Fist to the Heart

Chapter Three - My Main Squeeze

"Who's that over there?"

Johnny turned to see who the hell was running his mouth while they should all be focused on training their butts off. He was busy scouting the other guys in the room, wondering who he was going to go against for his first bout.

He had a philosophy. Always fight his own way, without trying to adapt to his opponent's style. It served to be efficient like he was, and that was one of his secrets. Too many guys around him were talking techniques, bragging about knowing this or that, as if fights in the ring were some frigging math test.

And now they were also in for some gossip, it seemed.

"That's the guy in charge. He's the guy's son, actually," another replied to the first man's question.

This time, Johnny turned so fast that his neck made a funny noise. Leaning against the entrance, Ruslan was examining the room full of fighters, with what looked like detachment if he was reading the man's body language right.

Great, Johnny thought. Distraction had arrived. He was pretty sure the rest of the guys were going to ogle Ruslan for as long as the pretty man stood there. And he didn't like it.

"I heard he likes it up the ass," the first guy spoke again. "That he's sucking everyone off around here, even the drivers and bouncers."

Johnny focused his entire attention on the speaker. The guy was a bit taller than him and sported an ugly unibrow. The scar that followed his misshapen nose down to his upper lip didn't make him prettier, either.

"I don't know, man," the other shrugged. "Not my business. I'm only here to fight."

The unibrow guy ignored his pal's reply and moved to the punching bag closest to the door. Johnny followed him with his eyes. Pretending he needed to get some water, he walked toward the door, too, after precisely two beats.

"So, you're the boss?" the unibrow asked Ruslan directly.

Ruslan's eyes hovered to Johnny for a second. The guy was smiling, seemingly pleased with seeing him.

"Hey, I'm talking to you," the unibrow intervened, seeing that he was ignored.

Ruslan cocked his head to one side and measured the man up and down.

"Seeing that you are fighting in one of the events I'm organizing personally, I would have expected you to be a little more informed."

Johnny grabbed a bottle of water from the table and took a sip. This was going to be fun, he grinned.

"Informed? I'm informed that you're a cocksucker."

Johnny felt his smile freezing on his face. In auto mode, he took a step toward the guy, but Ruslan was quick to step up and practically block his way. Johnny stopped.

"And? What of it?" Ruslan asked, as he slowly moved one hand to his back to touch Johnny in passing.

"I want you to suck my dick," the unibrow guy grinned.

"What makes you think you're qualified for that?" Ruslan questioned.

"I have a dick," the man made an obscene gesture to grab his junk, as he moved closer.

Johnny could feel his blood starting to boil. But Ruslan's hand searched for his and grabbed it quickly. With all the frustration he felt, he decided to let the guy play this one as he wanted. For now.

"I hear you get on your knees for anyone," the man added, with an ugly smile, not paying a smidge of attention to Johnny.

"Well, sorry to disappoint you," Ruslan said airily, "but that is incorrect. And while you might have self-esteem issues, and like to think of yourself as 'anyone', I don't have such personality problems."

"Are you making fun of me?" the man moved even closer now, to tower over Ruslan.

"No. Are you?" Ruslan stood his ground. "I must remind you that here, you're a guest in my house. I hope I'm not asking for too much if I demand a bit of common courtesy."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" the man asked, with a scowl on his ugly face.

"It means," Ruslan said in the same even, calm voice, "that if you prefer to be this rude, I can ask the bouncers to come and invite you out."

"No way, I have to train," the man said, now a bit unsure of himself.

"You would also be eliminated from the event," Ruslan explained as if he was dealing with a hard-headed child.

The man's face turned into something even uglier, as its owner was now clearly tormented with making a choice. Johnny was ready to push Ruslan aside and take care of the asshole when the guy backed down.

"You're not worth it anyway," the man faked disinterest as he walked away. "Fucking homo," he hissed through his teeth.

Johnny took one step forward, but Ruslan turned quickly and grabbed him.

"Come with me," Ruslan said shortly, and Johnny followed without a word.

They were out in the hallway when Ruslan began speaking.

"I don't need anyone to step up for me. I can take care of myself. Okay?"

Johnny nodded and grinned. Ruslan was touching him, his hands on the shoulders, and Johnny was pretty damn sure, by how slowly the guy's fingers were moving, that he was impatient to feel the muscles underneath.

"I mean it," Ruslan stared him in the eyes. "I'm no damsel in distress. Plus, I don't want to find myself forced to eliminate you from the tournament for misconduct outside the ring."

"Misconduct?" Johnny snorted. "That guy's asking for a kicking."

"No fighting outside the ring. Ugh, I'm certain you didn't bother reading the rules," Ruslan pursed his lips in frustration.

"I'm all for you reading them to me," Johnny said and pulled Ruslan close with one arm.

"Seriously? That would be so boring," Ruslan grinned, too, and made himself busy with straightening an invisible crush on Johnny's tank top.

"No, it won't," Johnny replied. "Because you will read them to me while I'm fucking your brains out."

Ruslan laughed.

"That would be counter-productive. One, you wouldn't pay attention, and two, it would be too late for explanations, seeing that the sex should follow at least your first victory in the ring. I'm your cookie, remember?"

"How could I forget?" Johnny teased and angled his head so that he could kiss Ruslan.

The man's fingers flexed on his shoulders. And then gently, he pushed Johnny away.

"Hey, I barely had a taste," he protested.

"You need to focus on your game," Ruslan replied, placing both hands on Johnny's chest, and looking up.

"I won't be able to. You keep popping in the room where I'm supposed to train," Johnny pretended to complain.

"That's true," Ruslan admitted with a small frown. "I will stay away from now on."

"Good, do that," Johnny hurried to encourage him.

Ruslan looked at him and blinked a few times. Johnny sustained the guy's gaze, without showing the slightest sign of weakness.

"I usually visit to gauge the fighters' condition, but, seeing that there is some hostility going on, I will make myself scarce for now," Ruslan said.

"Um-hmm," Johnny confirmed again, busy now with leaning in for another kiss.

Ruslan kissed him quickly and patted his cheek playfully.

"Fight well, and the reward will wait for you, as promised," the guy said fondly. "Now just go train. I'm putting all my hopes in you."

Johnny knew Ruslan was right. And it made his chest swell hearing the guy saying that he was counting on him. Also, if they were to kiss for real, they were just going to end up having sex in the hallway, like two horny rabbits. Maybe Ruslan wasn't bothered that his reputation was making some hotheads think they had a chance with him, but Johnny needed the guy as far away from the other fighters as possible.

"C'mon, go," he swatted the guy's ass.

He could not resist, so he copped a feel. Ruslan was dressed impeccably in a casual suit, but the pants still hugged his gorgeous ass tightly. Johnny moved his hand slowly to follow the seam of the pants between the legs.

"Seriously, Snake," Ruslan pushed his hand away, but he was grinning like he was seeing the Christmas lights for the first time in his life or something.

"Call me Johnny," he pulled Ruslan close to him again.

"Really? I thought you liked being called Snake."

"Nah, that's for strangers. You're the inner circle now," he smiled.

Reluctantly, Ruslan moved away. But not without throwing a few all-knowing looks over his shoulder. Johnny waved and kept his relaxed stance until the guy disappeared behind a corner. The next second, his face was pulled so tight his jaw hurt. He needed to straighten up someone, and right now.

He entered the gym by slamming the door open. Everyone in the room stopped to look at him. Without looking at anyone else, he went straight to the unibrow guy.

"Listen to me carefully, 'cause I ain't gonna say it twice," he spoke roughly, as he pointed the finger at the guy. "Address Mr. Kent respectfully, or you're gonna have a problem with me."

The guy gawked at him, seemingly at a loss for words. He regained his shitty confidence fast, though.

"Why? What's that homo to you?" the man asked, pushing his chin up and taking a step forward.

"What's he to me?" Johnny smirked. "He's my main squeeze, that's what he is."

It was clear as day that the guy wasn't expecting something so in his face. He gaped like a fish.

"You a homo, too?" he asked, with an expression of confusion mixed with disgust on his face.

"Just pray that you don't get to meet me in the ring," Johnny said, and moved at his training station, starting right away to hit the bag.

"Oh yeah? You pray! I'll destroy you!" the guy shouted.

"Guys, cut it out, or no one's going to destroy anyone. We'll all get thrown out," another intervened in an anxious voice.

Johnny didn't have to look to know the others were throwing curious looks in his direction. But no one dared to tell him a thing. Apparently, his reputation from the other side of the river was following him here, too.

***

"Hello, papa," Ruslan kissed the old man's cheek and sat across from him, at the restaurant table.

"I took the liberty to order something for you, as well," the older Mr. Kent said affectionately. "You'll get dessert, too, of course."

"S'mores and hot fudge?" Ruslan asked, his eyes shining.

The old man nodded.

"God knows what you see in that stuff," Mr. Kent shook his head with mirth. "But it's your favorite, and seeing how you're all bones, I'll allow it."

Ruslan laughed. The old man knew how to pull his leg. Also, asking for him to meet in the city, at a restaurant that didn't belong to their chain, meant the old man wanted to talk something serious. And personal.

"So, what's cooking?" he asked, as he took a glass from the table and sipped a bit of water slowly.

"I heard some rumors," the old man looked at him, quirking both eyebrows and looking at Ruslan like a protective mother hawk.

"What rumors?" Ruslan blinked a few times.

He knew what the old man didn't condone. Mr. Kent had no issues with Ruslan being gay, but he did have a problem with something else.

"That you were treated rather rudely in the gym the other day," the old man said promptly.

Ruslan huffed in annoyance.

"Really? Do you have ears everywhere?"

"You know I do," the man he called his father said matter-of-factly.

"I'm a grown-up. I'm 24," Ruslan glared.

"And you're still eating s'mores and hot fudge," the old man smiled. "Russy, stop giving me the evil eye. It doesn't become your handsome face."

Ruslan relaxed and eased into his chair.

"You sure know how to treat me like a kid."

"And what do you know about that?" the old man said, his eyes warm.

"Point taken," Ruslan admitted.

He always indulged the old man in these bouts of overly protective behavior. It was just a game between the two of them. When Mr. Kent had picked two rather scrawny 16-year olds from the streets, given them food and shelter, Ruslan had also been taught humility. Yanis had called the old man a creep and a weirdo and had eventually run away.

But Ruslan had stayed. And if the old man wanted to treat him like he was 5, or 12, or 14, that be it. That had been how Mr. Kent had taught Ruslan what love, real love, was. And he was grateful for every second of it.

"But enough about you trying to change the subject," the old man wagged the finger at him. "If anyone tries to pull something funny with you, I have to know."

"Don't worry, papa, I can fight my own battles," Ruslan waved.

"Especially when you have a well-trained guard dog to do that for you, right?" the old man's eyes were scrutinizing now. "Or should I say ... a snake?"

Ruslan opened his mouth to protest, but then closed it fast. And he clenched his teeth. That guy.

"What did he do?" he pretended to be interested in an invisible spot on the rim of his glass, getting busy with the blunt nail of an index finger.

"Nothing bad so far, apparently," the old man chuckled. "Russy, you know how much I want you to stop running wild. You're such a good kid otherwise."

"You want me to settle down? Buy a house? Raise a family?" Ruslan looked over his glass at the other.

"Don't be a smartass," the old man frowned.

The waiter interrupted their little argument, placing the filet mignon dishes in front of them and filling their wine glasses. Ruslan made a face.

"I don't like this," he murmured, as he slowly grabbed his fork and knife, and took a sad look at his plate.

"For someone raised in an orphanage, you sure are fussy," the old man commented. "Well, if you want your s'mores, you'll eat everything else first."

Ruslan liked that about the old man. He never sugarcoated the truth. He never pretended that everyone had to walk on eggshells around the subject of how Ruslan had lived before ending up on the streets with Yanis. Or what he had done at the time to survive. And Ruslan appreciated that. The old man hadn't requested to be called 'father' or 'dad', either. But he had given Ruslan his name, and Ruslan had decided to call him 'papa' after his first French lesson. Amused, Mr. Kent had agreed that sounded slightly amusing and very much like something Ruslan would say.

"Now, eat your food, and listen to me scolding you," Mr. Kent added.

"Do I really have to?" Ruslan mumbled, but he was acting like a kid on purpose.

The old man liked that.

"Yes, you have to. I was glad to see Yanis getting himself someone else to bother. Although I do know that you two are still sneaking around. But," the old man put both his palms up, "he's your buddy, your best pal, or whatever you youngsters call friends today. So I understand. But this good for nothing fighter? He's talented. I give it to him. Strong like a bull, quick like a snake. And I want him in my ring. But in your bed? Russy, I have big plans for you."

"Seriously," Ruslan exhaled and looked at the large portion of the filet mignon, still uneaten. "It's not like we're going steady. We barely did it once," he lied on purpose.

"Twice," the old man corrected him right away.

Of course, he knew. That was no surprise, and Ruslan wasn't bothered.

"We never did it in my bed," he cared to point out.

"I assume it's only a matter of time," the old man replied, and his eyes never left Ruslan as he ate, with slow, studied gestures.

"Don't let yourself bothered by insignificant things," Ruslan said. "And Snake is certainly not one to be worried about. We're just ... you know."

He had learned quite quickly not to use cuss words when talking to the man. If there was one thing he could not stand, that was to disappoint his adoptive father. Except for the times when, well, he did feel the need to run wild, as the old man had said. He could not exactly help that. Without it, he was guaranteed to go slightly insane. He knew. He had tried it.

"He claimed you loud and proud," the old man shrugged as he took a sip from his glass of wine.

Ruslan froze. He knew his hearing was perfectly fine, but, right now, he was hoping that was not the case.

"What?" he stammered and reached for his glass.

"You mean, except for the fact that he promised the guy who insulted you a good thrashing in the ring if they get to meet there? Well, he called you, let me see if I can remember correctly what I was told," the old man stared at the ceiling for a second, "his main squeeze."

Ruslan tried to swallow the wine in his mouth and ended up sputtering and coughing. Quickly regaining his breathing and posture, he patted his lips with a napkin.

"So you didn't know?" the old man laughed.

"How could I know such a thing?" Ruslan glared again. "I don't have ears everywhere, as you do."

"Well, Snake seems to be pretty serious about you," the old man returned to his steak. "It looks to me like you'll have to fend for yourself."

"Don't worry about that," Ruslan waved.

"Russy, that man is nothing but trouble," the old man insisted.

"I love trouble," Ruslan shrugged.

"I have plans for you. At the right moment, I will present you with some excellent prospects."

"Prospects? For what?" Ruslan looked at the old man, now very much confused. "Are you interested in branching out? Seek other venues? I like it here."

"Don't worry. I'm not sending you away. I had you homeschooled, only so that I don't lose you out of my sight," the old man said. "I'm talking about prospects, as in some very dashing young men that I hope you will consider."

Ruslan placed the fork neatly on the napkin.

"Oh, god," he managed. "Am I looking at an arranged marriage in the near future?" he leaned over the table to take a better look at the other, and see if the old man was suddenly in the mood for jokes.

He wasn't.

"Not a marriage in a traditional sense," the old man explained. "But a lucrative partnership. Plus, these ambitious young men ..."

"I thought they were dashing," Ruslan interrupted.

"Strapping even," the old man added with a smile.

Ruslan rolled his eyes.

"You were saying ...?"

"These handsome young men would very much like to make your acquaintance."

"I don't know them, and they don't know me," Ruslan pointed out.

"They are very entrepreneurial and industrious. While they might see you as an asset at first, given your position, I'm sure they will be smitten with you," the old man said. "For all the reasons young men like you do feel so inclined," he added with a vague gesture.

"So they're gay?" Ruslan whispered.

"As a daisy in May," the old man said with a small smile.

"That was a little trite," Ruslan remarked but smiled, too, while playing along.

"Hmm," the old man's smile broadened.

"All right," he sighed, a bit too theatrically to have that taken at face value. "I will meet these strapping and dashing and ambitious young men. But I can't guarantee that I will like them. Wait, do I have to sleep with them? Is that a requirement?"

The old man shook his head and smiled with mirth.

"Of course it is not a requirement. But I'd rather you deal with people who won't judge you rather than some shmucks who think that calling you names somehow makes them men. You know I won't tolerate having anyone throw such words in your face. Or behind your back."

"Papa, you cannot prevent the entire world from being, you know, what it is," Ruslan replied with a shrug.

He wasn't as bothered as the old man. Unlike his adoptive father, he knew that guys too busy spouting homophobic shit were the most likely to be so deep in the closet that they had no idea what was really happening to them. The truly straight guys he had met, interacted with, and even been friends or friendly with, usually didn't have a problem with him being gay.

Of course, that didn't mean that assholes like the one at the gym weren't dangerous. Tempted to act like cornered animals, the moment they felt their position threatened, they could be unpredictable and vicious.

And that was the kind of complication he wasn't in the mood for. Guys who were ready and at least half-tempted to test their sexuality by screwing around were total game. Homophobes who wanted nothing more than to fuck a guy because that was their deepest, most secret wish, were not at all on his list.