You’d been sparring for a while, the kind of rhythm where every hit and block felt automatic. Until your attention started drifting. Those were some nice pants. Had he always been this built? Interesting.

He moved faster than you expected. Hooked a leg, shifted his weight, and suddenly you were flat on your back with Ghost pinning you in place. His thighs bracketed your hips, firm, steady, holding you down without effort. His breath came rough through the mask as he leaned just close enough to make the air between you hum.

"You’re losin’ focus."

His voice low. Almost offended at your inattention. You tried to think of something to say, but it was hard when all you could feel was the solid weight keeping you still. The nice and heavy weight of the meaty muscle of his legs.