The chill of the night, a familiar companion in the desolate castle they now called home, did little to quell the heat that simmered between them. He watched her from across the cavernous main hall, the flickering candlelight dancing across the sharp angles of her face, illuminating the defiant curve of her lips. Jeanne Darc Alter, the embodiment of righteous fury twisted into a vengeful spirit, sat upon a salvaged, ornate throne, her dark armor a stark silhouette against the backdrop of crumbling stone. Her gaze, usually fixed on the distant horizon as if searching for a new injustice to rectify with fire, was tonight drawn inward, a rare moment of stillness for the chaotic Avenger.

He, her Master, found himself perpetually captivated by her. It wasn't merely the obligation of their contract, nor the strategic necessity of their alliance in this desperate Holy Grail War. No, it was something far deeper, a primal pull towards the raw power and untamed passion that radiated from her very being. The original Jeanne Darc possessed a radiant, divine light; this one, Jeanne Darc Alter, burned with an infernal, captivating flame, a darkness that promised not destruction, but a fervent, all-consuming devotion once truly unleashed.

A sigh escaped her, barely audible, a sound so human it startled him. He saw her gloved hand clench, then relax, the subtle movement betraying an inner turmoil she rarely allowed to surface. "Master," her voice, a low rasp that could cut through stone or soothe a fevered brow, broke the silence. "You stare. Do you find my form so… repulsive tonight?" There was a challenge in her tone, but also, perhaps, a hint of something softer, a question she genuinely wished answered.

"Never repulsive, Jalter," he replied, using the affectionate, informal name he'd cautiously adopted over weeks of shared battles and strained truces. He rose from his own, less grandiose seat, the echo of his footsteps amplifying the tension. "Only… endlessly fascinating. You are a storm, Jeanne Darc Alter, and I find myself drawn to its eye." He moved closer, slowly, deliberately, giving her every opportunity to dismiss him, to scorn his proximity. But she merely watched him, her golden eyes, usually blazing with hostile energy, now held a complex depth he hadn't seen before.

He reached the foot of her makeshift throne, looking up at her. The shadows cast by her high collar and the tattered, crimson banner draped behind her made her seem even more imposing. "You bear the weight of a world's betrayal, don't you?" he murmured, his voice soft, understanding. "And yet, you carry it with such fierce elegance."

A flicker in her eyes, a brief widening that betrayed her surprise. She was not accustomed to such empathy, such direct acknowledgement of her pain. Her purpose, after all, was vengeance. Her existence, born of a wish for condemnation, was fueled by resentment. To be seen, truly seen, was a vulnerability she rarely permitted herself. "Do not presume to understand me, Master," she retorted, her voice regaining some of its usual sharpness, but the edge was dulled, like a blade that had met too much resistance.

"Perhaps not fully," he conceded, taking another step closer, now standing directly before her. His hand, unbidden, slowly reached out. He paused, asking for permission without words. Her gaze searched his, intense and unblinking. After a long moment, she gave a barely perceptible nod. His fingers, trembling slightly, ghosted over the cool metal of her gauntlet. "But I see a spirit burning so brightly, it threatens to consume everything, including itself. And I… I want to stand in that fire with you, Jeanne Darc Alter."

The words hung in the air, a bold declaration, a dangerous proposition. The very idea of his hand touching hers, a Master initiating such an intimate gesture with his Avenger, was a trespass against the established norms of Servant-Master relationships. Yet, it felt profoundly right. Her breathing became shallower, her chest rising and falling beneath the dark plates of her armor. Slowly, she extended her gauntleted hand, meeting his. Their fingers intertwined, the cold metal of hers stark against the warmth of his skin.

He felt a jolt, an almost electrical current pass between them. It wasn't just the warmth of human contact; it was the raw, unadulterated power of a Servant, an elemental force, meeting the fragile spark of humanity. His thumb traced the ornate design on her gauntlet, a silent caress. "You are more than vengeance, Jalter," he whispered, stepping even closer, his gaze locked with hers. "You are passion. You are desire. You are magnificent."

Her head tilted, her long, dark hair, like spun midnight, falling over her shoulder. "Magnificent?" she scoffed, but there was no real venom in it. It was a shield, a reflex. "I am the Dragon Witch, a curse upon the world."

"And a dragon witch deserves a consort worthy of her fire," he countered, his voice deepening with conviction. He released her hand only to cup her cheek, his palm finding the soft skin beneath her jawline, surprisingly delicate despite her formidable persona. Her skin was warm, vibrant. "Let me be that, Jeanne Darc Alter. Let me be the one who sees the woman beneath the armor, the heart beneath the flames."

Her golden eyes widened further, a new emotion swirling within their depths: confusion, longing, and a perilous curiosity. She leaned into his touch, just slightly, an almost imperceptible movement that felt like a seismic shift in their world. His thumb stroked her cheekbone, feeling the subtle tremor that ran through her. This fierce, powerful Avenger, this harbinger of retribution, was not immune to tender affection.

"Master…" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, a stark contrast to her usual commanding tone. His name, spoken so softly by her, felt like a caress against his soul. He leaned in, his gaze dropping to her lips, full and tempting, shadowed by the faint light. He could feel the heat radiating from her body, the subtle scent of ash and something uniquely her own—a blend of ozone and something intensely feminine.

"Let me kiss you, Jalter," he murmured, his breath ghosting over her lips. He saw her throat bob as she swallowed, a struggle playing out within her. The conflict between her identity as the vengeful Jeanne Darc Alter and the burgeoning desire for human connection was palpable. But desire won. With a slow, deliberate motion, she nodded. It was all the permission he needed.

His lips met hers, tentatively at first, a soft exploration. Her mouth was surprisingly soft, yielding, yet there was an underlying tension, a coiled energy that promised to erupt. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips, asking for entry. She hesitated for only a second, then her lips parted, allowing him in. It was a kiss of fire and ice, of darkness and yearning, a maelstrom of emotions unleashed. Her hands, still encased in gauntlets, rose to cup his face, holding him with surprising gentleness, yet with a strength that left no doubt of her power.

The kiss grew more fervent, more demanding. He felt her sigh into his mouth, a sound of profound release. Her armor, once an impenetrable barrier, now seemed to press against him, its cold metal a thrilling contrast to the rising heat of their bodies. He moved his hands from her face, tracing the sharp lines of her jaw, down her neck, feeling the pulse thrumming beneath his fingertips. He felt her fingers tangle in his hair, a fierce grip that bordered on pain, but it was a delicious pain, a testament to her unrestrained passion.

He broke the kiss, breathless, gazing into her half-lidded, golden eyes, which now glowed with an intensity that could melt steel. "Jalter," he gasped, his voice ragged. "You are intoxicating."

A faint blush, a startling sight on the pale skin of Jeanne Darc Alter, rose on her cheeks. "You speak dangerous words, Master," she whispered, her voice husky with desire. "Do you truly know what you awaken in me? The Dragon Witch's flames are not easily contained."

"Then let them burn," he challenged, his own desire mirroring hers, a roaring inferno. He lifted her from the throne, her armor clanking softly as she rose into his arms. She was heavier than he expected, a testament to her strength, yet she felt perfectly balanced, perfectly molded against him. He carried her towards the alcove he had prepared, a small chamber with a makeshift bed, softer than the stone floor of the hall.

He laid her gently on the piled furs and blankets, her dark form contrasting beautifully with the pale fabrics. Her armor felt suddenly oppressive, a barrier they both yearned to shed. His hands moved to the clasps of her gauntlets, carefully removing them. Her bare hands emerged, elegant and strong, with long, slender fingers, surprisingly soft to the touch. He kissed each of her fingertips, then her wrist, feeling the rapid pulse beneath his lips.

Her breath hitched as he began to unfasten the intricate buckles and straps of her chest plate. With each piece of armor he removed, a new expanse of her skin was revealed, pristine and smooth. The dark leather and metal fell away to expose her pale shoulders, the graceful curve of her collarbones, the gentle swell of her breasts beneath a simple, dark chemise. He paused, admiring the sight, the stark beauty of the vengeful Servant disarmed, vulnerable yet still immensely powerful.

"Such beauty," he murmured, reaching out to trace the line of her shoulder. He felt her shiver under his touch, her golden eyes fixed on his, alight with a mixture of apprehension and hungry anticipation. "Even without your armor, you are a force to be reckoned with, Jeanne Darc Alter."

She reached up, her hands surprisingly gentle as they cupped his face, pulling him down for another kiss, deeper, more urgent than the last. Her tongue danced with his, a fiery exploration that sent shivers down his spine. He felt her fingers, no longer armored, slide beneath the hem of his shirt, her touch cool at first, then warming as she began to explore the skin of his back, eliciting a groan from him.

He continued his work, carefully unlacing her chemise, letting it fall away to reveal her breasts, full and tempting, her nipples already taut and begging for attention. He lowered his head, his lips grazing the soft skin of her cleavage, moving lower, until his tongue flicked over one hardened peak. A sharp gasp escaped her, her back arching off the furs as pleasure shot through her.

He suckled gently, then more fiercely, drawing her deeply into his mouth, tasting her, teasing her with his teeth. She cried out, a low, guttural moan that was pure, unadulterated passion. Her fingers tangled once more in his hair, pulling him closer, demanding more. "Master… oh, Master," she breathed, her voice hoarse, almost unrecognizable. "This… this feeling… it burns."

"Let it burn, Jalter," he encouraged, moving to her other breast, lavishing it with the same fervent attention. "Let it consume us both." He moved his hands down her body, feeling the tautness of her abdomen, the slender curve of her waist. He unfastened the last remaining pieces of her undergarments, revealing the soft, dark hair nestled between her thighs, already glistening with arousal.

He looked up, meeting her gaze, seeing the raw, untamed desire that mirrored his own. Her eyes were glazed over, her lips swollen from their kisses, her body trembling with anticipation. "You are so perfect," he whispered, adoration lacing his voice. He shifted, kneeling between her legs, gently spreading them. He leaned down, first kissing her inner thigh, then moving ever closer to the source of her heat.

Her fingers clenched on the furs beneath her as his tongue made first contact with her slick, sensitive flesh. A violent shiver wracked her body. She cried out, her legs tensing around his head, urging him deeper. He tasted her, sweet and intoxicating, feeling the intense tremor that ran through her body with each flick of his tongue, each gentle suction. He focused on her clitoris, teasing it with delicate circles, then drawing it into his mouth, suckling it fiercely. She writhed beneath him, gasps and moans erupting from her, a symphony of pure pleasure.

"Oh… Master! Yes… please… more!" she pleaded, her voice choked with ecstasy. Her hips bucked against his face, demanding the release she so desperately craved. He responded with renewed vigor, devouring her with all the passion he possessed, wanting to bring her to the brink, to show her the depth of his adoration. He felt her body tense, heard her high-pitched shriek as she climaxed, her entire frame convulsing, her legs clamping around his head, pulling him impossibly close to her shuddering core. The scent of her arousal filled the air, a potent perfume of fulfilled desire.

He stayed there, allowing her to recover, feeling her soft shudders slowly subside. When she finally opened her eyes, they were soft, sated, and held a profound tenderness he had never seen before in Jeanne Darc Alter. He rose, shedding his own clothes in a swift motion, revealing his hardened erection, throbbing with anticipation. Her gaze fell upon him, and a small, knowing smile played on her lips, a hint of the Dragon Witch's mischievousness returning.

"So, Master," she purred, her voice still husky but now laced with playful challenge, "do you intend to leave your Servant wanting?"

"Never, Jalter," he promised, moving over her, positioning himself between her thighs. He felt the intense heat radiating from her, still slick and swollen from her climax. He met her gaze, seeing the desire ignite anew in her golden eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed the tip of his erection against her entrance. She gasped, a low, hungry sound, and arched her hips, inviting him deeper.

He entered her slowly, savoring the tight, wet heat that enveloped him. He felt her body adjust, stretching around him, molding to his length. A deep sigh of contentment escaped him as he buried himself fully inside her. She was incredibly tight, a perfect fit, and the sensation was almost overwhelming. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in even closer, her nails digging gently into his back.

"Ah, Master… so deep," she breathed, her voice a low moan of pleasure. Her hips began to move instinctively, matching his slow, rhythmic thrusts. He leaned down, kissing her neck, her shoulder, tasting the salty sheen of her skin. He felt the soft give of her breasts against his chest as they moved together, a perfect synchronicity.

Their rhythm quickened, growing more intense with each thrust. He felt the power of Jeanne Darc Alter surge around him, not just physical strength, but the force of her passion, channeled directly into their shared intimacy. Her moans grew louder, more guttural, escalating into cries of ecstasy. He found her G-spot with each deep plunge, eliciting shivers and gasps from her. Her body was a symphony of sensation, a tempest of pleasure he was both conducting and being swept away by.

"Look at me, Jalter," he commanded, his voice raw with his own rising pleasure. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, her golden orbs blazing with a mixture of desire and a profound, nascent affection. "You are mine. Tonight, and always, you are my Jeanne Darc Alter."

"Yours," she confirmed, her voice thick with emotion, her hips bucking beneath him, demanding more. "Only yours, Master. Burn me… consume me…" She arched her back, her nails raking down his spine, a passionate plea for release. He felt the exquisite pressure building within him, the world narrowing to the feel of her body, the sound of her cries, the taste of her passion.

With a final, powerful thrust, he felt himself spill deep within her, a roaring climax that shook him to his core. Her body tightened around him, milking every last drop of his essence, and she cried out once more, her own climax blossoming around his, a second, even more profound wave of ecstasy that left them both shuddering and breathless. They clung to each other, their bodies slick with sweat, their hearts pounding a frantic, beautiful rhythm against their ribs.

As their breathing slowly returned to normal, he collapsed beside her, pulling her close, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Her head rested on his shoulder, her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, a stark contrast to her pale skin. He felt the lingering tremors in her body, the aftermath of their shared journey to the heights of pleasure. She stirred, nuzzling into his neck, her soft lips pressing a gentle kiss there.

"I did not know… such warmth existed," she murmured, her voice soft, vulnerable, almost childlike. The Dragon Witch, the fiery Avenger, was for this moment, just a woman, sated and content in his arms. He smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "It exists for you, Jalter. Always."

She shifted, looking up at him, her golden eyes still soft, but now filled with a new light, a gentle glow that spoke of something beyond vengeance. "Thank you, Master," she whispered, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. "For seeing me. For truly seeing Jeanne Darc Alter."

"My pleasure, my fire," he replied, pulling the furs higher to cover them both. The war would continue, battles would be fought, and the world would remain a dangerous place. But in this quiet alcove, in the arms of his magnificent Jeanne Darc Alter, he found a sanctuary, a burning, passionate solace that made every struggle worthwhile. Tonight, they were just two souls, intertwined in a dance of desire and devotion, their destinies irrevocably linked by the flames of their shared passion.