The hunger in Obi's eyes was undeniable. Loras knew that look, he himself had it when he wanted to win so badly he could taste it, and he usually did win.
The language barrier stopped Loras from understanding the double entendre. "Warrior, is it?" Loras asked. That was the word Obi had used before. Warrior. Of some sort, to be exact. "There's no play," he said, pointing the blade toward the floor as he approached Obi-Wan, staying just out of his personal space. "There's win or lose, and I don't like to lose. Apparently, I'm pretty fucking good at winning no matter where I am."
Language barrier or not, Loras' English was flawless just then where it was usually muddled. "I don't think we should practice with steel, warrior. I wouldn't want to take your head off." He could just see the faces of the men who thought they were better than him because they were bigger, older, more experienced, lying there in the dirt with bloodied faces under the visors of their helmets, begging him to yield.