Glory and Gore

Hatred

Salamander had laughed—Gajeel could be heard snickering from the sidelines—and his eyes were warm. "You can try," He began, still chuckling, "But you won't."

Lucy raised her eyebrows, grip on the knife tight. "Maybe I'm better at this than you think."

"Maybe." He seemed impressed with her ferocity. "Try it."

Lucy held her breath, adjusting her hold on the weapon. She gave him a look, raising her eyebrows, giving him one last chance to back out, but he grinned and waved her onwards. Shrugging, Lucy gave in; a look of determination flickered into her eyes.

She lunged forward, swiping the knife at his stomach like he'd so expertly shown her how. To her surprise, Salamander stepped the tiniest bit to the left, easily dodging her strike.

Lucy frowned. "I missed."

"It's okay," He responded. "Remember—you'll only use these moves defensively, so you're opponent will be charging you. If I were an enemy, that would've been a direct hit."

She gritted her teeth. "Again."

He smirked. There was fire in her eyes. It reminded him of when he was young, when he first started to train. "Okay."

Lucy got in place again, sucking in a deep breath before she dove back into movement. She lunged forward, striking at him again; this time, she attempted the move Salamander had taught her, but doubled back again directly after, twisting her wrist over and slicing the knife backwards. It was a dirty move, she admitted, but holding a weapon so close to someone, knowing you could hurt them—it was a thrill.

Mostly, she just wanted to get one single nick on him. Just to beat him. Just once.

Salamander didn't even glance down at her wrists to know what she was attempting. He sidestepped her first attack like he had the first time, flicked his own wrist down and caught her hand easily as it came back for a second swipe. Within a split second, he had disarmed her, the knife now held lightly between his fingers.

Lucy's jaw dropped; Gajeel laughed in the distance. "How'd you know?"

Salamander smirked at her, trying to stop the small expression of emotion from growing into a full-fledged smile. "You've got a terrible poker face."

Lucy crossed her arms, a stubborn pout appearing on her lips. "Show me how to disarm someone."

Salamander's head tilted slightly, his eyes cautious. "You should only focus on defensive moves."

Lucy sighed. "A good offense is the best defense." She ignored Gajeel giggling behind her. "Besides—what if someone charges me with a weapon? Defensive strikes aren't going to do much for me."

Salamander struggled for a moment, clearly fighting internally as to what to do—but she was so small, and her eyes were so brown, and the idea of someone running towards her with a knife made him angry. And so he sighed, rolled his eyes, and gave her a nod.

"Yay!" Lucy squeaked, eagerly stepping closer to him so he could instruct her properly.

Salamander handed her the knife. "Pretend I'm you."

"Okay," Lucy said, nodding.

He stepped in close to her, his hands slowly reaching down and grabbing hers. And maybe he was explaining things to her, explaining how he twisted her wrist this way, then that way, or how his thumb touched there on her because the pressure made her fingers go numb—but she didn't get any of it. Because he was standing so, so close—close enough that she could feel his breath on her cheek, the heat radiating from his torso—and his rough hands were so gentle on hers.