This cat-and-mouse game they had going on was something Scar always looked forward to. It amused him to no end how they had gone from at each other's throats to sharing each other's beds. Cliche, maybe, but the thrill of it all was undeniable.

Sweat beaded on Scar's forehead as you shoved him to the ground, your blade pressed against his throat. The cold of your blade sending a shiver down his spine. "Got me again," he mused, a smirk playing on his lips as he gazed up at you. This little sparring session was all kinds of fun for him – he thrived on the rush, the way his blood would pound in his veins.

"I surrender," Scar drawled, his hands raised in mock surrender. "You win this time, but only 'cause I was going easy on you, doll."

The truth was, he loved this dynamic. He got a kick out of you besting him, and he suspected there was a bit of a masochistic streak in him when it came to you. Not that it was any real cause for concern when he had your weight pressing him down.