Fist To The Heart – Ch. 4
By Laura S. Fox
Copyright © 2019 Laura S. Fox
All Rights Reserved
Intended for Mature Audiences Only
This story will contain graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, strong language and it is not meant for readers who are less than 18 years of age.
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Chapter Four - Fools Play By The Rules
Johnny was damn pleased with himself. He had that pretty boy in his pocket, and he was going to pick up a nice paycheck while at it. The playful banter between them was almost making him think there was more there than it truly was.
The thing was the man was frigging beautiful. A hot thing in bed, too. Plus, he could go at it, by what he had said, and what Johnny had seen with his own two eyes, for enough time to satisfy Johnny's stamina.
Guys he knew and fucked loved to be taken hard. They had no issue with being used. But no one had been as hungry for cock as this pretty man. Nor as beautiful. Only thinking about those blue eyes, burning with lust, was making him hard as a rock.
It had been nothing but an impulse to stake a claim on the man in front of the others. No one messed with his toys. He wasn't protective, or possessive. Whoever dared to piss on his turf was bound to end up with a broken nose or worse, though. It was all about respect.
Yeah, he took one look in the mirror, as he flexed his arms a few times, to work out some kinks from his shoulders. A satisfying pop on each shoulder and he was good. Pretty boy Ruslan Kent could have anyone. So the fact that he was choosing some low life fighter from the wrong side of the tracks like him had to stand for something.
Johnny was not one to fool himself. He knew what he was. And where he was coming from. There was no pedigree dangling around his neck. Nor was he rich. One look in the mirror could tell him he didn't exactly have a face that made sexy guys drool over him.
But he was rough and tough. And some, even pretty men like Ruslan Kent, liked that. Forget about being nothing but a mutt. He knew how to fight, and he knew how to fuck.
And it seemed that those two skills he had honed to perfection were the only needed to nail someone like Efige's boss's son and nail him hard.
He wasn't going blindly into this. There was money to make; that was true. There was a sexy ass to fuck and came attached to a lean body and a frigging beautiful face. At least for the duration of the tournament, he was going to have the time of his life.
Of course, sweet lips knew that, too. Ruslan wasn't buying into his bullshit. But it was a game both liked, so it was all `kay.
No one was going to buy some picket fences crib in the suburbs. But, boy, Johnny grinned in the mirror, Ruslan was going to get fucked all these weeks to last him a decade. And Johnny was going to fuck his fill, because an opportunity to get freaky with a guy of that caliber was sure to come once every ten years, too.
Wasn't that just some stupid luck? Johnny grinned when he saw his opponent jumping in the ring. The man's ugly scar seemed darker under the hot neon lights, drawing Johnny's attention to it. With a little luck, he was going to give the guy another tonight. Or just split the one he had right open.
Yeah, the guy was going to bleed, Johnny nodded to himself. He eyed his enemy and, in turn, the other grinned at him, showing misshapen teeth.
Johnny hoped Ruslan was watching this. Right now, he needed to focus on destroying the scumbag in front of him. That was some dumb twist of fate, right there, to have in the arena, ready to go against him, the idiot he wanted to fuck up.
Unless, of course, it had all been arranged for him to meet the unibrow guy who had dared to insult Ruslan in front of him. That was even better. It meant that Ruslan wanted to see him at work. Evaluate him. See if he was fit, after all, and if he only talked bullshit.
He didn't. And he was going to prove it, by sending the scumbag to the floor within the first minute of the match.
Ruslan watched in shock as Johnny's opponent hit the floor with a thud.
"What the hell?" he turned toward the old man. "How come Snake is fighting this dude of all the fighters available for this round?"
The old man shrugged, but Ruslan could smell a lie from out campus, even when it was his papa doing the lying.
"C'mon, why?" he complained. "Do you really want to see him out of the picture? He'll do something stupid. I thought you wanted him."
"Not as much as I want him away from you," the old man replied.
They watched the match from a private booth, partially obscured from the ring.
"You can't be serious," Ruslan mumbled. "I won't give up on fucking him just because you say so."
"Ruslan, aren't you a bit too old to have a rebellious phase?" the old man scolded him.
The guy was calling him by his name, and not the endearing alternative when he wanted to show his disapproval.
"Seriously, don't you have a bit of trust in me? What do you think will happen? I told you. He won't hurt me," Ruslan said stubbornly.
The old man said nothing for a while, as he continued to watch the game.
"A good fighter is not the one who can throw the heaviest punches, or move the quickest. Consider this a test. If Snake fights like a stray, with no care for rules, I don't need him in my ring."
"Weren't you the one going after him? Since when do you change your mind overnight?" Ruslan asked, feeling his irritation growing.
In the ring below, Snake was sending his opponent to the floor for the second time.
"Since you're making an obsession for him. Should it have been just one time, I would have had nothing against it."
"Obsession? Aren't you exaggerating a bit?"
"Ruslan, he called you his," the old man said sternly. "That's unacceptable."
"Why? It's only a frigging joke! He doesn't mean anything by it! How dumb do you think I am? If I didn't know better, I'd say you're like one of those doting fathers who never let their daughters marry because no guy is ever good enough for their little princess!"
The old man threw him an odd look. Ruslan could feel his eyes bulging out of their sockets.
"Oh, no, you are," he said, but the words came out of his mouth hesitantly.
He could not believe this.
"Seriously?" he exclaimed, seeing that the man didn't deny it. "I survived the orphanage. I survived the streets. It's not like I'm some Red Riding Hood in peril of being devoured by the big bad wolf!"
The old man chuckled and shook his head.
"I know you're not, Russy. But you're in my care now. C'mon, after Snake messes up his debut, let's go somewhere you like. There's a new club opening. And it caters to gentlemen of a certain persuasion, such as you. You'll love it."
"Oh, damn, you want to cruise the gay clubs with me now?" Ruslan sneered.
He had no idea why he was getting so worked up about. It wasn't like the old man ever wished him any harm. But being treated like he was 12 now felt like a boot crushing his windpipe. Strangely enough, the old man's overbearing care and attention hadn't bothered him before.
Yanis had called the old man a freak. And Ruslan wasn't blind. Maybe the guy's obsession with protecting Ruslan wasn't exactly healthy. But they were nothing like that. The old man had never asked for any sexual favors. He had demanded respect. And so far, with minor mishaps, Ruslan had shown respect. Affection, too, although that hadn't been explicitly asked.
Still, at the moment, he felt revolted at being pulled back by the old man's short leash. It wasn't even because he wanted Snake that badly, although he did. It was a matter of doing what he wanted; and for that reason, he did feel, indeed, rebellious.
"Snake will show his true colors," the old man sighed. "You cannot think he's serious about you now, can you?"
"I told you," Ruslan said through his teeth, well aware that he sounded like a 15-year old whose parents didn't want to let him hang out with his friends at some after dark party. "It's bullshit. He brags I'm his boyfriend, and I don't care about it. We both know it's not true. We're just screwing around. C'mon, stop pestering me. I only look to get laid, that's all."
"I only have your best interest in mind, Russy. Snake might have ulterior motives."
"Like what? Marrying me and inheriting your big ass fortune? Give me a break," Ruslan threw his hands down. "You know that's not the case. It's not like I'd ever get married, anyway. And I don't want to inherit anything. Leave everything to your relatives. What you're giving me now is more than enough."
"Ruslan!" the old man boomed.
Ruslan made himself little in his chair. He shouldn't have spoken so casually about what would happen after the man died.
"Sorry, papa," he said meekly.
A paper like hand rested on top of his.
"You can do better than Snake, Russy," the old man spoke, appeased now. "And you will inherit my fortune. I don't care what the entire world says about it."
"But won't that invite trouble?" Ruslan spoke, moving his hand enough to grab the other's. "I know those vultures. Tell them they'll get everything. At least they'll leave you alone."
"It will be a cold day in hell when I'll let that happen," the old man set his chin high. "They deserve nothing. All they ever wanted from me was money."
"I want money, too," Ruslan joked, to ease the atmosphere. The old man's relatives were a sore point.
The man caressed his cheek tenderly.
"You're bringing me joy in my old years, Russy," he spoke. "That's all that matters."
"Joy, really? Because it looks like I only give you headaches. Okay, papa, if Snake makes a fool of himself in the ring, I won't have anything to do with him. But at least give him the benefit of the doubt. You gave me a chance. Who wouldn't you give him one, too?"
"Fine," the old man admitted. "You're right. Let's see how he's faring now."
Damn scumbag was built like a brick house, even if he didn't look like it. Johnny had already sent the asshole to the floor three times, but he was still getting up. It wasn't that he was going to lose, but it didn't seem to be as easy as he would have liked. Ruslan was going to think him soft if he wasn't going to sort this fast.
He circled his opponent, trying to gauge his weaknesses. The man had no style. He was throwing punches and kicks as if he was in a street fight, not a ring. Johnny knew the kind. The type of animal you have to squash under your heel so that he never gets up again to bite you.
An opening presented itself when the man put down his guard, hoping to get him to act recklessly. But Johnny was now strategizing. He jabbed, making the man's head jerk back. The scumbag put his guard back up.
It was time to let the idiot think he had a chance. Dancing around the guy, he feigned a grimace and worked his shoulder. Hmm, strange, he thought. The guy wasn't taking the bait. What the fuck was going on there? Could it be that the monkey brain had smelled the setup?
Johnny hadn't earned his nickname only because of his quick attacks with the pinpoint accuracy of a neurosurgeon's knife. The difference between him and the rest of the losers was that he knew how to use his head.
And that kind of play smelled fishy to him. He tried again, this time making it more visible.
Still, there was no response from the guy. Instead, the scumbag was trying to bait him, too.
Johnny's mind was now frantically searching for an answer. What the fuck was this idiot trying to pull? He needed to finish this match. And he had thought the rings at Efige were clean. Not so squeaky it seemed.
The way he saw things, there was only one way of solving this. He had an inkling what his opponent was trying to bait him into doing.
But only fools played by the rules. And he didn't mean only the rules in the ring. Johnny wasn't a survivor well worthy of being called Snake because he just saw what was right in front of his eyes. He was still standing because he knew how to trick others into thinking they could read him.
There was no such thing. He wasn't some book in some damn library.
He steeled himself and focused. For what he had in mind, he needed to be fast. His opponent danced around him, baiting him again.
One, Johnny thought and unleashed the attack. His fist connected with the guy's jaw.
Tripled on it.
That was all he needed — the time between two beats.
The blood pounded in his temples, covering everything else. The referee was on him, pushing him aside and yelling at him. Apparently, he was still towering over the fallen man, ready to kick him before he got up.
He grinned and spat the mouthpiece covering his teeth. Fuck them all. He had broken no rules. That was something he knew he needed to be careful about. Turning his back, he began to walk away.
But the referee caught him by the elbow and dragged him in the middle of the ring. By the time his fist was in the air, claiming his victory, the cheers had broken the blood barrier in his ears, subduing the pounding of his heart.
Like a man who had just escaped drowning, his senses were coming back to him. His ears made a small pop, and his hearing was back.
He stood victorious.
So Ruslan had decided to play him a little, Johnny thought. He let the hot stream pelt his face, as his well-trained mind worked toward disentangling that particular puzzle. The guy wanted him. He had made it clear on both occasions they fucked. Ruslan Kent hadn't acted like a prized lay.
Just like a man who knew what he wanted without playing games. So why the hell now? Why try baiting him in the ring, of all places? To see if he could keep his wits about him?
By all means, he should have felt pissed. But Johnny knew that kind of emotion you kept it for the cage, not outside it. There had been a time, when he had been reckless and stupid, and paid for that kind of shit.
Not anymore. He was frigging 28, and no one could treat him like a kid anymore. A kid with a mean fist. He welcomed that particular memory with a snort.
Ruslan Kent, he thought again, washing the grime of the fight off his body. Could it be that pretty boy decided not to play? It wasn't like they knew each other from Adam. All he knew about the guy was that he had a tight ass and a sweet mouth. Otherwise, they were nothing but strangers.
Well, there was no point in dwelling on it. So Ruslan's gorgeous ass was off the table. Not that big a deal, he thought, soaping his balls. His dick was not entirely in agreement with him. Giving it a harsh rub to behave, he turned his back to feel the hot water on his tight muscles.
"Fuck him," he said to no one in particular.
Johnny blinked. What the heck? He was supposed to be the last in there. Through the haze of steam, he made out a silhouette leaning against the wall. Fully dressed. He had been so lost in his thoughts he hadn't noticed someone walking in.
Ruslan moved slowly, with measured steps, his eyes set on Johnny.
"Good game," the pretty man spoke.
Johnny shook his head and turned. He wasn't going to walk into that trap. Whatever blue eyes wanted, he could piss off and get it somewhere else.
The hands wrapping his chest and the clothed body gluing to his from behind took him by surprise, nonetheless.
"You're going to get your nice clothes wet, darling," he drawled the words.
"I don't care," Ruslan whispered into his ear, making a short and intense chill travel his spine, like an almost unbearable tickle.
"I thought you wanted me out. Paying that asshole to bait me?" Johnny said roughly but didn't push the man away. "I thought you better than that. Hell, I thought it would be a clean fight."
"Ugh, that wasn't me," Ruslan replied with a small huff. "How could you tell, though?"
The man's hands traveled over Johnny's chest, mapping his pecs, and then slowly his abs. Johnny grabbed them before getting lower.
"So who was it?" he asked, just as roughly.
No pretty boy was going to play him like this. Even if he knew his cock was rock hard and asking for the blond man to offer one of his hot holes right that moment.
"Papa," the guy offered, annoyance clear in his voice. "He thinks he can tell me who to fuck."
Johnny turned. The guy's clothes were soaked now, and his pretty blond hair was hanging in loose strands, now darker, heavy with water. He pushed them away from the man's face, to look into his eyes. Innocent enough. He wasn't going to say `no'; it wasn't like he had been abandoned at the altar or anything.
Grinning, he made his point known.
"You here for dick then?" he said roughly.
Ruslan nodded, quite enthusiastically.
"Then get on your knees and suck me," Johnny said.
Ruslan was ready to drop into position, but Johnny thought better of it.
"Wait," he caught Ruslan right on time. "Come here first."
The man's plump lips tasted a bit of chlorine and hot water, but Johnny didn't care. That mouth was his. The man's lean body, draped in designer's clothes, was his. So he reached deeper with his tongue, making the man gasp and turn to putty into his arms.
"Fucking tasty," he commented, and this time around, he was the one to push the guy to his knees. "Now get to work."
Ruslan didn't look like he needed a special invitation for that. His elegant long fingers were digging deep into Johnny's hips, as the man swallowed the hard cock with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to pleasure a guy.
Johnny brought Ruslan's hair into a wet bun at the back of his head. If the pretty man ever wanted to be less pretty, he needed to cut his hair. Nah, who was he kidding? Ruslan Kent was sex on two legs, and Johnny was fucking lucky to nail that fine piece of ass, long hair or not.
Not just a fine piece of ass, he let his mind be blown to smithereens as Ruslan worked his pole like he had been starved for weeks. Lucky him; there was a warm meal coming his way quicker than Johnny had managed to finish his opponent just earlier.
Ruslan was using one hand to help himself steady the cock he was treating like a delicious lollipop. His tongue was doing swirls and wraps, caressing and attacking the gland with extra pressure, just enough to make the head grow in his mouth to an impossible size.
It wasn't like he didn't want to enjoy Ruslan's cock polishing technique, but he wanted the man in a bed, and as soon as possible. He was round the clock much more than Ruslan. Until Monday morning. That was his deadline.
And just letting the pretty man enjoy a serving of hot jizz served not that particular purpose.
"Here it comes," he said, trying to joke, but failing.
He came with a loud growl, keeping Ruslan's mouth stuffed with cock, by holding the man by the back of his neck. The guy's throat was moving around the hard pole forcing it to stretch, making the release freakishly intense.
"Ah, fuck," he murmured contently, as he let go slowly of the guy.
Ruslan coughed discreetly as if he didn't want to ruin the moment. Johnny didn't miss his chance. He pulled Ruslan up and kissed him hungrily. It looked like the guy had swallowed everything. There was a faint taste lingering on Ruslan's tongue, and Johnny chased it, as the physical proof of the fact that this rich boy had sucked him dry without making a fuss.
"Fuck, you're a mess," he chuckled, as soon as he let Ruslan go.
"Don't you worry about that. I'll go and change. You get ready and meet me in the front."
"Where're we going?"
"You promised me this weekend, and Saturday's almost over. So I'm taking you to my place," Ruslan said as he reluctantly pulled himself away from Johnny. "I have everything prepared. To keep your energy up and everything."
"I don't do drugs," Johnny said roughly.
Ruslan patted his chest and smiled.
"Who said anything about that? I'm talking about protein in delicious and healthy sizes and shapes. You must keep these guns," he chirped, feeling Johnny's biceps.
"Ah, so no aphrodisiacs? Champagne and the like?" Johnny joked, a bit relieved.
"You're not supposed to drink," Ruslan wagged the finger at him. "All right, a bit of wine, but that's all. Your body is a temple, mister," he joked, and this time, Johnny caught his hand and playfully bit the wagging finger.
"Hurry," he pushed the guy away and patted his ass after turning him around. "I want to be inside your ass before Saturday ends."
"And after that?" Ruslan asked over one shoulder.
"I'll fuck you until you cannot walk no more," Johnny promised with a cocksure smile.
So, in the end, the pretty boy hadn't lied. And it dawned on Johnny. If there was one opponent he had to be aware of, he wasn't going to meet him in the ring. The guy's old man. Who would have thought? Although Ruslan fit the image of a daddy's boy to a tee. But why did the guy have it bad for Johnny? Maybe he didn't agree with his son fucking dudes. Funny thing, Ruslan didn't seem to hide. So what was the deal anyway?
Whatever, he shrugged. The only deal he had, he had with Ruslan, not with the guy's old man. And if the pretty man wanted a dicking, Johnny was happy to give it to him. And he had plans. He checked his backpack. He was going to show the pretty boy something tonight. It was all there.
The cab pulled in front of a nice looking house, a bit remote from the main road. So that was how the rich lived. Go figure, Johnny thought. He wasn't going to act like he was impressed. If there was one top dog around, that was him, and Ruslan was going to understand that pretty quickly.
It tickled him the wrong way, the whole thing. Not rub him the wrong way. That was not it. Johnny knew better than this, but still he couldn't help it. Maybe it was just the promise of that tight ass after a win. After that, he couldn't tell.
Or maybe he was still damn stupid and thought he could raise the bar for himself and score higher. He was reading too much into everything. On the way to Ruslan's crib, in the cab, they had been silent. The both of them. But if papa was paying for all this, how could Ruslan go against his old man like that? Wasn't he afraid to be disowned or something? A pretty boy like him probably had not lifted a finger to do any hard work all his life. Although, if what people said was true, that Ruslan was keeping his old man's books, that meant the pretty man was more than just pretty. He was smart, too.
He stole a glance at Ruslan as soon as they were inside. The man leaned into him, asking, without words. Johnny grabbed him quickly, lifting him by his ass, and almost slammed him against the wall.
Their lips were busy, his hands were clasping hard on the guy's buttocks, and he wanted nothing more than to have the guy naked, under him, and soon.
"Show me to your bedroom," he said, as he planted the man back on his feet, but without removing his hands from the tight, still clothed ass.
With a smile, Ruslan dragged him after him by one hand. Johnny barely noted his surroundings, his attention fully trained on the man in front of him. The pretty man was not going to walk on Monday morning. It was no longer just a way of boasting. It was starting to be a necessity.
Johnny could not remember being so hard for a guy. Ruslan Kent was something that wasn't supposed to be on his plate. He was used to eating at the diner across the street. And this kind of meal came straight from a five-star restaurant or something.
But he had no table manners, he smirked at the thought. When they were finally in a nicely lit room that had to be the bedroom by the size of the bed in the middle, flush against the wall, he was as sure of that as of him being called Snake.
"Quite a big bed for someone sleeping alone," he noticed.
"It's for sleepovers," Ruslan shrugged, as he began undressing with the speed of light, throwing his clothes all over the place.
"Do you have many people sleeping over then?" Johnny asked gruffly.
Was he stupid now? The man had made no secret of liking to sleep around. That was how he had gotten here, anyway. So why was he bothered? For now, for the weeks of the tournament, he was going to be the one to sleep over. And not some other, faceless dudes.
"Not really," Ruslan surprised him.
The man jumped into his arms, almost making him lose balance. Johnny turned the tables and pinned the man to the bed.
"I wanna do you raw," he said quietly, making the other stop cold in his arms.
"Nah, no way," Ruslan shook his head. "I don't go bareback with anyone. Ever."
"Yeah, I thought you'd be like that. Your old man taught you good, right?" Johnny chuckled.
"Right," the guy said, a tad hesitantly.
"Good, that's good," Johnny caressed the man's cheeks slowly and leaned in for a kiss.
For the first time since he had met Johnny aka Snake, Ruslan felt a tinge of fear. He was refusing the guy point blank, and they both knew the man had the strength required to force Ruslan if that was what he wanted.
Against himself, he panicked. The man crushing him with his weight into the bed wasn't helping, either. He needed to calm down. And certainly, ignore how softly the man was kissing him.
They needed ground rules. He tried to push the man away. To his surprise, the fighter didn't fight him back. Instead, he stood up and sauntered to a corner of the room where he crouched over his knapsack.
"Johnny," Ruslan spoke, hoping his voice was stern enough to draw the others' attention, "I don't do it raw."
The man seemed to ignore him, whistling a happy tune, as he turned back and threw some papers held together by a metal clip. Intrigued, Ruslan straightened up, pulling his legs under him.
"It's your bill of health?" he wondered out loud.
Johnny was busy shedding off his clothes.
"Bet your sweet ass it is. I always keep myself in shape. Healthy. But this time, I asked for more tests. You know, just so that I can pop the question to you."
Ruslan examined the papers. They were up to date all right.
"It wasn't really a question," he mumbled. "So you did this ... for me?"
The fighter was standing now by the foot of the bed, in all his naked glory.
"What do you think? Of course. I don't come across a fine piece of tail like you that often. So, what do you say?" Johnny jumped on the bed, grabbed the papers from Ruslan's hand and threw them away, obviously impatient.
Their mouths clashed again, and the room tilted, making Ruslan see the ceiling in an instant. They were rubbing against each other like animals in heat. Ruslan grabbed the man's hair, forcing him away one inch.
"You're a bit crazy! Don't you think you should ask if I'm clean?"
"Papa's precious boy, kept on a tight leash? I'd say I'm safe," the man joked, and this time, when he kissed Ruslan, he no longer budged.
Clearly, the man was done making conversation. The slurping sounds of their tongues together filled the room.
Ruslan felt a bit dizzy. But the man had gone the extra length to proposition him like this. And it wasn't like he didn't want it. For how long had he done it only with the rubber? Ever since the old man had saved him and Yanis from that hell hole they had ended up in, him selling ass, Yanis fast to become a small-time thief and most probably a dead one, had Mr. Kent not intervened to free their sorry asses and take them both into his care. Maybe he was lucky that he was clean. But keeping himself that way had nothing to do with luck.
So it was a leap of faith. He surely needed to think about it. Johnny slid from his arms, dragging him by the edge of the bed. A hot tongue in his ass and he was sold. He bit his hand to stop from moaning like a slut. Johnny was eating his ass and wasn't shy to make a meal out of it.
"Don't keep your voice down," Johnny ordered breathily. "It's not like we shouldn't wake the neighbors or something, right?"
Ruslan mumbled a reply. He was sure he sounded like a bitch in heat, but he couldn't help it anymore. Johnny's hand was rough on his cock and balls, introducing those into his menu, too.
"Stay right here," the man said and stood up again to fiddle with his knapsack again.
Like he could have gone anywhere. His bones were all jelly, and he couldn't move if there were a fire. His eyes grew wide as he noticed what Johnny held in one tight fist.
"What's that?" he asked warily.
"Some of my hand wraps, sweet lips. I need to prove myself, right? So, here's the deal. Four times, you said? I'm all for breaking the record. The question is: are you?"
Ruslan watched the strips of cloth as Johnny was slowly wrapping them around one fist. Slowly, he nodded.
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