Suddenly, he remembers that Cass is watching him. He nearly trips over his own feet as he stumbles to a halt, hastily tucking the stick under his opposite arm and resting his left hand on his right wrist. “So that’s, uh. That’s what I can do.”
Cass’s smile is soft. “Well done.”
Heat flames into JJ’s face. “Thank you,” he says awkwardly, and he clears his throat, stepping to one side. “Now you. Since you prefer a left-handed stance, you’ll want the escrima in your left hand and your left foot forward. Your right arm stays close to your chest to defend your face and throat.”
Obediently, Cass steps into position. JJ isn’t at all surprised that Cass immediately shifts into the correct stance, either remembering from prior training or just learning quickly, but he is a little disappointed. Even though he knows Cass has been around for centuries and has had thousands of opportunities to learn different fighting styles, well?—
Part of JJ really hoped he could be the one to teach Cass something new. He forces the sensation down. “Good. Now, you’re going to make an ‘X’ pattern with your stick—strike from your left ear to your right hip, bring the stick back up along your right arm, strike from your right ear to your left hip, and bring the stick back up along your left arm. That’ll take you back to your starting position, so you can keep repeating the drill—almost like you’re weaving a pattern in midair.” He demonstrates the moves slowly, conscious of Cass’s considering eyes on him. “Try it out.”
As usual, Cass’s technique is flawless. His arm stays relaxed and his wrist stays loose as he copies JJ’s motions perfectly, working around the bag in a sleek, efficient rhythm. JJ finds himself holding his breath as he watches the effortless way Cass moves, how his attention never wavers, how he takes this simple drill so seriously?—
Taking it seriously because JJ taught it to him, maybe.
After a handful of repetitions, Cass pauses. “That really is relaxing,” he says thoughtfully, sliding the stick under his opposite arm and mimicking JJ’s resting stance. “I can see why you like it so much.” He meets JJ’s eyes, a smile curving on his lips. “I think I like it, too.”
JJ’s stomach flip-flops. He tries his hardest to ignore it. “I’m glad,” he says hoarsely, and he passes Cass his own escrima. “What other moves do you know? This definitely isn’t your first time using these.”
Cass’s eyes gleam. Immediately, he starts combining the sticks in a smooth, ceaseless rhythm, seamlessly flowing through different sinawali and patterns, every motion tight and precise as he works his way around the bag?—
JJ didn’t think there was anything Cass could possibly do to make himselfmoreattractive, but apparently, an easy competency with JJ’s favorite weapon is his weakness. He swallows hard past the dryness in his throat, trying to keep his tone light. “So much for me teaching you. I’m pretty sureyoushould be teachingme,Cass.”
“Maybe. I am a full two hundred years older than you, after all,” Cass says, and unexpectedly, he holds out one of the sticks. “But I’ve actually never sparred with these before. Do you—do you want to?”
JJ’s heart stutters. Cass’s hand is as steady as ever, but there’s a thread of uncertainty in his voice. Like having a sparring partner is important to him, like he’s inviting JJ into something special.
Like he really sees JJ as an equal. Slowly, JJ takes the escrima. “I’d love to,” he says softly, and he takes a quick step away, dropping into his left-handed fight stance. “Drill first? Then freestyle?”
Cass grins. “Sounds great,” he says, and carefully, he sweeps his stick from his shoulder towards JJ’s temple.
JJ mirrors the motion, and their sticks meet with a satisfyingcrack!that vibrates into JJ’s hand and sets all his nerves alight. “Good,” he murmurs, and he aims a backhand strike towards Cass’s knees that Cass blocks effortlessly. “Same sequence, reverse direction?”
“Sure,” Cass says, and his slice towards JJ’s temple is the slightest bit faster this time. Deliberately, they trade strikes back and forth, tracing a loose circle around the room as they familiarize themselves with the pattern, with each other?—
“Freestyle?” JJ asks.
“Oh, yeah,” Cass says, and this time, his strike comes from another direction.
JJ blocks it in midair and sweeps his own counterattack towards Cass’s shoulder. Cass’s stick snaps up to meet it in a flash, and within seconds, they’re caught up in the rhythm of their sparring match, watching each other’s centerlines as they attack and defend, gradually speeding up their pace?—
Not enough to be dangerous. Not enough that JJ’s human reflexes can’t keep up.
Just enough to be a challenge, to befun.He doesn’t think he’s really sparred with anyone like this since he was a teenager, back when Sawyer was still around and Chester was still keeping up with his skills, all of them drilling and training to see who could reign victorious in a fair fight.
And JJ is under no illusions. A human versus a demon isn’t a fair fight. But Cass is matching JJ’s speed and strength perfectly, not letting him win but not cutting the match short, either. A smile creeps onto JJ’s face as they battle across the living room, bursting and stepping and circling in time with their strikes as the rattan wood starts to warm beneath JJ’s palm.
Cass catches the grin. “What?” he asks, aiming a swipe at JJ’s ribs.
JJ blocks it and sweeps his counterattack towards Cass’s knee. “Nothing. This is—this is just fun.”
Time unwinds around them as they dance across the room and back, thecrack!of their sticks meeting in midair the only marker of seconds ticking by. Perfect strikes and little mistakes blend together into a fluid dance, every step matched by the vibrations rattling up JJ’s arm and the steadily increasing heat underneath his fingers?—
When Cass blocks JJ’s next strike, JJ catches the familiar scent of burning wood in the air. It’s so reminiscent of his teenage years that he can’t hide a smile, thinking about lessons with Sawyer, drills with Chester?—
And now, playful sparring matches with Cassius Chin.
Desi gasps, delighted.“Campfire!”
Cass laughs, pressing in a little harder and forcing JJ back. “Campfire,” he agrees.
