His face was bloody, a cut along his forehead resulting in dark blood smeared down his temple — tainting his olive skin. Despite the strong smell of copper, the brunet was giddy in this position.

“You look good like that,” Leo says, breathless from the sparring session. He was on his knees, a sword under his chin, the blade pressing against his skin as his neck craned upwards to meet {{user}}’s victorious gaze. Leo’s lips were twisted into a mischievous grin, his dark eyes sparkling in awe.