Decided to start crossposting my wrasslin fic from ff.net to here.
Title: The Maelstrom's Cup
Fandom: Wrestling
Pairing: Jon Moxley/Tyler Black (aka Dean Ambrose/Seth Rollins)
Rating: M for Mature
Warnings: Sexual content, some violence, references to abuse, and other adult themes some readers may find disturbing. Also, as always, all characters herein are intended to be FICTIONAL and are not identical to the real wrestlers portraying them and have no bearing on their real lives/personalities. Capiche?
Summary: In a 2006 that never was, Tyler Black encounters Jon Moxley in Puerto Rico.
In the days and nights afterward, in the years inbetween their parting and meeting again, the memory lingered. It did not wear away, like colors faded in the sunlight. They went out of each other's lives, like a candle being blown out, a vanishing of the light, the afterimage left on the eye when the warmth itself is gone.
Tyler Black shouldered his duffel bag and stepped from the overly air-conditioned airport out into the noonday heat. Hair plastered to his forehead as he waved down a cab. "Where to?" asked the cabbie as he slid into the backseat. Tyler looked up into the cabbie's eyes reflected in the rearview mirror and answered in his best Spanish. It did not escape him that lines appeared around the cabbie's eyes as they looked back, as though the man was smiling at him; the tone of his voice when he said "Okay, no problem" (in English) made it plain that he was amused by Tyler's efforts.
Tyler stared out the window as they drove into San Juan proper, only halfway paying attention to anything he saw. He really hoped that Bushwhacker Luke knew what he was talking about. Tyler hadn't been able to understand half of what the man had told him over the phone, but true to his word he'd sent Tyler a plane ticket to the island so it seemed worthwhile to check out what IWA Puerto Rico had to offer. He'd felt good about it, in the days before boarding the plane. Tyler knew he looked good, and his ring work left nothing to be desired. It seemed like half the guys who did a stint in PR got snapped up by WWE as soon as they got back.
The cab turned down a dusty side street, slowing to a crawl as they looked for the right address. The sun blazed overheard, and the sidewalks lay empty. No one wanted to be out in this heat. Up ahead, one lone figure came into focus, walking towards them, brazenly, almost in the middle of the street. The cabbie cursed and honked his horn at the guy. As they drew closer, Tyler saw that he was a young man, sunstruck hair almost bronze in color, wearing a worn wifebeater and ripped jeans. Some Puerto Ricans were that fair, but something about the guy told Tyler that he wasn't a local, anymore than Tyler himself was.
Maybe he's another wrestler, Tyler thought, checking out his arms and shoulders. The cab crawled by, barely finding enough room to pass him, the guy seemingly daring them to run him over. He stared right into the cab's window at Tyler, and Tyler got a brief flash of blue eyes as they drove past him.
A minute later, the cab pulled up in front of IWA Puerto Rico's headquarters. Tyler paid and grabbed his duffel from the cab. He knocked, and the door was wrenched open by an older man with a dragon tattoo on his forearm, cursing at him loudly in a Kiwi accent. "G'ddamnit Mox - oh, you! Who's this then?" The older man ogled Tyler.
"I'm Tyler Black." Tyler squared his shoulders and offered his hand to shake. "You must be Bushwhacker Luke."
"Yeah." An uncomfortable silence hung in the air. Tyler's hand went unshaken.
"You sent me a plane ticket. You said you wanted to see me." Tyler desperately hoped that Luke hadn't forgotten about the whole thing and made him come all this way for nothing. It seemed horribly possible.
"Oh. Oh! I thought ye was someone else. G'damn, come in, come in." Luke waved him in, still having not touched his hand. Blinking, Tyler stepped into what appeared to be Luke's office. Small, overheated, with one fan propped up in the window valiantly doing all it could, the room was taken up by a desk topped with paperwork and a couple of folding chairs with dents in them that looked suspiciously like they might've resulted from contact with a human skull. A huge photograph of Luke and his former tag team partner graced the opposite wall, both of them snarling and flipping off the camera. Luke was excitedly talking to him, but he was no more intelligible in person than he'd been on the phone. Tyler got the gist though - Luke wanted him to come to a couple shows, try it out, and if all went well he would stay in San Juan and work for IWA Puerto Rico. "Yer a prime bloke I see, ye'll do well enough, ay?" Luke asked him.
"Uh, sure," said Tyler. This seemed to please Luke, who threw an arm around his shoulder and led him out of the office. Tyler followed him around to the side of the building, where he found a rickety set of stairs that led up to an apartment on the second floor of the building. As they climbed up the stairs, Tyler saw that a man was sitting on the balcony outside, smoking a cigarette.
"Mike, Mike!" Luke indicated Tyler, who tried to smile at the other man. "S'Tyler Black, just got here, he did."
Stubbing out his cigarette, Mike said, "Mikael Judas. Nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Finally Tyler got that handshake. To his shock, Luke took off back down the stairs, leaving him there. At the look on Tyler's face, Mikael shrugged his shoulders.
"You can stay here if you want. Luke'll want you to see the show tomorrow night." Nodding at Tyler's duffel bag, Mikael asked, "Is that all you got?"
"Yeah. Do you all live here?" Tyler asked. The apartment didn't look very big. He wondered how many guys lived in there together.
Mikael popped open the window and climbed through into the apartment, as cool as he could be. "Front door doesn't work," he told Tyler. Reluctantly, Tyler climbed in after him. Inside, the apartment was as small as he'd feared. There was a beat-up couch, a television and a stack of video games, and an empty pizza box on the floor. There was what looked like a small kitchenette off to one side, and two closed doors. "This is the company apartment," Mikael explained to him. "You can leave your bag on the couch. I figure it's yours for now." He opened one door, revealing a bathroom, and then the other door, revealing a bedroom with two mattresses on the floor. "That's where Mox and I sleep."
"Mox?"
"Another worker. You'll see him soon enough." Mikael went into the kitchen and got two beers out of the fridge. Tyler accepted one gratefully. "It's just me and Mox right now," Mikael went on. "Some of the other guys have their own places, or live with girlfriends. You know, the usual." He took a deep drink of his beer and gave Tyler a curious look. "You look real young, kid."
Tyler tried to play it off. "I'm old enough."
"Yeah, I guess so. This your first time away from home?"
"No." Which wasn't strictly a lie. Tyler had stayed in hotels across the midwest while wrestling, and had gone on a senior trip to France once. There was no way he was letting on how inexperienced he was to this guy. Mikael seemed cool enough but he'd only met him fifteen minutes ago. "I've been around, uh, here and there."
Mikael didn't say anything, just took another drink of his beer, but he seemed to smirk a little to himself first. They finished their beers, then Mikael took him back outside to point out the gym across the street. They walked down a few blocks to a little bodega to pick up something to eat. The sun hung low in the sky, and people started coming out on the street. A pretty girl walked past them and blew a kiss to Mikael, who blew a kiss back, making her giggle. On their way back from the bodega, they passed a group of really hard-looking guys hanging out around a liquor store. "Stop fuckin' staring at them," Mikael hissed at Tyler. Tyler jerked his head to look at Mikael so quickly that a pain twinged in his neck.
"Are those guys-" Tyler trailed off. He was a little nervous to put into words what he was thinking.
"Yeah. You're a real fuckin' hick, ain't ya?" Mikael chuckled to himself. "Around here, you mind your own business. Don't stare at those guys. Don't draw attention to yourself."
"Okay." Tyler hung his head a little. They made it back to the apartment without incident, climbed through the window, and ate their dinner. Tyler stuck his leftovers in the fridge and called his family to let them know he was okay. There was no show tonight, so and Mikael hung out and played video games for a couple hours. There was still no sign of the 'Mox' guy Mikael lived with.
Mikael was in the shower when the window suddenly wrenched open, nearly making Tyler jump out of his skin. "Oh fuck -" he started to say. A face peered through the window at him, and Tyler recognized him as the same fair-haired guy from earlier that day. The guy slipped gracefully through the window, perching on the little ledge on the inside and staring him down. His mouth twisted in an ugly way.
"Where the fuck is Mike?"
Tyler pointed vaguely in the direction of the bathroom. "He's taking a shower."
"Why are you here?"
"I'm Tyler Black. I came to wrestle-"
"Well, I didn't think Mike picked you up in a bar and brought you home to fuck him." The guy barked out a harsh laugh. Tyler didn't know whether to laugh along or if the joke was on him somehow. The guy eyed him up and down. "Nah, Mike couldn't land someone who looked like you."
"Hey, fuck you, Mox." That was Mikael, who'd just emerged from the shower. He was wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. He slapped the Mox guy on the back and nodded to Tyler. "Tyler Black, meet Jon Moxley. Jon, meet Tyler."
"Yeah, whatever." Moxley stomped off towards the kitchenette, yanking off his belt as he went like he was improvising a weapon. Up close, he was bigger than Tyler had first assumed, a few inches over six feet. He reappeared a moment later, holding a beer. "Move over," he told Tyler, sitting down next to him on the couch. Mikael went into the bedroom, probably to change. Tyler tried to give Moxley enough room on the couch, but somehow the whole side of his body was crushed up against Moxley. He couldn't help but check the guy out. He guessed Moxley was about his age, a bit taller and broader than Tyler. His shoulders were a little sunburnt. Moxley took a swig of his beer, sat it down hard on the floor in front of him, and turned his body towards Tyler, crowding him even more. Tyler felt as though he was being pushed against the arm of the couch.
"Tyler, huh?" said Moxley in a tone that suggested that he didn't expect a response. "You won't last the week."
For the first time since he'd gotten to Puerto Rico, Tyler was pissed off. Where did this guy get off, talking shit like that? "Hey, I'm a damn good wrestler," Tyler told him, the pride in his voice shining through. "I ran my territory back home, and this isn't the only offer I've had. Every veteran I've gotten in the ring with has come out a believer." He glared at Moxley. "I'll get in the ring with you, and you'll believe, too."
Moxley braced an elbow against the back of the couch, moving in even closer to Tyler. His hot breath touched Tyler's neck as he spoke. "You could probably do backflips and shooting star presses all around me in that ring," Moxley said. "I don't doubt it. But you're too clean and too pretty and too..." His eyes flickered down to Tyler's mouth. "You speak too softly. You won't last here. These people don't want to see headlocks and that technical shit. This is the law of the jungle. Blunt force trauma. Who can get hit the hardest." He glanced down. Without even realizing it, Tyler had planted a hand in the center of Moxley's chest, as though to hold him back from getting any closer. To his surprise, Moxley didn't swat at his hand or say anything about. He just leaned back a little, grabbed his beer off the floor, and took another deep drink. They sat there a minute, each watching the other. Moxley barely blinked; he reminded Tyler of a snake or something. Finally, he stood up and took off to the bedroom that he and Mikael shared. Pausing in the doorway, Moxley had one final parting shot.
"Whatever Luke promised you, it doesn't mean anything. Trust me. I know." With that, he slammed the door behind him and left Tyler there alone.
