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Again.
“Again,” Thrawn says, voice irritatingly even as he backs away from the training mat, circling the floor. It’s grating to see the evidence of Thrawn’s lack of strain– Samakro is pissed off , truly.
He grunts as he heaves himself up, scrubbing a hand over his face to hide his grimace. Stars , he’s drenched in sweat– his right knee aches with a throbbing insistence, his joints creaking as he forces himself back into a defensive position. Thrawn stands a few feet away, back straight and arms crossed, and Samakro could strangle him for being so infuriatingly unphased by two uninterrupted hours of sparring. Hardly a bead of sweat on his face, no obvious strain in his well-defined arms or his lean legs, his toned core–
“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Mid Captain. I’m not sparring to win,” Thrawn murmurs, and Samakro rolls his eyes.
“Then what have we been training for, Senior Captain?” Samakro bites out, rolling his shoulders out as he sets his stance. “You’ve been kicking my ass for two hours for fun, then?”
“I’ve been learning,” Thrawn replies, lips curling in the smallest of smiles. Samakro knows him well enough- too well- to recognize how blinding it is. “Your sparring style is reactionary– you’re focused on your opponent more than the fight itself. You pay attention to my hands more than where they’re landing–”
“ Sir ,” Samakro interrupts, the word more of a strangled groan than anything else. “If this was your excuse to- to psychoanalyze me, I wouldn’t have let it go on for two hours .” he mumbles, hastily wiping the sweat from his brow. He feels his cheeks flush with more than adrenaline, a sharp stab of something in his core at the idea that Thrawn would be paying close enough attention to where Samakro’s eyes lingered.
Thrawn’s gentle smile morphs into a smirk, shrugging nonchalantly in an uncharacteristic tease. “You’re fascinating to me, Mid Captain. I wish to learn more, that’s all. This seemed like even ground.”
“ Even ? Using me as your personal punching bag– oh, for star’s sake,” he growls, raising his clenched fists. “Again. I won’t let you embarrass me into giving you a win.”
“I’m not playing to win,” Thrawn repeats, stepping forward. The distance between them shrinks, a calculating glimmer in Thrawn’s eyes. “I already have what I want.”