Fist to the Heart Chapter 10
Fist To The Heart – Ch. 10
By Laura S. Fox
Copyright © 2019 Laura S. Fox
All Rights Reserved
Gay Erotica
Intended for Mature Audiences Only
This story will contain graphic depictions of sexual intercourse, strong language and it is not meant for readers who are less than 18 years of age.
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Chapter Ten – Good Man, Bad Boy
"Why do I have to take him with me?" Ruslan protested.
The old man looked at him, frowning.
"Nigel has come a long way to spend some time with us."
"You mean with me," Ruslan pointed at himself. "Seriously, papa, the guy is such a bore. And I have some stuff to do later."
"With Johnny? No one says that you can't do as you please. But I thought you would love to show off our ring to a potential business partner. Seeing how you are already so invested in this."
"I can tell you're thinking of something." Ruslan began pacing the room, while the old man was seated behind his desk. "Of how to make me break up with Johnny."
The old man shrugged. "Of course I am. I made no secret of the fact that I don't condone this relationship."
"I don't understand you." Ruslan sat on the small sofa by the window, which had always been his favorite spot, from the time he was still living under the old man's roof.
He liked his papa's studio. He had always found it a peaceful place. It was easy to recall how he had often laid on that same spot, with a book in his arms, while listening to the old man's even scribbling. In an age where everyone was using computers, the old man was still adamant against technology taking over every aspect of his life. So he was still sending correspondence written by hand, and he seemed to have a lot of it, too.
Ruslan would have liked to have the same reassuring feeling now, for his papa to tell him that it was all right to feel the way he felt about Johnny. But the old man seemed to have something against Johnny, and Ruslan needed a different approach to change his mind.
"So many times, I got involved with guys, and you didn't care about them. Why Johnny?" He pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.
"You mean men with an unsavory reputation?" The old man looked at him over the rim of his glasses. "You never took one home. You never spent more time than what you deemed enough for a fleeting tryst with any of them. I have my reasons to be worried, Russy, as I told you."
"It's like you know something about this guy that I don't." Ruslan opened his arms wide, as if in supplication for his plea to be heard. "Wait." His eyes squared on the old man. "You do. You know something about Johnny. About his past. Or about his family. What is it that makes you so worried? So he's a fighter. I get it. He's not a businessman like Nigel is. And he's poor. But I don't see how any of these could make you so worried. Johnny is actually a good man."
"It wasn't because he was a good man that he got those terrible scars on his back," the old man interrupted him.
Ruslan stared at his papa, wide-eyed. So the old man knew about how Johnny had gotten hurt. Admittedly, he was curious. But Johnny had chosen not to tell him, and he wasn't going to pry. When that was going to happen, it was going to happen because Johnny trusted him, and not before.
"Aren't you going to ask me about details?" The old man pushed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.
"No. Johnny will tell me about that when he's ready," Ruslan said stubbornly.
"So you want to believe him. Has it not crossed your mind that he might choose to lie?" his papa inquired.
"Johnny's not like that," Ruslan said quickly.
"Ah, you're so fierce and determined to take his side." The old man pursed his lips. "Have you known this man for how long, Russy? A few weeks at best? And you want to believe him over your parent who wants nothing but what's best for you."
Ruslan looked away, feeling a little chastised.
"I know he's a good guy," he mumbled while still averting his eyes. "Are you trying to tell me he's not?" He looked back at his papa with a tinge of fear.
The old man's eyes became warm when they met his.
"Johnny Bryne is doing his best, Russy. But that's not always enough. I am honest with you here. And I will not tell you anything about him that you don't want to hear from me. I want to save you the pain that might come your way. For you, I want the best. I want to see you with someone who deserves you. Someone who can make you happy. Who will take care of you."
"Someone like Nigel Davenport?" Ruslan glared now. "I can tell you, papa. The guy would be all down for some horizontal mambo, but I doubt he's ready to take some vows and have you walk me down some aisle like you might be imagining it. It's not like I'm some girl whose hand you can offer in marriage. You know that's not how things work for gay guys. At least, not for gay guys like me," he added.
"Like you? And what is that supposed to mean, Russy?" The old man linked his fingers and sat his chin on top of them, elbows against the desk.
"Johnny is not the only one with a dark past. I have one of my own. Do you think goody-two-shoes Nigel would be as enthralled with me if he knew where I come from?"
The old man's eyes shadowed. "I am in the position to be able to wipe your past, Russy. I did that. No one would be able to prove anything, should some gossip resurface."
Ruslan shook his head. "I love you, papa, for all that you did for me. But you forget that there are still people who know the truth. And I know the truth. It will never disappear from up here." Ruslan pointed at his temple.
"I know that," the old man reproached him. "You still refuse to receive help. It would do you good. It would set you free."
"No." Ruslan shook his head. "I won't have a stranger digging around my brain."
"This is not how therapy works. You have misconceptions about it," the old man said.
"Maybe I'm wrong, but I still don't want to go." He eased back into the sofa. "Let's say that I won't ever talk about it. What about the others?"
"The others?" The old man continued to look at him with scrutinizing eyes.
"Yeah, like, you know." Ruslan shifted in his place like he could not sit comfortably. "Those people at that place. The bad people," he whispered and closed his eyes.
"Ah, they won't talk," the old man said matter of factly.
Ruslan's eyes snapped open. Something was off in how casually his papa was dismissing that possibility.
"Why?"
The old man shrugged. "It is a simple fact."
"Did something happened to those people? Papa, are you a gangster? Did you make them ... disappear?" he whispered.
"What a ludicrous idea, Russy." The old man smiled. "I am definitely not a gangster."
"But how you said that those guys wouldn't talk ... I don't know. You give me the willies, sometimes." Ruslan squeezed his arms with his hands like he was suddenly cold.
"I am sure that is not the case. And you're just goofing around now. You know that behaving like a child will not work on me forever."
Ruslan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm bound to get too old for that, at one point."
"You will always be my dear child," the old man said with affection.
"And you just said that me behaving like that won't work forever," Ruslan replied.
"Just because I will know all your tricks by then," the old man added quickly.
"All right, I will take Nigel with me to see the match. But my time is my own, okay?" Ruslan said.
"I would like that you don't behave terribly familiar with Johnny in front of Nigel."
"Why? Ah, damn, papa, you really think this guy will put some ring on my finger. Seriously, you're so old-fashioned."
"Of course I am old-fashioned. I am old, so it's natural for me to be this way." His parent laughed. "Yes, I do believe that Nigel could have serious intentions. And why are you so much against marriage? You know it is possible."
"C'mon, papa," Ruslan complained, "not even country girls marry at 24 in this day and age. Do you expect gay guys who have all the reasons in the world not to get hitched to fit into some marriage bliss stereotype? You know that's not working for most heterosexual couples. Plus, I have never had a serious relationship in my life. Jumping to get married would be a bit of a stretch, don't you think?"
"Just give Nigel a chance. The young man is smitten with you, as I expected."
"He wants the same thing as anyone else. And that's fine. It's not like I want something else, either. But I'm not interested in that particular thing with him."
"Ah, and that's because you do have a relationship right now." The old man shook his head but smiled.
"It's not like that," Ruslan protested, but he could feel his cheeks getting a bit warm.
"Your misplaced affection will be a cause for pain, Russy," his papa said softly.
"Seriously, I'm not that into Johnny. I mean, he's better than anyone else I've been with --"
"Russy, you can't judge people only by their prowess in bedroom affairs."
"Ugh, papa, I told you. Johnny is a good guy. Why are you and Yanis so sure he would hurt me, somehow? He's the most gentle partner I've ever been with. I have nothing to worry about, and you don't have either."
"I see that Yanis is more responsible these days than you are."
"Well, he's getting married. I suppose he feels a bit more responsible than usual," Ruslan said with a small smile.
He had wanted to tell his papa the news about Yanis's engagement for a while, but he hadn't known how to bring it up.
"That means he is growing up." The old man nodded in agreement. "Is he still hanging out with that gang of his?"
"They're just friends," Ruslan said, somewhat defensively.
"Friends who get together to break some people's bones, or squeeze money from certain shady business ventures."
"It's a living." Ruslan shrugged. "I took advantage of Yanis's skills on more than one occasion, as you know."
"You just found a way to give your friend some money without him protesting against it because he doesn't take charity, as I recall." The old man smiled. "I still remember how troublesome he was while he stayed with us. He was so certain I was going to ask for something in return that he could not be convinced to stay and get an education and do something better with his life."
"Yeah, sorry about that," Ruslan mumbled.
He still felt ashamed for all that Yanis had said to the old man back then.
"You don't worry about it. I was glad to have found the way to help him even though he pretended he wanted none from me."
"How did you help him?" Ruslan asked, leaning forward, all eyes and ears.
"Well, I knew that his proud self was not going to allow me to give him money, so I had Martin offer him the help he needed. He accepted it as he saw Martin as someone a little more close to him regarding social status. Also, Martin informed me that Yanis paid his debt in full. I hope you won't tell him that I was behind the help he got that time. I am not particularly fond of the fact that he used the money for his little startup gang."
"I won't say a word," Ruslan promised. "How come you didn't tell me all these?"
"You didn't ask," the old man replied. "I know you still feel ashamed for Yanis's tantrums. Truth be told, there was quite a lively atmosphere in this house during those weeks. Poor Martin, I'm afraid, took the brunt of everything."
As if the man knew he was part of the conversation, Martin entered the room pushing a small tea cart, after a short knock on the door. Even when he knew he wasn't bothering the master of the house, Martin still knocked. Ruslan greeted the man, receiving a short nod and a warm look in return. The butler was efficient in his moves as he served the master of the house. After that, he pushed the tray closer to the sofa.
"Two as always, Ruslan?" Martin asked, his strong hands hovering over the sugar bowl, armed with a silver clamp.
Ruslan smiled. "You know me."
It had taken him weeks to stop Martin from calling him `young master', as the guy had seemed bent on doing. Eventually, when Ruslan had pointed out that Martin wasn't calling Douglas Kent master, either, the butler had eventually backed down. He had noticed how, when only the three of them were present, Martin was calling his employer by his first name.
Ruslan wished he could understand how come people like his papa and Martin could be. They were so dignified, so kind, so well mannered, and Ruslan had seen plenty of the upper class to know that these two men who cared about him so much and whom he cared about just the same, were of a different breed from anyone else. Douglas Kent's family was a nightmare. Two spinster sisters with too much taste for gossip, and a nephew from a brother who hadn't survived past his 48th birthday, together with his wife, were the man's family. And all of them were interested in nothing but how to get their hands on the man's wealth. Ruslan was, of course, a thorn in their side.
"Are you still working out, Martin? How come you're so fit?" He teased the butler while Martin was carefully fixing his tea by pouring some milk.
"I am still an enthusiast practitioner of the old art of boxing, time permitting, as you well know, Ruslan," came the prompt reply.
Ruslan knew it well, indeed. More than once he had seen it with his own eyes. The truth was that Martin had a certain grace in his precise moves, but he was a stout man, and anyone could guess that beneath that butler livery a strong body was present, ready to do more than just serve tea.
Martin imposed respect, Ruslan thought.
"Are you and papa still training together?" he asked.
His parent had rarely been generous with information on how he spent his free time. Ruslan had come to think Douglas Kent was a secretive person as a general rule. Martin and his papa were like peas in a pod. Whenever they were together, they always made Ruslan feel like he was the center of the universe, though. That was his family. And he wanted his family to accept the guy he liked. So he decided on a different strategy.
"You know, Martin, I don't know if papa told you, but I have, sort of, found someone."
That earned him an amused snort from the old man. Martin straightened up.
"Congratulations," the butler said politely, but his lips were twitching in a small smile.
Ruslan pouted. "Papa doesn't like him. And he's a great fighter, you know? A beast in the ring. I wish you would come to see him. I bet you'll like him."
"Are you trying to win Martin over, Russy?" His adoptive father laughed wholeheartedly.
"Of course I am. At least someone under this roof should be on my side," Ruslan replied. "Martin, please come sit next to me. I'm sure papa is not such a slave driver that he can't live with you taking a break for a few minutes."
There was a small exchange between the butler and the owner of the house that wasn't lost on Ruslan. It was like the parents were trying to communicate without words about what to do about their troublesome son.
Martin sat on the sofa and, with slow, measured gestures, fixed himself a cup of tea, as well. It was not some liberty the man was taking. They were often taking their tea together in that house. Except for the times where there were visitors, the atmosphere in the house was quite relaxed. Well, Martin was still wearing his livery, and he did so from dawn till dusk, and he took care of everything regarding household chores, but, all in all, they were a pretty eccentric family if Ruslan took the time to think things over.
With an exaggerated sigh, he rested the back of his head on Martin's shoulder but remained turned toward his parent, to gauge his reactions.
"Papa is prejudiced because Johnny doesn't have money," he started.
Martin eased into the sofa and moved one arm to caress Ruslan's hair.
"I am sure Douglas has strong reasons to believe that this man is not the right one for you," the butler said, his voice kind and thoughtful.
"Not in this case," Ruslan replied. "Johnny is a good guy. And he treats me right."
"How long have you two been together?" Martin questioned.
Ruslan was pretty sure Martin was up to speed with everything, but he was pretending so that he could indulge the young master.
"Several weeks. But, come on, in this day and age, that's forever," Ruslan spoke.
"Who are his parents?" Martin continued.
"Does it matter?" Ruslan turned to look at the butler.
"Yes. If your father is to welcome this young man into the family, it will serve to know a little about his."
"Hey, it's not like we're getting married!" Ruslan exclaimed.
The amused look in Martin's eyes and the way the butler was looking over Ruslan at his employer, were telling him he was being played.
"I thought it wasn't even a relationship," his papa finally intervened. "So, seeing that it's not a relationship, why does it matter if I agree with him or not? Strong headed as you are, you'll do as you like, won't you, Russy?"
"Yes, but --" he started.
He was about to say it out loud how much it mattered for the old man to approve of Johnny. But he had to save face, given the circumstances.
"If Johnny is the good man you say he is, he will prove his worth," Martin said with conviction. "But I must say, Ruslan. I thought that wasn't your type."
"My type?" Ruslan asked, knowing what Martin wanted to say, but still needing the confirmation.
"I believe the term would be ... a bad boy?" Martin said with a small smile.
Ruslan snickered. "Ah, he is a bad boy. But a good man."
"Quite a walking contradiction, this Johnny, if I may say," Martin added.
Ruslan snickered and turned again to rub his head against Martin's shoulder.
"Don't mind your father, then, Ruslan," the butler said. "Prove that your lover is worthy of you."
"He's not my lover," Ruslan protested and blushed.
"Oh, he's not? Then why are we having this conversation about him?" Martin wondered.
"Because ... ugh, you two are so annoying." Ruslan pretended to pout.
"We only want the best for you, Russy," the old man said. "Both Martin and I. Seeing that you are not even decided about what Johnny is to you, how can you expect us to believe you are serious about him? And to treat him with the required consideration?"
Ruslan fell silent. He knew the old man was right. But it wasn't like him to commit; after all, he and Johnny were only having a bit of fun and nothing else.
***
Johnny was breathing heavily, back into his corner. It was the fifth round, and both he and his opponent were starting to feel the seconds stretching with each minute in the ring. A feeling of frustration was beginning to rear its head.
Yeah. He was pissed. And a bit distracted. Looking up, at Ruslan, at the start of each bout he fought in the ring, had been a lucky charm so far. But this time, when he had looked, he had noticed someone was there, with Ruslan, and it wasn't the guy's old man. When everyone had stood up to look at the men climbing into the ring, Ruslan and his companion included, Johnny had seen it.
The pretty man wasn't alone. Some young dude was there, too, and he was apparently taking liberties, by holding Ruslan by the shoulders. That green-eyed monster was starting to gnaw at his insides, again.
How could he be so stupid to lose this head like that? It was a good thing that his honed instincts were keeping him bouncing back, round after round. The last one, he had sliced his opponent's brow pretty severely, and, after a short consultation with the local physician, and the guy's trainer, the man was going back into the cage for another one.
Not that he would have liked to win by technical KO. He was fair to his opponents, as much as his training on the wrong side of the tracks allowed, but sometimes, shit went down like that.
He could see that the other was squinting, apparently no longer seeing right with one eye that was only growing bigger, to the size of a hard boiled egg. Johnny put his fists up, and hunched his head into his shoulders, decided not to let the other get his revenge. Fights weren't only about who was the fastest, or who had the meanest and heaviest punch. They were about who could keep his head in the cage the longest, who resisted the temptation to celebrate too soon.
By all means, fights were about survival not only of the fittest but also of the most desperate. And Johnny knew plenty about that. And he could read in the other man's face hints of that desperation. There was just something in being sent to the floor by another man, and not standing up before the count was done. Many never really got up after something like that.
He bit hard on his mouthpiece, tasting thick saliva and a bit of his own blood. His opponent had managed a quick jab and, while his guard hadn't been down, the man's fist had brushed over the side of his head, making the inside of his cheek crush against his teeth.
As he thought, the man was launching himself in a frenzy, hoping to get Johnny down just by making him lose his cool, under the pelting rain of hits. But this time, his guard was up, letting him see like a metal helmet might have allowed a medieval soldier, just enough to gauge where his opponent was.
With each punch, the man was getting restless. That explosiveness could not keep for long. No one had that kind of stamina. And they were both at their wit's end. Of them two, Johnny intended to resist longer.
The man stepped closer, still in berserk mode, and Johnny had to take a few steps back. But he wasn't going to let the guy push him into the ropes. He danced to one side and caught the man with his right down, and straight into his cheek. His opponent made a small unwilling pirouette like a 190-pound ballerina and crashed into the floor.
Johnny stood there, deaf to anything else but the thunder in his ears. When the ref caught his arm, his eyes remained on the man on the floor. There was just so little, a blink of an eye, that made the difference.
***
He had no hopes that he was going to get together with Ruslan, not after seeing the guy having company. Maybe he was going to call later. Maybe.
With a shake of his head, Johnny laughed at himself. What was with him lately? Was he starting to forget who he was? Why was he fighting? He and Ruslan Kent were light years away. It was just fucking luck he had scored with the guy.
He stopped, in the middle of the hallway, struck by a sudden realization. There had been no real push and pull between them. Ruslan hadn't seemed bent on playing games. So maybe he was just quick to judge the pretty man. He was the only one responsible for the push and pull he imagined. It was all on him.
"Hey, Johnny!" someone called for him from behind.
He could feel his face stretching into a smile. Ruslan Kent was the only man in the world Johnny was willing to let his guard down for. But his smile faded as he turned.
Ruslan was accompanied by some douchebag, dressed up to snuff, and reeking of money. It had to be that companion from earlier.
"You were amazing tonight." Ruslan flashed a big grin at him.
With confidence, Johnny walked forward, decided to make things right, and show that rich dude fresh off some private plane who was boss. But before he could reach Ruslan, the new guy moved faster and stretched out one arm, offering Johnny his hand, and practically walking in front of his host.
"Oh, man, what a bout!" the man exclaimed, and Johnny had no other choice but to take the man's hand.
The guy had his upper lip curled, revealing his teeth, like a horse. Something in his smile was striking Johnny as insincere.
"Nigel wanted so much to meet you." Ruslan moved on the side. "It looks like he beat me to it, but here are some proper introductions. Nigel, this is the most promising fighter who has put a foot in papa's ring in a long, long time, Johnny Bryne. And Johnny, this is a friend, Nigel Davenport."
Davenport? Johnny worked his jaw. Maybe it was a coincidence? He looked at the man while holding his hand, squeezing it now, and making some of that dishonest smile fade from the guy's face.
The resemblance was there. And no, he didn't imagine it. Eventually, the man coughed and made a sign that he wanted to release his hand. Johnny dropped it quickly, his eyes trained on the man.
"A friend, huh?" he said.
"Yes, he came quite a long way --" Ruslan began.
Johnny pulled Ruslan to him so fast that the guy almost lost his balance. He took him hard by the shoulders and stared defiantly at Nigel. The guy's insincere smile was all gone now. The man's slightly slanted eyes were examining him with curiosity, and something like the disgust one had to feel while staring at a bug.
Ruslan shifted next to him, trying to pry himself free. But Johnny was having none of it. He wasn't going to let Ruslan believe this scumbag was a friend. If he was related to who Johnny thought, the guy was a scumbag from a family of scumbags.
"Johnny," Ruslan said quietly, trying to draw his attention.
"You're done here, right?" Johnny said while looking at Nigel. "Let's go."
"No," Ruslan protested. "We have a table reserved. I wanted to have you come with us ..."
"No, thanks," he said brusquely.
He had no time to explain to Ruslan what was wrong. What he needed was to take Ruslan away from that guy.
"We're going," he added and started to pull Ruslan after him.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ruslan hissed at him, and this time opposed more resistance.
"We need to go," Johnny said stubbornly.
"No," Ruslan finally pried himself free from Johnny's hold. "It looks like you're a bit too hot-headed after the bout. We'll talk later."
"Like hell," he said through his teeth.
"I can leave you guys alone for a few minutes to sort out this ... lovers' quarrel?" Nigel intervened, looking questioningly at Ruslan.
"Oh, no, we're nothing like that," Ruslan hurried to say while throwing Johnny an annoyed glance.
"Yeah, leave." Johnny gestured for Nigel to get lost.
"I'm going to inspect a little the ring, now that the bout is over. I hope it is enough time." Nigel smiled widely, and sauntered over to Ruslan, placing a quick peck on the guy's cheek. "I look forward to the tonight's entertainment," he added and looked at Johnny with a satisfied grin.
Nigel was playing the generous part, but he was nothing but a scumbag. And what entertainment? Whatever. As soon as he was out of sight, Johnny was going to tell Ruslan.
"Okay," Ruslan murmured, and Nigel walked away.
Johnny followed the guy with his eyes until Nigel disappeared around a corner.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" Ruslan whispered angrily and punched him in the shoulder, taking him by surprise. "I'm trying so hard to tell my papa that you're a good guy, and you're behaving like a possessive Neanderthalian!"
"Ruslan, listen to me." Johnny ignored how pissed the other was and pushed him into one of the side walls.
He grabbed Ruslan's face and forced him to look up. He needed to be convincing. Ruslan had no reason to believe Nigel Davenport was some scumbag.
"This guy is bad, okay? He's a bad man," Johnny said, towering over the other, hoping to keep him safe like that.
Ruslan rolled his eyes. "Johnny, seriously, you don't know the guy. And he doesn't know you. How can you say such a thing?"
"Trust me. I don't know him, that's right, but I know his family. They're fucking bad people," Johnny said, moving his thumbs slowly across Ruslan's jawline, trying hard to be gentle, but firm.
Ruslan placed his hands over his wrists, obviously wanting for Johnny to let go. "Is this some jealousy you're feeling? I told you he's just a friend. And what do you know about his family? And how? If all you have is a name, that may be just a coincidence," Ruslan demanded to know.
Johnny pursed his lips. There was so much he needed to tell Ruslan. But it was not exactly a good idea to start telling his life's story with that scumbag nearby.
"Let's go to your place, and I'll tell you all about it."
"Tell me now," Ruslan said.
"Are you two still arguing?" Nigel said, materializing next to him, and seemingly quick to finish his tour of the building. "Ruslan, forgive me for assuming this, but is this guy bothering you?"
"Watch it," Johnny growled. "You don't want to piss me off."
"Fighters." Nigel exhaled and shook his head. "Always ready for a scuffle. You're making Ruslan uncomfortable, pal. Should I call security?" he added, turning toward Ruslan.
"Why? Do you need help?" Johnny finally let go of Ruslan so that he could face the guy.
"Help? What for? Oh, do you think I want to spar with you? Such a silly thing to believe," Nigel said, crossing his arms.
"Spar? I'd wreck you," Johnny said through his teeth.
"Seriously, Johnny, you're out of line!" Ruslan intervened, putting himself between them. "Go home and clear your head. Nigel, I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry, Ruslan." Nigel smiled, full of himself. "I'm sure your lovely company tonight will compensate for any ... nuisance."
Johnny stared at the guy, feeling all the blood in his body getting to his head. A vein was throbbing somewhere in his neck.
"Chill." Ruslan grabbed him and forced him to look at him. "I mean it," he added, pointing a finger at Johnny.
He thought he was good at this game of surviving. But right now, he wanted nothing but to wipe the smug grin on Nigel Davenport's face, with both his fists. And, if the guy was indeed related to the scumbag who had taken everything away from Johnny, which he had little doubts about, now seeing the man's MO in dealing with others, that meant that beating the crap out of Nigel would mean putting himself in real danger. And not only himself. His mom, too.
If Douglas Kent could find anything about him, no one could say others couldn't, including where he was keeping his mom. So far, as long as he paid what was due, he was safe, and he had no reasons to fear for his mom. But, now, with his fists still up, curled tightly, he was thinking.
Just like in the ring.
He put his fists down.
"See for yourself," he said through his teeth and shook Ruslan's touch away.
It wasn't his business. And his knee jerk reaction from earlier was just that. Reacting on instinct. On impulse. And that did not usually work that well, as far as he knew.
***
Ruslan looked at Johnny's retreating back, still confused over the guy's reaction. Yeah, Johnny was a hothead, but what had just happened was more than that. Had to be.
"Shall we go now? Let's leave all this unpleasantness behind." Nigel took his arm.
Ruslan smiled at the guy. "I'm terribly sorry. Maybe it was all because of all that adrenaline going to his head," he tried to justify Johnny's behavior.
"You have nothing to be sorry about," Nigel quipped. "But, if I may say so, Ruslan, I believe that you would do better not letting such men believe they could treat you as they please just because you're noble enough to treat them as equals. Hmm, what do you say?"
Ruslan knew he had a hard time keeping the same smile as Nigel was looking at him with searching eyes.
"Johnny and I --" he started.
"Let's not talk about that man anymore. You wanted to invite him over for dinner, and all he could think of was to act in such a manner. But, it's all for the better," Nigel said brightly. "This way, I can have you all to myself tonight."
Ruslan's smile was strained now. He would have much liked to have had Johnny join them and later to have fun with him, but that was off the table now. He wasn't particularly looking forward to spending another boring dinner going through arid conversation with Nigel.
Under other circumstances, he would have found Nigel almost charming. He understood why the old man was trying so hard to sell Nigel to him as a potential partner. The guy was from a good family, wealthy, with connections. He had a degree in economics, so there had been topics of discussion Ruslan had found familiar.
Only that Ruslan was not at all interested in talking about how to run a successful business. He had other things he would have much liked to do, and Nigel, while obviously sharing the same interests, was not the desired partner.
If asked point blank, Ruslan couldn't say what he didn't like about the guy. He had jumped in bed with so many men in his life. Nigel was well mannered, and usually, Ruslan was not against that. He wasn't bad looking, and by his wiry constitution, which could be guessed under his tailored suit, he was probably capable of some serious action between the sheets. Plus, he had made no secret he was interested in taking things to a more heated level than endless discussions about business.
But Ruslan could not care less about him. He had waited for Saturday to come just so that he could see Johnny again, and now he felt frustrated.
Yet, he could not just forgive Johnny for his behavior. That had been over the top and unnecessary. So Johnny was jealous. He didn't have to come up with some made up lie about how Nigel Davenport was somehow a dangerous man.
Ruslan stole one look at his companion for the evening. By all means, Nigel Davenport seemed a goody two shoes. But maybe, Ruslan pondered, as they walked to the car, he needed to pay more attention than just to appearances.
***
"So, Ruslan, your father seems interested in closing a deal. Now, that I have seen your thriving business, I will go back to mine with some recommendations." Nigel leaned over the table, looking Ruslan in the eyes.
"That is great news." Ruslan nodded. "I look forward to a successful collaboration."
"Actually," Nigel covered Ruslan's hand as he reached for the check, "I look forward to more than just a business deal. And please, let me take this. All week, you have been nothing but an accommodating host."
"Nigel," Ruslan pulled back his hand slowly enough to avoid insulting his guest, "I am glad you are interested in doing business with us. But, unfortunately, I cannot say anything else about the other part. I am flattered. I truly am. But ..."
"Ah, there is someone else." Nigel smiled, and Ruslan, paying close attention this time, could tell the man's smile wasn't reaching his eyes. "That fighter?"
"I would rather not comment on that," Ruslan said promptly.
"I thought you said you two don't have that sort of relationship," Nigel insisted.
"We don't," Ruslan agreed. "But I would not go into something I don't feel strongly about."
"Okay. Friends, then?" Nigel offered his hand.
Ruslan took it and shook it slightly.
"One last toast?" Nigel tapped his index finger against his wine glass.
"Certainly," Ruslan smiled.
Johnny was exaggerating. Nigel Davenport was a nice guy, maybe a little too boring, but not the bad man Johnny was talking about.
He made a small grimace as he sipped from his wine. While the old man had struggled to make a connoisseur out of him, he only knew that he liked white wine better than red. Somehow he doubted wine sold in that sort of establishment they were in was supposed to have that slightly salty taste. He was about to say something and call for the waiter to bring him another glass when Nigel stopped him.
"Bottoms up and then hit the road?" Nigel asked with a broad smile.
There was little left in his glass. And making the waiter come again was going to prolong their dinner. He wanted to get back home and call Johnny. The man needed to explain himself and, in particular, what he had meant about Nigel's family. And, simply put, Ruslan hoped Johnny had cooled off already.
***
Johnny wanted to smack himself hard. What the hell was he doing, stalking Ruslan like that? He had waited in the shadows when Ruslan and his companion had left the ring and gotten into the car and had overheard where they planned to have dinner.
And now, he was outside that restaurant, trying not to look too conspicuous, or as if he was loitering.
The problem was he could not get rid of that nagging sensation that Nigel Davenport was up to no good. Maybe he was being paranoid. But he had eventually taken a cab and had the driver drop him not far away from that expensive place, only so that he could keep an eye on Ruslan and his companion.
He hoped he wasn't right. So Ruslan was entirely out of his league. He wasn't going to be upset if the pretty man chose that rich scumbag. But if Nigel Davenport was half the scumbag the other Davenport Johnny knew was, then Ruslan could be in trouble.
He didn't want to risk it. If Ruslan was going to wave goodbye to that scumbag after their fancy dinner, he was going to go to sleep, his mind at ease. Of course, if the duo was going to leave together and with the same destination, Johnny didn't know what to do. Maybe he was going to follow them. Cabs were everywhere at that hour, ready to collect the last patrons from the lively avenue.
***
"I'm so sorry, but I must take this call." Nigel pushed back his chair and made a helpless gesture at his phone. "Do you mind waiting for me here? You could have some dessert," the man suggested. "I will try to make it as quick as possible."
"Okay," Ruslan agreed.
He pulled at his collar, as Nigel walked away to find some privacy for taking his call. Why was so hot in there? Usually, such places maintained a perfect temperature to ensure their patrons' utmost comfort, so it was rather strange to feel like that.
Taking out his phone, he browsed through his contacts. Somehow, the names of a few acquaintances seemed absurdly funny. He snorted and then tried to hide a giggle with the phone. What was he trying to do again? Ah, he wanted to call Johnny.
Only the thought of the guy was making him ... Hmm, maybe that was why the expression `hot under the collar' was used when guys got aroused. He was indeed, hot, and now even more impatient to be through with Nigel so that he could find Johnny fast and take him home.
Ruslan bit his bottom lip as he remembered Johnny's muscular body stretched on top of his sheets. That man was making him hungry for sex. Not that he wasn't usually horny and up for fun, but Johnny was doing more to him than that.
Johnny knew how to satisfy him. And that was what Ruslan was yearning for. Right that very moment.
Now that was a tad odd. But why? Ruslan was trying to focus, but it was like his rational thoughts were trying to slip from his mind, like running water.
"Done," Nigel interrupted his confused thoughts. "How about you see me to my hotel? It's only a little away from here. We could walk by foot."
Ruslan had a mind to say that he minded that. He minded any delay to see Johnny quite a lot at that point. But the old man had told him to be polite to Nigel, and that was what he needed to do.
He stood up. "Certainly."
Was it just him, or were the lights in the restaurant a bit too bright? A bit of fresh air was going to do him good. Plus, maybe the wine had gotten too much to his head, although that wasn't usually the case.
Nigel offered his arm, with a goofy smile, and Ruslan took it. He wasn't going to stumble like a drunk outside the restaurant.
***
Johnny was starting to get a little anxious, and he was keeping himself away from the door when he finally saw the men he was expecting walking out of the restaurant.
He pulled his hoodie to cover his face. Strangely enough, the two weren't hailing a cab, nor did they seem to wait for their ride. And that wasn't the only strange thing.
Ruslan was holding onto the other man like he could not walk properly on his two legs. Something smelled fishy to him. Was Ruslan drunk? During the weeks they had been fooling around, the pretty man didn't seem particularly fond of the bottle. Also, by the fun banter between Ruslan and his best friend Yanis, it looked like he could hold his liquor pretty well.
For the moment, Johnny decided to follow the two from a safe distance. There were plenty of people walking to and fro at that hour, so he could keep a few feet between them, without risking detection.
He was surprised to see them taking one corner and walking down a less traveled street. That didn't lead to any of the posh hotels in the neighborhood, as far as he knew. It was also a problem that he could not follow the two from up close. That street was not as crowded, but the lights were a bit dimmer.
He fell back and walked carefully so that his footsteps could not give him away.
***
Ruslan felt his limbs a bit heavy as if he was walking through water. The same euphoria making him giggle was also making a mess of his brain. But he could feel a small chill.
"How long to your hotel? Wait, weren't you staying at ..." he trailed off.
He could not put his thoughts in order. That sudden realization, together with the fact that he could see they were walking now down an almost deserted street, was screaming at him to wake up.
"Nigel," he said.
"Hmm," Nigel purred into his ear.
The man was holding him by the waist. Ruslan knew that standing on two legs was bound to be a little problematic so he wouldn't mind. But the man's hot breath on his cheek was making him want to pull away.
"You look like you would need a bit of rest." Nigel pushed him into a small dark gang and put him with his back against the wall.
And suddenly, pressed his lips against Ruslan's. Despite the weakness in his bones, Ruslan found it in him to push the guy away.
Nigel's hold on him tightened. "How come you're still resisting?"
Ruslan could feel a cold chill rushing down his spine.
"What do you mean by that?" he asked.
He could not even keep his head straight.
"Just put out already." Nigel began to fumble with Ruslan's pants.
"Hey," Ruslan protested. "Stop. What the fuck, dude?"
"Shut the fuck up, slut," Nigel said through his teeth, as Ruslan pushed him away again.
"What the fuck did you just call me?" Ruslan tried to fight through the haze of his confusion.
"I called you what you are," Nigel said viciously.
"Fuck off," Ruslan made a move to walk away.
But Nigel caught him and slammed him hard against the wall. That was not as surprising as the hard slap across the face that followed.
"All I want is a quick fuck from you," Nigel said. "And I'm going to get it."
"I don't think so," someone else said.
Ruslan barely had the time to turn his head to look at the newcomer. Nigel disappeared from his field of view as if hit by a freight train.
Only that it wasn't a freight train, but Johnny's well-placed fist.
"Get off me!" Nigel cried out as Johnny grabbed him and made him meet the wall face first.
Ruslan winced. His heart was beating fast, and he was blinking, his mind slowly making sense of what was happening.
"Leave him," Ruslan begged, grabbing Johnny's arm before the man could make the guy's face have a taste of his fist again.
Johnny's muscles were pure, pulsing granite; Ruslan could feel that under his fingers. But the man stopped.
"You sure?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Yes. Let me make a call. Someone will come," Ruslan shook his head, "to clean this mess."
Nigel turned, with the intention to hit Johnny, but the fighter moved fast, and the man stumbled forward, meeting the pavement face first, this time around.
"Let me just call ..." Ruslan mumbled.
Even breathing was hard. Johnny pulled the phone out of his hand.
"We're just going to leave this fucker here," Johnny said gravely. "Now I'm taking you home."
Ruslan didn't protest. Johnny was right, and the fighter's arm around him was reassuring. It was all that he needed right now.
***
Ruslan's skin was flushed, his breath a bit too quick.
"Do you want to go to a hospital?" Johnny asked, now concerned.
"No." Ruslan gripped his arm. "Take me home. He spiked my drink. But I don't want the hospital. They'll ... ask questions. And I can't say anything against that guy. Papa won't like it."
Johnny could feel his jaw tensing. So papa was willing to let his son get molested by that scumbag and keep everything quiet, for fear of what? Some scandal?
"Johnny," Ruslan begged, pressing against him. "Take me home and take care of me. It's all I want right now. Trust me; I'll be fine. Just ..."
"Okay, pretty, okay," Johnny replied. "That I can do. I can definitely do that."
He gestured for a cab. The yellow car pulled next to him, and Johnny carefully helped Ruslan inside. He could take care of the man. By all means, he could. And later, he needed to find a way to free himself of the burden he had dragged after him for years.
TBC
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