hephaestion2014's blog

Been having a problem with writing Orhalder at the moment so to try and break that block bern playing with writing prompts. Ai and editing.  Come up with.

 The Brawler vs The Thug.  

The Eagle was thick with the scent of sweat, testosterone, and cheap alcohol. 

Bryan Brawler was nursing a pint. His thick neck and the permanent tension in his shoulders drew occasional glances, silent acknowledgment of his underground reputation. 

Across the room stood Thug Jon. Leaning casually against the wall, sipping a bottle, his taller, leaner physique exuded a coiled, dangerous grace. 

Their eyes met over the heads of the crowd, an instant, primal recognition that they operated in the same dark, no-rules shadows. Jon smirked first and pushed off the wall. 

"Brawler Boy," Jon's voice cut low and clean through the noise. "Didn't expect to see the great Manchester King slumming it with the civvies. Thought you had better spots than this low-rent piss hole." 

Bryan didn't bother turning fully. "Surprised to see you outside the twink division, Jonno. Popworld is back a ways. Stick to guys you can actually choke out without risking a fractured rib."

 Jon leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial, challenging whisper. "Fractured ribs heal. But I hear you're built for taking a beating, Brawler. That thick body of yours must soak up a lot of punishment, doesn't it?" 

Bryan’s jaw tightened. "I take what's given, and I return it twice as hard, Jonno. You're fast, but you're soft." 

Bryan’s eyes swept over Jon’s lean frame with calculated contempt. "You're a pretty face waiting for a humiliating pin."

 Jon grinned, his eyes hardening to steel. 

"Soft, you say? Let's settle this then. Find out exactly how hard I am when I've got your face buried in the mat." 

They moved closer, foreheads almost grinding together, their private war igniting. "

We can't do this here," Jon growled. "We need mats, privacy, and no rules but the ones we make." 

Bryan gave a curt, hungry nod. "I know a place. Right now. Luxury hotel, fresh sheets, thick walls and no questions asked. We settle this properly. No audience, no rules, no ref. Just me and you. And the loser admits defeat." 

"Done," .

They didn't shake hands. Bryan simply finished his drink, and they both walked out, leaving the lively, fun-filled noise of The Eagle behind for the promise of a private battle.

The plushness of the luxury hotel suite felt immediately incongruous to their raw energy. 

Bryan Brawler moved first, drawing the heavy velvet curtains across the vast window, plunging the room into a muted darkness. 

Jon locked the door with a sharp click. 

They tossed the ornamental pillows aside, then efficiently dragged the heavy, king-sized mattress off the frame and onto the thick carpet. 

This wasn't a room for rest; it was now an improvised arena. 

Jon peeled his t-shirt off in one smooth motion, his shoulder muscles catching the low light. He unzipped his jeans, letting them pool around his ankles, before kicking them away. He stood tall, his black wrestling trunks a stark contrast against his pale skin, exuding a casual, dangerous readiness. 

Bryan was less graceful, more primal. His powerful hands ripped his shirt open, exposing the deep musculature of his thick chest and shoulders—a fighter built for impact, not finesse. He unbuckled his belt and shed his clothing, his body looking intimidatingly powerful in his short red trunks. 

They both stood on the perimeter of the makeshift mat, their eyes locked. 

The silence was thick, charged with the sudden musk of two men sweating out of anticipation, watching, waiting, stripped down to nothing but their essential weapons: their bodies, their trunks, and their absolute need for dominance. 

Bryan, roaring, initiated the assault, relying on his stocky strength. He drove Thug Jon backward, falling onto the mattress, then ruthlessly planted his solid, muscular backside onto Jon's face—a punishing butt-burial. 

Jon gasped, the air thick, musk-laden, and hot, the taut muscle pressed firmly over his mouth and nose. He struggled with fierce, choked urgency, the humiliation a direct, visceral thrill. 

Driven by fury, he spun, shoving Bryan off the mattress. 

A chaos of limbs crashing.

 Jon immediately seized the advantage, straddling Bryan's chest. He pulled Bryan's head straight into his trunks for a suffocating face-smother. Bryan’s face was roughly forced into Thug Jon's growing bulge. The musk would have been intoxicating, but Bryan was angry. He fought with a desperate energy. 

The closeness of Jon’s heated skin was both stifling and undeniably arousing. 

Bryan exploded upwards, bucking Jon off. He quickly maneuvered, locking his thick thighs around Jon’s torso in a vicious scissors hold. Jon's ribs screamed under the intense pressure; the grip crushing his breath. 

Drawing on sheer willpower, Jon reached down, found Bryan’s waist, and executed a desperate reach-around submission, grabbing his trunks and the bulge in it. 

In surprise Bryan loosened the hold, gasping. 

It was a challenge and also an invitation. 

They separated. Acknowledged their mutual arousal and enjoyment of finding pleasure in pain. 

Both giving and taking it. 

The final moments were a brutal exchange. J

on landed several stinging belly-slaps, the sharp thwack against his sensitive abdomen designed to make Bryan flinch. 

Bryan roared in anger, countering with a savage, deliberate ball-squeezing tactic. His hands clamped onto Jon’s package through the thin fabric. 

The pain was immediate and blinding, a searing ache instantly mixed with a rush of intense, dominant control, bringing Jon to his knees with a guttural moan. 

Jon came back to himself.He charged in anger and mounted Bryan, and delivered the ultimate humiliation, sitting down hard on Bryan’s chest—a final, crushing pin. Jon slowly eased his weight, their bodies slick, heating the air around them. 

He finally released Bryan and stood over him. 

"Not bad, Brawler," Jon said with satisfied dominance. 

Bryan pushed himself onto his elbows. 

"I'll take your trunks next time." Jon smirked, then walked toward the bathroom, stripping off his trunks and letting them drop to the floor. 

The hiss of the hotel shower filled the silent room.