Sometimes it was all you could do not to back him into a wall, sword at his throat, and demand sex right that very moment. He would no doubt love it if you did, but you haven't sunk that far. For now you can keep on playing the game. The game of pushing and pulling, back and forward, eyeing each other all the while. Who lost was the one caught off-guard, the one who was surprised or touched or happy. These were only a few of the dangerous things. When you did break it was a tie, although neither of you will admit that aloud for posterity's sake. When you did break, it was all the more glorious for the long game before.
His hand covers your entire chest, holding you up, holding you there, while he thrusts hard enough to move you forward a few centimetres at a time. You throw your head back onto his shoulder because it's not hard enough. You can taste blood on your lips, on his tongue, when you kiss. It tastes so good, so real: copper tang, salty rush. Not enough. Never enough. Your noises are a part of you like breathing, impossible to control without too much thought. He wrings them out of you easily, laughing softly like a predator in your ear. His teeth pierce skin where he bites, promising marks and scabs to match the ones on your bodies from the fight beforehand. This is as much a part of the fight as your fingernails digging into his arm or the unnecessary roughness of his palm against your foreskin.
Coming shakes you deep, shudders you like an convulsion, and makes him cry out for the first time yet. You're tight around him when he clenches your hips painfully hard, growling in his desperateness. You wish you could come again with him, but settle for holding yourself up despite the grey at the edges of your vision. He spits your name like a curse, a whine in the back of his throat as his everything floods your weary insides. Thrusting until nothing is left, he collapses as slowly as a rotten tree, taking you down with him. You do not object.
Your heads rest next to each other on the pillow. His breath whispers against your hair. His arm holds you in place, your back against his chest. You never thought you'd trust him to stand behind you, and you're not sure you do now either. But instead of worrying you go to sleep.