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Ballistic inhaled, slow and sharp, lungs burning pleasantly as the last of the squad he’d downed slumped into the grass. HA dozen bodies in seconds.
Textbook precision.
Tight control.
Perfection, old chap.
The kind of violence that left his blood singing, eager for more. He should be panting, exhausted after a fight, instead his chest rose and fell in an easy rythm, something he’d found almost comforting. Perhaps old Revanant wasn’t the only lunatic in these games.
Gunshots rang in the near distance, breaking him from his thoughts, and he rolled his shoulders, readying himself for more, bloodlust untamed. “Another squad nearby,” he muttered, already scanning, already hungry. He glanced down at his beautiful Lady Grey, features twisting. Lady Grey drenched in blood was both a beautiful, yet drastic sight. He’ll have to polish her when he arrives home. “Push forward.”
But Fuse didn’t move.
Because of course he didn’t.
Fitzroy stood a few paces in front of him, grinning as he watched August wipe someone’s blood off the standard stock after having decked someone flat to death when he ran out of bullets.
There was admiration there, the kind August steadfastly pretended he didn’t notice. The man’s heart was an open book and it never shut. It was dangerous, nearly unnerving to him.
Ignoring the look, Ballistic took two steps before realizing Fuse wasn’t moving. “Walter,” he snapped, patience thinning, “if you don’t intend to help, get out of my sightline.”
“Yeah, yeah, hold on.” Fuse crouched suddenly. “Oi! Look at this!”
August prepared to lecture him. About tempo, about discipline, about the fact that Fuse had nearly gotten him downed twice already-
Fuse stood up with something pinched between two fingers. A small, bright yellow wildflower, petals ragged from the wind. He beamed as though he’d discovered something astonishing.
“It looks just like you, mate.”
August blinked, the ringing in his ears going silent. “What did you just say.”
Before he could demand an explanation, Fuse stepped in, too close, always too bloody close, and tucked the damn thing behind August’s ear.
Ballistic froze.
Fuse’s calloused fingertips grazed the hinge of his jaw, warm from exertion. His voice dropped, amused and soft in a way that made August’s stomach twist. “Real pretty,” Fuse murmured. “Should leave it there. Suits you.”
The heat that shot up Ballistic’s spine was instant and humiliating.
Then it combusted.
“Are you-?!” August exploded, voice cracking. “Are you fucking serious? Now? In the middle of a match?”
Fuse’s grin only widened. “What? Thought you’d like a bit of color. Brightens you up.”
“I just killed a dozen amateurs in thirty seconds!”
“Aye, exactly! That’s why the flower’s funny,” Fuse said, hands up in mock surrender. “Soft little thing on a hard bastard like you. Contrast, y’know?”
Thar gentle tone in his voice had heat rushing towards his ears, and August immediately ripped the flower from behind his ear and crushed it in his fist.
Fuse winced. “Harsh on the flora, that.”
“You-” August stepped into him now, tension crackling in the air. He could feel Fuse’s breath, smell gunpowder and that stupid cheap cologne on him. “You insufferable, reckless, brainless pyromaniac.”
Fuse swallowed. Not fear, but anticipation. Ballistic hated him for it- or wanted him for it. He wasn’t prepared to examine the difference.
A new squad landed nearby.
August tore his eyes away first. “Focus up,” he barked, voice low and dangerous. “And if you put anything else on my person without permission, I will jam my CAR down your throat and pull the trigger.”
Fuse clapped him on the back, dumb grin wide. “Righto. But you looked gorgeous with the flower.”
August swallowed, tearing his gaze from that grin. “Shut up.”
“Absolutely ravishin’.”
“Walter.”
Fuse winked, loading a fresh mag. “Save the flirting for after we wipe this next squad, yeah?”
Ballistic’s pulse kicked.
He blamed the fight.
He blamed everything except the man.
Of course, when the match ended, and he arrived back home to his manor hours later and found another neatly tucked flower in his jacket, he kept it. He didn’t think too deeply over how Walter managed to sneak it into his jacket as he dry pressed the flower in his study.