Final Fantasy VIII, Irvine/Quistis, the broad side of a barn
Irvine stands closer than he ought to; technically there doesn't need to be full-body contact to show someone the proper stance and grip for shooting a rifle. But standing too close is what he /does/, really, and Quistis isn't complaining. Yet. He's got one hand on her elbow, and the other resting on her waist--surely he's pushing his luck. She tilts up her chin to bring the target into sight, and she doesn't even glare at him.
She squeezes the trigger a second before he can tell her to fire, and the push of the rifle brings them that much closer together. Mm, but he's looking forward to these little... lessons.
--He looks at the paper targets three times before he'll admit it's the truth. The shot's not perfect, but it's damn respectable. So much for his teaching! "Are you just naturally good at /everything/ you do?"
Quistis shoulders the rifle she borrowed off him. It's not quite natural, the movement, the balance. You can see in the way her fingers strain that the gun isn't her preferred weapon. But the effect is still elegant, nonetheless. Exeter's long smooth shape resting on her shoulder mirrors the column of her long, smooth neck. And those long, slim legs--
"Quit looking so incredulous, Kinneas." She flips down the gun (more quickly than he'd have given her credit for), and aims at the distant target again. Her voice is her Instructor voice, but her smile is unexpectedly sweet, genuine. "Or do I need to repeat the demonstration?"
"No ma'am." Irvine's grinning now; he likes it when she sounds less the teacher and more the--well, more the a woman who's won a bet, because that's what she is. "Your point's quite made, Quisty, so tonight's drinks are on me."
"Drinks?"
"What, you'd rather dinner? When the lady proposes a bet, naturally I assume--"
"Who said anything about drinks?" Quistis' smile changes a little, and Irvine gets the distinct impression that the targets have shifted. They're not aiming for that remote paper figure anymore. Come to think of it, he's not even the one doing the aiming.
He can't find it in his heart to give a damn, either.