Work Text:
The training room was, as always, bathed in the gold of the sun that streamed through its high-set windows, gleaming off the arches that made up the walls and ceiling. It was round, empty benches curving around its circumference for spectators to the lessons that must have been held there. The usual metal flooring gave way to a mat that was soft enough to break a fall, but firm enough that one might have a few bruises by the end of a spar.
Ri’kara stood awkwardly in the training gear she was given, trying not to look at her two companions while she waited for them to finish, particularly the Tal’darim. She couldn’t trust herself not to let her eyes linger on the map of purple scarring that traced the sharp lines of his body, or the way his muscles moved as he fought his opponent.
There was no way she could join in like this.
A horrible pit of snakes sat in her chest, and as the Hierarch walked up to the benches, she couldn’t help but blurt out her anxieties.
“I don’t know if this is a good idea—”
“Nonsense.” Despite his shoulders heaving from needing to take in more air, he gave her an encouraging smile, joyful blue eyes upturned as he unwrapped the bandages from his large, calloused hands. He and Alarak had been sparring for a while; a little blood seeped into the fabric that had been wrapped around his palms where blisters had formed and then popped.
She sighed a little, rubbing the back of her neck before wrapping up her own hands. “When I said I wanted to learn a little, I wasn’t expecting… I could have asked Verinis—”
“You are here now.” He shrugged, shooting a brotherly, almost affectionate look at the male across from them. “And it would do good for Alarak to put at least something he has learned to use.”
Immediately, Alarak rolled his eyes, though she caught him giving the Hierarch that same affectionate look for just a brief moment. “Will there ever be a time that you let those ridiculous dance lessons go?”
“When you finally decide to show me you learned something from them.”
“Tch. I would rather you puppet my corpse.”
He laughed softly, picking up the bundle that had been his casual robes. “Alright, alright, perhaps I will convince you next time you decide to pull me in here.”
“You’re not staying?” Ri’kara blinked.
“No, I have to be elsewhere; have fun you two.” Bowing slightly and smiling to them both, he stepped into the small room that they had changed their clothing in, leaving the little Tal’darim to feel oddly exposed. He left so abruptly…
“You act as though I will kill you as soon as we’re alone.” Alarak rolled his eyes, stretching a little before getting back into position on the mat. He was still panting slightly, fidgeting with the wooden staff and watching her expectantly. “Come; I would prefer not to be kept waiting.”
For a moment, she looked him over again before sighing and taking a staff of her own. “That isn’t what I meant. I’m just… Are you sure this is a good idea?”
He shrugged. “Artanis has already answered that.”
“… What about you, though?”
“I see no harm.”
Obviously he wasn’t feeling the strange tension that she was. That realisation mildly disappointed her, made her acutely aware of how foolish she was acting about the whole thing. If he wasn’t looking at her and feeling this new, suffocating emotion in his abdomen then he clearly didn’t look at her the way that she wanted him too.
Not that she should want him too.
“I don’t know, Ilira always refused as though I could barely put one foot in front of the other.” She stepped properly onto the mat, positioning herself opposite him as she had seen the Hierarch do while watching.
“You were trained as a youngling, yes?”
“Yes, of course; we all were, right? But… as soon as it was clear I wasn’t going to grow any more, I became a punching bag. You know how it is; any disciplined sparring goes out the window when the others are made to turn on you. Well, actually, you probably don’t.” She awkwardly passed the wood between her hands, sighing.
“I do so happen to know what that is like.”
Oh?
She looked him up and down, trying to imagine him small, weak, backed into a corner and forced to fight like an animal before shaking her head, letting out a laugh. “I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, I doubt you would go easy on me to warm me back into the proper technique.”
“Of course not; an attacker would not give you such a luxury.”
“I know.”
Alarak sighed, rolling his eyes a little. There was a brief pause. She watched the dust motes drift by in the shafts of sunlight as she wondered what exactly was going through his mind. Then, he stepped forward.
“Fine. I will at least be so kind as to refresh your memory before we begin.”
After his initial instruction, they had begun their spar proper so that she could put what she remembered to use. He had, at first, decided against putting much force into his blows; she was soft, curved in a way that denoted her work as an aide, and so despite his wish to give her a real fight, he found himself holding back so that he did not strain her. That had been a mistake.
As they exchanged blows, she set her face into a hard, concentrated scowl, pushing back against him so hard that he actually had difficulty countering without putting proper effort into it. Caught off balance, he stumbled back, catching himself and steadying before laughing at her surprised expression.
“Perhaps I was a little too lenient.”
Ri’kara clutched her staff close to herself, eyes wide as though she had knocked something from a table and broken it. “I guess so, um… Well, I’m not made of glass; I just needed a reminder, that’s all. I should be fine.”
“Alright.” He gestured to her, expecting her to be ready before he swung forward, once again beginning to trade blows with much more force than before. Or at least, he attempted it.
She was also fast, darting and ducking under his swings at an almost frustrating pace, often not bothering to counter if she could help it. It was irritating how easily she was able to slip in and out of his line of sight, behaviour that she no doubt learned on Slayn to keep herself safe from her overseers; helpful, he supposed, but not when she was supposed to be learning.
“Must I remind you that you are supposed to fight back, Ri’kara?” He growled a little, crouching down slightly to try and get a proper hit in. “At least try to take advantage of an opening, or I will not bother to continue to teach you.”
Dodging again, she shrugged and blocked another jab. “It’s a habit, and I’m… I’m just a bit worried I’ll hurt you.”
“As though that is a concern.” He rolled his eyes. “Break this little habit of yours; I am not ‘made of glass’ either.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll try.”
Her next swing caught his leg, though it were no more than the brush of a feather, and he scoffed, deliberately tripping her up in retaliation as she tried to dodge away again. She yelped, landing flat on her back and dropping her weapon, making it all too easy for him to lightly press his organic foot against her abdomen so he could keep her pinned.
Leaning forward, he caught her eyes, ignoring her indignant expression. “Harder, Ri’kara. I expect you to mean it; we are in a spar, are we not?”
“You haven’t tried to hit me properly either.” She shot back, struggling under him, her crest tinging lilac. “Let me up.”
Alarak scowled slightly. She was right, of course; despite her insistence that she could take it, he had still been more careful than even he would usually think was necessary. Some of that new emotion, the one that had reared its head a few times when looking at her, had lamented the idea of bruising her pretty skin.
“Fine.” He got off her, holding out a hand as Artanis had taught him to pull her upright. “Again.”
Her next attacks were more promising, filled with the proper venom needed in a fight, though she muttered soft little apologies every time she managed to strike him. It came as a surprise to find that he thought it was more endearing than annoying; as much as she was learning, it was only a simulated fight. There was no possibility that she would do something so foolish were she actually in danger.
Suddenly, she ducked down again as he moved to strike another blow, kicking the lower knee joint of his prosthetic with enough force that he felt the whole thing buckle, and in the next moment he was on his back, his staff skittering across the floor and rolling under the benches nearby.
She didn’t even give him time to react. Her foot pinned one arm down as she straddled his chest, putting the whole of her weight into keeping him against the mat and restrained. She pressed her staff hard enough against his neck with both rough hands that it became uncomfortable, even painful, and he raised his chin slightly to try and ease the pressure, looking at her determined frown out of the corner of his eye as they both caught their breath. Blood slowly slid down his forearm where her claws dug in, but he barely noticed, suddenly frozen.
He should have been able to move; she had left his empty hand free to grab her leg and slam her against the mat with no trouble, but there was something in her eyes, something in the way that her usually soft arms were etched with defined muscle as they flexed that stopped him in his tracks, put a pit of some of that new emotion in his abdomen. Unexpectedly, he felt his crest flush just enough that she noticed, her head tilting, that expression dropping into her own soft curiosity again.
“What?”
That one word seemed to pull him out of his own mind, at least. Willing his free arm to move, he grabbed her by the crook of her first knee and threw her down beside him, immediately getting above her and pinning both hands either side of her head. To restrict her movement further, he pressed his good knee against her thigh, keeping at least one leg down.
“Mm, sloppy, Ri’kara. If it were anyone but me, you would be dead.”
He hadn’t meant for his voice to be so low, so quiet. Her face set alight almost immediately with a deep purple blush, and she turned her head to the side, refusing to look him in the eyes. “Yes, well, this is my first time. I’m not going to be perfect.” Then, she struggled a little. “You won. Are you going to let me go?”
He rolled his eyes, though he was grateful for the distraction; the position he had her in wasn’t helping matters as he resisted the urge to put his face closer. “You cannot just allow me victory; I expected a little more fight from you.”
She scowled, though she looked more embarrassed than anything else, taking a moment to think before jerking forwards and headbutting him right between his eyes. Pain exploded across his face, immediately causing him to recoil and giving her enough of a window to lift her free leg up under him to kick him as hard as she could in the chest. The force of the kick was enough to lift him off her, and he couldn’t help but grunt as he hit the ground awkwardly and rolled once, ending up on his back again as his ribs ached from the blow and he blinked away the blur over his eyes.
For a moment, they both lay like that on the mat, letting silence wash over them. It almost drove him mad once the initial pain had subsided; she was thinking of something, positioned exactly as he had pinned her and staring up at the ceiling with that blush still lingering on her skin. He let himself run his eyes across her body bathed in the gold of the sun before the rational part of his mind forced him to tear his gaze away—
“Was that enough fight for you?”
Alarak blinked, mildly disoriented by the broken silence and her sharp tone, sitting up awkwardly as that ache spread across his body again; there was no doubt she had bruised him, and there was no doubt that for now they needed to stop.
“I suppose it will do for now. We are done here; I expect better next time.”
She stood carefully, brushing herself off and sighing a bit before holding out her hand. She still couldn’t look him in the eyes. “If there is a next time.”
“Oh?” He took her hand, allowing himself to be pulled up with that surprising strength of hers. Once again he noted the sudden definition of muscle in her arm as she did, and that same flicker in his abdomen.
“Ilira was probably right. I’m not made for this.”
“Tch. You are certainly stronger than I expected; in time, perhaps, when you have stopped being so concerned for my safety.”
“Do you not—” Ri’kara frowned, waving her hands at nothing in particular as she walked over to retrieve his staff, handing it back to him. “Don’t you feel how strange this was? The Hierarch leaves immediately after he decides to pit us against each other like he wanted us alone, and then when we happen to be alone you do… whatever that was. I should have hit you harder, frankly.”
What?
Her voice was sharper than usual, irritated but with an undercurrent of that embarrassment that clearly still plagued her. She took some of the spare bandage, extending her legs as she stood on her tiptoes and wrapped it around the punctures in his arm from her claws.
He realised then what she may have been thinking of while lay on the mat, while he had her pinned down in the way that he did; he had noted too how quickly Artanis had left, how suddenly embarrassed she had become. He frowned in turn, shaking his head and trying to push away the idea that they were both experiencing that something between the awkward banter and the slow slip into a proper fighting rhythm.
“He was required elsewhere; that is not something he can abandon in favour of babysitting us.”
“Babysitting you. I… Never mind. It’s me being paranoid as usual.”
“Ri’kara—”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Maybe there can be a next time if you’re fine with that. I wanted to learn after all, and you were… encouraging. In your own way.”
“It may come as a surprise to you, but I can be pleasant when I wish to be.” He began to unwrap the bandages around his hands, watching her move over to the benches as she did the same and sighed.
“I don’t know, I thought you’d think me too weak to even consider sparring with.”
For a moment, he saw the dead overseers littering the maze of tunnels in Slayn’s underground in his mind’s eye. “I have seen enough of what a phase-smith can do to know better.” Then, he sighed in turn, taking her staff and putting it away with his own; “As for whatever else you were so concerned about; your size makes it trivial for anyone to keep you down in such a manner. Of course I would trap you and then encourage you to find ways of escape.”
“… I wasn’t worried. It was just… Never mind.”
“Tch, you have me utterly convinced.”
Ri’kara rolled her eyes, walking into the little changing room to get back into her regular uniform. “Don’t press, it isn’t like you.” Just before she allowed the door to close, she gave him another look and winced; “Maybe I did hit you hard enough. I’ll see if we can get that looked at.”
Alarak frowned a little as the door closed and found the movement slightly more painful than the first time. He turned, catching his reflection in a mirrored surface close by and put a hand up to the clear purple bruise blooming across both eyes. Even brushing the bump between them with his fingertips was unpleasant.
“Artanis will certainly enjoy this.” He couldn’t even bring himself to be irritated about it.
---
