Sharp Eyes, Sharper Tongues
“Like what you see?” Sergei’s voice, low and teasing, broke the silence, pulling you from your thoughts. You blinked, realizing you’d been staring—not that he seemed to mind. If anything, the small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips suggested he relished it.
He stood in the center of the clearing, the sun glinting off his bare skin. Sweat glistened along the sharp contours of his muscles, evidence of the morning’s rigorous training session. His dark hair was tousled, damp strands clinging to his forehead, and his piercing gaze locked onto yours with unshakable intensity.
“Caught me,” you admitted, your voice light but carrying a hint of challenge. Two could play his game. “You’re not exactly subtle, Sergei.”
His smirk widened as he crossed the distance between you in a few long strides. He stopped just short of crowding your space, towering over you in that effortlessly intimidating way of his. “And what, exactly, did you find so fascinating?” he asked, tilting his head slightly, his voice a rumbling purr that sent a shiver down your spine.
You refused to back down, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe it was the way you move,” you said, lifting an eyebrow. “Or maybe it was the fact that you’re out here showing off again.”
He chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “Showing off? Is that what you think this is?” He gestured to the open space around him, where the remnants of his training lay scattered: a weighted spear buried in a tree trunk, stones upturned from his footwork drills, and a knife stuck neatly in the center of a bullseye carved into wood.
“What else would you call it?” you countered, a playful lilt in your tone.
Sergei leaned closer, his grin taking on a more mischievous edge. “Perhaps it’s a demonstration,” he said, his voice dropping lower, “for your benefit.”
Your pulse quickened, but you kept your composure. “A demonstration? Of what? Your ability to stab a tree or your talent for dramatic flair?”
He laughed again, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze fixed on you. “You have a sharp tongue, little one,” he said. “Careful where you aim it.”
“Is that a threat?” you asked, your lips curving into a small smile.
“A challenge,” he corrected, his eyes glinting. “If you think you can do better, prove it.”
You raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the knife embedded in the target. “You’re serious?”
Sergei shrugged, stepping aside and gesturing grandly to the makeshift range. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
You rolled your eyes but moved to retrieve the knife. The weight of it felt unfamiliar in your hand as you approached the target. Sergei stood off to the side, watching you with an expression that was equal parts amusement and curiosity.
Taking a steadying breath, you squared your stance and threw. The blade sailed through the air, spinning once before thudding into the wood… about six inches from the bullseye.
“Not bad,” Sergei said, his tone annoyingly casual. “For a first attempt.”
You turned to him, arching an eyebrow. “Careful, Sergei. Your smugness is showing.”
He chuckled, walking over to stand beside you. “Allow me,” he said, plucking another knife from the ground. He positioned himself in front of the target, his movements fluid and precise. With a flick of his wrist, the blade flew through the air, embedding itself dead center in the bullseye.
“Show-off,” you muttered under your breath.
He turned to you, his grin wide and unapologetic. “Merely a demonstration,” he said, echoing his earlier words.
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Fine. Teach me, then. If you’re so good at this, show me how to do it properly.”
Sergei’s expression shifted, a flicker of genuine interest replacing his playful arrogance. “All right,” he said, stepping closer. He reached for your hand, adjusting your grip on the knife. His touch was warm, steady, and impossibly confident.
“Relax your wrist,” he instructed, his voice low and patient. “Focus on your target, not the knife. Let the throw come from your whole arm, not just your hand.”
You nodded, trying to ignore the way his closeness made your heart race. Following his guidance, you raised the knife and threw again. This time, the blade landed just outside the center ring of the target.
“Better,” Sergei said, a note of approval in his tone. “But you’re hesitating. Don’t overthink it.”
“Easy for you to say,” you muttered. “You’ve probably been doing this since you could walk.”
He smirked, stepping back to give you space. “Perhaps. But everyone starts somewhere. Even me.”
His words, while simple, carried a weight that surprised you. You glanced over at him, seeing past the cocky exterior to the man underneath—a man who’d honed his skills through years of discipline and hardship.
Taking a deep breath, you tried again. This time, the knife struck the edge of the bullseye. You turned to Sergei, a triumphant smile on your face.
“Not bad,” he said, his lips twitching into a grin. “Though you’ve still got a long way to go if you want to match me.”
“Oh, I’ll get there,” you replied confidently. “Just you wait.”
Sergei chuckled, his gaze warm as he watched you retrieve the knife. “I’ll be here,” he said, the playful challenge in his voice replaced by something softer.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the two of you continued practicing, laughter and banter filling the clearing. For a moment, the weight of the world faded away, leaving only the connection between you and Sergei, unspoken but undeniable.