Title: point and match, natch mark
Author's note: kink meme: sparring with kisses and Guy being not one for PDA. Spoilers, but you probably know them all if you've played the game at all.
He preferred to spar at dawn, when the air was cooler over the plains, and the grass was filled with dew. Most of the camp would still be getting ready at this rate, fumbling for the coffee and first meals. It gave him a modicum of privacy. Matthew was always up early; thieves worked best under the cloak of night. In truth, he wondered when Matthew slept, for every time he came to his tent, he'd be half-awake and waiting for him, with one eye open and a half-smirk his way and his hand reaching back to roll back the bedroll to accommodate two people.
He'd chosen just outside the reaches, where an old fence and the remains of what must have once been a farm near the ruins of an old fortress. It was too broken-down to use as an actual dwelling, but it did protect their camp from wind and gave some protection against ambushes.
Matthew was sitting on the fence, eating an apple he'd gleaned from one of the trees. Lowen and Rebecca had picked over most of them to make pie, but not picked clean, for Lady Lyn had convinced them to keep some as an offering for the animals. The apple was almost to the core now, which made Guy wonder how long he'd been out here. Who knew, for Matthew was just as possible at wolfing down his food before a march as lingering over it and pretending to not be aware. Guy had once tried to catch him unawares then, only to get knocked back with surprising force – he'd forgotten he was carrying a Killing Edge. As punishment, Guy had dishes duty all week with Lowen, who didn't even find it a chore.
"Waiting for me?" Matthew asked.
"M-Maybe," Guy said. He was horrible at lying.
Matthew threw the apple away and came down off the fence without even tangling his cloak and scarf. He drew his knife and examined it. Guy almost expected him to lick the blade, as he'd done before when teasing Guy.
"U-uh-huh," Guy said.
He thrust his sword forward just missing getting caught in the soft wood of the fence, only to have Matthew dodge, and lean in close and steal a kiss. The shock – though it shouldn't be a surprise considering he did it every time – the feel sent a conduit of energy right through him enough to almost make him lose his balance.
Matthew laughed and skipped out of his reach again as Guy arced his sword in a wild blow. Guy looked back over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching. Only a few people had stirred in the camp below. Marcus, diligent as ever; Kent and Lowen, the latter of whom was preparing breakfast with Rebecca; Lady Lyn was greeting Father Sky as her Sacae ancestors taught her.
Matthew leaned in and stole another few kisses. Guy's lips were tingling and tender by this point. His head was starting to spin.
Matthew tsked. "Really, poor form, Guy. You'd be dead on the battlefield if I wasn't there to spring in and save you. I'd have to demand more favors from you~"
He plucked up Guy's braid and twirled it in his fingers before Guy tried to strike him again. Matthew just laughed and jumped back, dancing away from the reach of the blade and making Guy chase him.
Of course, the favors Matthew asked for now were not the kind he asked for before. They tended to involve Guy coming late at night to his tent blushing and embarrassedly rubbing at his cheeks, and Matthew welcoming him in and blowing out the lamp.
And the other things that followed.
Though, these were really just formalities because he would've come anyways, and they weren't even really sparring considering that Matthew wasn't even trying to hit him. At least, not with anything but his lips.
"You'll have to try harder if you want to catch me," Matthew teased.
"Be fair and s-s-stop playing with me!" Guy said.
He wasn't even trying to hit Guy with his sword. He was dodging with ease – damn him and his inhuman agility.
"Hmm. I could..." Matthew said. He leapt onto the fence and stroked his chin thoughtfully. Guy swiped at him, and he jumped the first one, while the second hit off the fence, sending a shock right through all his body. It cost him precious time, and but Matthew only used the advantage to smirk at him, as if to push in deep the point how far ahead he was.
"You know what I think? I think you're not even trying to hit me. Maybe you don't want to scar my pretty little face?"
Guy drove forward with a stab, as if to prove him wrong, but missed Matthew by inches...and misjudged the distance, getting his sword stuck in the wood. Matthew jumped down, lifted his chin and kissed him soundly. His lips were skillfully parted as Matthew's tongue grazed against his own. It made that conduit of energy that he always felt with Matthew's kisses even stronger, pooling at his groin. He groaned and clung to Matthew's scarf, his shoulders as Matthew broke just enough for one broken laugh before Guy was against the fence and being kissed more.
This was the spoils of victory. He was the spoils of victory. His mind was swimming, incoherent as he tried to pull Matthew in for more, and that was the most embarrassing thing, that Matthew could bring out such a shameless side of himself he'd never thought he'd had.
That he could tease, trick and play this out of him. That he could...
Matthew was playing with him.
He tried not to think about Matthew's former fiancee, tried not to think about the word replacement or second best which dug in, stinging behind his teeth and coming out in quiet hisses, guttural whispers, but never said outright. He tried not the think about that he actually liked this, liked the nights he'd come into Matthew's tent and find out he actually could – and did sleep, and quite peacefully too, or that he'd be looking at every part: a thin fringe of black lashes; the many scars which Matthew had gotten through the years, ones which Guy could probably match in untold stories; the rough, yet skilled hands.
Matthew was happier when around him. He lacked the crazed need for revenge which had driven him after her death. Guy didn't think he'd ever forget her, but at least now he was smiling, and they weren't entirely fake.
Granted, they were smirks because he bested Guy once again, but it was something.
When did he start caring? It had grown somewhere, beyond teasing words and the loss of Matthew's smile on her death. It probably wasn't flirting then, even if it resembled it. He was too devoted to her, too taken. It was just the seeds, the possibilities hidden behind teasing words.
He'd wanted simply to be the best swordsman, at any price, but now he wanted more. It ached inside him, stretching out its claws and sinking in. Love was a harsh mistress; he'd already gotten his heart broke once by a noble lady with red hair, now Matthew stole away his heart and played with it on fence posts, as if it were a juggler's ball, or just another piece of lifted goods.
Guy pulled back and pulled out his sword. He sheathed it, calling a truce.
"Y-You win this round," Guy said. "But n-next time I'll best you for sure."
"Who knows, next time you might even hit me!" Matthew said. He winked, stole one last kiss for the road and pulled Guy's hand to him. He turned his palm over and put a talisman into it. Obviously he'd been 'shopping' again.
"I don't want you dying on me when you still owe me favors," he said, so carefree as to be forced. Guy heard it, despite himself. I don't want you dying, like her.
"Don't worry, no charge...but maybe I should've stolen a secret book instead so you might actually be able to hit me–"
Guy bristled, but muttered a T-thanks despite it all. He had his manners, even if he wanted to gut Matthew.
"Well then, until next win. Oh, and don't forget the favors," Matthew said.
He went off without another goodbye. Guy watched him go towards the camp, his scarf swishing with each step. Watching him was useless, really. Nobody surprised Matthew, he'd never be ambushed. Still he watched him go home every time, useless waste of time as it was.
He pulled out his sword and did a few arcs. They went clean and balanced now that Matthew wasn't here to distract him.
The sun had risen high. It was almost time for breakfast.