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“Meds, hold on—”
“We have a few more minutes.”
“That doesn’t make this any better!”
Banhammer doesn’t know how he ended up pressed against a wired fence.
Medkit resolutely stares up at him, wandering hands gripping his hips in a hold far tighter than a demon like him should possess.
“You started this. Take care of me. A man like you should be more inclined to take responsibility for his actions, don’t you think?”
Banhammer splutters at the blatant unfairness of Medkit’s words, gripping at a hand that sidles over his rear and cups the back of his thigh. “I did? Me? I don’t think what I did warranted whatever demonic spawn ‘yer becoming!”
“You bit my lip.” Medkit says almost sullenly as if he is being wronged, his efforts to grope every part of Banhammer’s body only seeming to intensify. Maybe he’s a little slow when it comes to these things, but Banhammer can’t see how him biting Medkit’s lip after winning against the smaller demon in a Phight brought to fruition whatever this situation is. They nipped each other all the time and definitely in less than socially acceptable ways. Getting worked up because of a simple bite on the lip on the other hand?
Banhammer can’t help the frown of utter perplexion on his face, exasperation tinging his words as he asks, “Okay, and?”
Wrong thing to say, apparently; Medkit’s face tightens, and there’s a flash of something… bothered – is bothered even the right word for this? – in his gaze. “There is no and. You bit my lip and now I wish to kiss you. Is that so wrong? Do you not want this?”
At this point, not even being spun around at light-speed could match the amount of whiplash Banhammer is getting from this conversation. “I never said I didn’t want this, but there’s, I dunno, about eight other demons right outside this alley, and I’m thinking the chances of us getting caught is pretty damn high. Can’t you keep it in your pants until we finish up?”
“You’ll run away like last time if we stop.”
The sheer audacity—
“I don’t run away. That was the one time okay, stop bringing it up! It’s just—” Banhammer groans, glancing nervously at the thin alleyway entrance. Usually, he really didn’t mind doing… this in inconspicuous corners, but last time he checked, he saw Scythe prancing around the lobby as free as a bird, still not behind some damn bars. He doesn’t need her seeing something like him kissing a wanted criminal. Actually, he’d rather trip and fall into a lava pit in his own prison than have her see him all buddy-buddy with another demon. But of course, Medkit decides that now is the perfect time to smooch in what is practically broad daylight, and he’s so… so insistent!?
It’s after a few more stubborn, petty, and entirely unnecessary back and forths that Banhammer gains a strike of pre-game clarity, and clicks his mouth shut from what would’ve been an insult regarding Medkit’s living circumstances, exasperated at the sheer determination in Medkit’s eye as he looks down at the smaller demon. They’re both stubborn. Stupidly stubborn. But the better, smarter, more educated person always knows how to compromise, don’t they? Well— “Do you seriously need a kiss right now? Like, right, right now?”
Medkit glowers up at him, pressing their warm bodies closer together as if they aren’t already squished into each other. “Preferably, yes. Bend down for me?”
Banhammer scrunches up his face, seriously rethinking his life choices. “You owe me so much after this.”
“Don’t I always?”
“I wonder why, huh? You ever get that door fixed?”
Medkit sighs through his nose, leveling Banhammer with a flat look as if a broken door doesn’t increase his chances of being robbed blind in the middle of a night and his living circumstances are perfectly acceptable. They were, in fact, not acceptable. “Your method of stalling is rather bland. Don’t you think that the longer we stay here, the higher the chance of someone finding us? The least of your worries should be the state of my door.”
Banhammer hates that he has a good point.
“…Darn, you’re right. Come here.” He mutters gruffly as he grabs the back of Medkit’s head to hold him still, bending at the waist. He pretends not to notice the visible excitement lighting up Medkit’s face, and when they’re close enough, Medkit closes the distance by raising up on his toes and brings their lips together for a clumsy, demanding kiss.
As always, Medkit kisses like he knows what he wants, taking everything he needs and leaving Banhammer with the bare minimum of pleasure. Reminds Banhammer of his sob story in a way, picking up everything he owned and tearing his way out the oppressive hands of BlackRock without a care for the people around him. It’s a shallow comparison – and he knows it too – but even that cannot explain the hint of… something in Medkit’s action. Anger? Frustration?
Banhammer makes a displeased noise in the back of his throat when sharp teeth dig into the tip of his tongue, not quite breaking skin but hurting like hell anyways, and because he’s a firm believer in everything coming right back around, Banhammer tugs Medkit’s ponytail and bites back on his bottom lip.
Medkit’s fingers dig into the crevices of his armor near his sides, and he somehow manages to both deepen and harshen the kiss. Mm, frustration sounds more like whatever this is.
It’s after around ten more seconds that Banhammer finds that he cannot enjoy kissing in a public alleyway. Kudos to those risky fellows, really, but the sounds of civilization and outdoors and whatever the hell is also here makes him jittery in a way that suggests he’d rather be found dead in a ditch than kissing the traitor of BlackRock in a musty alley.
The sound of Shuriken’s screeching and Slingshot’s laughter echoes awfully close, and Banhammer’s heart drops to his balls as he nearly chokes on air, jerking away from the kiss and glancing at the entrance. He tries not to acknowledge the disgruntled demon when Medkit opens and narrows his eyes at him, slowly backing off, but, evidently, that strategy fails when a firm hand grips the neckline of his armor and tugs them together, close enough for their heated breathing to mingle.
Medkit, with a quick, cautious glance towards the alleyway entrance, murmurs, “One more.”
One more? With all that racket going on?? The visceral urge to shove Medkit into the pile of crates behind him and stomp off is strong. His hands tighten their grip on Medkit’s shoulders the longer he contemplates the idea, but the good side of his conscious backhands the idea away before he can make up his mind.
So instead, Banhammer sighs hard through his nose and relents to the less violent, much more petty approach; he leans back down to peck Medkit on the corner of his mouth, pulling away just as the smaller demon moves to connect their lips.
The disbelieving, wide-eyed stare Medkit levels him drags a short, exasperated huff out of Banhammer’s mouth before he can stop it.
“Don’t give me that look. You got ‘yer damn kiss.”
“Banhammer, that wasn’t what I meant.”
“Sucks to suck! Try being, I dunno, a little more specific next time? Come on, sweetcakes, we got a minute before the next match is startin’. I gotta get my hammer.”
Medkit splutters at the nickname, mouth opening and closing, hands refusing to let go of Banhammer’s sides, before he settles on a strained, frustrated— “—There is more than enough time for a proper kiss.”
“Mhm, yeah, I’m sure there is. Now get your spindly little fingers off of me before someone sees us.” Banhammer mutters in return, going to pry the fingers off his sides and put some distance between them.
Apparently, that’s the wrong thing to do.
Banhammer barely has time to breathe when the world trips and stumbles on its axis; Medkit’s fingers dig into his thighs and strain to hold him off the ground, and Banhammer’s own fingers wrench into the wired fencing in an effort to avoid falling on his rear.
Banhammer blinks, wide-eyed, at Medkit; the other demon barely looks his way before his eye drops down.
“What the hell—"
Warm lips smash against his own in a eager, wanting kiss, and he groans in pained disdain when Medkit’s tongue forces itself into his mouth and their teeth clack together.
Medkit presses him further against the fence, frame trembling pathetically as he intertwines their tongues. There’s definitely something frustrated about him. His fingers dig too deeply into vulnerable crevices of Banhammer’s armor. The brief moment he does pull away for air, Banhammer barely gets in the standard inhale exhale before Medkit’s diving back in like a starved man, shoving his head against the wires and choking him on tongue.
What the hell is wrong with him?
Banhammer tries to diffuse the situation; he really does, but then the amount of air reaching his lungs falls under the threshold of reasonable, and his head does a thing where it goes fuzzy and quiet and stupidly content. Stupid to the degree that he forgets the entire reason why he didn’t want to be caught kissing a criminal in a alleyway, and content to the degree that he lets – damn it all – lets himself slip and presses back reluctantly into Medkit’s demanding kiss.
Banhammer’s arms strain to support himself, and there’s no doubt in his mind he’s going to fall; he knows damn well Medkit wouldn’t be able to hold the 300+ pounds of pure muscle on his body, and the possibility of a broken tailbone scares him enough to stay relatively still, but the amount of oxygen in his lungs is too little.
Slowly but surely, he slips further down into Medkit’s – rather pitiful – hold, his slick fingers slipping from the wires, and they share a mutual noise of surprise when they both thump onto the ground and break apart.
For a heavy moment, they render each other, chests heaving with the noise of their labored pants filling their ears. Then, Banhammer’s heavy eyes flicker downward, and he leans forward to teasingly nip at Medkit’s lower lip, glancing up to see his reaction.
Medkit stares down at him, gaze foreboding and contemplative and all the things that make heat curl pleasantly inside Banhammer. Okay, maybe he doesn’t mind the impromptu kissing session as much as he thought he did. It’s not like the others can’t work out a few missing Phighters, he convinces himself as he grabs the back of Medkit’s clean shaven nape and tugs the smaller demon close enough to drag his tongue over a hot, pointy ear and dig his fangs into the soft skin.
Medkit doesn’t flinch, but he does tense up considerably, and a self-satisfied grin spreads across Banhammer’s face when a calloused hand shoves against the center of his chest plate and Medkit dives down to capture his mouth once more, a frustrated noise rumbling out of the smaller demon’s throat.
Cute. Surprisingly easy as well, but Banhammer figures he isn’t one to talk.
Instead, he tugs Medkit onto his lap and welcomes the feeling of a hand wrapping over his throat with a pleased rumble.
“A little late, aren’t we?”
Banhammer pointedly avoids the rather bright, very knowing gaze boring into him as he watches the others trail into the lobby, leaning against a wall. Medkit sits on a curb a few feet away from him, looking far too relaxed cleaning his gun for a guy who had been shoving his tongue down the throat of Banland’s warden a few minutes ago. He could at least look a little suspicious.
“So, where were you guys? Busy running laps, I’m sure. I must say, the rounds went by much smoother without you tearing people up in the ring.” Vine Staff sighs out loud, plopping down into a deep squat beside Banhammer with comfortable ease, and she tucks a loose strand of pink hair behind a pointy ear as she glances up at Banhammer, “Well?”
Banhammer purses his lips and throws his gaze elsewhere, folding his arms in front of his chest. His neck aches from the reminder of how fingers squeezed around it earlier like there was an attempt on his life. “Misread the clock or something.”
“At your age? What, do you use military time at your prison or something?” Vine Staff grins at him, clearly not falling for his ruse, and Banhammer exhales harshly through his nose, resisting the urge to kick and watch her tumble onto her side like a tactless bastard. He may be rude, but he’s not violent. Violence is a stupid way to communicate displeasure anyway.
“Not going to answer?”
Banhammer resolutely remains quiet. He must seem suspicious as hell – usually he’s the one talking other people’s ears off because apparently his very presence makes entire groups go quiet – but he can’t get over the mental awkwardness of this exchange.
“Mm.” Vine Staff relents after a moment, propping her chin on her upright palm. “That’s fine; ignoring me is an option as well. You know, you’d think a warden and a wanted criminal wouldn’t work well outside a work of fiction. This reminds me of a story I read—”
“—A warden and a wanted criminal ‘ya say? Boy, does that sound like a fellow I know! Hey, Flowers, tell me more, would ‘ya?”
Banhammer’s never flinched so hard in his life, and he nearly whams his hammer into the side of Scythe’s head as she sidles up next to them with that devious sparkle in her visible eye, too interested in what should’ve been entirely confidential information. He’s never wanted to shove his boot into a girl’s mouth so badly before, frozen in place as he stares down ominously at an equally startled Vine Staff.
She meets his wide-eyed, trembling gaze, recognizes the thirty different curses upon her lineage being sent to the gods, and then glances at Scythe. “Ah, well— Joke! That was a joke! Gets him real ruffled, if you can’t tell!”
Scythe looks at the both of them, her lips curling into that infuriating, signature grin of hers as the acknowledgement of Vine Staff’s mishap remains unspoken but understood. “Well, ain’t that a funny joke? Remind me to use it sometime. Anyways, you guys check out that alley over there earlier? Heard there was something interesting happenin’ down there. Notice anything, Warden?”
She knows. She knows—
Banhammer drags a hand down his face, takes a few measured breaths, and slowly reminds himself that placing the muzzle of Scythe’s rifle to his forehead and pulling the trigger is not the reasonable way to go about ending his demise.