2goodarms | [Milliways]

[Milliways]

[From here.]

If he were back on the train, he'd go to his bunk, shove the curtain closed, and stay there for as long as possible until the swirl of emotions died down. After that first month, Curtis always figured it was better to isolate himself than risk lashing out at the rest of the tail.

Too bad he's not on the train anymore.

As Edgar heads back out to the stables -- giving Curtis space like most people did when he got angry, and fuck if that doesn't feel like winning his way through a tantrum, too, god -- and he and Dejah head up to the gym, Curtis gets to work wiggling open the jar of salve. He can't quite get the proper leverage with just one hand, even with the jar pressed between his stump and his side; gritting his teeth, he labors on with grim determination.

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Compared to a knife, or even an axe, a staff feels like a long-range weapon. It feels utterly natural to sink into her space, drawing on the confinement of the train as he keeps swinging, keeps dodging. The fight turns into snapshots of motion: a blur to be parried, an opening to be sought, Curtis meeting Dejah strike for strike.

Another few blows and she has him right where she wants him. A brush parry sheds the force of his blow and she's inside his reach. With one end still locked up in the block, she lets the staff slip through her fingers a foot, and plants it hard on the ground behind his right foot.

In a heartbeat, she's nose to nose with him. Her hand splays on his chest and she snaps her teeth in a gesture of play ferocity, before shoving him back. Hard.

There's getting knocked off-balance by a quick blow, and then there's getting knocked off-balance by a hard shove.

Curtis stumbles back, can't catch himself in time, and goes sprawling. He manages to curve his back and roll into the fall rather than thumping straight onto his ass -- which unintentionally turns into a backward somersault, Curtis on his hand and knees as the staff rolls a foot away.

...That was kind of hot.

He looks up, laughing, "Aw, come on!" before grabbing his staff and surging back to his feet.

She's grinning like a tiger, breathing hard, looking at him like he's the most delectable thing she's ever laid eyes on.

She barely lets him get his staff before she returns the flurry of strikes, alternating quadrants and angles of attacks, stepping into him, making him work for every inch of his staff.

No time to think, no time to plan, no time to do anything but respond.

At this speed, when everything blurs into action and reaction, his mind quiets a little. It stops protesting wait, and think, and lets him move without second-guessing. If only every fight could be that smooth. If only the stakes never got higher than a sparring match.

He slips on that thought, his next swing hitching.

Shut up and fucking enjoy it, he snaps at himself, and pushes forward.

He falters, and she takes the opening, locking him up staff to staff. She bends at the waist, spins her own body through a barrel roll that somehow ends up with his chest resting across her back. A moment later, his feet are over his head and he's flying through the air.

Yeah, there's no graceful way he can get out of that fall. Curtis hits with a loud oof, all the air whooshing from his lungs as he slams into the mat.

Ow. Give him a moment, Dejah.

Okay, give him more than a moment.

Dejah walks over and steps across his chest. She stands over him, one foot at each hip, peering down with her staff rolling idly through her fingertips.

She tilts her head, licks her lips, fixing her teeth in her lower lip for a moment.

"Never seen you on your back before," she teases.

Curtis manages a grin, breathing hard. "What, you gonna help me up or just keep enjoying the view?"

Eyes on Dejah, his hand starts to creep toward his staff.

She offers him her hand, without hesitation.

All the while fully expecting him to attack when he has her distracted.

Yeah, she's not wrong.

Curtis closes his fingers on the staff, swings his arm up, and gives her a solid whack to the side of her leg.

She sees it coming and moves into it, but not in time. Yeah, that's gonna leave a mark. It caught her right on the old scar, makes it flare so bright, it whites out her vision for a moment. Her knee buckles and she crumples, trying not to land with her elbow in his groin.

She rolls off him and has the presence of mind to trap his staff against the ground with one leg, a dry breathless laugh on her lips.

"Fuck."

Now she's the one who's going to need a moment.

"You good?"

He rolls onto his side, propping himself on his elbow.

"Yeah. Yeah, just..."

Before the sentence is out, she's in motion, rising and knocking him back. Her movements are sharp and quick, and in a heartbeat, she's straddling his hips. She rests her staff across his chest, trying to catch her breath.

"Just need a sec," she exhales, a wry grin on her lips. He's not going anywhere until she lets him up this time.

Curtis lets out another tiny oof! of surprise as she tosses him back. He doesn't try to fight her off; he could use a short break, too.

But, y'know, as long as they're gonna be here for a second...

He worms his arm free, grabs her arm, and pulls her down into a kiss.

Edited 2015-08-17 17:00 (UTC)

She's winded, her leg is sparking like a live wire, and she wasn't, she was not going to go there. Each and every one of these details evaporates as she meets his kiss and returns it with a breathless ferocity. She hums, exquisitely aware of his body beneath her, his touch against her lips. Her hand fists in the soft fabric of his undershirt.

She doesn't want to, but she keeps the staff between them. This is not the time nor the place to forget. After a long, intense moment, she pulls back, still breathing hard, but for an entirely different reason now. Her eyes remain closed and that same feral smile stalks her features.

"Playing with fire, are we?"

"Doesn't look like you mind too much," breathes Curtis. His hand traces up her arm in a slow, featherlight caress, then back down to her fingers; his own smile's taken on a faintly wicked edge.

Cradling her hand, he draws it close so he can kiss her palm.

She yields to his touch, and he can feel her hand tremble in his. The muscles in her jaw go slack, and then her expression crumples into a look of pure, overwhelming pleasure. She keeps her eyes closed, knowing that if she looks, she'll be lost.

"Please."

Whether that is please stop or please don't stop remains unclear.

He pauses, gauging her reaction -- fuck, he could watch her face do that all day -- but doesn't go any further once she speaks. Instead, Curtis twines his fingers with hers and rests their clasped hands on his chest. Both of them can feel his heart thudding, hard and fast.

They're not alone up here. She wants to go slow. That's enough reason to leave things as they are, for now.

Her own pulse is racing, every inch of her skin awake and alive now. He twines his fingers through hers and she sags a little. She opens her eyes and gives him a little smile of deep gratitude and profound affection.

She sits up a little, and with her other hand, she reaches up and brushes her fingertips over his lips, light as a butterfly's kiss. She swallows, and takes a deep breath, letting it go again.

"A few more rounds, then?"

His smile warms. "Sure."

Curtis squeezes her hand and slips his fingers free.

"At some point I gotta win a round, right?"

"At some point," she agrees, sitting back on her heels and rising, letting the staff float to one side. She stepped back, giving him room to stand.

"You're doing very well, if that's any consolation," she teases. Something about her entire demeanor is softer, now. The playful ferocity is still there, but it's tempered by something else.

He snorts a laugh. "Thanks."

Curtis heaves himself upright, grabbing his staff as he makes his way to standing.

Teasing, "Just wait 'til I've got two arms again."

There's a lightness about him. A shedding of armor, perhaps? Something that might be mistaken for real joy, if she squints and tilts her head.

Which she realizes she is, studying his face so intently.

"I honestly can't wait," she says, her voice sliding down somewhere she didn't intend it to.

Oh. That low note of promise hits right at the base of Curtis' spine; his heart speeds up again, and takes its sweet time sinking back down to normal.

He manages to cover -- kind of -- by giving the staff a few experimental swings, tucking it flush against his arm. "Ready?"

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