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The ball didn’t even kiss the net’s ends before Will hollered.
“WHOOOOO! Once, again, TOO EASY!” Will said before breaking into a short impromptu dance of triumph as his lungs begged for air, an echo reverberates over the empty gym-court and Modo, his boyfriend, his mate, drowning himself in water from his bottle as if pretending he didn’t hear his little goat’s gloating.
“Right. TOO easy, no?” Modo asked before setting the bottle aside and picking up the ball rolling his way.
Spinning it on a single claw as if it were a planet, he took a short moment to eye-lick his mate’s attire for the upteenth time. Will was sporting a spotted, slightly tattered, oversized vest that only he could pull off and a tight pair of Team Magma shorts (the sin). His hair was a sweaty nest of blond curls that now dive past his eyes. A single spiked ring embellishes his right horn and he has on a pair of kicks Archie specifically gifted him with. A niche brand that focuses on stability and comfort over performance (and somehow, that correlated to Will's better games)
And oh, how badly Modo wants to undress and mark him right then and there.
But no.
He hurls the ball up and spin-kicks it off the bleacher frame in a shot cleaner than his nail-job, caught it off the ricochet, and launched a one-legged three-pointer that clung off the rim with an earned fury.
Will could hardly register the ball whizzing past him and back to Modo before his face deadpanned.
“Brick city, population: you,” Will teased with. He didn’t move to contest. He just let Modo have his shot.
“That’s twelve, babe. My twelve to your nine. Come on. Say it.” Will said as he held the ball up.
“Say what?” Modo contended with as he snatched the air with both claws. “You are not having twelve. You are having ten. The left-foot step was a travel.”
“Travel?" Will's laugh was a heavy smoke.
"Dude, that was a gather. If I recall, you don’t even know the rules of Roarball.” He quipped with as he strolled into the half-court, palming the ball like he would a grapefruit.
“So while you’re learning, watch THIS!”
He didn’t even dribble the damn sphere. The goat just rose 50 inches and in an avian-esque motion, wristed. The ball traced a high but lazy arc as it dropped through the net without gracing iron.
Swish.
“And THAT’s a thirteen.” Will turned as he clapped both his hooves together and rested them on his left cheek, feigning sleep.
“Cry about it.”
Modo's eye twitched erratically. He stripped off his sweat-soaked baby tee, unveiling a torso inked with cybersigilism and Ukrainian (as well as a very regrettable tramp stamp he’d lost a bet with Olivia on) and threw the top at Will's face.
“You are not serious, little goat.” Modo hissed, his voice reaching a dangerously low level (or at least, dangerous to Will’s heart).
“You are… sass. Always sass. No Roarball. Only sass.”
Stealing a few moments to pant in Modo’s saccharine musk, Will slowly parted the tee from his face before smirking.
Who’s to judge if he was a little high from his partner’s odor?
“Sass got me thirteen. Where your sass at?” Will quipped with, pocketing the tee as best as he could.
He was hoping to get a tighter reaction out of the Komodo Dragon of his dreams.
Modo answered by tearing the ball right out of Will's grip and riding baseline.
No fury and ALL the violence.
Sneakers roared as thunder would as the two battled into the stanchion before Modo bounced high up and somehow from his back, underhanded the ball off the glass.
And in.
Modo landed on his tail before he skidded three feet, and popped up with his fists raised. “TEN! MODO. IS. COMING!”
Will tilted his head, an eyebrow arched. “You just scored horizontal. That ain’t Roarball, man.” He was smiling, though. That small, private smile he only gave to Modo.
The one that said 'I love you, my ridiculous reptile.'
Modo wiped a heap of sweat riding down his face off with his tail-end.
“Next point wins,” Modo announced, dribbling the ball a bit. “Make it count, stag.”
“I make them ALL count, lizard.” Will crouched into a defensive stance.
Legs wide open and hands grasping the air for stability.
“Go on. Dribble in my house.”
Modo clicked his tongue piercing between his front fangs before stampeding.
Take the inbounds.
Cross,
cross.
Behind-your-back. keep it lazy and all-wrist.
Like music.
Like Diletsky.
Modo leapt.
Will mirrored him perfectly before he charged forward.
He pulled up for a mid-range jumper.
Will flew.
He caught it between Modo’s claws. Two hooves made it as easy as apple pie.
“MINE,” Will roared with the strength of a Big as he launched a full-court pass before his body collided with Modo’s and they both slammed onto the floor hard.
That pass hit the backboard and bounced off the rim. It rolled into a little corner.
There was no audience here to give Will the round of applause he deserves but he did NOT care.
Then Will rose up, hooves on his hips.
“So that’s a turnover.”
“No! That is rebound!” Modo screamed, getting up.
"And assist!”
“To who? The non-existent crowd? The ghost of Johns Tarks?” Will snarked with.
Modo charged.
Not for the ball. It was on time-out.
For Will.
Head-first as he drove him down into shining maple floor.
The impact was soft but Will's breath escaped him in a surprised woof.
Modo had pinned him.
Wrist to wrist.
Hip to hip.
Foreheads barely joining.
A single pearl of sweat dripped down from Modo’s nose and onto Will’s forehead.
Modo can make out the faint scent of cheap cologne; the one Will insists on wearing despite Modo’s many attempts and purchases to make him smell brighter.
But it was Will’s scent and he eventually grew to love it as their days together passed.
“I win,” Modo whispered.
“You didn’t even score.” Will argued with, slowly letting his body deflate.
“I pin you, moi malenkyy koza. In Roarball, this is checkmate.” Modo reasoned with as he let his slick tongue drag a wet line across Will’s cheek.
There was a time where Will found the action disgusting and it shames him to think about it.
Now, its a show of love that sets his heart aflutter and rocks him off~
Will laughed a soft laugh and didn’t try to get his beast off of him.
“That’s chess, dummy.” Will corrected with.
“Then we play chess now.” Modo's voice dropped as his accent thickened.
“And I have your king.”
For a long moment, the only sounds filling the court were Modo’s slow pants for air and the buzz of the overhead lights as they lay tangled in between together. Will's sass deliquesced into something warmer.
He brought both his hooves up and in a slow, deliberate pace, traced his dragon's jaw.
“Thirteen-ten,” he bargained quietly. “Best two out of three.”
Modo's eyes glittered.
He leaned down and kissed a corner of Will's mouth in agreement.
As quick as a stolen rebound.
“Winner tops tonight.”
Modo grinned from ear to ear as a lecherous buzz ran all over his body.
He rose up and let down a claw to aid his beloved up before he made his way towards the expectant ball.
“Wager.”