Yield
"The rules of fair play do not apply in love and war" - Euphues, John Lyly
***
They sparred most nights. It was the only thing they could do to sustain themselves, to curb the hunger that swirled around, sickening and powerful and addictive.
They had made a pact; it was for the best they vowed. They would not forsake their duty, not give into temptation and explore their burgeoning feelings, until he returned to care for their Queen. It would be wrong to leave her alone they had agreed. At the time it seemed reasonable; a few weeks at the most.
It had been months.
They were honourable, pigheaded, stubborn, and proud to a fault. Neither would acquiesce and crumble. Neither would redraw the line in the sand.
Damn their bargain.
***
The bout had been going on close to two hours with neither party showing signs of slowing. It had started, as usual, as training exercises and devolved once more into something resembling a no holds barred brawl. Truth be told, they were the only two swordsmen in Alexandria that even posed a challenge to the other. And they both knew it.
And neither would ever yield.
(Thrust)
She recovered from a stumble, swinging her head toward the ground and whipping unruly strands of hair away from her face. Any semblance of style was long ago marred by the rain of brutal blows. Her eye narrowed and she snorted and jerked, urging him to continue.
(Thrust, parry, parry, thrust, spin, thrust. One step forward, two back dancing to a beat only they could hear)
His brow furrowed as he charged toward her, sword outstretched towards her suddenly exposed neck. A guttural growl tore from his throat, the claim primitive and bestial.
(The arc of a bicep raced toward her with raw power; her gut twisted unnervingly)
A quick sidestep, fingers ripped from the pommel of a sword to jab into a nerve cluster exposed by rapid movement. She hissed in pleasure as his arm dropped momentarily deadened. Her teeth gleamed white in the fading light.
(She licked her lips, the faintest hint of her tongue sliding, slipping, tasting the blood he spilled from her. His blood… His…)
Pounding in his ears, thrumming in his veins, his blood felt hot and heavy. He grabbed towards her with his other hand and pinning her around the neck, hauling her into the air as easily as a rag doll. He smirked at the surprise gracing her face, catching her momentarily off guard until she remembered the sword still in her grasp. The blow was graceless; the flat of her blade against the side of his helm, but the muffled ringing in his ears made him lose grip and she slithered down him catlike.
(Close, too close. The smell of sweat, the heat of skin)
She lifted her broadsword again, still gasping for air. Angry purple marks were already blotching under the creamy skin around her neck and he was momentarily mesmerised.
(The swell of breast, the smooth expanse of unclaimed flesh)
Shrill giggling filled the air behind them breaking the silence. Their glances met momentarily and called a truce as they both turned to see who was privy to their duel.
"Oh," she snarled, lips curling back in disgust, "Your groupies".
Since his return to Alexandria, Steiner had become something of a minor celebrity. He was sought after by dozens of young ladies who had suddenly realised what a catch he would be and this infatuation had led to a fan club with herds of them trailing after his every move.
He shot a wan smile in the direction of the girls and was rewarded by a heavy blow to his chest. He felt a rib snap and splinter.
(Her jealousy coiled inside her, venomous, monstrous and dark. Mine… mine)
He turned back; she was feral as she slashed at him, the tip of her blade sliding at his armour. He parried and retaliated with all of his considerable strength. Something was gathering deep inside, the tendrils of power started to gather and coil around his fists, in his mind.
(Yield to me - damn you!)
She slid back onto her rump, rolled to one side, shot up and slashed at him again and again. Anger fuelling every blow, building until the fury was overwhelming.
(Why won't you yield, stubborn bastard!)
They traded blow after blow, each harder and more furious than the last. Blood streaked the floor scarlet and slick, and their boots struggled for purchase as they launched at each other.
The sky turned darker and the moon rose. There was the faint glow of stars, the pounding of blood, and that was all.
(Thrust, thrust, parry, thrust)
They both span away simultaneously, the scraping of swords piercing in the quiet night. He stumbled a few steps and reached down inside himself for whatever magicks he could gather.
(Panting, moaning, thrust, parry, thrust)
She threw her head back to the night sky and inhaled a breath as if it was the last she would ever take. The strength of the enchantment she was calling upon made her shudder from effort.
(Burning hot)
The combined impact of their unleashed power tossed them both to the ground, broken and exhausted. He had lost his sword after being flipped into the air and she clasped brokenly to Save the Queen, fingers mangled to a pulp by thunder.
They crawled toward each other and collapsed side by side.
(Groaning, she turned her head towards him. Moaning, keening. Obscene, obscene)
Her lips were next to his ear as she started to murmur sweet prayers of healing. The damp hair from her forehead brushed against his temple. He could smell her, sweat and blood and…
(Lust)
Broken bones knitted back together and wounds healed as the enchantment enveloped them both in a haze of cool cerulean. His eyes squeezed tightly closed, all he could feel was her pressed up against him.
He clenched newly healed fists tight against his thighs, and whispered his own prayer that Zidane returned soon - before one of them ended up dead.
~Fin~
Not mine - Squaresoft's! This is a new foray for me, please let me know what you think. Thanks, illyna. x