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Benvolio hated fighting Mercutio.
This wasn’t because Mercutio was inadequate or a bore by any stretch of the imagination - he was quite the opposite. He made a show of defeating Benvolio in the most glamorous, ostentatious way, performing the most superfluous gesticulations that did nothing to benefit him, but did everything to make him appear grandiloquent. There wasn’t an audience of any sort, the practice fights were a purely private affair, yet Mercutio insisted on romanticizing the whole ordeal, insisting that the aesthetic of it all was his top priority.
The two stood twenty paces apart, swords raised and pointed at each other. The smell of orange and tangerine floated lazily through the hazy summer air, thick in the beams on the sunset. Trees bristled overhead, providing shade and privacy from the rest of Verona.
Mercutio tilted his head to one side, his chest rising and falling rapidly from exhaustion as black waves of locks gently danced in the wind and God , Benvolio decides he can’t be thinking about this right now. If Mercutio won best of three, he’d never hear the end of it. This was their third round, and they were tied. Benvolio barely won their first duel, too, so he needed a facile victory.
Benvolio wrestled with these thoughts, urging himself to focus as he tried to avoid looking at Mercutio’s collar bone poking out from his open collar and the way his hair was carried in the soft summer breeze. He began counting down from ten, and he swore he saw Mercutio wink at him.
Mercutio took off running before the count was over, and before Benvolio could process what was happening, he barely had enough time to raise his sword in a mediocre block. Mercutio’s blade skidded off of Benvolio’s before he brought it back down again overhead.
“Goddamn cheater!” Benvolio barked, barely managing to stay on his feet as he dodged.
Mercutio raised his arms for a third time, leaving his ribs exposed and retorted, “You don’t win by playing by the rules,”
Benvolio immediately recognized the imprudency of the other’s decision. The Montague hit him with the flat end of his blade, causing Mercutio to stumble. In a completely unnecessary, showy display of prowess, he dives to the ground and rolls across it in a somersault before jumping to his feet once more. Was that really necessary? Benvolio would’ve rolled his eyes if Mercutio didn’t catch him completely off guard with a straight jab forward.
With Mercutio’s arms outstretched, Benvolio kicked his hands as he evaded the blow, causing the sword to drop to the ground. In a brief moment of stillness, Mercutio looked down at his cut hands, then to Benvolio as his face split into a disgustingly wide grin.
Mercutio, the madman he is, threw a series of punches in Benvolio’s direction. Completely disoriented, he barely managed to swerve to the left, the right, and then the left again until Mercutio wasn’t even facing him anymore. He almost cried in jubilation as he realized this was an opportune moment to chase victory.
Benvolio hit the back of Mercutio’s knees with the blunt end of his sword. He cried out, “Son of a bitch,” as he fell to his knees.
Benvolio would’ve laughed if he didn’t care about maintaining his composure so goddamn much. He walked to face Mercutio with straight shoulders and long strides, dripping with gravitas. He pointed his blade at Mercutio, tilting his head up by the chin.
The royal boy leered up at him, raising his hands in the air to signify defeat, an unhinged grin adorning his face. His eyes sparkled as he erupted into laughter, not once taking his eyes off Benvolio.
“Do you feel better about your ego now, Ben?” He simpered, eyes narrowing, “Is your temper tantrum over? Do you feel quantifiably better about yourself?”
Benvolio huffed at that, looking down at his comrade with the utmost contempt, “It was not a temper tantrum ” - He spit the words out like they were bitter - “I simply felt as though I should practice my skills as a swordsman before… before…”
His throat tightened as he recounted yesterday’s brief skirmish, how he was humiliated by a fucking Capulet in front of everyone in town. He averted his eyes.
“Before you lose again? Like yesterday?” Mercutio drawled, grasping the blade with his hands while his friend was distracted. He yanked it downwards, causing Benvolio to stumble forward. He placed a hand on Mercutio’s shoulder to steady himself, only realizing how close their faces were when the other grabbed his collar.
“Don’t take it personally. That kid is probably a loon. He acts as though he’s trying to get revenge on the world or something,” Mercutio affirmed, attempting to aid Benvolio’s hurt pride. After he looked sufficiently confident, he added on, “Doesn’t change the fact you still only won this time because I let you,”
Benvolio snorted at that, untangling himself from Mercutio’s clasp with ease. He sheathed his sword and then proceeded to smooth his shirt with his hands, unbridled pride in every flick of his wrist.
“Then why did you look so stupefied when I bested you?”
Mercutio looked him up and down, lips sealed in a tight line. He looked at a loss for words before he said, “Whoreson,”
With great self-regard, Benvolio retorted, “God, you’re insufferable. We both know I won fairly, even when you utilized unrighteous strategies,”
Mercutio merely rolled his eyes at that, and snidely remarked, “Pretentious prick,”
Benvolio offered him a hand, and he accepted, their palms slotting together so naturally. When Mercutio was on his feet, he didn’t move away, and neither did Benvolio. They stood there, more near than could be reasonably justified.
Benvolio would never admit it, but he missed the feeling, the inextricable ache in his chest that tells him he’s meant to be like this, close to the love of his life.
Mercutio looked at him with an indescribable expression, his eyes wide and vague. He twined his hands around the other’s belt, pulling their hips together. Benvolio put his hands over Mercutio’s, nervous and unsure..
“What are we doing?” Benvolio murmured absently, forehead against Mercutio’s.
He half-chuckled, half-sighed, “Shit if I know,”
Mercutio kissed him ardently like he had a million times before, and Benvolio was still caught off guard. It was pathetic, how easily he succumbs to Mercutio’s affections. Regardless, Benvolio found himself melting into his lover’s embrace, moving to pull him closer by the waist. Mercutio gladly obliged, the both of them growing more besotted with every millisecond that passed.
In a flash of motion, He drew Benvolio’s sword from his sheath, and pressed the cold metal against his flushed neck. Benvolio’s face shifted from looking disappointed, confused, angry, and then annoyed yet resigned in a matter of seconds.
Mercutio grinned at him, looking like a real bitch as he declared, “I win,”
“Absolutely not,”
As Benvolio reached for his sword, Mercutio wrenched his hand away, holding the sword above his head.
The Montague frowned, “Give me my sword,”
Mercutio grinned evilly, “My apologies, but I am afraid I cannot do that, Ben,”
“Oh, and why might that be?” He gibed, half-heartedly kicking Mercutio’s shin. The other boy easily leapt over Benvolio’s feet, the agile fool.
He made a tsk sound of disapproval, “Not until you raise your hypothetical white flag, so to speak,”
“Christ, just spit it out,” Benvolio huffed, bored of this bit already, “What are your demands?”
“Admit defeat,”
The Montague squacked with laughter, “You’re a bitch and a half for this,”
“Well, it’d be great if you could start right about now. My arm is growing more tiresome by the minute,” Mercutio bent his elbow a few times as though to show how heavy the sword was compared to his knobbly limbs, “I’ll wait,”
Benvolio rolled his eyes before dipping into an overdramatic bow, “Yes, fine, resolutely, undoubtedly. You, the great and superior Prince Mercutio Escalus win this one, single, menial duel,” He snatched the sword from Mercutio’s hand and sneered, “Is that what you wanted to hear, your highness ?”
“Yes, very much so,” Mercutio gestured to his shoes with his cerulean eyes, “But it would have been nice if you licked my boots while you said it,”
“Sod off,” Benvolio grumbled despite the smile dancing over his lips.
Mercutio laughed, and surprisingly, Benvolio found himself laughing along with him. After the two settled, they looked at each other, sharing a moment of eye contact, holding each other’s gaze not with disparagement, but tenderness.
Benvolio takes the swift second to admire the details of Mercutio’s face, golden in the last rays of sunlight. He looked as though he was gilded and glowing, a simultaneously magnificent and unpretentious.
I love him.
Without thinking, Benvolio took his collar and gently pushed him against the nearest tree, and Mercutio let him. After a quick glance to make sure there was an absence of any prying eyes, Benvolio kissed Mercutio, soft and nothing like before, their lips hardly touching. The prince exhaled softly at that, eyes fluttering closed as the other boy kissed him again, gently, mildly and above all warmly.
When Benvolio moved to touch his lover’s face, brushing a thumb over cheekbone, Mercutio let him. He nuzzled into the touch, bringing his hand to Benvolio’s, the cold metal of his house ring startling the other upon contact. They stayed like that, for a moment, in an embrace secluded from the rest of the world.
Benvolio moved to kiss the other boy again, but Mercutio placed his index finger and middle finger on his throat, and pushed him away.
He had an annoyingly impish look in his eye, his lips contorted into a sadistic half-smile as he said, “Ben, you’re so…” - Mercutio took a moment to look him up and down, his tone turning sultry as he completed the sentence - “... needy,”
At that, Benvolio shoved him at the shoulder as his face turned red. Mercutio laughed hysterically at his embarrassment, covering his mouth to avoid attracting attention while the other covered his own out of humiliation.
Benvolio walked rapidly apace, not bothering to stop for the other, not that he seemed to mind. Mercutio followed after him, still giggling all the way.
“Benvolio - Benny - Ben,” Mercutio grabbed his wrist, which Benvolio yanked from his grasp immediately, “You know I didn’t mean it,”
“I am going home, Mercutio,”
“Okay,” He said like it was obvious, “I’m coming with,”
Benvolio averted his eyes, hissing, “No, you’re not,”
“Why might that be, my darling?” Mercutio inquired, placing emphasis on the last two words.
“Because… because you’re a fool,” He retorted, feeling childish while not caring enough to fix his tone, “and I don’t like you,”
“You seemed to like me quite a minute ago,”
Benvolio threw an incandescent glare at Mercutio, who merely cackled
“Do I offend you?” The prince said in that tone, the one he used specifically when he wanted ot get under Benvolio’s skin and live there.
“I change my mind. I despise you, actually,”
Mercutio huffed, pushing thick, black curls out of his face as he did so. Benvolio tried his best
not to ogle.
“Ben, now you’re just being petulant,”
“I think I’ve earned the right, considering I’ve had to deal with you all day,”
“Are you still angry over the fact you technically lost?”
“Perhaps I would be if I actually lost,”
Mercutio continued to badger Benvolio, their voices bouncing off the tight brick walls of Verona as they bickered and bantered. This argument consumed the duration of the walk back to the Montague estate, which now loomed in front of the two boys. They stood before it in silence, shoulder to shoulder.
“I should-”
“You’re not actually cross with me, are you?” Mercutio interjected. His tone was startlingly light, nothing like his usual buffoonery or bastardry. He was rarely vulnerable like… this.
“Of course not,” He replied, trying to match the unexpected softness of the other’s timbre.
Mercutio looked over, a genuine, slightly crooked smile overtaking his face, “Excellent,”
Benvolio looked up at him and suppressed the urge to kiss him, despite every cell in his body screaming at him to do exactly that. He couldn’t - not here.
“I really should go in. They’re expecting me,”
“I know,”
There was a pause.
“We should do this again,”
Mercutio’s smug expression returned as he placed a hand on his hip, snickering, “Which part of this ?”
Benvolio bumped his shoulder to Mercutio’s, a playful gesture with little significance. It just felt natural.
God, I want to kiss him.
Benvolio reached for Mercutio’s hand, squeezing gently before releasing just as quickly as he took it. It was a small, seemingly innocuous gesture, but that was how they communicated these days.
The two shared one final glance, a second that lasted one hundred lifetimes, before Mercutio turned on his heel and left, either to go cause trouble in the streets or within the confines of his own home. The distinction didn’t really matter, as long as he was in the centre of pandemonium while Benvolio stayed away, silently worrying about Mercutio from afar (even if he’d never admit it).
They were going to see each other soon. They will do this again, and they will bicker, and they will fall deeper in love.