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Wemmbu is so hot he feels like he might die. He wipes sweat from his face for the millionth time. Even the cool blanket of the night sky isn’t enough to dull the stifling summer heat. Tall torches line the edges of the stone platform, lighting up the arena and adding to the suffocating humidity. Beyond the light, fireflies bob around in the air, blinking intermittently. He and Flame are facing off within the boundaries, circling each other.
They eye each other, waiting to see who is going to strike first. Wemmbu’s impatience gets the better of him, and at a seemingly random time, he leaps across the space separating them and strikes out with Crucible in his hand. Flame raises Fragger to bat the sword away effortlessly as if he expected it, and retaliates easily. They dance around the arena trading blows until Flame disarms him with a series of quick moves, weaving around Wemmbu’s defenses as if he’s not even trying. Crucible slips out of Wemmbu’s hand and falls to the stone below.
Flame wins. Again.
Wemmbu lets out a loud, whiney groan as Flame leans down to retrieve his sword for him. “I just don’t get how you do it. You fight so fast, its like, impossible to even beat you.”
He plants his face in Flame’s shoulder and punches him in the stomach in frustration. Which does absolutely nothing because he has rock solid abs because he’s this perfect, flawless, amazing sword fighter with no faults or anything. Obviously.
Flame laughs at him and cups his hand around the back of Wemmbu’s, bringing his hand up and forcing him to wrap his fingers back around the hilt of Crucible. “Definitely not impossible bro. C’mon, let’s go again, and actually listen to me this time.”
“I do listen to you!”
“Obviously not, since you keep losing,” Flame smirks. They both move back to opposite ends of the platform.
Wemmbu scoffs. “Dude, you’re literally the best sword fighter on this server, of course I keep losing.”
Flame twirls Fragger around in a circle expertly and turns away for a moment, but says nothing in response; For a second, Wemmbu swears he can see a faint blush dusting his face, but decides it must be a trick of the torch light. The sword still glows brightly in his hand, just as luminescent as it had been when they’d fought for the last time. The radiance has taken on a warmer tone since that day, becoming softer and also more steady; It rarely flickers or dims anymore. Gambit is the same way.
Other weapons still refuse to adopt the same property for them, but lately, if Wemmbu squints at Crucible, he swears he can see a slight shimmer on the metal. He might be imagining things.
They face each other again as Flame starts to lecture him in the ways of sword combat.
“Your actual physical technique is honestly not bad,” Flame starts. “I mean obviously it can improve but. It’s your mentality that you need to work on. The way you think controls how you fight.”
Wemmbu frowns and waves his hand in an okay, continue motion.
“You fight like if you hit someone hard enough they will just die. That might work with a mace, but with a sword, you need to be more strategic about it. Especially against another highly skilled player such as myself. You can’t just brute-force it bro. You need to think things through.”
Flame pauses and shifts his stance to get ready to fight. “Let’s go again real quick.”
They circle each other again until Wemmbu’s eyes flick away from Flame to a motion in the distance and Flame uses the momentary distraction as an opening to strike. The short spar goes similarly to the previous attempt, with Flame battering him all over the arena. Wemmbu goes for what looks like an opening, but Flame easily whips Fragger up to counter him. He slides Fragger down to the length of Crucible harshly, putting pressure on the sword closer to the hilt and weakening Wemmbu’s hold on it, before unexpectedly bringing his free hand up to hit the inside of Wemmbu’s wrist, forcing him to lose control of Crucible and disarming him.
”There it is! When you’re fighting, you’re rushing because you only see the end goal. You want the enemy dead or disarmed quickly and you don’t think about the path you need to take to get there. Your vision is— it’s clouded. Stop focusing on just ending the fight quickly, and more on who you’re fighting and like, the actual fight itself. Keep your mind on what’s right in front of you instead of trying to fight ten steps ahead. When you’re macing in the air, you have time for that kind of planning ahead. In a sword fight, it’s always step one. You need to survive whatever step is happening in the moment.”
Wemmbu nods diligently even as he’s panting breathlessly, desperately trying to get enough oxygen into his lungs after the exertion of their clash. Sweat crawls down his back. He’s pretty sure Flame hasn’t even been slightly winded once this entire sparring session.
Flame paces slowly back and forth across the arena floor, and says, “When you’re facing a player you’re about to fight, tell me what you see. What do you notice first?”
"Uh, I see someone whose about to be dead, and then I kill them.”
Flame throws his hands up in exasperation. “Ugh, exactly! You need to see the enemy, actually look and examine them properly. Look for weaknesses—their tells—and form a strategy. You have the sight of an ordinary player, you don’t look at the fight like a fighter.”
He fidgets with Fragger in irritation while continuing to pace, twisting the sword and flipping it around in his grip like it’s an unconscious extension of his being. Wemmbu laughs and wonders if he ever does that with Gambit. It’s cute. When he voices this to Flame, his pacing immediately stops, freezing him mid-stride.
“Yes, bro. Exactly,” Flame grins. Wemmbu frowns in confusion.
Flame faces him and spreads his arms in an inviting gesture. “Analyze me. This is good practice bro. When you look at me before we’re about to fight, what do you see?”
Wemmbu rakes his eyes up Flame’s commanding form. A plain, black blindfold is folded over his eyes. He’s wearing loose, flowy clothing to allow himself free range of motion—good for sparring. His shirt is a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, leaving the arm holes dipping low to reveal the sides of his torso and the bulky, corded muscles of his bare arms. The pants he’s wearing are baggy and hang loosely off his hips; When he lifts the front of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face, Wemmbu gets a clear view of his abs and the edge of his boxers. Even just the bulk of his frame radiates strength, inherently masculine and hot. Wemmbu gazes down the length of his strong arms to where his big hands grip Fragger firmly, the sword literally radiating light with the strength of their love. He unconsciously licks his lips and—
“Dude, lock in,” Flame scolds. If he’s unsettled from being checked out, his mannerisms don’t show it. Even the sheer confidence displayed by Flame’s inability to be embarrassed has Wemmbu feeling flushed.
Wemmbu scoffs and shakes his head. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”
“Yes, I do actually. You were thinking some nasty stuff, huh?”
Wemmbu glances away guiltily. Flame continues, “I know because I look properly. It’s possible to read a person’s thoughts in their body language. You can learn to read your opponents’ minds as well, if you learn how to really look.” He pauses for a second, then adds, "Also, you should hide your tail when you fight, it's kind of a dead giveaway."
Wemmbu frowns again and grabs his tail to stop it swinging behind him. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to practice finding weaknesses or whatever when you literally have none bro.”
“Everyone has weaknesses, sweetheart,” Flame grins. “You just have to look closely.”
Wemmbu’s face heats up—from the effort of their sparring, he tells himself—and Flame smirks like his point has been proven.
Flame raises Fragger and shifts into a fighting stance, cueing Wemmbu to do the same. When they clash together this time, he tries to internalize Flame’s advice, channeling patience and a clear mind. He watches Flame’s movements more closely, trying to examine them for any opening or weaknesses and finding none. Every open door is slammed in his face, barred by Fragger’s keen edge.
Wemmbu pushes off of Flame and disengages, forcing the duo to circle around each other again, waiting for someone to strike first. He opens his mind, and tries to see his opponent clearly. Flame is bulkier and stronger, yes, but it also makes him slower. Wemmbu had already known this, hence his efforts to strike quickly, causing his attacks to be rushed and easily countered.
Flame’s gait is even and relaxed, striding with the smooth, strong confidence of a big cat; The tiger-like stripes covering his arms—formed by the stark white contrast of healed scars against his skin—reinforces the mental image. It’s less like he has to tell his body where to go and more like it just knows, slicing through the air cleanly with every movement. It’s also insanely reactive, Wemmbu realizes as his own boot strikes a loose stone on the ground noisily and Flame twitches violently. When it comes to fighting, Flame is scarily observant, aware to a degree that borders on telepathic, perhaps in a way Wemmbu can use to his advantage.
Remembering that all it took for Flame to attack last time was a millisecond-long break in his attention, Wemmbu uses this to goad him into striking first. He lets himself blink for half a second longer than normal, enough to seem like an opening but not enough to seem like obvious bait. It works. Flame lunges forward into his space, whipping Fragger through the air at lightning speed. Instead of countering properly with Crucible—like a swordsman would—Wemmbu lunges away, making full use of his speed advantage.
They go back-and-forth like this, with Wemmbu using Flame’s sharp, analytical fighting style to his advantage however he can. When their swords meet, they each push their full strength into the other, confident that the netherite will never dent or tarnish under the effort.
Their faces are inches apart. Fragger’s glow brightens happily with the close proximity to Wemmbu, blossoming with warm candlelight. Wemmbu gasps hotly and looks up at Flame through his eyelashes, letting his eyes flick down to his mouth. Flame laughs in his face, then slips one of his legs between Wemmbu’s thighs, twisting it around the back of his boot and yanking it forward, all while pressing forward with Fragger to knock Wemmbu flat on his back. He lands with a hard noise as the air is knocked out of his lungs.
Flame laughs and kicks Crucible away before kneeling down over him, hovering his smug face over Wemmbu’s defeated one. “Disarmed. You lose, again. That was good thinking there though. You’re getting creative with it, that tells me you’re actually thinking while you fight. It’s not perfect, but you’re getting there.”
Wemmbu huffs hot air in his face, then threads a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down to close the rest of the distance between them. Flame goes with the motion easily, planting his free hand on the stone next to Wemmbu’s head to keep himself from toppling over.
Flame’s skin is always so warm, and the press of his mouth is even hotter, and wet. Gravity pulls his weight deeper onto Wemmbu’s body. When he licks into Flame’s mouth, he sighs contentedly.
Wemmbu softly, discretely places a hand on Flame’s bare shoulder, feeling the muscles relax under his touch. Then he shoves hard, using the momentum of Flame’s own bodyweight to successfully flip them over. Wemmbu grins triumphantly down at him. Flame laughs and grabs Wemmbu’s arm to pull him back down, kissing him again. In Wemmbu’s eyes, this is a clear sign of forfeit. He smiles against Flame’s lips.
Flame breaks them apart, moving his head back in the short room he’s able; Their faces remain centimeters apart. “Well I sure hope you don’t do this with all of your opponents.”
“Nah,” Wemmbu laughs. “Only the really hot ones.”
They both dissolve into a fit of laughter.
Wemmbu reaches for Crucible where Flame kicked it barely out of his reach, ready to stash it away in his inventory, when he notices a tiny notch in the sword’s edge that definitely was not there before. It’s in the exact spot where he had defended against Fragger earlier. He and Flame make eye contact over the damaged edge of the sword and Flame grimaces guiltily, then raises an eyebrow and shrugs.
“I didn’t even know it was possible to damage netherite like that,” he defends.
“Me neither,” Wemmbu shrugs back, not particularly concerned; The notch is rather small, after all.
Wemmbu lets himself slide off of Flame’s lap until his back hits the stone and he and Flame are both looking up at the sky from their spots on the ground. The stone is a soothing, cool comfort against his overheated body. The torches begin to burn out around them, running out of fuel after being lit all night. Without their light, the cosmos becomes more clearly visible above them.
“Bro, when we die someday, do you think they’ll make us into like a really cool new constellation or nah,” Wemmbu asks. The battle at the sword and shield monument hadn’t been a terribly long time ago, and already there were stories of a pair of fighters with matching weapons of starlight spreading throughout the server.
Flame reaches out to link their pinkies together and hums in consideration. “Maybe. . .I mean, if we die some like, super epic and dramatic death, then yeah, for sure they will bro, for sure.”
Wemmbu laughs and nods his agreement. They begin to argue arbitrarily about whose stars would be brighter.
From the heavens above, the stars twinkle down at them lovingly, telling a secret, unspoken story of two warriors, full of strength, adversity, resilience, betrayal, redemption, forgiveness, and love.