Dark drabble inspired by "You Want" by Porcelain and the Tramps. Set anywhere in the Medieval period.

Warnings-genben!England, dark, language.

Disclaimer- I wish.

Her eyes shone with the same light that reflected off the flat of her blade.

"Tell me," she panted, as worn out by the fight as he was, "Do you still think I'm better off dead?"

Francis smirked at her. His sword shrieked as he pushed down on hers until they were locked hilt to hilt. The sparks highlighted the madness on the sharp lines of his face.

"Words spoken in ignorance, ma petite," he gasped, pressing as close to her as the blades interlocked between them would allow. "Who else can make me feel like this?"

Her smile was dark and promising. "If you defeat me today, I'll let you fuck me where I fall."

Her opponent inhaled deeply at the thought. "Anyone would think you were asking to lose," he replied, "Because I promise you, an offer like that will make me fight all the harder."

Her smile only grew. Alice twisted suddenly and hit out with her free hand, striking him on the chin before he could react.

"I'll make you work for the victory," she promised in return. She settled into a defensive stance, waiting for his next move.

He obliged by swinging at her torso and turning the expected block into an attempt on her hamstrings. She retaliated by aiming for his sword arm, and scoring a shallow cut on the back of his hand.

Francis stepped back and licked off the blood seeping from his wound.

They regarded each other in the light of the setting sun. Francis had many shallow cuts all over his body; some of them only slashes in his clothing but most sporting bloodstains. Alice had less wounds overall, but her worry was the deep cut on the back of her shoulder that was still bleeding sluggishly even an hour later.

"If you win," she reiterated, "You can fuck me where I fall."

He recognised the glint in her eyes as an invitation. "And if I lose?" he inquired mildly, as though asking about the weather.

Alice smiled at him, bloody and beautiful. "If you are to lose, Francis?" she paused dramatically, prolonging the moment. "If you lose, my darling, you'll be better off dead."

They saluted each other with their swords, bloody and beautiful and mad, backlit by the dying sun on the horizon.