sired • luke hemmings/5sos [au]

seven // fight me

"PICK UP THE STICK."

"No."

"Stop being difficult and pick up the stick."

"I'm not being difficult, I just don't want it."

"Ridley, please act like the seventeen year old that you are, and pick up the stick."

That is the argument Luke and I are stuck in, as he tries to - unsuccessfully, might I add - teach me Marshall Arts. Why is he attempting to achieve the impossible? Let's start at the beginning.

After he told me that we were 'sired', whatever that is, I stared at him, dumbfounded, trying to configure what he meant. And Luke - that irritating, pain-in-my-back-side Australian - started to laugh. And I fumed. Which only made him laugh harder. I then spat venomous words at him that should not ever be repeated for the sake of human ears, to which he stopped laughing, and pointed out that I had anger issues. Which, I again flipped at, further proving his point. At that moment I wanted to slap that smug smile right off his face. Wanted to.

His solution really makes me question his sanity. Normal people would suggest a councilor, or medication, but not Luke. Oh no, he told me that the best way to release my anger is by training. Never being one for physical violence, I rolled my eyes and tried to persuade him that I was perfectly fine, and he was just an irritant. But he insisted with those pretty, oceanic eyes.

So now, three days later, I'm stood in a sports bra and skin-tight trousers, underneath the Hemmings' household in their basement/gym/training zone. Apparently, the sticks are a part of the activity he decided we would do, but I'm stubborn and refuse to pick up the stick that sits on the floor.

"You're older than me, and as for that, are you going to tell me what 'sired' means?" I challenge, folding my arms defiantly.

"And I picked up my stick, so you should too," he retorts, a speculating look crossing those gorgeous features. "Only if you pick up the stick."

I stare at him blankly, and he stares right back at. Of course, he's the victorious one because I couldn't look into those eyes for two seconds without bursting into flames. So, with a snarl that is directed towards the blond, I crouch down and clutch the God-damn stick, straightening myself up into a slouched stance.

Luke just smirks. "Did you just growl at me?" I look straight at his forehead, not daring to look into those eyes. My gaze burns a hole there - well, in my imagination they do. Luke takes slow, threatening steps towards me, and though I know I should've gone into some position, or do something, I don't. I just stand there. Motionless. The Australian moves his lips to my ear when he is close enough, and my heart is hammering against my chest as the electricity that was primarily muted down, once again makes an appearance. You'd think I'd be used to it. I'm not. "Easy, tiger," he whispers tauntingly, and I begin to feel light headed as I, once again, forget how to breathe.

"Tigers don't growl, genius. They purr. Dogs growl," I tell him matter-of-factly, stepping away from the tall body that is Luke so that I can function properly.

"Would you rather I called you a dog, or a tiger?" I say nothing. It's best for me not to retaliate. "Exactly."

"Can we just get this over with?" I ask impatiently, getting annoyed because he is winning. In the end, he would always win.

The boy nods, though he doesn't move away like I did. Instead, he circles me, taking in my frame greedily. "There are five things to remember when in combat," he starts, swaying the black, plastic pole from side-to-side. "One, always anticipate your attack," he pauses for a second, tapping my stick with his own so that it flips in the air. I catch it clumsily. "Two, study your opponent - any movement in their muscles could be a sign of them about to attack." My eyes scan him, something which I don't at all mind. "Three, think like your enemy. Learn how they work, move - everything." Yeah, I did that the first day I saw you, buddy. "Four," his lips are at my ear again, where he breathes the words "don't get distracted." Don't get distracted. Got it. When you stop being so breath-taking. "And five - the simplest one - have fun."