They were old friends, and new enemies.
As children they’d been outcasts. A dopey little fat kid and his friend whose limbs were too long for his body, that seemed to take up more room than he did. He’d sit at his desk, doing work, and somehow end up elbowing the student beside him.
When Trixie had taken over ponyville, she’d sent them to train to be her ‘loyal protectors.’ That might have been the one good thing to come out of that situation. They’d been impressed by her, but after being forced to drag around a cart (Trixie did not trust wheels,) Snips and Snails had gotten thoroughly sick of her presence.
But when Trixie had left, they kept training. Perhaps simply out of momentum, but more likely, because in the Mixed Martial Arts training, they’d found something that their weird appearances benefitted them. Snails’s freakishly long limbs had turned him into a skillful striker, and made him damn good at submissions, while Snips’s low center of gravity and unusal mass for his size had turned him into a great wrestler. Their sparring matches had often ended inconclusively, and they’d both dreamed of making it big. The more they practiced, the more they grew. Slowly, Snips’s flab was replaced by muscle, still hidden under just enough fat to not be noticeable, but there was significant power in those arms and legs. Snails’s long arms and legs gained definition and grew muscle, his
When they got a chance to try out for The Equestrian Fighter, it had been like a dream come true. They’d get the chance to compete for a shot at their dream, an Equestrian Fighter contract.
They were drafted into different teams. Snails had been picked by Ludovico Foret, a griffin who’d been impressed by Snails’s reach. Sometimes, the secret to winning the fight, was being able to hit a guy when he can’t hit you. Glorious Wreath, a respected Earth Pony fighter, two-time Golden Hoof winner before he was out of highschool, and Ludovico’s infamous arch-rival, had chosen Snips for his team. This added a little bit of friendly rivalry to the contest, but it never stopped being friendly. They were friends to the end, who wanted to see their friend succeed almost as much as they’d wanted to win themselves.
They’d gotten lucky for most of the time. Their trainers had never pitted them against each-other. Perhaps out of concern that they’d conspire to let one or the other win, perhaps out of fear that they wouldn’t be willing to go as hard as they could on each-other, that friendship might make them pull their punches, or, in Snails’s case, those kicks that had won him so many of the fights on the way here.
Watching the elimination tournaments had been a nerve-wracking experience. Cheering their friend on, celebrating their victories... And at the back of their mind, hoping, praying, that it wouldn’t be on them to cut the dream short.
The semi-finals had been a pair of close fights. Snails had been being backed up in his fight with Fluffy, the diamond dog, and the only fighter there with reach that matched his. And while Snips had jumped out of his seat in excitement as an out-of-nowhere roundhouse kick sent the diamond dog sprawling on the mat, his stomach sunk just a bit at the thought that his friend was the only thing standing between him, and victory in the tournament.
And when Snips had been taken down by Shimmering Gift, blocked a submission attempt, then rolled into a mount to pound until the bell rang, he’d seen that same look, of joy and dread. Thrilled that his friend was victorious, and saddened by the thought that it was now his duty to stop him. The two friends hugged in excitement after that, happy to know that one of them would be victorious... But as Snips’s thick arms held him to his friend’s golden chest, they both knew that the next time they felt each-other’s bodies, it would be for less than a second, with the pain of a strike - Or longer, in the agony of a submission hold. But one way or the other, things would be different tomorrow.
The training until the next fight had been intense. Snips’s coach ran down Snails’s strong points and weak ones, but he barely heard him. Besides, he knew it all already. He’d seen it in the fights, and he’d seen it in sparring, for years. He threw everything he had into punching the bag, the thuds coming louder and harder than before, thinking about the upcoming fight. Though he wasn’t entirely sure if his strikes were driven by a desire for victory, or frustration over who his opponent would be. He wouldn’t mind stopping some diamond dog from walking home with a contract. But to pound on his friend like that... He might have been hitting so hard in training because he couldn’t imagine hitting that hard in the cage.
He woke up on the day of the fight, feeling distressingly rested, his last hope, that some freak illness would mean that they wouldn’t have to go through with this. That some way a draw could be declared. But there would be no stopping this.
The last minute preparations flew by, the clock marching inexorably onward, until the time for the match had finally come. The two contenders stepped into the cage. They were both unicorns, but no magic could be employed. A nullification field cut out all the magic that powered ponies. The magic of a unicorn’s horn couldn’t even light a candle. The wings of a pegasus would only flap uselessly, not able to lift their disproportionately large bearers the way those of a bird would. And, perhaps most importantly, the subtle magic that gave earth ponies strength far exceeding their size was rendered useless. Pegasi and Griffons would have their wings bound, as well. Diamond Dogs forced to wear caps for their teeth. No unfair species advantage. Just skill, and all were welcome to try their hooves.
They met in the center of the ring, and stared each-other down as the ref explained the rules. They watched each-other as if seeing each-other for the first time. Snails’s body had always looked awkward, but here it looked incredible. Not like a goofy geek, but defined, ropy muscles, each one popping like an anatomy sketch. He looked like the Amazing Spider Colt, his body slender but powerfully muscled.
Snips looked like a heavyweight hit by a shrink ray. He was more than half a foot shorter than his friend, but with biceps that looked like Snails’s calves. The muscles not as defined, lumped together into a mass of power. They didn’t hear the ref explaining the rules, and declined to touch gloves. They didn’t need to demonstrate their respect. They’d said it all a hundred times before. They didn’t need it demonstrated for the cameras.
They backed up into their own corners, a whole conversation held wordlessly with their eyes. Reservations about going through, but a clear message that they weren’t stopping now.
They once again declined to touch gloves, as they came out of the corner, hands up. No sense delaying. They wouldn’t go easy on each-other.
They drew closer, and Snails pounced. Snips raised his gloves as strike after strike poured in on him. Punch after punch, some slipping through and hitting his cheek, others deflected or dodged. Snips found himself being chased around the ring. The punches seemed more focused on disorientation than damage. Painful, yes, but like throwing sand in Snips’s eyes, simply trying to keep him off balance.
It worked, and he soon made a crucial mistake. Backing up, he stumbled, turning as he fell back from Snails’s onslaught. He was on the ground for less than a second , and the smaller fighter was able to get to his feet again, but his temporary mistake had been damaging. He found himself with his back to the cage, and his friend’s fists pounding in on him. He was struggling to stay on his feet, but he saw one of those punches coming and ducked, making his first real strike back, a hook to his friend’s head. He felt the solid impact of his gloves, and Snails stopped for half a second, just long enough for the blue fighter to get away.
It was only 15 seconds in. 15 seconds of the 15 minutes this fight would take before being called over. 15 seconds of striking and dodging that was just the opening skirmish of a civil war, brother against brother, and yet had Snips not ducked out of the way there, it would have been the final battle. As he turned to face Snails again, his friend kept up the attack, trying to swing a kick at Snips’s side, but he stepped back, dodging his friend’s hit. He was still backing up, though, and another straight came at his face, but he slipped it. And now, his back was to the cage once more.
Rather than keep the striking assault, Snails grabbed at his leg, going to try to take him to the ground. Snips attempted to use the cage to some defense, and as they went down, he ended up able to hook his hands under the golden arm and end up on his knees rather than back. He felt those long limbs trying to pull his legs out, but he didn’t want to end up on the ground. He wanted his friend to win, but he wanted to win even more. Still, the attack was tiring, and when it came down to cardio, he knew Snails had him beat.
He’d stopped the takedown, sort of... And started back to his feet. He fought against those golden arms grabbing onto him, and used the cage for leverage to get to his feet. This was far from an ideal position, though. His back was being pressed to the cage, and Snails’s arms had wrapped around his waist. He felt those long, corded muscles pressing into his flesh, in a way, almost stopping his breath. But as much as both of them would love to do it, this was no place for such a high-risk maneuver. Snips had managed to stop one takedown, but he knew another was coming. And this time, in an awkward pose, practically with his side to Snails’s shoulder... He knew what was coming, and braced himself.
He was lifted off his feet. The taller fighter holding him clear off the ground as he pulled him away from the cage. Snips tried to pound on his friend’s back, but he was helpless in this position... Helpless to do anything but prepare to be taken down. But here, snails’s size was working against him. As those golden limbs lifted his feet up off the mat, Snips went to swing them out, trying to position his arms near Snails’s head. As he was slammed down, he wasn’t slammed on his back like the slender stallion had hoped, but he ended up on his knees, hands in the other male’s mane.
Snails quickly dropped the hold around the chest, and went for Snips’s head as well. They were pressed up close, the pair of them both gripping onto their heads. Snips was a grappler, but he was following instinct, instinct that told him to get to his feet. Instinct that said he needed a moment to regroup. And he tried to, but as he rose, he wasn’t fully getting away. They got to their feet, but Snips wasn’t able to get away from his friend quite yet. He was being held around his head, and looked down. He was fighting a guy who specialized in kicks. He knew what was coming.
He saw that golden knee come up towards his face, and hit him head on. He would likely have stumbled back, had Snails not been gripping onto him, those slender yet powerful arms forcing him down. Another knee came rising up, another hard hit to the face. If he didn’t get out, and soon, he would end up sprawled on the mat. He waited for the third, then went to push away at just that moment, trying to time himself when Snails would be expecting him to be bracing.
He escaped, the knee caught his cheek, but he was able to get out of the clinch. The two fighters stared each-other down once more. Snips could see the pain in his friend’s eyes. Each of those knees had hurt the goldenrod colt almost as much as they had his opponent. He just nodded. He knew how he felt, though unfortunately for his chances, perhaps not quite as well.
He would have to try to fight counter to Snails. He knew that his opponent had reach. He would need to make each attack miss. It would be the only way to get in close enough, and Faust help him if his friend went for a roundhouse. He’d been lucky that those hadn’t been pulled out thus far. If he’d been hit by one in that early onslaught, the fight might have been over before it started. Those long legs were killer.
He saw Snails come in with another punch, and this time, was ready. He slipped it, and slammed another hook into his friend’s cheek, a satisfying feeling as glove met bone. Trying to outlast Snails might not be the best plan, but he didn’t need to outlast him all night. He needed to outlast him just long enough for the torrent to turn down just a bit, for the whitewater rapids to become a calmer current, and he could strike back.
Another punch, another slip, step forward, and a fist to the midsection. Glove met flesh, and as it must, flesh gave. His whole body had gone into that shot, and he knew there’d be a bruise in the morning, if there wasn’t by the end of the fight. Snails came in with side kick, and Snips dodged that one again, waited for a follow-up punch, and ducked it, hitting a hard uppercut. The rising part of that, at least, is easier when your opponent has that size advantage. But he stepped away before he could get grabbed.
Two minutes were down in the first round, but Snips was already able to get his breath back from that early assault. Two minutes of the fight, where one would achieve a shared dream, and one go home with nothing to show for it. Just two minutes down, and it already felt like they’d been in the cage for a year.
Snails had stopped his quick attacks. Either he was getting tired, or he noticed that Snips was going on the defensive. One way or the other, Snips decided now was the time to turn defense into offense. He fired off a hard hook, and he could see his friend’s whole body react as it slammed into him. The tree-trunk like muscles of his arm had once again come full-force on Snails, and it rocked the taller colt backwards. So Snips dove in for a takedown. He went to grab Snails by his waist, and lift him up. One fighter’s feat cleared the ground, but this time, unlike Snails’s ill-fated take down, he wouldn’t have room to readjust. He found himself slammed down on his back in an instant.
Snips felt those powerful legs close in quickly around his body, fighting to keep him in a guard. Those thighs pressed close on him, and he knew that this wouldn’t be easy to pass. His friend would take advantage of a chance to fight on the ground if it was given, but wouldn’t usually try to take it. He was a striker, through and through.
Still, Snips felt one arm snake in around and under his neck... Snails was going to try to guillotine choke him. As he went for it, those powerful thighs started to straighten out. At full stretch, there was little space between them. Certainly too little to fit a bulky fighter in, as the painful scissors cut in. Snips had to focus on one fight or another. Either try to break the scissors, or try to stop the choke. A scissors hold could hurt. In worst case scenario, especially from such trained, powerful, and muscular legs like these, it could break ribs. But it would rarely be a knockout around the midsection. Just an agonizing distraction, as the iron of his thigh muscles squeezed in on that blue midsection.
Snails grabbed his opponent’s left hand, just before it finished its journey around his neck. The lean muscle of his arm was hard on the back of Snips’s head, but that might be painful, but not too dangerous. They had to be used to pain, they were fighters, and they’d both felt worse.
Muscle struggled against muscle as Snips fought to peel the arm away from his neck, to stop the choke with one hand. He repositioned his shoulder, to allow him to try to use his other arm as a wedge, to keep his head from being held too close. Those thighs crushed in like a steel vice as he pushed against the hand, and tried to force his right hand through the gap. It hurt even more with the contortions of his abdominal muscles needed just to twist a few inches to the side, and being punished for the attempt. The thighs were there to remind him that being on top and being in control were very different concepts. When more massive muscles forced Snails’s arms away, he pulled back. He postured himself up above his opponent, now... Not able to be too high above him, but just enough that he was in control, and able to throw down some strikes.
He hesitated for just a second before he began, steeling himself. He wasn’t in the fully mounted position that would so often end the match, but he was still in a good spot, and only stopped from being better by those powerful thighs constricting him like an anaconda. And then he struck, a powerful fist coming down hard on that goldenrod chin. Another one, hitting near the eye. Snails had to raise his hands to defend himself as a third, in a hook-like arc, came against the side of his head.
One of their trainers had said about both of them, early when they were training, that they were too dumb to know when they should be unconscious. Snips began to see what he meant. That hook had hit cleanly, right by the temple, but Snails still looked up at him. And then, those thighs stretched out, scissoring him hard. Snails arched up, and rolled, using the power of his legs to get on top. He dropped the scissors mercifully allowing Snips’s body to breathe, but now he was on top, in a full mount.
The blue colt went to grab him around his back, and pull him down. He held that beautiful body close, his face buried against that chest, almost like a hug. He heard his friend’s heartbeat, smelled his sweat, and felt his coarse coat on his body as he held him down. A few strikes came in on him, but he was still defending himself. He was defending himself by pulling his foe down, with nearly the strength of a bearhug.
Many fighters in their weight division underestimated Snips’s strength. They weren’t used to fighting guys like him, guys with muscles that heavy. One opponent had remarked that if he didn’t know the cage’s nullification was working, he’d have sworn he was wrestling an earth pony. He stretched his arms out against his friend’s ribs, hoping to similar damage to what those thighs had to him. His sides were still sensitive, and he had no doubt, there would be a bit of black added to the blue of his body.He got a satisfying groan in reaction, and his arms pressed in, tighter looking for more of that. The worst he could do here was break a rib, and that wouldn’t end the match. Broken arm or leg, sure. But a broken rib was just another convenient target.
He felt his friend’s form starting to cave in. The muscles crushed tighter on that handsome form. Snails’s legs were spread, he’d need to find something before he could try to bridge up. For now, he was just interested in stopping his friend from getting in a dangerous full mount position, and either hammering fists in on him, or twisting into an armbar. He wasn’t sure this match would break their friendship, but he knew it could break his arm.
He knew if it took a broken arm to preserve their friendship, he’d cut off the limb. But he wouldn’t sacrifice this one chance to get what both of them had fought for for years. He stretched his arms out, muscles cutting into the sides of the man on top of him, he could feel the ribs starting to bend. He closed his eyes, gritted his teeth...
“Stand up!”
The zebra referee had decided that was enough. Too much lying on the ground doing nothing made for a poor match, and lying down and hoping you won on points was a cheap tactic, technically legal, but against the spirit of the thing. So rules were made to stop it.
Snips slackened his grip, and looked up at his friend, as he got to his hands and knees. He saw a smile, relieved to be granted a reprieve. If this was a spar, he’d have made a goofy comment, they’d have laughed and got a drink before going back to the mats. But this was neither the time nor the place for jokes. Snips just gave a small nod, and back to their feet they went. He looked to the clock. They’d spent two and a half minutes rolling on the ground, tangled up in arms and legs like a parody of lovers.
The ref restarted the fight, and they circled each-other. Thirty seconds left. But thirty seconds could be the difference between a victory and a defeat. Without a lucky shot early, thirty seconds would have been longer than the whole fight.
They both looked for an opening, and Snails saw one first. Snips felt a powerful punch to the stomach, and let out a grunt. The fist had hit him like a brick. He felt another, this one from the right side, as the glove buried itself in him. There was only a bit of fat to cushion the blow, and plenty of muscle, but it still hurt like hell. The punch was coming in right at the bruises those thighs had put on him. Then a hard knee, right under the ribs. He was forced to exhale, the breath being sent out of him. The hit was hard, his fists dropped. He was a sitting duck, and he knew one hard head kick from his friend would end it. He would try to avoid it, but he doubted he could do much, his guard broken, rocked.
But the kick didn’t come. Instead, the bell rang, and the ref stepped in the middle, pushing the two fighters away. His sides hurt like hell from where the gold-plated iron of his friend’s legs had squeezed in.
He wasn’t fully listening to Wreath, as he prepared for the next round. The manager’s job was to watch and give advice, but Snips had known what happened. The advice was good, but right now, he was focused on watching his friend. They stared at each-other across the ring, as ice was applied to lower the swelling from the punches they’d thrown at each-other. There were only three things in the world right now. The fighter, his opponent, and the prize. A ticket to the EFC... Or a ticket home.
The break ended. The trainers cleared the ring. The bell rang. Round two began.
Snails was being more cautious at the beginning of this round. Or more tired. He’d come out high-octane at round one, and that could be exhausting. Snips didn’t doubt Foret had given him a warning about that. He wouldn’t be surprised if Wreath had said something similar. He doubted either of them had heard it. They were both waiting for their spot.
Snips thought he saw one, and stepped in, going for an overhead punch, though admittedly, with this size difference, that descriptor could be applied to most punches. Snails stepped back. Snips stepped in again, and Snails jumped back again. Snails might have been trying to tire him out. Another step, another punch, another wiff. It’s easy to get exhausted fighting thin air.
Snips could see aggression wouldn’t work. Snails was faster, a bit fresher, and had a reach advantage. He’d need to play defense. He prepared for Snails’s attack, watching those lanky limbs. Long limbs made a dangerous striker, they had that much more time to build momentum before the fist met flesh. And that left roundhouse had ended many matches. It could come out of nowhere, and even now, early in the second round, with a good amount of energy left, Snips didn’t know if he’d react in time to stop it if it did come.
He saw movement, but it wasn’t coming as a kick or a punch. It was a lowered shoulder and a charge, he was going for a takedown. Snips raised his knee, and struck his friend right in the forehead, just below the horn. A second earlier would have made it a horn strike, illegal, docking him a point and stopping the fight. Some hits were too dangerous even in EFC. Snips was relieved he’d missed that. He could have lost the fight. He could have hurt his friend. As he heard the thud of bone-on-bone, saw Snails step back, he could only hope was right about which was more important. Snips tried to leap on him, slamming fist into his head, but Snails was backing off too quick. Pretty soon, that golden body was too far back.
They both had their hands up. Snips wanted the fight to go to the ground, too, but on his terms. In a high level contest, a single mistake could cost you the fight. Get on the ground at the wrong time or place, even a guy who prefers strikes can end the match.
He stepped in, trying to look like he was going for another hook punch. He waited for Snails to react, and just before he’d need to commit, he changed, going to shoot for a double-leg takedown. His shoulder hit his foe’s stomach, digging into those abs as he tried to lift up on those powerful legs. His fingers dug in against the long ropes of muscle. But he coudln’t get them up in time, and Snails ended up with his back to the cage. The cage could often help defend a takedown. He knew he couldn’t switch to a grab around the chest without risking Snails escaping. He kept trying to pull on those legs, but they wouldn’t budge. It was like his foe was routed to the ground. And then he felt a knee to the chest. Hard and heavy, Snails was defending himself as best he could. Another one, a knee that could crack bone from the right angle. He was glad for his size, a more slender man might have had a rib crack from the force of those legs.
He was pained, but still held on. He prepared for the next kick. He’d be ready to jerk his arms forward, pull him off the one leg he’d be standing on. But it wasn’t a kick. He felt a pounding fist on his back. He grunted in pain as a fist pounded the back of his head, and as he tried to regain his concentration, another knee to the gut. He could feel that it was starting to bruise already, his blue coat turning an ugly purple. He broke the hold, going to try to pull away, but he felt his friend’s hands grab into his hair. He was grabbed around the head again, and the knee came up again. This time, no fat or muscle to block the strike, right onto the forehead, barely missing the horn as he backed up. He heard his friend wince sympathetically, he’d known how close he’d come.
Snips pushed on Snails’s body, and pulled away. The knees to the chest had tired him, and while his hands were raised, he knew he was getting tired. Two minutes gone in the third round. Seven out of the fifteen minutes. If either of them lasted that long. A knockout could happen at any time.
Snails stepped away from the cage as Snips backed off. He stopped, planted a foot, and tried a hard straight, hoping to get that lucky hit that they were both looking for. Snails just leaned back, and as he kept moving forward through the punch, he felt a knee strike him in the chest. His midsection was mottled with dark black and ugly purples. He reeled back from the knee, getting tired from the hits. But while he’d been fighting defensively, he doubted he was ahead on points. This round could be a coin toss, but that aggressive opening would be his downfall if the let it go to the judges. He’d need to find a way to end it.
The time ticked off, as they looked for openings. Snips stepped in, and Snails stepped back. Snips wanted to fight defensively, but if he defended all day, he’d have nothing to show for it. They’d both come too far for either one of them to give up. He waited for another opening, and thought he saw one. He tried to step in with a left hook. But another knee hit him hard in the side, driving the wind from him again, as he let out a loud oof. He was on shaky feet, here. Those hits had been sloppy, the pounding of his foe’s legs into him was getting him tired.
He kept circling, his hands up, but not as active as they had been. The sweat and blood was on the mat. He was sure the crowd was cheering, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the fight long enough to hear. He needed to find his spot. He stepped in, once more, going for another hard punch. But once again, a knee to the chest stopped him. And then a second one, this time a bit lower. The breath was driven out of him once more. His hands lowered. An athletic kick came to the chest. He was practically breathless, hands down.
He was a target once again, seconds from defeat. All it would take would be that big kick from Snails’s powerful legs to end the match and leave the blue colt sprawled on the mat. He knew, as he struggled to keep his hands up, he wouldn’t be able to defend against it. All it would take was to raise that leg, and Snips would be sent back home.
Once again, he was a perfect target. Once again, that kick would end the match.
Once again, it never came. This time, he did feel something, but not a kick. A punch striking him in the face, the glove slamming into him. He reacted quickly, falling onto his back on the mat. Dangerous, but it would be even more dangerous to stay on his feet, wobbling after that punch. He could at least prepare for a second, here.
Snails fell on him, the force of his entire body driving a punch down. But Snips ducked his head to the side, and wrapped his legs around that body, and grabbing his head and pulling it to his chest. His massive legs squeezed in on the smaller form of his friend. His friend was slender, yes, but far from small enough to avoid the full force of those massive muscles, flexing out and coming in on him. He tried to keep Snails immobilized on him.
He felt a punch to his side, and winced audibly. Snails just kept attacking the same places, where the knees had hit, and where his thighs had dug into the larger male’s sides. He squeezed in on that body, getting a satisfying grunt, but knowing that he’d need more than that. Enough punches, he’d have to drop his guard. And another one came in.
A third one, hammered into his side. And a fourth. His arms were weakening, he had to act fast. He flexed his legs, the diamond-shaped muscles compressing the sides of his friends. He got that gasp again, and that’s what he wanted. That was his half-second opening. He bucked, rolled, and got on top. Quickly, he felt Snails’s arms wrap around him. Trying to keep him from posturing up.
But muscle to muscle, Snips would win every time. Those arms were powerful, lean muscles making his once weak-looking friend look like the very avatar of power. Muscles that were digging into his back, now. But his back was strong too, and he knew, as he went to stand up, that Snails would feel the ridges growing on it as he pressed ont he ground and pushed off. He felt those hands struggling to hold on, and being parted by his back, by his power as he got to his knees.
And now he was mounted. He looked down at Snails, whose brow was furrowed in concentration. With a cry of exertion, as much the difficulty of bringing himself to do it as the force of the blow, he slammed his fist down on his friend’s face with all the force he could muster. He could swear he heard a crack, but the thud of fist to face may simply have been that loud. He began another, and another. Hammer blows rained down on Snails, the same way they’d rained on his foe the match before. He was sure the referee would call for the bell, to stop the fight, or just for the end of the round.
Instead, he heard a thud of fist to flesh. But it wasn’t his. Snails struck him from below, and he must have gotten lucky. That fist dug deep into his body. Not quite a kidney shot, but all the pain associated with the same coursed through Snips’s form at once. He let out a loud gasp. And he felt those legs moving. He was bridged up, Snails swung those legs under him, and as he regained his breath, he found himself in the other male’s guard, head pressed down on him, right by his neck. Now more than ever, the pair looked like lovers, even as those thighs cut into his sides once more. The pain was still incredible.
“Sorry” He heard his friend whisper.
“Snails.” He whispered back.
“Yeah?”
“You punched me.”
“Yes.”
“Not then. Before. You punched me.”
“Yes.”
“You could have kicked me.”
“Didn’t.”
“Do.”
There was a pause, and Snips gave him another punch to the side for emphasis.
“Do, damnit. If you see a shot, take it.”
“Okay.”
The bell rang to signal the end of the round.
“Stand up!” The ref called out, and pulled Snips off of his friend.
They went back to their corners. If he had only half listened to the advice of his manage before, now there was nothing. Wreath could have been singing Gilbert and Sullivan for all he knew. He just breathed, heavily, getting back what he could before the fight resumed again. He didn’t even watch his friend any more. Just watched the clock, waiting to be brought back. Five minutes left. They were more than two thirds of the way through this fight. A lot could happen in five minutes. Glory could be won. Dreams could be shattered. Five minutes was a lot of time, when you really thought about it. Not too long. But long enough to lose a friend.
But, he hoped, tonight, it would take a lot more than that. A lifetime of training, laughing, and dreaming, weighed against five minutes in the ring. He hoped he was right about which one was longer.
The trainers and managers were cleared from the ring. They raised their hands, the bell rung, and the second round begun. Snips could see his friend’s face, clearly wet more from tears streaming down it, then the sweat from the rest of his body. And Snails attacked with another blitz, battering snips back once more. The fists came in hard and heavy, as heavy, battering him back. He couldn’t react as fast, couldn’t block as well.
He felt the gloves smack into him, stunning him. He was backing off, and Snails was keeping the attack, just as he had early in the match. And as they continued back towards the wall of the cage, he could feel that Snails was getting closer. Jabs and straights turning to hooks and uppercuts, and then, a knee once more.
He let out a groan as the knee slammed into his stomach. There was no protection left from the muscle and thin layer of fat on him. That felt like it had all been battered away. Another one, and a third, driving the breath out of him. A low punch to the side, and another knee, and Snips was forced to take another step back. His hands were down again, he couldn’t keep them up after ten minutes and such an exhausting assault. He was open once more.
“I’m sorry!” He heard his friend’s voice call out, and he looked up just in time to see that leg coming toward him.
Time froze at the moment of impact. He felt that leg striking the side of his head, as if he was nuzzling into his calf. He could see the long muscles at full extension, trace them up his friend’s calf, to the knee, that had done so much damage this match, slightly stained with blood from the strikes to Snips’s face. Those powerful thighs that had closed in on his sides, bruising and bending them. Each of his abs distinctly defined, along with his pecs, every one of the muscles in that long torso as clear as those of a model in a doctor’s office, making his way up his neck, and finally to his face, glistening wet with tears in a steady stream. He might have been crying himself. He hoped he was smiling.
He woke up, staring up at the glow of the field projected by the cage. His whole body hurt like he’d been hit by a truck. His muscles were sore. A doctor shone a light in his eyes, but he must have reacted normally. He felt someone scoop him up, and was pressed to his friend’s goldenrod chest for the third time that night. He hugged him back, tearing up himself. Snails finally pulled him away from his chest, and he looked up in his lovely black eyes.
“I did it!”
“You did it!” He answered back, and hugged him close again. When he looked back, they were both crying. And both smiling. And both for the same reason.
It turned out, five minutes wasn’t that long after all.