VILLAINS LEAGUE

NATE RIVAS

 Another… Another night, another chance to dispel the darkness of the tedium in my life. Far from the spotlights, the camera flashes, and the false flattery and friendships. Far from the cameras and the artificial schemes men use to embellish and categorize the world’s oldest—and purest—sport. Man against man, without tools, without weapons. Just one against the other, testing themselves through the strength of their fists and muscles. Whether he wins or loses, the man is reborn, purified by that confrontation. In some way, I see a very different kind of light in those fights. Not in the professional circuits in full view of the world, where I feel I’ve already conquered everything I needed to conquer. Far from magazine covers, from photographers’ lenses, from the fervent fans seeking a lifestyle in others that eludes them entirely. When night falls, in basements, alleys, vacant lots, sheds, and worse places—that’s where I find the real thrill. Fighting, in the cage or in whatever arena is offered to me, against another man. No rules, just the most basic, authentic confrontation. Seeking the thrill that dispels the shadows of boredom for at least a few more days, or a few more hours. Some say I’ve become addicted to this—to the thrill and adrenaline of combat. I think I’ve actually always been this way. In a way, even before I was born, as absurd as that may sound.

So tonight, Nate Rivas, MMA champion, is heading back down to a cold, dirty basement, far from the public eye, to truly face a worthy opponent. No weight classes or strict rules. Here, we know that a man’s stature isn’t measured by his size alone—there’s so much more to it. And my opponent tonight, Avalancha, seems like the perfect rival to prove it. As I slip on my black gloves and cover my nakedness with nothing but tight black compression shorts, I think of the men far richer than us who have arranged all this. Like ancient nobles who revel in the suffering and confrontation of men less fortunate than themselves. I don’t care. The only thing that matters to me is that thanks to them, I can fight again tonight without worrying about anything else. As I step out of the locker room and walk slowly toward the cage, I don’t even hear their shouts of encouragement, anticipation, or barely concealed bloodlust. Not from the wealthiest, nor from the poor devils who come to bet their hard-earned savings in search of a glimmer of hope. I know that only the men around me understand the true purity of what is about to happen in a few moments. Only a few, if any, would dare to come in here with me. And the massive man standing before me is one of them. We close in as the announcer shouts our names over the microphone. Avalancha versus Red Scorpion. Our real names don’t matter here. Only our ring names. Only what we’re willing to do to each other to claim victory.

MARCUS MERETRUS

For once, I came without Adrian. He is busy with an online auction. Since our last adventure, where I almost lost my life, he has forbidden me to take part in the underground fights he organizes. But I need this world. The smells, the sweating bodies, the moving muscles, the blood, the noise of bones breaking. Tonight, I do not know who is fighting. It is never the same men. That is normal. Most of them only come to earn a little money, get destroyed by the few real champions, and never come back. One man catches my attention while I walk through the locker rooms. I only see him from behind. He is focused and calm. He stands up and walks quietly toward the arena. I hear the cheers welcoming him. I breathe in one last time the smell of testosterone, sweat, and badly washed bodies. It is nothing like the stench of the underground Roman arenas. But even this weaker smell acts like a drug. It excites my senses and gives new strength to my muscles. And the man I have just seen walking toward the cage has something familiar about him. I feel drawn to him, without knowing why. In any case, I know he is an opponent worthy of me.

I enter the hall, but I do not go to the VIP boxes, where all those rich bastards come to satisfy their taste for blood, watching men being destroyed while drinking champagne and eating caviar. I prefer to slip into the crowd, among the dirty bodies, cheap perfumes, and alcohol breath. 

I push my way forward with my elbows until I reach the cage, so I can enjoy everything as closely as possible: the sounds, the smells, the sight, and sometimes the drops of blood or sweat that splash onto your face. I hear the announcer call out: Avalancha versus Red Scorpion. I know the first one, but the second is unknown to me. 

And suddenly, my heart stops. That face. That body. That dark hair. That confident walk. I recognize them. But it is impossible. I close my eyes, then look again. A cry escapes me. “Nate? ” But my voice is swallowed by the roar of the crowd. I shiver, and my sex hardens inside my jeans. Memories rush through my mind. Greece. Our fights. Our violent and passionate lovemaking. Olympia. Nate victorious against me. Nate, Olympic champion. Me, condemned because I had hidden the fact that I was a Roman citizen. Me, deported to Rome as a slave and gladiator. Our separation. Then our reunion. Our immortal love, before fate tore me away from him forever by sending me into this modern world.

The emotion is overwhelming. But I must control myself. A lookalike. Just a lookalike. Or is the god Mars playing another trick on me, sending the man of my life from the past back to me, just when I have found another man in this world? My heart tightens. I love Adrian. I am going to marry him. So, I must know. And the best way to find out will be to challenge this man to a fight.

NATE RIVAS

I remain unfazed by the bluster of the muscle-bound hulk in front of me, even when we come face to face. I smile at his confidence and the threats of what he plans to do to my body, convinced he’s a sure winner of the fight. “Come on, little man! I’m going to make this loooong and painful, so let’s play a little before I tear you apart, okay? You’ve come to the wrong place, pretty boy.”

 I smile again as the announcer continues to hype the fight, listing our track records of victories and the total absence of a referee and rules to govern the match. Just two men, a cage, and one winner who’ll walk out of here on his own two feet. I focus on my opponent, on his breath on my face and the droplets of saliva as he shouts his threats down at me from above. When he finally shuts up, I respond calmly and with a hint of amusement. “You shouldn’t waste your time. You’re not going to enjoy this, I assure you. Do you really understand what an avalanche is?” 

We step apart, leaving the big guy standing there confused in the center of the cage.I walk over to my corner, craning my neck from side to side, throwing a few punches into the air, starting the pre-fight ritual to get my body into combat mode. And then a chill runs down my spine. A strange sensation... almost mystical. As if someone’s eyes were resting on the back of my neck—something utterly absurd, given that there are actually dozens of people watching me right now from every direction, from the upper boxes of the wealthy to the space around the entire cage where men crowd together to watch the fight and soak up, if they can, the sweat and blood of the combatants. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, I get distracted for a moment... And that’s all Avalancha needs to jump on me and ram into me with all his weight, crushing me against the cage. 

Nnngghg!! I groan in pain at the brutal impact and try to shield myself from his blows, cornered as I am. So much for my strategy of keeping my distance. How could I have been so stupid? The titan pounds me against the cage and I grit my aching teeth, until he grabs me between the legs and lifts me onto his shoulders, showing me off to the crowd for a moment before slamming me into the canvas with a mix of a cackle and a roar. My back slams against the yellowed, bloodstained canvas from countless previous fights. An intense pain in my shoulder—I hope it’s not a complete dislocation. But the idiot has made his mistake. Though knocked down, I’m no longer trapped.

         MARCUS MERETRUS

I can’t take my eyes off him. That beautiful face, gentle and yet virile, with a gaze that commands attention. That courage too — or should I say arrogance — as he challenges the mountain standing before him. That is exactly how he confronted me in Greece, even though I was more muscular and stronger than he was. My eyes slide over his athletic body. 

I remember everything. His scent, the hardness of his muscles, his firm, muscled ass, and his blade of steel. I feel my cock harden under my jeans. For a moment, I see him hesitating in his corner, a little lost in thought. His face seems to search the crowd. His gaze falls on me, but it does not stop. I am disappointed. Am I the only one feeling this almost mystical attraction? Then suddenly, I see him crushed against the cage bars. The fight is starting badly. Avalancha lives up to his name. He sweeps away everything in his path. Even my hopes. No, Marcus. You have found the man of your life. So let Nate go. He is nothing more than a memory now, and this man getting beaten down cannot be the brutal, strong-willed fighter I thought I recognized.

NATE RIVAS

The crowd screams, clutching the cage netting, thinking this is going to be a short and completely one-sided fight. Little do they know that they’re both right and completely wrong at the same time. Blood from my mouth stains the canvas, but I’m perfectly conscious. The distraction—that strange sensation in my head—has vanished. Only the pure instinct of the fighter, of the path of combat. It is the only thing echoing in my head and coursing through my muscles. This sensation, which overpowers the pain I feel in my battered body, is what drives me to come here again and again, to this lost and forgotten place where only the lowest instincts of men have a place.When Avalancha comes at me to try to crush me with his bare foot, I roll out of the way at the last second. 

Perfect—my shoulder isn’t dislocated. A subluxation at most. I roll just enough to dodge and create some distance, pull my heel back, and land a precise kick to his calf, right on his supporting leg. With that same kick, I push off to get back up while the poor bastard drops to his injured knee with a groan of pain. I push off the very cage that had cornered me just seconds ago, planting the sole of my foot, and leap toward him to throw myself onto his body with my fist leading, which hits him squarely in the face, shattering his cheekbone and nose with a loud CRACK! Blood pours from his face, still dazed but distorted by the impact. The hulk staggers. And I’m already behind him. Jumping on him like a wolf biting into the neck of its prey—larger than him but not stopped by that in the slightest.

My elbow slams into his collarbone again and again, shattering and tearing as he screams in despair. My free arm wraps around his neck and crushes his carotid artery with my bicep. He throws himself desperately backward against the cage mesh, shaking the entire structure and crushing my body with his. I keep grabbing him. The crowd screams in surprise and fury as their betting money seems on the verge of vanishing. His huge hands grab my head, my hair, trying to throw me off, to no avail. His eyes are bloodshot. His furious roar is stifled by the lack of air. When my elbow flies one last time over his skull, his eyes become blank and finally the hulk falls face-first with a thud, with me on top of him. I get up in the midst of the silence, sweaty, bloodied, but more alive than I’ve been in the last few weeks. I spit some blood and saliva onto his motionless body. “An avalancha is a mountain coming down, you brainless imbecile.”

MARCUS MERETRUS

I’m about to leave. My heart feels heavy. My mood is bleak. Another pathetic fight with some pathetic guy who thinks he’s a champion. A poor bastard getting smashed for a few dollars by someone stronger, while the other one walks away with the jackpot. I would gladly smash the faces of those drunken, stinking bastards who come here to lose the little money they have. I feel like starting a fight. Then I think of Adrian, who always ends up paying the price for it. I violently force my way through the crowd toward the exit. I see the hostile looks around me, but they drop almost immediately when they notice my impressive build.

Then suddenly, I feel a movement ripple through the crowd, followed by a heavy silence, and then I hear screams and boos. I turn around. Avalancha is on the ground, and the Red Scorpion is standing beside him, covered in sweat and blood. I recognize that noble, proud stance at once. NATE… The name leaves my mouth like a cry. But I am too far away, and the crowd, furious after losing their money by betting on the wrong horse, has become wild with rage. My Nate. He is there. I don’t know what trick the gods are playing on me, but now I am sure it is him. An instinct, a feeling, a premonition — call it whatever you want — tells me so.

I watch him leave the cage under a storm of boos. I run toward the backstage area and enter the locker room, where the air has grown stale. But the smell only strengthens my certainty when I see him sitting there, drinking fresh water straight from the bottle. Suddenly, I am back with him in the palaestra. I am back with him by the river, where we used to cool off after long training sessions. I step forward. My massive shadow falls over his body. He is going to recognize me. He must recognize me. “Nate…” He raises his head, wary, indifferent. What an idiot I am. I hesitate. Then I go for it .“ Congratulations, Red Scorpion. A real massacre. You have the makings of a champion. " Full of hope, I add: “My name is Marcus… I’m the boyfriend of the owner of this place. Could I invite you for a drink? "

NATE RIVAS

 The rush is worth every bit of pain—I have no doubt about it! That feeling of being alive, of being truly connected to my body... Little by little, the adrenaline from the fight leaves my body, but my heart is still racing, and that vivid sense of euphoria lingers, coursing through my entire body. It will pass, I know, but I have to admit to myself that I’m addicted to this feeling. In this moment, it’s just me against another man, far from the trappings of modern man and society. I’m alone in the locker room, sitting on a bench, slowly wiping the sweat from my body with a damp towel already stained in the color of the blood on my body. Mine and my opponent’s, both indistinguishable from one another. My skin feels like it’s burning, and the pain is starting to hit my muscles and bones a little harder. But nothing’s broken. Nothing stopping me from getting back in the cage soon. Nothing stopping me from another rush once the effects of this one wear off. Is that what I am now? An adrenaline junkie? I grab a bottle of cold water and pour some over my head to cool off. The drops of water run through my short hair and fall down the back of my neck and my face, my chest, tracing the curves of my muscles and bringing me some peace and relaxation. Then the locker room door opens.

“Nate?” The pronunciation is strange, and it’s been a long time since anyone called me that... Nathan is the name I let people use for me. But I don’t recognize the voice, much less the man standing before me. A real hunk of a man with gargantuan muscles. Not nearly as big as that dumb giant from earlier, but much more imposing. And that gaze... Those deep, clear eyes seem... You introduce yourself then, suddenly shifting your attitude to one that’s perhaps more accommodating and polite but less familiar, as if keeping your distance. Marcus, the owner’s boyfriend. I’d heard of them but didn’t know either. And it seems like the perfect opportunity to get to know a man like that. Somehow, I know I shouldn’t let this chance slip by. “A beer? Sure, why not? Or two—the night has just begun.” I look straight into those deep eyes, longer than necessary or normal. “Just let me take a shower, and I’m all yours to show me that bar or whatever.” I get up, finishing the bottle of water, and turn around slowly, not wanting to tear my gaze away from your body. I hope the cold water will calm me down before I go out. "The name is Nathan, by the way".

MARCUS MERETRUS

 I am only a few steps away from the man of my life. My mind is troubled. It is fighting between a hope and a fear. The first is to be recognized by you and to take you in my arms. The second is to be only a stranger, someone who leaves you indifferent. And yet, so close to you, I breathe in your smell, your sweat. I almost devour it, drawing it into me through my mouth, through my broad chest. And my heart tells me it is you, Nate.

And yet, when you see me, you barely react. My muscular body attracts you. I can see it in your eyes, the way they stay on my torso. But it stops there. You would welcome any other man built like me in the same way. And then you accept my invitation easily, but mostly because I am the boyfriend of the owner of this place. You get up to go and take a shower. I start to follow you, the way I used to do in Greece. But then you correct me. “Nathan. My name is Nathan" I come back to myself. I understand that I am exactly where I was when I first arrived in Greece. Once again, I am the barbarian Roman who must conquer you. And now your conquest stands before me again, but it is much more painful. And above all, it comes with an even more painful choice. You or Adrian.

NATE RIVAS

I step into the shower with a strange feeling in my stomach and my heart racing a bit. It’s like I’m about to get into a fight. Except I’m not the kind of guy who gets nervous around a hot guy or at the prospect of a night out with good company. Usually, I’m the prize other men try to win, and I just have fun going with the flow. So, what’s going on with me? Your voice echoes in my head, as if stirring other parts of my body, of my being. Is this because I’m meeting the owner’s boyfriend? That must be it. I know how hard it is for me to control myself around a hot guy, and this one certainly is. So, I don’t think I can avoid getting into trouble. And my hard cock, a witness to my thoughts and desires, points in the same direction.

I need to keep a cool head. So, when the warm water from the shower starts running over my muscles, I close my eyes and begin to masturbate. Slowly at first, letting images of your wrestler’s physique, your chin, your deep eyes, and your lips flood my imagination. But as the rhythm of my hand increases, I almost must grab the wall with my other hand as strange fantasies of the two of us in ancient times, wrestling naked in the arena, flood my mind. A kind of fantasy I’d never had before but that now feels as natural as breathing for some reason. My cum shoots like a torrent against the shower wall, and I let out a long, deep moan as my body shudders and every muscle convulses for a moment. I don’t remember masturbating with such passion in a long time. But this will help me stay grounded in the moment. Think, Nathan, think. Stay focused.

After cleaning up the traces of my own fluids and drying off, I get dressed calmly, making sure everything is just right. My black silk shirt is rolled up slightly at the sleeves, with the collar open enough to reveal the top of my pecs. My dark jeans hugging my legs like a second skin. Making sure to position the bulge just right beneath the soft fabric of my boxers. I look at myself in the mirror for a moment, taking a deep breath and finishing taming my dark hair. “Come on, Nathan, relax—what’s the worst that could happen?” 

Maybe the right question would have been: what is the worst that could happen? When I finally step out of the dressing room, I find you there leaning against the wall with your arms crossed, looking almost even sexier than when you walked in. “Oh, fuck,” I think to myself. I smile at you nonchalantly, that smile that has disarmed so many men before. “So, where do you plan to take me then?”

MARCUS MERETRUS

I wonder why you are taking so long. Then I remember that Nate was always very careful about his appearance, that he took forever to get ready. At the baths, he could spend hours there, asking me to scrub his back, to fetch him perfumed oil to massage his muscles. Usually, it ended in rough sex, closer to a fight than to love. Suddenly you appear. Dressed in black. You smell of shampoo and cheap, basic soap, not the luxury products Adrian uses. You also smell of something else, something slightly ammoniac, which I take for chlorine in the water. Your pecs are half hidden, but you know exactly how to awaken desire by leaving the top buttons of your shirt partly open. I would like to run my hand through your curly hair, to bury my head in the hollow between your chests. I chase those thoughts away, but too late. My cock strains toward you.

And then that smile appears. My heart starts pounding. I try to remain impassive, to play the alpha male. But that smile… the smile I had missed. It used to open hearts, calm arguments. And even if you are Nathan and not Nate, you have his smile. You ask me a question. But I am hypnotized, and I don’t hear it. Why did I offer you a drink? I am putting my relationship with Adrian in danger. I already know I won’t be able to resist you. I pull myself together, trying to shift my jeans to push my cock into a less obvious position. Then, brushing slightly against you as if I were running away, I pass in front of you and head toward an emergency exit that opens onto a miserable, stinking alley littered with trash.

Then I push open another rusty, crooked door. I walk down a narrow, damp corridor. I don’t check whether you are following me. I hear your breathing. I smell your scent. Then I open a door, and we enter a dark, smoky, overcrowded bar. The smell of cheap wine and bad beer mixes with heavy breath and the odour of sweaty armpits. I use my elbows to lead you toward an alcove where a chalkboard reads RESERVED. Two guys are sitting there. Two regulars from the fight venue and the bar. When they see me, they take their beers and give up the place. 

“This bar belongs to my boyfriend, Adrian. It’s the meeting place for fans of illegal fights, bettors and fighters. It isn’t very luxurious, but I think you’ll prefer this to a hotel bar or some trendy place.” A waiter brings us two beers. He undresses us with his eyes. I want to shout at him, “Not tonight, sorry… Today it’s Nathan.”

NATE RIVAS

I watch your reaction as you see me come out dressed and ready, and I can tell from your face—or the way you pull on your jeans—that you, too, aren’t indifferent to my… “qualities,” so to speak. But after an awkward silence in which you don’t answer my question, lost in some kind of internal struggle I still can’t quite grasp, you walk past me, brushing against my shoulder. A brief contact, but one that sends a small jolt through my whole body. Like a shiver, but something much more. I follow you, almost in a trance, down the back alley and through the dark hallway that leads past those metal service doors that no one would ever think to open without knowing exactly where they’re going.

The place isn't exactly what you'd expect from someone in his position—assuming the owner of all this has as much money as he has connections. But it's the perfect spot for fighters and for the kind of people who descend into the sewers of life to witness and feed off suffering and violence. It certainly works for me, despite the smells, the oppressive atmosphere, or the suspicious glances directed my way as I walk past you. It’s exactly the kind of place I look for when, on nights like this, I want to get away from the light and give some oxygen to the animal locked inside me. But tonight, that animal doesn’t even stir when it sees the attractive waiter serving us in the private booth you managed to snag so quickly. Today, right now, that animal has set its sights on another prey. I sit on the bench running around the bar table, right in the center, legs spread wide; it seems to me there’s no way you could sit at the other end, because there isn’t one. You brought me here, Marcus, so here I am—can’t run away from me now.

After ordering a couple of pitchers of ice-cold beer from the waiter—who walks away giving us a suspicious look but serves us quickly—I take a deep, hesitant first sip. Aaaahh, just what I needed in the middle of this place’s muggy heat. “Well, Marcus, to what do I owe this honor? I hope I haven’t gotten myself into any trouble. At least not yet. Like I told you, there’s still a long night ahead.” I wink at you and smile. My cards are on the table.

MARCUS MERETRUS

I shiver as I feel you so close to me. I breathe in your animal scent. Even after the shower your scent excites me. I see the looks turning secretly toward you. Some wary, some envious, some challenging. And suddenly I realize that I am jealous. I want to stand up and fight all those barbarians who dare even to look at you. And that bastard waiter, the one I fucked more than once in the toilets… He isn’t looking at me either. He only has eyes for you. I feel the heat radiating from your body. You throw yourself on the beer and drink it with real pleasure.

A few drops run down your chin, and I follow their path with my eyes. They slide along your throat, then down your pecs. I envy them. That is where I would like to rest my head. Then you speak to me. I feel my T-shirt sticking to my skin, now covered with sweat in this suffocating atmosphere. “Trouble? Not right away…" . I smile at you. " But fights are not rare here. I’m something of a specialist when it comes to starting them.” I take a sip, then place an hand on your iron thigh: “So your name is Nathan. You know how to fight… Have you been on the circuit long?” Unconsciously, my fingers sink into your flesh. My mind fights against my desire, but my body and my cock don’t give a damn.

          NATE RIVAS

 I notice the eyes on us—some glancing furtively, others staring much more directly. I know when I’m the center of attention in a room—it happens to me often—and it’s certainly happening again right now. The new guy showing up with the big boss’s boyfriend, without hiding it. I don’t care; right now, I only have eyes for the incredible specimen of a man sitting right next to me, looking me in the eyes and smiling at my words. Inevitably, my gaze drifts down to your tight T-shirt, which once again perfectly reveals every muscle, almost every vein, of that body. God, you look like a fucking statue carved out of granite. I relax with the cold beer to try to stay calm again, but at the same time I’m smiling back and drinking with perfectly deliberate movements, slipping into seduction mode almost by default.

“Fighting, huh?” Your hand then grips my thigh firmly, as if you were trying to check whether a block of dough is firm or not. My muscles tense immediately in response, tightening my quadriceps to the max. “I can't say it's something I dislike—quite the opposite...” I look you in the eyes again, fully aware of the double meaning in my words. Although your next question surprises me a little. It’s not that I’m a superstar, but I’ve been around and won enough in the legal MMA circuits for people in the scene to recognize me, especially if they run businesses like this. Where has this guy been for the last two years? “You could say that… I’ve been fighting since I was a kid, I’ve moved through various professional circuits... But it’s actually only recently that I arrived in this city and discovered this place and its circuits away from the spotlight. That’s how I like to fight really.” Keeping your hand on my leg, I wrap my arm around your massive back and take your opposite shoulder in my own hand, responding to the contact. “No rules—the most authentic form of contact between two men. Don’t you think? I assume you’re interested in fighting too...” My fingers dig into your flesh, gauging those muscles. As if two opponents were sizing each other up before a match, but with a sexual tension in the air that’s impossible to ignore.

MARCUS MERETRUS

Your gaze slides over me. I know you are judging me — or should I say undressing me in your mind. I still hope that these muscles, the ones your hands pressed, struck, and kissed so many times, will bring your memories back. But nothing. Only your hand on my shoulder, your fingers testing its firmness. When I ask you whether you have been on the circuit for long, I see surprise in your eyes, a shadow passing through them. I understand that I have made a mistake.

I have been fighting since I was a kid too. My mother was a prostitute, the mistress of a senator who considered me his son. But the others did not. Neither his slaves nor their children. Whenever they could, they beat me badly. I always gave back as good as I got. Then, when he died, I was sent to a gladiator school. I cannot tell you my story. I only answer : “For me, there are no rules. Not in fighting. Not in love.” Did I really say those last words? My phone rings. Fuck. It’s Adrian. I feel guilty, as if I have already cheated on him. I do not answer.

Suddenly, a shadow falls over us. A guy in a red tank top, with bulging muscles, one of those bodybuilders swollen with steroids. He bends toward you, only a few inches from your face. His foul breath defiles your skin. I hear the words: “Aren’t you that asshole… that fucking pro MMA faggot? You’re nothing, man. Come on, I’ll—” He does not have time to finish. My fist is already in his face. I break his jaw, and with a second blow to his Adam’s apple, I cut off his breath. Drops of his blood splatter my T-shirt and my face. 

Silence falls over the bar.Some men smile. Others hesitate, wondering whether they should join the fight. But they all know me. They know my savagery. One look across the room, and the conversations slowly begin again. I throw some bills onto the table.“Come on, Nathan. Let’s get to know each other.” And I pull you toward the dark alley we came

NATE RIVAS

 “Not in love...” Those words echo in my mind for a moment as we look into each other's eyes. Our breaths catch for a moment, our breaths meet, time seems to stand still. I don’t even notice the buzz of the cell phone trying to interrupt us, as if someone had realized what was happening. Then that puffed-up bully appears before us, blocking the light from the lamp. I almost thank him for the interruption, since I’m not sure where this was going. Love? Who would talk about love at a moment like this? But before I can get up to set this asshole straight and start an entertaining bar fight, you react like a professional bodyguard. In just two punches, the asshole has fallen backward, choking. Blood stains your fist and even your face and shirt. But I’ve never found anyone so captivating and imposing. I’ve never needed anyone to defend me, and certainly not a guy like him, but the fact that you reacted that way… actually, no one had ever tried before. Before I can thank you—or maybe taunt you for getting involved in my fights—you grab my arm and lead me into the alley. I decide to play along, too excited for anything else. “Good evening, gentlemen. I hope you enjoyed the show, but what’s coming next is private.” I give a playful wink, just like I always do, and follow you at a brisk pace.

We reach the dark, damp alley we walked through less than an hour ago, and here I stop you. Firmly, I plant my feet on the ground and grab you with controlled force by the shoulder I was massaging just a few minutes ago, turning you toward me and pulling you against my body. For a moment we look at each other with serious expressions, our brows almost furrowed, as if a fight were about to break out. It doesn’t seem like something either of us would shy away from. I see that your instinctive reaction is to attack anyone who opposes you, who moves you like that. And I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to go head-to-head with a man of your caliber. But that isn’t the greatest need inhabiting my body right now. “It’s fine here; it’s private enough for us to… get to know each other, Marcus.” We hold each other’s gaze, our breaths mingling once more in the tiny space separating our bodies.

 As I pull you toward me, our torsos come into contact, muscle against muscle, and lower down our bulges have collided, both of us fully aware of the other’s erection. Unable to control myself any longer, I wrap both hands around your neck and throw myself into devouring your mouth, in a kiss as firm as a blow. I press my body against yours, pinning your back against the alley wall, and there my tongue now explores your mouth, until my mouth drops for a moment to your neck and begins to bite and kiss it. My hands under your T-shirt trace the contours of your muscles.

MARCUS MERETRUS

 I crossed the room in anger, my head lowered so I would not meet anyone’s eyes. I knew that, in my state, the first man who looked at me the wrong way could become the excuse for a general brawl. And I do not want you to see me as a barbarian, the way Nate saw me when he witnessed my stupid bravado after I arrived in Greece. Mostly, I am angry with myself. Adrian turned me into a kind of gentleman. He taught me the codes of his refined world. He taught me how to dress, how to choose cologne, how to choose food and wine for a meal. He made me discover museums and the beauty of the world. He took me to the theatre with him too. Not the ancient theatre, where actors and choruses declaim, but a sung theatre, where dramas unfold through music that touches the soul. At first, I resisted. I thought it was too delicate, too soft. Then I met singers and understood the physical endurance, but also the sense of theatre, needed to bring those long and demanding works to life.

Adrian has his dark side, but even that darkness is elegant. He is full of care for the fighters who ask to fight. He even rewards the defeated and pays their medical bills. Despite the brutality of the fights, even the cops think the place has an excellent reputation. But with me, the polish can crack at any moment. The gladiator’s instinct suddenly wakes up, and I become savage. And now all I dream of is taking you violently, and I am bringing you to this sordid place, dark and stinking of urine, garbage, and cat piss. I' m not a romantic. It brings me back to the smells of the lowest parts of the arenas, where my body, covered in sweat and blood, mixed in erotic fights with the bodies of those I had chosen and who had survived. And I feel that, somehow, you are made of the same material. You are far from Nate, who became an educated and polite Greek again as soon as he left the arena.

Suddenly, our bodies touch. Your warm breath blows against my face. Your hands wrap around my neck. Our chests crush together, and our hard cocks, like blades, press against each other. Everything feels like the beginning of a fight. But then your lips are on my mouth. The kiss is violent. My teeth nibble your lips, and my tongue forces its way in to find yours and push it against the roof of your mouth.

 You push me against the damp wall, and your hands slide under my T-shirt. I tighten my abs and swell my pecs. I feel my nipples harden, forming two visible points under my shirt. Your lips taste of beer, and it is like divine nectar. Then you linger on my neck. I shiver. My hands press against the small of your back, and I hold you against me with all my strength, in an embrace that feels more like a bearhug than something tender.

All my muscles swell with the effort. Pearls of sweat cover my skin, and a network of veins appears on my forearms. Then suddenly, I move to the left, dragging you with me in that brutal embrace. I search for the handle of the door that opens onto the corridor leading back to the fight hall. I open it, step inside, and pin you against the peeling wall. My hands attack the buttons of your shirt, trying to open them, tearing them away when they resist. Then your chest is revealed. Your abs form a landscape of ridges and hollows. My face dives onto that treasure I have desired since I first saw you in the locker room. My mouth licks one of your nipples, while my other hand kneads the thick mound of muscle, sometimes hard, sometimes soft like a cushion. Then I realize that this is all I have been waiting for. And that, for now, nothing else matters

NATE RIVAS

The sensation is intoxicating, new, exciting, and mysterious. But it’s also familiar, in some strange way. Like reliving a dream your conscious mind had forgotten—perhaps because it never remembered it—but which your subconscious had stored away, waiting for the moment to surface: a déjà vu you’ve never experienced. Unleashed by the euphoria following my victory tonight. My body’s most primal, uncontrollable instincts. Feeling so close to you feels like both sex and a struggle, because of the way our hands trace our skin, caressing our muscles while at the same time crushing them between our fingers with force. It’s impossible for me to regain control now that I’ve reached this point. The Nathan with any shred of prudence has now completely given way to the runaway beast, hungry for thrills.

You lead me back into the hall where the fight took place; I can almost see the cage from here. And that turns me on even more. I don’t care who might be there, who might see us and get me in trouble. Right now, all that matters is you, Marcus. The way your hands slip under my unbuttoned shirt and rub and rub and eagerly explore my muscles. The way your tongue wrestles with mine or savours my hard nipples. Or that firm, tight ass, as strong as your biceps, which my hands are now trying to bend. Because all of this is nothing more than a power play, each of us trying to dominate the other. Once again, I roll us against the wall, struggling, fighting, until this time it’s your body that gets trapped between the wall and my burning skin. I yank your T-shirt up almost furiously and pull the neckline over your head, keeping the sleeves on but holding them at the back of your neck, exposing the impressive torso I’ve been dying to admire since the night began. And boy, do I admire it. I massage it, lick it, kiss it, and even punch it a couple of times with my fist, testing the firmness of your abs. Little by little, I start unbuttoning your jeans, and immediately your enormous member jumps out like a spring, like a giant finding the way out of his captivity. So, I give it a royal welcome.

I slide your pants and boxers down to mid-thigh and take just a few moments to admire the full extent of your manhood. A few moments before my tongue begins to trace the head of your spear, while my fingers caress your balls, and my other hand now slips without resistance to caress the space between your buttocks. I had never felt the need to savour another man’s cock like this. But today I am not myself. Or at least, I am not just Nathan.

 I want to scream your name, Nate. No, you are not Nathan. You are the love of my life, the one I lost in the ancient world. The fight we are waging to dominate each other’s bodies confirms it. Your sensuality mixed with brutality brings me back to our past struggles. When I find myself pinned against the cold wall, my T-shirt pulled up and caught around my neck, I receive your adoration. I swell my pecs as much as I can, turning them into thick, soft cushions. Then, when you strike them, I make them hard as a concrete wall. A strong smell of sweat rises from my armpits. You are drunk on me, just as I am drunk on you. My cock, hard as steel, strains beneath my boxers, then suddenly springs free, massive and thick, when you undress me. I moan with pleasure as your hands and tongue run over my most intimate parts. I moan, almost ashamed to surrender to pleasure, ashamed not to dominate you, I am surprised too. I never thought a man of your kind would act like this

MARCUS MERETRUS

I place my hands on your head and push your mouth onto my veined blade, already leaking abundant precum. My pleasure is intense, and I grab your hair, tightening it in my fist. I want to scream your name… but I no longer know which one. I push my cock deep into your throat until you choke. I feel your spasms, your gagging. Your teeth close around my cock, and your fingers slip into the crack of my ass.I had forgotten that such pleasure existed. From time to time, I let you breathe. Then I enter your mouth again with force, never tiring of your adoration.

NATE RIVAS

 My tongue expertly plays with your cock until you simply can’t hold back any longer. You start fucking my mouth brutally, thrusting it deep inside me like I’ve never let any man do before. Normally, this would be a death sentence for anyone who tried it, but I started this game, and somehow it feels as natural as breathing. The taste of your sweat and your pre-cum starting to drip makes me dizzy, blinds my senses. My hands grab your ass as if they wanted to burst a watermelon between their fingers, and at the same time a couple of them start to make their way inside you, playing with the opening, stretching it and closing it, over and over again. But I must still resist, and my teeth mark the kind of beast I am. That, and my fingers entering you, penetrating your cavities as if you were mine. As if I were reclaiming a stolen treasure.

And then, with the same determination, I deny you your reward, prolonging this playful encounter, this moment of escape, the reunion of two men who have never met. So I pull my head away from your crotch, gripping your wrists firmly. Pressing the pads of my thumbs into the palms of your hands. And looking into your eyes, with a mischievous and seductive gleam in both of our pupils, as if promising even greater pleasure to come, I slowly rise back up to your level while my tongue traces your entire length, from the mushroom-shaped head of your cock, through the spaces between your abs, the wide groove between your pecs, your prominent Adam’s apple, and your square jaw. Our eyes are level again, and once more there are just a few millimetres’ separating our mouths, keeping the undeniable magnetism between our lips at bay. “Do you think this is a good way to get to know each other, Marcus? Because I think right here is where you really get to know a man... And better yet, a warrior. Are you a warrior Marcus?".

 MARCUS MERETRUS

 We are just one, and at the same time ,we are in competition as if one had to possess the other, as if one had to dominate the other. Your fingers play with my asshole, and I let you do it. A stranger would never have dared. Besides, a stranger would be lying in the alley with his hole torn and bloody. But you... I don't protest. On the contrary, I push my muscular cheeks, so your fingers impale themselves in me. I squeeze with my glutes to hold them, while my hands on your temples push your mouth back and forth on my cock. Sometimes I thrust my hips, and I feel your glottis rubbing my cockhead. I am excited like never before. Only Nate could bring me to such a degree of pleasure.

Then suddenly I withdraw at the peak of pleasure. I don't want to cum here. In this sordid hallway. I unbutton your jeans and in hurry help you take them off. Your cock emerges embracing mine. My arms wrap around your waist like a wrestling hold. I squeeze with all my strength to crush you against me, so our bodies become one. Our smells mix, our chests and abs are welded together, our cocks measure each other in a contest of strength. My hands slide over your muscular ass. My fingers dig into the flesh and I lift you, forcing your legs to wrap around my waist and your arms around my neck. Then I carry you while kissing you furiously, our tongues fighting again now, our cocks mixing their precum. I take you into the empty fighting room, where a heavy smell of sweat and beer, a humid air crushes us. I pin your back against the outside of the cage, and my cock seeks to penetrate your asshole.

NATE RIVAS

You hold me as if I were a piece of merchandise, and at first that makes me tense up, makes me want to resist... But then your embrace becomes so much more. A form of defiance and a show of respect, assuming I can respond and try to break free at any moment. That I’m never defenceless. That’s why your grip is so firm, and your arms exert such pressure around my waist. So I respond by tensing every muscle in my lower torso to withstand your grip while I pull your hair back and bite your neck. Two beasts in human form making it clear that sex doesn’t mean there’s no competition or violence. You don’t respond to my words. Silently, as if in a trance, you carry me naked (I’m not even sure when you completely ripped off my shirt) to the cage and throw me against the mesh on the outside as we reach it.

My skin prickles from the hard impact as you ram into me so forcefully and from the cold touch of the metal against my back. I growl and look you in the eyes, but you’re already moving on to the next phase. I feel your dickhead, thick as a blunt sword, desperately and violently searching for a way inside me. And somehow, in a way I never thought I’d allow, I wrap my butt cheeks around it, opening my asshole while at the same time trapping your cock between my buttocks, and I thrust myself onto it. It’s not that you aren’t helping, of course, eager as you are, but the movement of my body as I penetrate myself takes you by surprise. Suddenly I’m the one using your cock to satisfy myself, the one moving up and down again and again against the mesh of the cage and against your massive pecs, sliding between us both, thanks to the layer of sweat covering us both. I grab you by the shoulders, by the neck, hard... I place my forearm across your throat and push back as if choking you, while my other hand yanks your hair to tilt your head back and prevent you from choking completely. And I don’t stop looking into your eyes as I clench my teeth and fuck myself with your massive cock. I’ve never felt such pleasure and desire as I let it penetrate me deeper and deeper with every thrust. The grunts and gasps echo throughout the combat hall and into the surrounding corridors. “Come on, Marcus! Come on!!!” I set the pace, faster and harder with every stroke. More and more thirsty for your hot nectar.

MARCUS MERETRUS

You impale yourself on me. My cock suddenly belongs to you and you move back and forth on it. My pleasure is at its peak even though I am passive, hypnotized by your beautiful eyes. I add my panting and moaning to yours. We are wild beasts. Your forearm against my throat takes away part of my air and that excites me even more. My cock is hard, the veins engorged with blood, and it streams with cum and sweat facilitating your movements. You let yourself be penetrated, but I understand that you want to remain the master, that even like this you show me that you are the dominant one. Your cock is crushed against my abs and I feel your juice trickling on my stomach. My hands move over your neck and I press your face against my shoulder so that your whole body is mine, on me. I shiver, an intense heat invades my lower back, like a burn, a wild tickling develops in my lower abdomen, my cock hurts so much. It is heavy and tense. ” Yes NATE empty me, HAAAAAAAAAAAAA Let me be yours and be mine !!!”

NATE RIVAS

Your screams make me move even faster, give me even more energy. I thrust my body up and down so hard and so fast that my back starts to get small cuts from rubbing against the metal mesh, though I don’t care in the least or even notice it. The cage seems to sink under our weight, as if it were about to collapse in on itself. In response to your ecstatic scream, I just roar. A guttural roar as I bury my face in your shoulder, pressed against it by your firm hand. Then I bite, sinking my teeth into you, into your Herculean left shoulder, without tearing the flesh, but providing a perfect complement to the pain and pleasure you feel throughout the rest of your body. Because that’s not the last ingredient I add to the mix of sensations. My legs, suspended in the air, now wrap around your back and begin to close in on your body as if a vise had clamped down on your muscles.

That helps me thrust harder and harder, squeezing your sex to the very limit while the pressure builds on my own cock, crushed between our abs and lubricated by both our shared sweat and the warm, milky fluid that keeps dripping from its tip. My thighs tense to the max, just as the rest of my muscles contract, my whole body in unison, as I feel you nearing climax and my own being is about to respond the same way. “Fuck, Marcus!!! Aaahhh aahhhh don’t stop, damn it! Give yourself to me!” I’m not sure where those words come from, nor exactly where they’re going, for in the darkness of one of the boxes, a silent figure watches in disbelief.

MARCUS MERETRUS

Strength has always fascinated me. And you are strong. I feel my vertebrae crack, my back surrendering to the power of your legs. I feel as if I am caught in the grip of a boa constrictor. I set every muscle in my back into motion to withstand that crushing pressure. I feel sweat running down my latissimus, my trapezius, my lower back, sliding into the cleft of my ass. Your teeth in my flesh add even more to my pleasure. Perhaps because I was a gladiator, pleasure has always come with brute force and pain. But usually, I am the one who gives it. Here, I am your thing, and this submission strangely excites me as much as your movement on my blade.

You grow wilder and wilder. Your moans become loud roars that echo through the empty hall. Suddenly, you scream my name. Now I know that we are no longer two separate beings. I place my hands on your thighs, tense to the limit. The power of those triumphant muscles pushes me to the edge. With the cry of a beast, I feel my seed burst from my sex. My nails dig into your quadriceps. I crush myself against you, filling you as deeply as I can. The cage groans under that tremendous pressure. My abundant sperm runs down my thighs. But then I suddenly feel another tremor. I breathe in your animal scent and climax again, shouting at the top of my lungs: “I love you…... ADRIAN!” I have just recognized the silhouette of my fiancé in the VIP box, motionless, shoulders lowered, watching us.

TO BE CONTINUED...

MARCUS MERETRUS BOOK : THE LAST GLADIATOR BOOK, Part I  II  & III

<https>//mars.chatfighters.com/book/137

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