Chapter 224 - 222: Could Be Fun.

Chapter 224: Chapter 222: Could Be Fun.

Some of them place bets; nothing big –a drink or a handful of gold or the best part of their dinner –but the smart ones do it discreetly, because Khobi makes sure to remember the faces of the ones who bet against him, and ensures they regret it the next time they’re his opponent.

​Loac must hear them, because he looks irritated, and then interested.

​Khobi does not like it when he looks interested .

​"What do you say, Khobi?" he inquires, voice flat but eyes glimmering; shining like a beast’s in the dark.

Khobi’s never sure what to make of it when his expression gets like that; like it’s something he knows he should run from, only to always finds himself being drawn in, "...Wanna make things interesting?"

​"...What, you want to make another bet?" Khobi scoffs, rolling his shoulder to loosen it up after cramping it trying to break out of one of Mural’s nasty headlocks.

"After losing the last one?" Loac’s eyes darken.

​"Scared you’ll lose this time?" he queries, and while Khobi knows it’s a taunt, and knows he shouldn’t bite, Loac’s tone makes him bristle, so he does anyway.

​" As if ," he growls, "What’s the bet, then?"

​"...What do you want?" Loac asks plainly, and Khobi stops his stretching to ponder the question.

There are a lot of possible answers –he wants his home and his uncle and a way back to those things, but that’s hardly something he can bet on a fight.

He would like a new sword, or some new armour or some warmer clothes, but right now, more than anything, he wants a fucking good night’s sleep .

​"...The bed," he states, and Loac raises an eyebrow. "I want your bed."

​"Is that so?" Loac remarks smoothly, and Khobi doesn’t much care for the insinuation.

​"Obviously not with you in it, asshole," he scowls, annoyed that he even has to clarify.

​"You sure about that?" Loac purrs, smirk wide and eyes glimmering with a strange, unsettling kind of heat, " Could be fun ."

It’s different from the usual kind that sparks when they fight, and Khobi’s not sure what to make of it.

​" Hard pass ," he grinds out regardless, refusing to even entertain the notion.

Not that Loac had really sounded all that serious.

​"...Suit yourself," Loac shrugs, unaffected.

​"So if I win you’ll piss off and I get to sleep in your bed?" Khobi hazards, eyebrow raised.

​"For the night?" Loac counters, "Sure."

​Khobi mulls over those terms. Only getting a bed for the one night feels kind of like he’s being ripped off, but it’s certainly one night more than he’s had in recent weeks.

And Loac’s bed is massive, and looks seriously comfortable. Not to mention warm .

​Fuck , the things he would do to be warm again.

​"...What do you want, then?" Khobi scowls, apprehensive, "If you’re after gold I don’t have anything like that –"

​" –I want that bread," Loac interrupts, no hesitation, "A whole batch."

​" A whole batch ??" Khobi exclaims incredulously.

They’re not hard to make, but they take time, and for him to not even get any at the end of it is...

​"...Take it or leave it," Loac states flatly, and rolls a crack out of his neck to indicate he’s ready to get started whenever he is.

Khobi grits his teeth, wrestling with the wager.

​A night spent off the floor is tempting.

​Very tempting.

​" Done ."

​It only matters if he loses, after all.

​Khobi leaps forwards, and the soldiers crowded round start to howl.

​Fighting Loac like this is different from being armed.

Here their reach isn’t quite so long, and their options for defense fewer and there’s nothing but their fists there to fill the space between them. It’s harder, almost; weaving and ducking at such close range, and also more fleeting.

Because they’re so fast and throw so much of their weight around, sometimes all it takes is getting one good shot to land for the victor to be decided.

​And sometimes it’s not that simple.

​Today, Loac’s first to the ground. He works his way around Khobi’s fists – stepping aside with the same practiced ease that he’s used to facing, but falls victim to a swift, heavy kick to the gut and Khobi takes advantage of the instant he’s doubled over winded to take him to the ground.

The soldiers wait with baited breath for Khobi to properly pin him –chest to the ground, arm wrenched behind him –and when he grapples Loac into place with a knee either side of his body they start up a raucous five-count.

The one that had to be implemented because of Khobi’s unwillingness to accept defeat.

​(The rule is quite simple. Once pinned, he gets five seconds to break loose and continue the fight, and five seconds only. And because even soldiers love drama, the rule applies to everyone.)

​The crowd gets to three before Loac breaks free of his grip.

It’s clear from who cheers and who boos just who is betting on who, and panting, Khobi’s attention snaps from the fight just long enough to single out a foolish few who cheered too loud.

​Beneath him, he feels Loac’s body twist, and when he looks down, suddenly all he sees is blue.

​(It’s not the first time they’ve ended up like this.)

​Dimly, Khobi is aware of Loac’s hips beneath him. Hyperaware, almost, of his shape flush between his thighs.

​(It had felt kind of good then, too.)

​There’s heat in Loac’s eyes, although it’s impossible to tell which kind without looking deeper, and Khobi doesn’t want to do that. Can’t, even.

Not with his words echoing in his head, dangerously low and sounding more like a promise than an offer.

​Could be fun .

​The cold air between them suddenly feels too thick. It sticks in Khobi’s throat; makes it hard to breathe.

Loac must feel it too, because he’s the same; chest heaving with every breath.

​One of his hands curls into Loac’s shirt, knuckles white.