TLV Inbox

[withintenfeet]

{ Artist Credit }

Text ✶ Audio ✶ Video ✶ Action

Comments

[withintenfeet]

Zerxus might not have fallen for that, if he wasn't still a bit dizzy. As it is, Jedao's blade catches him right across the chest. Leaping from the blade backs him right against another table, and he leans against it as he tries to catch his breath.

Equally pained and amused, "That - was not - the shield."

[deuceoftears]

"Zerxus, darling, I'm a fox," Jedao points out, pressing forward again, trying not to give him that chance, but his injured leg betrays him; he wobbles hard for a moment, leaves himself open as he regains his balance.

[withintenfeet]

"Oh, well, in that case - " He drops the shield entirely, and uses his hand to thrust away from the table back into Jedao's space. He hasn't lost the playful lilt to his movements, but he's faster and more vicious now.

Of course, trading defence for speed has its inevitable downside, especially when he hasn't bothered healing himself. Zerxus couldn't say how long they've been going when he starts to flag, but he's definitely too stubborn to stop at the first stagger.

[deuceoftears]

Jedao operates on speed, distraction, and a mean ruthless daring, rather than strength or power or any particular durability. Any time he doesn't dodge quite fast enough, or leaves himself open to press a sudden wild attack, he bleeds thick and black and strange, his body seemingly undifferentiated beneath the skin, even though he moves like he has muscles, tendons, bones.

He know Zerxus has already seen it, but it still makes him feel feral, exposed and on edge; it makes him want to howl and bite. He pushes through the pain, moves faster, scrambles and chases, overturns tables. He kicks golden goblets at Zerxus's head and dives in low to slice at his belly while he's still getting wine out of his eyes; he goes white and gasping when Zerxus bashes an his sword arm with the shield, tries switching it to his other hand on a whim, and is nearly as good, although he sways drunkenly once or twice, disoriented.

His eyes are sharp enough to cut, and Zerxus's growing unsteadiness might be a feint but it doesn't matter. By the third or fourth stagger, Jedao is coiled tight as a viper. He spies one of those teetering moments and lunges in, the shining white and red sword of light and time flickering into nothing as Jedao slams the empty hilt into Zerxus's chest, hard enough to bruise, closer than an embrace, and doesn't care anymore what it costs him.

"Got you," he whispers, panting, still so deep inside Zerxus's guard that Zerxus can feel the heat of his breath.

[withintenfeet]

The brutal exhilaration is taking its toll - he's relished every slam against opulent scenery that cracked it down the middle, every skillful strike that penetrated his guard - and he's not even slightly prepared. In a real fight instinct would thrust his blade through anyone who got this close, but it's one thing to know Jedao would survive that and another to really believe it in the moment.

The hit steals the last of his breath, and he's still blinking the greyness away when he realises what's happened. Both his sword and shield drop to the floor, and he shudders with the knowledge of how keenly vulnerable he is right now.

"Yeah," is all he can manage, low and rough.

[deuceoftears]

Jedao could core his heart out as nearly as a baker punching rolls out of a sheet of dough, with nothing but a flicker of will to reignite the sword. Instead, his chest roaring with adrenaline and his legs skaky as jello, Jedao rises up onto his tiptoes - groaning softly at the ache in his calves and core as he does it - and presses a soft kiss to Zerxus's mouth with the sword still firmly wedged between them.

[withintenfeet]

The noise he makes is soft and startled with a ragged edge of sheer yearning; this is so clearly a man who hasn't been kissed in years, outside of dreams and nightmares and lives he didn't truly live.

His heart pounds against the hilt, and his shirt is torn enough to see hints of the scars tangled thickly across it. A hand rises, hovers - he feels like he should pull away, he desperately doesn't want to, he's aching so beautifully - and ultimately, it falls again to rest, feather-light, at Jedao's hip.

[deuceoftears]

Jedao makes a soft noise too: warm, welcome, pleased. Jedao tilts his head, kisses a little more firmly, sweetly, deliberately. He reaches with his free hand and settles it on the back of Zerxus's neck, and after the second kiss drops the hilt and reattaches it, blindly, to his belt, so they can step in closer.