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Blades clang together, causing noise to race through the room. Sparks rain to the floor as two swords make contact. Exerted grunts, desperate inhales and sharp exhales are scarcely heard beneath the ringing of steel.
Then Piercer is thrown to the ground. The archer’s landing is not at all kind, and the hard and cold stone barely cushions his landing - invoking a painful hiss from him as he rolls onto his back. His darkage katana hits the floor beside him and, despite the way his body aches, he reaches for it without hesitation—
Only for a foot to casually kick the blade, sending it sliding across the arena floor and far out of reach. Piercer’s lips curl in disappointment, but then he feels as the other foot lands all its weight across his chest. Wincing, he looks upwards at his defeater.
Slicer settles his boot between Piercer’s ribs, and isn’t at all afraid to place most of his weight into it; too little and the archer may very well scurry away, as he has done before. Too much and it will start to hurt, something he also does not want - but their sessions have become rougher as of late.
They stare at each other a moment, breathing heavily as they try to will their pounding hearts into calming down. Their skin is slick with sweat, enough for many damp spots to soak through their shirts.
Slicer grins widely, and there is something to his eyes that makes Piercer shiver despite himself.
“I win,” the swordsman declares. “Again. Believe that makes it 7-1 in my favour. You really can’t keep up anymore, huh?”
Piercer gives a small laugh.”You’ve improved a lot,” he grants, and there is genuine pride to his tone. Slicer has come a long way, going from once being the archer’s objective inferior with the blade, to now defeating him nearly every time. He has truly mastered his weapon, and Piercer can only feel glad, knowing just how insecure his skill once made Slicer feel.
“Still,” he adds in a mischievous tone, “if I had my bow—”
He does not get to finish, not before Slicer abruptly presses his foot harder down on Piercer’s chest, causing him to pause with a sharp gasp.
Slicer, retaining his grin as it shifts into something more feral, lowers down until he is knelt over Piercer’s chest — until their faces are awfully close. The pressure over Piercer’s chest is getting more than a touch uncomfortable now, but that is hardly his focus at the moment.
“But you don’t, do you?” Slicer asks, and he tilts his head as his eyes glint. “Swords only - we agreed. No bows, no second weapons. Only these,” he gives a sweep of his linked sword. “And you lost.”
Piercer cannot retort, for there is no sufficient argument to use. Everything Slicer says is correct, after all. There is also that feeling, deep down - the one that feels almost nourished when Slicer speaks, at length, of his victory over the archer; an emotion almost akin to sick enjoyment at the prospect.
Slicer’s grin only grows - like he is well aware of why his friend is silent. “Right now, you can’t do anything - not unless you fancy going back on your word. You’re helpless.”
That one word drops off of the swordsman’s lips, and suddenly Piercer draws in a much shallower breath — one that has little to do with how the other master’s boot is making it hard for him to breathe. The archer’s delicate cheekbones flush in an adorable shade of crimson, and Slicer’s eyes drift to the change in pigmentation like a hunter’s gaze is drawn to its prey.
“Helpless,” he repeats, saying the word slowly and emphasising every syllable — if only to watch Piercer squirm beneath him.
“I could do whatever I want, and you’d be powerless to stop me,” he says, chuckling huskily at the thought.
Piercer’s heart is beating almost as quickly as it had during their actual duel, and he feels that it will actually beat its way out of his chest if things keep up like this. And Slicer knows this - being able to vividly feel the way the archer’s chest pulses at a frantic, if excited rhythm beneath his foot.
His tongue wetting his lips, Piercer’s breath shudders as he gazes up at Slicer’s powerful blue eyes, and he tries his best to keep up his composure. “...here, though?” He retorts, though his tone is low, almost like he fears his logic will cause Slicer to stop — and that he does not want.
Slicer, however, seems entirely undeterred, to Piercer’s elation, and tilts his head with a considering hum. “Crusher’s probably napping right now, knowing him,” he recounts. “And Baller’s off zooming through the fields.”
“So no,” he concludes, and he leans down on his knee, grinning even as Piercer visibly winces at his weight.
“I think we’re good,” Slicer whispers, and now their faces are but inches apart.
Piercer swallows thickly, and cannot help but lick at his lips again. “...and what,” he quietly probes, “did you have in mind?”
Slicer chuckles lowly, and he throws his sword across the room without giving it another thought. “I have a few ideas,” he says, and Piercer’s heart flutters dangerously at his words.
Without awaiting permission, or anything at all really, the swordsman leans down. His knee finally lifts off of Piercer’s chest, allowing the archer to graciously suck in a few gulps of air before his breath hitches again when Slicer’s face grows even closer.
Brusque and rough in his approach, Slicer presses down on Piercer’s throat with one of his arms while the other grips the top of the archer’s bald head. One of his legs lays across the other’s smaller form, while the other nears sacred territory.
Piercer lets out another soft gasp. Slicer grins wider, bolstered by the reaction, and pins him down more firmly, all while his knee brushes against the archer’s crotch.
Shuddering, Piercer squirms, and not at all because he wants to break free. “S-Slicer-” he whispers, but the swordsman silences him by pressing his head against the cold stone floor even harder.
“Shush,” Slicer says lowly, and Piercer can vividly see how his lips move for every syllable. He finds himself enamoured by the sight - so much so that he nearly misses what is said next. “Losers don’t have a say.”
“Just shut up and let me work,” he whispers, and his breath is hot against Piercer’s cheek. “Work off some of your stress…”
His knee slides between Piercer’s legs again, drawing another gasp out of the smaller master, who is still helplessly pinned under his companion.
“So tense,” Slicer chides, eyeing the tension present in Piercer’s form. “You really ought to take on less work.”
Grinning, his knee begins to work up a regular rhythm - moving up and down as it rubs against Piercer’s crotch. The black sweatpants begin to quickly strain as something pushes against them from within, stretching the fabric to its limits.
Piercer is positively vibrating now, and many undignified sounds are drawn from the depths of his throat. “S-Slicer—” he begins to gasp, and whether he calls the swordsman’s name out of affection or to plead is unclear.
And Slicer firmly silences him, pressing their lips together with a hum. Piercer’s eyes widen with surprise at the abruptness of it, but he quickly settles, even going so far as to lean into the kiss.
Then Slicer leans back far too soon for his liking, and his sadistic smile suggests he is entirely aware of that fact. “I didn’t say you could speak,” he says, and his words cause the hairs on Piercer’s arms to stand up on end — in a good way.
Piercer gasps and pants, shifting and squirming feebly as hot pleasure erupts - as hot blood begins flowing through his veins.
Slicer keeps at it for a few more seconds, and then he lets out a low frustrated growl. Before Piercer can truly muse on its source or its nature - what caused it - Slicer’s arm shifts around his throat.
The swordsman’s fingers close around the archer’s throat with a harshness that has him wince, and then he is already hauling Piercer off of the floor and into the air as if he weighs nothing. The casual, effortless strength he displays in doing so causes Piercer to feel weak at the knees — to know that Slicer can manhandle him without consequence is…
Releasing another hot, primal growl, Slicer makes his way to the nearest wall and slams Piercer’s back against it. His hand is like a vice as it pins the archer down with no true means of escape…
…and then his other hand moves in as it seamlessly grips the erect thing standing on end between Piercer’s legs.
Piercer’s breath hitches yet again, but Slicer only shoves him against the wall harder - sliding closer until his elbow is pressed against the archer’s Adam’s apple. His other hand moves swiftly and expertly, pumping Piercer’s cock in a way that makes the archer feel faint.
“...had to feel it… myself,” Slicer pants, and he sounds exerted too - just in his own way. He continues what he is doing, only upping the pace if anything.
‘Poor’ Piercer’s spine has practically melted into jello by now, and he is sure that if Slicer’s hand was not pinning him to the wall then he would be halfway to collapsing. His back arches, and a breathy moan springs from the depths of his swirling, hot gut.
With one final motion drawn across Piercer’s dick, the archer releases the pleasure that has been building up within him with one loud yell. Warmth resonates against Slicer’s hand, and he looks down in surprise briefly before chuckling.
“Couldn’t keep it in, huh?” He asks, and then he closes his fingers around Piercer’s throat again — just so he can throw him to the floor without care.
Piercer, still feeling lightheaded, crumbles to the ground, and hisses painfully as his knees and hands unkindly impact against the hard stone. He spends a second like that, breathing heavily while his mind attempts to feebly process all that has happened in the last five minutes or so.
Then he stiffens, suddenly feeling self-conscious as it hits him. He is down to all fours, and Slicer is behind him.
The archer’s head twists round as his behind suddenly feels searingly hot. His sensation is not at all helped when he sees Slicer walk towards him, a lustful grin splitting his face.
“We’re not done,” he announces, and he promptly stomps down on Piercer’s rear, causing the archer’s hips to slam into the floor.
Chuckling, Slicer seamlessly materialises his sword into his hand. Unease and fear spark up Piercer’s spine like lightning, but he does not get to speak up or object before Slicer’s sword is already slashing.
Piercer’s pants fall to the floor, cleanly cut in two, and his underwear follow with a seamless swipe to follow the first up.
“Now,” Slicer grins, “let’s get to the real fun.”
Ridding himself of the cage that are his pants and underpants in the same way, Slicer releases his penis and allows it to grow to its full size. Discarding this sword same as the last one, like a tool that has served its purpose, he circles to stand before Piercer whilst the archer eagerly and impatiently waits through each step.
Hunkering down before his fellow master, Slicer points to his erect member as an expectant glint shines in his eyes. “Get to work,” he says, and between his authoritative tone and what is asking for, Piercer does not even hesitate: he pushes himself up on his aching arms and takes the swordsman's penis into his mouth.
Slicer’s fingers dig into Piercer’s hairless scalp to ensure he cannot pull away; not that the archer would ever want to, but the feeling that he is helpless, forced to do the other man’s bidding without any choice in the matter, only causes excitement to flow through his veins. He eagerly gobbles Slicer’s large, meaty cock like the great prize it is — showing it his reverence in fullest.
A breathy moan leaves Slicer, and his grip on Piercer’s head intensifies so he can push his penis deeper into the archer’s mouth. “Good boy,” he whispers, the two words and the passionate growl they’re spoken in being like music to PIercer’s ears.
“Good boy,” Slicer repeats, and he begins to pump his dick in a steady yet fast rhythm, until Piercer is struggling to keep up. Still, the archer perseveres, determined to accomplish his mission.
Slicer’s growls and moans are turning particularly intimate when he abruptly pulls Piercer’s head back. The archer cannot help but look disappointed as his mouth is separated from his master’s mighty cock — which is now dripping wet with his own saliva.
“...there…” Slicer breathes out, his eyes hazy with bliss. He sways back and forth before shaking his head to regain focus, and looks upon Piercer with want that pierces his very soul.
“There,” Slicer repeats, and he straightens to his full height, walking behind Piercer and slamming his foot down on his hips for good measure, “my bad boy’s all lubed up.”
“Guess where it’s going?” He asks, and Piercer cannot help but shudder.
“...p-please,” he stutters out.
“Well,” Slicer says, a feral grin splitting his face, “since you asked so nicely.”
He steps forward without bravado, dropping all his weight atop Piercer’s hips with weight that smashes the archer and his erect dick against the ground in a mildly uncomfortable fashion.
But all that is immediately forgiven as Slicer’s wet cock slides into Piercer’s ass, entering without issue now that it is properly lubed up.
Piercer’s back arches as a most pleasurable moan is driven out of him, and then he can do little more than gasp and moan like a little bitch as Slicer ploughs him against the cold rock floor.
Between already being stimulated after having his member inside Piercer’s mouth, and the pleasurable dalliance they are sharing in, it does not take long before Slicer fires his load. Piercer releases one final moan as he feels something warm and sticky enter his insides, and then collapses into a breathless heap.
Slicer follows suit, and they spend a moment like that, with Piercer on the bottom and Slicer on the top — as always. They can feel the heat the other is emitting, can feel each other’s hearts pounding with thrill and excitement, and can hear their own ragged breaths.
They are content like that for a moment, cuddled up as part of Slicer remains within Piercer, before the swordsman speaks:
“...round… two?”
Piercer’s enthusiastic nod is the only reply he needs to give.