Work Out Knock Out

My knuckles hurt. My arms burn. My legs scream and everything else adores the exhaustion coursing through my body. I pant and huff and wipe a layer of sweat from my forehead. It's warm and burning and everything in me simply aligns with the world a bit more than I was before. I am a physical creature in a physical world, exerting my will against it and watching the changes carry on before me. In this case, it's a creaking sandbag hanging by one less chain than was there beforehand. Rob really has gotten better suppliers, thanks to me. I refuse to believe that I have gotten weaker. That's just not how the world works.

The bag stills and calms and I am officially taking five. I've earned it. No one says I haven't. No trainer barks at me to get back in there and give ten more percent. I settle into the glowing heat of my soul and now it's all down to the lingering embers to smother and die.

I hear Ken's pads whap and thump as Troy does his version. Ken's keeping a good pace in the ring. Troy's matching it, sweat pouring from him. He gets his knee high and Ken staggers back a bit. I watch him gather his composure and try to settle back. Troy's too far into it. He keeps pushing through the rhythm already set. I watch his legs flex and move. I watch his arms tense and flow. He is into the set. He is lost to the world. There is only motion and strength and work beyond another second. Troy's not smiling and that's kind of a shame. He has a nice smile. But his gritted focus is also pretty damn good. I also watch the way he occasionally bulges in his trunks with the way he moves his legs. The baggy fabric can only do so much. And, in my opinion, it is doing too much. He should be shirtless and pantsless and laying on my bed, covered in our combined seed as it leaks from me and him and now I'm back to wanting to hit something incredibly hard, but the bag is so far away.

Ken calls for one last high knee and Troy hits it with the power of an artillery barrage. The poor old man finally stumbles in full. He's laughing, though. Impressed and winded and ready to call it a day. I smile as Troy wipes his forehead and collapses against the top rope. He does smile when he sees me. All those feral thoughts are joined by a rosy-pink warmth in my heart and I still want to do all those things but cuddle afterwards.

"Much, much better Troy," Ken laughs, "might be able to crush an ant in a few more months."

"Bite me jackass," he pants, "I pay you too much to be mean to me."

"No, you pay just enough for the insult package. Compliment tier is a few below. Afraid your membership still is in effect. Rob's rules, can't change packages midterm."

"That is the worst deal I've ever heard and I work at a bank."

He takes his water bottle and gives some to his mouth. Some goes to his neck and runs down his chest. I saunter over to the ring, tired and tipsy, wondering how we'll manage to get home when we're stacked against one another like a house of cards. I just hope the buses are on time. The snow tends to disagree with most timetables.

I don't like the look in Ken's eyes. It's mischievous and clever, and I think I catch a glimpse of cruel deep in there. Troy's too far gone in repose to put anything together. But the smile comes with crooked teeth and I dread the words that shall be birthed from the miasma of that man's breath.

"Y'know," he says slowly, "I still have you for another ten minutes or so, Troy."

"Yeah, and?" Troy sighs, "We take a breather, then a cooldown. Can we do the yoga routine again? Rachel, you want in on some Zen?"

Troy responded, like the adorable little dumbass he is. The only winning move with Ken is not to play, but now Troy's playing and we just have to wait.

"You're right," Ken says, "And I'm thinking of a very fun cooldown. Been a while since you've sparred. And Rachel, you still have your wraps on."

Now, I have to share some of the blame. If only I had been a bit faster on the comedown, we could have avoided all of this rather unpleasant mess.

"Ken, buddy," I say, "it's been a while since I've sparred, too."

"All the more reason to get both of you together. Two birds, one stone, and a long-broken streak."

I don't like this Ken. I am glaring at him and he is just smiling back with gap teeth and a broken nose that is about to be a bit more broken if he keeps this up. Granted, good things tend to happen when I punch someone, but there is a principle to the matter that does not sit well with me. I can punch strangers. Those strangers can then sleep with me. It doesn't work the other way around. As much as I want to unleash something like fury unto Troy, I would prefer that fury to be naked and snuggly and without a stout old man watching over the act. Plus, it just feels wrong to hit things I like. I like Troy now, so I don't want to hit him.

"Sure," Troy says, "Why the hell not?"

Troy may be a genius. Any move that surprises Ken has to have some amount of genius behind it. I am a somewhat more gullible target, so any move that has me reeling can only really top out at cunning at best. It gets the smile off of Ken's face, if only for a moment. But then he realizes that Troy has caved with only the token amount of work put in. It all worked too well, but it worked.

I still have my hesitation, but there's the challenge hanging on the ropes. He's tired. He's exhausted. But there is something in him that keeps him up and dancing and Ken has a point. My hands are wrapped. The fabric bites into my fingers in such a sweet way. Like a gentleman, Ken gets the ropes as I clamber in. My legs like the spring and the bounce. Ken clambers out. He has the ring the bell, because the ritual demands it.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I ask.

"No, but you're here and you're burning up and I love the kind of woman that will actually just kill me. You need this. You really need this and I'll do this for you."

I want to hug him and kiss his cheek. He's sweet and lovely and I'm thinking that I'll shower with him when we get home. It's not really big enough for two people to have a respectable amount of space. It is big enough for two people to mash together and get everything soapy and slippery.

But I'm in a ring now. My hands are clenching. My arms are flexing. I watch his body go through the motions. There is a fight, and he likes the fight. Maybe not as much as me. A buzz settles in the back of my mind. It's excited. He's excited. He gets a bit of the energy back in him and he rises from the ropes.

Ken comes back with the little brass bell and a pair of headgears to protect our precious remaining brain cells. Heavens know we need to cherish the few remaining we have. Louise and Saoirse can't do all the thinking for us. He gets his and I get mind. It goes on and he takes his. Sweat pours from him and he looks good. Haggard and ragged and almost drunk off exhaustion. But he squares himself up. Strong and tough and pushing through the last few moments we share of exertion. Not a whimper, just a bang. My hands go up too. I have no idea how I look, only that whatever he sees breaks the wall he put up. It's still standing, but there's a crack or two in the façade.

"Fighters ready?" asks Ken. Neither one of us gives an answer. I think it's pretty obvious that we are. Ken agrees. The bell rings out twice.

Nothing happens. We slowly pace to the center, guard up and waiting. We each gauge the other's tendencies. He's worked his legs a lot, so I doubt he'll have the movement. I've worked my arms, so I doubt I'll have the strength. Tired, burned out, hobbling along and we circle and pace, waiting for the other to stumble and make the pounce easy. Neither of us do. Too much practice and work into it to make it that easy. I step forward and he does not step away.

He breaks the truce first. A jab to gauge the distance and I'm nowhere near where he wants me to be. It's back in before I can capitalize, and we've returned to circling one another. I like this foreplay. Every drop of blood in my vein is rushing and burning and I can see the same happening in him. He wants this and wants more and he has all of me just for him.

I break the stalemate in much the same way. He's a little closer, but he is fast enough to force me back. A jab in response and then we are back to where we were. I keep on him and he keeps on me. His eyes shine and gleam as he savors the simple joy of hitting something and it hitting back. My arms burn. I taste sweat and pain and it is so sweet.

He finds it in him to raise his legs. A knee finds my sides, but I get my arms in the way to take the most of it. He gets a hook in response. I don't think I have it in me to respond with the full range of every motion I have. It's just play. A bit more violent than the tussles I got into with my brother, but it's the same general principle.

I draw the first real hit of the bout. A hook to his ribs and all of him dances with that motion. It carries through him and he stumbles. I get another knee for my trouble and that sends me reeling. We're both off balance and spinning and I want Ken to fucking leave so I can take Troy down and strip him and ride him beyond our breaking points. Ken can just go fuck himself, but affectionately.

We stagger a bit more and come back centered. Troy's back to hitting the legs and I have to admit there is something there. He's overcommitting, but I'm not in a place to capitalize. It makes sense. There's haymaker after haymaker, but I can't do anything about it. Except tag him in the ribs again. This time, there is no counter.

So, I keep pushing. Working his body so he can't work his legs. And I've learned my lesson about hitting people in the head. They go down and they fall in love with me. If I hit them again, then they might get unscrambled and go somewhere else. So, body, body, body, upper and now he's on the ropes.

I can't seem to hit him as hard anymore. The ropes take the impact and spring it along. He's dancing and bobbing, taking all I can give him and taking it with a hard smile. My arms keep burning and I'm losing steam. Each blow takes more out of me and I am finally reaching the end of my tank. It's glorious. It's amazing to feel this far gone. Animals and beasts and all the fangs in the forest come to bare down in the moment. He rakes me with his claws and I rip out his throat. He comes to me and we clash again. Something breaks and something bruises and he is smiling at me. I'm smiling back.

The momentum swings and it's in my favor. He's too gassed and his legs are shot, so his whole game plan is out the window. Mine's just simpler and it comes down to one more good blow to the kidney.

He drops to one knee, huffing and wheezing and spent. There's a bit, a savage little core of me that says to go down with him and put him into the dirt. He won't get up. He'll never get up again. But it's down and out and silent and the endless concern of my ferocity is back and I can't hug him with my gloves on. I can't put him back together again with my fingers all fumbling and clenched.

"Very, very good Troy," Ken shouts with another ring of the bell, "You almost, maybe, just barely made Rachel try."

"Shut up," Troy moans, "I don't see you getting in the ring with her."

"Very, very observant. That is because I am smart and wish to keep on living for a good while longer. But this is all I'm paid for at the moment. Same time next week?"

Troy moans again, buy gives a thumbs up. It's hard, but I help get him standing. It takes a bit more of my help to get him hobbling. But by the time our bus comes, he can move more or less unassisted. That doesn't stop him from holding my hand as tight as he possibly can.

---

I like our little wind down back home. I'm full of Chinese food and under a blanket and on top of a Troy. And I'm learning all about sea lions from the TV. They're adorable and I love them. Shame some of them have to eat the equally adorable penguins, but that's kind of how the world works sometimes. I'm sure I've eaten my fair share of adorable animals over the course of my life, and I usually feel very minimal guilt after I eat.

Troy is kind of paying attention to the adorable seals eating the adorable penguins. He's stroking my back and I'm making sure to avoid his bruises. I love that I can do that. The strength, the power, the way it feels in my hands and in my body, the simple joy of having such a thing in my possession to share and give to everyone, that is the core of my pleasure on this world.

I also don't like that I can cause something I'm rather fond of the ache and moan so easily.

Troy kisses the top of my head and the seals all clamber onto some forgotten ice floe. They look cozy and full of penguin. I shift a bit and hit his side. He hisses. That part is still sore and soft. I move away from that and look at him. He sees something in me through his pain and it has him smiling again.

"That's just crazy," he murmurs. My eyes prompt him to continue. There are many things that are crazy and I need him to enlighten me because I do not know all of them.

"You're crazy," he says.

"Is it good crazy?" I ask his chest. His heartbeat is calm and steady.

"It's crazy. I'm just having a hard time believing you're the same person that I saw at RTL's."

I don't know what to do with that sentiment. I settle for pressing into the parts of his body that I left whole. I should have left more of him like that.

He returns to stroking my back, running his hand up and down my spine. He traces the muscles and comes up to my neck. A moment stroking my hair and giving me little sparks down my nerves, and then he is back down and everything slowly unclenches and unwinds. I kiss his chest through his shirt and I don't think he can feel it. But I did it and that's all that matters to me.

I don't know what I should be. I want to lay on Troy and watch the seals sleep on a beach. But I'm apparently not a thing that does that. I am a thing with violence in its eyes, blood on its breath and darkness in its soul. I am a machine to hurt and bleed. I snuggle into the blankets again and I am not a seal. I listen to his heartbeat, pretending to hear his body go through the motion of repairs. I'm not looking at him anymore. There is his chest in front of me. His shirt's ridden up a bit and if I glance in just the wrong way, I can see the purpling bruise grow deeper and darker by the second.

"I can't even imagine what you were like in uniform," he murmurs.

I bristle at that fact. He stops petting me. Everything goes still. The seals on the TV apparently have polygamous relationships, but nothing's ever been filmed.

"Stupid," he says, "That was stupid of me. I know that's a sore subject."

I don't say anything. Idle thoughts under the threat of falling snow made into words, and now they are thoughts in my head, rattling around.

"Are you scared of me?" I whisper.

He takes a long, long moment to reply.

"Not quite," he settles with, "intimidated, absolutely."

"That's not much better."

He takes a moment to align all the words in his head. I can't read them. I can't even see them. They are all locked behind a gaze of clear blue eyes. I don't want to hear them. I need to hear them.

"You are intimidating," he says softly, "that's just a fact."

"I don't like facts," I murmur, "Lie to me."

"You're as weak as a little baby kitten, then."

"Never mind. I don't like that either."

He laughs quietly and the hands start again. The seals are on the hunt again, rolling back into the frigid water to do whatever they want.

"Knew you wouldn't. Rachel, you're intimidating, and it's always kind of a shock to go back to this after I see you get worked up. When you brought back Mr. Fangy, it was the cutest thing I think I've ever seen you do. And then you fucked Saoirse into the dirt and locked me into sucking you off while Louise strapped me. Then you carried us all to bed and gave me the best cuddling I've ever gotten. Like, even now, I can feel your dick rolling along my leg, and that is bringing up a lot in me."

I move again. There's less of me on him and less blanket on me. We were keeping each other warm and now we're not. Saoirse and Louise aren't here to help. Their flights got delayed because of the snow and that's just a good reason to never ever leave me. Now everything's falling apart and everyone's cold.

Then a leg links in mine and I can't really break free. Troy takes his hands and locks more of my limbs, more of my joints and I can't break the pin. My body doesn't move as it should. I look at him and he looks down at me. I struggle and he whines as I pull against something sore in him. The seals apparently get eaten by killer whales, although I think we've moved onto a different species. I'm not really paying attention anymore. I still think the seals are adorable. They're like dogs that swim really well.

He takes his thigh and presses it into my crotch. The soft flesh sends a jolt through me and my hands clench. I make sure I hit nothing sensitive. I just bunch up his shirt and make the fabric dig into his broad shoulders. He takes the pressure away and that's terrible. Then it's back and that's wonderful. Press and release, press and release, again and again, adding little shapes and circles the motions. I can't find his on my body. It usually pokes me in the stomach when we're lying like this, but I think our new configuration can't really work out the way it should.

"You look cute now though," he whispers.

"I like being cute," I say.

"And do you like being intimidating?"

I nod. I like being both and neither and everything else I am. I also like the way he presses into me.

"You changed soaps," I hum. He gives me another press as a treat for my observation.

"Yeah I did. It's supposed to be volcanic sea salt, but I doubt it's any of those. I like it though."

I hum in agreement and sigh a bit as the pressure leaves. It was nice. The freedom is also nice. It lets me grow and harden and shift to something a bit more in line with what I'm becoming. He finally hits me too, right in my stomach. Something grows hot and tight in my core and he keeps stroking my spine. It's all numbing sparks and little bolts of pleasure in my limbs. It is growing and sparking and numbing. I move my hips and Troy gives me his leg again. I missed the pressure. I ride it back. He gives me something to ride.

I decide to leave the pressure and all of its wonders. I find myself climbing Troy's chest, his neck, his chin, trailing my lips with soft little presses before I find his. He helps me get everything aligned and parallel. He moves my hips and I move his. I can move and twist and bend into freedom and I find myself lined up with his length against mine. I can feel him grow just as I do. It snakes up and up and up to meet me. It spurs my own growing needs. A deep breath catches in his chest, turning into a low groan that tugs at the edges of his voice. It's low and rumbling and I move to try and get more of it out of him.

He moves back against me and there is more warmth. I move my underwear out of the way as my hands keep him pinned. My length moves my clothes. They're in the way. Troy's at the end of my path and he smells like soap that's supposed to smell like volcanic sea salt, whatever that's supposed to smell like. He tastes like a Troy that's kissing me and wants to keep kissing me and never, ever stop. He rocks his hips into mine and his length finds something it likes. It keeps there on a spot near my abs, rubbing against the hard muscle. Our motions are slow and calm. The snow's still falling. The seals are still doing whatever it is seals want to do. We break for a moment and he looks deep into my eyes. He finds all the pieces he knows, the suggestions of the ones he doesn't.

"What made you join the military?" Troy whispers.