fic: kiss with a fist (ficuary)

[csi_sanders1129]

Title: kiss with a fist
Chapters: 1/1
Author:csi_sanders1129
Genre: Drama.
Ratings: T
Word Count: 1008
Pairings/Characters: Mad Sweeney/Shadow Moon
Synopsis: In which Shadow picks a fight and Mad Sweeney can’t help but join in.
Comments: Written for Ficuary 2021, Prompt: Sin. Originally started writing this when S1 was airing, so it’s set way back then, probably AU for E5 or E6? Title from Florence + The Machine song of the same name. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!

It starts with a punch.

Mad Sweeney walks up on Shadow and Wednesday in the midst of what looks to be an otherwise civil conversation (as civil as conversations with Wednesday ever are, at least), and before he even realizes it's coming, Shadow wheels on him with a fist raised and the blow connects, hard and solid. He doesn't draw blood, but it'll leave an impressive bruise in its wake.

Sweeney just stares at him for a beat. Awestruck, a little stunned, a little impressed, he presses a hand briefly to the spot just below his eye where the hit landed and when it comes up clean, he counters quickly. Throwing his own punches, curling a hand into Shadow's shirt and hauling him in so that he can't go running off.

"What the fuck's the matter with you?" Mad Sweeney demands, even as Shadow struggles and swings wildly in his attempts to escape.

Shadow spits a mouthful of blood and saliva at him, wiping his busted lip on his sleeve once he finally lands a punch against Sweeney's jaw that stuns him enough to allow Shadow to break free of his grip. He backs off a few paces, eyes scanning for the best way away from him. He shoots Sweeney a dirty look as he takes off down a dark alley.

"Fuckin' idiot," the leprechaun complains, but he follows after Shadow because something has to be wrong. Goading Shadow into a fight is one thing – a fun thing, even if it was a fight picked on Wednesday's orders – but this was something else entirely.

Wednesday watches him go with that cocky smile of his – Wednesday's behind it, whatever it is, he's sure. Wednesday is behind everything.

He trails Shadow to some seedy hole-in-the-wall bar that smells like a delightful mix of piss and vomit. He orders himself a Southern Comfort & Coke and claims a seat beside the other man at a table off in the corner. Shadow's staring down his beer bottle like it's the reason for all his problems, so Sweeney boldly plucks it away from him, holds it out of reach.

"What's Grimnir want from ya now?" he asks.

"Go. Away."

But Sweeney shakes his head, downs his drink as if another fight isn't roiling just below the surface. He's almost looking forward to it now that he knows it's coming, can already feel his blood pumping in anticipation. "Mm," he smirks, confident he can prod Shadow toward that goal easily enough, "Don't think I will."

Suddenly, there's a coin on the table.

Sweeney did not put it there.

Huh.

He hadn't seen that coming. He plucks the golden sun coin off the table, feels the hoard right itself with its return to its rightful place. He plucks it back out again and rolls it over his knuckles, flicks it up into the air and lets it settle where it belongs. "Well. Would ya look at that," he says, can feel the rush of relief coursing through his blood and his bones. "Dead wife's finally dead for good?"

Shadow bristles, and Sweeney watches him clench his fist like he's just barely resisting the urge to throw another punch. Almost there. The buttons are too easy to press.

"It's about damn time," Sweeney continues. He can still feel the phantom aches of the blows she'd landed on him when he'd tried to get the coin from her at the start of this clusterfuck. He certainly won't miss her. "That bitch should've-"

Ah, there it is. Shadow grabs at him, hauls him up off the barstool, but doesn't swing yet. "Do you ever shut up?" he demands, practically growling the words as he pulls Sweeney in too close. He throws some cash down on the table and then drags Sweeney outside with him.

Then, it begins.

It puts the fight at Jack's Crocodile Bar to shame. All pure wrath and fury and rage. Sweeney revels in it, merrily along for the ride.

And there's no one to stop them, either. This isn't the kind of place that cares what happens in back alleys – fighting or fucking or whatever else. The fight goes on, bloody fists flying, peppering blows on each other until something beyond skin and bones breaks open. They both come to an abrupt halt with the shift in the air, before it becomes an entirely different sort of fight. Shadow pins Mad Sweeney back against the filthy bricks and kisses him hard, a rough, biting, bruising sort of kiss that only serves to escalate the tension between them into a much more heated frenzy.

"It's about damn time," Sweeney says again, a wide, bloody grin on his face as he obligingly sinks to his knees.

It doesn't stop there.

Shadow drags him back to the motel they've been staying at, drags him into his room, drags him into his bed. There, wandering hands are anything but gentle, leaving bruises and scratches in their wake, raking over skin as clothes are shed. Sweeney likes to bite, to leave marks wherever he can – so he does, littering Shadow's skin with evidence of what they've been up to at every available opportunity presented to him. He can't wait to see Wednesday's reaction to all the claim he's laid to Shadow, all the claim Shadow's laid on him – he'd certainly given as much as he'd gotten, after all.

"We should fight more often," Mad Sweeney says come morning, when Wednesday's pounding on the door to get them on the road again, off to the next futile errand for his equally futile war. They're both moving slowly, bodies aching from the night's various volatile events.

Shadow grabs up his clothes and heads for the shower without responding, but he slugs Sweeny's arm, where a purpling bruise from the fight is still forming, on the way by. There's a look in Shadow's eye that suggests wrath has nothing to do with the fight he's picking now.

Intrigued, interested, impressed, he follows after Shadow.

It starts with a punch.

It doesn't end there.