Part of the shorts series. Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time.
This weekend, however, James was a little more restless then normal. He had done some searching, starting out a as a joke at first really, and found out a few things about is buddy, Kevin. Not creepy must call the cops right away, bad.... but definitely odd. Not necessarily normal. James wanted to know if it was true, and today was as good as any other day to find out. Without a word, James stood up, looked down at Kevin sprawled out on the couch, and lifted his shirt up. Not all the way mind you, just a bit to have the belly hang out. It was slow, deliberate, and with meaning still unknown. Kevin, for his part, didn’t stop him, he didn’t even flinch. Just rose a eyebrow and said nothing, waiting for what ever came next. Kevin probably thought it was some dumb joke that would make his eyes roll for days. With a sharp intake of air, and a almost malicious purpose on his face, James drew his fist back and sank it once into Kevin’s gut. Not hard enough to hurt, but not gentle either. James made sure Kevin would feel it. That's what he heard, or more like found out, Kevin was into that kind of thing.
Kevin exhaled through his nose, eyes half-closed. James watched Kevin's face for a second, look for his answer. Would Kevin be mad at the sudden attack? Would he flip out? Maybe at least anger of what James just did? But no, Kevin just leaned back against the couch cushion, arms loose at his sides, his stomach rising and falling. He as actually, relaxing? Accepting what just happened and expecting it to continue. It was the confirmation James was looking for, kinda hoped for, Kevin liked it. Wanted it... needed it?
“Don’t stop,”
James blinked for a moment, yep this was really happening. Without another though, James took to removing Kevin's shirt the reminder of the way off his body. This wasn't about undressing, or anything deeper or creepy like that, no, it was just more real this way, more primal, more manly. Like every fight scene in a 80's action move. With that done, James's knuckles sunk deep into Kevin’s gut, just below the ribs this time. The sound was dull, a thud swallowed by the room. James rolled his shoulders, getting into it now. He planted his feet, aimed lower, and drove another punch into Kevin’s stomach. Kevin’s body folded slightly with the impact, but he caught himself on the couch arm and sucked in air. There was a rhythm to it, a violent dance neither wanted to end. Fist after fist, after fist, thudding into Kevin’s midsection. Not fast, but Measured. Not hateful, but with care. This was a experience both were going to enjoy now. Kevin grunted with each blow, but never pulled away. His skin was starting to redden, a faint sheen of sweat building on his chest. The tattoos on his ribs shifted with each hit, almost like they were alive.
Grabbing Kevin by the shoulder, with a grip both firm and powerful, James turned Kevin slightly on the couch. He was moving him to a new position, a new angle to unleash upon. Kevin's chest rose and fell, slick with sweat, his body already bearing the marks of the evening, and definitely wanting more. James, shifted, moved with purpose, pressing his palm into a small part of Kevin’s back, anchoring him in place, holding him steady, bracing him. Everything was set, then of course, came the next punch. A solid thud echoed through the room as James’s fist drove into Kevin’s gut. Kevin grunted, his stomach and abs muscles flexing hard on impact. The couch gave a small creak beneath their weight, and the violence being explored. James drew his fist back again and fired another blow, this time lower, slower, driving inward like he was testing for structural failure. Kevin winced, his breath catching in his throat. Still, he stayed rooted, his muscles hard, his eyes locked forward in defiance. A third punch came fast, sharper now. It struck just above Kevin’s navel, and James could feel the resistance in Kevin’s core, the tension, the fight. But the next punch sank in deeper. A fourth. Then a fifth. The resistance started to give ever so slightly. Not a collapse, not yet. But it was a clear signal, James was getting threw. James’s jaw tightened. Something raw stirred in him. He wanted to find that line. To know where it was. He needed to see what Kevin could take.
So he kept going.
Punch after punch, his knuckles thudding wet against taut flesh. Kevin’s stomach, once stone like, began to ripple with each hit, the tension yielding millimeter by millimeter. The bruises were starting to form now. Nice, almost beautiful red, angry marks spreading across Kevin’s belly. The sound of each blow filled the room, mixing with the rhythmic creaking of the couch and the harsh breaths of both men. Kevin gritted his teeth, refusing to cry out. James stepped in closer, now driving his fists in with rhythm, left, right, left again. A heavy thud. A low groan. Kevin’s body jerked slightly, absorbing the blows, his stomach caving a bit more each time before springing back with stubborn resistance.
James’s arm was getting sore, but he didn’t care. He was locked in, heart pounding, focused entirely on the man before him. Kevin’s defiance was a challenge, and James had accepted. He was focused, he was detached. He wasn’t speaking. Wasn’t checking in. He wasn’t even thinking about what he was doing anymore. His body had taken over, fist, shoulder, breath, repeat. James adjusted his stance and resumed the assault. Another punch then another. It sank in low, just above Kevin’s belt line. The impact landed with a muffled thud, and Kevin’s midsection shifted, his body reacting automatically with a braced grunt. James’s hand slid up Kevin’s back again, securing the position, locking him in. Then came another hit. A sharp cross with his right, deeper this time. Flesh gave, muscle compressed. Kevin’s abs still resisted, still pushed back, but they were slower to rebound now. James didn’t let up. A left. A right. A heavy strike right under Kevin’s ribcage. Then two more, fast, right where the bruising had started to bloom. James rotated his shoulders. Let out a slow breath. Then drove his fist in again. Kevin jerked slightly. His eyes clenched tight for a second, but his arms stayed loose. James landed one more. Then another. Then a third in the exact same spot. A small wet sound escaped, air forced from Kevin’s lungs. James paused for half a beat, adjusting his hand on Kevin’s back. Kevin managed a look at James. It was a smile, it was dare, it was a demand to keep going. And so he continued. Quietly. Methodically.
He was going to find the limit, since still Kevin didn’t ask him to stop.
James drove a fist in deep, right above Kevin’s navel. Kevin let out a sharp grunt, doubling forward slightly before catching himself with one hand on James’s thigh. His fingers curled there, gripping for a moment, then released. James paused, breathing through his nose. His chest was rising and falling now too. He grabbed Kevin by the shoulders and shoved him upright again, standing over him. A meaty thud echoed in the apartment again, neither denying the enjoyment rising from it. With force maybe to rough, but not minded at all, James pulled Kevin up to his feet. The older man staggered for a second before squaring up, hands low, breathing hard. His gut was red and taut, rising and falling in shuddering waves. James stepped in close, chest to chest, and started working his belly like a heavy bag. The blows came fast, short, brutal, and precise. Each punch landed with a dull smack, flesh against flesh, driving deeper into Kevin’s core. Kevin grunted, then groaned. Sweat dripped down his sides in steady rivulets. His body jolted with every hit, each one digging past resistance, forcing out air, pushing him toward the edge.
But James kept going.
He dipped and delivered a uppercut straight into Kevin’s solar plexus. Kevin gasped, loud, sharp, involuntary. His knees dipped, but he didn’t fall. He leaned into James now, jaw tight, mouth parted. James didn’t give him space. Another hit, this one just left of center, angled and cruel. Kevin doubled over halfway, a rasp escaping his throat. Reaching down, James grabbed Kevin by the back of the neck, forced him upright and slammed a forearm into his belly, forcing him back against the wall. Kevin hit it with a grunt, arms splaying out slightly. James leaned in, his forearm pressing across Kevin’s chest to pin him like a slab of meat. He drew his other arm back and let loose. Kevin cried out this time, a low, deep sounds, full of grit. James hit the same spot again and again. Then yet another time, this one punching past the surface, into Kevin’s side like he was trying to break through to something inside. Kevin’s head snapped back, hitting the wall with a dull thud. His face twisted, sweat streaking down his temple. His stomach, what remained of his abs muscles were heaving now, red, splotched, visibly trembling with aftershock. James shifted his stance, braced his forearm harder across Kevin’s collarbone. Then came another punch, lower, crueler. Kevin let out a strangled grunt. Another punch. Another fist, deeper still. Kevin’s knees buckled just slightly. His lips parted. His eyes fluttered. A smile appeared broad on his face.
James hit him again, this time with everything, hips, shoulders, fist all aligned. Kevin's body bowed from the impact, his feet slipping slightly on the floor, the breath knocked out of him entirely. He didn’t make a sound for a second. Just stood there, swaying under the pressure. James held him up with one hand, his other fist cocked, ready again. Ready for the moment to strike again. Kevin’s stomach was twitching involuntarily now. Kevin's head rested against the wall, lips pressed together, the look in his eyes unreadable, equal parts pain and pure pleasure.
James stepped back just enough to let Kevin slide down the wall a few inches, then slammed a straight right into his gut, deep and punishing. Kevin jolted, a rasp of breath catching in his throat, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forced them open again. A hand from James went to Kevin's chest, holding him there, in place. A sharp blow came soon after, right to the dead center of Kevin's stomach. That produced a new type of grunt. James explored more, producing new tones, new hits. He dropped his aim, hammered a fist into Kevin’s lower abdomen, just above the belt line. Kevin’s knees buckled. He slid down the wall, the rest of the way, until he was on one knee, one hand gripping the floor for balance. Spit dangled from his lip, his mouth hanging open, sucking in what air he could.
But Kevin's eyes were wild now, lit with something fierce. “Come on,” he growled.
James grabbed him by the hair and yanked him back up, spinning him toward the couch. Kevin stumbled forward, landing face-first against the cushions, bent at the waist. James stepped behind him and fired a brutal hook into his side. Then another. More still. The sound was meatier now, flesh on flesh, dull and heavy. Kevin gagged, coughed hard, saliva splashing onto the cushion. James reached around and locked an arm around Kevin’s waist, lifting him briefly before slamming another blow into his midsection. Kevin groaned, sagging in James’s arms.
Don’t... let up.”
James shoved him fully onto the couch, face up, chest and stomach rising and falling like waves. James then climbed on top, straddling Kevin, pressing down with his weight. James fists curled again, his shirt came off, peeled off and giving himself fully over to this manly exhibition.... and he kept going. James’s fists were raw now, skin split at the knuckles, each punch sending pain through his own hands almost as much as Kevin’s battered core. With a twist and grunt James drove his elbow straight down into Kevin’s side. Kevin let out a strangled grunt, body convulsing beneath him. He reached out blindly, grabbing a handful of the couch cushion, fingers digging deep. He knelt over Kevin’s hips and started pounding again, deliberate, punishing strikes straight into the center of Kevin’s stomach. One. Two. Three. Five. Eight, Twelve. The couch rocked beneath them. Kevin’s head rolled back, mouth open in a silent groan as his core convulsed, every nerve firing. He gagged again, coughed wet, spit running down his chin.
Still, no safeword. No hands up.
Just that raw look in Kevin's eyes, half pain, half something else entirely. James’s arms were shaking now. Each hit took effort. He shifted his weight and leaned in, pressing both fists into Kevin’s battered gut, slowly grinding his knuckles in deep. Kevin tensed, legs kicking weakly before going still. Every breath Kevin took was a fight. Every inch of his body's core was one big bruise. He looked broken, but somehow stronger for it. Kevin was barely conscious, his eyes half-lidded, mouth parted as he sucked in shallow gasps. But not done just yet, neither of them were. James slid down, planting himself between Kevin’s legs. He gripped Kevin by the sides of his waist, thumbs pressing into already-ruined muscles, and reared back with both fists clenched.
He unleashed.
One blow, then another, then a barrage, straight into the core. There was absolutely no rhythm now, no real finesse. Everything was just raw brutal repetition with sweat, pain and groans flying like crazy.
Kevin’s whole body jolted and twitched with each hit, breath ripped from his lungs in harsh, broken exhales. He coughed, deep and wet, a string of spit and bile trailed from the corner of his mouth. James paused only to adjust his grip, before once again resuming again. Kevin’s eyes soon rolled back, showing all white.
“Come on,” James muttered, almost to himself. “Come on, Kevin. Don’t go out. Not yet!”
And somehow, through sheer force of will, Kevin’s eyes fluttered open again.
He looked up at James, dazed, battered, breathless. His mouth moved slightly, and then, against all odds, he smiled. A crooked, bruised, sweat-slick grin. James barked a laugh. Kevin joined him, short, ragged, almost delirious. He, James, then placed a firm hand on Kevin’s chest and pushed him down onto the couch. Kevin didn’t resist. His legs spread slightly for balance, his hands limp at his sides.
And James went back to work, this time to finish it. A fist slammed into Kevin’s upper abs, just beneath the ribs. Kevin spasmed, a strained grunt squeezing out of his throat. Then another shot, lower this time, straight into mid-abs. Kevin doubled forward instinctively, but James caught him, shoved him back, and buried another blow in the same spot. The couch groaned beneath them again, another protest in a long line of protest. Kevin’s feet slid a few inches on the floor, struggling to ground him. James didn’t pause, the fists came one after another, driving deep into Kevin’s core with increasing weight. One hit dropped lower, angling both fists to delver a brutal double uppercut into Kevin’s lower abs, just above the waistline. Kevin gasped sharply, arms lifting reflexively before falling again. His eyes rolled, his mouth opened but made no sound. Then it came the final blow. Both fists. Together. Full force. James threw his entire body behind it, legs, hips, shoulders, every ounce of muscle he had left, into Kevin’s already broken core.
The impact made a thick, wet thud.
Kevin’s body went rigid, locked tight like a cord pulled too far, then just like that, slack. Kevin wasn't unconscious, but he was definitely done. Something in Kevin had let go, finally and completely. A tension released and a need met. His head lolled to the side, lips parted, eyes glassy but still barely open. His chest twitched with shallow breaths. Every bit of him was limp except the flicker of something satisfied flickering behind those broken eyes.
There was no more fight.
There was no more challenge.
There was just silence.
James stood over Kevin for a moment, breathing hard, his body soaked in sweat. His heart was pounding, wild and triumphant like a war drum. He sat down next to Kevin again, dragging a deep breath through his lungs. He looked over at him, at the bruised, wrecked abdomen, the slumped frame, the slight smirk that still lingered on Kevin’s face. James leaned back against the couch. He didn’t need to say a word. Kevin sat up and didn't say a word.
It was already understood.
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