Work Text:
Winner’s Cake
-x-
EVERYTHING happened the way it was supposed to, more or less. It went the way it was going to, and they were there for the ride.
And oh, what a ride it was.
That kiss happened in front of everybody, no denying it. The rest of the night followed the kiss, and well, it definitely happened. It happened more than once, even.
So did the bodily warmth, the contact, and so came the morning after.
Winning the tournament, the drinking, the feelings –kissing, touching, wanting, MORE.
More.
-x-
MARTH had not expected the more. It wasn't exactly out of nowhere -- there were hints, of course. During their training sessions, the secret looks he gave Ike swinging his sword around, watching Ike's muscles shift under his tunic sleeves . . . But he kept it to himself.
He never asked for more than what he had, and he was content merely being Ike's partner in the tournament doubles for the current season.
As it turned out, Marth's secret glances weren't so secret after all.
-x-
IKE noticed a few times, out of the corner of his eye while swinging Ragnell around with a hefty weight. Marth gazed at him longingly in combat it seemed. There were moments when Marth should have taken a shot at the enemies but he was too distracted.
Oh, Ike was flattered -- but a bit annoyed, because they were missing opportunities towards an earlier victory in their matches.
And any time Ike wanted to ask Marth about it, because him noticing Marth looking at him meant that he was looking at Marth too, they would get swept up by all the cheering and celebrating with the other fighters that he never got the chance to bring it up.
The days went on, their training sessions more and more intense leading up to their doubles.
-x-
THE closeness forming between them wasn’t just from this tournament -- it was forged over many years of fighting together, against each other, for victory and for sport. There was a kind of unspoken warmth, a grand familiarity that simmered between them, in their interactions and underneath their words at all times.
The many Smash tournaments over years and years were responsible for Ike and Marth taking a shine to each other. However, this was the first time the entire season was devoted to doubles, and thus, their shine would only become blinding.
The chemistry bubbling between them would surely morph into something undeniable.
There were other pairings they could have ended up in for the tournament brackets.
Rosalina seemed to have her eye on Ike, and Roy wanted to team up with Marth like old times, like their very first tournament together.
But when the lots were drawn, somehow, Ike and Marth were paired up.
Roy was happy for Marth, accepting Pit as his partner for the tournament, but even Ike knew there was a sliver of sadness in his tone of congratulations when the pairings were posted on the board.
After the partner listing was up, everyone met with their partners and immediately started training. Well, some did -- depending on who they were, there was a fair bit of slacking off going on.
Partners had a week to get acquainted if they weren’t already somehow, and then the season would begin with daily matches until the finals.
The first week was training, the second week was pre-season to get the crowd invested and give everyone a warm-up for their dynamics, and the third through sixth weeks were the rest of the season. Then came the Semi-Finals in week seven, and the Finals in week eight.
Marth and Ike immediately started training, no questions asked. And their training sessions remained daily throughout the season. The intensity varied, of course. They didn’t go nearly as long if their match was coming up soon, saving their strength and stamina for when it really counted.
The beauty of their swordplay molded their hearts.
Marth felt his heart shaping for Ike sometime before the doubles were posted -- even before the previous tournament, he always admired Ike for his strength and handsome looks, but also his noble character and kindness outside of the battle arena.
And Ike -- well, the feelings were mutual. He admired Marth in so many ways, there was no way he could ever put it into words.
Ike had suspicions regarding Marth’s feelings for him since the last tournament or so, but he never had confirmation until they were some ways into the newest tournament rotation. At least, he hoped it was confirmation. He never truly knew for sure.
They shared easy laughs and in-jokes during their personal sparring matches, but when it came to finally getting on stage with the other fighters, all those jokes turned into a stoic silence between them.
Their synergy clicked. All their practice, all their history folding into their techniques, came out in spectacular fashion. A nigh unstoppable force.
On the battlefield, they were true partners of the blade together.
Off the battlefield, they were good friends, sparring partners, and… maybe something else, but Ike wasn’t sure.
-x-
HE felt something, but he never got the chance to bring it up.
He tried bringing it up more than once.
Week four and five, he tried a few times to do it but someone always came along and interrupted them.
Roy wanted Marth’s opinion on his last performance, Pit trailing behind him eagerly asking for critique as well.
Another time, Captain Falcon challenged Ike to a sparring round to better prepare himself. Ganondorf crossed his arms over his chest and silently watched.
Another day, Rosalina and Kirby brought by a star cake she baked before Kirby ate it all.
Ike didn’t have a reason to really turn down any of the fighters with their good intentions, and the star cake was delicious despite Ike not caring for sweets.
He silently joined in on Marth’s conversations with Roy and Pit, not fully able to give them the pointers they were looking for because he couldn’t put them into words the same way Marth spoke with elegance. He marveled at Marth’s way of putting things, and nodded his head to everything Marth told them because he said anything Ike wanted to say.
He accepted Captain Falcon’s challenge and they went a few rounds, mostly evenly matched throughout. Meanwhile Marth polished his sword lovingly, watching them every now and then. Ike wore himself out, and Captain Falcon wanted to go again -- until Ganondorf got tired of waiting around and dragged Falcon off to wherever it was they could work out the rest of the Captain’s energy.
Ike even allowed Kirby to cuddle him and he ended up giving the pink puffball the rest of his slice of star cake. Rosalina and Marth shared mild gossip about the other pairings, who was getting along with who and who wasn’t.
Listening to the gossip despite usually being above that sort of thing, trying not to listen to the insistent Rosalina sharing anyway, Ike was thankful he and Marth got along so well. Hearing about other fighters’ quarreling and arguing about mismatched tactics put things into sharper focus.
And even though Ike wrestled with his own feelings, wanting to ask Marth about it all but never finding the right time, and if they had the time never finding the right words, Ike went along with the fighters’ requests -- not exactly begrudgingly either, because he enjoyed spending time with Marth that wasn’t with a sword between them.
He relished their connection, and wanted to keep it sacred, but also found himself enjoying befriending the other fighters as well. But that felt… different than what he had bubbling between him and Marth.
Accepting the other fighters’ requests and entertaining them for a bit, he also got to see Marth chattering happily and being himself outside of battle. And with that, Ike was motivated to eventually put into words what kind of partner he precisely wanted to be with Marth at his side.
-x-
BY week eight, tensions were running high between all the fighters. There was no comradery, no cheering each other on. All the parties and cake would be saved for when all the fighting was over, when the season finally ended and everyone could go back to friends again instead of true contenders for the title of Champion.
Ike noticed how Marth’s jokes dried up between them. Sure, he still had words of encouragement, but it wasn’t the same. They were on a winning streak, nearly undefeated except for two earlier matches back in week two when the pre-season was going on.
Their sparring was intense, their energy electrifying when they were staring each other down. Their hearts raced in their chests, their breathing ragged. Marth was shining with brilliance and Ike matched him with his own raging aura.
Ike pressed harder, got closer, closing the gap between them and nearly pushing Marth into the wall behind him. Marth met his gaze, and Ike pressed harder and closer, stirred up by those feelings and questions roiling within him all season long. He was about ready to burst, ready to finally say it then, ready to maybe even --
And then Marth, sadly, quietly, put his sword down in timid surrender, breaking their struggle. He yielded to Ike’s position of power in their tussle. He stepped back against the wall.
Ike fell back from him to give him space, lowering his sword and stabbing it into the training mat.
Marth stared at the spot Ragnell pierced into the floor. “. . . I’m going to bed early,” he said after a long pause, and Ike noted the weariness in his voice. Marth sheathed his sword, and gave Ike a weak, quivering smile devoid of any of the brilliant energy Ike felt from him moments ago. His eyes no longer shimmered with passion. He refused to give Ike eye contact. “Try not to stay up too late...”
Marth’s right hand came up, hesitated, and then patted Ike’s shoulder as he brushed past him.
Ike couldn’t form the words fast enough when Marth’s heat went past him.
He wasn’t good at talking, and he felt especially worse right then.
Bowing his head and leaning more on his sword, he wished there was something he could say to ease Marth’s nerves, wished there was something he could do to show him that even if they lost their final matches they would still be partners… right?
Marth exited the Training Room, and Ike was left to deal with his thoughts and the silence that followed Marth’s absence.
It wasn’t unusual for Marth to want rest before a match the next day, but it was not normal for him to give up mid-fight while clashing blades with Ike.
It was not normal for Marth to look so worn out, so… sad.
He still wanted to be partners, right? Ike did.
He would have chosen Marth himself if the lots didn’t go the way they did. And he would still choose him again, even if they lost. Even if going in, he knew they didn’t stand a single chance together. And that just wasn’t true. They were skilled swordsmen on their own, and together they were even better.
But it wasn’t just about that. At this point, even though Ike wasn’t good at articulating his thoughts or identifying his feelings, he had more of an idea of what kind of thing he was dealing with.
All those glances between them… As they entered week eight, Marth didn’t look at him the same way. Those secretive glances seemingly vanished, enough that Ike found himself questioning if he had even seen those glances in the first place.
Ike found himself looking at Marth more than Marth looked at him anymore.
He wanted to catch Marth looking at him, so he could finally return the look with all the confidence he felt in his heart about their bond. He wanted to reflect that back at him in some way, to somehow silently communicate that he felt the same way, if that’s how Marth was feeling about him.
Ike had more than enough doubts for both of them, he assumed.
-x-
SAMUS and Snake were not to be trifled with, and the fight was long and laborious. One of the longest fights of the entire season, and it was not easily won.
However, at the end of it, Ike and Marth stood battered yet victorious.
The crowd roared, and the chants came pouring in.
Ike held out his hand for Marth to climb back on the stage, and when Marth took hold of it, the confetti cannons fired off, showering them with rainbow streamers and paper stars. The victory band started playing their heroic theme song.
The announcer boomed overhead, “Our new Champions -- Marth and Ike!”
And for that exact moment in the entire season, Ike finally had an answer for everything he wanted to say and could never say it. The time was now, and it would be like no other.
He didn’t need to find the words after all.
Marth’s hand still in his, Ike pulled his partner to his chest with an abrupt movement lacking grace but making up for it in confidence, and without a single bit of hesitation, kissed him on the lips with all his might.
-x-
WHEN they pulled apart, Marth didn’t even have time to process it. He was swarmed by the other fighters congratulating them, shaking his hand, ruffling his hair, slapping him on the back.
They did the same to Ike, and they were pushed into the dining hall where the victory spread awaited them. A lavish feast and alcohol for anyone old enough to drink, if they wanted it.
Marth lost track of Ike for a minute there in the bustle of celebration, and the next thing he knew, someone shoved a victory shot in his hand.
It was Snake.
“You did good, kid,” he said. “I want a rematch, but not tonight. We’re celebrating the end of a good run, for all of us.”
“Thank you for being such a good sport,” Marth said, trying not to wrinkle his nose at the smell of cinnamon wafting from his shot glass.
Snake grunted in affirmation. “Now, on the count of three…”
Ike was across the room, smirking at something Captain Falcon said. And then, Captain dragged Ike all the way over to them, shots also miraculously in hand.
“On the count of three…” Snake repeated.
Ike appeared at Marth’s side with a shot in his hand. He held it up awkwardly, showing Marth he was going to do it too because he found out it was fun to go along with the other fighters’ requests after all this time.
Emboldened by their victory, Ike slipped a hand around Marth’s waist. “On the count of three,” he said.
Captain Falcon, Ike, Snake, and Marth all held their shots of cinnamon whiskey aloft.
“Three,” Captain said, and they all threw back their shots immediately, except for Marth, who was still waiting for the rest of the count.
“Ah! Three!” Marth was the last one to down his shot.
It was surprisingly tasty, but it burned all the way down. It burned in his stomach when it finally landed.
Snake took their empty shot glasses while Marth finally made his “whiskey face” and went off with Captain Falcon to find the rest of the bottle.
Ike still had his hand around Marth’s waist as they watched their drinking buddies wander into the kitchen. Some cheers erupted, and the rest was muffled behind the kitchen doors closing behind them.
Marth finally looked at Ike straight in the eyes, now alone since their match. “I don’t even know what to say.”
“Then don’t. Just enjoy it,” Ike said, looking in Marth’s eyes. “Sorry for just… doing it.”
“No, don’t-- it was… I mean, perfect, it really --” Marth was suddenly the least eloquent he’d ever been around Ike since they started training for doubles, and Ike found it adorable.
Marth was trying to say something else, when more people showed up for shots. Snake and Captain Falcon had found the rest of the whiskey, and they also dragged Roy into it too. Fox and Falco somehow ended up with shot glasses too.
Roy stood next to Marth, Ike’s hand still on Marth’s waist. Ike’s other hand was preoccupied with holding out his empty shot glass as Captain Falcon carefully refilled it .
Roy smiled at Marth privately. “Congratulations,” he said, almost too quietly with all the commotion around them.
“Thank you,” Marth said. “And congratulations to you for fourth place.”
Captain Falcon handed off pre-poured shots to Roy and Marth, and started setting up the other fighters that decided to join in.
“Also,” Roy said, offering his shot glass to a mini-toast with Marth. “Congratulations to you two... I’m happy for you.”
Marth didn’t know what to say, and merely tipped the edge of his shot glass to Roy’s just in time for the next countdown.
“On the count of three,” Ike said.
Captain Falcon was raring to go. “Three!”
And this time, Marth instantly downed his shot on three with Ike, Captain Falcon, and Snake instead of waiting for the rest of the count down, which actually happened this time because Roy wasn’t ready yet.
“Three - two - one - ” Roy hurriedly counted down, plugged his nose, and downed his shot. Everyone else who didn’t go on three followed with Roy’s count.
And then another round of shots were poured.
-x-
ONCE enough booze was flowing, and dinner had been worked on some, Marth and Ike tried to slip away just as they were getting out the cake.
“Hey, you guys can’t leave yet!” Pit pouted. “You two are supposed to cut it and get the first slice.”
“They might be too drunk for cake,” Roy said, smirking.
“But it’s tradition.” Pit floated forward to yank on Marth’s sleeve, who had his arm linked with Ike’s.
It’s true. It was tradition for the Winner’s Cake, but it was also true that Marth was getting a little too drunk to handle a cake slicer.
“We can’t break tradition now, can we?” Marth gave in, eyeing Ike who smiled in return and gave a happy shrug.
The Winner’s Cake was absolutely huge, almost as big as the winner’s feast itself, and took up most of the long dinner table. Marth wobbled a little bit with his cake slicer, so Ike decided to put his hand over Marth’s and help him.
Ike and Marth shared an intense look that delayed the cake cutting just a tad.
The other fighters went crazy with cheering and whistling.
“It’s not a wedding cake,” Wario heckled through the cheers.
“It might be next season,” Rosalina said.
-x-
IKE wasn’t much for sweets, but Winner’s Cake was another exception. It was a special occasion and whoever did the catering did an excellent job at picking an icing that wasn’t overly sweet or too thick.
He and Marth got their slices, and then Peach and Zelda took over cutting the rest of the cake and handing it out in an orderly fashion.
Marth had a bit of icing on his cheek.
Ike took his thumb and wiped it off, then licked it.
Marth was positively scandalized. “You don’t like sweets, why would you --!?”
“It’s not bad,” Ike said, licking his thumb with an exaggerated motion that made Marth’s mind unexpectedly go to dirty places.
-x-
THINGS turned into a blur some time after that.
Jell-O shots happened.
Who made these? Where did they come from? Who was responsible for these?
Marth thought it was just regular Jell-O at first in cute little condiment cups, but no, he was wrong. They were distinctly alcohol-tasting once he got started.
His stomach didn’t appreciate him mixing Jell-O shots with Winner’s Cake.
Ike was having a good time. He was loosening up a bit and hanging with the other fighters, and then he’d occasionally come back to Marth and slip another Jell-O shot down the hatch.
“Maybe we should slow down,” Marth said, holding a full Jell-O shot with no intention of swallowing it.
Ike eyeballed his empty Jell-O cup. He crumpled it in his fist. “You’re right… getting carried away.”
Marth discretely set his shot back on the tray. An idea entered his fuzzy alcohol-addled brain, and he bravely slipped his arms around Ike’s neck just to see his reaction.
Ike was absolutely his, thoroughly taken by Marth’s affection, and he no longer cared about anything else around them.
“Should we…” Marth gave him a seductive look as best he could muster with all the alcohol and craziness going on around them. “...go somewhere to talk?”
Ike wrapped his arms around the small of Marth’s back, suddenly looking more serious than seductive, as if he instantly sobered up. “Sure…”
Marth passionately kissed Ike in response, ignoring his stomach pangs and finally giving in to all the feelings he had been harboring all this time. He didn’t mind the taste of alcohol on Ike’s mouth, and nothing else mattered anyway.
The rest of the party was still going on around them. Nobody paid them any mind. The other contestants were off doing their own things, drinking and partying and having a good time.
As it should be. It was a time to celebrate for sure. They’d survived another tournament, another season. They’d have some down time before the next one happened, and now was the time to relax and enjoy whatever life had to offer in the meantime.
Marth and Ike ended up standing there making out for quite some time, before they eventually pulled themselves apart and stumbled into someone’s room down the hall -- it was either Ike or Marth’s, but it was hard to remember at this point.
It wasn’t as important as other things that were happening.
-x-
IKE had to be brave enough to finally break through those feelings, to overcome his lack of words with action since Marth was never going to risk what they already had.
It was true, and the feelings were, too. So, it finally just . . . happened.
All of it. A lot of it. More than once.
They wanted more and more.
More would come. All in due time.
They needed to wake up first.
-x-
MARTH groaned, sunlight from the bedroom window hitting his cheek more than it was minutes ago. It was fine earlier. Now, it annoyed him awake.
Gods, the hangover was a bit unreal. Papery lips and dried-out eyelids didn't appreciate being alive again. Marth's body didn't appreciate the poison he drank last night, and it was punishing him severely with dehydration and body aches.
He needed aspirin. And a few bottles of water. And a fried egg, for his cure. He didn't know for sure if it worked, but it couldn't hurt. It would help settle his unhappy gut, lurching once it found Marth was awake enough to truly experience misery.
“Oh gods . . .” He groaned some more, regretting being awake. Stirring a bit, he realized he was sprawled all over Ike and his bed. “Ugh.” His voice was raspy and dry. He rolled away from Ike and almost curled up completely from the pain in his stomach.
Ike woke up with a whistling sharp breath through his nostrils as he stretched his legs under the covers. He groaned and yawned at the same time. His body ached only a tad, more from the tournament than the passionate love making last night -- he just needed to get up and walk it off, and he would be fine.
Overall, his body didn't hate him that much after all those whiskey shots. It honestly should’ve hated him more, but it didn't.
In fact, Ike felt pretty good. His chest felt light, his mind was happily fuzzy with good feelings, and he felt...satisfied.
“Mornin’,” Ike said, his voice covered in sleep and hangover crust.
“Ugh . . . good morning.” Marth wasn’t being sarcastic.
It was a good morning -- they were waking up together for the first time.
There was a comfortable silence as they both stretched, groaned, and writhed in pain. Eventually, they groaned and squinted and rolled into a casual hangover cuddle.
Marth curled into Ike's side, his stomach not letting up no matter how long he lay there and not fight it.
Ike put his arm around Marth with no real effort. He didn't open his eyes. Damn sunlight. “So . . .” He started. “We never did get to talk last night.”
“Ah, yes . . .” Marth hoped his stomach would calm down soon. He wanted to feel butterflies, not the aftermath of too many shots. If only he didn't try to keep up with Ike and the others at first...
Ike cleared some of the post-drunken sleep from his throat. He squinted his eyes open a crack, just so he could look at Marth cuddling into him. “We’re partners, right?” He cleared his throat again, his words more raspy. “Or was I mistaken?”
Ike wasn’t good at talking, but he could be devastating with words when he found them. And Marth loved him all the more for it. “No,” he said. “Definitely not a mistake . . .”
“More than just . . .?" Ike was way too awake and sober for the hangover that ravaged Marth's insides.
“More -- ” Marth cleared his throat this time, considering the need for a bottle of water. “More than any of that.” He cuddled against Ike's warm side, enjoying the feel of hard muscle as a pillow by his head. “I promise.”
“Good,” said Ike. He stroked circles on Marth’s soft shoulder, enjoying the warmth of their victory through all their battles as he deeply swore, “I promise, too.”
-x-