fandomhighdorms | The Salle, Saturday Evening

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The Salle, Saturday Evening

So there was this sharp, shiny new present from Parker in the weapons locker, and there was an Anders, eager to learn how to use it.

He was still a little surprised that Bel had been so quick to agree to teach him swordwork, but he certainly wasn't going to complain about it -- kind of nice to not have to worry about accidentally skewering your indestructible partner, really. And so, here he was down in the salle, trying to get the feel of the sword after getting his warmups in.

All he needed, as he tried to figure out if shirtlessness might be a dangerous distraction, was the boyfriend, now.

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And there was said boyfriend arriving now. He had a rattan practice sword, to start at least. He did have to worry about accidentally skewering his partner.

Anders noticed the practice sword and smiled sheepishly. "Am I getting ahead of myself?"

"Nah," Bel said. "If I was anybody else, yes, but I'm not worried."

"Long as you're sure," Anders said, getting an awkward grip on his sword. "The balance on the practice ones seemed way off somehow."

"It's not the same," Bel agreed. "But it starts to teach your muscles how to move."

He looked a little reluctant to relinquish his shiny new weapon, but . . . "Should I go with one of those for now, then, o wise master?"

Bel smirked. "Afraid you can't handle it?" he said.

"I can totally handle it," Anders insisted, although the way he was holding the sword hinted otherwise.

"Well, for one thing, hold the sword like this," Bel said, demonstrating with his practice sword. "That'll give you more control."

Anders nodded and imitated Bel's grip, frowning. "Feels a little weird," he said, taking a couple of tentative practice passes. "But I can see how the control thing comes into it. So, um . . . now what?" he added, with a slightly nervous laugh.

Worried about looking like an idiot in front of Bel? Him? Naaaaaaaaaaaah.

"Watch me," Bel said, shifting into a beginning stance. He took a few steps, sweeping the sword as he did so. "Okay, try that."

"When do I not watch you?" Fortunately, Anders was used to this sort of training, having been expected to watch and then duplicate complicated footwork drills, defensive moves, and shooting techniques all the time.

He felt a little silly and self-conscious -- okay, a lot -- as he imitated what Bel had done, and although he didn't realize it, he actually didn't do too badly.

"Not bad," Bel said, watching Anders. "Who knows, maybe you're a natural."

"Flattery," said Anders, trying the sequence again, "will get you everywhere."

"Impress me and maybe you'll get a reward," Bel teased, showing Anders another set of moves.

"Now there's a motivation," Anders drawled. He messed up a couple of steps in the middle of that set, then shook his head and did it again, a little more slowly.

"Focus," Bel said. "Don't let me distract you. Do it again."

Anders was slightly taken aback by the sudden sternness in Bel's voice -- turned out it was kind of hard to make the sudden mental transition from lover to coach -- but he tried to keep the surprise out of his expression as he nodded.

"Got it," he said, and went through the routine a third time, still at about three-quarters speed to make sure he got all the moves right. He was so going to end up with blisters on this hand tomorrow.

Bel made Anders do it a few more times. "Now put it into practice," he said, moving in front of Anders and swinging his sword toward him.

And for a moment, Anders utterly failed to see the connection between what he'd just done against empty air and how he was supposed to use it now, and froze.

Bel thwapped Anders firmly on the shoulder. "And now you're dead," he said, taking a step back.

Anders let out a hiss of frustration. "Dammit," he growled, going over the sequence again in his mind. "Let me try that again."

"Sword fighting teaches confidence, intensity," Bel said, moving back into place. "But it has to come automatically. You can't overthink it." He swung again at Anders.

Anders brought his sword up in a clumsy and barely effective parry, his body language radiating uncertainty. He'd been a physically-oriented guy from the day he could walk, and now here was a physical activity that wasn't instinctive to him, maybe because it was outside his usual realm of thinking.

"How am I supposed to overthink it when I'm not even sure what I'm doing yet?" he demanded, pushing Bel's sword up and off his own, then attempting something that approximated an overhand slash.

Bel easily blocked Anders's blow. "Instinct," he growled. "One wrong move and you're dead. So you can't make any wrong moves."

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