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“Are you actually stupid?”
Sword wants so badly to strangle Ronin. Standing precariously on the edge of a pitfall, he stares down, fingers digging into the wood fence so he can’t fall. He watches the bodies disappear into dust as the comm around his wrist notifies the world of two new deaths.
Ronin just laughs. He pours a bucket of water out into the trap and rides the wave down, not a glance thrown Sword’s way. It’s a pretty long way down, lit only by the torchlight through the exit of the trap, and the spikes glimmer and shine in the faint fire. Ronin is much too comfortable laughing his ass off at the enchanted items stuck on and between the dripstone.
He won’t stand for it. With only a bit of a running start, Sword jumps into the water to follow him down. “What did they have?” he asks, and can’t quite keep the curiosity from his voice—I mean, they had the fishing rod of Glaucus, they had to be at least a little bit rich, right?
Together, they pull themselves free from the water to weave between the spikes and start picking up the loot. It’s awkward, and Sword nearly loses an eye to bending over too quickly, but damn, it’s worth every bit of effort. They pick up bloodied armour, enchanted armour. Sword nothing but shoves Ronin aside to snatch up that godly fishing rod for himself and he admires it for a second in the dim light. Finally he has something to start gaining an upper hand.
“Lowkey, they were stacked!” he whispers in disbelief as he takes in all the loot. Shame Karl and Cookie had to die for this, but he’s more than happy to see just how many golden apples are in his inventory after this stunt.
Ronin sends him a look that Sword can see over the top of his comm. He starts laughing at him, crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I like how you changed immediately after starting to pick up their loot—”
And Sword stops him by pointing an angry finger at his chestplate hard enough to drive him back a little bit. “No! This was still the stupidest thing you could’ve just done! There is— that was so dumb.”
“No, how can it be stupid, bro?” He looks up at the top of the pit to see how far down it is. “We pulled the trap, we killed two people.” When he looks back down, his grin has settled into a smile that’s so proud of himself.
“Bro, we are three people.”
Ronin shrugs, way too damn nonchalant. “We can get teammates later on!”
Sword wants to just gape at him in disbelief, but his mouth runs before he can give Ronin the satisfaction of stunning him. “We could’ve just gotten two more!” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Oh my god.” And he’s had enough of him for today already. He shoves his way past him, not being gentle when he brushes his shoulder against Ronin’s, and heads for the thin exit where the light comes from.
“Nah, bro. I’m telling you: this is the play.” When Sword looks back, the other is admiring the trap again, the torchlight glistening in his eyes. “And we used the trap? We spent so much time building it, we had to use it!”
“Bro—” God, he wants to strangle him. Why is he teaming with this guy again? The annoyance is boiling in his stomach, much more than necessary. “You’re a fucking idiot.”
He gets a scoff for it. With that, he turns around, hopefully leaving Ronin behind in the pit. Hopefully, he’ll stick around down here to grab the rest of the loot. The irritation is flowing through his veins, his face set into a frown he can’t get rid of. How are they ever going to beat anyone like this? Ronin, Wemmbu and him aren’t enough, are they? The mere thought of meeting Avoma’s team has him clenching his fists as he storms towards the ladder.
But Ronin is quick, and a hand grabbing the rung above his head stops him from going up. Sword stares at it for a second before he’s glaring over his shoulder at the face that’s leaning awfully close.
“What?” he spits out. He refuses to turn, because that’s exactly what he knows Ronin wants from him, to trap him in place even more.
“You’re being really paranoid, Sword.”
He almost laughs. But it’s not funny, it’s not. He’s entirely right to be paranoid, with how much they’ve already been beaten and ridiculed. They have hardly made it halfway through the event and he’s already having to keep himself from tearing his own hair out with how stressed he is.
“I’m trying to keep our team alive, yeah? Only one of us seems to care about that.”
“No no no,” Ronin’s grin is evident in his voice. He only relaxes his grip to grab a rung lower, settling right next to Sword’s head. It’s not intimidating, not at all. “It’s not our team you’re overthinking. Tell me, who’s our main enemy?”
He turns before he realises. But Ronin’s pissing him off, probably on purpose. Sword glares at him accusingly. He opens his mouth to reply, and very nearly messes up. It’s so damn familiar to say everything is Avoma’s fault but this time it’s not, surprisingly. “Woocie and his team, obviously. What are you trying to say?”
Ronin leans forward until Sword backs away, head hitting the ladder. From here, he can see the fuzzy edges around him, the ones that the vanilla armour can’t seem to ban entirely. The missing texture of his body does make him a tad more intimidating, annoyingly.
“You hesitated. You were going to say something else.”
He very nearly cusses him out. “No I wasn’t,” is his weak defense. Without any reason, his face heats up. Pretending he doesn’t know what Ronin is talking about is backfiring instantly.
“You have a problem, man.” And Sword half expects him to step back at that, to level him with a look full of judgement as he lets him escape. He doesn’t. “You are so obsessed with Avoma, are you even aware of it yourself?”
“I’m not obsessed with him!” he shouts back, not bothering to lower his voice—if Wemmbu’s back he can enjoy their shouting match, he doesn’t care—but Ronin doesn’t back down at all. If anything, his grin only grows wider at his frustration. He’s laughing, and Sword squares his shoulders and clenches his fists to prepare to shove him off with force.
“No? Then why are you thinking about him constantly, Sword?”
“I’m literally not!”
“So you were thinking about Woocie when you wanted more teammates?”
“Yes! Fuck you!” Void below, he hates how Ronin is taller than him. He hates that his fangs and tail swishing in amusement are getting to him. “I have no reason to be thinking of Avoma. So obviously I don’t.” Wow, great save.
Ronin hums. “I think you might be the last person to realise this, Sword, but you absolutely have a crush on that guy. It’s kind of pathetic.”
His cheeks turn cherry red. “Hey, woah!” He struggles for an answer but nothing good comes to mind. “What is wrong with you, man?”
“You can’t even deny it. You are so in love with him and you just refuse to accept it, bro. It’s kind of pissing me off. It’s making you annoying—more annoying than usual. Just accept it and do something about it, bro!”
He’s delusional. Ronin has to be straight up delusional.
There’s no reality where he has a crush on Avoma of all people. Yeah, hell no. Sword would much rather see him dead and gone than imagine a reality where he’s … in love with him, or something. Still, his chest feels tight. He can’t be in love with Avoma, it feels almost illegal to even think about the possibility, like he wouldn’t be allowed to. They’re enemies, for goodness sake.
“Listen bro, I’m just trying to help. There is obviously some tension between you and Avoma—” Ronin’s voice slows down as he lays it out for him, as if Sword isn’t getting what he’s saying, “— and it’s obviously affecting your performance—” he doesn’t pause when Sword shouts at him for that one, “— so I’m here to help!”
He doesn’t like it one bit. Though he lets his arms fall to his side, knowing he’s not gonna get out of how Ronin has him trapped, he still glares up defiantly. “And how are you possibly going to help me, huh?”
And it’s the wrong thing to ask. Ronin’s lips split into a wide grin, sharp teeth showing. Sword can’t help but stare. The spaded tail in the corner of his vision curls in delight.
“Oh, I don’t know … I could arrange a meeting? Set up a little base that no one knows about, put up some candles, prepare dinner, make it romantic—”
“No!” he shouts before promptly shoving a hand over his mouth to shut himself up. His face is absolutely burning. God, no, he’s imagining it now; Avoma’s amused but intrigued look when they both stumble into that base, how he’d blush and scratch the back of his neck … Hell no, he’s never going to do that. “Nope, absolutely not happening! That’s a no, holy shit.”
Why is he even entertaining Ronin at this point? It shouldn’t be that hard to shove him off and climb up and out of this situation. And yet, his stomach coils with something he can’t name. Refuses to name, actually.
“I could help you out with your frustrations,” Ronin offers, licking his lips. “Bringing Avoma into this isn’t going to be a solution right now anyway.”
Sword prepares to shoot the idea down immediately, but any words of calling him a freak die on his tongue. Maybe he’s right—not that he’d ever tell him. He could do with a bit of cooling down. He swallows heavily, trying his damn hardest not to stare at his lips and asks him what he means like he doesn’t know very well what Ronin is offering him.
And instead of replying, Ronin does exactly what he’s been trying to get to this whole time. With no real rush, he moves forward to catch him in a kiss, one Sword is entirely prepared for.
He’s cold. That’s the first thought he has as Ronin slots his lips over Sword’s. It doesn’t help the blush that’s holding him hostage, it just makes it painfully obvious how much he’s been lacking any physical contact. He raises his hands, tentatively, and settles them on the shoulders of his teammate, diamond gauntlets on diamond pauldrons. A part of him is frustrated that his hands grab onto armour and not the actual cold skin of Ronin himself, but it’s easy to grab and cling onto when he’s rewarded for his efforts with more of the ladder pressing into his back and Ronin himself pushing up against him.
At first, Ronin seems to be satisfying some need he’s never uttered out loud—everything he accused Sword of before. The slide of their lips is rough, steals their breath away, feels like they’re chasing some high as teeth catch skin, a huff is stolen from his lungs, a groan falling from his tongue as he grips Ronin’s shoulders tighter until he’s better off wrapping his arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer, to anchor himself in place. He can’t think. Avoma’s still there, distantly, an afterthought as Ronin takes what he wants, claws sliding down to settle on his hips.
When they part, it’s not for long. They don’t stray far. Sword gasps for air, shoulders rising and falling, nose pressed against Ronin’s icy skin.
“When was the last time you kissed someone, man?”
Sword can feel the grin against his own lips and any retaliation is thrown right out the window along with his dignity. He whines, dragging Ronin closer again for a quick kiss that does nothing for him except want more of him, now.
“Is this helping?” Ronin asks. He knows exactly what he’s doing, pressing another chaste kiss to the corner of Sword’s lips. “Am I helping?”
He’s nodding feverishly before he knows it. His throat feels tight; this isn’t Avoma, but that’s the least of his worries now. The nerves in his stomach that he’s come to associate with dread now just urge him on to drag Ronin down to his level to kiss him again, butterflies that jitter around and make his head buzz when the tips of claws slip past armour into the clothes he wears underneath, far enough to sting and drive him a little more insane.
He feels torn open and vulnerable. When they slow down to something more relaxed, Sword shivers under his touch. It’s not fair how Ronin is able to break him apart like this. He’s laid bare, his wants and feelings on display for his teammate who’s reading his damn mind.
There is a fear there. A hesitancy, as Sword finally dares to slip fingers underneath Ronin’s helmet into his hair. Fuck. Now he understands how this is meant to help. This is all too new to him.
But the tightness between them pulls at something in the back of his mind. Their diamond armour is a barrier between them, the other’s weight pressing against him in a way that’s both restricting and comforting, his presence unwavering. It’s unfair because he knows it’ll leave in a moment. He really, really doesn’t want it to.
Sword isn’t sure how long they stay there, sharing body warmth until Ronin’s warm and he’s cold, the blushes replaced with a soft mutual respect. It doesn’t mean he’s used to Ronin’s lips at all—he’s still driven to the edge of insanity with the slightest twist upwards of a grin while they kiss—but he’s given and he gives and it’s a comfortable trade.
“Reece.”
He opens his eyes, frown catching his face. He’s so close, unable to look away from the half-lidden pools of magenta that are his eyes. They’re endless, deep and unrelenting, pulling him in to drown, an abyss with no starting point and no end. But he still knows when they look away from his lips to meet his own, feels it in his soul more than anything.
“Did you imagine him? Instead of me?”
He swallows down the lump in his throat—there’s something so raw and vulnerable in how Ronin suddenly can’t say his name. But no. No, he didn’t think of Avoma much at all.
“No,” he says honestly. His voice sounds rough to his own ears. With slight regret, he lets his hands slip back down to rest on Ronin’s shoulders. “I didn’t.”
A hum, and now Ronin really refuses to pull back. A single claw trails up his chestplate, over the skin of his neck, across his jaw until it rests on his cheek. It’s cold, but it’s fine. His thumb rests over Sword’s bottom lip between them.
“You were kind of supposed to do that, bro.” But his eyes shine, satisfaction in the knowledge that it had been him on Sword’s mind.
“I know.” Everything’s too soft. Feelings on Ronin’s tongue that Sword isn’t sure he can return. The temptation is too strong to kiss them off his lips, to taunt Ronin a little, as payback, but he can’t get himself to move and actually do so. “Maybe next time.”
The other laughs, and he can feel the breath on his face. Ronin wraps his tail around his leg, a nice pressure to ground him in place, so he doesn’t do anything he regrets. So he turns away, away from his lips before they can tempt him again, away from someone he didn’t mean to get so lost in.
Ronin slips away. He misses him already. The weight lifts, he’s free to step away from the ladder so it no longer digs into his back. Something heavy sits in the air between them before Ronin sucks in a deep breath.
“So, how would you rate my services? How good was I?” he asks, puffing out his chest and raising his chin with pride. All the regret that held him hostage for a split second seeps away as Sword scoffs at him. They can’t let hesitation and awkwardness get between them now, it would ruin everything they just built up.
He facepalms and shakes his head. “Are you really asking me to rate our kiss? Bro.” He laughs though, unable to help himself as he rolls his eyes. “I’m starting to think you just really wanted to kiss me.”
A chuckle. Sword is too busy turning around to grab the ladder to see the look on his face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He doesn’t dignify that with a response, and instead just makes his way up the ladder. Ronin follows closely behind. They should probably close up the trap, before an unsuspecting Wemmbu ends up impaled too.
“Are you finally gonna talk to Avoma now? I hope I convinced you a little.”
He has half the heart to step onto his hand and hear him yell, but refrains from it. Instead, he keeps going up, holding out a hand after he reaches the top and climbs out. Ronin takes it, holds his hand a little longer than necessary, then turns to the trap.
“Yeah—” Sword starts, but pauses. “No. I don’t know. I’ll see. Maybe.”
He watches the other grab sand and signs for the trap. The glance over his shoulder is full of sarcasm.
“Very convincing.”
He just rolls his eyes. “Fuck you too.”