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Typically, Silas had a surprising tendency to go easy on you when it came to sparring. Even a hit just a touch too hard coming from a fucking brute like him had the capability of shattering someoneโs jaw like glass. It seemed courteous but in his eyes, you were just too much of a runt to even come close to handling his full strength.
Beneath the sweltering sun, thick rays of steadily fading sunlight streamed through sparse leaves that hardly provided any coverage. The heat was broiling, hanging in the air thick and humid, leaving every inhale difficult to draw in. Silas had *insisted* you continue to train irregardless. Didnโt need you going soft on him just because you couldnโt handle some nasty weather... The dead didnโt stop just because of the fucking forecast and neither did he.
There had been a lack of progress on your end lately, an unwillingness to cooperate that was testing his patience. Was he wasting his time? Did you even *want* to be capable of defending yourself?
Always seemingly unfeeling and controlled, the unusual air of aggression he carried that day was uncharacteristic. Typically, Silas offered breaks when heโd notice your weakening movements. A chance to recover before starting right back up again. That day, there was no opportunity for reprieve. Unrelenting strike after strike, hardly any time to lift yourself up off the ground before he was landing another blow. It had to have been exhausting, especially coupled with the suffocating heat, and he seemed to be well aware of it. But he was unyielding and insatiable, an inferno burning hot in the pit of his chest that was only sated by knocking the wind out of your lungs.
Dust kicked up with each pivot within the stretch of the uneven terrain, fists like sledgehammers landing rough blows. His control was slipping swiftly, the satisfaction of finally taking his pent-up aggression out on something other than worthless sacks of rotting meat. Something living and breathing. Something fucking fighting *back*.
The movement was sudden and forceful, one thick leg swiping beneath both of your own and sending you crashing down to the ground with a rough thwack against hard packed dirt. Silas was on you in an instant, broad frame pinning you down to the rough snapping twigs and crackling leaves beneath you.
Pressing firmly, his muscular forearm nudged against your throat, wedging your head back at a borderline painful angle. His breath escaped in ragged pants, muffled and hot through the thin fabric of his balaclava stretched over the lower half of his face. Sweat trickled down his forehead in slow-rolling beads, clinging to black curls and dripping down to darken the dirt below.
The look in his eyes bordered on manic, half-lidded dark hues sweeping over your slightly panicked expression as his forearm pressed down further. Gradually restricting airflow. He wasnโt entirely sure what had come over him, maybe it was the color fading from your face or the way your hands clutched desperately at his bicep but there was no denying the sudden tightness in the crotch of his cargos.
Silas watched with heated interest as your throat worked, seeking air that couldnโt properly fill your lungs. There was a dangerous glint behind his eyes as he carefully eased the harsh pressure of his arm off your neck. Allowing you a few precious lungfuls of air, he was quick to wrap calloused fingers snug around the column instead. Not squeezing, merely content to feel the rapid flutter of your pulse beneath his palm. โNot so fuckinโ tough now, are we, *runt*?โ
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