it's one moment -- a flicker-flash -- a star of a heartbeat that prisms and shatters, blue-blue-blue, light slung in a thousand directions before every ray spins together again. here you are with a torso caught between your knees in the dark, wrists and fists tumbled to either side of his head, ground grating white beneath knuckles and fingertips, a heaving breath that you grind down with a laugh still caught in your lungs and sweat a long gleam down your spine. he's still fighting it, fingers banded along your arm as his heels scrape leverage through the dust and his hips twist against you -- but he's laughing too, and the thrum goes singing to your bones with the adrenaline of a good fight.
one heartbeat. one second, one sliver of a night and its thousand-thousand refractions: the broad sling of his shoulders with his fists pulled up, his gaze flashing down as you snapped a kick at his kneecaps, drove in swinging. dust smearing down your spine as you rolled. circles after circle, pacing in silence. static twisting beneath your ribs, nameless and bright. a bigger opponent means you aim for the weak points: throat, stomach, knees. unless you can hold him down, you lose the second he touches you. but you know him -- know how he moves: in strides, not springs. careful before he's ever showy. salt on your tongue, the way it must taste on his. a new bruise clouding the thick of your right shoulder, pulse after bright pulse, dizzy-swarming-blue-green-blue before it clears. the faint half-smile he'd cracked, one moment -- the last -- before you lunged and toppled him.
he'd have gone easy on you if you gave him the chance. he always does, sure as newton's first law. the trick is not to let him.
but that was heartbeats back -- and your pulse is pounding still as you brace a hand above his head, pin the other arm with your knees rooted at either side. you won this, and he knows it: frame settling beneath your hand, his mouth a too-sharp set as your shadow sweeps over his darkening, starless eyes, as you bow your head -- thighs bracketing his ribs, breathing the faint rime of salt -- as you lean in to tell him --
"got you."
happy. that's what this is: your mouth's curl irresistible, electricity prickling up your spine in a dull scorched trail, the way it feels to twist instinct into practice and feel him thud and give way beneath you. here and now, newton's third law spinning light out of violence, surer than anything you've ever known: you're right where you're supposed to be. ]
w7d3, night
it's one moment -- a flicker-flash -- a star of a heartbeat that prisms and shatters, blue-blue-blue, light slung in a thousand directions before every ray spins together again. here you are with a torso caught between your knees in the dark, wrists and fists tumbled to either side of his head, ground grating white beneath knuckles and fingertips, a heaving breath that you grind down with a laugh still caught in your lungs and sweat a long gleam down your spine. he's still fighting it, fingers banded along your arm as his heels scrape leverage through the dust and his hips twist against you -- but he's laughing too, and the thrum goes singing to your bones with the adrenaline of a good fight.
one heartbeat. one second, one sliver of a night and its thousand-thousand refractions: the broad sling of his shoulders with his fists pulled up, his gaze flashing down as you snapped a kick at his kneecaps, drove in swinging. dust smearing down your spine as you rolled. circles after circle, pacing in silence. static twisting beneath your ribs, nameless and bright. a bigger opponent means you aim for the weak points: throat, stomach, knees. unless you can hold him down, you lose the second he touches you. but you know him -- know how he moves: in strides, not springs. careful before he's ever showy. salt on your tongue, the way it must taste on his. a new bruise clouding the thick of your right shoulder, pulse after bright pulse, dizzy-swarming-blue-green-blue before it clears. the faint half-smile he'd cracked, one moment -- the last -- before you lunged and toppled him.
he'd have gone easy on you if you gave him the chance. he always does, sure as newton's first law. the trick is not to let him.
but that was heartbeats back -- and your pulse is pounding still as you brace a hand above his head, pin the other arm with your knees rooted at either side. you won this, and he knows it: frame settling beneath your hand, his mouth a too-sharp set as your shadow sweeps over his darkening, starless eyes, as you bow your head -- thighs bracketing his ribs, breathing the faint rime of salt -- as you lean in to tell him --
"got you."
happy. that's what this is: your mouth's curl irresistible, electricity prickling up your spine in a dull scorched trail, the way it feels to twist instinct into practice and feel him thud and give way beneath you. here and now, newton's third law spinning light out of violence, surer than anything you've ever known: you're right where you're supposed to be. ]