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Fight Club had grown over the past months. I could scarcely believe what Tyler and I had accomplished over such a short period of time.
You could do a lot when you did not waste your days numbing your mind with a screen. The Paper Street house had no television, and if I were to suggest getting one Tyler would probably beat my face in and leave me bleeding on the ground.
Tyler had spent a long time trying to root out my nesting instinct, stoutly refusing any and all attempts to better the Paper Street house until I gave up, cowed. Thanks to him, I have realised how much time there truly is in a day and how much time I wasted thinking about meaningless shit like what furniture would best suit my interior design.
Tyler and I made soap, committed petty vandalism, then at night we slinked to Lou's to beat some faces into the concrete floor until we tasted blood on our teeth and felt the crackle of electric adrenaline in our bones.
For the first time in my dull, miserable life I felt alive. Tyler had given me this – granted it to me, like a boon from a god. He was a god – my god. Deliver me, Tyler. Deliver me from my meaningless life to your light, so painfully bright.
He was so radiant it almost hurt to look at. I stared anyway. Hungry. Starving. Mindless not with my previous gluttony but with a greed that made me lean and mean, like a wild animal. Tyler said that I acted like one sometimes. He also called me “Psycho Boy”.
He had begun to call me that more often. It had started when I had beaten Angel Face's stupid, beautiful face, but he hadn't stopped. Every time he said it, it felt like a wildfire burning my body to ashes. I felt like a phoenix reborn in his fire.
I am Jack's hopeless devotion.
The nickname had truly stuck after I had hospitalised a second person: a man I had overheard leering about Tyler, who had not only lusted over him but called him a slut for the way he dressed, had scoffed at him, and had called him a “crazy son of a bitch” and dismissed his divine message.
I had seen red, and immediately demanded to fight him. He had sneered at me. I believe I know what he saw: Tyler Durden's lapdog, a scrawny boy trying to be a man.
I punched him repeatedly until I heard his nose snap, his teeth crack, his bones break, and his breath come out in a pained wheeze.
The other members of Fight Club had gone silent, somewhere in between the first connection between my fist and his face, and the moment when the guy had become little more than a bloodstain on the basement floor.
I ignored them. They were faceless fools, trying to bask in Tyler's light – they weren't like me. They hadn't been here from the beginning, from when it was just me and Tyler, fighting behind a bar – the birthplace of our, mine and Tyler's, Fight Club.
I got up from where I had been pummeling the man, feeling my strength course through me and my muscles flex. Fight Club was physically demanding; my body was changed from a meek office worker to a predator – not bulky but packed with dense, hard muscle. I had very little fat on my body. My skin was pulled tight over my bones and my muscles; my torso was a mess of protruding ribs and hard abs.
I knew that I was far from the most physically imposing member of Fight Club but people saw my strength. They witnessed it. They feared it.
I didn't win all of my fights, but when I did win, the result was brutal.
Tyler had pulled me aside after the fight, and asked me what had crawled up my ass. He didn't look angry, but he did look frustrated. This was the second time I had broken Fight Club rules: fighter yells "stop," goes limp, taps out, the fight is over.
Tyler knew how much Fight Club meant to me. He knew how much I valued his word, his rules. He hated not being able to understand me, my motivations, what I was doing and why. He hated it when I slipped my leash.
He insulted you, I said. Tyler frowned. He insulted you, I repeated. He called you crazy. He had to learn what happens when you do that.
People were around us. I knew they were listening. That was good. They would hear my words, and they would spread it, and they would all learn that to insult Tyler Durden meant getting your body beaten into a pulp.
They would call me rabid, insane, but I didn't care. I was all that and more when it came to Tyler. He was everything.
He must've seen this in my face – my devotion, my worship – because his own face changed. He preened.
He patted me on the shoulder, whilst his other hand stroked my face. My body felt like it was packed with lightning.
“Thanks for defending my honour, Psycho Boy,” he said, and I nuzzled his palm with my bruised up face.
I think seeing my worship changed something in Tyler because the next day, he founded Project Mayhem.
He created the Space Monkeys – mindless followers who saw him as God, who abandoned their old identities, their names, their families, their hair, in favour of Tyler's ever greater, ever grander plans.
Tyler adored the attention. It made me jealous. However, I knew that I was special. I was the only one allowed to keep my hair. I was the only one who didn't have to wear the black clothes. I was the only one who was still allowed to do what I wanted, say what I wanted. I was the only one who called Tyler Tyler and not “Sir” or “Mr Durden”.
The space monkeys had to follow my orders too; I was Tyler's second in command, and everyone knew that I was above them. I was the one closest to our god – his chosen disciple. They envied me and I preened at their jealousy.
I was better than them because I was Tyler's. Just a few weeks after the founding of Project Mayhem this became literal.
I was taking my clothes off to go to bed, stripping to my boxers and tanktop, when Tyler came into my room.
I looked up immediately but he just shook his head and told me to continue. I hesitated for a moment, I was already undressed as much as I had planned to be, but I always did what Tyler wanted.
I pulled my tanktop over my head, my beaten body protesting as I moved, then tugged my boxers down my legs.
I was self conscious but also proud. My body sported the proof of how he had changed me and my life. His eyes trawled over me, assessing, and his gaze lingered on my muscles, then travelled lower.
I felt my ears redden and my face go pink but I did not hide.
He walked over slowly, then grabbed me by the ass to pull me close. I startled, eyes jerking up to meet his own which were staring at me intensely.
“You're obsessed with me,” he said. It wasn't a question but I answered anyway.
Yes, I breathed out. Being this close to him made me dizzy. It always did. It's one of the reasons I very rarely won fights against him.
He smirked. His other hand moved to cup me, causing me to harden in his palm. My breath was stolen from me. Oh Tyler, deliver me. Please, keep touching me.
He stroked me slowly, and I whined, head dropping to his shoulder, unable to hold eye contact with his hungry gaze. He chuckled, his boyish laugh which always made my heart flutter, and continued stroking until my hands found his back and my nails turned to claws, and I scratched deep, long lines into his back. They would bleed and scab and everyone at Fight Club would see them and know he was mine.
He gasped at the sensation and pushed me. He didn't look angry, just startled. Caught unaware, I fell onto my ass on my bare mattress. I didn't have the time to process my fall before he was on me, hungry.
His lips caught mine, the kiss more of a clash, more like a fight, just like everything else we do.
I groaned into his mouth and suddenly we were both groping each other like wild animals, tearing into each other with a passion that was violent and all-consuming.
When he flipped me over, my body thrummed with excitement.
The sex hurt, like everything that Tyler did to me hurt, but it was a pleasant ache that I welcomed, just like I did everything else. He didn't use lube, only spit, and some of the lubrication came from blood as he tore me open, but I didn't yell or cry. I moaned. Loudly. So loud, all of the space monkeys could hear.
I had spent so long hating Marla Singer for her relentless screaming but now I understood. Being with Tyler was an experience like no other, and keeping your noises contained was sacrilege.
We didn't use protection, although I knew he owned some, and he came with a grunt inside of me after I had told him he was the first guy who had fucked me. In this, I was better than Marla Singer: I got to take Tyler raw, and I clearly fed into some sort of virginity kink he had, or something. The thought warmed me.
He rolled off me with another grunt, reaching for the pack of cigarettes I kept near my bed – Tyler had gotten me addicted. I hadn't smoked before Tyler, but nowadays I couldn't go an hour without starting to feel jittery. Tyler had changed me in more ways than I could count.
He lit his cigarette and sighed out smoke contentedly, before holding it out to me. I wrapped my lips around it, with it still in between his fingers, and took a drag, breathing out long and deep, watching the smoke curl up into the air.
Whilst I was still distracted, he grabbed my waist and pulled me to him, his fingers digging into bruises that never faded. I made a choked sound before settling against his side.
I liked the ache, but I was still caught off guard sometimes, forgetting how battered my body had become. The come mixed with blood oozed out of me slowly onto the mattress; it would stain. I took another drag of the cigarette held out to me, then turned my face into his skin, content.
“Your clothes are too big,” he stated, suddenly. I made a confused hum – I had been half lulled to sleep in his arms.
“You've become really thin, your clothes don't fit anymore. You need new ones.”
They're still fine, I said, although I had noticed that I had to tighten my belt by at least three more holes than I had to before. Besides, there were some areas that the clothes were actually hugging me too tightly due to how much muscle I had put on.
“We're going thrifting tomorrow,” Tyler declared, ignoring me, putting the cigarette out on my skin. The flesh sizzled slightly – a twinge of discomfort. I didn't argue. I nuzzled up to him more, and somehow managed to fall asleep.
I quickly realised that Tyler's true motives were to change my wardrobe to something he liked more.
I wasn't going to wear black like the space monkeys, rather I was going to wear cropped tops and leather and mesh like Tyler did. He was modelling me after himself, so that we'd look like a pair – a couple. If found please return to Tyler Durden. I felt warm.
He got me a cropped shirt that pulled tight over my torso and kept my abs on display, and paired it with a green throw over that definitely used to belong to a woman. “You need more colour,” he had stated, in a bright pink shirt with palm trees on it. I didn't argue. I never argued with Tyler.
I was a little worried about Marla and what she would say. She still liked to come over to mock me, although she no longer entered the house with all the space monkeys inside. I could already hear her insults over my new clothes and my devotion to Tyler. Well, fuck her. Who cared about Marla Singer's opinion? She could overdose and get hit by a car and have her brains splattered all over the ground for all I cared. Fuck Marla Singer.
Tyler distracted me from thinking about stupid Marla by holding out another crop top, this one much shorter, and I shook my head, decisively. I would wear it if he wanted me to, but I didn't like it. He grunted. “It's for me,” he said around his cigarette, and tossed it into my arms.
We left the store without paying. The shopkeeper was a space monkey and when he saw Tyler he earnestly told us that it was all free of charge. “Sweet,” Tyler said with a grin, then led me out with a hand curled possessively around my waist.
It turned out that Tyler was big on public displays of affection – although “affection” was perhaps the wrong word. It felt more like ownership, like control, when he pulled me close. He liked everyone to see who I belonged to. I liked it too, so I didn't say anything. However, this didn't mean that no one had a problem.
“Hey, faggots!” I heard someone yell from behind us. I tensed.
Before Tyler I had never been with a man before, because I had repressed my homosexuality all my life. Tyler annihilated those boundaries, like he did the rest of them, but I hadn't thought about my past shame because who was there to judge? The space monkeys didn't say anything – they were space monkeys.
However, now, my shame came flooding back.
I am Jack's internalised homophobia.
Tyler did not share my sudden urge to hide. “The fuck did you just say?” he asked, turning around. His arm was still curled around my waist. I tugged at it, as inconspicuously as I could, trying to separate myself from him. He held me tighter.
The guy who had shouted at us was standing in the middle of the alley behind us alongside two friends, and they all looked drunk.
“You heard me,” the middle one said, although he seemed startled at the aggression in Tyler's tone and the bruises on his face. I had punched Tyler the other day. Now, he had a massive bruise over the bridge of his nose and around his eye. It made him look like a thug.
“Yeah, I did,” Tyler said, nodding. Finally, he let go of my waist, and of the bag with our clothes, to walk up to the three guys. “I was just wondering if you were brave enough to repeat it to my face.”
The man's two friends shared a concerned look, but the guy repeated himself with only minimal trembling in his voice. I commended him for the effort.
Tyler had a manic aura about him that made it seem like he could start acting like a lunatic at any moment. In fact, that wasn't inaccurate. He started bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet, like he always did when getting himself excited for a fight.
I watched, spellbound, as Tyler continued to heckle until the punches started flying.
Most people didn't want to fight, Tyler had taught me that what felt like a lifetime ago, but these men were drunk, and mean, and they probably dreamed about punching men like Tyler and I. Unfortunately for them, Tyler was crazy.
He laughed at the first punch, and the second, then retaliated so hard it sent the guy reeling. He repeated it with the second guy who was outraged at the treatment of his friend, and then started grappling with him.
He fought like he always did at Fight Club: hard, brutal, and mean. Unfortunately, it was three on one, and he stumbled to the ground when he was kicked to the back of the leg. That was when I stepped in, and decked the guy who had kicked him in the face.
He clearly hadn't been expecting me to join the fight, because he stumbled back, wide eyed. His two friends that had teamed up on Tyler whilst he was at a disadvantage, looked up, startled, at the sound of my fist connecting with their friend's face.
Then, they stepped back, scared, when they saw me punch their friend again and again, until he collapsed to the floor, only for me to let myself fall on top of him, my knees braced on the ground on either side of his body, to continue to punch.
This gave Tyler time to recover, which he celebrated with a laugh that caused blood to fly everywhere out of his mouth.
This display finally seemed to teach the idiots that they had picked a fight with the wrong people, because they started panicking and yelling at me to get off their friend and for Tyler to stop me.
I wasn't planning on stopping. I was suddenly very angry at this guy for making me feel ashamed of Tyler and my relationship with him. I was more than my shame over my sexuality. I was the leader of Fight Club and I wouldn't let this asshole cower me. I punched him again and again.
Suddenly, I felt a hand around my arm, tugging me off. I startled and spun my head around but it was Tyler, mouth dripping in blood as if he were a vampire.
He tugged me off of the man who had become little more than tenderised flesh on the ground. His nose was smashed to pieces and most of his teeth had been dislodged. I was panting heavily; I hadn't realised how severe my beating was being.
I stared, mesmerised, at the mess of blood I had reduced the man to – it was even worse than what I had done to Angel Face. I felt light-headed, as if I were the drunk one.
“You might want to take your buddy to a hospital,” Tyler called out, and I turned to look at the two guys who were staring, horrified, at what I had done to their friend.
Tyler laughed again, then started pushing me away, his hand on my back. He picked up the bag with our new clothes on the way, ignoring how his blood dripped into it, staining them – they would've gotten stained soon anyway.
He tried to wipe the blood off his face with his other arm, but all it did was smear it more and stain his jacket. He shrugged, then lowered his hand to grab mine.
He paused before making contact, staring at my hands. I looked down too and saw that they were shaking.
My hands were vibrating as if they were possessed, knuckles split, and coated in blood. I tried to will them to stop, but they just trembled more.
Tyler dropped the bag again, and grabbed hold of my forearms. This restricted my hands, but didn't stop them from quivering.
I wasn't ashamed at what I had done, but clearly my body didn't know what to do with itself in the aftermath of the violence.
“Hey, Psycho Boy,” Tyler cooed. “Stay with me.”
I wanted to say I am with you Tyler, always but my throat wouldn't work.
Uncharacteristically, Tyler began to gently rub my arms, murmuring that I had been badass and that that asshole had it coming. It was sweet and comforting, and I felt lulled, most of my frantic energy dissipating.
Suddenly, I was very tired. I slumped into him, breath heavy. I rested my head into the hollow of his throat, where the blood pouring from his face had started to pool. I stuck my tongue out to lick it – it tasted like ambrosia. I moaned and drank more.
Tyler grunted, and tugged me back by the hair whilst I made a soft sound of complaint at the loss. My head was spinning and I really did feel as if I were drunk. Tyler just muttered something under his breath and continued to tug me back to the Paper Street house. The bag was back in his hand again – I hadn't even noticed that he had picked it up.
When we got back to the Paper Street house Tyler ordered the space monkeys to clear out the bathroom, and tugged me towards it before they could even follow out his orders. Despite his lack of patience, the bathroom was already empty when we got there. Empty except for Angel Face that is, who asked if we needed any help.
I didn't even have the energy to hiss at him like I usually would.
I am Jack's deep set exhaustion.
Tyler considered him for a moment, then nodded, asking him to go fill a bowl with water then bring it back. Angel Face nodded, then scampered off.
Tyler sat me on the toilet seat then grabbed a bunch of toilet paper to stuff into his nose. Once he had stopped his own bleeding, he cleaned the blood off of himself as best he could and reached for the gauze.
Angel Face returned with a bowl of lukewarm water from the kitchen and a rag and Tyler took them both without a word, beginning to dab at my still trembling knuckles. He worked in silence for a long while, but Angel Face was still hovering, waiting for the next order. He didn't get any. Tyler just looked up at me, squinting, and asked, “What the fuck got into you, Psycho Boy?”
I didn't know. I had never felt such mind-numbing euphoria, other than the first time I had fought Tyler. I said as much.
He grunted, bandaging my knuckles. “Probably a power thing. You absolutely demolished him. He's not going to be calling people faggots again any time soon.” I nodded, my head feeling as if it was being tugged up and down by marionette strings.
I wanted to sleep – I felt like I could do it this time; I told Tyler. He gave me a long look, then turned to Angel Face. “Tell everyone to shut up and stay quiet,” he ordered, then wrapped the last bit of gauze around my hands. He pulled at my arm to get to stand up, then half carried me to bed, where I collapsed.
When I regained my bearings I was sprawled on the bed with Tyler next to me, smoking a cigarette. I groaned and curled into his side.
“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he drawled around his cigarette.
I felt like an entirely different person. I would've believed last night was a dream if not for my bandaged hands.
I beat the hell out of that guy, huh? I said in wonder.
Tyler cackled. “Yeah, you fucking did, Psycho Boy. Man, I thought you were going to kill him.”
Really? I asked.
“Yeah. That's why I pulled you off.” He gave me a long look. “Would you have stopped if I hadn't been there to pull you back?”
Probably not, I admitted, and shuddered. I had almost killed a man last night. I didn't care.
Tyler chuckled again, his cigarette bobbing in his mouth. I stared at it, yearning. “You're fucking crazy, man,” he said, then passed me the cigarette like I had hoped he would.
I took a long drag, sighing out in satisfaction at the feeling of smoke curling around my lungs. We shared the cigarette for a while, but it wasn't long before Tyler was tugging at my pants. Clearly, seeing me beat a man until he was almost dead got him horny.
“You got a favourite position?” he asked me, fingering me open with fingers he had hastily sucked himself. I wished that he had put them in my mouth instead.
Um, not really. I mean, I haven't really tried that many, I said, awkwardly. By “not many” I meant that I had only done it missionary.
Tyler's eyes brightened. “Seriously?” He added another finger. “So you're vanilla?”
I opened my mouth to reply but he began to talk over me, laughing, “No, there's no way. You're definitely a massive fucking freak you're just basically a virgin.” He moaned. “Oh man, I can't wait to teach you about all the pleasures of the human body.”
The idea made me excited too. Oh Tyler, deliver me. Bring me to a life of pleasure and great sex.
It still hurt. The prep was too dry – the saliva hadn't helped much and I squirmed at the uncomfortable feeling off Tyler's fingers prodding inside of me. Thankfully, it wasn't long before he took his fingers out then lined himself up. He stopped with just the tip in and I whined. “Before I go in, tell me one sex position you want to try. Or a kink. Or both, fuck it. What do you want me to do?”
I said it without hesitation: Hit me. He laughed, and did it. My head snapped to the side and I moaned. He was saying something about knowing that our fights made me horny, but I wasn't done.
I want to ride your dick, I slurred out, brain already fuzzy with static.
Tyler stopped rambling and laughed, giddily. “Facing me?” he asked, sinking in slowly.
Yeah, I replied, moaning really high pitched. And I want you to come on my face.
He moaned, fucking me fast. “You're such a whore, oh my god. What else do you want to try?”
It felt like he had opened the floodgates. All of my secret fantasies that I had refused to let myself imagine came bubbling to the surface. I wanted everything. I had spent my whole life repressed and now I had a sex god in my bed, demanding I give him a list of kinks that we can indulge – I was not going to waste my opportunity.
I said that I wanted him to use me; that I wanted him to hit me, punch me, slap me; that I wanted to worship him; that I wanted him to spit in my mouth.
With every new item on the list he moaned “Oh yeah?” and fucked me harder until I could feel him in my throat.
Getting bold, I said that I wanted to fuck him, too, then regretted it when he pulled out. However, I only regretted it for a moment because he gasped and said “Holy shit. That almost made me come”, squeezing the base of his dick to stave off orgasm.
We were both panting. I was staring at him, lustily; he was perfect. His body was wonderfully toned and his dick long and his hair had gone limp with sweat to fall in his face. I could stare at him all day if he let me – he would probably punch me in the face if I tried.
When he started crawling backwards, I whined in protest but Tyler just backed up until he was level with my dick then began to suck.
I had never gotten such good head. Tyler sucked dick like it was delicious and he couldn't wait for more. I couldn't contain my noises as he expertly tongued at my veins and took me deep into his throat, my pitch rising as I got closer to orgasm.
I tried to tug him off but he just took me further into his throat and moaned when he felt me ejaculate. I gasped at the sensation and at the sight of Tyler swallowing as he got off my dick.
My mind was reeling with pleasure. I had never felt so good in my life. The sensation only strengthened when he pushed me down until he was kneeling over me like I had been over the man I had almost killed. Instead of punching me, he just started jerking his cock until he came all over my face with a satisfied groan.
It felt as wonderfully degrading as I had fantasised. I licked my lips, blinking up at him despite the come I felt running down dangerously close to my eyes. I wasn't trying to be erotic, but Tyler eyed me hungrily, smearing the come all over my face with his thumb. I could get addicted to this kind of attention from Tyler.
Then, the moment was ruined. A space monkey came in, saying that there was a crazy lady screaming for Tyler and me. He looked at us for a moment before flushing and turning to look at the ceiling. Tyler was still sitting on my chest. Both of our cocks were still out. I swiped the come off my face with my palm.
What lady? I muttered, but Tyler was already getting up and pulling his pants back on. I followed suit, but then took a detour to wash my face. I was not going outside with come drying on my skin.
This turned out to have been a good decision because the crazy, screaming lady turned out to be Marla Singer.
“– and I know it was one of you freaks, because who else would fucking do that?” she was screeching, whilst Tyler and a bunch of space monkeys stared at her.
What's going on? I asked, walking up to them. Tyler turned to blink at me, then turned back around to grin at Marla.
“If you want to talk about that guy, ask Psycho Boy. He knows all about it.”
Marla turned to stare at me. I stared back at her blankly, arms wrapped around my stomach due to the chill. I was wearing one of the cropped tops Tyler had gotten me and it did nothing to keep me warm.
“Did you beat up my boyfriend?” she asked me.
What? I said. I didn't even know Marla had a boyfriend.
“My boyfriend is in the hospital right now with seven missing teeth and a severe concussion. His friends, who were also severely injured, by the way, said that they were jumped by some gay psychos.” She glared at me. “You're the only psychos I know, and you look like a faggot.”
I opened my mouth to reply but Tyler gave a low whistle before I could. “I wouldn't use that word around Psycho Boy. He doesn't like it very much.”
Marla looked at him like he had just told her the most ridiculous story she had ever heard. “What, psycho?” she asked, judgementally.
Tyler snorted. “No. Faggot.”
“So you did beat up my boyfriend!” Marla shrieked, as if she hadn't come here already suspecting this fact.
He started it, I said, stubbornly, and Tyler cackled.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?! He almost died!” Marla was screaming. I was already bored of her complaining.
Well, tell him not to yell slurs at people, I said loudly over her noise, although he hadn't actually been the one to yell the slur. And tell him to not attack Tyler from behind like a fucking pussy, in a three on one.
She glared at me, furious, then turned to Tyler. “You were there and you didn't stop him?” she asked, as if Tyler was a good samaritan in the business of saving people who were getting brutally assaulted in alleyways.
Tyler gave her an affronted look. “Hey, that's not fair. I did stop him. If not for me your boyfriend would be in the morgue, not in the hospital, so shut the fuck up.” He huffed, “Besides, Psycho Boy is right. They started it, and it was a three on one. What were they expecting, that my boyfriend would just stand there and watch?”
Marla seemed stunned for a moment. “You're fucking Cornelius?” she asked.
That's not my name, I muttered, And you know that. Marla had chosen it from the many names I went by in the support groups, which also included: Jake, Lenny, Dennis, Joe and a myriad of others.
“Oh I don't give a fuck what your name is,” Marla snapped. “You and Tyler are fucking?”
Yeah. What's it to you? I said, slightly smug. I knew Marla was still a little hung up on Tyler after he had broken things off with her without explanation when Project Mayhem had kicked off. I liked the feeling of replacing her.
“Nothing,” she sniffed. “Just always thought you liked it up the ass. Nice to have it confirmed.”
I glared at her and she glared back.
Tyler was chuckling. He walked over to swing an arm over my shoulder. “Ladies, stop fighting,” he teased. Then, to Marla: “Tell your boyfriend that if he presses charges nothing will happen to us and that I'll burn his house down. I have a bunch of cops working for me – I won't get arrested. Neither will Psycho Boy.” Marla didn't look convinced, so he added, “Do that, and I'll let you watch Psycho Boy and I fuck.”
What? I exclaimed, turning to stare at him.
Marla sucked her teeth. “Fine,” she said, and I whirled my head around to stare at her.
What the fuck? I hissed, but Marla was already storming off, yelling at Tyler to call her.
I wanted to ask him what his problem was, or perhaps why he would say something like that, but my throat wouldn't work.
I wasn't sure what my face was doing but Tyler rolled his eyes. “Don't look at me like that. Marla wants to fuck you, and she wants to fuck me, so why not let her watch? She's not going to be touching us or anything. Calm down.”
Since when does Marla want to fuck me? I asked, so confused my anger dissipated, and Tyler started to laugh.
“Oh man, you're such a fag,” he chuckled, and pulled me back into the house.
I mean it, I insisted. Did she tell you that?
Tyler was pushing through the crowd of space monkeys to the kitchen, heading straight to where some space monkeys were boiling fat; he shoved them aside to do it himself and they all scattered to do something else. I forced myself next to him. Tyler!
Tyler sighed, and didn't turn to look at me as he explained that “Marla and I talked about you sometimes when we fucked. She said that you'd be cute if you weren't such an asshole and were a little less pathetic.” I made an affronted sound. Tyler laughed, “Hey I didn't say it! I like my men pathetic.” He skimmed tallow off of the top of the fat with a practiced ease. I shoved his shoulder.
“Anyway, now that you've been building muscle at Fight Club, Marla has been looking much more appreciative and she's going to break up with her boyfriend now that you've disfigured him. She's a very opportunistic woman,” he said, chuckling fondly.
I was at a loss for words. I had never imagined Marla liking me. I thought she hated me as much as I did her.
Stupidly I asked, What happened to me being an asshole?
Tyler paused, then started cackling. A few space monkeys looked over with interest. “Well, you're still an asshole,” Tyler conceded, “But I guess you make it up in the looks department enough for her to overlook it now.”
He grinned at me, looking me up and down appreciatively. “Maybe she has a thing for scrawny-looking men who can actually throw her around if they wanted to. I know I do.” I flushed, pleased but embarrassed.
I didn't want to continue this conversation with the space monkeys listening so I muttered that I'd be upstairs, then ran to my room. It had been a couple of days since I was there, due to sleeping in Tyler's bed instead of my own. It felt strange to be back.
I picked up a Reader's Digest, trying to distract myself from thinking about him. It didn't work. All I could see in my mind was Tyler, deliciously bloody from a fight, and Tyler, naked in bed with me, and Tyler, opening me with his cock, and Tyler, Tyler, Tyler.
I needed him like I needed oxygen. More than, actually. I would gladly suffocate and die, as long I was looking at him when I finally succumbed to the deep, endless sleep.
The idea of sleep made me wistful for Tyler's bed, where I had already fallen asleep twice (an impressive track record), but I wouldn't dare go into Tyler's room without his permission.
It turned out that I didn't need permission, and that my room would no longer be seeing much use. An undefinable amount of time later, due to the lack of clocks in the Paper Street house, Tyler stormed into my room. He looked pissed.
“I was looking for you,” he hissed. I told him that this was my room. Where else would I be?
Tyler scoffed like the answer was obvious. It was.
“Get up, man,” he insisted, grabbing me by the arm to haul me up to his bedroom. Once there, he threw me onto his disgusting mattress in a way that made my heart flutter. It seemed like I, too, had a thing for being manhandled by muscular men.
Tyler ended up fucking me in three different positions. It seemed like he liked seeing my body bend and arch for him, because every time he tried something new, he either tried his hardest to fold me in half, or he pushed on my lower back to make my ass perk up.
“You're built like a whore,” he would mutter, caressing my back reverently. “It's like you were made for this, man.” I merely moaned in response.
Now, I flopped like a discarded dish towel. I was a fly in a glue trap – I had no escape. I didn't want it any other way.
I am Jack's mind-numbing orgasm.
I ended up coming twice. The first time had been when Tyler jerked my dick whilst he was taking me from behind whilst I was on my knees, and the second was when he frotted against me. I had come embarrassingly fast at the slide of my dick against his, but Tyler didn't even make fun of me, gasping as the force of his own pleasure overwhelmed him. I had collapsed next to him, drained, and felt warmed by the bliss on his face. However, coming twice had drained all my energy, and now all I could do was lie sprawled on the bed, used.
We hadn't used protection, again, and I could feel liquid oozing out of me, some of it getting on my thighs, making them sticky.
It made me feel dirty. I liked it.
Tyler was in the bathroom, cleaning off, leaving me in his room alone. There wasn't really anything in it, except for clothes so I just rolled myself into his blanket to snooze.
When I pulled myself out of my trance, Tyler was gone.
I looked up, blearily, as if feeling the disturbance in the air. I wasn't sure how I knew, but I knew Tyler wasn't in the house. Of course, I went looking for him.
I hastily cleaned myself up then ventured out to interrogate the nearest space monkey I could find.
“Where's Tyler?” I asked. He started giving me a spiel about the rules so I cut him off, Shut the fuck up. Answer my question. Where is he?
The space monkey looked nervous. I wasn't in the business of being nice to the space monkeys, so it felt weird to soften my tone slightly to say, Hey, I know you guys have your rules, but I'm second in command, right? If I ask a question, I expect an answer.
He still looked nervous but he finally replied that Tyler had gone to “franchise”.
Franchise? I echoed.
And that was how I learnt about the expansion of Fight Club.
Apparently, Tyler had been setting up Clubs and growing Project Mayhem all over the country. And I knew nothing about it.
Tyler had left me out.
I am Jack's deep sense of betrayal.
Our sex felt like it was mocking me. I had thought that I was better than Marla, more than a sport fuck, but now, faced with this massive secret Tyler had been hiding from me I felt humiliatingly used.
The space monkey was still talking but I wasn't hearing anything over the rushing in my ears. I felt bile rising in my throat and my fists clenched without my permission. Unable to take it anymore, I turned away abruptly and stormed out of the house.
I couldn't be in this house, with these space monkeys that knew more than I did, that Tyler trusted more than I did.
Holding back tears, I practically ran to Lou's and began ordering as many drinks as I could. They were all free of charge, the bartender was a space monkey too, but he looked worried as he gave me drink after drink. Still, he didn't ask. The first rule of Project Mayhem is that you do not ask questions.
The alcohol helped, but it couldn't numb the ache in my heart. I kept on trying anyway.
I came home shitfaced.
When I stumbled back home, narrowly avoiding death at some points, Tyler was home. My heart leapt, pleased to see him. As if it didn't know that Tyler didn't care about it at all.
He looked happy. It might've been the booze but he looked happier than I had ever seen him. Without me. Then he turned around and saw me.
No matter how little he actually cared, he took one look at me and tried to drag me up to our room. If not for my anger, I probably would've swooned. As it was, I fought him off, stumbling back due to my drunkenness.
Why are you keeping shit from me? I screamed at him. Tyler blinked, and all the space monkeys around us stopped and turned to look. I rounded on them. Get the fuck out! Obediently, they left without a word.
Tyler looked concerned. The audacity. As if him leaving me out didn't cause this, as if he hadn't caused me to be this way with his mantras of self-destruction.
Well, I am Jack's destroyed life. Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted?
Why are you doing shit without me? I demanded. I had never been this angry at Tyler. I wanted to scream, or shout, or cry. Instead, I punched him as hard as I could. It was a hard punch but my coordination was awful after all the booze, so my hit only glanced off his skin. He flinched anyway.
He didn't retaliate – that just made it worse. Since when has Tyler ever taken a hit without reciprocation? Since now apparently. He thought I was weak; he thought I was pathetic. The thought only made me more angry and upset.
Am I not good enough? Did you find someone else? As I said it, that stupid blonde asshole's face returned to my mind. Even disfigured, Tyler preferred him over me.
I am Jack's burning embarrassment.
What does he have that I don't, huh? I do everything for you! I was here first! I love-
I started sobbing partway through my sentence, helpless to the flood of emotions raging through me.
I didn't realise I had collapsed onto the floor until Tyler was sitting me up, his hands firmly gripping my forearms.
All of his attempts to calm me failed. Talking, hushing – all of it fell flat, and he made a frustrated sound. I was still crying.
I was drunk and I was crying and Tyler didn't care about me. My life was the worst.
“Get up,” he grunted, eventually, tugging at my arm. I started crying more, and Tyler swore. He ended up tugging me to my feet despite my lack of cooperation and took me to the bathroom and shoved his fingers in my mouth until I puked.
The dispelling of the alcohol made me feel a little better, but not much. I groaned in misery. The world was still spinning.
Tyler just rubbed my back, murmuring that I would feel better in a moment. I didn't think that that was possible but then Tyler kissed me, despite the fact that I had just puked, which made me feel better. Placated, I let him pull me up and carry me to our room, now as docile as a house pet.
He laid me down on our bed, pulling my body into his. He lit a cigarette, and held it out to share. I accepted, calming a little more with every drag.
Finally, when my sniffling turned to more even breaths, he asked what this was all about.
You left me out, I said miserably. I wasn't as hysterical anymore but it still hurt. I didn't know you were expanding Fight Club – you didn't tell me. Why didn't you tell me?
I heard Tyler suck his teeth. “I didn't feel like you needed to know.”
Why? I whined. Do you not like me anymore?
Suddenly, I feared his answer. I tensed, and I felt like I was about to start crying again, but Tyler forced me out of my spiral. “What are you talking about, man? That's stupid. You're the only person I like.”
Really? I asked, desperate for affection.
“You really think I'd go to all that effort to blow up your condo and make you come live with me if I didn't like you?” Oh, right. Tyler had admitted to me that he had been the one that blew up my home and that he had done that because he was obsessed with me.
Tyler didn't hate me. He couldn't. Not after all that effort to make me his.
I relaxed, but the insecurity at being left out still stayed. Tyler seemed to realise because he sighed, “I know you don't like the space monkeys – I wasn't sure how you'd react to me making the club bigger. I was worried about what you'd think so I just… didn't tell you about it.”
I'm okay with anything you do, I informed him. Sure, maybe I didn't like the space monkeys but I accepted them because they worked for Tyler. Just like I accepted everything else Tyler did.
He played with some strands of my hair. “Good to know,” he murmured. Then, “I just don't want you freaking out.”
I frowned so he shifted to be able to grab my face. “You love me, right?” I nodded, tentatively, becoming embarrassed at my outburst. “Well, if you love me, you'll trust me.” He stroked my cheek, gently.
I just want to know what's going on, I muttered, but I felt lulled by how he was petting me.
Tyler made a quiet sound then pulled me even closer. “I'm sorry, babe, I thought you didn't need to know. You don't give a shit about Project Mayhem, I thought you wouldn't want to be too involved.”
Who told you I don't give a shit? I asked, but since I had calmed significantly there was no bite in my tone. Besides, Tyler calling me “babe” made me feel the warmth that I had been chasing with the alcohol.
“I can just tell, man. You love me and you enjoy Fight Club but you have no stakes in Project Mayhem. Knowing everything would just bore you, or make you worry.” He kissed me gently.
This was the moment that I realised I was being manipulated. My eyes narrowed. I was drunk, and worn out by my episode, but I wasn't stupid, and it was obvious that Tyler was trying to keep things from me.
Why do you not want to tell me about what you're doing, Tyler?
Tyler paused, his face now in my neck. Then, he gave a small scoff, “Who said anything about that, man?” but it sounded strained.
I refused to take the bait. You're not telling me stuff on purpose. Why? What are you hiding?
He grumbled into my neck then lifted his face to make eye contact; his eyes were so beautiful. “I told you to trust me. Do you not trust me?” he asked.
What are you not telling me? I insisted through gritted teeth. Then, I moaned as Tyler slapped me.
“Shut the fuck up. I told you to trust me,” Tyler hissed, suddenly aggressive. “You're my only friend, you're getting dicked down daily, and all these stupid assholes take orders from you thanks to me. What more could you need?”
I opened my mouth to reply, a little dizzy from the slap, but he started stroking my dick through my pants and I lost my train of thought, beginning to writhe on the mattress. The horniness and drunkenness were mixing in my brain, making me forget about what I wanted to know. I knew this which meant Tyler knew this. Tyler knew this, so he got my dick out and started to suck me off.
Oh! I moaned, hands shooting to Tyler's hair. He bobbed up and down, his tongue flicking against my length in all the ways that made me crazy, as if he had been born an expert in my body and all its secrets.
I quickly forgot about Project Mayhem and Tyler's suspicious elusiveness and why I was so drunk. I just moaned, so loud it probably echoed through the house, and tugged Tyler where I wanted him. When I came, it was all over his hand as he jerked my spit-slick dick. Tyler's reaction was to flip me onto my stomach and start fingering me open, using my come as lube.
I moaned at the overstimulation and tried to wriggle away but Tyler just grabbed both my hands and held them against the small of my back, rubbing my prostate relentlessly with two fingers until I came again. I had never felt anything like it before; it was like my body was packed with lightning. Then, Tyler pushed his dick inside and I groaned in pained pleasure as he forced me to come again.
I had heard of a prostate orgasm, but hearing about it and feeling its effects were very different. I was reduced to a mindless puddle on the mattress, whining like a dog.
A few moments later, I registered Tyler coming inside of me then slapping my ass, hard. I moaned again. “Slut,” he chuckled, then laid down next to me. He reached out an arm and I cuddled up to him, argument forgotten.
I passed out with my head on his sweaty chest.
This time he was there when I woke up, as if trying to decrease the chances of me questioning his activities and whereabouts again. It didn't matter. I had such a mind-splitting headache that I couldn't think, much less get angry again.
I whined in distress, clutching at my head. I had gotten hungover before but never like this. I had never drank so much in my life – combined.
Tyler doted on me as if he were my loving boyfriend, cooing and stroking my hair. He was trying to get into my good books so I would stop asking questions. If you don't ask about Project Mayhem I will kiss your cheek and call you babe. It was embarrassingly effective. By the time my headache subsided a little bit I had no more desire to ask him anything except to hold me, which he did.
We made a system: I would get insecure and suspicious, Tyler would make me come three times, my feelings would metamorphose into satisfaction and love, and Tyler would go out and be secretive about his actions. Rinse and repeat.
The only thing he did tell me was that he was not having sex with other people after he saw me eyeing up Angel Face again. “I respect your desire for a monogamous relationship,” he insisted, although I had never demanded one for fear of his reaction, then jerked me off whilst making out with my neck.
The tension of the secret was killing me. Whatever he was doing hadn't kicked off yet – the space monkeys were all jittery with excitement, as if waiting for a pin to drop. They were getting prepared for something. Something that I wasn't a part of, for reasons Tyler refused to share with me.
The familiar feeling of being the excluded outsider began to creep up on me again. I frowned and went looking for Tyler – he was in the kitchen.
When he saw my face he abandoned the bottle labelled “nitric acid” that he had been pouring to some soap to come to me; his hands immediately went to my belt and he began to undo it. Tyler! I whispered, scandalised.
He looked up at me, annoyed, already halfway to his knees. “What?”
There's people here!
And there were. There was a group of space monkeys who had been helping Tyler make nitroglycerin, all either watching curiously or pretending that nothing was happening.
I was also a little worried about what they needed such a large volume of nitroglycerin for, and Tyler seemed to notice. He immediately clicked his tongue to get my attention, as if I were a dog, and resumed his task of freeing my dick. It was already half hard which was not helping my case that I didn't enjoy us being watched.
“They won't care. They've got a job to be getting on with.” The few space monkeys watching immediately resumed their duties. “Besides, it's nothing they've never heard before. We don't try to be quiet.” That was true, but it still felt different to get my dick sucked in a room full of people.
I also hadn't expected Tyler to ever get on his knees for me in front of them. I was fine with people assuming I was Tyler's bitch that bottomed for him – it wasn't strictly true, as Tyler had been very receptive to the idea of bottoming, although we hadn't tried it yet, but some people viewed taking it up the ass and giving it differently. Clearly, Tyler didn't care. Tyler could dress like a slut, suck, fuck and get fucked, and still be the most masculine guy around. It was enviable, really.
He moaned when he got my length in his mouth, and immediately began to bob his head. Tyler was amazing at giving head – I was jealous of whoever he had practiced with.
I knew that the fact that Tyler was the first guy I'd been with got him going – he liked to pop all of my cherries: smoking, fighting, sodomy – anything he could. He had been ecstatic when he had found out that I had only had vanilla sex with women, after all. However, I couldn't say the same. Tyler had come to me a sex god but that entailed experience.
I wanted to kill every single one of his last partners – starting with Marla Singer. However, fortunately for Marla, she was saved from my wrath by my orgasm. It drained away my insecurity about Tyler's sexual history, like it did with my exclusion, and left me feeling soft and satisfied. I stroked Tyler's cheek, thanking him for reassuring me. “Anytime, Psycho Boy,” he replied, licking his lips.
This worked for a week. Then I saw what the space monkeys were watching on the TV and our system fell apart.
I hadn't left the Paper Street house in days, what with Tyler keeping me busy making soap and some more products of the less legal variety. Due to this, I had no idea what Tyler and the space monkeys had begun getting up to. However, there were signs: the whole house seemed abuzz with excitement and a large amount of nitroglycerin had disappeared. Not to mention that the TV was a new addition, clearly bought to observe the aftermath of their chaos.
I had found out exactly what Tyler had been getting up to when I had become curious about the noise, and why Tyler would allow such a mind-numbing, consumerist creation in the Paper Street house, causing me to investigate.
It was an old, second-hand piece of shit with a small screen but that didn't matter – the space monkeys were watching the news, excited. The headline read, “Anarchist Cult Escalates” and there was a video of a building with a burning smiling face being shown.
What the fuck? I whispered. This was nothing like the Fight Club Tyler and I had created. The club we had made to free ourselves from our boring lives was contained to basements – this was headline news.
I listened to the space monkeys instead of tuning them out like I usually did, and heard them chattering excitedly about acts of vandalism, assault, and arson all over the city. They were causing mass chaos, all under the name of Project Mayhem – all under the name of Tyler Durden.
I froze at the realisation. Feeling like I was a bit late on the uptake, I realised that the headlines were right: what Tyler had done, what I had done when I recruited the space monkeys by challenging them for three days on the front porch, was to start a cult. The thought lit me up with a feeling I couldn't recognise. I felt mildly sick but I wasn't sure if it was from power-drunkness or horror at what I had helped cause.
Then, the TV was turned off. I looked away from the screen, startled, to find Tyler staring at me. His expression was unreadable but there was intent behind his eyes as he grabbed me firmly to drag me away. We weren't even away from the space monkeys before he started talking, “You're going to be cool about this, right? I don't want you to start freaking out on me.”
I honestly didn't know what to think. I said as much and Tyler scoffed, darkly, still dragging me deeper into the house.
“See that's the problem with you: always fucking thinking. I told you that you need to let go. Do you listen to me? No! This is why I didn't tell you about Project Mayhem – you're just not ready. You just can't handle-”
Did people die? I interrupted.
Tyler blinked at me, his tirade coming to an abrupt stop. “What?”
Have you killed anyone doing this shit? I demanded, and my tone was firm and unyielding. I had never managed a tone like that against Tyler before – I was proud of myself.
Tyler was staring at me, somehow uncomprehending, so I slapped him, hard, in the face. Thankfully, Tyler understood it for what it was: a call for him to focus, not a challenge to a fight. His eyes met mine and I repeated, slowly, Did this kill anyone?
This time, his answer was immediate. “No.”
I breathed out a sigh of relief; the tension uncoiled from around my heart and I could breathe again, freely. My fear dissipated as if it had never been.
Confused at my reaction, but clearly pleased, Tyler ventured, “So we're cool, man?”
I don't give a fuck about terrorism, Tyler, I snapped, and as I said it I realised it was true. I didn't care that Project Mayhem was basically a domestic terror group of cultists, I didn't care that Tyler and the space monkeys were blowing up buildings. As long as no one died, I could handle it.
I just didn't want my best friend to be a murderer.
It was like the tension that had been inexplicably chafing between us since the start of Project Mayhem had dissolved. Immediately, Tyler gave me his signature grin, wrapping his fingers into my shirt before seductively pulling me in closer. I placed my fingers against his lips before he could kiss me. Whilst he looked frustrated, Tyler also seemed to find it immensely hot.
From now on you tell me everything, you understand? I asked, more a demand than a question. Tyler chuckled and nodded, licking at my fingers and trying to suck them into his mouth. I held firm. I mean it Tyler, I continued, Before you do anything, I want to know about it. I won't tolerate being out of the loop anymore. I'm not going to stop you, but you need to tell me. This is about trust – I want you to trust me.
He nodded again, then moaned when I relented and let him take two digits into his mouth, briefly.
We ended up sprawled on his, now our, bed, mouths never disconnecting as we shuffled and manoeuvred out of our clothes. Tyler ripped my shirt clean off me and I gasped in both anger and arousal as he ruined one of the only non-bloodstained clothes I owned.
My arousal only built when he manoeuvred my spit-slickened fingers against his hole, urging me to open him up. I did so eagerly, but more gently than he ever treated me, trying to massage his prostate as much as possible to distract him from the sting of our unsafe sex practices.
Before Tyler, I hadn't had much of a sex drive. My few sexual encounters with women had been few and far between, and far from satisfying. Now, with Tyler, I was a fiend. I needed him, everywhere, all the time. I didn't care if the sex hurt, as long as I was having it with Tyler as regularly as possible.
Still, I wanted to make him feel good. Therefore, I tried to protest when he started to push me away impatiently to signal me to pull my fingers out. I wasn't massive but anal hurt and I wanted to be more considerate than Tyler was.
I wasn't complaining at how Tyler treated me, I just wanted to give him an incentive to ride me more often.
My arguments that he wasn't ready were met with a grin and a shake of his head. He insisted he was ready, so I relented, settling against the wall that our mattress was pushed up against. It was comfortable but Tyler was shifting his hips until I could feel his ass against my dick so I didn't complain.
Just don't kill anyone, I whispered against his lips as he settled on top of me, and then moaned in ecstasy when he sank onto me slowly whilst whispering “I promise.”
Marla came to visit the next day.
She looked nervous about all the space monkeys but after Tyler and I's conversation, some brilliant sex that lasted until I could feel my brain leaking out of my ears, and a bottle of vodka, I was in a brilliant mood. I waved her over with the hand not wrapped around the bottle, giggling drunkenly.
Marla took one look at my inebriated state at midday on a Thursday then took the bottle from me and finished it off.
That was how Tyler found us whispering loudly to each other that evening with empty bottles strewn around us, fetched by space monkeys, when he resurfaced from making explosives in the kitchen all day.
“Aren't you two looking all chummy,” he called out with a raised brow. I smiled at him – seeing Tyler always made me smile; he gave me a small smile back.
“Your boytoy is actually pretty funny when he isn't telling me to kill myself,” Marla chirped, then coughed around a lungful of smoke from her cigarette. I laughed at her misfortune, my own lit cigarette lowering dangerously close to my shirt.
Tyler shook his head at our antics, muttering about us being kids, then wrapped an arm around me to pull me up. I staggered against him, immediately leaning into him for support. He held me tightly by the hip and I hummed, contentedly. I heard Marla call us faggots but I didn't care, beginning to lick at Tyler's sweaty skin.
The heat was dreadful today and I wanted to go inside where it was marginally cooler. My sense had returned despite my drunkenness thanks to Tyler.
Tyler, deliver me. Tyler, save me from drowning in my own sweat.
Because Tyler and I were perfect for each other and could practically read each other's minds, Tyler began to drag me inside, yelling behind us at Marla that she could follow if she wanted. I didn't particularly care if she did or not. Most of my attention was focused on sucking a hickey into Tyler's neck with a tenth being spared to ensure I don't eat shit whilst walking, which would pull Tyler down with me.
When we got to Tyler and I's room, Marla had caught up, presumably wanting to stay as far away from the space monkeys as possible. I ignored her, turning Tyler's face so that he would kiss me. He did, eagerly.
Unfortunately, we stuck to each other due to the heat and I had to back up to take off my shirt, unbearably sweaty. However, as I did so I became painfully aware of Marla's eyes on me. I was unsure if that made me aroused because Tyler's eyes were also on me – he was looking me up and down so shamelessly I flushed red.
Watching me discard my shirt on the filthy floor, Marla drawled, “Can I cash in on my gay porn now?” Feeling like my mind was swimming in molasses, it took me a moment to realise she was talking about Tyler's promise. I blinked at her, owlishly, then turned to Tyler.
Tyler didn't notice, and in fact seemed to have to drag his eyes away from my happy trail with physical force when he turned to grin at Marla.
“If you want.”
Marla nodded.
This was how I ended up with Tyler inside of me and his mouth at my throat whilst Marla smoked in the corner. She didn't have a chair to sit on so she just leaned against the wall, which was probably growing mould, with her hand down her pants.
I felt awkward with Marla watching – as if I were putting on a performance. Still, my sounds weren't fake, and when I arched my back, it was really because Tyler was jackhammering my prostate to the point my body felt like a live wire.
Our skin was slapping together obscenely and we were both shiny with sweat; I could feel Marla's eyes as if they were crawling on my body. I was going to snark at her that if she was interested in muscles this much maybe she should go watch wrestling instead of bothering me and Tyler, but that was when Tyler chose to bite at my Adam's apple and I yelled. He chuckled, then gentled his teeth until he was just worrying my skin. My urge to hiss at Marla was promptly forgotten.
I clutched his back as he covered my neck in red and purple, biting and sucking so furiously I knew the marks would look angry. Most of the marks Tyler left on my body looked angry – of course hickies would not be an exception.
Tyler liked to put them high on my neck where I couldn't hide them. As if I would. My boss had given me looks, but he was too afraid to say anything. No one challenged me on my cuts and bruises, much less my hickies.
No one had ever seen me get a hickey before, but I decided that, other than awkward, I didn't feel any particular way about the sensation of Marla watching. It was just another fact of my life: I lived in the Paper Street house, I was responsible for a cult, and Marla Singer was watching me have sex. It clearly did something to Tyler though, because he kept muttering dirty praise into my throat. I liked that. I liked that a lot, so I moaned in encouragement, and grabbed his head to catch his lips in a kiss again. We were using way too much tongue, but I think Tyler was doing it on purpose so Marla could see.
Like I expected, despite Marla's eyes, I had no trouble coming. Tyler never failed to make me come and her presence had no effect on my release. I moaned again, loudly, then went limp, spent. Tyler followed me after just a few thrusts.
He groaned in satisfaction, still buried inside me, then grinned into my skin. “Good show?” he asked Marla.
I looked over at her; she was licking her fingers clean. “You two boys should make a sex tape. That was hot.”
Tyler laughed, but the lustful look he gave me told me that he liked the idea. I flushed red and pushed him off to hide my face in the pillow. Tyler just crawled back on top of me, settling right above my ass.
“Any other requests?” he ventured, his fingers stroking along my back. It was a casual display of ownership – his way of saying ‘We'll talk about it later and you'll agree with everything I say’. I was weak – I knew that if he truly wanted to record us I'd let him; I'd let him send the tape to everyone I knew. I would do anything for this man.
“Let me record it,” Marla asked. “I could help you with zoom-ins and perspective or whatever.”
Just like that, Marla and Tyler started talking about shot composition and posing and camera angles. I took this as my cue to take a nap. I didn't want to know what they were planning on making me do for their tape – they were both perverts who took way too much interest in the V-line of my abdomen. However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't sleep.
In order to survive the conversation happening around me, I groped for my discarded pants that had my cigarettes in. Unfortunately, with Tyler sat on top of me, I couldn't reach. I huffed. Tyler?
Tyler leaned down to whisper right into my ear. His breath tickled and his cock rubbed tantalisingly against the skin of my back, interested in a round two. He wasn't used to our sex being so short – neither was I. “Yeah?”
Can you pass me a cigarette?
Tyler hummed. “I don't know, Psycho Boy. Wouldn't you prefer to have something else in your mouth?”
I flushed. Not really, I'm craving a cigarette right now.
Tyler sighed dramatically, sounding disappointed, but reached for the packet. I heard him retrieve one, then he was flipping me around. I blinked up at him, dazed. “Open, pretty,” he cooed, and my mouth automatically opened at his order. He lit the cigarette after placing it between my lips. Marla gave a whistle and I shot her a glare.
Why don't you find some gay porn to watch, Marla? Instead of bothering us? I sniped at her, but she just smirked.
“Why would I buy it when I already know a couple hot dudes, one of which moans like a pornstar?” My face lit on fire. I sputtered, trying to deny it, but Tyler laughed, agreeing that yeah, I really did sound like a porn star. I gave up, flustered. I hated when they teamed up on me. It was unfair.
Marla ended up leaving soon after. I listened out eagerly for the sound of the front door closing then told Tyler that I had never been so happy in my life.
Dismissively, Tyler replied, “You love it when Marla is here.” Then, in a sudden movement, he licked his palm and grabbed my cock, waking it up for a second time in the past hour. I shuddered at the overstimulation but simultaneously arched myself closer. “I want this in me like yesterday,” he muttered against my lips, and it was all I could do to obey.
A few minutes later I could confidently say that there was no better feeling than fucking Tyler Durden. I couldn't stop the moans and grunts that escaped me as I snapped my hips into his, attached to his throat like some sort of leech.
Tyler was also moaning, louder than I had ever heard him, saying “Yeah, right there” and “Fuck, you're so good” and “You're so hot, oh my god”.
That last one prompted me to kiss him deeply, whining against his mouth; he laughed against my lips, “You like being called hot? Well, you're fucking sexy, babe. Keep going, don't slow down.” I went faster, and it made Tyler produce a strangled moan and grasp at my back.
When he came, it was all over the both of us with a gasp. I quickly followed him – the way his eyes fluttered back sent me helplessly spiralling into pleasure.
My pleasure was overwhelming. It felt like a wave crashing into me and sweeping me away. This was the reason why having sex with Tyler Durden was addicting: he was so good at it you left it feeling like you just went through a profound, life changing experience. I could do it forever. I would be on his body all the time if he let me, like some sort of clingy koala, mindless with my obsession.
I clung to him now, basking in the aftermath. He didn't mind. Tyler seemed sleepy, stroking my hair rhythmically. It helped me calm my breathing, my cock softening and slipping out of Tyler as I sighed like a dog with satisfaction.
I didn't get up to get a towel or a shirt to get the come off of us. Instead, I bent my head to lick up Tyler's release from his stomach. He groaned, aroused at my depraved display, but settled when I rested my head on his chest.
We lay together like that for a long time before finally drifting off. The drying semen on me only bothered us the next morning when I was almost late for work.
A week later, Tyler and I blew up a building.
Wanting to stop feeling left out, I had insisted that Tyler let me do something big with him. I had done homework, but nothing like what Tyler had evolved Project Mayhem to. He hemmed and hawed, but finally relented, telling me he was proud that I was putting my foot down and escaping social norms and rules. I beamed at him, and he patted my head as if I were a good dog.
If I were a dog, my tail would be wagging.
He ended up deciding to blow up a McDonalds, calling it the epitome of corporate consumerist chains and a representation of how childhood is capitalised with manufactured joy. I nodded along, more preoccupied with my own growing excitement. It would just be the two of us, and it would be something that brought us closer – I wanted to be as closer to Tyler as humanly possible. Closer than that.
We broke in easily, setting up the homemade explosives on a timer, then scampered away to watch the explosion from a safe distance.
A good few meters away from the explosion site I went to turn around, eager to watch, only for Tyler to pull me into an alleyway, out of sight. For a moment, I swooned, impressed at how smart Tyler was – of course we couldn't stay on the street, it would be suspicious. However, it quickly became clear that that was not why Tyler had dragged us here when he shoved me against the wall, hard, and started to lick into my mouth.
I groaned when I felt his hand at my belt, my eyes flicking nervously to the street. We weren't hidden, just cloaked in shadow, and our clothing was eye-catching – I was wearing one of Tyler's red shirts that had a profanity plastered on it and had a tear in the side so large it exposed a mile of my side and stomach. Tyler had insisted I wear it, calling me sexy. I felt exposed, but wore it to make him happy; it was also nice to feel his eyes snagging on my exposed skin constantly.
He got my dick out, then his own, manoeuvring to be able to hold us both in his hand. Gasping at the sensation of his dick against mine I jerked my hips up; the dry slide made us both groan. Tyler spat on us both in an attempt to decrease the friction.
“I'm proud of you,” Tyler said against my lips whilst stroking us both slowly, making me whimper. “You've changed so much from that mindless corporate slave I met – you've grown.” His lips brushed against mine with every word. My need mounted until I was practically vibrating. “Good boys like you deserve a reward,” he whispered, right as our bombs went off.
The intoxicating mixture of his voice, his words, his hand and dick against my dick, his lips against mine and the explosion made me come.
It felt like I was exploding too – I felt alight with my own arousal, burning up with helpless need. The unexpectedness made it both better and worse – I moaned at the onslaught of sensation, jerking and making a mess.
When I was done, my head dropped; my eyes fluttered shut. The orgasm had drained all of my energy. I hadn't known that terrorism got me going, but it might be a thing. Me from a few months ago would be horrified – right now, all I felt was satisfaction and embarrassment over my poor show of endurance. Wincing, I forced my eyes back open to see Tyler looking stunned. He also looked hopelessly aroused.
His hand was covered in my release. He was ignoring it, opting to stare at my face instead.
I was still panting, face probably red. I also wasn't much to look at, in my opinion, but Tyler didn't seem to be able to pull his eyes away as I gasped for breath. It soothed my embarrassment at how quickly I had come. Slightly.
I was afraid that Tyler would make a mocking comment, regardless of how turned on it made him, but instead he lifted his stained hand to my mouth; I sucked his fingers into my mouth immediately. The taste of my own semen was strange, and I didn't really like it, but I didn't pull away. I made eye contact as I cleaned his hand, hoping that he was finding this attractive. He was.
His mouth was hanging slightly open, almost absentmindedly, and he stared at my mouth as he started pushing his fingers in and out of my mouth. I choked a little, spit beginning to drip from my lips and chin, but obediently continued my ministrations.
When he pulled his fingers out, I darted my tongue out to lick his palm clean, making Tyler let out a choked out groan. He was still hard – his erection hadn't calmed one bit. It made me proud, how desirable he found me.
To apologise for how quickly I came, I went to my knees and sucked him off. It felt risque with the breeze in my hair reminding me that anyone could walk past, especially with a burning building causing people to flock, but Tyler finished quickly and then we were both stumbling away from the scene of our crime before we were noticed.
I laughed, carefree, tugging Tyler by the hand back home. My excitement was unfamiliar to me – I felt invincible and cocky and like I owned the world. I whooped in exhilaration, and it made Tyler whoop and laugh with me.
We ended up going for a round two at home, with Tyler revealing that he had gotten a camcorder to record us. Amused, I hadn't argued as he set it up. What did I have to be ashamed of? Tyler wanted me and I felt like I was buzzing with all the ecstatic emotion under my skin.
The tape turned out fine, but I told him he better not show it to people or I would beat him up. He told me not to threaten him with a good time, then laughed, resulting in us laughing together right through the night. We talked about who we would like to fight, then where we would like to fuck, curled up in each other's arms like kids at a sleepover.
I had never felt so happy in my life.
This time, I looked right at Tyler as I said I love you, sober and affectionate. Tyler looked back at me, almost shyly, and said that he loved me too.