Sweat dampens the hairs at Arkin's neck, flicking off in droplets as he parries his teacher's thin blade for the fourth—*no, fifth?*—time this session. The Thanalan sun beats down on his shoulders, aching from holding up the rapier and focus for so long. X'rhun bounces backward, unfazed by Arkin's answering riposte, but the distracting triangle of bare skin at X'rhun's throat, growing wider with every button he's undone in his own quest to battle the heat, shines with his exertion. Arkin tries to focus on the task at hand: ten successful parries in a row while weaving alternating spells— *Jolt, Verthunder, Verfire, Veraero, Verstone, Ver…where was I? Fuck—* X'rhun comes at him again. Arkin manages to dance away, but his concentration wavers, and his eyes once again drag themselves down to the spot where X'rhun's third button strains valiantly against taut linen, pulled over a fine dusting of white hair and sweat-slick muscle…

*Jolt… Veraero…* Crackling aether buzzes past his ear as Arkin darts out of the path of X'rhun's Verthunder. The older mage is on him a second later, his blade a glittering line in the corner of Arkin's vision. Arkin is just as quick, sword arm flicking up instinctively to protect himself. X'rhun is bigger, though. Arkin's arm trembles against the weight of his mentor pressing downward. X'rhun's words come hot in Arkin's ear: "You can lick it clean after you win, darling." Arkin's eyes widen in a moment of hesitation. It's enough. The edge of X'rhun's rapier slides against Arkin's ribcage. Shoulders slumping, Arkin takes a step backward in defeat. "A lesson learned, I hope? Do battle with your opponent's blade, and heed not their words." Despite his stern words, a smile plays across X'rhun's lips. "Rapier and focus up. Ten parries." "Yes, Ser." Arkin does hope he meant it, though.

A gift, because this was too fun not to write a little something for ✨

#arkinwriting #arkinxrhun