Natural.

He tries to tell himself that it was perfectly natural. He'd stumbled across one of Piper's biology books once, read that sexual desire can become heightened in times of high adrenalin production.

Pieces of tattered uniforms thrown into the mud carelessly, saturated with rainwater and grime. Lips firmly pressed together, hands tangled in dark hair, dangerous fingers trailing down a spine.

Part of the 'fight or flight' response. Well, surely one of these days, in one of these battles, it was bound to happen. Just not now. Just not with him.

Calloused hands slide against newly exposed pale skin. Shaky moans heard against the rain. Razor-sharp teeth scrape against a flushed cheek.

This went against everything he stood for, everything he believed he would never do – he was a Sky Knight, godamnit! – why wasn't he doing anything? Why wasn't he killing this man where he stood?

A chuckle when hands grip the elder's shoulders too tightly. The soft flesh of a neck bitten too hard, blood trickling down a sloping collarbone, only to be washed away by ever-falling clear droplets.

What was he doing? He was practically throwing everything away, spreading his legs for his mortal enemy from a kiss and a smirk. This couldn't be taken back, couldn't be undone. It would linger in both of their minds, always relentlessly tap-tap-tapping on their conscious.

Large hands firmly pin the boy's hips down before taking a rough grip on his length, eliciting a shallow gasp, and eyes firmly squeezed shut.

This was so wrongwrongwrong – a sharp flick of the wrist – rightrightright, god so right. They needed this both badly, it was another form of struggle for them, too see who could control the fight, who could come out with the most power.

Lithe legs are suddenly wrapped around a narrow waist, pausing momentarily for the owner to catch their breath, before harshly grinding against the other's arousal. The elder's arms clench around the boy too tightly for his reaction to go unnoticed, and a weak groan is released from chapped lips.

Neither of them were going to go down without a fight, and it was possible that this was the most exhilarating one they'd had so far – the product of far too much adrenalin coursing through veins.

Suddenly the man grips the boy's hips even tighter than before, and slowly rolls his hips against the other's, producing a thinly veiled whimper from the boy crushed so solidly against him. Another chuckle and then "Getting a bit too much for you, Aerrow?" The younger growls and glares up heatedly through dark lashes, before choking out "Hardly. Why? Want to give up so soon?" The boy was answered with another fierce roll of hips against his own and a treacherous smile.

The rain was beginning to slow up now – not beating quite so angrily as before. His team would come looking soon. God, what would they think if they saw him like this?

It was nearly over now, a heady climax reaching for them both, tangling it's fiery white-hot tendrils deep within them. Moans and gasps heard much more clearly now from the lack of rain, urging each other deeper into the encasing warmth. The elder's lips reach out to harshly mesh with the other's again, their moans muffled as white heat bursts through their bodies, the boys fingers clenching firmly in the other's dark hair. The man supports the other's pale body as it weakly slumps against him in the slowly diminishing euphoria, before they both slowly slip to the ground from the lack of energy.

He realised in the end that nothing important was gained.

Torn clothing slowly pulled back over sore, tired bodies.

This was all for the thrill.

A lethal silence descends upon the pair, neither wanting to examine what exactly had just happened.

It was what he lived for – what they both lived for.

Weapons, that were discarded what seemed like a lifetime ago, are carefully retrieved, and they both mount their skimmers in faint exhaustion. With quick glances, engines are kick-started, and eventually they both leave the small land formation in separate directions. Haphazard thoughts already scattering the memories of what had just occurred to quieter recesses of the mind, to be meticulously, and impatiently picked apart later, time and time again.

So, really, it was bound to happen eventually.

Perfectly, perfectly, natural.