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Summary
it was meant to be a fight, a lesson in the valuable package of defeat. the movement of muscle beneath flesh, a clash of wills and sides — a scramble of limbs as each side wrestled for dominance and victory. both hands against his wrists, pressed down above his head. she’s sat down on his middle, straddled, using her weight to keep him firmly in place. chest heaving, hovering over, lips twitch in the sensation of victory, valiantly won. Yet as eyes meet, even with the lack of shine his oceanic hues seem to possess , there’s a spark of something that denotes that despite being the loser, he doesn’t feel that he’s lost.