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.
The the sound of laughter floated up the creaky stairs into the ramshackle apartment over the IWA Puerto Rico headquarters. Booming laughter, recognizable as Mikael Judas, followed by a woman's higher-pitched, tinkling laughter. Mikael was back, and he'd brought female company. Jon and Tyler wiped at their faces, sticky with the juices of exotic fruits, before ambling into the living room.
Mikael had already climbed through the window and was helping his female companion through; no easy feat considering the high-heels she wore. Finally, she fell into his arms, giggling as Mikael tried to set her upright. "Hey, guys," Mikael said, twirling the girl in an imitation of a salsa move. "This is Connie, she'll be staying over tonight."
"Hi," said Connie, barely even glancing at Jon or Tyler. Her attention was entirely focused on Mikael. Jon glared holes in their backs as Mikael led her to the bedroom. He and Mike brought over girls all the time, but they never spent the night. Judging from the size of the overnight bag this Connie chick wore over her arm, she might be planning to move in the fucking place.
"Fuck," muttered Jon, pulling out a cigarette and climbing through the living room window, out onto the balcony. The balcony overlooking the street was warped, sagging in the middle, and the paint had long since been blasted off by the tropical storms and the sun. But he hadn't put a foot through it yet, so as far as Jon was concerned it was safe to stand on. He leaned against the railing, took a long drag off the cigarette, and listened to the song of the coqui frogs. The restlessness was in him again; everything agitated him, and that was not a good thing for anyone who happened to be in the vicinity of Jon Moxley. He watched the glowing core of his cigarette as it burned down towards his fingers. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to fight or fuck. He needed to get that restlessness out, and if he had his way, he'd drag Tyler back into the bedroom and fuck him again, fuck him so that Jon's sheets smelled like Tyler's cum and sweat. Mike was probably balls deep in that slut he'd brought home, so that idea was out.
The window squeaked as it opened behind him, and Jon didn't need to turn around to know that Tyler was coming out to join him. He felt like he could recognize Tyler from the rhythm of his breathing. Tyler set a cold beer on the wooden railing in front of him. Surprised, Jon looked up at him. Tyler was staring off into the evening, his cloud of dark hair framing his face. "Thanks," mumbled Jon, as he reached up to take the beer. Their fingers brushed; it was ridiculous that such a simple touch could make his heartbeat speed up, when he'd been coming in the guy's ass not an hour ago.
"So," said Tyler, as he came to lean against the railing next to him. Jon tensed up. This was it, time for the awkward, 'I've known you for 48 hours and we jacked each other off and had a skanky hookup on your mattress on the floor' talk. He couldn't believe it when Tyler went on and said, "Still think I won't last the week?"
Jon coughed, trying to play it off like it was the cigarette's fault. "This place, it eats people alive. Your skills, your youth, your heart... doesn't matter here. The truth is a sledgehammer to the face, ain't it? Whatever your vice is, Puerto Rico will bring out the worst in you. Sex, booze, blow. It'll swallow you up. Promises mean nothing to these people. And in the end, you'll just be another anonymous face. Another warm body." He flicked his dying cigarette over the edge of the railing.
Tyler's gorgeous mouth curved in a smile. "I intend to leave a hell of a mark, Jon."
Despite himself, Jon kind of liked that Tyler was such an arrogant asshole. He hadn't thought at first that he'd be so fearless. Tyler set off down the steps. "Where you going?" Jon called after him.
Tyler paused when he reached the street. He looked back up at Jon, and the last dying rays of the setting sun caught his face and illuminated him. He glowed as if from within. "Someone told me the piña colada was invented here. I'm gonna go find one. You wanna come with me?" Without waiting for an answer, Tyler started backing away, edging out of Jon's line of sight. Like he just knew that Jon would come after him.
"God fucking damn it!" Jon grabbed his beer and ran down the stairs.
Tyler didn't know where he was going; he just picked a direction and went where his gut told him to go. Jon followed him, silent so far. Tyler glanced back at him from time to time, like Orpheus making sure Eurydice was following him out of hell. They descended down uneven steps, past little cinder-block houses and apartment buildings painted red, yellow, blue, colors no one in Iowa would ever paint their house. Bars on the doors and windows, bars on the patios, giving the impression that the houses were birdcages. Music drifted up to greet them, and they rounded a corner to find a small block party: locals dancing in the street, men banging away on drums, girls twirling, everyone laughing and hooting and waving their hands in the air. A young woman with a wild afro ran over and took Tyler by the hand, pulling him in to dance.
Tyler looked behind him to see Jon hanging back, leaning against a chain-link fence at the other end of the alley. He watched Tyler through that fringe of hair, fingering his cigarette. Tyler twirled the girl, cheered her on as she shook her ass, but stood back and let another man dance off with her. He paused to speak to an older man who was minding the drink cooler, and gratefully accepted a pair of cups from him. He pushed his way through the crowd towards Jon, smiling ear to ear.
Jon didn't want to look at him. "You were having fun, go dance," he said, trying to wave away the cup Tyler offered to him. He viciously stubbed out his cigarette against a fence post.
"See that guy over there?" Tyler nodded towards the older man he'd been talking with. "This is his party. His son got into the Marines, and they're celebrating. And he was nice enough to fix a couple of americanos like us real Puerto Rican piña coladas." He raised his eyebrows at Jon. "Are you gonna break that old man's heart and turn down his piña colada?"
"Gimme that," said Jon, taking one of the cups from him.
"Great," laughed Tyler. "I thought I was gonna have to drink both of them. I'd probably get so smashed you'd have to carry me home."
Jon peered at him from over the rim of the cup. "I could carry you."
"You wouldn't leave my drunk ass passed out on the street?"
"Your pretty ass wouldn't last ten minutes out here on the streets," Jon told him. He licked his lips. They finished their drinks and then Tyler coaxed Jon into joining the party. The locals didn't speak much English, but the drums were so loud that it didn't matter. Neither Jon nor Tyler really knew anything about salsa, but a couple of the girls helped them through a few steps. Tyler's partner boldly caressed his abdomen and chest, before somehow turning the grope into a dance move by grabbing his hand and getting him to spin her like a top. Someone cut in on them, and the crush of people pushed Tyler into the core of the party. Large hands linked around his waist, and he turned to find himself in Jon Moxley's arms. In the middle of the crowd, they were pushed so close together that no one else noticed. They couldn't talk, but Tyler could feel Jon's breath brush his face, the warmth of his hands on his body, and he imagined that he could feel Jon's pulse beating in time with the drums. They danced together for only a few seconds until the song ended and they had to break apart. Something twisted inside Tyler's chest. He desperately wanted to know what Jon tasted like right now... if he kissed him, would he taste like the piña colada? He didn't dare do something like that. Not here, not now.
He led Jon over to the old man and they thanked him for letting them join in his party. They went back the way they'd came, stumbling a little on the uneven pavement. Tyler had always had a good sense of direction, and they made it back to their apartment without incident. Instead of heading up, Jon sat down on the bottom step, seemingly amused by Tyler's frustration.
"C'mon, Jon, what is your problem? We have work tomorrow, we need some sleep."
"Yeah, about that." Jon's voice was raspy and pitchy, and his accent seemed stronger. He was a bit drunk for sure. "Don't think this means I'll go easy on you in the ring. Never gonna happen."
Tyler loomed over him, resting a hand on Jon's head and putting just enough pressure into it to make Jon's head tip back. "I will never ask you to go easy on me. I want everything you've got."
Jon pushed back, climbing to his feet. He grabbed Tyler by the hair and pulled him closer. "You think you can handle me. You all think you can handle me." He shook his head. "You don't know what you're playing with. I'll burn you alive. Consume you. Is that what you want? Total destruction? Think about it, Tyler." He pulled Tyler further into the shadows and kissed him, biting at his lips. Tyler moaned, overcome with sensation. He felt like Jon might fuck him right there on the stairs, in full view of anyone who might walk by, and if he did, Tyler didn't think he could stop him. Instead, Jon shoved him away, then took off up the stairs. Tyler followed after him, a little unsteady on his feet. Jon was so abrupt, unpredictable, like he might lose control of his body at any moment. Tyler wasn't sure from one moment to the next if Jon wanted to fuck or fight or run from him.
He climbed in through the window to find Jon standing in the doorway of his bedroom. All was silent; Mikael and Conchetta must be asleep. The headlights from passing cars threw strange shadows across the walls. For a split second, Tyler could see Jon's face; he looked like a man at war with himself. Finally, Jon disappeared into the bedroom. Tyler threw himself on the couch and prayed for morning.
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.
The the sound of laughter floated up the creaky stairs into the ramshackle apartment over the IWA Puerto Rico headquarters. Booming laughter, recognizable as Mikael Judas, followed by a woman's higher-pitched, tinkling laughter. Mikael was back, and he'd brought female company. Jon and Tyler wiped at their faces, sticky with the juices of exotic fruits, before ambling into the living room.
Mikael had already climbed through the window and was helping his female companion through; no easy feat considering the high-heels she wore. Finally, she fell into his arms, giggling as Mikael tried to set her upright. "Hey, guys," Mikael said, twirling the girl in an imitation of a salsa move. "This is Connie, she'll be staying over tonight."
"Hi," said Connie, barely even glancing at Jon or Tyler. Her attention was entirely focused on Mikael. Jon glared holes in their backs as Mikael led her to the bedroom. He and Mike brought over girls all the time, but they never spent the night. Judging from the size of the overnight bag this Connie chick wore over her arm, she might be planning to move in the fucking place.
"Fuck," muttered Jon, pulling out a cigarette and climbing through the living room window, out onto the balcony. The balcony overlooking the street was warped, sagging in the middle, and the paint had long since been blasted off by the tropical storms and the sun. But he hadn't put a foot through it yet, so as far as Jon was concerned it was safe to stand on. He leaned against the railing, took a long drag off the cigarette, and listened to the song of the coqui frogs. The restlessness was in him again; everything agitated him, and that was not a good thing for anyone who happened to be in the vicinity of Jon Moxley. He watched the glowing core of his cigarette as it burned down towards his fingers. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to fight or fuck. He needed to get that restlessness out, and if he had his way, he'd drag Tyler back into the bedroom and fuck him again, fuck him so that Jon's sheets smelled like Tyler's cum and sweat. Mike was probably balls deep in that slut he'd brought home, so that idea was out.
The window squeaked as it opened behind him, and Jon didn't need to turn around to know that Tyler was coming out to join him. He felt like he could recognize Tyler from the rhythm of his breathing. Tyler set a cold beer on the wooden railing in front of him. Surprised, Jon looked up at him. Tyler was staring off into the evening, his cloud of dark hair framing his face. "Thanks," mumbled Jon, as he reached up to take the beer. Their fingers brushed; it was ridiculous that such a simple touch could make his heartbeat speed up, when he'd been coming in the guy's ass not an hour ago.
"So," said Tyler, as he came to lean against the railing next to him. Jon tensed up. This was it, time for the awkward, 'I've known you for 48 hours and we jacked each other off and had a skanky hookup on your mattress on the floor' talk. He couldn't believe it when Tyler went on and said, "Still think I won't last the week?"
Jon coughed, trying to play it off like it was the cigarette's fault. "This place, it eats people alive. Your skills, your youth, your heart... doesn't matter here. The truth is a sledgehammer to the face, ain't it? Whatever your vice is, Puerto Rico will bring out the worst in you. Sex, booze, blow. It'll swallow you up. Promises mean nothing to these people. And in the end, you'll just be another anonymous face. Another warm body." He flicked his dying cigarette over the edge of the railing.
Tyler's gorgeous mouth curved in a smile. "I intend to leave a hell of a mark, Jon."
Despite himself, Jon kind of liked that Tyler was such an arrogant asshole. He hadn't thought at first that he'd be so fearless. Tyler set off down the steps. "Where you going?" Jon called after him.
Tyler paused when he reached the street. He looked back up at Jon, and the last dying rays of the setting sun caught his face and illuminated him. He glowed as if from within. "Someone told me the piña colada was invented here. I'm gonna go find one. You wanna come with me?" Without waiting for an answer, Tyler started backing away, edging out of Jon's line of sight. Like he just knew that Jon would come after him.
"God fucking damn it!" Jon grabbed his beer and ran down the stairs.
Tyler didn't know where he was going; he just picked a direction and went where his gut told him to go. Jon followed him, silent so far. Tyler glanced back at him from time to time, like Orpheus making sure Eurydice was following him out of hell. They descended down uneven steps, past little cinder-block houses and apartment buildings painted red, yellow, blue, colors no one in Iowa would ever paint their house. Bars on the doors and windows, bars on the patios, giving the impression that the houses were birdcages. Music drifted up to greet them, and they rounded a corner to find a small block party: locals dancing in the street, men banging away on drums, girls twirling, everyone laughing and hooting and waving their hands in the air. A young woman with a wild afro ran over and took Tyler by the hand, pulling him in to dance.
Tyler looked behind him to see Jon hanging back, leaning against a chain-link fence at the other end of the alley. He watched Tyler through that fringe of hair, fingering his cigarette. Tyler twirled the girl, cheered her on as she shook her ass, but stood back and let another man dance off with her. He paused to speak to an older man who was minding the drink cooler, and gratefully accepted a pair of cups from him. He pushed his way through the crowd towards Jon, smiling ear to ear.
Jon didn't want to look at him. "You were having fun, go dance," he said, trying to wave away the cup Tyler offered to him. He viciously stubbed out his cigarette against a fence post.
"See that guy over there?" Tyler nodded towards the older man he'd been talking with. "This is his party. His son got into the Marines, and they're celebrating. And he was nice enough to fix a couple of americanos like us real Puerto Rican piña coladas." He raised his eyebrows at Jon. "Are you gonna break that old man's heart and turn down his piña colada?"
"Gimme that," said Jon, taking one of the cups from him.
"Great," laughed Tyler. "I thought I was gonna have to drink both of them. I'd probably get so smashed you'd have to carry me home."
Jon peered at him from over the rim of the cup. "I could carry you."
"You wouldn't leave my drunk ass passed out on the street?"
"Your pretty ass wouldn't last ten minutes out here on the streets," Jon told him. He licked his lips. They finished their drinks and then Tyler coaxed Jon into joining the party. The locals didn't speak much English, but the drums were so loud that it didn't matter. Neither Jon nor Tyler really knew anything about salsa, but a couple of the girls helped them through a few steps. Tyler's partner boldly caressed his abdomen and chest, before somehow turning the grope into a dance move by grabbing his hand and getting him to spin her like a top. Someone cut in on them, and the crush of people pushed Tyler into the core of the party. Large hands linked around his waist, and he turned to find himself in Jon Moxley's arms. In the middle of the crowd, they were pushed so close together that no one else noticed. They couldn't talk, but Tyler could feel Jon's breath brush his face, the warmth of his hands on his body, and he imagined that he could feel Jon's pulse beating in time with the drums. They danced together for only a few seconds until the song ended and they had to break apart. Something twisted inside Tyler's chest. He desperately wanted to know what Jon tasted like right now... if he kissed him, would he taste like the piña colada? He didn't dare do something like that. Not here, not now.
He led Jon over to the old man and they thanked him for letting them join in his party. They went back the way they'd came, stumbling a little on the uneven pavement. Tyler had always had a good sense of direction, and they made it back to their apartment without incident. Instead of heading up, Jon sat down on the bottom step, seemingly amused by Tyler's frustration.
"C'mon, Jon, what is your problem? We have work tomorrow, we need some sleep."
"Yeah, about that." Jon's voice was raspy and pitchy, and his accent seemed stronger. He was a bit drunk for sure. "Don't think this means I'll go easy on you in the ring. Never gonna happen."
Tyler loomed over him, resting a hand on Jon's head and putting just enough pressure into it to make Jon's head tip back. "I will never ask you to go easy on me. I want everything you've got."
Jon pushed back, climbing to his feet. He grabbed Tyler by the hair and pulled him closer. "You think you can handle me. You all think you can handle me." He shook his head. "You don't know what you're playing with. I'll burn you alive. Consume you. Is that what you want? Total destruction? Think about it, Tyler." He pulled Tyler further into the shadows and kissed him, biting at his lips. Tyler moaned, overcome with sensation. He felt like Jon might fuck him right there on the stairs, in full view of anyone who might walk by, and if he did, Tyler didn't think he could stop him. Instead, Jon shoved him away, then took off up the stairs. Tyler followed after him, a little unsteady on his feet. Jon was so abrupt, unpredictable, like he might lose control of his body at any moment. Tyler wasn't sure from one moment to the next if Jon wanted to fuck or fight or run from him.
He climbed in through the window to find Jon standing in the doorway of his bedroom. All was silent; Mikael and Conchetta must be asleep. The headlights from passing cars threw strange shadows across the walls. For a split second, Tyler could see Jon's face; he looked like a man at war with himself. Finally, Jon disappeared into the bedroom. Tyler threw himself on the couch and prayed for morning.
