Hit - Challenge #25 - Gojyo/? - R
Title: Hit
Author: TheToastAlchmst (Toasty).
Rating: R for language.
Warnings: Quite the amount of foul language.
Pairing(s): None.
Notes: Prompt #25: Fight - 35 minutes. I won't give away too much, but this scene was burning a hole in my head, thus explaining why I had to write it. ^__^;
Left, right, dodge, duck, swing. Hit!
There’s blood and sweat and spit and everything else that Gojyo can taste or smell around him. He’s pissed, yeah, really pissed, because he can’t seem to hit the bastard in front of him; no matter how many times his fists graze the sleaze. By now he’s hurting pretty badly, and his ribs are probably broken, but he doesn’t give a shit. No one does.
All he knows is his opponent right now. The moss green of his eyes, the cheap gel in his dirty hair, the way he smirks like he fucking knows everything about everything.
Fuck him.
His calloused knuckles are open and bleeding, and his crimson eyes are ablaze with something feral. The demonic poison in his blood is surging, threatening to send him over the edge with each swing, dodge and hit!
Everything turns white, and he’s on the ground, spooning his bare stomach, feeling his insides protest to the trauma of having someone’s foot collide with it. The half-breed heaves and huffs, but he stands up real quick like, even if he’s about to puke.
There’s a laugh, and it isn’t his own, so he takes this opportunity to direct a fist right in that asshole’s mouth, where it collides against sharply-angled teeth.
There. He did it. He fucking hit the guy and sent him back, stumbling.
A smug smirk upturns the corner of Gojyo’s busted lip, but he doesn’t celebrate just yet. This sonuvabitch doesn’t know when to quit. He acts like the attack was nothing, when he knows damn straight it hurt like hell, knows that his damn molar is loose and gonna fly out when he sends his fist back into that twisted mouth.
“That all y'got, mutt?” his enemy grins, swiping an arm across his blood-bathed chin.
Gojyo bristles and puts his fists back up. He doesn’t need to reply. He’ll say everything he needs to with the hit that’s going straight between that prick’s eyes.
Swing, dodge. Hit!
He got ‘em. Got ‘em real good, in fact. The redhead is ready to finish him off, but he’s blind to the knee that gets him in the gut.
It’s over.
He’s on the ground again, writhing, and trying to keep the bile from riding up his esophagus. He hates throwing the towel in - hates it because that means he lost, and he hates losing, because it means you’re weak, and he’s definitely not weak. Not after all the shit he's been through. He’s the strongest out of all of those fuckers.
His eyes are stinging with copper-tainted sweat when they open and see a clawed hand hovering over his face. The bitterness in him for losing wants to break that damn hand, but he takes it anyway and is hoisted to his feet, swaying.
“Not bad, kid. Y’almost managed t’get me down. Guess my stray’s learnin’, eh?”
Gojyo glares at Banri and immediately shrugs off the arm that weaves so easily around his bruising shoulders. His partner grins something awful and then heads into the hideout to get a beer and watch some of the indoor fights.
Outside, alone, the adolescent half-breed struggles to keep to his feet. It’s over for now, he figures, but there’s always next time, and next time, he agrees with a confident grin, he’ll kick that blondie’s ass.
Author: TheToastAlchmst (Toasty).
Rating: R for language.
Warnings: Quite the amount of foul language.
Pairing(s): None.
Notes: Prompt #25: Fight - 35 minutes. I won't give away too much, but this scene was burning a hole in my head, thus explaining why I had to write it. ^__^;
Left, right, dodge, duck, swing. Hit!
There’s blood and sweat and spit and everything else that Gojyo can taste or smell around him. He’s pissed, yeah, really pissed, because he can’t seem to hit the bastard in front of him; no matter how many times his fists graze the sleaze. By now he’s hurting pretty badly, and his ribs are probably broken, but he doesn’t give a shit. No one does.
All he knows is his opponent right now. The moss green of his eyes, the cheap gel in his dirty hair, the way he smirks like he fucking knows everything about everything.
Fuck him.
His calloused knuckles are open and bleeding, and his crimson eyes are ablaze with something feral. The demonic poison in his blood is surging, threatening to send him over the edge with each swing, dodge and hit!
Everything turns white, and he’s on the ground, spooning his bare stomach, feeling his insides protest to the trauma of having someone’s foot collide with it. The half-breed heaves and huffs, but he stands up real quick like, even if he’s about to puke.
There’s a laugh, and it isn’t his own, so he takes this opportunity to direct a fist right in that asshole’s mouth, where it collides against sharply-angled teeth.
There. He did it. He fucking hit the guy and sent him back, stumbling.
A smug smirk upturns the corner of Gojyo’s busted lip, but he doesn’t celebrate just yet. This sonuvabitch doesn’t know when to quit. He acts like the attack was nothing, when he knows damn straight it hurt like hell, knows that his damn molar is loose and gonna fly out when he sends his fist back into that twisted mouth.
“That all y'got, mutt?” his enemy grins, swiping an arm across his blood-bathed chin.
Gojyo bristles and puts his fists back up. He doesn’t need to reply. He’ll say everything he needs to with the hit that’s going straight between that prick’s eyes.
Swing, dodge. Hit!
He got ‘em. Got ‘em real good, in fact. The redhead is ready to finish him off, but he’s blind to the knee that gets him in the gut.
It’s over.
He’s on the ground again, writhing, and trying to keep the bile from riding up his esophagus. He hates throwing the towel in - hates it because that means he lost, and he hates losing, because it means you’re weak, and he’s definitely not weak. Not after all the shit he's been through. He’s the strongest out of all of those fuckers.
His eyes are stinging with copper-tainted sweat when they open and see a clawed hand hovering over his face. The bitterness in him for losing wants to break that damn hand, but he takes it anyway and is hoisted to his feet, swaying.
“Not bad, kid. Y’almost managed t’get me down. Guess my stray’s learnin’, eh?”
Gojyo glares at Banri and immediately shrugs off the arm that weaves so easily around his bruising shoulders. His partner grins something awful and then heads into the hideout to get a beer and watch some of the indoor fights.
Outside, alone, the adolescent half-breed struggles to keep to his feet. It’s over for now, he figures, but there’s always next time, and next time, he agrees with a confident grin, he’ll kick that blondie’s ass.