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It was late at night, the sun already long gone; it’d set long before they snuck down the cellar door to the club they won’t name. At this point it might start coming up behind them with a faint glow, reminding of another night’s sleep lost to the mindless fighting–well not lost, it was lost when working a dead end job licking the boots of his boss.
But nights weren’t lost with Tyler, they were spent in a good experience. An experience being ‘good’ or ‘bad’ didn’t change the effects of not sleeping consistently for days, though.
He stumbled, a mix of sleep deprivation and endorphins rushing through his system to create a disgusting, dizzy feeling. Without thinking, he leaned onto Tyler, using him as a sort of crutch to help with the way his head was swirling, though it felt like Tyler really didn’t do much to steady him.
Tyler looked at him with a small smile, accentuating the split in his lip, red painting his pink lips just a little darker. They didn’t say anything on the walk home, but Tyler hadn’t pulled away when leaned on, so he continued to do so, shoving his full weight onto Tyler; he could take it.
He silently watched as Tyler pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, having a seemingly endless supply; his face cast in an orange glow as he lit it. “Got a little brain damage, yeah?” Tyler finally spoke after an exhale of cigarette smoke, wafting over with a strong smell.
“I wouldn’t doubt it.” He mumbled in return, snatching the cigarette from Tyler’s hand to take a puff of his own, the smooth feeling hitting his throat, and why hadn’t he taken up smoking sooner?
The smoke from the cigarette irritated the cut’s painting his face in the slightest way, keeping the adrenaline up ever so slightly; every speck of ash being sent from the wind right back into his face lit up the cuts with little sparks of pain.
The old dilapidated house that he now calls home finally greeted them. Numerous voices were already loud enough to be heard from outside; people that Tyler refused to explain the reasoning for, no bigger picture being alluded to.
He stumbled up the steps, shoes catching on each one, and at this point, Tyler was practically dragging him up; if he could throw punches like a madman, surely he had enough strength to haul him up the stairs.
It was almost uncomfortable how quiet Tyler was. Usually, the man had at least a few insane chuckles or rants to go on. It seemed the more disoriented he became, the quieter Tyler was, like he somehow knew his brain didn’t have enough mental power to keep up with Tyler's words.
“Don’t go passing out on me.” Tyler snapped his finger in front of his face as they approached the next flight of stairs, leading to the second floor way more daunting than the porch steps.
A hard slap was delivered to his face, giving him just the slightest jolt of energy as he approached the first step. He let up on Tyler a little bit, clinging close to the wall as he struggled up the stairs.
He caught the way Tyler’s hand was now stained red on the palm when it was previously just red on the knuckles. He reached up and felt his face; sticky blood still splattered from his forehead and down his cheek.
It was a reminder of the way his head was grabbed and bashed into the ground a few times before he finally gave up the fight and admitted defeat.
That might be the reason he feels so out of it, even more so than the insomnia.
Suddenly, he was looking at Tyler, right outside ‘his’ bedroom door–it technically counted as a bedroom if it had a mattress. “Wake up, sleepy head.” Tyler was holding his face, looking at the gash on the side of his face.
He blinked, staring at Tyler, questioning when they had made it up the stairs because as he recalled, he’d just been fighting his way up them, and not in the fun way.
“Yeah, I’m awake, Tyler.” His voice came out practically a whisper, but it seemed sufficient because Tyler let go of his face, instead wrapping an arm around his shoulder to tug him into the room.
The moment Tyler got him near the bed, he pulled away, lying down. He closed his eyes, hoping–no praying the head trauma would make sleep easy in the same way cancer support groups did.
That wasn’t going to work though, as another slap met his face, he shot his eyes open to look at Tyler.
“You stay awake if you’re concussed. Weren’t you supposed to be ‘clever’?” Tyler questioned, flicking him in between his eyebrows.
He ignored Tyler. Dying in his sleep might not be so horrible if it meant he actually got some; the bed smelled like mold, and Tyler, crouched above him, smelled like iron and sweat.
This time, as he closed his eyes, instead of a slap, he was met with a harsh punch, most likely furthering any head trauma he’d already sustained.
“That’s your plan?” He asked as he sat up a little. “Keep me awake with more fighting?” He groaned, grabbing his head, jumping a little when Tyler grabbed his shoulders, shoving him up against the wall.
“Exactly.” Tyler flashed him a smile, raising his fist once again. This time, though, he was smart enough to block with his arm, taking the blow instead of his head.
“Have to try harder than that–” He grunted, shoving Tyler hard, taking satisfaction in the way he slammed against the dirty floor; at some point, it’d just give out and snap underneath their weight.
Quickly, he climbed onto Tyler’s legs in an attempt to pin him to the floor. He delivered a punch to Tyler's face, making his nose bleed, adding to the blood that’d already been crusted on. Tyler, oddly enough, didn’t even try to block it, instead looking up with a masocistic grin, clearly enjoying this.
That didn’t last for long, though, as he slammed another fist into Tyler’s face. A leg kicked up, kneeing him in the crotch. He toppled off of Tyler with a groan, thinking better than to grab at his junk, instead blocking his face with the way Tyler was already coming to get more punches in.
Tyler crawled onto his lap, grabbing at his wrist to tug it off his face, using his free hand to punch him in the face.
Blood pooled in his mouth. The possibility of another tooth coming out didn’t scare him, but the taste was a concerning one; the taste of your own blood is hard to get used to.
“Feeling awake now?” Tyler questioned as he raised his fist again, he quickly inched his face to the side, Tyler punching the floor instead.
“Wide awake,” He spat, quite literally so, a mixture of saliva and blood was pouring down his face.
He struggled with his arm, attempting to dislodge it from where Tyler had it pinned above his head in a tight grip. With his free hand, he gripped Tyler’s hip, digging his nails in hard enough to get Tyler to gasp, just a small one.
“Oh, playing dirty, I see…” Tyler whispered, face twisting into a more evil expression that he didn’t understand until he felt a searing pain erupt in his hand, the still healing wound being dug into with a jagged nail.
“Fuck!” He swore, squirming under Tyler’s hold as his vision started to get little white specks in it. The pain was all too similar to how it’d felt when the burn was first created. But this time, Tyler was freely moving his thumb into it, digging and tearing at the scab. “Stop-!” He managed to choke out. The pain let up for a second, giving him enough time to take a shaky inhale before it returned with double the force.
After a few more seconds of choked-up up desperate pleading, Tyler let up again. “It’s keeping you awake, no? You have to just let go.” Tyler whispered in an almost comforting voice, but it didn’t help with the pain of a ripped open burn.
He exhaled, having held his breath waiting for the next jolt of pain.
The room grew silent, so he took advantage of Tyler’s relaxed grip to rip his hand free, delivering a petty punch to Tyler’s face as payback.
Tyler’s nose was practically pouring blood now, hot droplets smacking his face as Tyler leaned above him.
Just after he saw Tyler's satisfied smirk, he felt the familiar feeling of an erection, but it wasn’t his own; Tyler’s bulge was pressed up against his stomach as he leaned in closer.
The taste of his own blood was an intense experience, but it was a different kind of intense when it was another person's. The taste of Tyler’s blood filled his mouth, slightly different than his own, but they mixed together all the same. What was that thing he kept bringing up? He is Jack’s shameful desire; if he just lived in the persona, he could let go as Tyler directed.
When Tyler was done smashing their faces together, he inhaled. “Can you call me Jack?” his voice was shaky, out of breath, strained.
“Are we roleplaying?” Tyler questioned with a smirk, nodding when he gave a serious expression. “Okay, Jack it is.” his face was right up against Jack’s, hot breath puffing against his lips, nose still actively coating their faces in blood.
He–Jack wasn’t so sure why Tyler Durden was kissing him right now, but he was letting go; trashy random hook-ups in a filthy house with plently of people downstairs to hear definitely seemed like the right pathway to hitting rock bottom.
More blood mixed up with spit in his mouth when Tyler forced his tongue in, swirling it with Jack's.
He brought his hand down, letting it join the other on Tyler’s hip, gripping tightly. In between the tongue in his mouth and the snot and blood in his nose, breathing wasn’t a possibility, adding to the lightheadedness he was already feeling.
Jack took in a gasp of air when Tyler pulled away, that cigarette-stained breath hitting his face again. They didn’t talk about it, Jack didn’t dare to question it, instead just silently gasping for breaths, breathing in the unclean smell of Tyler; almost suffocating him. Quickly Jack was reminded that he took breathing for granted when Tyler leaned back in, cutting off his air flow almost completely once again.
Tyler was just high enough on his waist that Jack had no friction against his dick, whilst he could feel Tyler shamelessly rubbing his own erection against Jack’s stomach.
The kissing felt nice, made his head warm and fuzzy, but breathing was preferable, at least it seemed Tyler knew how out of breath he was; he himself for some reason seeming to have an endless supply of stamina.
“I don’t even think I have the energy to do anything,” Jack whispered in between pants, and Tyler gave him a look.
“Just lay back and take it,” Tyler whispered back. Jack hadn’t even considered that a possibility.
As Tyler scooted off his lap, Jack was granted a brief moment of gratification as he passed over his crotch. Tyler settled himself in between Jack’s legs, running his hands from his thighs to his belt. The hands on Jack’s waist felt so familar, the way they unbuckled his pants like second nature gave Jack deja-vu.
Along with his pants, his boxers were tugged down, leaving him exposed, bare ass rubbing against the rough wood floor.
As hands glided across his ass, lifting it up off the wood pannels, Jack thought about his office job, about his condo, his ikea furniture. What would he have thought if sitting on his couch, watching sitcom TV, he’d been told in a week–month? He wasn’t exactly sure on the time frame seeing as how everything blurred together–had he’d been told he’d be on the floor in a probably abandoned building with a beautifully dirty man feeling up his ass like he was Marla.
One hand left his ass as Tyler brought it to Jack’s face. “Open.” He instructed as he ran a finger over Jack’s lip. Suspiciously, Jack opened his mouth, flinching when two of Tyler’s fingers shoved their way in, running over his tongue. He tried his hardest not to gag, failing when Tyler shoved them to the back of his throat.
He coughed and glared at Tyler when the fingers were pulled away. “What the hell?” he wasn’t sure why he was so offended over that when he’d been letting the man beat him up just a moment ago.
Tyler held up his hand, spreading his fingers, strings of spit stretching across the gap. “You produce more spit right before you throw up.” He explained, and then his wet fingers disappeared from view.
The spit was already cold when a slick finger pressed up against his ass, he shivered, staring at Tyler with a heavy breath.
Just like him, Tyler looked uncertain, like he’d never done this before. Tyler seems like the type of guy to be experienced, to have sex with all types of people–he’s just confident like that, comfortable in his sexuality in a way that Jack never was, but maybe Jack had assumed wrong.
It was an uncomfortable, dull, painful feeling as he was breached, a singular finger sliding in.
Not that it was unbearable, but it was like the first punch Tyler slammed into his stomach, a new thrill that hurts but feels so good at the same time.
He let out a loud groan as the finger slowly moved back and forth, flinching when a hand covered his mouth.
“Got our army downstairs…” Tyler muttered, and gosh, that door didn’t have a lock, did it? He just prayed that no one wanted to get Tyler for any reason. He nodded, and the hand was taken away, Tyler staring at him intently as he continued to move his other hand.
Involuntarily, when a second finger joined the first, Jack let out a small moan, yelping when his face was met by a hard punch.
“Quiet, Jack.” Tyler’s tone was intimidating now, and Jack’s head was reeling from the contact. Vision blurring for a moment before slowly coming back into focus, Tyler's face greeted him with a kiss the second he could see. The whiplash of pain followed by spikes of pleasure was even more dizzying than the repeated trauma his head had sustained throughout the night.
If Tyler was going to be throwing punches, who was he to stop this fight? Jack’s fist connected with Tyler’s cheek. It wasn’t as hard as he had hoped; handys shaky and uncoordinated from the feeling of his insides being spread apart by a third finger.
Even though it was weak, Tyler didn’t move on, grabbing Jack’s head in retaliation, lifting it a little before slamming it back down onto the floor.
At the same time the ringing hit his ears, the fingers slid out of him in a swift movement.
He could barely focus on Tyler’s blurry face as he heard a spitting sound, followed by something much larger than a few fingers pressing up against his entrance.
Tyler definitely said something as he touched Jack’s face, but whatever it was didn’t make it over the fading ringing. A soft little pat hit the side of his face, a stark difference to the previous few punches that’d hit him.
“Are you okay?” Tyler's voice was finally audible as the ringing quieted down to just a faint whine. Now he cares?
Jack attempted to nod his head, but any movement of it sent pain shooting down his neck. “Mhm.” He managed out, and though Tyler’s slightly blurry face looked uncertain, he gave a nod. Jack bit his hand hard as Tyler pushed against him, tip pushing in, stretching him in a way the fingers hadn’t.
The hand biting hurt, but being socked in the face hurt worse, so he continued digging his teeth in, dents growing deep into his hand.
Being a hypocrite, Tyler let out a drawn-out groan as he slid further in; the feeling of pressure inside of Jack was overwhelming as Tyler moved, slow and torturous movement that dragged the anticipation. He took his hand away when it felt like he was going to puncture skin, fearing any further injury than what he’d already sustained.
“Have you ever been filled like this before?” Tyler leaned in close to whisper into his ear, pelvis finally pressing up against Jack’s ass as he did so; Jack was about to get concerned about Tylers size if he hadn’t bottomed out then.
Jack opened his mouth to reply, but he slammed it shut as Tyler suddenly moved, pulling out in a swift movement that left Jack struggling to stay quiet. That was on purpose. Tyler had this smug expression as he shoved his tip back in, not caring to go slow this time as he thrust forward.
A burning feeling erupted in him as Tyler got the full length in again, hips slapping against Jack’s ass with an obnoxious sound.
“Slow down, asshole.” Jack panted out, feeling sweat forming on his skin despite the fact he was barely moving; Tyler was the one lifting his ass, the one thrusting, he should be the one out of breath–but instead he looked down at Jack, as handsome as ever.
“You have so much fun being beaten up by other men, I’ll bet you want it rough.” Tyler snorted, pulling back slightly before slamming back in. Jack sputtered out a moan, head rolling back against the hard floor. Was he seeing this all as a joke? He was all to playful for what he was doing.
Jack flinched when his face was grabbed, nails digging into his cheeks, forcing him to look at Tyler. “Do you close your eyes when fighting? You’re leaving yourself open for attack right now.” He bit his lip, starting to keep a steady pace with the thrusts.
“I don’t think keeping my eyes opened will make me any less open right–Fuck!,” Jack swore as Tyler ajusted his hips a little, cock slamming into a new spot, pleasure shooting through Jack’s waist.
With that, Jack was splattering cum across his stomach, but that didn’t slow Tyler down any.
If anything it egged Tyler on, he trailed a finger across Jack’s limp dick as he bottomed out again.
“Came completely untouched,” Tyler mocked, wrapping his hand around the base, giving it a small jerk as he watched Jack’s over-simulated face. “That head trauma really did a number on you, didn’t it? Don’t tell anyone we did this, you’ll look crazy.” He stated.
Jack wasn’t planning on telling anyone he got his ass pounded by Tyler in the first place, in fact he was still living through his little persona in the moment, it wasn’t him getting fucked. But Tyler was right, no one would believe him even if he said anything. Tyler was all over Marla.
“I wasn’t–Fuck uh…–Going–” Jack gave up after hearing his numerous stutters, he could barely think straight, whether that be due to his spinning head or the endless simulation rubbing against his prostate with every thrust.
Suddenly, Tyler slowed to a stop, staying pressed deep inside as he shushed Jack.
He pointed to the door, and Jack looked over, footsteps becoming apparent as they approached.
A knock on the door startled Jack, he looked up at Tyler then back to the door; they needed to install locks. He opened his mouth to shout to whoever was out there, but Tyler slammed a hand over his mouth.
“Tyler, you in there?” One of the guys, Jack hadn’t bothered to remember the name of, called out. “Your head looked pretty bad so–”
“Yep, I’m sleeping it off. All good,” Tyler shouted back, slowly inching his hands back as he kept his hand slammed over Jack’s mouth. There was a silence as Jack panted against Tyler’s hand, slow, inconspicuous movements somehow being more intense than the previous fast pace.
The hand didn’t move even as the footsteps slowly faded away, Jack didn’t try to fight it; he didn’t want anyone to hear them either.
Tyler picked up the pace again, his movements more shaky than before, and Jack was praying he was finally getting worn out. Jack’s prayer was answered as Tyler pulled out, sliding his dick against Jack’s, cumming on his stomach.
“You should get your head checked out,” Tyler commented as he stood up, zipping up his pants to leave Jack lying on the floor, sweaty and tired; maybe this could be his new way of getting to bed. It definitely left him feeling exhausted.