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"Who taught you to how throw a punch?" Chandler asked, a look of almost exaggerated horror on his face as he took in Kent's sloppy stance and weak fists.
Kent bristled, "I grew up in the East End, I think I know how to throw a punch."
"Get beat up alot, did you?" Chandler needled.
"Once or twice," Kent admitted with a frown.
"And how much beating up did you do?" Chandler asked, quirking a smile as he began circling him.
Kent shifted, mouth thinning as he turned his head to glare at Chandler.
"First, we fix your stance," Chandler said, and- not waiting for an answer- moved out of Kent's line of sight completely. He stepped up behind him, pressing in close as he settled his hands on Kent's hips, fingers firm and tight in their grip.
"You want to be able to take a punch without going down under the first blow." Chandler murmured, the words brushing against the side of his neck. "Widen you feet."
Kent shifted his weight, obeying the command without hesitation; his back rubbing up against Chandler's chest with each movement.
They were naked from the waist up and Kent shivered, feeling the heat of Chandler's skin against his own. Chandler's hands lingered, fingers squeezing at Kent's hips a moment longer than necessary before he moved away, circling back around.
Kent shivered again, this time from the loss of contact. He dropped his gaze as Chandler stepped in front of him once more. A hand on his chin had him quickly tilting his head back up. He swallowed thickly.
"Always keep your eyes on your opponent," Chandler commanded, voice almost rough as they stared at one another. "You can flinch, you can blink, but you do not look away. You'll never see what's coming otherwise."
Kent nodded, fingers clenching sweaty fists at his sides.
Chandler dropped his hand, tilting his head slightly as he regarded Kent. "But keep your chin tucked in, or the right blow could knock you off you feet."
Kent huffed, taking the moment to slide his eyes away from the intensity of Chandler's gaze.
"Any more rules, Obi-Wan?" He asked, trying to shake the moment.
Chandler offered him a crooked smile, "Plenty. We still have to teach you how to throw a proper punch."
Kent narrowed his eyes, a smile playing about his own lips as he suddenly lashed out, his fist flying towards Chandler's head in a somewhat juvenile attempt to prove that he did, in fact, know how to throw a punch.
Chandler ducked to the side at the last moment, his own fist coming out to jab Kent lightly in the stomach before pulling immediately away only to jab straight back in with an undercut, again just touching at the point of contact- which was just beneath Kent's unprotected chin. Chandler swiped his leg out then, catching at Kent's and dropping him to the padded floor before he'd so much as recovered from launching his own failed attempt at a punch.
"That... was unexpected." Kent said, a little breathlessly from his position on the floor. He stared up at Chandler with a bit of a dazed expression.
Chandler laughed openly, grinning down at him even as he warned: "Next time I'm not pulling my punches."
Kent nodded, shaking his head even as he reached out and let Chandler help him up. His hands were warm, his grip strong and lingering, and Kent let himself grip back a little longer too.
"I knew you could box," he started, reluctantly letting go and resettling into his stance, "I just didn't know, you know?"
Chandler nodded. "This... it's perhaps the only time I don't mind being... dirty." He said the last word with a self-depreciating smile. "Blood and sweat, it means nothing to me with the adrenaline pumping."
"When you came back after boxing with Jimmy Kray," Kent stared, watching him carefully, "I think it's the happiest I've ever seen you."
Chandler shot him another half-smile. "Yes. It helped that, I think, I had something to fight for."
Kent was quick to agree. "We'd have been dead in the water without the DNA you got."
"Yes," Chandler said, "but that was just a product of the fight, not what I was fighting for."
There was something about the way Chandler was watching him now, about the way he held himself both loosely coiled and tense all at the same time.
"I don't understand." Kent frowned, arms dropping to his sides.
"He hurt you," Chandler said, as if it should have been obvious. "Out of everyone, he went after you the hardest. Hurt you the most. Made me hurt you."
Kent looked away, cheeks heating. "You had every right."
"Yes, I did." He agreed, stepping in a little closer, hand reaching out to touch at Kent's face. "But I could have gone about the whole thing in a completely different way. Maybe if I'd treated you better McCormack would have come to me instead of-"
"Woah. Hey. No." Kent flinched against Chandler's touch, startled by his words. Chandler hadn't taken his eyes off of him though. Kent swallowed heavily. "Look. This whole Kray investigation was against us from start to finish. You can't blame yourself for what happened."
"I have to take some of the blame."
"Some," Kent agreed, reaching up to grip at Chandler's hand, "if you must, but not all of it. And not for McCormack. We all made our own decisions. I could have come to you after the Incident Room was ransacked, but I didn't. McCormack could have come to you too. We made our own decisions."
Chandler watched him a long moment, gaze intense, before he nodded, pulling his hand away. Kent released his own hold, his fingers twitching at his side, his skin prickling at the loss.
"Lets see you try to throw that punch at me again," Chandler said, stepping back a pace and promptly dropping the subject, "and I'll tell you what was wrong with it."
Kent huffed a laugh, bouncing lightly on the spot, trying to shake off the moment. "I'm going to try and land it this time just for that comment."
"Good," Chandler agreed with a half-smile, "You had me worried your earlier attempt was you trying to land one."
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fin.
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