Title: Untempered
Rating: R18
Description: Yata fights with Fushimi, but it doesn't end there.
Warning: This is not my usual type of fanfic. Set during/after the flashback fighting sequence in the first episode of ROK, so unhealthy relationship dynamics per canon, plus smut.
Crossposts: |
Thank you to for reading this over and being patient with me while I worked out the issues with it - you're the best!
The rush from the fight was pumping fast through all the veins in Yata's body even as his back hit the wall, and his reflexes were quick enough that he was dodging the knives almost before Saruhiko had released them, familiar with the quick motions that went along with the attacks. One of them managed to catch the bottom edge of his shirt sleeve, pinning him temporarily, and as his brain caught up to that bit of inconvenience, Saruhiko's sword was at his throat - followed closely by Saruhiko's hand bracing close to his head and then Saruhiko himself leaning in close.
Fucking traitor! Yata's brain spat at him, almost on reflex, but he wasn't quite feeling it. Saruhiko was smirking at him with almost manic excitement gleaming in his eyes, and the exhilaration that came from the battle - a battle with no particular reason, just the two of them throwing their full strength at each other without restraint - formed up wild and powerful in Yata's chest. He felt the responding grin spreading on his face and didn't bother to try to stop it, meeting the intensity in his former friend's eyes even as his heart thundered behind his ribs and a prickling sensation crept out fast across his skin.
He felt so alive - so strong; so free - somehow in that moment, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to burst into laughter or shout wordlessly at the top of his lungs.
"What now, Mi~sa~ki~?" Saruhiko demanded, drawing the words out with the usual gleeful malice - and almost before he'd finished speaking, Yata was spinning his weapon with his free hand, aiming for and hitting the hand holding that stupid blue sword and knocking it aside.
"Heh!" An experimental tug at the pinned arm didn't loosen anything, but he could deal with that later; he had enough freedom of movement as it was. "Does that answer your question, Saru?" As he spat the name out, he was already moving with a follow-up kick at Saruhiko's side.
Responding to the taunt had cost him, apparently; it gave Saruhiko enough time to catch both his bearings and then Yata's leg before it could make contact, sword dropping and body twisting to avoid the force of the blow. It brought him in closer, landing heavily against his pinned opponent, the arm braced at Yata's side bending and its elbow pressing hard against Yata's shoulder.
"Ch - ! Bastard!" The insult came out less sharp than Yata would've liked - his tone was rough, but it fell flat in both volume and intensity. He was in a much more awkward spot now, unable to easily recover mobility in either his arm or his leg, and with Saruhiko's weight adding much more pressure. He could activate his aura and burst free on that alone, but -
He didn't know what the 'but' was.
The harsh sound of their heavy, mingled breathing carried loudly in the sudden stillness.
Why's he not moving? Yata's heart was still racing with frantic adrenaline, mind still caught up in the thrill of the fight and the excitement exchanged every time their eyes had met. Like electricity snapping through his body - through theirbodies - as they moved together and passed that feeling back and forth, intensity increasing with each volley. Now, beneath the sweat and grime, he could easily catch Saruhiko's unique scent, and it hit him with sudden and painfully stark nostalgia, mingling in with everything else and rising at the back of his throat like it was aiming to choke him.
