Every day is a struggle for Dean. His home isn't much, a tiny room with a shared bathroom down the hall, all the other tenants just as ragged and beat up as him.
For years, he's been a fighter. Whenever, wherever, he'll fight. The size of the guy doesn't matter. To him, all that matters is that, at the end of the day, he gets a couple extra bucks in his pocket. His fighting hasn't gotten him too far, he's no golden gloves winner, no title winner, but it's what he does. He fights and he bleeds and he gets knocked down; sometimes he can't get back up. Sometimes it's the other way around. Either way, it's the fight itself that gets him going.
He's in his room right now, preparing for a fight that night. It's nothing spectacular, nothing even really legitimate. It's just a fight in his neck of the woods, on the grungy side of town. He's going up against someone he's never fought before, some guy named Dolph.
Fucking stupid ass name like that, Dean's sure he's gonna win.
Finishing up his pushups, he stands and does a few pullups from the bar he has set up between the door to his bedroom and the small living space. Hopping down from the bar, he grabs his key and wallet and heads out, jogging to the building.
There aren't many people there, there never are. He doesn't care, though. He knows he's getting paid and knows he gets to beat the shit outta someone. To him, there's not much better than that.
His fight is second to last. He spends the first matchup watching, bouncing on the balls of his feet, jittery from the excitement. He can feel the energy from the small crowd, all of them itching for blood.
Dean wants to give it to them.
After the knockout punch from the first fight, Dean heads into the makeshift locker room, the stench of sweat and blood strong. He sits on a wobbly bench and starts taping up his wrists. Glancing around, he sees some new people floating around. Then he sees a guy who fits the description of the guy he's supposed to be fighting tonight. Bleach blonde, curly hair, square face that looks perfect for punching.
He can't wait.
After he's taped up, he stands again, leaving the pungent smelling locker room. From the back of the room, out of the eyes of the small crowd, he starts pacing, keeping his blood flowing and warmed up.
When it's time for his fight, he heads out there and stands face to face with blondie, smirking at him, ready to punch his face in.
The fight isn't over as quickly as Dean thought it might be. Pretty boy put up a surprisingly good fight. Not good enough, but by the end of it, Dean had to give him credit. The fight was bloody, both of their faces red by the end of it. Though it was because Dean tasted his own blood that he struck back with a real vengeance.
After a quick cleanup and a visit with the boss to get his cash, Dean heads out, not ready to go home, still too amped up. He thinks of heading to some bar, drink a few beers to take the edge off.
But it's as he passes by 7th Avenue that he hears the calls. There's a small group of people on the corner. Dean's seen them before, always keeps going, because he doesn't have to pay for his fucks. But then he sees the guy leaning against the building, half his hair dyed blonde. Looks sleazy, Dean thinks, like he sucks dick real good. Dean can't pass him up.
He heads over to the group, looking past the women to the half blondie. When their eyes meet, Dean jerks his head, and he follows.
It's a little weird, since Dean doesn't have a car, and they have to walk the rest of the block to his shitty rathole of a room, but he's still amped up, ready to release all his pent up energy. Knows half and half is probably already tracking his hourly rate, but he doesn't give a shit. He needs his rocks off and Seth's lips look prime for the taking.
Once Dean unlocks the door, he walks in first, closing the door behind his next fuck. They don't make it too far into the room before Dean grabs his wrist and says, "Suck me."
He's been walkin' around half hard since his goddamn fight and he needs it bad.
"What's your name, anyway?" Dean asks. He doesn't always ask, but this guy's different enough that he wants to know.
"Seth," he answers from his knees.
Seth, Dean thinks, is a much better name than Dolph.
He wastes no time in undoing Dean's pants. He can see that Dean looks beat up, sees the fresh cut on his face and can smell the sweat on him. But it's a good kind of smell. Masculine. When he yanks Dean's underwear down just enough to get his cock free, he leans forward and laps at him with his tongue a few times, tasting that salty sweat.
Dean wraps his hands into Seth's hair, yanking on it whenever he feels good. When Seth finally opens that sweet mouth of his, Dean moans and tightens his grip as that wet heat surrounds his cock.
Seth doesn't go all the way down at first. He starts slow, getting into the rhythm, seeing how Dean reacts to things. He likes how responsive he is, even giving little moans himself when Dean yanks at his hair enough.
Oh, but when Seth does go all the way down, it's the best reaction yet. Dean's hips jerk forward and those hands tug at his hair, both his hands tight fists as Seth's nose buries into the sweaty curls at the base of his cock.
There's so many fluids dripping down Seth's chin by the time he pulls his head up to get a quick breath. His lips are already stretched and reddened, and he's only just begun. He doesn't know if it's ok to touch, some people don't care, some people do, but he tests the waters, bringing his hands up to Dean's hips to wrap his fingers around him. Dean doesn't push them away, so he leaves them there. All the better for leverage.
On his next trip down, he can feel Dean holding his head in place, his cock down Seth's throat. It's something Seth's grown to get used to. Doesn't even have a gag reflex anymore.
When Dean finally tugs his head back, he lets his head roll forward so he can look down at Seth and see the way his eyes are shining and his chin is coated in spit. He looks so fucking depraved, and all Dean can think is that he wants to kiss him. Instead he just pushes Seth back onto his cock. He rocks his hips, fucking Seth's mouth now.
Seth's moans are going straight through him. Every moan sending vibrations through every nerve in his body. He can feel a tingling in his belly, knows that feeling well. "Gonna come," he grunts out, giving Seth some courtesy.
Seth just pulls on Dean's hips, driving that cock back down his throat as he comes. He can feel each and every twitch of Dean's lower body, from the small jumps his cock makes in his mouth, to the way his stomach contracts at the height of his orgasm.
"Goddamn," Dean says as he sits on the arm of his second hand recliner, dick still hanging out.
Wiping at his chin to get the mix of precum, saliva and jizz off him, Seth then stands. "You like that?" he asks, voice raspy and raw.
"Fuck yeah." He can feel himself getting tired, his post fight buzz wearing off now that he got sucked off.
"Anything else you need taken care of?"
"Nah," Dean answers. "Not tonight." He can't help but wonder, though, if he fucks as good as he sucks. He hopes he can find out. "Next time."
"There's gonna be a next time?"
Dean shrugs. "There can be." He knows it's gonna have to be after his next fight, next time he's got that extra cash on him. "How much for tonight?"
Seth tells him, and gets handed the cash.
"Next week. I got another fight, same time. I'll have the cash then."
"Never made reservations before," he quips with a smirk.
"First time for everything. I never made 'em either."
They part ways after that, Seth heading off, probably to find another client, Dean figures. He just ends up flopping back onto the recliner, the footrest kicking out as he lands. He doesn't even care that he never tucked himself back into his pants.
It's a few hours later he wakes up with a crick in his neck. He needs to piss anyway, so he gets out of the chair to actually get ready for bed at 3AM.
The next week, his fight is against a guy who's known to be tough, known to fight dirty. AJ Styles. Dean's never fought him before, but he's seen him. They've both been around the scene long enough to know of the other.
This time around, the match is far more brutal than the one with Ramen head Dolph. Both are bruised and bloodied, but in the end, it's Dean that's lying on the floor, knocked out. He's pissed, knowing that the money going into his pocket tonight is a lot less than last week.
He still heads out to find Seth, though. Needs to fuck out his frustration at the loss. Seth's at his usual hangout, down on 7th Ave, and when he sees Dean jerk his head, he follows. He notices that Dean's a lot more banged up and bloodied this week. He's curious, but he won't ask. They're not friends, not even acquaintances. He remembers Dean saying something about a fight, figures it has something to do with that.
When they get through the door, they actually make it to the bed. "Wanna fuck you," Dean says. Those are the first words spoken between them all night.
Seth's quick to start undressing, tossing his shirt to the floor, unbuckling his belt, letting his pants pool around his ankles. Dean's in as much of a hurry, though before he tosses his shirt aside, he wipes at his face quickly, not sure if he's even stopped bleeding.
When they're both naked, Dean urges Seth up onto the bed. Seth crawls onto the twin mattress and stays on his hands and knees, spreading his legs and arching his back for Dean.
Grabbing the lube he keeps under his pillow, Dean's quick to get behind Seth. His dick is hard and aching to be inside the other's body. He slathers his dick up, wanting to push right into that ass, but he's been on the side of this before, knows it can hurt to go for it. So, as a courtesy, he slips two fingers inside Seth. It's a bit rough, but he hears no complains for Seth, since, shit, this is probably more than what he normally gets for prep.
He only twists his fingers around a few times before he pulls out. He's impatient and has wanted to fuck Seth since last week. It feels so good as he pushes into that ring of muscle, Seth back arching under his touch.
He doesn't know if the sound coming from Seth are real, or not, figures he's probably faking it, just to get Dean going, make him feel like he's actually the best fuck Seth's ever had, even though Dean's sure he's nothing more to Seth than a payday. But it works, it makes Dean feel like he's fucking like a king. Makes the hurt of the loss he suffered earlier that night go away. Takes his mind off everything but the tight ass he's inside of.
Dean swears he's never had a fuck as good as this one. Seth moves under him in all the right ways, makes all the right noises, cries his name at just the right times. It's glorious. He's glad he can't see Seth's face, because if his body is this reactive, he can't imagine the kind of expressions that cross his face.
He can hear Seth moaning, telling him right there, right there, yeah, fuck me. Seth's voice seems to be getting higher, more strained, until he's finally coming. His back arches even more, head thrown back. Dean's soon to follow as those muscles clench and get even tighter around him.
It's strange, after. They're both there, naked on the bed, and Dean knows he's gotta hand over payment soon enough.
Seth pushes up onto his knees, looking over to Dean. He doesn't want to say anything, break the atmosphere. It's just as strange for him as it is Dean.
Finally, Dean asks the price.
Seth answers.
When Dean hands over the cash, knowing this week he's extra tight on funds, especially since he fucking lost, it hurts. Hurts that he has to pay for a fuck like the one he just had. Doesn't stop him, though, from asking Seth is maybe he'd wanna make another reservation for next week.