They are more or less of a height but he has weight on her, and now she is actually not trying to take his head off, that matters all the more. In a fight, Furiosa is lethal because she presses home any advantage, goes for the throat before they've realised just how serious she should be taken. Sparring is harder.
It takes them a few moments to find a rhythm, to learn to take a win and then ease off again, let the bout continue. Like her, he doesn't have much experience with fighting somebody who is meant to remain in one piece.
It's glorious though, scrappy and dirty and fun, with the both of them grinning and breathing hard. His eyes are bright and focused, for once fully in the moment with her, and when she squirms out of a hold, more flexible than he had anticipated, she laughs a triumphant "Hah!"
He grins, his teeth white in his dusty face, and comes in again. She lets him take her to the ground, which surprises him enough that she has the triangle choke on him before he's caught up. He stills and taps, conceding the hold, and she releases it again, and then they're off and rolling.
He gets her on her stomach, her arm pinned behind her back (he has apparently not learned the left arm, even without prosthetic, is a weapon all of its own) but before the memory of three bullets in the sand inches from her skull can come between them, he lets her slip again.
When she finally pins him on his back, sitting on his chest with his arms caught under her knees, she doesn't wait for the memory of a gun muzzle under his chin to come to him. She leans in and presses a slow, firm kiss to his lips, and he stills completely, any attempt at throwing her off gone. She smiles against his lips and ends the kiss with a light nip to his full lower lip, and then leans up to look at him properly.
He looks poleaxed. It's the best kind of look she's ever seen on him - if she'd known this was how he'd look, she might have kissed him sooner.
"Not fighting fair," he mumbles, dazed. Furiosa laughs and leans in for another kiss.