Tyler dug around in the drawers until he found some plastic spoons and forks for the salad and rice. He set a spoon and fork on the countertop next to Moxley, so that he could take it at his leisure. They finished their breakfast in silence. Moxley then snatched Tyler's plate and utensils out of his hands and slammed them into the sink. Turning on the water, he began scrubbing the dirty dishes like a madman. Tyler almost yelled at him, but something told him not to; this seemed to be Moxley's way of repaying him for the food.

Instead, Tyler went to take a quick shower. When he came back out, Moxley was gone but Mikael was up. "Ah, that's just Mox," Mikael said when Tyler asked about him. "He comes and goes. You wanna head to the gym?"

They worked out, grabbed some lunch, and afterwards Mikael had some vague errand to run, leaving Tyler by himself. He decided to get out and explore the city a bit. He walked a few blocks to the bus stop and caught a bus to Viejo San Juan and spent most of the day strolling the old streets, taking pictures, and enjoying the bright sun and ocean breezes. By the time he got back to their neighborhood, it was almost five in the afternoon. IWA Puerto Rico had a show that night at seven and Tyler didn't want to be late. He climbed through the window to find Moxley passed out asleep on the couch, an empty beer bottle laying on the floor next to him. In his sleep, his face was peaceful and he looked very young. Tyler had the realization that Moxley couldn't be any older than himself.

Tyler sat on the arm of the couch and gently shook Moxley by the shoulder. "Wake up..."

"Huh!" Moxley woke up swinging. Tyler was glad that he'd decided to sit on the arm of the couch. If he'd been standing over Moxley, he would've gotten clocked in the jaw for sure. "What the fuck are you doing, waking me up?" growled Moxley.

"It's six thirty. We have a show in thirty minutes."

"No, I have a show in thirty minutes. You're there to watch me at work." Moxley sat up, grabbed the beer bottle off the floor, and flung it at the wall when he realized that it was empty. "Fuck that, I need a drink."

From outside, they could hear a car horn going. "Mox! Black! Get your butts down here!" Mikael yelled up at them.

Tyler grabbed his duffel with his ring gear in it, while Moxley reluctantly emerged from the kitchenette, beer in hand. Tyler wondered if he'd eaten anything all day other than the half-a-sandwich Tyler had given him that morning. The car horn beeped furiously. Tyler took off out the window and jumped into the waiting car. Luke was driving, with Mikael riding shotgun. Luke ranted at Moxley. "Fuckin' late again, that fuckwit. I should have 'is head for this."

Moxley appeared a minute later, sliding in the back seat next to Tyler, so cool he might've had ice water in his veins. He had his beer, a backpack, and was wearing a pair of sunglasses (even though the sun was setting). "Let's go," said Moxley, kicking at the back of Luke's seat.

"Oh, thanks yer highness! Fuckin'..." Luke grumbled under his breath. Moxley ignored him, stretching out his arms and legs in the backseat, so that once again he was all over Tyler Black. Fifteen minutes later, they parked outside a small gym on a very dark street in a very dark section of town. Pounding music could be heard inside the gym. The four tumbled out of the car and went inside through the employee entrance. Most of the other wresters were already backstage. Luke introduced Tyler to half a dozen guys, all so quickly and in such a heavy accent that Tyler was no more sure of their names than he'd been before they were introduced. Tyler stood off to one side, trying to watch the show, get a feel for the crowd. The first couple of matches went well enough, but there didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason to anything that happened. So far as Tyler could tell, little had been arranged beforehand; the guys just went out and wrestled. It was so chaotic that Tyler wasn't all that surprised when Luke came running up to him partway through the third match and said, "Tyler, get yer ring gear on! We need ya out there. Mox, ye'll wrestle Tyler, eh?"

Moxley, who had moved from his beer to a cigarette, blew a smoke ring at Tyler. "I'll wrestle him," he said, locking eyes with his would-be opponent. "You think you can handle me, pretty boy? You think you got what it takes?"

Tyler narrowed his eyes. Back home, he'd taken on bigger and stronger than Moxley on an almost weekly basis. "I can take anything you can throw at me," he said.

Flicking his cigarette butt at Tyler, Moxley stalked past him into the lockeroom, rasping out as he went, "In your dreams."

Dressing quickly, Tyler Black made his entrance and took the mic. He introduced himself to the crowd in Spanish to a confused and lukewarm response; he was clearly Hispanic, but his accent marked him as a non-native speaker. Some cheered him for his good looks, while others booed him for the same. No one seemed to know whether to get behind him or not. Tyler slid into the ring, eager to put his skills to work and show them what he had to offer. He was also, if he was being honest, excited to wrestle Moxley. He wanted to see whether 'Mox' had anything to work with.

Jon Moxley got on the mic, and what came out of his mouth had the crowd on fire. "You know, I never found a place as dirty as I am until I came to this filthy fucking island!" he snarled. The crowd roared. Looking out at their faces, their bulging eyes, the spittle flying from their mouths, Tyler could believe they'd have Moxley's head on a stick if not for security. There were some guys back home who knew how to rile up the fans. Insult the local sports teams, talk shit about the unattractive women, whatever it took to get cheap heat. But there was something genuine in Moxley's voice; you really believed that he despised this island and every person on it. He was blowing kisses at the crowd and then flipping birds at them. A couple people lunged at him and had to be shoved back. Moxley got in the ring with Tyler and began circling him like a predator going in for the kill. He lunged at Tyler just as the bell rang.

They locked up, then Moxley got his arms around him, hugging Tyler to him so tightly that the breath was squeezed from Tyler's lungs. He broke away and gave Moxley a slap to the face, and was shocked when Moxley tackled him. The crowd screamed enthusiastically. It seemed that what Moxley had told him last night was true; they wanted to see brutality, bodies crashing into one another, fists to faces, not the high-flying moves and technical locks Tyler was known for. Tyler switched tactics, using his speed and flexibility to send Moxley crashing this way and that way. Not used to someone fast enough to counter his moves, Moxley was becoming frustrated. He got his hands on Tyler and clawed him like an animal. A rush of heat and anger overtook Tyler. He kicked Moxley in the jaw, then pounced on him, unleashing his own nails to give Moxley a taste of his own medicine. He got a near-fall, but Moxley kicked out. This went on for several more minutes until Moxley rushed him and got lucky; one-two-three and Black was out. Tyler dragged himself to his hands and knees and looked up at Moxley. For a moment, the roar of the crowd died away and the glaring lights in his eyes faded out, and all he saw was Moxley's expression, wild-eyed and panting. He had a hand clasped over his side, where Tyler's nails had scratched him. Serves you right, thought Tyler. He still couldn't believe Moxley had clawed him like that. You would think the guy was fighting for his life or something.

Moxley stalked out of the ring, towards the back, snatching a sign from a fan at ringside and ripping it in half as he went. The raw scratches on his side and back stood out like a brand. He didn't seem to care about his victory at all. Tyler followed soon after, half-expecting Moxley to come after him backstage. Nothing happened. They got dressed, watched the last couple matches, and then piled in the car with Mikael and Luke. Luke was more than half-drunk already, and was rambling happily about the show. "So fuckin' good! Ain't he fuckin' good?" he asked Mikael, pointing somewhere near Tyler's general direction. Honestly, Tyler had been hoping for some criticism, some advice, something he could use to make himself better. Luke's drunken ramblings didn't help him much. Next to him, Moxley sat in stony silence, although his legs were splayed out so far that his right knee rested across Tyler's lap. No one said anything about it, so Tyler assumed it was his 'thing'. Instead of returning back to the apartment, they parked at a bar that looked ready to fall in on itself. Luke ordered beers for all of them, and Tyler soon lost the others in the crowd. He wasn't legally old enough to drink (and he wasn't sure, but he doubted Moxley was old enough to drink either) but no one even asked for ID. He got a beer and took small sips from it. Mikael Judas found a girl he knew from somewhere and told Tyler, "Hey, don't wait up for me. I'm going home with Conchetta tonight."

Tyler didn't really care one way or another what Mikael got up to with Conchetta, but he was concerned at how shit-faced Luke became. Luke swayed on his bar stool, too drunk to even sit straight. He couldn't find Moxley anywhere, so Tyler decided to take Luke home himself. "C'mon Luke," he said, throwing one of the older man's arms over his shoulder. "Let's go, I'm taking you home. Damn, you smell like an whorehouse bathroom."

Luke tried to protest, but he was so drunk that he couldn't make sense. Tyler dug through his pockets and found Luke's wallet and keys. He threw some money on the bar to pay for the drinks, then carried Luke out to the car and tossed him in the backseat. He wasn't sure where Luke lived, and Luke was too out of it to give directions, so he just took him back to the office. Fortunately, one of Luke's keys opened the office door, and Luke passed out sitting upright in one of his chairs. Not ideal, but he'd live, so Tyler decided to go back and see if he could find Moxley.

He drove back to the bar down the dark streets. Some of the street lights were broken or flickering, so Tyler drove slowly, watching the road to make sure no one darted out in front of him. His lights illuminated a figure up ahead. The figure was male, and the way he held himself, the way he walked... Tyler knew immediately that he was Jon Moxley. He pulled up alongside Moxley and rolled down the window. "Hey, going my way?"

Moxley turned and glared at him, and Tyler was shocked to see a purple bruise around Moxley's eye. He knew that hadn't happened during their match. "What the hell happened to you?" Tyler asked him.

"What the hell does it look like?" Moxley took a drag from his cigarette. "I got punched in the fucking face over a girl I didn't even want. And was anyone there to back me up? Do you think someone stood up for me and had my back? Hell no. You were gone. Mikael was gone. Luke was gone. I had to get the hell out of there on my own."

Now Tyler felt like shit. "I'm sorry. I was taking Luke home before he crashed and killed someone. Please, get in the car."

Moxley flipped him off.

Tyler sighed. "Please. C'mon, Jon. Let me drive you home. We'll put some ice on your eye."

Moxley stopped in his tracks. Tyler had to hit the brakes to keep from driving past him. Moxley's shoulders hunched, and Tyler got the impression he was fighting with himself over what he wanted to do. Finally, he stormed around to the other side of the car and got in. "I don't want to go back there yet," he told Tyler. "Keep going straight and then take the next right."

"Where are we going?" Tyler asked. He was a little afraid Moxley was leading him to a dark alley to beat his brains in.

"You'll see." Moxley held his beer bottle to his eye.

They drove a little way to a coastal road. It was now very early in the morning, and the pitch black was giving way to wispy shades of grey at the horizon. After awhile, Tyler tried to get Moxley to talk to him. "What brought you to IWA Puerto Rico?" he asked.

Moxley whipped his head around to him, the look in his eyes almost betrayed. Tyler wondered what he had said wrong. "What do you think?" he spat. "I chased my broken dreams right here, to this dead end fucking island. That's how I ended up here."

"This isn't a dead end," Tyler protested, referring to both the island and IWA Puerto Rico. Lots of guys got scouted right out of Puerto Rico. To a boy from Iowa, the island itself was beautiful - blue skies, the deep and mysterious ocean - maybe he just hadn't seen much of the world, but it seemed to Tyler Black that a guy could do a lot worse.

Puerto Rico was the first real money Jon Moxley had ever made, in or out of wrestling. He'd gotten there with nothing, and four months later, he still had little to show for it, but by Moxley's standards he was a fucking rock star. He had a roof over his head, meals, a gym across the street, and all the chicks, booze, and somas he could handle. He fucked the girls on his mattress on the floor and got wasted and fucked up almost nightly with Mikael, and if he was hollow inside when he woke up in the morning, it wasn't like he'd ever known anything else.

He was a dirty fucking guy in a dirty fucking industry, and that's how he knew Tyler Black was going to wash out of IWA Puerto Rico. Black was, like, beautiful. You weren't supposed to call other guys beautiful, but Moxley couldn't think of a word that captured what Black had going for him. He was beautiful the way girls were beautiful. Clean. He smelled good. He wasn't covered in barbwire scars. Tyler Black was going to leave this slum, get signed to a real contract and get put on TV so everyone could look at him.

"Back in Cincinnati, I came from the gutter, as low down as you can possibly get," Moxley said. "No one cares about me except for me. No one ever fought my battles for me. That's what the streets taught me." He grimaced. "But I can hit hard and I can take hits. And when you're a dirty fucking screwup with those particular skills, the only place for you is here, in the gutter where you belong." Fuck, and no one would ever let him forget it, would they? No, Jon Moxley wasn't allowed to forget for one second, not for one second, that he was trash, born to trash, and to the gutter he would go. He couldn't forget, not when someone like Tyler Black could walk into his life with his perfect smile and perfect moves and hammer the point home with his mere existence. "So they pay me, and they feed me, and I have to be grateful for even that."

Tyler Black seemed to think over what he'd said. "Maybe you came from nothing, Jon, but that doesn't make you a screwup. You're making money, living in a beautiful island paradise. A lot of guys would kill to be in your shoes." Tyler said, as they pulled over on the shoulder of the road, overlooking the sea. The rising sun stained the sky vibrant colors.

Dean snorted. "Island paradise. Yeah, right. This whole island is just one big crackden. Slums and sluts and dealers." He flicked his cigarette butt out the window. "You see something in this place, something beautiful about it. I don't fucking know what."

Tyler killed the engine, took off his seatbelt, and leaned back. Moxley thought he was looking out at the ocean, but when he glanced over at him, Tyler's eyes were fixed on him. Their gazes met and held. "You keep calling me by my first name," Moxley said. His voice was softer than he'd meant for it to be. He'd meant to sound annoyed. Remind Black that they weren't friends and to stop taking liberties. But he wasn't angry, not really; he liked the way Black said his name.

"You can call me by mine, if you'd like," Black told him. He shifted a little closer, as though Moxley was going to whisper it into his ear. Instead, Moxley sat his beer on the floorboard and reached out, grasping Black by his collar. Black inhaled, steeling himself for a fight. Jon leaned forward, brushing lips over Tyler's, just close enough to feel his warmth, not quite a proper kiss. Unbelievably, Tyler's mouth sought his, touching Jon's lips so gently. Asking for permission. His heart leaped in his chest. Jon shoved Tyler back, then yanked the car door open and jumped out. He couldn't breathe. Tyler called out his name, and Jon was dimly aware of the car door slamming as Tyler ran after him. He ran down the shoulder of the road, into the brush, towards the ocean. He didn't know what he was going to do - maybe throw himself in there. He stopped short, and Tyler stopped as well, hanging back a few feet, giving him some room.

Moxley forced himself to laugh, spinning on his heels. "What do you want from me? Huh?" He kicked some sand at Tyler. "You wanna play games, is that it? Well, keep playing. Go ahead, Tyler, keep playing with me! You wanna see what will happen?" He smacked his palm against the side of his head. "You wanna see how crazy Mox is? Keep playing."

"I'm not playing with you," Tyler said. Fuck him, he sounded so sincere. He held out his hand. "Jon, please take my hand. Take my hand, and let's go back to the car."

Moxley looked out into the ocean. The waves rolled ashore, smoothing down the sand at his feet. The ocean was merciless and unfathomable. He could live without mercy. He'd never known anything else. He looked back at Tyler. The hand was still there. The offer was still there. Hesitantly, Jon reached out to him. Tyler's hand gently curled around his own, not clinging to him, not pulling at him. Jon stepped towards him, and somehow, his other arm circled Tyler's torso. He panted wildly. How could this guy do this to him? Tyler led him back up the slope to the car. They climbed in the backseat instead of getting back in the front. Now, it was Tyler's turn to wrap his arm around Jon, hold him close. Tyler's nose rested next to Jon's ear, so that Jon could feel and hear him breathing. His own breathing began evening out. Tyler dropped his head just enough to lay a kiss against Jon's neck. Actual shivers ran up and down Jon's body. He wanted to bite Tyler's lips off. He wanted to turn him inside out, fuck him raw, ruin his beauty so that no one else could ever enjoy it ever again. Instead, he shifted just enough that their mouths could meet again, with a little more force. Tyler's taste flooded his mouth. Whining into the kiss, Jon caught a handful of Tyler's hair, pulling him closer. The crashing waves murmured to them. One of Jon's hands lay on Tyler's chest, right over his heart, feeling the crazed beating all at odds with Tyler's slow, deliberate moves.

They lay down across the backseat, wiggling out of their pants. Fortunately, the place Jon had guided them to was fairly out of the way, and this early in the morning no one was on the road yet. Tyler dripped kisses into his mouth as Jon moved against him, thrusting into Tyler's hands, striving towards completion. Tyler's own hardness, poking into Jon's thigh, felt incredible. This was better than any high Jon had ever had. He threw his head back, crying out. Tyler's hands steadied him as he thrust against Jon, and the both of them came in their own underwear. Tyler shook with the force of his orgasm. His eyes were wide open, dark and unfocused. "Fuck," moaned Jon, letting his head loll back against the seat. "Fuck, Tyler."

"Are you always like this?" Tyler asked him.

"You started this between us," Jon reminded him. He stood up and began pacing back and forth before the couch. "I could've left this thing between us alone. But you wouldn't let me. You came after me. There's no going back now. I'm going to have your mouth and your hands and your body, and you're gonna give it all up to me. Got it?" The look in his eyes was wild. It took Tyler's breath away. Moxley really was like an animal, ruled by passions and hunger, fighting for everything. Fighting against everyone.

Tyler rose to his feet. "You're talking like you're gonna top. I don't remember making any deals about that with you." He couldn't help but laugh at the look on Jon's face. "I'll tell you what - let's wrestle for it. Whoever scores a threecount or submission, tops." He watched a thousand emotions cross Jon's face - Jon was intrigued by the deal but wary. Like he thought Tyler was trying to pull something on him. Tyler had no plans to back out of this. He'd had just a taste of Jon in the car earlier that morning. He wanted more, much more.

"Deal." Jon stalked towards the bedroom, spinning around on his heel after a moment. "You coming or not?"

Jon and Mikael's bedroom was small, hot, and mostly bare. Aside from the two mattresses, there was a small end table piled with miscellaneous items, and a couple boxes on the floor. There was a large, open window, covered by a sheer piece of fabric nailed to the windowframe as a makeshift curtain, leading to a small balcony outside. The doorframe was somewhat busted; someone had kicked the door open at some point, leaving it unable to lock. If Mikael came home, he could walk in on them. The thought sent a thrill down Tyler's spine. Tyler was surprised that the cleaner of the two mattresses turned out to belong to Jon, and felt shitty for assuming otherwise. Jon pushed the mattresses back a little, leaving enough open space for them to wrestle. They stared each other down.

"On my mark, get set -" Tyler said, only for Jon to spring at him. Catching Tyler off guard, Jon slung him to the floor, his hands scrabbling to lock in a submission hold. Tyler nimbly countered, using Jon's own weight against him. Without the ring, he couldn't use any of his high-flying moves, but he had more than enough tricks up his sleeve. They locked up, Jon using his bulk to push Tyler back. The fight quickly went to the ground. Tyler almost had a hold locked in, getting ready to make Jon tap out, when Jon suddenly flipped him over, end over end, holding his legs and pinning him to the floor.

"One, two, three," counted Jon. He sat up, grasped Tyler by the hair, and drug him up to eye level. "I win." He smirked wickedly. Tightening his grip on Tyler's hair, Jon reached down with his other hand and palmed Tyler through his shorts, feeling how hard he was already. "Unless... you wanted to lose. Is that it? Do you want to get fucked?"

Panting, Tyler arched into Jon's touch. He needed more - more stimulation, more friction, more everything. He thought Jon would kiss him, but instead Jon caught and held him under the chin and licked a stripe from the corner of Tyler's mouth almost to his ear. Tyler jerked in his grip, freaking out a little at how weird it was, and Jon growled low in his throat. The rumble made Tyler shake, but not from fear. Jon bit down on the shell of Tyler's ear, delicately, just hard enough to send a jolt of pain racing down Tyler's spine.

Jon released his head, only to put the heel of his hand to the back of Tyler's neck, and shoved him onto the mattress. Tyler rolled onto his back, only for Jon to straddle him, weighing him down, and begin working at Tyler's jeans. Their eyes locked, and as every button gave way, the look in Jon's eyes seemed to get more and more wicked. Reaching up, Tyler unbuckled Jon's belt for him, enjoying the feel of the old leather in his hands, the hiss as the belt slid free of Jon's jeans. Every one of Tyler's senses felt heightened. His hand brushed against the bulge in Jon's jeans, liking the little hitch in Jon's breath as he applied some pressure. In a single, fluid movement, Jon lept off him, grasping the hem of Tyler's jeans and yanking them off Tyler's body. He flung the jeans aside, and then shed his own. Tyler let out a low whistle at the sight. "Commando? Nice."

Tyler lifted his hips and wiggled out of his own boxers. He didn't really intend for it to be sexy, but the heat in Jon's gaze let him know that the sight was appreciated. Jon dropped to his knees on the edge of the mattress, elbowing Tyler's legs apart so he could get a better look.

"Jesus fuck," said Jon. His gaze raked from Tyler's face, to his lips, then down his chest, lingering over his hard body, to between his legs. His hand brushed along the inside of Tyler's leg, up to his groin. Jon's fingers moved in slow, agonizing, delicious circles right at the edge of his groin. His cock stood ready, laying against his belly. "You're a work of art," Jon said.

Of all things, that made Tyler blush. "Not too bad yourself," Tyler told him, unabashedly taking in the sight of Jon's naked body. Jon was hairier than Tyler, and a trail of fine blond hair led down his body, to the junction of his thighs. He remembered the feeling of Jon's cock in his hand from early that morning. Now Jon's cock looked rock-hard, thick, and ready. Tyler went to reach for it, only for Jon to bat his hand away.

"Not now," Jon said. "I want to fuck your ass." He was so blunt that Tyler was a little taken aback by it. He wondered what would happen if he said 'no' to Jon. He decided not to press his luck.

He tried teasing Jon instead. "Are you gonna do it right? Huh, Moxley?" Tyler bit his bottom lip and raised his eyebrows.

Jon inhaled deeply, and breathed out the words, "I wanna destroy you." He grabbed hold of Tyler, manhandling him into position. Legs spread, ass up, face down. Tyler heard a rustling sound, and the click of a bottle being opened. He prayed for it to be lube. Jon grasped one of his ass cheeks slipped a slick finger between Tyler's cheeks, beginning a slow circling of his hole. Tyler exhaled in relief. Of course Moxley had lube at hand; he seemed like the kind of guy who would. Without warning, the finger slid into him, deep, up to the knuckle. Tyler yelped a little in surprise, earning a slap on the ass.

"Shut up before the neighbors hear you," Jon warned him. He began ruthlessly fucking Tyler's hole, introducing a second and then a third finger. Too fast and too hard. Tyler tried to muffle his whines in the bedsheets. This was much hotter than it had any right to be. He could almost feel how impatient Jon was to fuck him, feel him vibrating behind him, the neediness as his fingers thrust in and out of Tyler. The mattress shifted under Jon's weight. He rose up, placed a knee in the crook of Tyler's leg, pinning him down. He braced himself with his free hand on the small of Tyler's back, forcing his face further into the mattress. Jon's fingers slipped out of Tyler's hole, and Tyler panted, desperately trying not to tense up. Jon lined himself up at Tyler's entrance, muttering low under his breath - things Tyler couldn't hear - things that sounded filthy. Like he was chanting to himself. Jon took Tyler by the hips and rammed forward.

Tyler's heart pounded in his ears. Jon was fucking the air right out of him. He wondered for the first time just what he'd gotten himself into. His hands clawed for purchase on the mattress as he tried to press back against Jon's onslaught. The breathy, raspy noises pouring out of Jon's mouth reminded him of the noises Jon made while wrestling - somehow, Tyler got harder at that thought.

Above Tyler, Jon was in heaven. If he'd idly wondered before if Tyler was a virgin, at least with guys, the thought was laid to rest. Tyler definitely knew his way around a ring and a mattress. Jon wanted to show this pretty boy slut what he was made of, but he was well on his way to an embarrassingly quick orgasm. It took all his willpower to pull out of him. Jon wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, trying to hold off. Beneath him, Tyler took the opportunity to reach between his legs and start jacking himself off. Jon leaned back a bit so he could see Tyler's heavy balls swinging between his legs, his hard cock, begging for some attention. He lubed up his cock and then used his slick thumb to tease at Tyler's hole again, caress the pucker, before reaching a little lower and cupping his balls.

"Oh god, oh fuck," whispered Tyler. He began jacking himself off faster.

Jon chuckled darkly. He liked being Tyler's undoing. He wondered if he could get Tyler off just with his cock, fuck him until he was coming his brains out. He'd love to see that. He parted Tyler's ass cheeks again, slipping back inside him and trying a series of hard, slow thrusts. He watched as Tyler's face screwed up, his eyes shut tightly, his lips parted as he tried to breathe through it. Forgetting his impulse to fuck Tyler to completion, Jon reached around and fisted Tyler's cock.

"You like that? My hand on you? My cock in your ass?" He thrust even harder, forcing the air out of Tyler's lungs. With most of Jon's body weight bearing down on him, his cock pounding Tyler's ass, and his hand pumping Tyler's dick, it was a wonder that Tyler hadn't crumpled. He was strong.

"Oh yes, fuck..." Tyler gasped, and his body tensed. "I'm - I'm -" Before he could say any more, he came in Jon's hand, wailing, thrashing his head. Jon kept pumping him, wringing him for what he was worth. Tyler looked more beautiful than ever like this, destroyed, face down in Jon's bed, Jon's cock still pounding his ass as he shook through his orgasm. Seizing Tyler by the hips again, Jon gave him several more punishing thrusts, then dragged his nails all the way down Tyler's back, from the nape of his neck to the crack of his ass, the shout as he orgasmed drowning out Tyler's cry of pain. Finished, Jon pulled out of him, letting Tyler slump onto the bed. He sat back on his heels, sucking in lungfuls of the humid, tropical air. Sweat dripped down Jon's body. Tyler glistened, the red scratch marks down his back standing out sharply against his brown skin. Jon hungrily looked him over. No one should look as gorgeous as Tyler did, fucked out, shaking from pleasure and pain.

Tyler wiped his face with the corner of one of Jon's bedsheets. He rolled onto his side, his dark eyes staring up at Jon. "I thought you were gonna kill me," he said softly.

"Did I fuck you right?"

"Yeah." Tyler wiped sweat from his brow. "Yeah, you did. Goddamn. I don't think I've ever had it like that."

Jon got to his feet, looming over the bed. "Don't think I'm finished with you," he told Tyler. "I haven't got half of what I want out of you. Before this is done, I'm gonna destroy you. Ruin you. You'll never get this from anyone else." He widened his eyes. "Believe me."

Tyler tipped his head back against the mattress. "I can't wait."

They both took showers, seperately. Tyler wasn't sure he was up for round two so quickly. The fresh scratch marks on his back ached in the shower, and his ass and hips felt sore as hell. There had been a moment, right before he came, when he had thought Jon was about to fuck the life out of him. He grunted as he tugged at his own dick under the shower spray. He'd come so hard that the world whited out for a single, blissful second. Such a turn-on thinking that Mikael was going to walk in on them, or that a neighbor might hear or see them out the open window. Tyler was a sense freak, always had been. Nothing was ever enough for him. For the first time, he was unsure if he could handle what he'd gotten himself into, and that made him wildly excited. Whatever this thing was, he wanted to ride it out to the end. He came against the shower wall, then rinsed off and got out. He put on his gym shorts and gingerly walked into the living room to find Jon waiting for him in the kitchenette.

Jon had slicked back his own freshly-washed hair. While Tyler was in the shower, he'd left and brought back a plastic bag filled with colorful fruit. "I, uh, didn't know what you'd want," Jon told him. "So I just bought some of everything." The bag was filled with bananas, papaya, passionfruit, mangoes, and a few others Tyler didn't recognize. He took out a passionfruit and sliced it open, scooping out a mouthful of the juicy seeds. He smiled up at Jon gratefully.

Jon reached up to brush a drop of juice from Tyler's lip. He sucked the drop off his fingertip, then took out one of the larger green fruits and peeled it. "They call this a corazon here," Jon said. "I don't think there's a word for it in English. Anyway, its my favorite." He bit into the flesh of the corazon, his eyes closing in rapture. "I love it. The only good thing about this fucking hellhole is the fruit. Something is always in season."

Tyler caught his hand by the wrist, pulling Jon in a little closer. Jon's eyes slid open, and the wariness was back. Did this guy ever relax? Tyler guessed not. He smiled his most disarming smile and leaned in, planting a kiss on Jon's lips. He pulled back, sucking his own bottom lip into his mouth. "Delicious," said Tyler appreciatively.