Fundamentals and First Impressions

[Parker]

Parker’s arms trembled with every breath. Her chest pressed tight against Madeline’s side, her grip clinging more out of will than leverage. She could feel the slow, steady power of the veteran moving beneath her, not frantic, not panicked, just working. Every subtle twist of Madeline’s body forced Parker to adjust, and every adjustment felt a little less secure than the last.

Her muscles burned from the effort. Her shoulder ached from where it strained around Madeline’s leg, her breath catching in uneven bursts. Still, she refused to let go. Maybe it wasn’t clean, maybe it wasn’t perfect, but she wasn’t giving it up easily. Not to her.

Each time Madeline shifted, Parker could feel the ground slipping, her base narrowing, her control thinning, her confidence eroding with each quiet exhale from the woman beneath her. The veteran’s patience was almost taunting. She wasn’t thrashing free, she was chiseling her way out, bit by bit, and without being able to cinch her cradle, Parker only had ground to lose, energy to burn. She couldn’t rest in the middle of the storm until she reached its eye.

Her jaw clenched as Madeline’s spine rolled beneath her, that small pocket of air forming where there shouldn’t have been any. Parker fought to re-hook her arm, to drag her opponent back down, but Madeline’s hand was already prying, deliberate and steady. Each pull peeled at Parker’s resolve one finger at a time.

When Madeline’s quiet words reached her Parker’s breath hitched, a half-grimace, half-laugh escaping between clenched teeth. "Guess I’m learnin’ a lot then," she managed, voice ragged but defiant.

Madeline’s frame moved, her weight turning sharp, clean, and Parker’s grip broke. The rookie lost the cradle completely, her arms slipping off like rope losing tension. She grunted, trying to shift her weight, desperate to salvage position, but Madeline’s motion dragged her sideways. Parker stumbled, her knees sliding, one hand bracing hard against the mat.

"Ah hell-" she hissed under her breath, trying to stay close, to keep pressure instead of space. But she hesitated, just long enough to feel the balance shift again.

She overextended, chasing what she’d already lost, her body stretched awkwardly across Madeline’s body. The second she realized it, panic flickered across her face. Her breath stuttered, her muscles froze, and instinct screamed to retreat. So she did, but in exhaustion, body burning up, she was slow to react, pushing away to try and disengage.

[Lightman]

Parker’s grip was failing, faltering, but she refused to let go. Madeline sensed the tension with each tremble in the rookie’s arms, as his fingers struggled to maintain their grip on his sweaty skin. Although misguided, the effort was still admirable. Without control, pressure is unsustainable. Madeline shifted slowly beneath her, each turn of the hips and flex of her shoulders nudging Parker higher, loosening her base inch by inch.

Sweat traced the line of Madeline’s neck as she breathed steadily, her chest expanding just enough to open a sliver of space. Parker rushed to fill it, but Madeline was already peeling her hands away, methodical and patient, one finger at a time. A subtle smile touched her lips when the younger woman laughed, exhausted and defiant in the same breath. With a swift, intentional movement, she twisted her hips, lifted her shoulder, and expertly freed herself from the rookie's grasp.

The cradle gave. Parker tried to chase it, lunging to reclaim what she’d lost, but Madeline surged forward before she could reset. Her leg hooked across the rookie’s thigh, her weight rolling through in a controlled press that flattened Parker to the side. The mat thudded softly beneath them as Madeline’s palm settled at the base of her neck, holding her folded in place.

“Don’t chase what’s already gone.” She spoke gently, her voice barely audible in the moist, crowded atmosphere. “Just wait. It will always come back.” The words were not harsh, only deliberate, serving as a prompt. Parker’s breath came fast and shallow, her body twitching with the effort to break free, but Madeline stayed with her, matching every motion with quiet control.

Then the test began. She didn’t give Parker time to recover, further honouring her wishes. Her hips shifted again, knee sliding across to pin the rookie’s waist while her opposite leg stretched for balance. Her chest lowered over Parker’s shoulder, left arm threading through to hook the far bicep. It wasn’t heavy, but the threat in the positioning was clear. Push too soon, and she’d walk straight into the trap.

Madeline’s muscles tightened subtly and steadily, her control compressing through Parker’s frame. “Think before you move.” It was a challenge, not a taunt. She gave Parker a heartbeat, maybe two, to find her answer. If she didn’t take it, Madeline was already ready to claim what came next.

[Parker]

Parker’s world had narrowed to breath, pressure, and the hot ache of being held in place. Madeline’s palm at her neck wasn’t crushing, but it might as well have been iron for how effectively it pinned her down with how tired she was. Every breath came shallow, and every motion seemed to echo back through her body in waves of strain.

Her muscles twitched under the veteran’s control, small, frustrated pulses that betrayed the storm brewing behind her eyes. She could feel the logic of what Madeline was doing, the lesson hidden in the pressure. No different than waiting for a roller coaster to come back to the hub before boarding or stopping at a red light. She had missed a window, but there wasn’t only one. She’d have another chance… in theory. The lesson lacked her fatigue, her thirst, her body’s will to fight and thrash.

"Ugh," she huffed, about to tell Madeline it wasn't as easy as she made it out to be but cutting herself off knowing full well the veteran would just tell her that was the point. Her coach would have too. The last thing she needed right now was tough love. Madeline was giving that to her in spades, even if she asked for it, Parker could still begrudge it in the moment.

Madeline’s weight pressed across her ribs, patient, disciplined as ever. What she wouldn't give to catch her off guard, make it feel like she was working hard on the back foot. Parker could feel the heat radiating between them, the veteran’s calm against her own frantic pulse. She tried to shift her hips, but every attempt met quiet resistance. Not punishment, just correction. A reminder of where she’d gone wrong.

Her mind worked through the problem in fragments. If she pushed, Madeline would roll her back. If she stayed still, she’d suffocate in her own stillness. There was a needle that needed treading. The position they were in lacked finality. There was more to be done, waiting might be the key. When all doors were locked and one was left slightly open, it smelled like a trap.

Parker’s breathing steadied, though every inhale stung. She felt the mat under her body, found her balance again, and began to test the edges of the hold, not brute force, but patient probing as Madeline had done. She waited for what, she wasn't sure, but she would try to find her opening when next the other woman moved, where shifting might cause imbalance. She twisted at the shoulder, trying to press her weight down into the mats, make it harder for Madeline's to securely hook her arm around it.

[Lightman]

Madeline remained, the weight of her hips measured, constant, and unhurried. Parker’s chest pushed and fell beneath her, each breath scraping out from under the pressure. Despite the visible struggle in every movement, the girl’s inner strength persisted. Her ability to keep fighting and thinking was impressive. Madeline subtly changed her posture, gauging the weight, and taking care not to bury Parker completely.

Heat rolled off their bodies, slicking the small space between them. Madeline shifted slightly, the slide of sweat across Parker’s skin an almost imperceptible cue of what came next. Her left arm snaked deeper beneath the rookie’s far shoulder, palm flattening against the mat. The angle provided her with control, but the atmosphere shifted when she gently lowered her head by Parker’s jaw. With slow, measured breaths, her cheek grazed Parker’s temple while she eliminated the small distance separating them.

Each time Parker tested, Madeline met her with the smallest corrections. When Parker tried to push, she sank her weight deeper into her ribs. When she turned, Madeline’s hips rolled to follow, trapping her halfway through the motion. She wasn’t fighting her so much as guiding her, coaxing her into the inevitable.

The setup was there now, almost perfect. Her right arm worked in concert with the left, threading closer until her forearm brushed the back of Parker’s neck. It wasn’t tight enough to choke yet, but the threat of it hung between them. The type of pressure that whispered what would happen if she pushed the wrong way. Madeline could feel Parker’s pulse against her bicep, quick and sharp.

Her own breath came heavier now, not from strain but from control held in check. Sweat gathered at her brow, tracing lines down the side of her face as she adjusted her posture, hips lower, shoulder pressing just enough to test Parker’s resolve.

The edge of the triangle was forming, slowly, but surely. The choice hung in the balance, and she gave it to Parker. Move, and risk the noose tightening. Stay still, and feel the slow weight of inevitability settle deeper into her chest. Either way, Madeline was watching: calm, curious, quietly waiting to see which lesson Parker would take first.

[Parker]

Parker could feel the noose tightening, even if it wasn’t locked yet, the weight of Madeline’s hips anchoring her, the steady rhythm of her breath brushing against her cheek. She’d already lost the back of her neck; she could feel the pressure there, subtle but damning. If Madeline got her arm in clean, that would be it.

So she tucked.

Her chin dropped hard to her chest, forehead pressing up into Madeline’s body to block an easy route across her throat. It wasn’t much, but it gave her something, the smallest wedge of defiance between control and collapse. Every breath came shallow, scraping through her throat under the veteran’s steady pressure. Her body screamed for rest, but she forced herself to think, to move.

Her right arm shifted, sliding in tight against her ribs, then up between them to jam into the crook of Madeline’s left elbow. It wasn’t elegant, more survival than strategy, but it stopped the thread, kept that arm from snaring deeper. Her forearm shook with the strain, muscles burning as she pinned it down with all the leverage she had left. If Madeline applied herself, forced it, she wasn't sure she could hold her.

At the same time, her legs kicked out, wild, searching, until she found one of Madeline’s and tangled around it. It wasn’t clean, but it was enough to hook. Her thighs clamped and twisted, pulling sideways, trying to drag Madeline’s balance just a little off-center, anything to shift the weight crushing her chest.

The mats strained beneath them as she wrenched, sweat slicking their movements. Every motion felt heavier than the last, her limbs quivering with fatigue, her lungs raw from the shallow breathing, but she refused to stop. Even if it was desperation, it was hers.

If this didn’t work, if she couldn’t steal that inch of space, Madeline would take the rest without effort. But if it did, if even one shift of weight went her way, she’d have just enough ground to survive a little longer. She had made this challenge expecting to lose, but she was going to hang for as long as she could and how just how tenacious she could be.

[Lightman]

"Just to note... you're lasting longer than some newcomers I've met. I love ones with stamina~."

Madeline sank her hips, shifting her weight into the mat, until Parker’s tangled legs became a greater impediment to the rookie rather than a threat. Desperate to keep her in place, the younger woman’s thighs squeezed around hers, yet the grip only made Madeline feel heavier. A bead of sweat rolled down her temple, outlining her jaw before landing on the mat situated between them. The heat was oppressive, heavy, and their breaths merged into a quiet, continuous drone.

Entangled, her right leg twisted gradually, her heel faintly scraping against the ground as she started the painstaking process of freeing it. Not brute force. Not speed. Just precision. Parker’s hard-won space was gradually taken from her. Madeline’s shoulder pressed against her jaw, gently turning her head, and her voice was a sultry whisper near her ear.

“I don't mind the clingy time, sometimes~.” Sporting the faintest curl of amusement in her tone. “You do make a lovely trap, but darling, you’re holding the wrong thing.”

Her left hand slid up along Parker’s far arm, tracing the line of her tricep before slipping under to secure the elbow, a slow, purposeful, and probing action. The girl’s weariness was palpable; her body trembled, and her pulse was quick and erratic. Madeline pressed just enough to make the rookie’s lungs flutter, then shifted her weight again, grinding her hip down to pin the entangled leg.

Parker’s hook clamped tighter, but Madeline had already committed. Her leg twisted, driving through with sudden force, the slick of sweat and the grind of her hip breaking the tension. When that hold gives with a sharp pull, Madeline would use the momentum, pivoting on her free knee. Her hips rolled through the motion, sliding high across Parker’s torso before the rest of her weight followed, smooth and unstoppable.

Her knee moved to drag across the rookie’s abdomen, then plant firm beside her ribs as her hands braced at the mat. One final shift of pressure, and Madeline’s frame lifted, settling astride Parker’s waist with calm control.

[Parker]

Parker’s body trembled like an engine running on fumes. Every inhale scraped through her lungs, the air hot and ragged between her teeth. Her arms ached from holding out, from trying to find leverage where none existed, and her legs, her last line of defense to slow the brunette ‘s progress, were unraveling. She felt it happening in slow motion: the shift of Madeline’s hips, the faint twist of her knee, the pressure that crept inward until Parker’s tangled hold simply… gave.

Her thigh slid off Madeline’s leg with a mute ruffle of fabric, the British woman's smooth legs slipping past her matted sweatpants. She tried to react, to replace what she lost. Her elbows pressed against the mat, sneakers planted as she tucked her legs best she could and tried to raise her hips as she tried to create enough space to shrimp out. A desperate sideways wriggle that might’ve bought her an inch, a breath, something. Her heel scraped for purchase. Her shoulder rolled into the mat. For a second, it felt like it might actually make a pocket.

Then Madeline’s weight sank back down.

The air whooshed out of Parker’s chest in a broken gasp as she was folded beneath her again, the sheer gravity of the woman above her turning resistance into futility. She pushed once more, feebly, her arms braced against Madeline’s ribs, but they just trembled uselessly, giving out beneath the slow, steady crush pressing her into the canvas. The mat felt cool against her shoulder blades now, cold, almost welcoming compared to the molten heat between their bodies.

Her cheek turned into the mat, sweat sticking a few stray strands of hair to her face. Her legs kicked once, twice, a twitch of rebellion before they fell still. The effort was gone. Her body, even her breathing, surrendered to the weight.

"...Heh… I think that's me…" she murmured weakly, voice muffled and hoarse but carrying that stubborn, shaky laugh that marked her even in defeat. Her chest rose and fell beneath Madeline’s, but there was no more fight in the movement, just the rhythmic thrum of someone who knew she’d given everything she had and come up just short.

The tension drained from her limbs, replaced by the dull ache of exhaustion. For all her effort, all her stubborn resistance, Parker lay still beneath Madeline’s steady presence, recognizing with quiet, breathless clarity that the lesson was over, and that she’d learned exactly where her limits were today.

[Lightman]

Madeline moved with the slow certainty of a tide coming in, which swallowed space inch by inch until there was nowhere left to go. The pressure of her hips deepened as Parker’s leg slid free, the rookie’s tangled guard dissolving into nothing but weary resistance. Madeline’s breathing was steady but audible now, the faint rasp of exertion cutting through the hush of the mats. Sweat slicked the bends of her elbows, darkening the fabric of her rashguard where the strain had gathered. Even this much control took effort, and she respected the grind it took to keep it.

The rookie tried to move beneath her, small, desperate motions that spoke of heart more than strategy. Madeline could feel every tremor through the surface of her own skin, Parker’s body straining to build space that simply wasn’t there. She gave her that inch, that false shimmer of hope, just long enough for the girl to rise before lowering her weight again. Her hips shifted, and the air left Parker’s lungs in a harsh, breathless sound that brushed against Madeline’s collarbone.

Madeline’s arm slid around the back of Parker’s shoulders, her forearm tucking neatly under the rookie’s far arm as she steadied her position. She lingered, with no sense of urgency or cruelty, but with a calm, deliberate patience that came from years of experience in knowing how a gentle touch could completely destabilise a person. Parker’s hands pressed at her ribs once more, trembling with fatigue, and Madeline felt the resistance soften under her palm.

A soft hum escaped her, the sound more like satisfaction than sympathy. She eased the weight of her chest from Parker’s back, though her hips remained in place, the contact still intimate, still commanding. “Oh, it’s definitely you, my dear.” The Englishwoman’s voice came quiet, warm, with a hint of mischief curling beneath it. “Otherwise, you would have tapped out like your life depended on it much earlier.”

She lingered for a moment longer, just long enough to make sure the tension had bled out of Parker’s frame. When it had, Madeline’s weight lifted. Her palms pressed to the mat beside Parker’s shoulders, easing off the pressure until the rookie could breathe fully again. The light caught her skin as she shifted back onto her knees, sweat glinting faintly in the overhead glow.

A small smile tugged at her lips as she looked down at Parker, chest still rising and falling under the sheen of exhaustion. “Next time…” she added, lowering her tone just enough for it to sound like a promise rather than a threat. “…try making me work for it sooner~.” And then, with the same calm she carried throughout, she extended a hand, the offer quiet but firm - an unspoken promise that the lesson hadn’t been about winning at all.

[Parker]

Parker didn’t move right away. The second Madeline’s weight eased off her, her lungs finally expanded, drawing in long, shaky breaths that rattled softly in her chest. She let them out slow, as if each exhale might coax the tremor from her muscles. Her head tilted, settling instinctively against the crook of Madeline’s arm still resting beneath her shoulders. It wasn’t heavy anymore, just warm, sand grounding in a way that made her reluctant to move at all.

She let her eyes drift shut and for a long moment, she just stayed there, listening to the quiet sound of their breathing and the faint scuff of movement from elsewhere in the gym. Her pulse was still racing, her body still humming with leftover adrenaline. The kind that made her feel alive and foolish all at once.

"Guess that’s… lesson learned," she murmured finally, voice rough but steady. "Bruised pride, check. Oxygen debt, check. And a healthy reminder I’ve got a long way to go… yeah, that’s the full set."

A faint huff of laughter escaped her, self-conscious and a little tender. She wasn’t even sure why got so competitive about this stuff. It was just a spar after all. The stakes had been practically non-existent. Despite all her humility those burned a competitor and it was hard to turn that off when things clicked into place. She could have made excuses, tried to justify what went wrong or how the situation was unfair, but that was ego talking.

She shifted slightly beneath Madeline’s shadow, eyes opened half-lidded but bright with that sense of lighthearted humor. "You're right. Next time I won't go so easy." She caught herself, lips quirking into a sheepish grin. "Consider yourself warned."

The words came out light, but the look in her eyes said otherwise, respect, exhaustion, and something quietly proud beneath the ache. Losing still stung. It always did. But even now, somewhere under the burn of defeat, she knew this wouldn’t sit in her gut the way losses used to. Once she came down from the high of rolling, once the soreness faded and her breathing evened out, she’d probably look back on this spar with pride, with the kind of fondness that only came from being pushed to her limit by someone who wanted her to grow.

Right now, though, her body didn’t care about the lesson. It only cared about the weight of exhaustion and the Madeline’s presence over top of her. The closeness was distracting in ways Parker didn’t want to unpack at the moment, her face already too red from exertion to risk giving anything else away.

When Madeline finally lifted off her, Parker let her head fall back to the mat and exhaled deeply. The Englishwoman’s hand appeared a moment later, calm, and expectant. Parker blinked once, twice, before lifting her own trembling hand and slipping it into Madeline’s grasp. Her grip was weak, but her smile was genuine.

"If nothing else," she murmured as she was pulled gently upright, "at least I make for a decent warm-up partner… yeah?" She tried to laugh, but it came out halfway between a chuckle and a sigh, the kind of sound that meant she’d remember this one. Not for the loss, but for the lesson.

[Lightman]

Warm air rose between them, heavy and faintly sweet with exertion. Madeline stayed crouched where she was, one hand still resting against the mat, the other settled at the back of Parker’s shoulder, keeping her propped until the rookie’s breath steadied. In the stillness, the noise of Parker’s breathing was evident; it was rough and irregular, but a sign of life. It was the sound of struggle, not failure.

Madeline’s touch lingered, light but deliberate, the slow glide of her thumb tracing across the younger woman’s shoulder blade. She could feel the tremor there, the body still humming from strain and stubbornness. That familiar energy had resonated within numerous students before, however, Parker’s had a different quality; it was less about fear and more about zeal. A good kind of recklessness, the kind that could be shaped.

“You’ll bruise, yes. But the pride? Keep that. It’s the only thing worth tending to.”

When Parker made her quiet joke about taking it easy next time, the smallest smile tugged at Madeline’s mouth. The humour was raw, a salve for the sting of losing, and the Englishwoman appreciated it more than she let on. Her tone softened, playful yet grounded. “Oh, I expect you to. Otherwise, what’s the point of all this?”

She rose smoothly then, the motion fluid despite the faint warmth of fatigue coiling through her legs. Sweat traced a delicate sheen down the line of her neck, disappearing into the collar of her vest. She extended a hand down to Parker without hesitation, fingers splayed, palm open. Confident, expectant, the kind of gesture that made refusal feel impossible.

When Parker’s hand met hers, Madeline’s grip was firm and steady, grounding rather than overpowering. She lifted her with controlled ease, the muscles in her arm tightening just enough to do the work without making a show of it. “A warm-up partner?” she echoed, that teasing lilt returning to her voice as their eyes met. “Let’s not be modest. You’ve earned your place on the mat.”

Her hand lingered a moment longer before she finally let go. Madeline’s expression softened, though her gaze held its usual glint of challenge, that quiet dare woven into her poise. “Go drink. Stretch.” she said, stepping back with an easy grace. “Unless if you still have some fight left in you, we can pick things up another day.”