“You gonna punch me harder, sweetums?” Obi croons from his spot on the floor. Back pressed against the bar counter and those damned dark eyes staring straight at them. His tongue grazes over his blood-stained pearly whites with a mischievous smile on his face.

He’s always loved fights like these. The ones where every punch against his body leaves a painful ache, the ones where he knows he’ll wake up with bruises blooming and soreness with every movement. He tilts his head over, heart racing rapidly in his chest.

Ecstasy.

Obi lives for this feeling, the way his blood rushes beneath skin, vibrating through his veins and sending shivers down his back. His eyes are on his opponent in front of them; that feeling increasing tenfold when he sees the damage he’d done to them.