Practicing
"You...bloody whelp..."
It was a blur of twisting hips and heavy panting, fingers and hands moving at an ever-increasing pace, sweat-stained brows and narrowed eyes. Close enough to feel breath upon cheek and then pulling away, only to charge once more with even deeper ferocity.
Then, with a careless flick of the wrist, Will twisted his weapon.
Jack's sword flew into the air and down again, where it shattered a vase. Debris scattered across the parlour floor.
A glance at the mess, a raise of the eyebrow, and then, from Jack:
"Are you going to tell Elizabeth, or am I?"
--
Finis.