It was just like a training sessions, Spike thought, as he trailed behind Cian up the flattened-grass path towards the top of Glastonbury Tor. Panting, and trying to regulate breathing, Spike thought of asking Cian to wait up, but then he remembered there was no time.
Tourists and hippies, new ages types with their crystal pendulums and serene gazes, walked past the boys, unaware of the invisible war unfolding around them. At the top of the mound, the gray tower, set in front of a sapphire-blue sky, stood waiting, a portal.
Cian stopped outside and surveyed the tower. Spike said nothing, content that his partner was in control. Looking through the archway, Spike could see clear onto the other side. Glastonbury, and its green, inviting hills, spread across the landscape, into the sky.
"Give me a moment, Spike," Cian said. "I'll do what I can." He closed his eyes, and began whispering in a language that Spike didn't recognize. It sounded like wind and running water, and something about it drew a deeply embedded primal response.
Spike, normally not the quickest on the uptake, suddenly realized Cian was calling him by his first name...more than he called him 'boyo', anyway. The young fighter took the opportunity to collect his breath, and took a walk around the tower perimeter. It was an old structure, full of latent energy. It was only in the last few months or so that Spike, having instructors and tutors to guide him in harnessing the abilities of his glyph, the source of his magick, had begun to pick up on the subtle (or unsubtle) energies running through all things, living or no. Whatever magick had been woven here from the leyline beneath the Tor had transformed this ruin into a conduit. It was like a livewire. It made all of Spike's arm hairs stand on edge, and he suspected if he touched the side of the edifice, it would fill him up like a battery.
Spike completed his circuit, meeting Cian back where they started. Anxious at what had just happened with Slayer, and annoyed that Spike hadn't though to bum rush and spear the cosplaying knight in the gut before he made his exit into the Otherworld, Spike shrugged impatiently.
"So. What?"
Cian glared at him from the side of his face. "I'm doing my best. It's been awhile since I've worked with old ma--" He stopped.
Spike frowned, waving a hand in front of Cian's face. "Yes? Ground control to..." he stammered, realizing what Cian was staring at. "To...woah."
Where blue skies and green hills were once framed by the stone archway, an entirely different time of day awaited Spike and Cian through the door. All around the tower, blue skies. Spike, coming to his sensed, did a quick lap. He could see Cian, and the path down the Tor, from the other side.
Spike re-joined his companion, peering into the world beyond. It was a moonlit night there, casting long, indigo shadows across hills of silvery grass. Deep lines in the earth, sygils or symbols in spiralling patterns, gave off an enchanting light. Without asking Cian, Spike knew this could be nothing than the Otherworld of the Shining Ones.
Cian winced, touching his temples. "Agh. I'm getting the feeling I get before I Blood Frenzy." He quickly added, "I don't think I will though. You're not pissing me off.... right now, anyway.
Spike bit his lip. He'd bee on the receiving end of one of Cian's wild streaks recently, and wasn't keen on experiencing it again. "You think we should do this? Should we get Joseph?"
As soon as Spike said this, as if tempting them, the portal rippled, become more translucent.
"Don't have time," Cian said, marching forward. He sighed. "Okay. I can't believe I'm doing this but..." he sighed, forced a smile, and turned to Spike, holding his hand up. "Tag in. You're my fight buddy right now, Spike. I'll need your backup."
Spike found himself starry eyed. He coughed and tried to downplay it, giving Cian a tepid high five. "Yeah, sure. We got this."
It was like walking through water...or, as Spike thought, Jell-O. As soon as they were on the 'other side', the atmosphere itself shifted. The night was cool and balmy, perfumed with a strange, smoky sweetness. Dreamlike, Spike turned to see the arch behind them, still intact. Only, the tower abutted the rest of a castle-like building, or monestary.
"How..." Spike started. He felt like he was in a trance, or drunk. Something about this place...
"Don't ask me how it works, as we don't have time," Cian said. "You...okay?"
In a fugue state, Spike smiled and swooned. "Yeahhh. Everything feels great."
"Hm. You don't have Faeblood. This place is naturally enchanted." He grabbed Spike, hard, by the shoulder, snapping him to his senses. "Okay, listen. Don't eat anything here. Don't speak to anything here. Stay by me. If something draws your attention, tell me, and look away. Got it?"
Spike nodded. "Yeah. Hey, you hear that? His ears perked up at a distant, baleful cry.
Cian looked out into the faewild, with its mists as thick as water hovering below marshes. The moon shone brighter here, somehow, but without a harshness on the eyes. In the distant horizon, lights cycled in rainbow hues. Cian couldn't fathom what they were. Houses? Something akin to the aurora borealis he'd seen in the north? Or, something stranger still? An instinct in his gut told him not to look, and so he turned towards the direction of the brays and howls.
Barking, and then shadows, heralded the arrival of a pack of wild animals. Wolf, dog, or coyote, Spike wasn't sure, but he knew that their cries turned his blood into ice. "Cian," he whispered. "I don't like that."
"Neither do I," Cian grunted, nodding towards a collection of odd, violet shrubs encircled by a grove of birches. "Hide."
Spike didn't argue. Cian shepherded him along, an eye on the vale below where this odd, dark pack of hounds moves. Among them, a horse--larger than an Earthly horse--driven by a dark figure in cloak and armor.
Cian gasped. "The Wild Hunt."
"What?" Spike whisper, shouted. He stopped. Cian was already on the pasty side, but he'd suddenly grown paler.
Cian put his finger to his lips and tucked Spike behind a veil of bushes. Even so, he suspected it wouldn't matter. He had hoped they'd find Slayer easily and not have to deal with any of this realm's denizens. Instead, they'd just run into quite possible the most dangerous beings to patrol the faewild. A dullahan would have given them less reason to dread than the hunting hounds of the Dead Lord.
Spike and Cian held their breath and tried to peer between the gaps in the leaves. Spike thought his heart might freeze entirely. What he had witnessed at Chichen Itza had been otherworldy enough to unnerve him, but this was beginning to border on raw terror. He'd gladly take a cage match with Vahni Rage any day.
The hounds, in all different shapes and forms, came snarling and sniffing the earth. Some eyes milky white, like marble, and others an eerie green. Their black coats were not made of tuft and fur, but smoke, and an oily blackness. Their presence heralded a bed of violet mist, creeping along the ground, and in that vapor, Spike thought he could make out ghoulish, skeletal faces. Presiding over the pack, the horse was all skin, draped over bones, yet strong and sturdy and adorned with silvery armor. The rider, also tall, wore a black, velvet cape with red inlay, over a silver armor. His helm was in the shape of a skull, and his eyes burned like rubies in fire.
Spike closed his eyes, certain as certain that this was death incarnate. Cian knew otherwise, but in truth, Spike's assumption wasn't far off the mark.
Turning his head this way and that, the dark figure surveyed the grove. The hounds drew closer, sniffing out the stink of human flesh. Cian, thinking, placed his hand on Spike's head.
Yes, I'm talking to you inside your head. You can thank me glyph for that. And no, I can't read your thoughts. I need you to hold your breath, as long as you can. I'll explain why later.
Spike did as told, taking in a lungful, even as he felt the temptation to scream.
The figured rights his horse, in their direction. It pulled its skull-shaped visor up, exposing its face to the night air. Angelic, androgynous, with white, straight hair, the being's skin was the color and glow of the moon. Its eyes, much the same. It spoke, in a melodious echo.
"And what we have here? Human. No. Not entirely." A thin, cruel smile cut across its face. "You two can come out, now. There is no point in hiding. Quickly no, before I tire of the game and sick my hounds on you."
Cian sighed and bid Spike to do as told. As soon as they were out of the bush, facing down a pack of growling, otherworldy dogs and their leader, Cian prostrated himself.
"Blessed Anwyn, Guardian of the Dead, I beseech you. We do not mean trespass. We have merely--"
"On your feet; you embarrass yourself." The figure laughed, though not kindly. "The time your like worshipped us as gods is long past. You ask for forgiveness of your trespass, and yet..." It stopped, looking the muscular red-head over. "The stench of mortal does not cling to your flesh as such. You are a half-breed? A changeling perhaps? Answer me, boy."
"N-no," Cian said, truthfully. "I carry the blood of the First Kin, the Shining Ones. I am a son of the Tuatha De Danaan."
"Hmph," the spectre, this Anwyn of the Dead, turned his head up at the statement. "I seem to recall certain mortal kings were known to sire thousands of bastards, but this did not make royalty of their children. Still, there is some truth to you. Step closer, now. I want to get a look at you."
Spike looked to Cian. Cian did as he was told. He presented himself to the Lord of the Dead.
The white-haired one looked him over, expression unchanging. Finally, after-too long am moment, it raised its head in intrigue. "Ah, but I know that blood well. The Hound of Cullen. A wily one, indeed. A bastard you are not, though obviously untempered. You wield the Blood Frenzy of the Hound, don't you? Very interesting. Well, indulge me further, before I decide whether or not I should have my dogs rip you and that pretty one to bits."
Spike looked up. "Pretty?"
"Shhh," Cian said. He breathed deeply. "We seek the Chalice of Compassion, which was entrusted to your kind some aeons back. There are forces that amass that would steal and it do it harm. We come, with heads bowed, to borrow it."
Anwyn of the Dead narrowed his eyes, and tugged on his horses' reigns. "Politely spoken, halfling. And truthfully--I will give you that. You are wise enough not to deceive. Yet, why should I care for the affairs of mortals? Another war? Hmm? Another power grab? You're so practicable with your schemes. Tell me, why should give you...this?"
The rider's armor jangled as it held its gauntlet-clad hand out. In a blink, a cup of emerald green, with a decidedly Medieval design, materialized in Anwyn's hands. Its stem was flanked by the detailed carving of a dragon with its tail intertwined around a unicorn, not in combat, but in an affectionate embrace.
For some reason Spike thought of Cian and himself from the other night (he, of course, was the unicorn).
Just as Cian felt he was on the cusp of getting somewhere, the ethereal guardian's eyes twitched. "Oh? Another interloper?"
He turned his horse to face the column of green light that had sprouted from the ground. Anwyn's hounds arched their backs and growled, the low reverberation making Spike's skin creep anew.
A silhouette took solid shape in the light column. Slayer burst forth and drew his sword.
"You idiot!" Cian roared, drowned out by the abrupt snarl of the hounds as they took flight to defend their master.
Then, they stopped, as if they had run into an invisible wall. Screeching and whimpering, they drew back from the illuminated blade in Slayer's hands. Even Anwyn turned his nose up, casting Slayer under his cold, prodding eyes.
"What a clever trick," the lord said, holding up a hand, indicating that Slayer would be wise not to tread an inch closer. Miraculously, it worked. "A blade wrought of fairy bane. Such a curious and infuriating alloy. Wait...you carry the scent of dragons. A cambion? Here? In this realm?"
Cian picked up on Slayer's nervous energy. He was out of his depth. Still, he brandished his blade. "Hand me the Chalice, lord of the fae," Slayer barked.
Anwyn laughed at the suggestion. "A dragon kin and a halfling, both beseeching me for sacred treasure. What a curious turn of fate!"
"He's not with us," Cian was quick to point out. "He's the one I warned you about."
Anywyn held up a hand. "Enough. Mortals and your mortal games. Clearly, human blood has diluted any purity in your respective stock. Is it sport you're after? I can see the warrior's instinct in all your eyes. Your souls are perfumed by the stink of combat and spilled blood. If that is what you crave, and this Chalice is your prize, then perhaps we shall put this to battle." The cup vanished out of his hands, gone somewhere safer.
Before Cian could protest, Anwyn had vanished from his mount, re-appearing in a circle of moonlight, guarded by his loyal canines. Gone was his armor. Instead, his muscular flesh sparkled in the moonlight. He wore gossamer pants, which seemed woven of air, yet they concealed his modesty well enough.
"I will not raise a fist to kin, half-blooded or nay." He looked over at Slayer, whose eyes burnt in the moonlight, ready to scrap. "I will fight this one, who presumes he can conjur forbidden magicks to rip the tapestry of worlds and enter this sacred realm."
"Cease your trickery, Shining One," Slayer said. It wasn't hate that burned in his eyes, Cian detected, but something else. Determination. Righteousness, perhaps? "What? Shocked that I would address you by your rightful epithet, O Lord of the Dead? I have no love for Fae, but I do honor them and your abode." He grunted and sheathed his scabbard. "A precaution, nothing more. I have no need to redraw it if I am given no cause do to so."
Spike stepped back, as Cian stepped forward. Confused. "What are you playing at, Slayer?"
The long haired knight ignored his nemesis. Anwyn eyed him with deep interest. "These miscreants know not what they do, guardian. I seek the Chalice for no ill end, but to prevent bloodshed that would not merely uproot the mortal realm, but yours as well. I work alongside devils, but it is the provenance of the Goddess I seek." He pressed his hand against his chest. "Hand not the Chalice to these curs, but allow me to take it under my protection so that disaster might yet be staved!"
Cian glanced over at Spike, uncertain, and terrified of letting it show on his face. "Lord of the Dead, he is not to be trusted. He works with an organization run by wicked men."
Slayer's nostrils flared. "Dear lad, were you and I know brothers in arms, working for the same cause? That demon, Rage...he handled you much too harshly. Had I been there to take you under my wing instead..."
"Enough," Anwyn said, his voice booming like thunder. His dogs fell to their stomachs, bowing before him, and then vanishing into smoky vapor. "It is clear to me your hearts burn for the treasure of distant Aethrin." He laughed, hollowly. "Ah, if only you mortals knew the truth of your so-called mother, and of the gifts she granted you! Fight me, dragon kin. Whomever stands shall have your Mother's keepsake."
Slayer nodded, with a cunning smile, and detached his scabbard from his belt, tossing it aside. "Long have I yearned to grapple with a god. Fitting for a hero such as I!"
Cian gritted his teeth. "You idiot! The only weapon that would have worked on him!"
Anywyn laughed, giving Cian a cold and arrogant look. "Oh, we need an opponent for you, sweet Faeblade, don't we? Ah, why not someone you're intimately familiar with?" The tall being clenched his fist, like he was grabbing at the air, and then abruptly yanked it away.
Cian rose, bucking back, as if Anywyn had caught him by the shirt collar. He gasped.
"Cian!" Spike screamed. He drew forward, but found himself thrown back by am explosive light. Cool, blue flames rose up from the ground (not unlike Vahni Rage's little exit stunt from the other night). They gave no heat, but Spike felt his hand sting as it drew closer to the tall blaze. It acted as a veil, through which he could see Cian, floating midair, and Slayer, partitioned by another line of fire. Spike thought briefly of absorbing the flames (fire was energy, right?) but found his glyoh non-reactive. This was something else. As Cian had said, there exited magick older than magick.
"Do not interfere, pretty one!" Anywyn laughed. "What is a fight without an audience, after all?"
Something pulled itself from Cian. Spike thought it was another one of his mirage doubles. He wasn't entirely incorrect. The shadowy, featureless mass formed itself into a muscular man, much like him, but with dark hair instead of red. He wore a subtle beard, and a coating of hair ran the length of his naked torso (clad only by a mantle of wolf pelt). If Spike weren't so freaked out, he might have found himself aroused.
Red, glowing eyes--the signature of Cian's blood frenzy--stared at the Faeblood Brawler.
"I have drawn out the reflection of the Hound of Cullen that lurks within you," Anwyn explained, from behind his curtain of blue fire. "Best him...or die. Ah, but why that look upon your handsome countenance, distant kin? Have you not been wrestling this demon your whole life? Now, you can do in actuality!"
Cian stepped back. Afraid. Spike hadn't seen him afraid before (most insultingly, not even during their match). The Shade of Cu-Cullen, in lockstep, moved forward, mirroring him. Cian spat, then charged forward, grappling his dark half in a test of strength. Behind them, Anywyn and Slayer sparred, more strikes and blows than connected combat.
All Spike could do was watch. He swallowed. His knuckles turned white from clenching them so tightly. "Come on, Cian..."
Guttural roars poured from bestial Cian and Cullen, tumbling to the ground, bodies wrenched up in each other. Grappling turned into reversal, a tangle of muscles and limbs, and then, suddenly, both men were on their feet again.
"Is it wrong that I think this is really hot?" Spike said.
"YES!" Cian gasped, spitting blood from a cut in his lip onto the ground. In front of him, Cullen--uninjured--did the same.
Spike's eyebrows arched at that.
Cian sucked his teeth and switched up his strategy, taking a cue from Anywyn and Slayer's match and going for strike. The Shade, apparently, had the same idea. Their fists collided, painfully.
"Agghh," Cian cried out, wringing his hand. Cullen impassively did the same. "Ugh, he's too strong. I mean, he's me. Of course he's strong. "I'm fighting him with everything I got, Spike. Why isn't this working!?" Cian shouted and took a wide stance, calling upon all his power. He blinked. Nothing happened. "No illusions? No frenzy?"
In front of him, Cullen radiated with an emerald glow.
"You're...my power?" Cian stepped back, afraid. Cullen, stepped forward, emboldened. "No...you're all I have."
Spike closed his eyed and muttered a quiet prayer to the Goddess, something he hadn't done in quite awhile. "You can do it, Cian. I believe in you!"
"That makes one of us," Cian spat, dodging Cullen as he went for a blow. And then another. He was relentless. Cian was on the backfoot now, just trying to prevent the mad dog from grabbing onto him. If this was the embodiment of his blood frenzy, then it wouldn't stop til it snapped his neck.
"You!" Cian shouted, tears in his eyes. With voice cracking, he addressed the Shade like it was an illness he couldn't shake. "You've been a curse on me my whole damn life! The only time you've ever helped is when I'm trying to protect the people I..."
The emerald glow abruptly faded. The Shade stood. It did not go for the attack.
Cian observed it, distracted only the grunts and shouts from the duel behind him. "What?" He thought of going for a takedown, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the Shade's eyes flickered red again at the prospect.
Spike felt like he was on the verge of a panic attack...and he desperately needed to use the restroom besides. "Cian, whatever you're doing..."
"Ugh!" Cian shouted, going for the full assault. Cullen met him straight on. Once again, they were locked up.
"Never mind," Spike sighed.
Cian couldn't hear him, anyway. He was singularly focused on his opponent. The only opponent that ever mattered. He saw himself in the ruby mirror of the Shade's burning eyes.
"I hated you," Cian seethed. If he broke his arms trying to beat this thing, so be. "People told me I was doomed. Damned. Unworthy. Weak. You were always there to put them in their place." Tears rained from his eyes. "And...it was never satisfying, was it? What's the point of becoming champion if I still feel like everyone hates me." He sniffed. Still, he did not give up. "I'm so ashamed. I can't even beat you.
"Maybe I should throw this match. Let Spike get out with the Chalice. He's always tried to be nice to me." He sighed, buckling under his opponent's pressure. "Spike, I guess if I am gonna die, you should know...I always...uh...sorta' thought you were cute."
Feeling like he was about to be sick now, Spike didn't say anything to this...rather abrupt revelation. He felt his heart beat faster, however. Just as his brain began processing this information, the battle changed once more.
The Shade let go. Arms at its side, it watched Cian, gasping, and clothing soaked full with sweat.
"Stopped again?" Cian said.
The Shade just stared.
Cian looked over at Spike. "Shade, I need my power back. I need it to keep everyone safe."
To his surprise then, the Shade kneeled before him.
Though Spike and Cian couldn't see it (nor could Slayer, who had been tossed cleanly over Anywyn's shoulder, the Lord of the Dead turned his head slightly to the side, and smiled.
Cian swallowed. He stepped forward, without harmful intent. The Shade didn't move. "Oh wait, this is like a metaphor thing, isn't it? Of course, you're me!" Had Cian any breath left, he might have laughed. "Well, not exactly me."
He fell to his knees, mirroring his Shade, instead of the Shade of Cu Cullen mirroring him. After a moment of decomposition, Cian forced the words out.
"I'm so tired, boyo," Cian said. "Aren't you? It's so funny, isn't it? Why do I keep feeling like I'm weak, or a sissy? I'm strong as hell. We are. And yeah...I guess I've been afraid of who I am." He glanced over at Spike. Goddess, he really was a pretty man, wasn't he? Not just him, of course. He wasn't the first one who had stirred Cian's heart. Hell, he was surrounded by hunks, and every time he felt that feeling, the shame followed. He once thought of that hate as a shield, but it was really a dagger, aimed squarely at his own heart.
Time to toss it aside. Or...at the very least, start to pull it out.
"Whatever," Cian laughed, playfully. "Hey, you. Shadow...ancestor...whoever the hell you are. I am so damn proud of the person I am now. And if you don't like it, you can kiss my fat arse..."
Then, the Shade smiled.
So did Spike.
Cian's eyed widened. "Oh, you do like it? Heh. Well, of course you do. You're me." He swallowed, and moved forward. "No fighting you anymore, got it?"
Cian grabbed the Shade around the neck, just the same as going for a lockup. The Shade did the same to him. Only, instead or a struggle, their faces met. Cian kissed the shadow of the warrior god.
All of this, as Spike looked on. He bit his lip. "I...have the weirdest boner..."
When he looked up, as did Cian, the Shade was gone. Cian glowed with a soft, green light.
The fire faded, giving Spike and Cian a clear view into the other makeshift arena. Slayer lay, clutching his side, blood streaming down his face. It was obvious he had lost.
"Ah, well done!" Anywyn applauded Cian, silently. He drew close to him. "I was afraid I'd have to kill you. Your friend here proved more trouble than he's worth..."
Still rocked from what had just happened, and with a whole new host of emotions with which to contend, Cian barely took note of the Shining Lord, until a blur of motion behind him drew his eye towards Slayer.
The knight had grabbed the blade, and withdrew it in a swift motion. He ran towards Anywyn, with a devilish fury. "I cannot allow another war to take everything away from me again! I will CUT ANY GOD DOWN, IF I MUST!"
Anwyn looked over his shoulder at the last moment, and went to snap his fingers. He did. Nothing happened.
Cian would explain to Spike later that the blade, whatever its power, had managed to stop even the Lord of the Dead's magick. Before the sword cut could into Anywyn's chest, Cian--with a speed that Spike had never seen before--threw himself forward.
He caught the blade between both hands. Slayer, shocked, look up...into his glowing red eyes.
"SLAYER!" Cian snarled.
Spike fell backwards. "The...Blood Frenzy!"
Only this time, Cian smiled. "Under CONTROL," he shouted, triumphantly. With a grunt, he ripped the sword from Slayer's grip and tossed it aside as if it weighed nothing.
Anywyn, duly impressed, smiled. "Oh, now that was quite well done."
Slayer fell onto his knees, in a pitiful, begging gesture. Cian was not so merciful. He grabbed the prettyboy knight by the hair, yanked him onto his feet, and shoved him in-between his massive legs.
Is he gonna snap his neck between his thighs? Spike thought. Ugh, Slayer, you lucky bastard...
"I am a warrior of the Celts. Cian Enbarr. The Faeblood Brawler." Cian hoisted Slayer up, onto his shoulders.
Slayer squeaked. "Please please please noooo..."
"And you're FUCKED."
SLAM!
Spike hadn't seen a power bomb that devastating in quite some time. He winced, looking away from Cian's favorite power finisher.
Slayer, lay on the ground, twitching like a fly freshly swatted.
Thank goodness for Spike's short-lived aversion to violence. His eyes fell upon the doorway to daylight, sunny Glastonbury on the other side of the castle archway. It was fading, becoming ghostly and transparent.
"C-c-cian," Spike stuttered, panicking, "the portal!"
Anywyn nodded, mischieviously, giving the broken Slayer a brief, disgusted glance. He held his hound out to panting Cian, his eyes returned to normal. The beautiful, green Chalice re-appeared in the Lord's palm.
"You mortals do so amuse me," Anywyn. "Take it, and make haste."
Awkwardly, Cian nodded and snatched the Chalice from Anywyn's hands. "What about him?"
Slayer's eyelids flitted. "...A fair and strapping squire, aren't you..." he mumbled in his KO daze. "And such a bountiful bosom! Fie, thou do not skippeth chest day..."
"He will be dealt with," Anywyn said, neutrally.
Cian sighed. "I don't have much leverage here, I know, and I feel like I've exhausted my goodwill but...please. Don't kill him."
"Worry not, kindred," Anywyn said, with a curt bow of the head. "We have...other punishments."
Spike snatched Cian's arm and yanked him in the direction of the fading portal. "Yep, good enough, bye fairy-man!"
Without turning back for one last, dangerous look of the Faewilds, Cian and Spike walked from moonlight to daylight, back in the fresh breeze of Glastonbury. They let out a simultaneous, prolonged sigh of relief.
Spike was the first to peer over his shoulder. Nothing but the blue sky and hills below lay at the other end of the small, ruined chamber. "Did we do it?"
Cian checked his watch. "We left four hours ago, but yes."
"Four hours!" Spike exclaimed. "How?"
"Time works differently over there," Cian shrugged. He looked down at the green goblet clenched in his fist, remembering how close they'd come to failure. "Slayer. That book of his. And the sword. Where did he get those..."
"NEVER MIND THAT!" Spike shouted joyously, throwing his arms Cian and hugging him clise. "We fuckin' did it! And I think you had a serious moment there, dude!"
Cian shyly removed himself from Spike's grip. Blushing, he was happy to take the credit. "I did, eh? I...I feel so...I don't know. New?"
"You did great," Spike said. "I'm really proud of you."
"Hey, well...you really helped me too." Cian took a shy step forward and scratched his neck. He held his hand out. "Tag?"
Spike tapped it. "Tag." He looked into Cian's eyes. Usually they were always narrowed like a knife tip towards him, so he never realized how beautiful, and deep green they were.
And, before Spike or Cian knew what was happening...
Cian's kiss was uncertain, clumsy. Spike nevertheless went along with it, righting the course, and then letting go just as quickly as they had found themselves caught up in the moment.
Faces red, and unsure of what had just occurred, they turned away from each other.
"Cian..."
"Spike..."
"Gentleman."
The two fighter's heads whipped towards the looming, scowling presence towering above them. Muscular arms folded across (his equally muscular) chest, Joseph stared death into Cian and Spike.
My first kiss might be my last, Cian thought, gulping.
Spike had never realized just how terrifying White Tiger, the GSA Champion, could truly be.
The warrior of justice cracked his knuckles, "I will you both just one question," he said, coldly. "Who wants to be punished first?
Next Chapter!
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