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Sword intends on keeping his word. The same way Avoma stuck through with his oath to kill him last time, the wounds of which still haunt him when he thinks about his death; he will destroy him. This time, he’ll wipe out his team one by one and actually kill him. No space for weakness. No time for failure.
The poor guy sounds so nervous this time around. Sword nothing but revels in the way Avoma shouts for the teammate he chases down, a tinge of panic to his words.
Penguin is stumbling, not so much swinging back as much as they’re rushing to the stairs. The satisfaction of meeting his favourite enemy here pushes Sword up the steps with ease, and a well-timed swing has the other crashing onto the second floor. He hardly gives them the time to scramble back onto their feet before he kicks them into the wall and throws a few webs at their feet to keep them stuck while they shout for help.
“I’m coming!” Avoma calls, anxiety painting his voice, and Sword’s delight only grows. “I’m right behind you!”
When a heavy weight barrels into him and shoves him away from Penguin, he knows exactly who it is. He swings his weapon over his head, scaring off Avoma who curses when the blade nicks his skin, and he flashes the man who’s—once again—his enemy a mocking grin.
And it’s the way Avoma grits his teeth even when a third teammate joins the mix that gives Sword an incredible boost to his ego, setting his body aflame with confidence. “I’ll take all three of you, let’s go!”
He picks War to chase after, trades hits, revelling in his panic when Sword doesn’t so much as flinch. The guy turns and runs, arm red with blood. He follows eagerly, and sets his teeth in a golden apple to heal the few hits that burn across his body, perfectly aware of how the others set after him.
War hops over a balcony. Sword sprints to jump too, just catching sight of the water used to soften the fall, and reaches for the cobwebs he’d collected to throw a few just below his feet. The table explodes in white, delicate but powerful strands shooting out to cling to the walls, to the chairs, to the ground and ceiling, to him as he lands in the bed of spider’s silk. He stumbles, the sting of the fall does travel through his knees to make his legs shake with the impact, but he’s eager to find his bucket and continue his chase. Already, he can’t see War, unknowing of where he’d ran off to.
A weight knocks him down onto the table into the webs. He yells, face full of silk, and rears back to shout at whoever landed right on top of him.
Avoma.
He scoffs, but the grin comes easily. Webs pull at his arms as he grabs his sword instead of a bucket of water. This is too perfect. He’s got him stuck with nowhere to go, and they both know it.
“Oh, you wanna join me in this web?” The panicked expression on the other’s face is worth it, even if he can’t swing his weapon properly from inside the webs. They’re too close together, too wrapped up in the webs that only get more sticky the more they struggle.
At his slight fumble, Avoma grits his teeth and throws a punch to his jaw. Sword can’t even reel back out of reach. Instead, he bites down the yell and shoves Avoma deeper into the heart of the webs before he can get out; he’s not done with him yet. He tears himself free, just a little, and steps into the other’s space to throw a fist square to his nose, proud of the yell it rips from him.
This has to be the dumbest fight he’s ever been a part of. The webs pull at his armour and every attack he does feels slow, feels clumsy, like someone else is pulling his punches for him.
It means the kick to Avoma’s stomach that’s meant to shove him out, only really gets him to fall onto his back in the middle of the bed of silk. Sword’s not prepared for the way Avoma hooks a leg around his boots and trips him up, and he falls, a “woah!” slipping from his lips as he tumbles to the ground after him.
He’s damn lucky there’s no sword waiting to pierce through his armour and chest. Instead, he meets Avoma’s wide eyes mere inches away from his own, a gauntlet sitting next to his head on the table to keep them from touching.
Oh.
He can’t even begin to decipher the look he wears beneath him, somewhere in between terror and something shocked. His eyes flick back and forth over Sword’s face, mouth fallen open because he can’t decide what to shout at him.
Refusing to admit how much effort it takes to tear his attention away from how the man below swallows heavily, he sets a knee down onto the wood and tries to get up, but it means he misses the way Avoma balls up his fist right before he hits him.
Gods, he’s already had enough of him. Even if it isn’t rage-fuelled this time, he’s damn annoying anyways.
And he’d retaliate, if he could. Instead, his gauntlet remains glued to the webs below them. Avoma laughs, letting his arms fall like he’s relaxing and enjoying the show. He’s insufferable.
“Come on then, Sword. Get up!” he says, giggling like it’s the funniest thing ever.
Sword just sneers at him. It would be so easy to strangle him. Why doesn’t he? Maybe it’s too easy. It wouldn’t be a worthy duel. So instead, he smacks him with his free hand and points a finger at him. “Shut the hell up, Avoma. Stop struggling or we’re gonna get even more stuck, okay?”
Like it proves his point, Avoma rolls his eyes and pulls his arm up … only to be yanked back. A “huh?” escapes him as his head snaps to stare at his arm and the silk that’s clinging onto the diamond armour. “Shit.”
“You’re such a fucking idiot.” Sword lets his head hang for a moment. “Okay. Okay … push me up and maybe I can get out.”
“How do you want me to do that, genius?” But he figures it out before Sword can snap anything else. He settles his one free hand on his shoulder and pushes him up. He definitely does try to pull a leg up to kick him off but it doesn’t work—he should probably be glad it doesn’t. “I don’t think it’s working.”
He sighs, loudly. Even when Avoma does push him away, he still can’t pull his gauntlet free, nor his knee now that he tries. “This is the worst. Why the hell would you jump in after me?” he snaps. The other has a hard time not being intimidated by him when he glares down at him.
Avoma tries to pull his gauntlet back. Instead, his hand sticks to his chestpiece. It has the … unfortunate side-effect of pulling him further down. Sword yelps as he’s forced to lean onto his forearm, head nearly knocking into Avoma’s.
“Whoops!”
Sword can feel the breath on his face. For some reason, he can’t move, Avoma’s minty breath making his heart stop. From this close by, he can see hints of green in his blue eyes. The observation makes him frown, and Avoma bites his lip. He glances down, eyes drawn to the movement, and his face is ablaze in seconds.
His chest feels tight with sudden nerves. He wouldn’t call it nerves if he actually decided to be honest with himself, but he can’t even come up with the words to call it anything else. It’s something that has his throat dry up and his hands clammy in his gauntlets, something that feels both like hell and like heaven.
Oh.
Oh.
Luckily, the other doesn’t comment. His own cheeks burn too and for once he doesn’t have some stupid thing to say. He still wants to punch Avoma for the way he licks his lips and looks down at Sword’s, amusement slowly blinking to life in those stormy ocean eyes. It’s a trap, a place to drown in if he’s not careful.
And he’s not. He’s not being careful at all. His fingers dig into the webs, digging grooves in the wood of the table below. Weren’t they fighting? What is wrong with him? With them both?
Avoma lifts his head, as far as he can manage, and uses the way he sticks to the chestplate to pull Sword further down until their lips meet. The moment is short, his mind screaming at him to move—back or closer?—and overwhelmed with how he tastes of golden apples.
He can’t stop himself from easing into the kiss. He wants to kill him for it.
Stuck, frozen, he stares at Avoma when he lets his head fall back again. The man doesn’t seem like he’s too sure whether or not it’s satisfaction or confusion that paints his features either. They’re both staring at each other—which is quickly turning into hard glares. Just one word, one word, and Sword breaks his nose … if he can get his hand free. But damn it, he’ll just pull his hand out of the gauntlet and possibly lose it if it means shutting him up for even a second.
“You look like you can’t decide between kissing me or killing me.” He lets out a breathless laugh and sneaks a look at Sword’s lips once again. It’s infuriating.
Slipping his hand free, he reaches into his inventory with the flick of his wrist and manages to reach his bucket. He knows Avoma won’t attack him now; it’s too easy to smack the brunt end of the bucket into his face to rip a yell from him before he flips the bucket and lets all the water flow out.
Avoma’s scream is muffled. The webs disintegrate as soon as the water touches the silk, and suddenly they’re both free. Sword stands up, stepping onto the other’s stomach for good measure. He grins when Avoma groans and clutches at his body before he gets up too, and he quickly has to wipe it away so he can actually face him again. He sweeps up the gauntlet from where it was swept away and pushes his hand back into it.
“Our bloody teammates could’ve walked in on us at any second, are you insane?” His fingers wrap around his weapon again, and he’s eager to swing. He would, if Avoma didn’t sheepishly scratch the back of his neck with a flush back on his cheeks.
Water drips down from his armour. He sounds breathless when he speaks up again. “Does that mean you wanted to kiss me again?” he asks, donning a look that’s both innocent and not.
He’s got to be joking.
Sword wants to kill him even more. It doesn’t explain why his guts are back to twisting into knots at the mere idea. He can almost see it too—stabbing a blade through the plates of Avoma’s armour and then smashing their lips together. It’s a thought that has his mouth falling open just enough to betray his shock and forces his gaze away.
“You’re insane,” is what he settles for once he finds his voice again. His comm vibrates with messages he doesn’t feel like looking at. He’s got better things to focus on, so why the hell can’t he get himself to attack or retreat?
“That makes two of us.” Avoma grins. Sword doesn’t miss the glimmer of the weapon he sneaks back into his hands. “But you’re right, can’t have our teams find out. I’m sure they’re right around the corner.”
And he’s right, because he can hear the shouts of people looking for a fight. War, probably, maybe Penguin. He can only hope his own team isn’t too far off. Doesn’t matter. He’ll fight them all if he has to. He’s most eager to raise his blade and have Avoma catch it with his own, the sound echoing through the manor walls before they scrape off each other with such violent intensity it almost sparks.
When he does attack, it’s not as pretty as he imagined it would be. Diamond boots thumping over the wooden floor to aid his enemy ruin the moment. Avoma does parry him, but it seems his own grin has frozen a little too. The rough edge comes back to his voice when he shouts for the others to help.
That’s his cue to go. He dodges a few axes and swords before booking it out the room. This battle is far from over, but for now he needs to get his head back in the game and recover before it costs him.
When his teammates catch him, when they ask him what happened, he can’t tell them much. He hardly recalls what he says to them. Something about webs, something about getting stuck, he doesn’t know. Unfairly, he’s too caught up in missing the feeling of Avoma beneath him both scared and excited, or the feeling of his hand on his shoulder pulling him in for a kiss he can’t say he regrets.
Instead of admitting he wants to go back and pull the stupid idiot into a closet so no one accidentally stumbles onto them kissing, he lets it fuel his bloodlust as soon as he catches sight of Airo. He has better things to worry about.
Later, when he’s alone, he can scream into his hands and wonder what the hell is wrong with him.