@laplacemail hold on i got this (brings out the gay bs) ∗ 65﹕ sender throws receiver into a wall during combat . - ran / emil. it can or cannot be followed by ∗ 16﹕ sender pushes receiver against a wall to kiss them . /scampers away
He doesn’t strike to kill — he can’t. There is no way the wolf hasn’t noticed, and he can’t blame him from exploiting the clear weakness of an enemy. Still, the adrenaline rushes through his veins, and when the mercenaries flee and scatter and his people hurry to their wounded companions, his body moves on its own with predatory agility before any of them can follow.
He catches the sound of another set of footsteps that stop abruptly near a cluster of buildings. Hiding, huh...? Ambushing his squad might have worked once, at a longer, safe range, circling around them like a pack of beasts. But now, when it's one on one, he has the upper hand; the stench of petrichor might overwhelm his keen sense of smell, but not even Rannulfr can fool his ears. The Captain walks, confidently, expectantly, letting his steps be heard on the wet stone — taunting the half-demon out of wherever he's hiding.
There he is. When he finally comes out, his blade is waiting. Elegant flourishes reserved for the eyes of his subordinates and his superiors, he doesn't shy away from fighting dirty when it is just him and a dangerous opponent. After all, he learned from the best—
—rusty as his skills may be. Emil growls as a dagger narrowly misses his face, and in that instant the distraction makes him lose his footing. Steel comes to rest against his neck, but he's quick to slip an arm out of Rannulfr's hold, threatening his stomach in turn. For a minute in which neither move nor speak it's just heavy panting under the heavy rain soaking hair and clothes and running down their faces.
You don't have to do this, you know. Almost mocking him, almost worse than if the dagger had been buried on his slowing pulse.
It's a soft, weak whisper. He lowers his eyes (but not his blade), and sighs. He doesn't get to speak again before he feels it. The faint touch of the man's lips on his own... And his heart skips a beat. Bittersweet. More bitter than sweet. Surprise quickly gives way to fury, and he forgets his current predicament when he pushes Rannulfr's far from his body instead. "...don't play with me, Ran."
