#TH 08. ┊ traversing the edge. ( FEILIEN. )

[thiefofcrows]

         Kaz studied him with an unwavering intensity, curious as a brief silence followed his teasing words. He held Matt’s gaze and, within that moment, it felt as though a faint electric current crackled between them — a little uncertain, afraid, but it was impossible to quell nonetheless. For a second, it was like they were both thinking, wanting the same thing and, when Matt shifted and finally took a breath, seeming to recover, Kaz let out a small, quiet exhale, attempting to ease the way his heart was hammering in his chest. It’s making that sound again, he thought, his nerves briefly spiking with the idea that Matt would be able to hear it and discern its meaning somehow.

     The other’s steady voice provided an anchor … but what wrenched him from the intensity of the moment was his arm being shoved to the left with considerable force. Kaz grunted in surprise, briefly taken off balance — but it was enough for Matt to regain the upper hand as Kaz felt his legs being knocked out from underneath him in one swift movement. He’d expected Matt to do something to throw him off, but the thoughts and desires circling within his mind were incredibly distracting. This wasn’t a real fight by any means, of course, but his pride and hypervigilant survival instinct dug into him with relentlessly over it nonetheless. Gloved hands reached up instinctively as Matt caught hold of his shirt, a sharp inhale following the abrupt stop — preventing Kaz from crashing into the ground like he would have in a real fight — and he gripped the other’s arm.

     He was deposited onto the ground gently and Kaz couldn’t resist rolling his eyes. Of course, it was a teasing gesture, given the crooked grin still tugging at his lips, but still. He tilted his chin up, the movement somehow yielding and defiant at the same time as Matt pressed the makeshift dagger beneath his chin. ❝You don’t have to be so gentle, you know,❞ said Kaz on an exhale, his left brow arching upward with emphasis. ❝I can take a little pain — I’ve certainly had worse.❞ Was his quiet, teasing tone purposefully flirtatious? It might’ve been, given the fact that Matt was now leaning over him and Saints, it was not helping.

     All he wanted to do was reach up to curl his fingers into Matt’s shirt and yank him down, kiss him senseless… as if Kaz Brekker even knew how to kiss anyone in the first place. And again … he was terrified of not being able to. Kaz felt a familiar dread drag him down — what if something happened and the panic, the sickness tainted it, twisted it into something unbearable? It was a fear that had dug its claws deep into him from the very beginning, from the very first indication of wanting. Matt was a bright light, breaking through a darkness that had swallowed Kaz a long time ago. The mere idea of his own mind tainting that, corrupting it with the horrors of his past instilled an unbearable ache in his chest. Stop, he pleaded with himself.

    Kaz let go of Matt’s arm and used both hands to grab onto the arm holding the knife. At the same time, he shifted his left leg to hook around Matt’s right knee and, in one quick movement, yanked Matt’s knee out from underneath him. He used the momentum to shove Matt backward and rolled them over, smoothly straddling Matt’s thighs to keep his legs in place. With the disrupted balance and the other’s natural attempt to catch himself, Kaz caught hold of Matt’s other arm and pinned them both above his head.

      Matt wasn’t exactly disarmed, but it was certainly very difficult to use his hands now, which was close enough. There was something oddly softer, with a tiny hint of vulnerability in Kaz’s expression as he gazed down at Matt, his previous train of thought refusing to dissipate. He was watching him, almost as if he were attempting to memorize his features this close. ❝What was that, about missing an opportunity? ❞

 If Matt hadn’t been feeling a certain way already, he certainly would have once Kaz leaned in and used that deep, raspy voice of his. He had always liked listening to it, especially when the other was lost in thought or in the middle of his scheming, but it hit entirely different when pinned to a wall and clearly at a disadvantage. As a matter of fact, it sent a shiver down his spine that he only managed to cover up by readjusting his position in an exaggerated show of testing out just how much freedom he had to move exactly.

 Sometimes, he really wanted to curse Kaz Brekker. Him, and the way he made Matt feel. And the way he sometimes made Matt believe he might possibly feel the same way. It was maddening. Especially because all Matt could think about right now was that he wanted to grab Kaz by his shirt, so he could pull him closer and kiss him.

 He never would. But, Saints, did he want to.

 Instead, he took a deep breath and forced himself to focus, before recovering his grin and simply shrugging his shoulders. “Holding back on you? I’d never dare. You can sniff that shit out like a bloodhound, I’m sure.” As soon as he had finished speaking, he lifted his arm and, in one quick movement, redirected the arm that was holding the knife to the left with considerable force—a move that would’ve no doubt yielded in a shallow cut across his throat, had the blade been sharp; a sacrifice absolutely worth it—and used both the moment of surprise and shift in balance to kick both of Kaz’s legs out from underneath him with one swift leg sweep. Matt did make sure to catch Kaz by his shirt, if only to soften the landing and lay him down gently, rather than have him hit his head or worse.

 Once he was safely on the ground, Matt retrieved his own knife and mirrored their positions from just moments before. “I’m afraid you may have missed your opportunity.”

[thiefofcrows]

   A faint smirk had already curled at Kaz’s lips as he pressed the dull knife to Matt’s throat — but the grin he received in response elicited a brief upward arch of his left brow, intrigued. Of course he recognized the mischief that gleaned in the other’s eyes, but … something else lurked underneath, something that Kaz had begun to catch glimpses of more and more often. It stirred something within himself, which was an incredibly unfamiliar sensation that continuously kept circling him, like a vulture waiting to pick his bones clean. It was a thick, electrifying kind of heat that stirred with interest, with desire — and while it was a tempting sensation to lean into ( and Matt’s teasing words certainly didn’t help ), along with it came his very familiar undercurrents of anxiety.

   The dark intensity of Kaz’s gaze swept over Matt thoughtfully and he swallowed down the crackling fear — what would happen if I leaned in closer? It was a thought that was impossible to avoid this close. He wondered what kissing him would feel like, of course, but more than that … he wondered how Matt would react. Kaz found himself imagining Matt’s surprise — would he inhale sharply, pull Kaz closer, push him away?  The Latter seemed incredibly unlikely, if the way Matt was looking at him was any indication; however, such impulsive acts were not meant for someone like him. Someone who could easily be overrun by a surge of panic, or a twisting sickness, just from a brush of lips. Not to mention, while Matt knew that Kaz had … issues regarding touch, he didn’t know the scope of it.

   More than that, a seemingly ancient fear twisted and crackled painfully in Kaz’s ribs, a fear he’d decided to try to find some kind of balance with, but … that was much easier said than done. The fear of letting Matt in any closer, letting him dig the rest of his way into Kaz’s heart, knowing full well that anyone could use that connection against them. The potential depths of that connection terrified him too, but it unearthed a craving for it just as powerful — either way, a sparring match where their adrenaline burned hot was certainly not the place to make any course altering decisions. They’d been dancing along the edge for quite some time now and Kaz elected not to let himself fall — not yet, anyway. He did lean in closer, but only slightly and his rock salt rasp was little more than a quiet murmur between them.

  ❝At my mercy?  Are you holding back on me? ❞ While he’d decided not to make any rash decisions, Kaz too was reluctant to change anything either.

@thiefofcrows  said: “∗ 65﹕ sender  throws  receiver  into  a  wall  during  combat . ( more sparring shenanigans 😎 )”

{♚ x 𝟏𝟎𝟎 𝑵𝑶𝑵𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑩𝑨𝑳 𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑷𝑻𝑺 . || Accepting x}

 It was by no means a daily occurrence, but Matt did try to make it a point to train as often as possible. It was nowhere near as often as it had been back in Shu Han, when he’d been forced to spend hours training every single day, but enough to keep his skills and reactions as sharp as they had ever been. A necessity in the role he was playing in Ketterdam, and even more so in his goal to protect not only himself, but the Dregs and, above all, Kaz.

 Most of the time he was by himself; occasionally there was a group of Dregs that wanted to test their own skills by taking him on — always together, never alone. Not that that ever changed the outcome. Now and again Matt would take the time to teach them and refine what they already knew, giving them homework and then another chance a week later. More often than not, they showed immense improvement.

 Kaz was no exception. Granted, he was a force to be reckoned with already, but that didn’t mean that Matt had nothing to teach him. After all, he had spent a lifetime learning and perfecting several different fighting styles, which meant he usually had the upper hand, especially after picking up on the dirtier tricks people in the Barrel —and most certainly Kaz— tended to use.

 So saying he was surprised when his back hit the wall and all air escaped his lungs would’ve easily been an understatement. By the time he regained his bearings, Kaz had already procured a blade —dull, meant for practice, but a blade nonetheless— and pressed it against his throat. If it had been a proper blade, he would’ve undoubtedly drawn blood. Worse yet, it was a huge stab at Matt’s pride and ego.

 Still, he grinned. A cocky, mischievous grin, that hinted at what exactly his current predicament truly stirred inside of him. “Well…” Lifting his hands in surrender, he cocked his head to the side as much as the blade to his throat let him. “What a surprising turn of events.”

 For a moment, he considered his options. They admittedly were few and far between. And if he was honest, he wasn’t in a huge rush to change anything. An opportunity would surely present itself, and Matt would certainly take it. But he could wait. “Well then. Make your demands. I’m at your mercy, Dirtyhands.”