growing incredibly attracted to her. It was like being hypnotized by some great wild cat.

On the outside she was incredibly appealing, with her flaxen tresses and her big blue eyes and her milky skin. She smelled like a combination of sweat, leather, and soap, and the mix was intoxicating. On the other side, she had a razor-sharp rage, and he didn't know whether this would lead to him tasting her passion or getting a mouthful of her temper. If she fucked as well as she fought, then he could be in for the most incredible ride he'd ever had.

His eyes traveled down the length of her body, making it apparent that he was taking in the sight of the white shirt sticking to the mounds of her considerable breasts, over the way the breeches molded to her flat abdomen and down her muscled legs right down to the slender toes of her feet. More than once he saw her disobedient gaze wander over his handsome face, at the cotton tunic he wore, down to the button-front breeches and boots. He walked over to where she sat on the cot and took the washing rag from her limp hand.

"May I?" He asked, and without waiting for a response he grabbed the hem of his tunic, pulling the oversized shirt up and over his head. Jen watched him as he tossed the cloth to the dirt floor of her tent and strode over to the washing bowl. He wet the cloth and ran it over his face and neck, his profile turned towards her. Oh good lord, she thought. It was impossible not to appreciate the way the water ran in tiny streams over his muscular back and chest. In the times between medieval fairs, he must have trained in lower bodybuilding. He was cut and defined, from his arms to the ripple of muscle that disappeared into the waistband of his breeches.

She wondered briefly what he did in modern society, after they put the entire renaissance play-acting behind them for another year, and then decided she didn't want to know. All she knew and wanted to know was that this was Jeff, the man who had defeated her in the most crucial match of her day. Not more than fifteen minutes ago, I hated this man, she mused. And now she felt only a fraction of that hatred, but a new dawning excitement growing in the pit of her stomach.

He dropped the rag in the bowl and turned to face her, and she openly admired his half-naked body, the muscles and sparse chest hair dotted every now and again with a single crystalline drop of water from his makeshift bath. Her mouth felt dry as she watched one tiny river of liquid run from the nape of his neck down across his left breast, and hang for a split moment over the pink nub of his nipple. Jen felt her mouth go dry, dug her fingers into the blankets of the cot to keep them from straying. She wanted nothing more than to taste that tiny droplet suspended there, to lick it from his tiny bud and feel it on her tongue.

She must have been gaping; he was smiling at her when she looked up and met his face again. Jeff walked over to stand in front of her, and with one thick finger lifted her chin up to stare into his face.

"Jen," he began, but she brought her hand up to silence them.

Her voice came out thicker and huskier than she imagined it would. "This doesn't change anything between us."

He took her hand and placed it on his stomach, his breath coming harder when her fingers brushed the wall of muscle there. "It changes everything between us," he groaned.

"I still hate you," she murmured, running her fingers up to the upper half of his chest, kneading the flesh there. He wound his hands in the mass of blonde locks that hung midway down her shoulder blades, feeling the damp silk engulfing his fingers.

"You'll learn to like me," he countered with a smile. "You may even learn to love me."

"Even if I do," Jen barely moaned, "I'll still fight you next year. And next time, I won't lose." She crawled up to her knees on the cot, and brought her mouth inches from his stomach. Her hot breath erupted from her lips over his belly, causing him to shudder at the feeling, and he growled low in his throat.

He managed to croak, "I look forward to it," before her hands came up to grip his hips, and her mouth connected with his heated skin. She nipped and suckled and licked the flat planes of his stomach, exploring every ridge and nook, dipping into his bellybutton as her fingers curled into fists on his pants. He let her explore, gripping her hair and then the sides of her face, pulling her mouth faster over his skin. Jen leaned up and sucked one rosy nipple into her mouth, rolling it over her lips and tongue until it was a hard pebble against her gentle suckling. She treated the other with the same lavish attentions, until he pulled her head back with a ragged breath.

"Easy, Jen, easy," he begged, and lay down on the cot. Jen crawled up to straddle him, both still in most of their clothes, and she bent to claim his mouth with her own. All the energy that she had put into her fighting, all the passion she had put into her hatred, she now poured into her kiss, until they were battling with their mouths. Their tongues sparred, meeting, caressing and retreating, while her hands ran over his tight, thick arms and down to his big hands.

It was crazy, Jen knew. Her tent flaps weren't tied, anyone could walk in on them at any given moment, but she couldn't care less when Jeff's hand curled around at the base of her neck, pulling her hair to the side so he could feast on the soft nape there. He flicked his tongue and lips over her throat, and she moaned her approval.

"Let me see you," Jeff begged her in an intense whisper, and he pushed on her shoulders until she was sitting upright astride his hips. Beneath the fabric of her breeches, she could feel the hard swell of his cock, and she rocked back and forth over it lightly while his hands came up to untie the laces of her shirt. Jen wore no bra beneath the shirt, her full breasts firm and plump beneath the white material.

She was, by nature's bounty, almost a C-cup in bra sizes, but even as full as her mounds were, Jeff's strong palms cupped them without overflowing much. "Jesus," she managed to gasp when she felt his hips buck underneath her, meeting her rocking motions with a hearty thrust of his own. He pulled the white cloth free of her upper torso, leaving them equally only half-clothed, and brought his warm fingers up to caress the baby-pink circles of her nipples. He traced their centers over and over again, while their bodies teased each other with her mock-riding motions. Jen leaned over just enough to make him strain to reach her breasts with his mouth, and let out a half-sob when the first swipe of a wet tongue passed over one.

"God, you're beautiful," he admitted, sucking and biting and pinching her abundant flesh until she was mewling for more. She stared down at him, loving the lustful look in his green eyes as he watched his fingers coaxing her nipples to full erect points.

"I need more," Jen begged him, and pushed his hands from her breasts. "Jeff, please, give me more," She shimmied down his thighs, letting him sit up. Jen started to roll to her back but Jeff grabbed her arm, keeping her on her knees. He moved around behind her, reaching his big arms around to unfasten the buckle of her breeches. She felt engulfed by his bigness, feeling his body pressed firmly against her, back to chest, his steely erection pressed against the swell of her rear.

The waist of her pants went slack as he finished unbinding their closure, and he pulled the rough cloth over her hips and down her thighs. She wore no underwear, and he groaned, pushing urgently at the small of her back to make her topple forward to her hands and knees. He lifted her legs gently one by one, pulling the last article of clothing from her body until she was naked. He moaned, looking at her from behind, at the swell of her round hips and ass, at the swollen wet lips that peeked out from below that. Jen's thighs were coated in moisture, evidence of her rampant arousal, and Jeff lowered his head to taste the sticky wetness. She panted his name, and stopped him when he would have brought his mouth to her sweet folds.

"Not that, not now," she ordered. "I'm too close to the edge already. Just fuck me." Her sexy commands almost pushed Jeff over the breaking point of his control, but he fought hard to keep strong.

"Are you sure?" He teased, leaning forward and licking her earlobe, letting her feel the roughness of the clothes he wore against her bare flesh. Jen growled a warning at him, and so he brought one hand between them, seeking out her hungry nether mouth and testing its readiness. His fingers were thick, calloused from sword-training and other sports, and when he traced them around the creamy center of her pussy, she almost screamed. He found her more open and wet than he dreamed, and he grabbed for the front of his pants. The buttons proved too complicated to maneuver, so in a frenzy he grabbed the edges and ripped, sending the closings flying everywhere. He reached inside, pulling out his painfully erect member and stroking it twice.

"Tell me what you want," He tortured, and to further her agony, he rubbed the swollen head against her lubricated inner lips. "Oh my god," she whimpered, her fists ripping at her covers, her hips trembling with need. "Jeff, if you don't put that in me now, I swear I will kill you." He chuckled, and guided the thick knob to her entrance. Jen helped by reaching back, her fingers digging into her rear as she pulled the cheeks apart, opening her more. Jeff speared her on the first thrust, her over stimulated folds taking him completely to the hilt of his shaft.