#; the real admiral probably doesn't know it's a synonym for gay fgsyudgf

[distopea]

The sound of the ship slicing through the waves permeated the air in a backdrop of white noise, like radio static. Up on deck, the sun beat down over their heads like they were ants under god’s magnifying glass. Raum fought the urge to repeatedly wipe the beads of sweat away from his forehead as he glanced over the troops. A warm day, a calm sea, a little bit of downtime for training, and they were practising close quarters combat techniques with some drills. It was a joint exercise between the two squads, also considered to be team-building, and so both squad leaders were present to oversee that everything went smoothly. They had paired everyone up for the exercises, one marine to one pilot, focusing on immobilisation techniques and disarming. It was fairly standard fare – although once the exercises were complete, the competitive spirit was building between the two groups and they had some time to spare. Eventually they had organised a little makeshift ring to spar in. Nothing too violent or bloody – that would go against the nature of team building – just three minutes, get your opponent out of the ring and you win.

It was a free for all, certainly entertaining to watch the lengths the men would go to claim victory. Everything from faux boxing matches, strange distraction techniques, to childish pushing and pulling – someone even tried to wedgie their opponent. Taunting, laughing, whistles, whoops and cheers sounded around the ring as each man tried to get the better of the other one. Until eventually they reached a stalemate – turning to the two leaders to settle the score. Raum had met Mads’ eyes and saw the little spark of challenge there, shook his head. Fuck, no. He’d never hear the end of it later.

Regardless, that’s how Raum found himself inside the little ring facing off a… Well. A Scottish fucking bear. He’d reluctantly stripped his jacket for the occasion, white t-shirt underneath still clinging to his spine with sweat while the sun beat down on them. Raum could feel the heat tingling on the back of his neck – starting to burn already. Mads looked hardly less worse for wear. The deck of the ship was his turf. He looked made for it. Confident and calm. Frankly – it made Raum a little jealous. Made him want to mess that composure up.

There was a palpable excitement around them, to watch the two leaders square off against each other, even just for fun. A couple of words of encouragement were sounded, jeering and humorous : ‘fuck him up, commander!’ , ‘no mercy, lieutenant!’. Raum huffed a laugh, pushed sweat-damp strands of hair out of his eyes so he could focus on his opponent.

“All right, let’s get this over with so they pipe down,” Raum rolled his shoulders and spread his feet into a wide stance, boots gliding on the hot metal tile. He lifted both arms, fists raised in front of his face, and faced off towards Mads. Despite himself, his heart was speeding up, excitement rushing in his blood. Raum flashed his teeth in a grin, and winked. He wanted to get under Mads' skin.

“Don't go easy on me now. I can take you. Show me what you got, big guy.”

@cantuscorvi

A little bit of violent exercise was perhaps a way for the soldiers to get rid of the lingering anxiety running on the deck. A boost for the ego, but also somehow their own tradition to remain fit, ready, battling with their fists when they couldn’t be anywhere else but on this large metallic ship. Even for Mads, that kind of exercise felt like a haven of peace, even if they weren’t appreciated nor encouraged by Stricker. Not that he was a brute in the first place, but in the middle of those men, it was more than necessary sometimes to dissolve tensions through a good old fight. Both the marines and the pilots had cohabited for a few months already, so it was only fair to assert dominance from time to time. 

With a rather cheerful grin, Mads was observing his troops in the middle of the ring. The temperature was awful today, even if he was used to the sunny weather; he still preferred the gloomy clouds of Scotland and almost missed its everlasting drizzle. Among the fighting men, he couldn’t help but eye his natural nemesis in the middle of those men, standing behind his comrades in arms, blue eyes sometimes flashing in his direction. It was a matter of time before the rest of the crowd would demand a fight between the commanders, and Mads was getting himself ready. He wanted to test his limits. 

At some point, both of them were pushed into the middle of the circle, oozing with confidence, but also a certain urge to fight. Mads had removed his jacket a long time ago, standing in his traditional white tank top, his marine pants and his boots. His black hair was plastered against his skull, and with an impatient whip of his hand, he removed a few droplets of sweat dripping down his forehead. “Oh, you want it hard? Come on, blondie.” He beckoned Raum to come closer, raising both of his fists and anchoring both of his feet to the ground. “Princesses like you don’t like sunburns. Come get your ass whooped before you turn into a lobster.” 

Even if the words were taunting, Mads could tell that there was mutual respect and a profound eagerness to show off and see the limits of their opponent. Despite his military training, he was still used to fighting like a little scumbag in the streets; techniques he had learnt from his brother who had the strength of a bear, and he hoped to surprise Raum with a few of them. They both took one step closer, and for the first seconds, they only try to attack the other one's defense with timid and testing punches.

‘Are you fighting or dancing?’ ‘Come on, it’s getting boring lads!’ The soldiers were still cheering at the top of their lungs, until both Raum and Mads decided to get closer. With the techniques they had probably learnt from their military training, they jumped to tackle the other one. Mads grunted and circled his arms around Raum, while the blond returned the favor. The main goal was to get the other one on the ground, using their weight and feet for that, and it was a matter of seconds before they both crashed on the deck in a loud clap. Soldiers yelled, excited. 

“Fucking wiggling like a worm!” Mads huffed as he tried to catch Raum’s arms to place him on his back. He plastered his own on the ground, despite the insufferable heat of the metal, using his feet as leverage, wrestling with the pilot as they rolled on the ground, grunting like two beasts in a cage. One fist flew in the air, and Mads saw blurry for a second, right after the impact against his temple. He retaliated immediately by knocking Raum’s arm behind his back, the two of them barely up on their legs before they would fall back on the deck. ‘Get him!’ ‘No aim for the balls, LT!’. Mads threw another punch inside Raum’s waist and they went back to try getting the upper hand by slamming the other one on the ground. 

“ATTENTION!” Another voice suddenly yelled from the entrance of the deck, all of the soldiers suddenly getting stiff and obeying while the rear-admiral Stricker, leader of the fleet, stepped closer, unable to hide his anger. Raum and Mads had no choice but to separate themselves, bloody, sweaty, and definitely frustrated. Even so, Mads couldn’t help but pull the pilot back on his feet before he stood to attention like the other of their troops. “Lieutenant Colonel Weiss, Commander Campbell, am I going fucking blind or did I just witness my two commanders rolling on the ground like two pigs?!” He barked at them, his eyes falling on their half-ripped clothes. “You’re both standing on the vessel of his Majesty… You should be ashamed of your behavior!” Mads opened his mouth but Stricker was quicker. “Shut your damn mouth, Campbell! I don’t know what the problem is with Weiss and I don’t want to hear about it, but if I have to tie you both to the deck until you start acting like men of your rank, I’ll go get the rope myself! 

He turned around, a lingering silence invading the deck. Mads inhaled, but he couldn’t help throwing an oddly conspirational look at Raum. “Weiss, Campbell, if you’re so eager to get rid of that testosterone, go run around the deck until we ring the dinner bell.” Stricker yelled again before he threw a look at the rest of the soldiers. “And for the rest of you, don’t you have tasks? Back to your stations! Dismissed!”