Stoked. (Nanami)

[Anonymous]

Liv tried very hard not to think the phrase 'pompous buffoon.'  It was overused as a description, it wasn't even particularly evocative any longer, it was bland, it was hackneyed...

But it fit.  So.  Well.

"Hrm," said Croyden Rilke, lacing his fingers together on his desk.  "Decent job on the Libran voice encryption."

Liv, sitting in a chair in front of him, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, cleared his throat and leaned forward to straighten his cuff.  He bit the inside of his cheek.  He'd worked hard on this one and he'd actually done well, actually put some thought into it and tried some original solutions, and without a fucking Dragon, too.  "Decent job, sir?  I'm sorry, but I managed to get noiseless output without using delta modulation, I think I'm more than justified in asking--"

Rilke held up a hand, eyebrows and mouth twisting into a skeptical sneer, and Liv stopped.  His mouth snapped shut.  Diplomacy.  Yes, about that.  Someday, he would learn him some.  "You are still a Candidate, Sulo, and one with a dubious record.  Well-recommended on... some fronts, but let me be clear here, no one's forgetting the first six years of your Candidacy.  Until"  He paused, and Liv could tell he'd wanted to say something more dubious, like 'unless.'  "you make Pilot, you will be restricted to Q-level clearance--I shouldn't be surprised you like trying to bend rules, but that's that... I'm afraid."  He set his hands down flat on the desk and looked levelly at Liv.

Right.  Motherfucker.  Liv fiddled with the bottom hem of his gray uniform jacket, chewing the inside of one cheek.  Bending rules, thanks, Hazzie.  Grand, that was just grand.  He should be happy with it, but what if he never did make Pilot?  This wasn't about his pride or encryption skill, it was about making himself useful enough that to avoid TRIM, late in the game though it might be.  Rilke wanted him gone, he knew that.  Hadn't gotten him gone thus far, still held out hope and proper procedure and so on and so forth... but fuck him.  

"Yes, sir," Liv said, standing.  Rilke stared him down, all cold dislike.  Liv ran a hand through his hair, wavering, wondering if he should say anything else.  He wanted to say a lot, but that would just be ego and malice talking.  It would be stupid.  Instead, he snapped a briskly correct salute, one to make Roman proud, and left, to grind our his rage through exercise.  The healthy way.  Indeed.

This time of day the gym bustled.  It smelt of wet rubber.  It always smelt a little of wet rubber and sweat, though its surfaces kept themselves antiseptically clean.  A good thing.  The Gods only knew where some of the Pilots had been.  Liv stopped in the locker room to strip off his uniform jacket and splash some water on his face.  His talk with Rilke (fuckin' Rilke) had, as usual, left him drained and hot with anger.  Angrier than he should be.  Scared.  He rubbed a wet hand over his face and shook his head.  Fine.  Fine.  

He tied a bandana over his hair, the only splash of color against the gray and white.  He'd made it an obnoxious one, bright orange and pink.  If he had to keep to the general gray, he'd do what he could with what little freedom he had.  Anyway, Stage Five, what could they do?  Apart from anything.  He headed for the punching bags to warm up and paused beside one in the row, winding a cloth around his knuckles and checking himself out in the mirror.  Because that was half the reason anyone came to the gym; anyone, and Liv in particular.  Vanity could be soothing.  He looked good, or had recently, had added ten pounds of muscle.  His standard-issue undershirt fit better.  Funny thing, Liv often thought, about the Candidate's uniform; it made his physical body the source of vanity, since he couldn't alter its covering.  That was the thing about Pilot training.  Some people, it'd put them in a situation so uniform and gray that at last, at last, they'd stand up against it and try to make something impressive of themselves... and then, he guessed, you could just fade away into the uniform, which had its own soothing set of expectations.  Maybe he'd done that too.  Pilots, of course, didn't need to wear their assimilation.

Huh.  Fuck it.

Liv went at the bag until he could feel sweat dripping down the back of his neck and the hollow of his back.  Left, right, left.  It felt good, but only stoked his lingering annoyance.  When would he learn?  Nah.  He wanted to stay angry.

At last Liv stepped back, breathing hard, and brushed sweat from his face with one forearm.  He glanced over at the guy who'd just fallen in next to him.  Loki.  They'd had a rivalry-from-afar for years, the kind of chafing that came from a little too much in common, though Liv sometimes feared the jealousy might be only one-sided.  Hell.  He was jealous of everyone, the emotion needed no thought and deserved no credence.  

Liv lifted his lip in what might've been a smile, but he couldn't quite tell if it came off; his face felt a little numb from exertion.  

"Hey."  He paused for breath and wiped a hand over his mouth.  "--it's the Dragons' latest pet.  Congratulations, brother."

[Anonymous]

Loki sat on the Eyrie of the Citadel, his legs were thrust though the railing, hanging in midair. Astrophel lay idly beside him, head made of a mixture of his natural silver scales and steel and resting on the ground. With a deep breath, Loki stood up and rearranged himself to lie on his back by his Dragon. The ports on his temples seemed to be buzzing with the proximity. He closed his eyes, slipping into psychic communication that had become so easy in the past couple of days.

“Ready.”

There was the feeling of being carefully coaxed away from the body- the sensation that his being was actually hovering about two or three inches where it should be. The feelings of his higher, hovering body and his real body juxtaposed, confusing his senses. He kept his eyes closed though as the connection process proceeded.

He fell into the Network. Though fell wasn’t the right word. Didn’t look right as it hung in front of his eyes. There was the notion of no control in falling. Floating was too dainty. Flying made it sound too easy. He realised why- his form, his consciousness remained stationary. Instead of being pulled through the glorious labyrinth, it was moving around him, switching directions as he wished them. At a stray thought, it moved towards a new destination, yet never quite reaching it.

Here everything melted away. There was no other prerequisite- he simply existed. No dependencies. He was no longer a contingent being. Though there was no real concept of ‘being’ here. There was existence, but not as an individual. The nature of the Network was limitless. Infinite. And it excited him, to be a part of something that was infinite. The knowledge, energy, the ecstasy that was coursing through him-

The sensation began to recede. Astrophel was disconnecting him.

“Fascinating, isn’t it? I’m afraid business calls. I must leave.”

It was, and he envied Astrophel for actually being the Network’s gatekeeper, for being eternally connected to this bliss! He smiled, or rather the concept of a smile was transferred to his Dragon. “Nearly makes up for being a Candidate.” It was a little bit uncomfortable. It was as if his mind had swollen and, now, had to once again be confined the limits of hid body. Though the energy coursing through him now adequately made up for it. He had never felt so much vitality in his body- while it was limit, it seems it boundaries had extended as a result of his connection. And there was a supreme feeling of contentment. So he did not mind being removed, if the effects following were so sublime.

He opened his eyes and the colours seemed different. More translucent yet more brilliant at the same time. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Pilot,” Astrophel said. Loki couldn’t help but smirk at the word. Pilot. Evidence of his success and his survival. A symbol of autonomy. He moved languidly to his feet, nodding once at the Dragon before heading towards the stairs that lead down from the Eyrie and into the Citadel. He wanted to spend this energy on something. He felt a driving need to spend it- it was there. Something should be done with it. His muscles were twitching begging for activity.

So, he wound his was way towards the gym. Uninspired, perhaps, but he was just desperate for some relief from the buzzing that seemed to lie just millimetres under his skin.

He slipped into the changing rooms, senses still feeling sharper than they should to the extent his clothes felt strange against his skin. He put on his gym kit quickly before shutting the locker. He shot a glance at the mirror on his way out, noting he looked healthier than he usually did.

There was one punching bag that remained open. Loki settled into the line and prepped his fists accordingly. There was a thrill when he felt his muscles under tension, and then how they sighed in relief when he paused in his ministrations. Blows continued to fall, rhythmically. Until he was interrupted, pulled away from his focus. He stopped, the punching bag still swinging from his last hit, and turned to face the voice.

Liv.

His words didn’t land at all. Liv could say as he wished, Loki was too secure in his belief that he was superior to him in every way. He felt invincible right now. His lips curled to one side as he engaged in a punch punch kick combo before resting, though still bouncing on his toes. Not even the brother jibe could provoke him into anger- usually it did. He was above anger presently.

“Snipe at me if it makes you feel better, Candidate Sulo,” Loki said casually. “You’re just jealous. And ignorant, which I suppose I can pity you for.” Double kick. Punch. Rest. No real malice in  the statement. Just a matter-of-fact tone. “You have no idea how good it feels. Connection, it is just-”

He stopped there. Jab, knee, punch. Nothing else needed to be said. He felt he had justified himself adequately. Furthermore, he felt he didn't have to justify himself to anyone, let alone Liv.

[Anonymous]

Liv stood watching Loki, arms crossed, fingers tucked into the sweaty crooks of his elbows, shoulders hiked up just a little defensively.  He was a natural starer.  It had embarrassed him when he was younger, his tendency to eye people up; he'd thought it creepy, but it had always been a compulsion.  His old roommate Dail had even started a fight with him over it.  Enlightened by age, Liv realized that staring made the other person just as uncomfortable.  Part of his motivation was shallow; he liked their look, the way they moved.  He liked to compare himself, on the simplest physical level.  Loki might be a jackass, but he had a cut to his shoulders Liv would never attain.  Fuck him.  Maybe he would resist Network addiction, maybe he would.  That, yeah, that Liv could envy too.    

He felt his chest clench up inside.  One, jealousy, 'cause when you're not a whole person you want to be anyone else.  Two, loneliness, because liars, Liv, are lonely.  But he wasn't jealous of the Pilotry.  Fuck the Network.  The infinite knowledge rhapsody, he had heard that tune before.  It was still an addiction like any other.  Worse than most, because it took the whole of your brain.  Once they had set you in the watcher's chair...

Liv shifted his weight from one foot to the other, shoulders sliding skeptically askew; otherwise he didn't let himself show much expression, other than the angry upward jerk of one side of his mouth.  He watched Loki, whose eyes were bright, skin flushed.  He moved well, robustly, only faintly aquiver with excess energy.  Liv could feel the raw, rude pride, and he didn't like it.  That was part of the problem, right there.  That sense of invulnerability.  Of course, Liv thought, face held taut, there were so very many problems with the... with Network addiction he couldn't begin to count them all.

Once they set you in the watcher's chair, they could make you watch yourself, make you like it, and make you stay there.  However Liv forgot himself, he didn't want it to be like that.  And he wondered why a Dragon wouldn't choose him.  

He considered it for a minute, then stepped sideways between Loki and the bag, one forearm up to deflect an incoming blow.  It went sideways, and Liv stood just a half-pace from the Pilot.  The punching bag jittered and swiped at his back.  He thought about what to say, something to remind Loki he was still human and still limited and still all of that shit... and just piss him off.  It'd be a better workout.  Loki would probably recognize what he was up to, his gibes, and Liv didn't mind, it was half fuck you and half like a fucking puppy begging for attention, he knew that.  Hey, look at me, still here, even though you're a Big Bad Pilot, I'm still here.  And, indeed, still ready for some sparring, should that eventuate.  Because everything was all in fun and all for fun anyway.  

"I'm sure Astro said he really loves you, Loke, but someday he'll have the we're just too different talk and you'll be so sad.  You could show me."  

Forearm still raised against attack, he leaned in, eyes wide, and pressed forward psychically.  He met up with Loki's shields and slid away.  Liv kept staring up, eyebrows contracted.  "--you know, how good it feels, Pilot Rasmussen, teach me."

[Anonymous]

Punch. Punch-

One eyebrow quirked upwards in bemusement, as Liv came between him and the bag, invading his personal space. He lost his rhythm and focus, giving enough time to view the other man with distaste. His body had been singing with action, now the jitters and restlessness had returned when he became still. ‘Tch’ left his lips and he straightened, regarding Liv’s fighting stance. Was he that determined to drag him out of his euphoria? Evidently. And it was somewhat naïve of him to believe he could transcend Liv altogether- unfortunately, Liv had acquainted himself with all of Loki’s buttons.

Fine. Fine. They’d make a sport of this. It’s not like this was the first time they’d ever sparred anyway. He admired Liv’s apparent confidence in being seemingly set on doing this in public. Not that he’d win. He might have before, but not this time. Loki was certain of it. How could Liv even touch him when he was this fine tuned? Loki kept bouncing on his toes, fists raised. He ignored Liv talking, focusing on the minute details of his stance, which looked fairly solid. In the unfocused background, Liv’s lips moved almost soundlessly-

Until there was that alien presence on the fringes of his mind. He shivered at the foreign contact with his shield, which was always unpleasant, before it flitted away. Like a caress, hah! Devious fucking- devious … fucker. He couldn’t help himself; he wouldn’t let the provocation hang in the air like that, without any response. If it didn’t incur any consequence, it was like he was letting Liv get away with something. Which shouldn’t happen.

“Oh, you know I’m not a charitable person. I don’t split pleasure for anyone,” he scoffed. And Connection was only for the better people who had managed to finish their Candidacy. He was going to share a symbol of power like that. He should hurry up and graduate. “Why don’t you ask me nicely if I’ll be your mentor instead, little brother?”

He launched his own psychic offensive, concentrating short bursts of energy against Liv’s shields. They weren’t meant to achieve anything; he would never want to break Liv’s shields. Who knew what went on in there. Just no- he didn’t want to know what he really thought of him. He never knew were he stood with Liv, so it was easier to stop caring about it. The illusion that it was out of his hands made it easier for him to adopt a fatalism. No, his offensive was like someone repeatedly tapping on your forehead, endlessly and torturously. Loki then jumped back onto one foot, bringing up his right leg to aim a neat jab at Liv’s chest and clear some space between them.

[Anonymous]

Liv knew it: Loki wasn't charitable.  He was a self-contained selfish bastard, and damned if Liv didn't, in some small part, admire him for it anyway.  Even if, on the verso and as always, he looked down on him for the very same tendencies... well, the Pilot had one saving grace, or might.  Freedom.  People like Loki needed it.

Oh right, he'd make a great mentor.

He held his shields easily against the hailstone-patter of Loki's psychic bombardment.  His arrogance and disdain even came through in his psychic offensive.  Liv could feel him in it, that essential himness, even if he tried to hide it behind lies and inanities, that essential... something, confidence?  Maybe it was confidence or purpose.  That was one of the things he'd noticed about Loki, early on: he liked himself.  He liked his self.  Liv could use that.

He didn't look away from Loki, even as he parried his psychic prying.  He caught the shift in weight that signaled Loki's movement--when the Pilot drew up one leg and kicked out, he was ready.  They'd sparred often enough that Liv had his measure, and knew that though Loki had mass and strength on his side, Liv was quicker.  In the instant before he stepped out of the way of Loki's kick, he shoved an elbow back into the punching bag.  Loki's kick missed.  That alone wouldn't have thrown him off balance; his center of gravity was too stable, his balance too good.  But the punching bag hit his foot on its backswing, jarring him.  While he wavered on one leg, Liv ducked and swung a low kick at his balancing ankle.  

The move was just a shade too slow.  Loki went down, but he scissored Liv's legs on his way, and he went over too.  He landed with one leg caught between Loki's and grappled with him, palm against palm, but he didn't have his balance.  

Shit.  

Loki got leverage and rolled them over.  Liv's back slammed into the mat and he stared up at the new Pilot, gathering himself mentally, physically, and psychically.  "Ngh."  He tried to whiplash his body, but couldn't dislodge his heavier opponent, who'd planted a knee at the joint of his hip and grabbed at his wrists.  He still looked almost feverish, running far too much ampage beneath the skin.  Fuckin' Dragons.

Liv scraped psychically at Loki's mind, a glancing blow, but one to distract him, and craned his neck and shoulders up toward him, stomach muscles tensed.  "D'you feel... special?"  He projected something aggressively sexual, a joking attack on Loki's libido, and, in the instant of his distraction, grabbed him by the front of the shirt, rocked back, and slammed Loki's forehead with his own.  

Fine, so it wasn't strictly fighting fair... no such thing.  He shoved Loki off and flipped them, trying to pin him.

[Anonymous]

Fuck. He was knocked down, but he brought Liv down with him. Then things were turned to his favour- he excelled in floor work, though that was only because he kept getting knocked over in the first place. Loki turned Liv, fighting out of the pin against him. He couldn’t help but grin in response to how things had gone. Especially that delightful little utterance of discomfort. It was because he was good. The early sense of victory augmented the lingering energy from the Network. “You regretting this yet?” Though he was quite happy that Liv had decided this was a good idea.

He had always wondered however: what was it with this guy and invading people’s comfort zones? Their faces were now barely apart. Loki would have recoiled, but that would look like he was retreating. Like he was unnerved. Huh, gay chicken wasn’t a direction Liv had chosen to take in a fight before-

Sweating, heat. All the clichés of sex. Suddenly curled into his mind. For a moment, he was sure Liv’s face had moved in closer for a kiss. The image sat on top of reality, blurring it, so he never noticed that Liv had moved forward to attack him. His head whipped back from the force, shields wavering for a moment, assailed by lingering afterimages of Liv’s projection. Wanker. Bastard. Dazed, he soon found the situation reversed. He was pinned, for now, until his head stopped hurting and he could clear the presence of the projection completely from his thoughts. Liv’s palms pressed against his wrists.

Though what was probably more annoying was the fact that it wasn’t unpleasant. If it was unpleasant then he’d have an excuse for lowering his guard. It was just surprising. He rolled his eyes at the both of them.

“Always lower the tone, don’t you? Or is this just one big excuse to get closer?” Loki hissed, followed by a harsh laugh.  He wasn’t going to let dirt in his eyes ruin his fight. But now, since Liv had taken it to that level, he was inclined to follow. He moved his head, nipping at Liv’s exposed wrist. During the distraction, he ripped one hand free and grabbed at Liv’s hair. With enough room to manoeuvre, his legs, he brought his knees to his chest and pushed against Liv’s chest. He was freed from Liv's weight and so, was able to regain the top position.

And they were back to a more comfortable position. For Loki, anyway.  He pushed one elbow on Liv’s sternum, the other hand raised to bat away any blows to the face. He smiled smugly, one corner of his mouth lifting to the side. “You can give up anytime- it‘s the same as admitting you’re not going to win,” he said quietly into Liv’s ear, condescendingly.

[Anonymous]

Liv gritted his teeth.  His bandana had slipped down around his neck when Loki had grabbed at his hair, and he recalled one of the reasons Haz had told him to keep his head shaved: it was harder to get a hold in a fight.  Well, how many Pilots sacrificed their vanity?  As much as he'd ever heard that you should give up your claim on individuality and your body and all that shit and be ready to die, few of them really believed it.  He hoped they didn't.

He stared up at Loki, breath hitching around the pressure on his sternum.  That was what he was afraid of, that Loki had bought into something really, honestly bigger. Maybe his selfishness was just on the surface, and behind it, on some deeper level, he really didn't care anymore.  Didn't have that humanity.  

That Liv couldn't touch him anymore.  Because it was true, he guessed--most of what he did was an excuse to get closer.  Antagonism, violence, sex, anything, he wanted to find something human in the Pilots.  Fuck that.  Fuck you, Loki.  He wasn't going to give up, give up, yeah, right.  He made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat.

Liv recoiled and tensed his body enough to get one hand free and rammed it stiff-fingered into Loki's throat.  The pressure of elbow on chest let up suddenly and Liv coiled his body up, shoving Loki over while he wheezed.  He came down straddling him, hand back on his throat.  It was still convulsing.  He could feel the tracheatic ridges moving under the skin, and leaned forward, teeth still gritted against the anger he could feel buzzing in the back of his skull.  He let go the pressure on his throat and grappled for his wrists, then slammed them down on the mat near Loki's head.  

"Fuck you, Loke."  He leaned in, fingers tightening on his wrists.  That felt good.

[Anonymous]

Loki struggled for breath. It hurt, so much, and his body was punishing him for being unable to take in air, rioting. It scared him, because Liv had just highlighted his own mortality. He was scared, his body was scared. It would have passed silently, had he not been slammed onto his back, Liv’s hands still enclosed around his throat. He loathed himself for it, for letting Liv get the better of him. His hands leapt to Liv’s wrists, trying to ease the pressure. Fuck. His diaphragm was aching, ribs seemingly shrinking to strangle his lungs. Liv, get off, he hoped silently, using a lot of his failing effort to shield that thought from him, hiding his failure. Heaven forbid, he’d even flitted around with the concept of saying please. He pulled once more, action desperate, on Liv’s wrists.

The relief was great when Liv moved, to the extent that his energy fled him. He felt … he felt like shit. He wanted the vitality back. He wanted to call out to Astrophel, beg to get hooked up again. His breath dried the back of his throat, rasping it. He struggled a little against Liv, trying to move his wrists out of Liv’s reach. They were pinned against the mat.

He was angry. Angry, because it was an effective mask. It was easier to harness and acknowledge than fear. He was angry, because his high had ended. But he feared now that he was not much without out. Fear could too easily lead to loathing. He didn’t want to loathe himself. He had felt good about himself for as long as he could remember. He had no qualms with himself. He didn’t want to be like others he saw, battling constantly with their minds. He pitied them, and was also smug. It was probably why his Candidacy was so unremarkable. He stayed under that radar and kept the essence of himself.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You little shit!” he cried. The last vestiges of adrenaline and his choler riled him enough to fight against Liv’s hold, which had tightened on his wrists. “I’m going to fuck you up-”

Loki probed psychically, forcing his mind out to invade Liv’s. And he wouldn’t search neatly. He’d tear around where he could, run riot in his head. Loki encountered Liv’s shield and brashly lashed at them. Scratched at them, like raking his nails against skin. He wasn’t going to do this stealthily. He wanted it to hurt. He wanted Liv to feel fear too. Because it was a wretched thing. He wanted to inflict it on him, to bring them level. Make them both human.

[Anonymous]

He'd gotten him angry.  Liv felt a deep, visceral surge of satisfaction at that, seething up past his still-aching sternum and into his throat.  He was smiling, in a kind of gritted way, lips drawn back.  He was glad--hell, he was relieved--that he'd actually gotten through.  He felt a little bad that he'd let himself do something that wasn't sporting, but whatever works, kiddo.  He felt a little frightened of Loki's judgment, too, but then, Loki wasn't exactly playing fair--

The psychic blow hit and nearly bowled him over, tearing across the surface of his shields.  It hurt.  He was used to psychic pain, but it still surprised him, rocked him back, and flexed a second of panic around his heart.  For a second his fingers opened on Loki's wrists, and the man beneath him managed to grab for his in turn.  Liv twisted them out of the way and twisted in Loki's mental grasp, trying to evade the scathing intrusion.  Their fingers scrabbled against each other.

"Get... out."  Liv slammed down a mental barrier and dragged himself free of Loki's probe, shoving the other psychic out and slamming into his mind in turn, though he kept himself from anything that could be called unprovoked attack.  After all, he was a Candidate and Loki was a Pilot.  It took concentration--his offensive wasn't good.  When he blinked out the ache of the effort he realized he'd bitten deeply into his lip, but he still had Loki's wrists.  

While he recoiled from Liv's psychic blow, Liv interlaced their fingers and slammed their hands against the mats, once, twice, and pressed down hard.

He had to win, or Loki wouldn't listen to him anymore.  He wouldn't own part of him if he couldn't show he deserved it, that was how it'd work to him.  And fuck, he wanted to win, with an edge of desperation.

"Oh--come--on--"  He choked it out past his bitten lip and leaned forward, physically and psychically, letting Loki taste some of his thoughts, his skepticism, even some of his need.  "Admit it, admit it, Rasmussen."

[Anonymous]

He tried to get the upper hand, but there was too much going on. He couldn’t spare strength- something had to suffer in his offensive. He also wanted Liv to suffer, just enough to make him realise what he had done to Loki. He grabbed at Liv’s wrist, but when his psychic attack began to waver, he favoured his mind with his energy. He would be content with Liv admitting to something he didn’t want to as a result of this. It would be a victory, enough of one to possibly pacify him.

There, Liv’s voice within his own teaming consciousness. Ordering him out. Followed by the barrier pushing him away from his target. His psychic slashes were forced out of range. Even if Liv still had both his wrists, Loki couldn’t help but smirk. How do you like that, bitch? It’s not fucking nice, is it? He was tempted to drive his nails into Liv’s hand, just to punctuate his own renewed feelings of satisfaction, even if they felt a lot more base than the satisfaction of the Network and his following superiority. It may have been base, but he sort of liked it. After all, his satisfaction came from proving something.

Liv wanted him to give up. Loki didn’t want to, more out of pride than need. He had lost motivation. He didn’t know what else could be achieved. He had achieved what he wanted to achieve. Even if it wasn’t his original. He had given up his original objective. It was lost in memory. To recall it would admit a greater loss anyway. “Go stick your dick in the mains,” he hissed, in mock defiance. Out of convention, and he liked saying things like that.

He was surprised though, at Liv’s controlled leak. In the snatches he was able to get, Loki was momentarily stunned by how much Liv wanted to win this. How could he care about it that much? It seemed beyond the excuse of pride. And there was the hint, the slight whisper, of a greater conviction. Though, when Loki tried to delve deeper into why Liv cared so much, the thoughts had slipped through his mental fingers.

Loki wasn’t going to out and say it, but he would stop attacking. “You’re a fucking turd, Liv,” he said. It would have been quite aggressive had he not adopted a lazy tone of indifference. This was his declaration of defeat. Which wasn’t really a defeat. The tension was running out of his muscles. His body seemed to ease its contours into the mat, melting into them. "Are you going to get off me or do you actually enjoy molesting me?"

[Anonymous]

When they stopped fighting, Liv realized they'd drawn a few observers, who'd been ready to step in if they'd gotten out of hand.  Good thing they hadn't.  Most people knew Liv and Loki could get intense when they sparred, anyway.  Later, perhaps, he'd gloat, and was glad of the witnesses to his victory, but for now, it wasn't quite over.

He felt Loki's fingers relax in his grip, but stayed poised where he was for a moment, trying to calm down.  His heart was still slamming away inside his ribcage, and he could feel the heat of his own breath.  He waited to make sure Loki wouldn't try anything.  Despite his somewhat gracious if typically roundabout concession--Loki never could just admit defeat--he wouldn't put a last-minute move past him.  But he settled down into the typical calm of joking poking.

At last, Liv relaxed, too.  His fingers felt sticky with sweat, and he opened his hands, letting Loki's free, and rocked back, settling his weight just over Loki's hips.  He smiled.  It hurt a little, and he touched his lip, wiping off a clot of blood.  

He licked his lips, sighed, and smiled again.

He felt very relieved.  His anger had more or less extinguished itself.  Maybe he'd gotten it a little.

"Of course I enjoy it," he said, at least half-joking--though he guessed admitting that made him a little vulnerable--he expected a mocking look for it.  So he'd up the stakes.  He leaned forward slowly, sliding his hands up Loki's chest to his shoulders, until he had all his weight forward and hung over him, looking down at him.   He bent his elbows slowly, bringing their faces closer together, then straightened--further apart--bent.

[Anonymous]

Loki bristled against Liv’s touch. Perv. He was all too aware of the distribution of Liv’s weight across upper body. Usually it was a wholesome feeling, having the relaxed weight of a body on him, but with Liv … it was painful. Loki was too agonisingly sensitive to the lack of space. Why was beyond him.

He also couldn’t escape the possibility that the veiled motive behind Liv’s desperate need to win was something sexual. Which would make this whole affair a little too complex. Loki didn’t like complex- the results mostly entirely without success. Plus he still didn’t know what to think of Liv. Hah, thoughts about the person rarely factored in the picking of sexual partners. If they were aesthetically pleasing then there shouldn’t be problem. And Liv looked like him, that was more than good enough.

Still, complexities. He couldn’t abide in them. He found himself with three actions he was prepared to follow through on- kiss Liv, bite Liv’s lip, or leave him as a sort of tease. Kissing Liv would invoke complexities. Not to mention there were witnesses and he would not appreciate the impression that Liv was totally dominating. That shouldn’t ever happen, especially since Liv was a damned Candidate. Biting Liv’s lip was a bit too provocative, also prone to complexities. So, retreat it was.

“Get off me you fucktard,” Loki sighed, bringing his newly freed hands to Liv’s shoulders. He pushed hard, felt the weight shift off him entirely, and was able to jump to his feet. He straightened himself out before looking down at Candidate Sulo. “Not in public, I have class,” he added, psychically. Couldn’t leave him completely without hope after all.  Else this wouldn’t be fun. And Loki felt like he had one up on Liv knowing that he possibly liked him. It was manipulative but … since when had he been inclined to care? It was retribution.

“I’m going for a wash. Follow me into the shower and-” he paused, trailing off from the threat he was intending to add onto the sentence. It just felt a little forced, words lacking conviction and he couldn’t follow through with it. Though now, the unfinished sentence sounded a little bit too much like a proposition. Ah shit. So much for manoeuvring the situation. Salvageable though. Loki coughed, faking coyness. “I meant, don’t follow me.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Astrophel said, disappointed.

“Hey, you picked me.”

[Anonymous]

Huh.  Yeah, he had expected that.  

Liv sprawled back on his elbows on the mats and let himself fall, until he settled flat on his back, recovering.  He watched Loki waver in his retreat.  He'd actually discomfitted the Pilot, which pleased him.  Honestly, he'd expected more of a cutting rejection. Not... whatever that had.... not something damn near invitation.  Then again, he should've known Loki would like anything that played to his ego, and flirtation did that.  

His stammering sounded downright awkward.  So maybe he hadn't gotten exactly the right message through, but at least he'd shaken Loki a little.  Given him the sense that he wasn't suddenly superhuman just because he'd become a Pilot, that maybe Liv was right about some things.  And he'd won the fight.

He had to admit, that made him happy.  The tension and fear that'd come to feel familiar over the eight-and-a-half-year span of his Candidacy still beat a silent counterpoint to his pleasure, but then, that never really went away.

Liv struggled back to a sitting position, sliding his bandana back into place and tucking his sweaty hair away beneath it.  Loki had made it nearly to the locker rooms.  Slowly, shaking out stiffening limbs, Liv stood.  

"Later, sunshine!"  He blew Loki a kiss and laughed breathlessly.  Later he'd keep pushing it, but for now, he felt... a lot better.

He swung his arms and rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen up.  Ouch.  He winced, rubbing at a sore muscle.  He'd won this time, but Loki hadn't made it easy.  His head twinged--he'd have to repair his mental shields in a minute, once he'd recovered.  

Okay, so he felt mostly better.