FicWad

It was a frenzy of fists and bloody, sweaty skin. Every blow that connected with his flesh he struggled to return. His limbs were aching, his bones were aching. Fighting three nights in a row had worn him down. He'd won the past two night's fights, beating down upon his opponent with as much strength as he had but tonight he wasn't so sure he could give his all.


Through the thin trickle of blood that had escaped from a head wound he had sustained when his opponent smashed him into the concrete wall of the warehouse he could see said opponent readying himself to take another shot.


Pete watched him exhale, spit a mouthful of blood on the ground and swing his fist, it arcing towards him as if in slow motion. Pete urged his body to dodge the blow and he was sure that he'd moved enough to avoid his opponent's fist but within seconds he could feel hard bone connect with his jaw and he knew that his body had been too lethargic to avoid the hit.


He went down, his body crumpling from the pain that plagued entire being. He could hear the keen cheers of the onlookers that had created a circle around their fight buzzing in his ears and he knew that he had lost this one. The stained concrete beneath his bloody cheek only confirmed his loss.


No one had moved to help him up. That wasn't the club's custom. Loser takes care of loser's own.


He peeled himself off the floor and he could feel several of his ribs shift awkwardly. That must've been the crunch he'd felt during the fight when his opponent has jammed a fist into his abdomen. He winced as he moved his hand up to his mouth, checking to see if he still had all his teeth intact. He did, although he felt his fingers graze over his busted lower lip.


His fight was over and the room was silent for a few moments before the silence dissolved into fresh cheering as another fight had started up, the men of the fight club ringing around the pair of fighters; a fury of fists and tackling, although Pete could tell they were a pair of the clubs regulars. Andy, a seasoned fighter, tattoos adorning his toned body and Joe, the weaker of the pair but an enthusiastic fighter.


Pete was too worn out to stay and watch the two men beat the crap out of each other so he grabbed the shirt he'd discarded when he began his fight and tugged the black material down over his beaten body.


No shirts, no shoes. The fight club had its rules.


He dragged his sneakers back onto his feet, neglecting to tie the shoelaces and made his way out towards the parking lot, carefully manoeuvring through the crowd of onlookers. He pushed through the warehouse exit door and the open night air hit his face, soothing his stinging injuries.


He half-stumbled towards his car and he wondered how his body could withstand this every night but not for one second did he think about not returning for another fight. Being in the ring made his adrenaline rush, winning gave him a strange sense of satisfaction and losing only made him want to return to fight and win the next time.


He fumbled in his pocket for the keys to his car and his swollen, bruised knuckles brushed against the fabric of his jeans and he winced as he tried to wiggle his fingers in and grab the keys. He was still fidgeting in his pocket when he sensed someone walk up behind him.


“You've got a pretty shitty right hook.”


Pete spun around, forgetting his struggle to find his keys, angry at the nerve of this person coming up to him and criticizing his fighting. He became even angrier when he saw who it was that was daring enough.


He was about Pete's height, which was short and he was slightly pudgy. A hat was stuck firmly over wispy, longish red-blonde hair and a pair of black rimmed glasses was sitting on his nose, helping his light blue eyes to see. He was still too pretty to be a fighter. His pale skin was still smooth and unmarred and Pete didn't think this kid could even win a fight if he tried.


“What would you know?” Pete spat angrily, his head dizzy from turning around so quickly.


“I watched you fight.” He replied almost airily but Pete caught sight of a malevolent gleam in his blue eyes.


“Oh, so now you're an expert on how I fight are you?” Pete stepped forward menacingly, bridging the short distance between them and trying to scare the kid off. The kid didn't even flinch but a teasing smirk made its way across his lips.


“No,” he said simply. “I was just saying: You've got a pretty shitty right hook.”


The smirk was still firmly in place and he didn't seem to mind that Pete was standing so close, his heated breath flouting across his face.


Pete suddenly grabbed him by the front of his shirt, the material bunching in his fist and he rammed him back against his car.


“What would you know?” He repeated furiously. “You don't look like you've ever been in the ring. I doubt you could even fight.”


The kid was still unruffled and smirking delightedly despite being crushed between a bloodied and angry fighter and the cold hard metal of the car door. It even seemed that his smirk had grown larger.


“I know enough, Pete and no, I've never been in the ring but that doesn't mean I can't fight.” He said calmly.


Pete stared solidly at him for a moment, still pressing him roughly against the side of his car and then he stepped back, releasing the fistful of shirt he'd grasped.


“So...” He searched for a name for the kid but realised that he didn't know it.


“Patrick.” The kid prompted, still smirking.


“So Patrick, take your best shot.” Pete said pointedly, opening his arms wide, bearing his already beaten body for another blow. He didn't believe that this Patrick kid could hit hard anyway.


Patrick cocked an eyebrow and chuckled wholeheartedly then suddenly he leaned forward, resting his lips tauntingly near Pete's ear.


“I wouldn't want to hurt you.” He whispered the smirk evident in his soft, mocking tone.


A snort of unkind laughter escaped Pete's throat as he moved away from Patrick's warm breath on his ear. His hands reached forward to grab the kid by the lapels of his denim jacket and pull him forward threateningly.


“Are you afraid, kid?” He muttered callously, watching Patrick's light blue eyes for any sign of fear. Patrick's eyes were devoid of any indication of fright and Pete noted with annoyance that the smirk had returned to his lips.


“No.” Patrick said curtly, still adopting an untroubled, blas?one of voice, probably entirely to piss Pete off. It was working. “I'm actually getting kind of turned on.” The corner of his mouth twitched upward as these words spouted from his lips.


Pete was about to murmur something cold and cutting when his brain registered what the boy had actually said. He blinked a few times, his long dark eyelashes quivering, and then he opened his mouth to speak.


Before bewildered words could tumble from his blood-spattered lips he felt Patrick nudge forward and press his supple lips viciously against his own bruised ones. Pete could feel Patrick biting his lips raw but he found himself returning the kiss fervently, parting his lips so Patrick could kiss him harder. His hands were still tightly gripped on the lapels of Patrick's jacket; he didn't even think to move them. Patrick had raised one hand to fist in Pete's messy, dark hair, the other was resting unexpectedly gently on Pete's shoulder.


Suddenly Patrick pulled away, biting Pete's bottom lip harshly, causing him to groan. Pete felt faint and disorientated when he felt Patrick punch him mercilessly in the side of the face. He realized the kid had demonstrated how he thought a right hook should be executed, and as he grasped the side of his face, blood trickling from his agitated lips he realized that Patrick had merit to be calling his move shitty.


Pete dropped his hand from the side of his face and raised his eyes to meet Patrick's. Patrick's glare was triumphant; the cocky son-of-a-bitch thought he could win so easily. Pete ran at him, efficiently pinning him to the side of the car once again. This time it wasn't only brute force that was involved in this manoeuvre, Pete's hips and heart were in this one too.


Patrick was breathing like mad; it seemed Pete had winded him when he tackled him against the vehicle. Pete could see some of his blood dried on Patrick's lips from when he had kissed him so ferociously before and his mind shouted out irrationally that he knew he wanted to see Patrick's blood mixed with his own.


“What the hell are you doing?” Patrick gasped.


“It's more of a question of, what the hell were you doing?” Pete muttered back, equally out of breath.


The smirk returned to Patrick's face once again, albeit, laboured. Pete found that this smirk wasn't so much as sparking annoyance in him any longer but he wanted to rid Patrick's lips of it regardless.


“Well where do you get off shoving people against cars after you told them to take a swing at you?” Patrick teased, cocking his head to the side slightly as he waited for Pete to answer through his heavy breathing.


Pete found himself wondering how Patrick could still look so innocent with all that treachery tucked neatly inside his mind.


“When you fight someone, Patrick, you take some hits and then you make some.” Pete said carefully, accompanying his explanation with a hard shove against the car door.


Patrick grunted softly when Pete shoved him but then the smirk returned to his face. Pete was incredulous at the fact that he couldn't seem to shake this kid.


“Just how I like it.” Patrick purred in such a sultry tone that it made Pete feel filthy watching it flow from such a young-looking pair of lips. He could feel himself growing hard, the ache growing constant and he wondered how this situation had turned from insulting to completely sexual.


“Come on Peter, make this good.” Patrick whispered dangerously. “Or I'll make it rough.”


Pete's lips twitched in a smirk and he didn't need anymore encouragement to bite roughly at Patrick's neck, nipping his way up to his lips. Pete took pleasure in the way Patrick's milky white skin felt soft between his lips as he assaulted it viciously.


He could hear Patrick gasping and moaning in between harsh kisses. Patrick's hand snaked its way between the two of them and reached for the front of Pete's jeans. Pete gasped softly when Patrick began massaging him through the coarse material.


“Hurt me, Pete.” Patrick whispered urgently against his lips, his hand working zealously to undo the button on his jeans.


He bit more violently at Patrick's lips and dug his nails into Patrick's back until he groaned and arched into him. Patrick's hand had made it's way inside Pete's jeans and boxers and now Patrick was pumping him, trying hard to keep up pace as his concentration was severed by Pete's ministrations.


Pete was making quiet noises of satisfaction as he bit into Patrick's lips, moving down to his collar bone, sucking on the skin accessible to him. His legs were getting shaky as Patrick clumsily jerked him off, whimpering as Pete bit his shivery skin black-and-blue.


Pete let his hands slip up Patrick's t-shirt, seeking out his hardened nipples. Patrick groaned delightedly when Pete pinched them hard, accompanying it by sucking gently on his neck. Pete shivered as he felt himself tense and Patrick quickened the pace that he was pumping him at and rocking into him with ferocity.


He kissed Pete ferally, causing Pete to whimper and bite back equally as hard as he came into Patrick's hand. He could feel Patrick quivering and he removed a hand from up Patrick's shirt to rapidly rub him roughly through his jeans. He felt Patrick come quickly, moaning his name breathily.


They both grabbed onto each other to steady themselves; their hips magnets for each other as they raced to catch their breath.


Pete caught his breath first and he raised a hand to wipe his sweaty fringe out of his eyes so he could properly examine Patrick. His lips were swollen and pink and his neck was covered in bruises, trailing down to hide underneath the collar of his shirt. Patrick's tongue darted out from between his puffy lips to moisten them as he watched Pete just as intently as Pete was watching him.


Pete opened his mouth to speak but his tired body quivered gently and all he could manage was a soft whimper.


Patrick clicked his tongue behind his teeth and kissed Pete gently on the mouth, letting his teeth drag on his bottom lip and then he backed away. Pete felt him reach down and re-zip and button his jeans. Then he felt him reach into his pocket and then the cool touch of metal in his hand.


“Go home.” Patrick said quietly. “Sleep and maybe next time you come to fight club you'll get to demonstrate to me a better right hook.”


Pete rolled the keys experimentally in his fingers, though the movement was lethargic and unpinned Patrick's hips with his own so Patrick could move away from the car. As Patrick moved past him he brushed his fingers gently along Pete's hip.


Pete turned around to face Patrick and spoke, “If I'm demonstrating, I'm demonstrating on you.”


Patrick's cocky smirk returned. “I wouldn't expect anything else.” He said and turned to walk away down the dimly lit block leaving Pete to ponder tonight's fight club experience over in his mind on the drive home.