[ Their natures are the same, aren't they? At their fighter's core, the prospect of a challenge makes the heart sing, the body move with abandon, and gives rise to the wild, primeval hunger which leads all combatants to demand submission from their adversaries— Eren included. But for all that Asura finds himself effectively trapped within Eren's guard (a risk taken and price paid for sinking all of his momentum and power into a singular maneuver), it is only a temporary encumbrance. Grappling, after all, is nothing more and nothing less than continuous upsets and resets of balance; a constant exchange and redirection of force in the form of unforgiving takedowns bleeding into the rigidity of iron-clad holds. And to see that rhythm maintained? One needed only to keep moving.
And move Asura does, lest the crush and hold of Eren's arm begin to restrict bloodflow. To escape that fate, Asura does not impede Eren's attempt to rise— rather, he encourages it with one taloned hand snaking around the bend of Eren's neck to plant itself on the dragon's back (drawing Eren's torso in close for the breadth of an instant to alleviate pressure), the other pressed flat to the earth below. After that? It's all a matter of putting the lock of Eren's legs to the test. Rocking forward does not dislodge either the guillotine or goad talon-cinched feet into releasing, but it does produce friction in abundance a n d so too creates the chance for Asura to make Eren bear the full force of his weight for the second time as his hips snap back like a damn professional, feet beneath him once again as he stacks into Eren, his shoulder driving hard into the neck. And with one flush-with-color dragon holding the other up, that hand against the ground is no longer needed—
Instead, it goes to one of Eren's bent knees, pushing it down until it gives, and the King can fall to the side, wresting himself out of the hold. Well, out of the guillotine itself, at least. If Eren is determined to hang on despite the burning and strain in his thighs, that's another (admirable) story.
But then, Asura's gone and propped himself up; spread his hand over center of Eren's chest, the tips of his taloned fingers touching to the dragon's sternum, dragging along it, but not breaking the skin. Just as he'd been by the bonfire during the Modranicht festivities, Asura is warm, almost unbearably so in the heat of his season, and there is something animal in the way his gaze interlocks with Eren's own, a lush smile upon his lips as he demands not submission but— ]
Show me your strength. [ Again, again, again. In whatever way Eren chooses to, Asura will take pleasure in breaking his hold each and every time.
(Much to the confusion of those poor Wilder recruits. Hadn't Asura said not to blink??? Their poor watering eyes.) ]
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And move Asura does, lest the crush and hold of Eren's arm begin to restrict bloodflow. To escape that fate, Asura does not impede Eren's attempt to rise— rather, he encourages it with one taloned hand snaking around the bend of Eren's neck to plant itself on the dragon's back (drawing Eren's torso in close for the breadth of an instant to alleviate pressure), the other pressed flat to the earth below. After that? It's all a matter of putting the lock of Eren's legs to the test. Rocking forward does not dislodge either the guillotine or goad talon-cinched feet into releasing, but it does produce friction in abundance a n d so too creates the chance for Asura to make Eren bear the full force of his weight for the second time as his hips snap back
like a damn professional, feet beneath him once again as he stacks into Eren, his shoulder driving hard into the neck. And with one flush-with-color dragon holding the other up, that hand against the ground is no longer needed—Instead, it goes to one of Eren's bent knees, pushing it down until it gives, and the King can fall to the side, wresting himself out of the hold. Well, out of the guillotine itself, at least. If Eren is determined to hang on despite the burning and strain in his thighs, that's another (admirable) story.
But then, Asura's gone and propped himself up; spread his hand over center of Eren's chest, the tips of his taloned fingers touching to the dragon's sternum, dragging along it, but not breaking the skin. Just as he'd been by the bonfire during the Modranicht festivities, Asura is warm, almost unbearably so in the heat of his season, and there is something animal in the way his gaze interlocks with Eren's own, a lush smile upon his lips as he demands not submission but— ]
Show me your strength. [ Again, again, again. In whatever way Eren chooses to, Asura will take pleasure in breaking his hold each and every time.
(Much to the confusion of those poor Wilder recruits. Hadn't Asura said not to blink??? Their poor watering eyes.) ]