tropes. [blane rekner] (Patreon)

trope: character a pins character b against the floor or wall.

note: i totally forgot to put a poll up for the next series of drabbles so i hope this is okay! it's going to explore a bunch of cliches and tropes that i think will be fun to explore <3

Blane needs to let off some steam. You want to practice sparring.

The easiest solution to that was to fight each other. Or, at least, that's what you said when you came up to them in the training room.

You'd made the smart choice of making sure Blane was on a break when you brought the question, still standing back a good couple of steps. Had they been in the middle of smacking the mannequin, they might’ve sent their pole flying into you by accident at how random the request was.

Blane Rekner and [the Hunter] did not associate with each other. It was an unspoken rule. When the two of you did, it was Blane hurling insults and hating themself for it, and your partner, [A], stepping to your defence (though you were more than capable of fighting your own battles).

Blane was a menace. You were an angel.

They were always nothing more than second place. You earned the top spot with ease.

Why you wanted to spar with them was beyond Blane's comprehension, but they supposed you made a good point. Plus, the training room was practically empty right now, so it wasn't like you had many choices. Everyone else was either at lunch or stuck at their desks, trying to figure out various cases.

So they said yes. And of course, they hate themself for that too.

With the disadvantage of being tired from their previous workout, Blane can already see themself losing to you. They see this future just as they did when they first met Caine and saw the slight curl of the man's lip. From then on, they knew that they had no chance of ever winning his favour. And right now, they know they have no chance of smacking the stick out of your hand and earning a satisfying victory.

You sidestep their jab and retaliate with your own. Blane barely manages to block it and grits their teeth with frustration. You twirl your baton with ease and try for another hit, this time to the ribs rather than the chest. Blane answers it with another block and steps forward to move onto the offensive.

You're a good fighter. Blane has never denied this, though they're definitely loathe to admit it. What sucks is that you seem to be good off of pure talent, whereas Blane had to climb their way to get to where they are.

They have no idea of proving this right, of course, but that's what it feels like. It's what the thoughts in their head feed them when they're at their lowest and hating every piece of themself. It's what helps fuel their hatred when they start doubting why they're acting so harshly.

With a burst of energy, Blane begins knocking you backwards, attempting to get you to step off the mat. It's a tactic you're used to, of course, but it seems to catch you off guard. You take two steps back before you manage to hold your ground again.

"Give up," Blane hisses.

"You wish."

The comment only makes Blane angry. So, instead of aiming for your body, they aim their next hit at your baton. It loosens in your grip and they take the time to hit it a second time, hearing it clatter against the floor.

Then it happens.

One moment the two of you are standing and the next, you're back is to the mat. Blane is hovered on top of you, baton pressed against your neck like a sword and chest heaving. They don't ever remember pushing you, but surely they must have done something, or else the two of you wouldn't be here.

Blane places on hand beside your head on the mat to balance themself. Their knees are braced beside your hips.

"Yield," Blane states.

You glare at them. Some part of them thinks the expression is beautiful. The passion, the hatred burning in your eyes. It's a look they like to pull out of you when they can, if only because it helps justify their own emotions.

"Get off of me," you answer.

The problem with letting their feelings get the better of them is they don't realize things until too late. If anyone walked in on you two, they would probably think you're about to kiss. You're in the perfect position for it, of course. All Blane has to do is lean down and…

Their eyes flicker involuntarily to your lips. They're slightly cracked from lack of moisture and parted as you gasp for air, trying to catch your breath. Blane has never found mouth-breathing to be attractive and they surely don't now, but something…

Suddenly, Blane feels you everywhere. They're practically sitting on top of you. The hand that is holding the baton is brushing your throat, which they feel rise and fall with each breath. Your body is hot beneath them. Hot, like the bare skin against their—

Blane throws themself off you. Without another word, they grab their things and head for the door.

After today, you'll never speak of this again. After today, they'll decline any offer of a spar they get with you, for fear of this ever happening again. After today, they'll avoid looking you in the eyes for at least a week. Because they need to forget this happened. They need to go back to hating you just like they hate themself.