#im not used to writing this kind of stuff

“Your form is pitiful,” says Daabush as he cores an apple with his dagger. His eyes barely even lift to see Uuloril’s transgressions.

“Well, of course it is,” retorts Uuloril, glancing Daa’s way. “I’ve never done this before.” He stamps his foot petulantly, further disrupting his stance. The bow in his hands shakes as he tries his best to pull back the string.

Daa smirks, finally looking up at the mage. “Don’t hold the arrow so long, you’ll wear your arms out. Shoot.”

Uuloril tries to focus his eyes on his target, a bullseye drawn in charcoal on a large birch tree in the near distance. The arrow’s head sways with the nervous motions of his hands. Finally, he gathers up the courage to let go of the string, closing his eyes as he does. 

The arrow falls flatly a few feet in front of him. He opens his eyes, startled as Daa bellows out laughter. Uuloril’s head whips to the side to see the hunter slapping his knee with the apple hand, his shirtless greenish-grey chest shaking with mirth.

Uuloril frowns and stomps up to Daabush, thrusting the bow into his arms. “Why don’t you show me how it’s done then, o master of the art?”

Daa stops laughing and accepts the challenge, setting down his knife and apple and taking up the bow. He returns to Uuloril’s former position, leaning over to grab the failed arrow. “Take notice,” Daa says, as Uuloril sits at the stump the hunter has abandoned, his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands as he observes.

In one fluid motion, Daabush draws back the arrow and string, takes aim for a brief second, then releases, launching the arrow directly into the center of the bullseye.

Uuloril throws his hands into the air with an exasperated sound as Daa casually retrieves the arrow from the tree. “What in Oblivion was I supposed to take notice of!”

“Anything but the tip of your nose,” mumbles Daabush. “Come here,” he commands as soon as he returns to his shooting spot. 

Uuloril grumbles but obliges, dusting off his robe as he stands. He plants his palms on his hips and frowns. “What now?”

“Let me show you how it’s done,” Daa says, gently handing back the bow and arrow. “Stand as you think you should, but don’t draw.”

Uuloril shakes his head but does as he’s told, shifting his feet awkwardly as he holds out the bow far from his chest.

Daabush’s rough hand gently grabs Uuloril’s wrist, pulling the bow back. “Save the energy for drawing. That way, you push and pull at the same time.” Uuloril feels the warmth of Daa’s chest collide with his back, automatically restructuring his stance. One of the hunter’s feet kicks at Uuloril’s heel, spreading it a bit further apart from the other. 

“…You can breathe. We’re not drawing yet.”

Uuloril lets it out in the form of a shaky laugh. “So. Shall we? Or are there any other corrections you must make?”

He can feel the smile bearing down on the back of his head. Another grey hand wraps itself around Uuloril’s other pale-gold wrist. “Position the arrow on the bow,” Daa says, guiding Uuloril’s hand, “like so.”

“Now, we draw -” Daa begins, before slowly pushing and pulling on Uuloril’s hands, the bow curling back with the tension. “- and shoot.” Daabush lets go of Uuloril’s wrist, which can’t maintain the pull strength on its own, the string flying straight past his fingers and sending the arrow flying, landing off to the side of the tree somewhere.

“Well,” Daabush says, as he peels his body away from Uuloril’s, “aim comes eventually - with practice.” 

Uuloril refuses to turn around, lest his face betray his blush. “Thank you.”

Daabush strides over towards the bushes, stopping a moment to pick out the arrow visually before grabbing it and returning to Uuloril. “Now,” he says, “let’s have you try it on your own again. Remember what I -”

“Shhh!” whispers Uuloril. “Don’t move.” Behind Daa, his keen Altmer eyes pick out two faint gleams in the foliage. Instinctively, the mage slowly takes the arrow from the hunter’s hands. He positions himself from the memory of closeness, and in one slow, fumbling motion, he pulls back the arrow, his arms and back burning from the strain of such a heavy draw. Daabush, motionless, glances at the arrowpoint lingering near his ear.

Then Uuloril lets go, and the arrow flies - it lands with a sickening wet sound, followed by a loud howl, followed by a heavy thud, followed by thick silence. 

“What was it?” Daabush asks after a moment, remaining still.

“I don’t know!” replies Uuloril, “but I think I killed it.”

The two wander over to the source of the sound of the howl and thud, and in the bush find the carcass of a sabre cat, an arrow sticking out of one of its eyes.

“Nice shot!” cries Daabush. “But next time, aim for the heart. The eyes are valuable, but not like this.” Uuloril says nothing, in awe of what he has accomplished.

“Ow,” says Daabush suddenly. He reaches up to cup his ear. His hand comes back streamed with blood. “Nicked me, you s’wit.”

“Oh,” says Uuloril, standing up to examine the cut. “I’m sorry.” He reaches up with his hand to heal it. Daabush instinctively reacts by grabbing his wrist, but stops himself and allows the mage to cast his magic. 

Once the spell is done and the bleeding stopped, the two are again unbearably close, their gazes locked together. Instead of retracting his hand, Uuloril grabs Daabush by the side of the head and pulls him down into a quick kiss.

Wide-eyed, Daabush pulls back after that brief moment of electricity, but doesn’t say anything, just staring at Uuloril. Uuloril’s own eyes widen, and he opens his mouth to apologize, but Daabush rushes into another kiss, embracing Uuloril tightly.

When they finally pull away from each other, they glance down at the carcass beneath them. “Let’s continue this…elsewhere, shall we?” suggests Uuloril.

“Yes. Let’s,” Daabush says, and he leads Uuloril into his tent.