Sam and Shatterstar | Sparring
Jan. 31st, 2024 06:53 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsSam manages to both beat himself up and get himself beaten up by a teenager in the same workout.
Sam threw on an old pair of sweats and a tank top before leaving for the training room. As it turned out, the horrors had in fact caught up with him despite the implementation of his tried and true method of keeping his body moving and his mind occupied at all times. He knew that if he didn’t beat the horrors out of himself that they’d start to infect the people around him. Knew that if it festered he was likely to pick a fight and hurt the people around him. He couldn’t let that happen.
Once in the training room Sam carefully wrapped his hands and stared down his stuffed, immobile opponent. When he first hit the punching bag, it was easy for his mind to conjure images of the Cabot boys- his anger over what they’ve done to his family making it easy to unleash his rage. But then the image in his mind shifts- and rather than Bobby John Cabot, the enemy in his mind is Lucinda. He doesn’t pull his punches. The chasm that’s grown between them since the New Year has cemented the reality that she hasn’t really been his mother in a long time. He breathed heavily, hair sticking to his face with sweat and prepared for the rep of this exercise.
The last image was the most concerning. Sam looked at the punching bag and the enemy he saw staring back was him. With a shout he added some of his power behind his next punch and watched as the bag went flying.
“Fuck.”
There was something to be said for the physicality of punching something with your bare hands. The bruising of your knuckles. The thwap thwap thwap of the bag. The pain of doing it wrong. The pain, even, of doing it right.
Shatterstar had never shied away from it. But since coming to Xavier's, he hadn't particularly sought it out either- telling himself that barehanded fighting was something of the past for him. He was not the boy he had been in juvie.
But he had been that boy once, and recognized the tight coil of anger, or the feeling of being trapped in Sam. He didn't mean to interrupt- but the way Sam sent the bag flying suggested that this was someone that understood having anger so deep inside you that you couldn't get it out.
He'd have never expected it from Sam. Maybe he should have.
"You have good form."
Shit. How long had the kid been there?
"Lots of practice." Sam said, trying to get his breathing under control. Trying to get back to the version of himself he wanted the other residents of the mansion to see. Happy Sam. Friendly Sam. The Sam that is always willing to lend a hand for anything at any time. Not....not the Sam that the kid had just seen send a punching bag flying because it had felt so good to imagine punching himself that hard. "I can uh- put that back up if yer lookin' to use it? Shatterstar, right? I think we met briefly when I first moved in."
Shatterstar was more interested in this version of Sam who had anger coiled in him than the version of Sam that Sam had presented the first time they met. 'Star dropped his gym bag and went through it to wrap his own hands. "Are you willing to fight with someone? Because then I'm not looking to use it."
It was so long since he had allowed himself the hit of flesh against flesh. He didn't think Sam would mind- though could he trust himself to pull his punches?
Sam paused, looking the kid up and down. "Only if yer at least eighteen, and we both agree t' no powers." Not that he knew what Shatterstar's powers were but it was a good baseline to establish. "An' just...you should know I cracked a man's skull back at Christmas, I ain't lookin' to do that today but....you need t' tell me if'n I'm goin' too hard on ya."
He looked briefly at his hands, could feel the bruising in his knuckles and took the opportunity to adjust his wraps before looking back to Shatterstar and raising an eyebrow.
Shatterstar grinned at Sam, or perhaps more accurately barred his teeth, in a feral sort of glee. "You could not go too hard on me," he assured Sam.
Perhaps he had found a kindred spirit.
"I cannot promise pulled punches either." He had too much enjoyment in winning. He had too much pride, and now too much respect for what he saw in Sam.
"Good." Sam said with a grin. "I don't want ya to."
Fuck, but the kid reminded Sam of himself in highschool. How many times had he given that same smile to a group of guys, waitin' on one of them to throw the first punch just so he could feel somethin' other than sad? Sam closed his eyes and shook his head, now was a very bad time to start thinking like that. - especially when he'd just blown the mental image of himself to bits with his powers.
When he opened his eyes again, Sam looked more centered and grounded, finding himself in that familiar headspace right before a good fight. "Well, c'mon kid, I ain't got all day."
Shatterstar had never been afraid to start a fight, and he wasn't afraid to with Sam either. It was easy- almost too easy- to shift into a steadier stance, more out of practice than necessity. He had always been steady on his feet. He was quick, first formed perfectly, to hit Sam in the stomach, then to bring his knee up while Sam was still feeling the amount of strength behind the hit.
The power behind the blow caught Sam off guard, but the knee was familiar. “Damn.” He hissed lowly, he was gonna smart tomorrow.
Sam quickly moved to land a hit to Shatterstar’s ribs while at the same time attempting to knock the younger man off balance with a foot behind his ankle. This could get interesting.
He wheezed slightly at the knock to his ribs. The foot behind the ankle was familiar to Shatterstar and it was easy enough to knock his ankle back, change the off balance to something that made him barrel into Sam. His balance and luck were in his favor and he smiled when he landed another blow on Sam.
If there was one thing fighting in Cumberland has taught him, it was how to stay upright when someone tackled you. He grabbed Shatterstar hard by the shoulders and kneed him roughly. If it came down to it he wasn’t afraid to knock heads with Shatterstar…. The kid could probably take it.
He could give it too. Shatterstar slammed his head down against Sam as he was kneed, hoping to have dazed Sam before he slammed the heel of his hand into Sam's jaw and kept hitting.
Sam actually laughed when their heads knocked together and Shatterstar’s hand collided with his jaw. It was strained but it was a laugh. Oh yeah, he liked this kid.
Sam grabbed Shatterstar’s wrist and twisted his body so he could more easily thrust his elbow into the other man’s ribs. Shatterstar felt lighter than he was expecting- Sam wondered if he could easily pick him up….
This sort of scrap felt good, it felt right to be bruised like this. The only missing was a crowd, eyes on them and the jeers and passing of bets back and forth. Sam's laughter was enough though- just as invigorating as a crowd around him.
His ribs would hurt for the rest of the day, he knew. It was a familiar pain. It felt so real. He slammed the elbow of the wrist Sam was holding into the other man until he let go, not minding that he caught Sam's throat once or twice.
Sam got low and dove in for a low tackle, trying to lift Shatterstar up over his shoulder so he could throw him down and get him on the ground. The man was light, but Sam knew that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous- his hits had been hard. The pain felt good, it was grounding. He no longer felt like he was about to rumble out of his body. He didn't feel like he was going to fall asleep and wake up blastin' a hole in the wall.
Shatterstar was used to being tossed around- having hollow bones made it easy to be lifted, but being used to being tossed around also meant that he was good at bringing his opponent down with him. He grabbed at Sam and tried to pull him down with him, kneeing Sam where he tackled him.
The knee to his chest pushed a sound of him but didn’t stop pushing the two of them to the ground. He knew the kid was trying to get him on the ground but he felt like it had been pretty obvious he was puttin both of them down to wrestle. Sam pushed Shatterstar down, trying to hold the young man down by his biceps to prevent a hit to his face.
Shatterstar rolled, moving so he was on top of Sam. Sam had some heft to him, so it took a bit, especially as he struggled to pull his arms out of Sam's grip. He jammed one of his elbows into Sam's nose, relishing in the feeling of violence, of fighting for the sake of fighting. "You're better than I thought," he told Sam as he slammed his elbow down again.
Sam jerked his head to the side, the elbow catching his ear instead of his nose, it throbbed in pain but he just snarled, knocking their skulls together hard and trying to flip them again. "Thanks," He grunted. "Lotsa practice. You ain't half-bad neither."
Despite the slight daze that Sam had given him, Shatterstar didn't let Sam flip him over, instead wrenching one of his arms free and pressing his forearm against Sam's throat, not registering that he was pressing with more force than he should for a friendly spar.
Sam tapped at Shatterstar's bicep three times, signalling for the boy to let up. If the message didn't get across through the motion, the growing redness in his face and the fact that he forced his body to go limp should have been a clue.
Sam Guthrie had tapped out of a fight. Someone should alert the Cumberland County Courier.
Shatterstar's face turned red, but with embarrassment as he pulled his arm away. He hadn't meant to actually cause Sam to not be able to breath, at least not to the extent that he had. He sat up from his position on Sam's chest before standing and offering Sam a hand.
Sam easily took the hand offered to him and breathed slowly through his nose, taking big deep breaths when the pressure let up on his throat. No harm no foul. He might bruise but he’d live. He shot Shatterstar a warm smile as the kid helped haul him to his feet.
“You’re good.” Sam said breathily, voice rough. “Damn that was good. We’ll have to do that again sometime, let me give you my number, call or text me whenever.”
"It is good to get to spar with someone for hand to hand," Shatterstar agreed, retying his ponytail from where some strands of hair had fallen out of it. He hoped that Sam's throat wouldn't bruise, but doubted it. It was hard to register in the moment what was more force than necessary. He went to his bag and dug out his cell phone before returning to Sam to let him plug his number in.
Sam plugged his number into Shatterstar’s phone with a grin. “Yeah, I ain’t found someone to spar with like that in a while. It was great. I should….. prolly go shower. I’ll see ya around tho?”
"Yes. We do live in the same place," Shatterstar said in a deadpan joke before wandering off to take his own shower.
Sam threw on an old pair of sweats and a tank top before leaving for the training room. As it turned out, the horrors had in fact caught up with him despite the implementation of his tried and true method of keeping his body moving and his mind occupied at all times. He knew that if he didn’t beat the horrors out of himself that they’d start to infect the people around him. Knew that if it festered he was likely to pick a fight and hurt the people around him. He couldn’t let that happen.
Once in the training room Sam carefully wrapped his hands and stared down his stuffed, immobile opponent. When he first hit the punching bag, it was easy for his mind to conjure images of the Cabot boys- his anger over what they’ve done to his family making it easy to unleash his rage. But then the image in his mind shifts- and rather than Bobby John Cabot, the enemy in his mind is Lucinda. He doesn’t pull his punches. The chasm that’s grown between them since the New Year has cemented the reality that she hasn’t really been his mother in a long time. He breathed heavily, hair sticking to his face with sweat and prepared for the rep of this exercise.
The last image was the most concerning. Sam looked at the punching bag and the enemy he saw staring back was him. With a shout he added some of his power behind his next punch and watched as the bag went flying.
“Fuck.”
There was something to be said for the physicality of punching something with your bare hands. The bruising of your knuckles. The thwap thwap thwap of the bag. The pain of doing it wrong. The pain, even, of doing it right.
Shatterstar had never shied away from it. But since coming to Xavier's, he hadn't particularly sought it out either- telling himself that barehanded fighting was something of the past for him. He was not the boy he had been in juvie.
But he had been that boy once, and recognized the tight coil of anger, or the feeling of being trapped in Sam. He didn't mean to interrupt- but the way Sam sent the bag flying suggested that this was someone that understood having anger so deep inside you that you couldn't get it out.
He'd have never expected it from Sam. Maybe he should have.
"You have good form."
Shit. How long had the kid been there?
"Lots of practice." Sam said, trying to get his breathing under control. Trying to get back to the version of himself he wanted the other residents of the mansion to see. Happy Sam. Friendly Sam. The Sam that is always willing to lend a hand for anything at any time. Not....not the Sam that the kid had just seen send a punching bag flying because it had felt so good to imagine punching himself that hard. "I can uh- put that back up if yer lookin' to use it? Shatterstar, right? I think we met briefly when I first moved in."
Shatterstar was more interested in this version of Sam who had anger coiled in him than the version of Sam that Sam had presented the first time they met. 'Star dropped his gym bag and went through it to wrap his own hands. "Are you willing to fight with someone? Because then I'm not looking to use it."
It was so long since he had allowed himself the hit of flesh against flesh. He didn't think Sam would mind- though could he trust himself to pull his punches?
Sam paused, looking the kid up and down. "Only if yer at least eighteen, and we both agree t' no powers." Not that he knew what Shatterstar's powers were but it was a good baseline to establish. "An' just...you should know I cracked a man's skull back at Christmas, I ain't lookin' to do that today but....you need t' tell me if'n I'm goin' too hard on ya."
He looked briefly at his hands, could feel the bruising in his knuckles and took the opportunity to adjust his wraps before looking back to Shatterstar and raising an eyebrow.
Shatterstar grinned at Sam, or perhaps more accurately barred his teeth, in a feral sort of glee. "You could not go too hard on me," he assured Sam.
Perhaps he had found a kindred spirit.
"I cannot promise pulled punches either." He had too much enjoyment in winning. He had too much pride, and now too much respect for what he saw in Sam.
"Good." Sam said with a grin. "I don't want ya to."
Fuck, but the kid reminded Sam of himself in highschool. How many times had he given that same smile to a group of guys, waitin' on one of them to throw the first punch just so he could feel somethin' other than sad? Sam closed his eyes and shook his head, now was a very bad time to start thinking like that. - especially when he'd just blown the mental image of himself to bits with his powers.
When he opened his eyes again, Sam looked more centered and grounded, finding himself in that familiar headspace right before a good fight. "Well, c'mon kid, I ain't got all day."
Shatterstar had never been afraid to start a fight, and he wasn't afraid to with Sam either. It was easy- almost too easy- to shift into a steadier stance, more out of practice than necessity. He had always been steady on his feet. He was quick, first formed perfectly, to hit Sam in the stomach, then to bring his knee up while Sam was still feeling the amount of strength behind the hit.
The power behind the blow caught Sam off guard, but the knee was familiar. “Damn.” He hissed lowly, he was gonna smart tomorrow.
Sam quickly moved to land a hit to Shatterstar’s ribs while at the same time attempting to knock the younger man off balance with a foot behind his ankle. This could get interesting.
He wheezed slightly at the knock to his ribs. The foot behind the ankle was familiar to Shatterstar and it was easy enough to knock his ankle back, change the off balance to something that made him barrel into Sam. His balance and luck were in his favor and he smiled when he landed another blow on Sam.
If there was one thing fighting in Cumberland has taught him, it was how to stay upright when someone tackled you. He grabbed Shatterstar hard by the shoulders and kneed him roughly. If it came down to it he wasn’t afraid to knock heads with Shatterstar…. The kid could probably take it.
He could give it too. Shatterstar slammed his head down against Sam as he was kneed, hoping to have dazed Sam before he slammed the heel of his hand into Sam's jaw and kept hitting.
Sam actually laughed when their heads knocked together and Shatterstar’s hand collided with his jaw. It was strained but it was a laugh. Oh yeah, he liked this kid.
Sam grabbed Shatterstar’s wrist and twisted his body so he could more easily thrust his elbow into the other man’s ribs. Shatterstar felt lighter than he was expecting- Sam wondered if he could easily pick him up….
This sort of scrap felt good, it felt right to be bruised like this. The only missing was a crowd, eyes on them and the jeers and passing of bets back and forth. Sam's laughter was enough though- just as invigorating as a crowd around him.
His ribs would hurt for the rest of the day, he knew. It was a familiar pain. It felt so real. He slammed the elbow of the wrist Sam was holding into the other man until he let go, not minding that he caught Sam's throat once or twice.
Sam got low and dove in for a low tackle, trying to lift Shatterstar up over his shoulder so he could throw him down and get him on the ground. The man was light, but Sam knew that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous- his hits had been hard. The pain felt good, it was grounding. He no longer felt like he was about to rumble out of his body. He didn't feel like he was going to fall asleep and wake up blastin' a hole in the wall.
Shatterstar was used to being tossed around- having hollow bones made it easy to be lifted, but being used to being tossed around also meant that he was good at bringing his opponent down with him. He grabbed at Sam and tried to pull him down with him, kneeing Sam where he tackled him.
The knee to his chest pushed a sound of him but didn’t stop pushing the two of them to the ground. He knew the kid was trying to get him on the ground but he felt like it had been pretty obvious he was puttin both of them down to wrestle. Sam pushed Shatterstar down, trying to hold the young man down by his biceps to prevent a hit to his face.
Shatterstar rolled, moving so he was on top of Sam. Sam had some heft to him, so it took a bit, especially as he struggled to pull his arms out of Sam's grip. He jammed one of his elbows into Sam's nose, relishing in the feeling of violence, of fighting for the sake of fighting. "You're better than I thought," he told Sam as he slammed his elbow down again.
Sam jerked his head to the side, the elbow catching his ear instead of his nose, it throbbed in pain but he just snarled, knocking their skulls together hard and trying to flip them again. "Thanks," He grunted. "Lotsa practice. You ain't half-bad neither."
Despite the slight daze that Sam had given him, Shatterstar didn't let Sam flip him over, instead wrenching one of his arms free and pressing his forearm against Sam's throat, not registering that he was pressing with more force than he should for a friendly spar.
Sam tapped at Shatterstar's bicep three times, signalling for the boy to let up. If the message didn't get across through the motion, the growing redness in his face and the fact that he forced his body to go limp should have been a clue.
Sam Guthrie had tapped out of a fight. Someone should alert the Cumberland County Courier.
Shatterstar's face turned red, but with embarrassment as he pulled his arm away. He hadn't meant to actually cause Sam to not be able to breath, at least not to the extent that he had. He sat up from his position on Sam's chest before standing and offering Sam a hand.
Sam easily took the hand offered to him and breathed slowly through his nose, taking big deep breaths when the pressure let up on his throat. No harm no foul. He might bruise but he’d live. He shot Shatterstar a warm smile as the kid helped haul him to his feet.
“You’re good.” Sam said breathily, voice rough. “Damn that was good. We’ll have to do that again sometime, let me give you my number, call or text me whenever.”
"It is good to get to spar with someone for hand to hand," Shatterstar agreed, retying his ponytail from where some strands of hair had fallen out of it. He hoped that Sam's throat wouldn't bruise, but doubted it. It was hard to register in the moment what was more force than necessary. He went to his bag and dug out his cell phone before returning to Sam to let him plug his number in.
Sam plugged his number into Shatterstar’s phone with a grin. “Yeah, I ain’t found someone to spar with like that in a while. It was great. I should….. prolly go shower. I’ll see ya around tho?”
"Yes. We do live in the same place," Shatterstar said in a deadpan joke before wandering off to take his own shower.
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Date: 2024-02-01 06:16 am (UTC)A super fun log! Sam punching through his trauma like a powerpoint presentation, Star getting to not hold back and show off a bit. Very fun to read the action unfolding.