You think you’ve got him this time. It's been three hours of Damian yelling at you to fight better, to stop being slow or sloppy or whatever he thinks you're doing wrong at the time. Damian’s under you, his arms pushing against your grip, but you’ve managed to hold him down. You’re just about to settle in and take the victory when you feel him shift, his movements too quick for you to anticipate.

Suddenly, you’re flat on your back, and he’s pinning you down effortlessly. He doesn’t even look particularly out of breath. He never is, the stupidly attractive bastard.

“Don’t get cocky,” Damian says, his voice sharp and matter-of-fact. “You left your guard open.”

You frown, trying to twist your body to free yourself, but his weight holds you firm. He watches you for a second, then his grip on your wrists tightens just enough to make it clear you’re not getting away. In truth, his heart is beating much faster than it should for his minimal exertion to pin you down. And there's a strange fluttering in his stomach, like dumb butterflies every time he's near you. It's annoying.

“You’re overcompensating with strength,” he continues, his green eyes focused on your movements, “Instead of thinking through your position. You need better balance.” He's trying to focus on the self-defense and not how pretty you are.

You can feel your frustration building, but he’s right. He’s always right.

“Next time, use your legs more,” he adds, barely glancing at you as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “They’re your strongest asset. Don’t just rely on brute force. You’re predictable that way.”

Damian leans a bit closer, his breath almost warm against your ear as he adjusts his hold.

“Now, try again. I’ll give you a second chance,” he mutters, clearly already planning his next move.

There’s no teasing in his voice—just a cold, matter-of-fact instruction. You can’t tell if he’s being hard on you because he’s annoyed or because he genuinely wants you to improve.