Metal clashed on metal, sparks flying as the two figures launched themselves at each other carefully, shirts calmly billowing out from skin, both tan and pale. Smirks danced on the boys' faces as they both looked for an opening in their opponents' defences.
A clatter sounded as one sword fell and slid across the ground, a body falling with a thud. The blond was forced to tumble away as his enemy's sword was brought down, aimed for the boy's neck. Scrambling to his feet, he was forced into what was essentially a desperate dance for his life, dodging swing after swing, aimed to either maim or kill him.
Falling onto his back, tripping over his own sword. He hissed slightly, feeling it cut into his skin. Either way, he picked it up, slamming his sword against the one above him, jumping to his feet before the boy above could strike him down, once and for all.
A smirk graced his face yet again as he threw himself back into the fight, watching with joy as his adversary's eyes widened. It was clear that he hadn't been expecting the fight to continue. He was forced to go back to defending himself, unable to find an opening yet again.
How to do this? There was no way he could go for the tactic he used to half-defeat the blond boy. While his enemy kept a smirk the dark-haired boy's mouth turned into a dark scowl. He was determined to win this fight. No. He had to win. This was the way fate had written their fight and he was going to go through with the way fate had outlined for them.
Their dance would come to an end with the blond landing on his ass yet again but he won't be getting up this time. He was going to make sure of it.
With a grin, he roughly hit the teen's ankle with the hilt of his sword as he slid across the ground. With a smirk, he straddled the other, calmly resting the tip of his sword on top of his chest, right above his chest.
As both boys panted, he sat back, forcing sore legs to stand up yet again after a few seconds making sure the sword wasn't resting on his chest, smirking down at his foe. "It's over! I have the high ground and have defeated you!"
"Dude we're not playing fucking Star Wars! We're doing Shakespeare this year moron! We don't even have the rights to it!"
"Jeez Racer. Destroying the vibes here." Mike rolled his eyes as he looked down at the panting blond yet again, wooden sword poking on his chest. He could already see bruises blossoming on Race's skin and knew full well that his own skin would be scattered with a few light bruises.
He held out his hand to help his fellow teen up, only to find himself flying over said teen's shoulder, sword falling to the ground in his struggle.
At least when they were actually in rehearsal, he got to beat him in their sword fight. He honestly couldn't wait to both defeat him and have the wooden swords carefully painted to appear as real metal. They had tried to convince Medda to get them real dull swords but she had refused, both because of safety issues and restrictions in the drama budget. Still sucked though because he would love attempting to have a real sword fight. He understood why they couldn't but still. It would have been awesome. He idly tuned out his twin's laughter, making a mental note to punch him in the arm later. He doubted he could do any better.
Race may be a twink but he was a strong twink and if he could beat him, he could easily beat Ike who was weaker than him. At least he hoped he was stronger. He would never live it down if he was the weaker twin and he was determined to be the strongest out of the two. Hell, if needed, he'd swallow his pride and ask Spot or Hotshot for help with setting up a workout routine. No way am I going to be the weakest. He can go suck a dick if he thinks he can beat me in a fight.
Mike pouted, pulled out of his thoughts after feeling two pokes on his back. Since when had Race gotten his sword back? He sighed softly, knowing that there was no point attempting to escape. It was all over now.
"Who has the high ground now bitch?"