The Other Way to Fight [R18]

The Arena had long since emptied. The great stone stands stood silent now beneath the falling dusk, their shadows long and cold.

Arven walked the quiet corridors with cautious steps, the ache in his ribs a dull throb beneath the bandages. His body was far from recovered, but the deeper burn in his blood kept him moving.

Target Veyra:

New desire detected.

Condition: Emotional imbalance registered.

He had seen it clearly during her fight. And even clearer when she was dragged from the sand, bloodied but with her teeth bared in a furious grin that barely masked her rage.

Arven knew that look well.

He pushed open the door to the medical wing.

The sharp scent of herbs hit him first, mixed with the copper tang of blood. Low lanterns flickered against stone walls.

Veyra sat on the edge of a wide cot near the far wall, ribs wrapped in tight white bandages, her bare arms streaked with dried sweat and blood. Her wild red hair hung loose around her shoulders, eyes gleaming bright in the dim light.

She looked up as he entered, a slow smirk curling her mouth.

"Look who it is," she drawled, voice rough. "Come to gloat?"

Arven leaned against the doorframe, gaze steady.

"Not exactly. You looked like you could use some company."

Veyra snorted, one booted foot tapping restlessly against the stone.

"Damn near got knocked out. Only reason I'm still in the damn tournament is reputation. That other bitch too." Her voice twisted on the last words, low and bitter.

Her fingers flexed against the edge of the cot, muscles tense beneath pale skin.

Arven watched her a moment longer.

The System's flicker pulsed again at the edge of his vision.

Possible interpretations:

- Defeat target Evelyne

- Relieve emotional tension

He stepped forward slowly.

"You know," he said, voice low, "there's a better way to work the stress out."

Veyra's gaze sharpened.

"You think you can handle me right now?" she growled, though her pupils were already blown wide. Her chest rose and fell faster than before, her breath just shy of controlled.

Arven gave a slow grin. Not cocky, calculated.

"Only one way to find out."

A charged silence passed between them.

Veyra rose from the cot in a single, fluid motion. Her ribs were still wrapped, but she moved like they didn't matter, like pain meant nothing. Her eyes gleamed with that same wild, unchained fire.

"You're lucky I'm in the mood to break something," she murmured.

Arven closed the last bit of distance, their bodies a breath apart.

"You can try."

The tension snapped like a wire.

They collided with a feral energy that sent the cot crashing against the wall. Their mouths met in a brutal kiss, all teeth and heat. Veyra grabbed his hair hard, yanking him down as her lips crushed against his. 

Arven answered with a growl, hands locking around her hips as he lifted her clean off the floor. The heat of her body seared through the thin fabric between them.

Clothes came apart fast under their hands. Her tunic ripped open with a satisfying tear. Bandages were shoved out of the way, her breasts bare and flushed. His own clothes came apart in ragged pulls, exposing the tense lines of his chest.

"Fight me," she breathed.

Arven caught her wrists mid-motion, twisted, and slammed her down into the cot beneath him in one clean move.

Their bodies tangled, heat pouring between them.

His mouth claimed the soft skin of her throat, teeth dragging along the curve just below her jaw. She shuddered, a gasp breaking free.

"Good," she panted. "Keep going."

He did.

Arven thrusted into her with fierce momentum, each stroke slamming deep between her thighs. Veyra arched beneath him, legs wrapping tight around his waist to pull him in harder.

She didn't just take it. She met him at every motion, every breath.

Her nails raked down his back, sharp enough to sting, but not enough to tear skin. 

Arven grunted and held her down, his grip on her wrists unyielding as she twisted beneath him, testing him like she tested everyone.

Their bodies crashed together in a brutal rhythm. The cot beneath them groaned with every impact, scraping against the wall.

Veyra gasped against his ear, voice breaking into ragged moans with each relentless thrust.

"Harder," she hissed. "You can do better than that."

Arven growled low, dragged her hips up tighter against him, and answered with deeper, punishing thrusts.

Their skin gleamed with sweat. The air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of sex. Every motion built tension between them, hotter and faster, their bodies refusing to stop.

Veyra's legs trembled, wrapped tight around him. Her breath turned shallow and fast, her hips jerking up to match his pace.

Still she fought him, grinding back hard, unwilling to give in until her body forced her.

She came with a scream, her muscles locking around him in violent spasms. Her hands clutched him tight, nails digging deep as she shook beneath him.

Arven followed close behind. He slammed into her one final time, voice low and rough as he spilled inside her, his climax tearing through him in thick, hot waves.

For a few seconds, neither moved. Only their breathing filled the room, heavy, ragged, and laced with aftershock.

But it wasn't over. Not for either of them.

Their bodies stayed tangled, skin slick with sweat, hearts still hammering. Veyra's nails were still faintly pressed into his back, her breath warm against his neck.

Then she laughed.

A low, rough sound that sent another pulse of heat through him.

"You think you've won?" she whispered.

Before he could answer, she twisted beneath him with sudden force. Her legs, still wrapped around his waist, flipped their weight. In a blur, Arven landed flat on his back.

The cot groaned, tipped, and dumped them both to the floor in a heap of limbs and heat.

Veyra was already on top, straddling him, her grin sharp as ever.

"I fight until I win," she hissed.

Arven reached up to grab her, but she pinned his wrists to the floor, nails dragging down his chest, hard enough to sting. She rose onto her knees, grinding down against him, teasing him back to full hardness with slow, deliberate pressure.

"Let's see if you can take it," she purred.

Then she slammed down, taking him in deep with one hard thrust.

Arven's breath caught. A groan ripped from his throat.

Veyra didn't ease in, she rode him fast, hard, wild from the first motion. Her thighs clenched around him, hips snapping down with punishing rhythm.

Her hands braced on his chest, her nails biting in with every bounce. She tipped her head back, hair tumbling down her back, a broken cry spilling from her lips.

Arven growled, gripping her waist and meeting her thrust for thrust.

Her body was fire, tight, hot, greedy. Each motion drew him deeper, faster. Their bodies crashed together in rhythm, loud and desperate.

His hands slid up her body, fingers finding her throat.

He squeezed lightly.

Veyra gasped, eyes gleaming. Her lips parted in a wicked smile.

"Careful," he growled. "You asked for this."

"More," she whispered, voice shaking.

He squeezed harder and drove up into her with savage force.

Veyra moaned deep, her hands flying to his wrists, nails biting down, not to stop him, only to anchor herself as she rocked harder, faster, riding the pressure to its edge.

They moved together like predators devouring one another, every breath stolen, every thrust a challenge.

Her body locked around him again, a ragged scream tearing loose as she came hard, hips grinding down, every muscle trembling.

But she wasn't done.

Veyra shoved off him, breath ragged, eyes still burning with that wild heat.

Arven barely had a moment to react before her fingers tangled in his hair. She yanked him upright with surprising strength.

"Not finished," she growled.

He laughed, sweat slicking his skin, pulse still pounding.

"Good."

She shoved him hard against the nearest wall, chest heaving, teeth bared in a grin that was all hunger and defiance.

Her mouth crashed into his again, no finesse, just raw need. She bit his lip, dragged her nails down his chest and arms in clawing, claiming strokes.

Arven growled and grabbed her hips, lifting her clean off the ground.

Veyra laughed against his mouth, breathless.

He pinned her to the stone, her legs wrapping around his waist like they belonged there. Her arms locked behind his neck, holding tight.

Then he thrust up into her in one brutal motion, burying himself deep.

Veyra gasped, head jerking back as her body jolted from the force. Her nails found his back again, digging in, but not to hurt, to hold.

Arven moved with wild rhythm, slamming into her over and over, the wall behind her shaking with each thrust. The slap of skin, the sound of breathless gasps, the creak of stone and flesh, it filled the room.

Veyra didn't give ground. Her hips met his with equal fury, grinding into each impact, biting his shoulder when the pleasure overwhelmed her.

Neither of them slowed. Neither of them wanted to.

Their moans rose sharp and broken, lost in the chaos of the moment.

Arven's muscles burned with the effort, every movement driven by pure instinct. His grip on her thighs tightened, his jaw clenched.

Veyra's head tipped back, a wild cry escaping her lips.

Then her body tightened around him once more, tight and shaking. She came with a scream, her legs squeezing around him, her entire form trembling as waves crashed through her.

Arven didn't stop.

He drove through it, pushing deeper, chasing the heat as his own climax surged up fast and hard.

With a final thrust, his hips snapped forward, and he came, groaning against her neck as he spilled deep inside hern hot, full, and unrelenting.

They slumped against the wall together, gasping, bodies trembling from the effort.

Veyra grinned through the haze, her voice raw.

"Still standing," she whispered.

Arven laughed, throat dry, teeth showing.

"Good. One more round."

Her eyes lit up.

They barely made it back to the cot.

Veyra dragged him down with her, both of them slick with sweat and shaking from strain. Their movements were messy now, coordination fading, but the hunger hadn't gone anywhere.

"One more," she panted. "Let's see who's left standing."

Arven caught her wrist mid-motion, twisted, and flipped her face-down across the ruined sheets.

She laughed, breathless, elated.

"Good. Show me."

He grabbed her hips, pulling her back hard against him. Her body was still hot, still wet, still aching for more.

Veyra braced on the sheets, legs spread, breath fast and sharp.

"Do it," she growled.

He did.

With a low snarl, Arven slammed into her, driving deep with a single, savage stroke. Veyra gasped, jolting forward from the force.

He didn't wait. There was no pause left in either of them.

His hips moved fast and brutal, the rhythm relentless. Flesh smacked against flesh, loud and raw. The cot creaked under them, shaking with each thrust.

Veyra gripped the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white.

"Fuck, harder!" she cried.

Arven clenched his jaw, body burning. He tightened his hold on her hips and drove harder, faster, each stroke hitting deeper.

Veyra moaned with each impact, the sounds guttural and unfiltered. Sweat rolled down her spine, her back slick and twitching with every motion.

She pushed back against him, refusing to break. Each thrust was met with equal desperation.

"Don't you slow down!" she gasped.

He didn't.

His pace only grew rougher, more violent. Every movement now was pure instinct, all edge and urgency.

Veyra's cries sharpened, her voice rising as her body tightened again around him. Her legs trembled, her whole body straining.

Then she screamed, loud and hoarse, as another orgasm tore through her.

Arven barely held on. Two more thrusts, hard, fast, and he came with a deep groan, filling her again in pulsing waves that left them both shaking.

They collapsed onto the bed in a tangled heap.

Arven lay across her back for a moment, chest heaving, forehead resting between her shoulder blades.

Neither of them spoke.

Only breath and heat.

Eventually, he shifted, sliding out of her and rolling to her side.

They lay tangled in the sheets, skin flushed and marked, every inch of them used.

Veyra laughed first, the sound broken and full of breath.

"Fuck. You win this one."

Arven smirked, barely able to lift his head.

"Call it a draw."

Veyra smiled, eyes half-closed.

"Next time... I'm putting you through the floor."

He chuckled low, shifting just enough to press against her side.

They lay quiet for a while, the heat slowly fading. Her hand found his and curled around it, lazy and firm.

"Not bad, Ghoul," she murmured.

Arven gave a tired smile.

"Not bad yourself."

Silence settled between them, not awkward, not cold. Just heavy. Shared. Earned.

Two warriors, tangled in exhaustion and sweat, who had fought each other with everything they had… and found something deeper in the wreckage.

And even now, both of them knew:

This fight wasn't over.

Not even close.