And yet I somehow manage to get points in, every single time.
( not that this is what she meant, probably -- but he does, in fact, pull his punches to an even greater degree than warranted by the fact sparring's for "fun". he has, in fact, made sure it's been a while since they sparred. mostly because he's always assumed seeing his fist flying toward her face brought about entirely different associations than the ones she's hinting at now. also, because he hates seeing his fist fly at her face. sparring isn't exactly his idea of "fun". he'd be perfectly happy letting any martial skill he ever possessed wither and atrophy. unfortunately, it's all second nature, by now. possibly the truest nature he's ever possessed.
watching her get sweaty, on the other hand -- and maybe ending up wrestling on the mat a bit? doesn't sound half bad. )
What I'm hearing is that you get distracted by your "objective observation" of my good looks. I'll take that, too. It's been a long week. You want to really distract me from my misfortune?
[ She doesn't mind "losing" on occasion — not when it involves wrestling on the mat and him pinning her down. It's a nice view, even if that grin is as infuriating as it is exhilarating. That, at least, means they're sparring and not... whatever else it used to mean when he was throwing punches at her face, especially with that left arm. ]
Fine, I'll let you take that one today too.
Yeah? What do I gotta do now, send you a sexy pic?
[ ................. she probably shouldn't have given him the idea. ]
( she's stalling, she's kidding (hopefully), he's aware. but it gives him the perfect opportunity to remind himself of a few things. 1 - she'd be a damn fool to trust him. 2 - flirting is counterproductive to being a good person and redirecting her attentions. )
I'm going to give you some advice and I truly hope you'll take it to heart: Never, ever send a sexy pic to a guy you feel compelled to ask that question.
( unless she wants to add someone to his hit list and he's trying to Be Better. )
What I was about to suggest was totally different, anyway
[ The picture arrives right about the same time as his reply, so it can be assumed that she'd been stalling. It's not a great shot by any means; she still doesn't really like looking at photos of herself, so she's never mastered the art of taking selfies. At least it's not blurry? ]
Sorry, that's all I got.
[ Only for her to get frustrated by his message because... what, he'd just been messing around? He hadn't been flirting? And she fell for it again, got her hopes up for nothing? ]
See, this is why you get flashed in alleyways. Look, if you don't want it then just get rid of it. What do you really want?
why'd she have to stoke the cooling embers in his bombed-out shell of a chest? why'd she have to send him something so precious he'd never even consider deleting it? why'd she have to look so sad, so vulnerable, so impossibly lovely? so inviting he aches to touch her, and he can clearly imagine himself kneeling next to her bed and tucking her hair behind her ear, leaning in for the stupid fucking kiss he's been daydreaming about since he was a goddamned kid?
[ The five minutes feels so long and agonizing that she's started stress sketching on the margins of the book she's reading. Of course, the silence might not mean anything. He could just be on the move, doing whatever it is he's been doing these days. He's never shut her out, never left her behind, for no good reason. But it feels different, talking about... whatever this thing between them is. Or isn't. ]
Yeah. There's not much to do when you're old and retired. I have a book though.
( he shouldn't, but ... ) I'm thoroughly distracted, thank you. Can't stop looking at you. Now I'm wishing I was headed to your place instead of my shitty hotel room.
( that's all she gets, for about half an hour, while he winds his way through the city, trying to distract himself from thinking of how much he'd like to climb into that photo by taking in the sights and sounds. cars speed on an overpass above with a gunfire rapport; neon lights flash all around and he finds himself tensing for shrapnel and a shockwave. but he still keeps flicking back to that photo. it makes him feel way too warm, too stifled in his clothes -- or maybe just in his own skin. his damn nerves might as well be coming alive and wriggling. it's maddening, a little.
finally: ring, ring. he dials after he's changed into something more comfortable and set up shop on a pallet in the floor, surrounded by vending machine fodder. his greeting's accompanied by the rustle of a chips bag being open. )
[ The greeting catches her off-guard, makes her pause. First favorite girl, now gorgeous? Is he still playing along to whatever this is they've started tonight? Which, she supposes, is relatively harmless anyway because it's all just talk. He's too far away for either of them to really do anything that would... cross the invisible line that's long been drawn between them.
Maybe that's the point. ]
Hey, handsome. [ She sounds a little flustered, a little breathless. Then there's a rustle as she turns over on the bed. ] Still here, where you left me. Thinking. [ About things she shouldn't be. ]
No. I'm good. ( in answer to both, devoid of inflection. ) Just been doing a lot of reminiscing, and not the fun kind. I was here in the 80's. ( that's far more than he'd have said to anyone else in existence. feels like a terrible overshare. so, reminder: ) Wanna be distracted.
( silence, as he navigates back to that image in his texts, enlarges it. then a quiet laugh, more breath than voice. )
Your face. You look ... concerned. Or sad. You didn't think I'd your picture?
And, well, since the goal of the evening is distraction: ] I was trying to go for those puckered lip poses that women like using on dating apps. At least it's sad, not constipated. I haven't posed for a camera in decades.
[ Phew, good. Distraction is still a go. She's happy enough to oblige, especially in exchange for that information. ]
Well, it's about this girl who's small and sickly but she's been ordered to learn and undergo trials to become a dragon rider as there's a war brewing outside their kingdom. Dragons will incinerate the unworthy, though. There's a lot of romance and a lot of, uh, sex.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ty! imma hit other things tonight; work be giving me writer's block
It's been a while since we sparred, hasn't it?
don't worry about it, there's never any rush! and i know how that goes welp
Yeah, it's been a while. Why, need me to commend your form?
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Your technique could use some work though. You punch like a baby.
[ Can't inflate his ego too much, you know. ]
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( not that this is what she meant, probably -- but he does, in fact, pull his punches to an even greater degree than warranted by the fact sparring's for "fun". he has, in fact, made sure it's been a while since they sparred. mostly because he's always assumed seeing his fist flying toward her face brought about entirely different associations than the ones she's hinting at now. also, because he hates seeing his fist fly at her face. sparring isn't exactly his idea of "fun". he'd be perfectly happy letting any martial skill he ever possessed wither and atrophy. unfortunately, it's all second nature, by now. possibly the truest nature he's ever possessed.
watching her get sweaty, on the other hand -- and maybe ending up wrestling on the mat a bit? doesn't sound half bad. )
What I'm hearing is that you get distracted by your "objective observation" of my good looks. I'll take that, too. It's been a long week.
You want to really distract me from my misfortune?
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[ She doesn't mind "losing" on occasion — not when it involves wrestling on the mat and him pinning her down. It's a nice view, even if that grin is as infuriating as it is exhilarating. That, at least, means they're sparring and not... whatever else it used to mean when he was throwing punches at her face, especially with that left arm. ]
Fine, I'll let you take that one today too.
Yeah? What do I gotta do now, send you a sexy pic?
[ ................. she probably shouldn't have given him the idea. ]
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I'm going to give you some advice and I truly hope you'll take it to heart: Never, ever send a sexy pic to a guy you feel compelled to ask that question.
( unless she wants to add someone to his hit list and he's trying to Be Better. )
What I was about to suggest was totally different, anyway
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Sorry, that's all I got.
[ Only for her to get frustrated by his message because... what, he'd just been messing around? He hadn't been flirting? And she fell for it again, got her hopes up for nothing? ]
See, this is why you get flashed in alleyways. Look, if you don't want it then just get rid of it. What do you really want?
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why'd she have to go and do a thing like that?
why'd she have to stoke the cooling embers in his bombed-out shell of a chest? why'd she have to send him something so precious he'd never even consider deleting it? why'd she have to look so sad, so vulnerable, so impossibly lovely? so inviting he aches to touch her, and he can clearly imagine himself kneeling next to her bed and tucking her hair behind her ear, leaning in for the stupid fucking kiss he's been daydreaming about since he was a goddamned kid?
a full five minutes of staring later, )
I'm keeping it. You in bed already?
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Yeah. There's not much to do when you're old and retired. I have a book though.
Feel better now?
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( that's all she gets, for about half an hour, while he winds his way through the city, trying to distract himself from thinking of how much he'd like to climb into that photo by taking in the sights and sounds. cars speed on an overpass above with a gunfire rapport; neon lights flash all around and he finds himself tensing for shrapnel and a shockwave. but he still keeps flicking back to that photo. it makes him feel way too warm, too stifled in his clothes -- or maybe just in his own skin. his damn nerves might as well be coming alive and wriggling. it's maddening, a little.
finally: ring, ring. he dials after he's changed into something more comfortable and set up shop on a pallet in the floor, surrounded by vending machine fodder. his greeting's accompanied by the rustle of a chips bag being open. )
Hey gorgeous, how you doin'?
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Maybe that's the point. ]
Hey, handsome. [ She sounds a little flustered, a little breathless. Then there's a rustle as she turns over on the bed. ] Still here, where you left me. Thinking. [ About things she shouldn't be. ]
When are you coming back?
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She hesitates for a moment, but she has to ask: ] Wanna talk about it? You're not hurt, are you?
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( silence, as he navigates back to that image in his texts, enlarges it. then a quiet laugh, more breath than voice. )
Your face. You look ... concerned. Or sad. You didn't think I'd your picture?
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And, well, since the goal of the evening is distraction: ] I was trying to go for those puckered lip poses that women like using on dating apps. At least it's sad, not constipated. I haven't posed for a camera in decades.
[ Is her laugh convincing enough? ]
didn't think I'd like* I cannot lmao
( chuckling, chip eating, more chuckling. )
Talk to me about your weird modern book and I'll tell you what I'm thinking about, looking at you.
lmao our tags also feeling the monday spirit
[ Phew, good. Distraction is still a go. She's happy enough to oblige, especially in exchange for that information. ]
Well, it's about this girl who's small and sickly but she's been ordered to learn and undergo trials to become a dragon rider as there's a war brewing outside their kingdom. Dragons will incinerate the unworthy, though. There's a lot of romance and a lot of, uh, sex.
Yup
( wow, how unrealistic. )
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[ But, yes. Very unrealistic, very modern ideas. ]
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( not that his french girls minded. )
I didn't have to worry about being dragon-worthy, though.
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