Cssardonic prompted: Eric teaches Tris how to use a crossbow


Lethality

Going into the gymnasium, I feel butterflies kicking up a storm in my gut. It's the first time that I've been invited into this particular training room. Reserved solely for those in Leadership, it's in better shape than the general rooms that I've checked out to work out in with my squad. There's still the lingering smell of iron and disinfectant, but the floor and surfaces don't have old rust-colored stains. The people here follow through with the clean-up routines.

I've beaten Eric here and I'm thankful that no one is there to question why I am encroaching on this space. It gives me time to walk over to the empty target practice panels and clip in a new foam disk. The familiar routine soothes my nerves, but the feeling doesn't last long.

My… friend? Trainer? - Eric walks in with the crossbow on his shoulder and a smug grin on his face, though the grin doesn't appear until he's spotted me standing by the firing line. "Why am I not surprised that you're here early, Prior," he chuckles. "Or were you hoping to show up and then run before I got here?"

"You're just not used to anyone wanting to train with you," I shot in reply. "It's fine, we'll get you some friends eventually."

He sidles up right to where I am, dropping a bag of bolts on the table next to us. "I've got you now. Why do I need anyone else?"

The banter is familiar. He needles me. I jab him right back. It's all good fun.

Our bantering takes on a layer of heat when being purred at close range, so close that I can hear his teeth click when he clenches his jaw. The best way to be shown the subtle changes to my crossbow stance is to have his hips behind mine and arms reaching around my torso.

"You want to breathe normally. Tensing up will just make it hurt," he murmurs just before my bolt slams into the very edge of the target. The recoil hurts my shoulder, too, which only adds actual injury to the metaphorical one.

When I turn my head to tell him to back off, the words die in my throat. I have to look up with just my eyes because if I move my head another inch I'll be just that much closer to his… face. Eric raises his pierced eyebrow and leans to rest his arm on my shoulders instead of hovering under mine. "Do you want me to show you again?" he asks.

He's so smug about it, how I keep messing up and needing his touches to fix things. His hands guide my stance and his knee nudges my legs into the right position. There's a marked temperature difference from when I first entered the gym to the air around us now. There has to be.