Payback

Blow for blow, the two enemies had never been on more uneven grounds. No moonlight showed through the broken out windows of the abandoned office building. Desks cracked and chairs shattered under the weight of the men beating and throwing each other as hard as they could.
Ryan snarled at his opponent. The sight was far less intimidating than usual; the human form werewolf was staggering, his lip bloodied and the beginnings of a wicked bruise already surrounding his eye. Standing not but a few feet from him, his rival Jericho Labou sneered back at him. The human's hands were balled into bloodied fists, at the ready for Ryan's advance. Ryan's breath left ragged trails in the cold night air, a testament to the fatigue setting in on him. Despite his muscles screaming that this fight was over, that he had lost, Ryan swung yet again.
Jericho saw the opening he'd been waiting for. The werewolf was weak and run his course, and one clumsy final swing was easily sidestepped. Like a hammer Jericho's fist flew in, connecting squarely with Ryan's jaw and finally knocking him to the ground. The hard cement stung Ryan's knees as he collapsed, barely catching himself on all fours.
The room spun for a moment. Time itself seemed to slow in Ryan's view. Coughing, he watched as if through a haze as shining crimson splattered across the dingy gray cement between his hands. He heard the echoing clap of Jericho stepping closer to him, close enough that the toe of his old leather cowboy boot slipped into Ryan's field of vision. He didn't recognize the sound that followed.
Ryan's head rose slowly, trying to lift his gaze from the still spinning floor just in time to feel Jericho's other boot rest on his shoulder. A quick thrust sent Ryan reeling back, landing roughly on his ass, propped up on his hands. He raised his eyes to Jericho's, and a belt lowered, noose-like, around his neck. Jericho wrenched up on the belt, cinching the leather strap tight around Ryan's neck and dragging him roughly to his feet. They were nose to nose again, Jericho's panting breath hot on Ryan's lips. For a moment, Ryan recalled an earlier battle, and the scent that told him this one would likely end the same way. The barest hint of a smile tugged at Ryan's lips as he battled for breath.
“A dog like you should be on a leash.” Jericho sneered, wrapping the belt around his knuckles. Ryan was pulled closer for a moment, just before another hard punch connected with his face.
This time, Jericho guided the werewolf's fall. Ryan splayed backward across the desk behind him, landing hard on his back, still restrained by the collar-like belt around his neck. One handed, Jericho took hold of Ryan's shirt, twisting and wrenching so quickly that the cloth easily tore loose from Ryan's smaller frame. His pants followed, albeit more slowly and with the help of a boot knife. The ceiling finally came to a halt in Ryan's vision, no longer reeling from Jericho's fists. His all too familiar grin spread slowly.
“You've got something more than fighting on your mind.” Ryan teased, and the scent in the air told him he was more than right. “Last time wasn't enough for you?” Ryan didn't realize he'd lifted his head from the desk until Jericho was slamming it back down again with the help of an over tightened leash. Jericho was now on the table with him, a fist at each side of the werewolf's head, and his knees wedged firmly between Ryan's legs.
“This is payback for last time.” His narrowed eyes hovered just above Ryan's face. Ryan could only imagine what his opponent.. his enemy meant by that; as far as he was concerned, the last time had been more than pleasurable. And Jericho's reactions proved he wasn't the only one who thought so.
Still... Ryan paused for a moment, thinking over how he could have offended the other man by his actions. A shift of Jericho's body made the collar of his shirt move just enough, Ryan could see the still swollen wound when he'd marked Jericho before. Perhaps an alpha male's wounded pride for being the one mounted? But at the time he'd seemed so willing.... A Cheshire cat smile suddenly split Ryan's face. He was rewarded with another slam against the table, but it did nothing to dislodge the grin.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GRINNING ABOUT?” Ryan managed a chuckle even as the quickly tightening leather bit into his neck.
“I was your first, wasn't I? Your first time with a man?” The last word was nearly cutoff as Ryan's air supply became nonexistent, but the quick paling of Jericho's face was more than worth it. It was a look bordering on horror, and thick with shame, but Jericho refused to lower his eyes. Slowly, Ryan watched Jericho's resolve steel and his expression follow. The leash slackened only slightly, and Jericho's hand went to his pants.
“You sonofabitch...laugh it up, it's your turn.” Watching Jericho wrestle his rock-hard cock into the open, Ryan briefly wondered if Jericho realized his hands had never been restrained, and he still had not fought back. Releasing the belt reluctantly, Jericho pulled Ryan by the legs, forcing the now smaller man's thighs to the sides of his waist. Ryan closed his eyes, expecting the worst as the thick head of Jericho's cock rubbed roughly against his entrance, but his opponent surprised him. He offered at least the same small courtesy Ryan had only two weeks earlier; When Ryan dared crack an eyelid, Jericho was spitting into his hand. He rubbed the slick wetness across his cock before grabbing hold of Ryan's hips again. Jericho's eyes caught Ryan's. They both paused for a long moment, as they had in the hallway of the dingy old hotel. Ryan braced himself.
In one smooth motion, Jericho sheathed himself in Ryan's ass. No warning, no preparation beyond the impromptu lubricant. Both men gasped, and tears formed at the corners of Ryan's eyes. As Alpha, Ryan had never been mounted before; the feeling was alien, painful... yet so good. Jericho would make a good Alpha...
Then Jericho was thrusting. Ryan made no attempt to restrain himself; he rocked with the motion, growls and grunts shifting quickly into passioned moans as his body grew accustomed to the intrusion. Jericho too was moaning out-loud almost instantly, seeming to forget about his promises of vengeance.
The old table they were layed out on creaked with each powerful thrust of Jericho's hips. Ryan found himself shifting, angling himself so that Jericho could ram him harder, fuck him deeper with each stroke. The mercenary was moaning even louder. He'd called it payback, but Ryan could tell that was just a cover for his wounded pride; now that he was inside, that they were joined again, Jericho couldn't bring himself to hurt him. This wasn't about pain, it was about pleasure. It was about Jericho taking from Ryan something he'd apparently never felt anywhere else. Moaning, encouraging Jericho with little burning whimpers and pleas, Ryan's hands finally found their way to Jericho's body. Claw-like they dug into his shirt, rending the fabric away to reveal a strong toned chest before Ryan's eyes. The wicked scar on his shoulder had been tended to, cleaned, but even in the midst of rough sex he could tell that nothing had been done to prevent it from scarring.
Willing... Ryan's voice rose in another loud cry. Deep down his prey desired him as badly as he wanted him. The thought, combined with the toned hard stomach grinding against his own blood-thick cock sent Ryan into fevered writhing fit. It was almost too much; the thick cock inside him rammed home. White exploded in Ryan's mind, clearing away all else. His body tensed everywhere, arching him up off of the table, into Jericho's arms. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear a similar strangled cry escape Jericho's lips.

The haze cleared slowly. There was a warm, seeping feeling in Ryan's gut; Jericho was still buried deep in him. The smell of blood fresher than his own hung in the air. Something thick, sticky and quickly cooling cemented his chest to Jericho's. Ryan's eyes opened slowly. When he raised his hands from Jericho's back, they came away glistening red. Jericho stirred, grunting groggily and feebly attempting to separate himself from the werewolf. Ryan couldn't help but smirk. More scars to prove you're mine.
Then Jericho looked up at him, and Ryan's smirk vanished. Jericho was wearing a smirk of his own, blood smearing his full lips. Ryan's hand flew to his neck, finding torn, sore flesh just above the slack belt.
“When did you..”
“When you came, you little fucker. You thought I didn't notice?” It was Ryan's turn to lower his gaze; the human had marked him in return, and he had been so wrapped up in the intensity of the fuck he hadn't even felt the pain. He doubted even Jericho understood the severity of what he'd done. His pack would be loathe to accept him back easily now, he would have to fight his way back to the top.
Then again, it was possible Jericho knew exactly what he was doing.
Ryan gasped as Jericho pulled away, leaving his body feeling slicked and empty. He stood away from Ryan, pulling his jeans closed, seemingly oblivious to the long raking claw marks that bled freely on his back.
“Just.. Just stay down this time.” He said almost sadly, not bothering to retrieve his belt from around Ryan's neck before walking away into the dark. The werewolf's eyes slid heavily closed, The mercenary's back fading from view as he lost consciousness.

“Mister Hayworth, I hope this teaches you a valuable lesson about following orders.”
Ryan growled idly at the floor, refusing to admit his defeat. He was bruised, obviously beaten bloody, but the defiance in his growl and in his eyes never left. The older mafioso shook his head disapprovingly, but let Ryan rise to his rather shaky feet.
“I promise you Don. This won't happen again.”
“No Ryan, it won't.” The Don didn't bother to elaborate, he knew Ryan well enough to know that the threat was well understood, even if it was not heeded. Ryan turned on his heel, limping toward the door. The limp had been well hidden on the way in, but in Ryan's anger he'd forgotten about it on the way out.
“Hayworth, did Labou break your leg as well?” Ryan paused, mid-stride. He took his time formulating an appropriately cryptic answer, but the flutter of wings and a cawing, creaking voice interrupted him.
“Fucked him into the floor, Labou did!” Ryan's gaze turned, his eyes narrowing at the harpy-demon that had fluttered to rest beside the Don.
“Estrela?” The harpy continued to cackle in her usual nonsense tone, but Ryan knew she was being more blunt than ever.
“Fucked into the floor, he was! Fucked like a little-” A gunshot cut short the harpy's cawing. The Don stared in shock at the body lying at his feet, then to the barrel of Ryan's smoking gun. Ryan calmly put his gun back into his coat, continuing on his way out.
“Cryptic Bitch was never useful anyway.”


It's got to be the most fucked up thing in the world. He wasn't my first , the arrogant little fucker... but he was my first man. I've held more women than I can remember at this point; it comes with the job, with the lifestyle. Everything from governor's daughters to Las Vegas whores. But somehow, through all that... that goddamn wolf felt better in my arms than any woman I've ever had. Figures. Only one of the people who's trying to kill me... only the person who's come the closest to actually lopping my fool head off... Is also the only person who's ever felt like more than the night's fuck.
If circumstances had been different... No, that's a flat lie. If all of this had happened any other way, He never could have laid a paw on me. I d've shot him on principal alone. But something in that hallway in that dirty little motel, in the midst of trying to rip each other's guts out... something just clicked. Honestly, I couldn't tell you for sure if he kissed me or I kissed him. I'd deny it, say I had nothing to do with it, and that it was all him forcing it on me, but there's one thing I can't deny:
That wolf sure as hell wasn't the one with the key to the bedroom.

To bad that doesn't mean he won't kill me on sight next time.