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Back Off, Santa, We Got This	By : ShinaRyun Category: Web Comics > Skins Views: 2420 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Skins, Under my Skin or any related works by their creator, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Ready?
- 2-Set?
- 3-GO!
- 1
- 2
Skins and Under My Skins © and ™ LJ Phillips 2013. All artwork, concepts and related characters are copyright and trademarks of LJ Phillips. Fanart and fanfic is welcome as long as it's non-profit and includes a disclaimer.
This fanfiction takes place in an Alternate Universe separate from but similar to the world of the wonderfully creative and talented LJ-Phillips. I cannot recommend the canon work highly enough; I’ll try to make the work below understandable and relatable to the canon work. Enjoy!
He could hear his roommate coming down the hall, the brute’s heavy tread announcing his presence in the apartment complex from fifty feet away, a musical clinking announcing that he was bringing alcohol. It was entirely possible that he could have been bringing jars of spaghetti sauce, or a collection of reinforced glass dildo’s, but the odds were entirely more favorable that the Thump-clink!-thump-clink! was just Vinnie coming home after a quick stop at the liquor store.
Tyr rolled his eyes and nearly let his shaved head crack forward onto his laptop’s keyboard as he heard the heavy steps turn half an octave softer once they rounded the corner of the apartment’s hallway and came within sight of the door they shared. “Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath, sliding a hand underneath his desk and loosening the handle of the knife he kept strapped to the wooden surface. This was classic Vinnie, and classically pointless. The wild man was constantly attempting to get under Tyr’s skin, trying to make Tyr’s control over his emotions and composure slip. These attempts took the form of annoying pranks, pointless jibes, and these nightly attempts to illicit a jump-scare out of the controlled man.
It was stupid. Vinnie’s heavy boots and size 15 feet couldn’t find silence in a vacuum, let alone on thin carpet in an apartment complex that skimped on its’ soundproofing. Even if the walls had been properly treated, Tyr’s keen ears could pick up the squeak of bedsprings five rooms away; Vinnie’s attempts at being an urban ninja made only slightly less noise than an elephant doing jumping jacks.
A key rattled in the door’s lock and Tyr nearly groaned, his eyes narrowed to tight slits, the hairs on the back of his neck lifting slightly. Every damn night …
Outside the door, Vinnie held his breath as he turned his key in the lock, left hand carefully holding a cardboard carrier that bulged with vodka bottles, right hand delicately turning the key. If he could get this right, it would be all the sweeter for what he had planned for the night’s activities…if he could just get one damn jump out of his stony roommate…
The last tumbler fell into place and a grin split Vinnie’s rugged features, sharp, white teeth gleaming beneath his inky stubble and dark tan skin. He took a step back from the unlocked door, shifted his body to the left to protect his precious cargo, and grunted loudly as he dropped back and threw his right leg up and forward, kicking the metal door open powerfully enough to nearly upset its’ sturdy hinges.
“I’M BACK, BI-“Thunk!
Vinnie’s traditional greeting-roar was interrupted as the shiv Tyr had loosened got drawn and flung in one fluid movement, the six-inch blade rocketing through the air to sink half its’ length in the plaster and wood paneling next to Vinnie’s head. The gleaming blade landed so closely that it nicked Vinnie’s right ear, humming from its’ flight and making the big man choke on his shout, yellow-flecked eyes bulging wide.
“Welcome home, bitch,” Tyr called over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back, a smirk hiding on his lips. The wall outside their door was patterned with holes and dents from the various things that Tyr had thrown when Vinnie had tried to sneak up on him, much like the walls of the apartment they shared.
Vinnie sighed and shook his head, his long hair brushing the back of his thick neck. He was too used to this to let it bug him too much, but still, it annoyed him that Tyr always seemed to get the drop on him. He pondered on that as he reached around and yanked the shiv from the wall, tossing it to himself idly as he walked in and kicked the door shut.
“How was work?” Tyr asked, keeping his eyes on his laptop again, only looking up when his roommate came around his side and stabbed his shiv into the wooden table an inch from his right elbow.
“Same shit, different assholes making it,” Vinnie grunted as he shook fallen snow off of his broad shoulders and kicked compacted ice from his boots to slowly melt on the hardwood floor. An ex-MMA heavyweight fighter of no small success, Vinnie had retired while he was ahead and taken up a teaching career, grooming the next generation of fighters to chase their titles without sacrificing his own. The gym he worked for had done well for his being there; there weren’t many up-and-comers who didn’t at least want to meet the undefeated Blood-and-Vinegar Tom.
“That bad, huh?” Tyr asked, leaning back in his chair after minimizing half a dozen pages. Formerly a spec-ops commando, the ex-soldier had been discharged for reasons Vinnie didn’t care enough to ask about. His current job, providing military intelligence for a private security company, paid his half of the rent and food and brought a minimal amount of drama into the apartment, which was exactly all that Vinnie cared about. The fact that most of his work took place online and couldn’t be talked about didn’t even faze the ex-fighter, shrugging at his roommate’s question.
“Bunch of little bastards came in wanting to see if they could talk me into sparring with them. Spent half the damn day telling them no before the boss told me he’d pay me to shut ‘em up.”
Tyr snorted and glanced down at Vinnie’s knuckles; they were more bruised than usual, small cuts dark with dried blood over his fingers. “No pads, huh?”
“They didn’t want ‘em, and after talking all their shit I wouldn’t have worn them anyway.” Vinnie grinned, the expression feral and just a little smug as he lifted his right hand and rubbed thick, scarred knuckles almost pensively over his short beard. “Little shits didn’t even last two rounds.”
“Should start packing toilet paper in your bag,” Tyr commented dryly, crossing powerful arms over his chest, muscles pulling taut under his black t-shirt. He thrust his chin towards the drink-carrier in Vinnie’s left hand, marveling for a moment at how the large bottles looked small compared to the fighter’s huge paw. “What’s up with the drinks? You expecting company? Swear to god, you bring back one more of those fucking morons from the gym uninvited, they won’t leave with their teeth.”
“Nope!” Vinnie snarled with a grin, lifting the drinks up and dropping them onto the table with a loud Clank! “We’re getting drunk!”
“My cue to leave,” Tyr muttered, standing up and shoving his chair back, the rolling seat stopping against the worn leather couch which dominated one wall of the large apartment. The space was a man-cave, with simple, sturdy furniture that looked like it got cleaned once a month and a kitchen which had been the final stop for enough meat to account for a stable of cows and pigs. The interior was unconsciously equipped to accommodate men who did not mess around with anything easily breakable or perishable. Their frequent fights and drunken adventures had proven to be too destructive to their environment for anything that either couldn’t be broken or couldn’t be fixed. The table central to their living room shook as Vinnie slammed a fist down onto it hard enough to crack a 2x4, the reinforced hardwood taking the blow with barely a wobble as he roared.
“C’mon, ya pussy! I didn’t drag two an’ a half damn gallons of ‘shine twelve blocks so you could walk the fuck out!”
Tyr paused, half-turned and raised an eyebrow, the scar tracing a line from above his brow to below his left eye twitching slightly. “Moonshine?” he asked, glancing down at the bottles and noticing that they had all been opened previously, their quality rings broken.
“Special delivery from Santa Claus,” Vinnie practically purred, grinning down at the bottles and stroking one almost affectionately. “Picked them up from a friend at the gym who was short on cash and needed to settle what he owed. Took a sniff of one o’ these bad boys and knew that they’d do. Skinny Greek bastard knew what he was doing when he cooked them up.”
Tyr stared for a moment at the bottles and gave it a thought. He was no fool; he’d gotten drunk before, and knew exactly how fast he lost sense of himself once he had a bottle of that evil fire inside of him. Waking up in alleys, in sewers, and in drunk tanks had taught him that when alcohol had a stranglehold on his brain, he became both stupid, and very strange to hang out with. Still…he did have a taste for grain alcohol, especially when it was strong enough to peel the paint off his car…and it was near Christmas…
He sighed, his shoulders slumping a little. “One drink,” he muttered spitefully, though even as he said it, he didn’t believe it.
“There’s the Christmas spirit!” Vinnie cackled, turning away to grab a pair of shot glasses and a barstool that the two men had found mysteriously in their home after a night of blackout drinking. Later, after scouring all their local haunts and finding not a barstool out of place, they had come to the conclusion that it had simply been a stray which had followed them home, and adopted it.
“Last man standing?” Vinnie asked with a challenging snarl, half-sitting on the battered barstool and slamming the nigh-unbreakable glasses onto the table.
“I said one drink, asshole,” Tyr growled as he dragged his chair closer and sat down heavily.
“I’ve heard that before,” Vinnie muttered. Tyr didn’t bother to rise to the idiot’s attempt to bait him, just crossing his arms sullenly over his chest and determining to drink Vinnie so far under the table that he would reign as unopposed King of the Bottle.
Bottles opened, glasses were filled, and within moments both men had an ounce of the clear lava flushing down their throats, leaving even their seasoned flesh scorched.
“Smooth,” Tyr grunted, leaning forward in his chair and propping his elbows on the worn wood, his flat expression perfectly concealing the fact that he’d have kicked a baby for a cold cup of water.
“Like silk,” Vinnie snarled through a grin, the light flush on his cheeks showing what both men clearly felt: that whoever had made this batch of moonshine had clearly intended to bring about the Biblical apocalypse via alcohol.
“Yeah?” Tyr said, grinning a moment as he reached for the bottle, pouring another shot for the man who had, after more broken noses than he cared to count, become his friend. “Won’t be any trouble to take another, then.”
“Not for me, but for a pansy-ass wuss like you?” Vinnie chuckled as he took the shot in a gulp, rumbling as he felt a layer of veneer get eaten away from his stomach lining, pouring another shot for his friend to hide it.
“Ain’t nothing,” Tyr grunted as he slugged back the drink, feeling hairs on his shaved head lift and tremble. The hairs on his chiseled arms were all standing up as he poured Vinnie another shot, a dare in his eyes as he glared at his friend.
The first two bottles were drained in rapid succession, neither man taking the time between drinks for anything more than a breath, a prayer or an insult. When each had a full bottle of the dangerous liquor committing murder on their livers, they started to take their drinks more slowly, both still lucid enough to think on a high-school level.
“You seein’ yer mom this year?” Tyr asked, raising an eyebrow as he let his glass hover in his hand, wary of how quickly he was poisoning himself.
“Naaahh,” Vinnie growled, leaning his back against a sturdy column and kicking his booted feet onto the table, glass in his left hand, bottle in his right. “Seventeen hour flight to South Africa, an’ for what? Spend the day sitting behind an electric fence, spend the night slapping mosquitos bigger ‘n your damn eyeball…if I want to get in a damn fight with a crazy bitch, I can just kick your lazy ass and spare myself the flight.”
“Screw you and the giraffe your mother screwed to make you,” Tyr muttered, tossing back his drink with a gulp and feeling all seven of the bones in his neck rattle painfully as he swallowed.
“What about you?” Vinnie asked, blinking a bit more than usual as he poured his next shot himself. “Gonna go see your mom?”
“Poured wine over her grave last year,” the other man grumbled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, glaring for a moment at a stain in the wood. “Ought to hold her over until January.”
“Oh…right,” Vinnie muttered, smart enough to know that it was better to throw back his drink than to say anything else for a minute. Another round of drinks passed, and in his search for something to change the topic, Vinnie’s eyes passed over the knife still stuck into the table as he took his next shot.
“Where’d you get that piece?” he asked as he set his glass down, hoping for a moment that the conversation would give him a moment to breathe and find his tongue; it had gone numb five shots ago and only years of drinking experience allowed him to still speak.
“Oh, this?” Tyr asked, reaching to yank the knife out of the table and spinning it between his fingers with only a small waver. “Picked it up in Burma…some whack-job arms dealer tried to gut me with it when we busted him.”
“Bullshit,” Vinnie grumbled, smirking.
“Fuck you, bullshit,” Tyr growled, stabbing the knife back into the table and slamming back his next shot before standing up (discovering that mercifully, he wasn’t completely tipsy yet) and grabbing at the hem of his shirt. “Got me right here,” the ex-soldier said, yanking up his shirt and showing off his washboard abs, dusky skin pulled taut over hard muscles, a line of pink-white scar tissue making an ugly slash just an inch over his navel. “Gave me the chance to teach the fucker how to really gut somebody,” Tyr said through a grin.
“I bet,” Vinnie said, staring at the scar for a long moment and feeling his eyes start to wander over more than just the mark, taking in the vista of Tyr’s narrow waist and well-defined torso, almost tilting his head to try to see higher without wondering why. Unbidden, the longer he stared at the revealed expanse of his friends’ body, the more Vinnie started to feel like he wanted to see, his wide brow furrowing in concentration and puzzlement. A surprising feeling of heat and growing pressure between his legs nearly made him glance down at his groin in confusion, his inseam tightening in a familiar way for unfamiliar reasons. He covered the quirk in his wide brow by knocking back his next shot, pondering on this new development as he did so.
Vinnie had never really thought of himself as bisexual…women had always seemed to want him, and he hadn’t ever thought to deny them, so he hadn’t really given conscious thought to what men were like. He had certainly spent an inordinate amount of time in very close proximity to other men when he had been fighting, but the connection between being in a sweaty, panting, shirtless clinch and thrusting into a sweaty, shirtless, panting man had never really crossed his mind. As he had gotten older, he had discovered that when he got honest with himself (read: drunk), he tended to notice things about men in general that he had ignored in the ring.
Like asses, for example. Vinnie liked asses; that much he knew for absolute certain no matter how wasted he got. No drunken haze could hide from him the fact that asses were proof that the gods were merciful and generous creators. Now, women had hindquarters, and he had tried them before and liked them…and men had them as well…so what could the difference be? To Vinnie’s mind, there could not be much difference at all: some looked good, some looked great, and Tyr’s…
“Ya got any like that on your back?” Vinnie asked, half of a bad plan forming in his mind, his grinning face only giving away that he was enjoying himself immensely.
Tyr cocked his head slightly, scrutinizing his friend’s features for some trick or ploy. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he dropped his shirt and slid his hands around to his back. “Half-blind sniper caught me in my side,” he said as he turned around slowly, moving carefully lest he upset the volcano-god floating on the lake of fire in his stomach. “Fucker couldn’t aim for shit…probably for the best,” he muttered as he put his back to Vinnie and lifted his hands to tug up his shirt, revealing the toned planes of his back and the little pockmark where a bullet had tagged him, an inch above his belt and far to the right.
“Dodged a bullet, kinda,” Tyr grumbled contemplatively, looking over his shoulder at Vinnie.
“Uh-huh,” Vinnie muttered, looking at the scar for a moment before shifting his gaze lower, his whole head tilting down as he stared appraisingly at Tyr’s ass. He remembered seeing Tyr’s rear end before, like you do…around the apartment, a casual fleeting glance stepping out of the shower, the odd occasion when he tried to surprise Tyr by busting in on him in the bathroom…
The heat and tension radiating from his groin did not lie as they flared from the sight of Tyr’s toned backside. The black fatigues he wore did nothing to disguise the man’s perfect figure, the sharp lines of his Venus dimples hinting at how extensively Tyr still worked his body even after getting out of his combat-intensive career. It was all Vinnie could do not to just reach out and see if Tyr’s backside felt as good as it looked.
Tyr, his mind clouded by half a gallon of poison slowly soaking into his blood, could only see Vinnie’s eyes fixating on his lower back. Had he been more used to men staring at his ass, he might have caught on to Vinnie’s real fascination, but as things stood, he was usually the one doing the staring. As it was, he remained ignorant of Vinnie’s eyes trying to bore through his pants, and was happy to let him stare as long as he wanted to if it meant he could take a few breaths between his next round of drinks.
Neither man was aware that Vinnie’s were not the only eyes fixated upon Tyr’s body. Hidden more carefully than a mute among the deaf, a network of cameras and bugs were secreted within Tyr and Vinnie’s home, the tiny recording devices catching every moment of their lives. The devices all fed back to a single source: the apartment directly above the men’s, home to another pair of deviants whose scandalous histories rivaled either Tyr or Vinnie’s. Seated before half a dozen computer monitors, the two individuals responsible for the surveillance were staring with rapt attention as Tyr and Vinnie’s drinking game took its’ pause.
“Have I mentioned,” Rabbit said gleefully, the albino sitting half-naked on a leather couch which faced the monitors, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, “how happy I am that you talked me into helping wire these hunks?”
“Only once every two hours,” Jordan replied with a smirk. The Holmsian P.I. had taken up a partnership with Rabbit after discovering that having a self-described Paparazzi Assassin working for her opened more doors than having a CIA spook on her payroll. Rabbit’s expertise in getting into places he wasn’t supposed to and always managing to get that perfect, damning shot had closed more cases for her than she cared to admit, though she attributed her near-psychic ability to read people and environments more towards her success. Not that she needed her talents when dealing with the open book that was Rabbit; one look at him after the lithe albino had passed Tyr in a hallway had told her that he was smitten. Using that attraction to convince him to sneak into Tyr and Vinnie’s apartment and plant his precious little eyes and ears had been tantamount to throwing a stick for a dog to retrieve.
“Call it two hours, then,” the pale-skinned man said, lifting his whisky bottle in toast. Jordan chuckled and clinked her glass against the bottle before tilting it with her free hand to top off its’ contents.
“From the way you complained, I’d have thought I was asking you to pull your own teeth,” she commented dryly, leaning forward and idly shifting her tank top with her free hand as she stared at the screen before her, her one good eye focusing on the image of Vinnie’s half-turned face.
“Shh,” Rabbit muttered, his pink eyes widening as he saw Vinnie start to lean forward on his stool. “Turn it up, it’s about to get good…fifty bucks says that he makes a pass at Tyr.”
“Hundred says that Vinnie tops him,” Jordan countered, grinning evilly as she turned up the volume. She had soundproofed their apartment herself the moment her landlord had finished signing the lease, and wasn’t worried about anyone hearing them.
“No chance,” Rabbit hissed as he leaned forward, sipping from his bottle. “Tyr’ll take him down a peg, you wait and see.”
“I do so love taking your money,” Jordan purred as she and Rabbit both watched Vinnie’s right hand lift, set his bottle heavily on the table, and then reach out to shamelessly squeeze Tyr’s right buttock.
The shock and confusion that flitted across Tyr’s normally-stony face made both the voyeurs squeal like schoolgirls.
“Am I drunk,” Tyr unknowingly said for three sets of ears, too loaded with moonshine and too unsure of what to make of the situation to do anything but stand rigidly still and speak over his shoulder, “or are you grabbing my ass?”
“Can’t help it,” Vinnie purred with the most shit-eating grin Tyr had ever seen, and he had seen more than his fair share across Tom’s features. “Looked too good not to at least try it.” Thick, strong fingers dug and squeezed at flesh turned steely with tension, wantonly groping Tyr’s rear for a long three seconds before the stunned man whipped around and swiped at Vinnie’s hand, fingers curled to furious claws.
“The fucking shit you think you’re doing?!?” Tyr roared, his left hand darting out to grab around the handle of his shiv, right hand shooting out to sink his clawing fingers into Vinnie’s shirt. Bottles and glasses slid off the table to thunk dully and roll away across the floor, too thick to be broken by Vinnie’s body getting yanked across the hardwood surface. Neither man cared about the glasses as Tyr put the gleaming point of his blade a millimeter away from Vinnie’s right temple.
“You got a death wish, Tom?” Tyr snarled, alcohol lending a slight slur to his speech, his eyes narrowed to bloodshot slits. “Last man tried that shit didn’t get found ‘till two days later, in three states.”
“Last man must’ve been a fucking pussy, then,” Vinnie snapped, one of his feet finding the floor and shoving up as he smacked away Tyr’s left hand, his own left fist snapping out like a striking cobra. Knuckles dug into skin just below the crux of Tyr’s ribcage, sending a shock straight through his solar plexus and making him cough hard and stumble back, left arm flailing for something to balance on, stars filling his vision. Taking advantage of his friends’ temporary paralyzed state, Vinnie’s right hand swung up from where it had batted away Tyr’s blade, cold cocking the man across his right temple and sending him spinning from the table.
“Bitch,” Tyr coughed as he fought through the unsettling feeling of being unable to breathe and found his footing, tightening his grip on his shiv and glaring at Vinnie as the man pulled himself off of the table. “Gonna gut you like a fucking fish.”
“You don’t, an’ I’m gonna stab you with something else,” Vinnie snarled, getting his feet beneath himself and putting up his hands with practiced ease, his body instantly poised for battle. “Found your box of man-porn last time I was looking for my fucking keys…can’t tell me you don’t want that shit.”
“Oh, you’re so dead, shit-stain,” Tyr rumbled, making a lunge that would have spit an average man’s heart on six inches of hard-ground steel.
Divorced from the action, Rabbit and Jordan stared with eager smiles as their favorite form of entertainment started up once again. Watching Tyr and Vinnie pit years of experience beating the life out of their fellow men against one another put all other shows to shame.
“Shit just got real,” Rabbit hissed excitedly. “Three death threats in under twenty seconds…think that’s a new record.”
“Looks like he means it this time,” Jordan said with a grin that belied the fact that she was idly discussing her neighbors attempting murder. Rabbit was too engrossed with Vinnie’s fluid dodge and shoving redirection to reply.
“’S matter, bitch? Finally found something to get under your skin,” Vinnie grunted as he turned aside a stab with his left elbow, stepped in and shot his right fist out for Tyr’s chin. “Pissed because you ain’t the stone-faced bastard you thought you were?”
“I’m pissed because you’re not choking on your own blood yet, motherfucker!” Tyr growled as he dipped aside from the uppercut and pulled back from his blocked stab, slashing across Vinnie’s right side as he did so. Sharp metal bit through cloth and skin and scraped off of bone, skipping off of Vinnie’s ribs and sending a small splatter of pressurized blood across the hardwood floor as Tyr got his arm back in close to his body.
“Pissed because I didn’t kill you in your sleep the second I met you,” the ex-soldier snarled as he made a wild punch that tried to break Vinnie’s nose. Hissing from the fresh cut, Vinnie ducked back from the punch and put some distance between them, taking half a moment to assess how painful his wound was. It was not the first time that Tyr had cut him, and it did not feel as deep as it could have been, just sending twinges of pain up and down from his hip to his armpit and aching hotly as blood ran down to stain his jeans.
“Think you’re pissed because you don’t want to admit that you liked it,” Vinnie growled, grinning despite the fact that he was bleeding down his side.
“Wouldn’t fuck you if your ass cured cancer,” Tyr spat.
“No, but I’d tap that ass even if it did have cancer,” Vinnie retorted, lunging back at Tyr with a flurry of blows, arms and legs a blur as he aimed to disarm and incapacitate.
“Not in your lifetime,” Tyr promised, blocking and dodging, taking a hard elbow across his left floating rib and a knee into the outer side of his left thigh, both sending paroxysms of pain throughout his body and nearly making him stumble back. He countered with a gut-punch that made Vinnie cough like he’d swallowed a fly, pressing his attack with a shorted diagonal slash that aimed to cripple Vinnie’s left arm.
The fight raged for five long minutes, the two men pulling no punches as they bobbed and weaved around the apartment. A recliner overturned, a coffee table was nearly broken in half, and it wasn’t until Vinnie managed to duck down and scoop up one of the empty vodka bottles before the fight turned. Ducking a slash that would have popped his eyeballs like grapes, Vinnie rose up with the bottle swinging like a club, swiping upwards and connecting with Tyr’s head an inch behind his left ear. The glass held intact against the loud THUNK, as did Tyr’s skull, though his eyes crossed for a moment as his brain was slammed against the right side of its case. His right foot lurched forward, crossing over his left, and Vinnie took the opportunity to trip him with an expertly placed knee that sent the ex-soldier flat on his back, the shiv bouncing out of his momentarily-loosened grasp.
“Pay up,” Jordan said through a smirk as she and Rabbit both watched Vinnie drop down and pin Tyr to the floor, the fighter’s experience in submission holds giving him just the slightest edge over Tyr’s black ops training.
“Not until I see pants come off and cheeks get spread,” Rabbit snapped back, the bottle forgotten in his hand as he watched Tyr start to struggle and buck like a rabid boar.
“Eh, what’s ten minutes difference to me?” Jordan chuckled, shrugging as she watched the inevitable conclusion start to play out before them.
“Get the fuck off!” Tyr roared as he thrashed beneath Vinnie, his nearly-drunken haze and ringing skull keeping him from figuring out exactly what the fighter was doing to him. His whole head hurt, the blow to his skull crushing his hard-earned tolerance for the alcohol he had consumed, the combat-rush of adrenaline accelerating his metabolism and nauseating him. He choked back bile more than once as he tried to dislodge the panting, snarling barbarian above him, his vision tunneling when he felt Vinnie finally manage to get a hand around his neck.
“Gthaaack…ffuck sshhou!”
“That’s the idea,” Vinnie grunted as he did his best to keep his hold on Tyr, shifting and rolling and generally doing everything he could think of to keep the wily, furious man on the ground. It was like trying to wrestle a chimera, with too many dangerous limbs kicking, punching, jabbing and grinding into his body to count and only four limbs of his own to try to manage them. A knee caught the cut on his ribs, and only a ducking roll moved his neck out of the way of jabbing fingers which would have collapsed his jugular vein. It wasn’t until he got fingers in a tight grip over Tyr’s throat that Vinnie felt he was making any kind of progress.
Tyr maintained a coldly logical center of his brain even as everything else was melting down in rage. Hand around his neck meant no air to his brain. No air to his brain was bad…very, very bad. He tried to reach for Vinnie’s hand and discovered that his arms could not move beyond a certain point, his left only able to bend at the elbow, his right completely immobilized and his fingers numb. His vision was going dark and his chest was getting tighter and tighter, Vinnie’s considerable weight pressing down on him helping to limit the flow of oxygen through his body.
Wild, primal panic filled him for a moment as his vision blacked out completely, his body going into convulsions that would have broken a Richter scale, every muscle clenching to make every possible attempt to get free. In his panic, his hips thrust up to try to lift Vinnie off of him, grinding hard to the ex-fighter’s taut abdomen and making both men abruptly pause as they both finally noticed something dangerously surprising.
“Ohoho,” Vinnie growled, his bloodshot eyes narrowing and a leer splitting his features, his hand around Tyr’s neck loosening just enough to keep Tyr awake; he’d be damned if he didn’t rub this in. “Hard much, Tyr?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Tyr snarled, spitting mad at both the idiot on top of him, and the smaller idiot between his legs who was standing ridiculously hard against the buttons and left leg of his fatigues. It was crazy and stupid, but it was also utterly undeniable that his body was showing every sign that he was aroused by what was happening to it, his cock throbbing like a cartoon stick of dynamite. Pressed tightly to Vinnie’s abdomen, it was impossible to hide.
“Finally did something to get a reaction, ya hatchet-faced prick,” Vinnie growled, unlocking his legs from around Tyr’s so that he could shove his right thigh between Tyr’s, grinding that steely bundle of muscles down to the bulge in Tyr’s pants. A harsh cough and a sharp, instinctive rock of his hips answered the grinding press, making Tyr’s eye bulge in shock at his treacherous body’s attempt to increase the pressure on his groin.
“I will kill you, TOM,” Tyr snarled, his voice roughened from his bruised throat, his eyes filled with hate as he tried to still his rocking hips. “You go to sleep tonight, you will not wake up in the morning unless you get the hell off me.”
“Oh, fuck you, Tyr,” Vinnie growled, glaring right back. He snarled furiously as he swiped his hands over Tyr’s body, his left already in a tight grip that pinched a nerve cluster under Tyr’s right shoulder, his right grabbing at Tyr’s left elbow and trying to twist it further left. The motion relieved the numbing pressure in Tyr’s left arm, and at the painful twist, he instinctively resisted it and tried to pull his arm up, away from Vinnie’s grip. Vinnie moved with him, a savage grin interrupting his grimace as he shot his hand up with Tyr’s and slid his fingers from elbow to wrist, pinning Tyr’s arm over his head and putting his face mere inches away from the man beneath.
“You’re such a hypocrite,” Vinnie growled, his voice all rumble and predatory heat, his eyes alight with drunken fury. “Got more magazines of naked dudes under your bed than a goddamn felon, but I make one pass at you and suddenly it’s kill-Vinnie day.”
“It’s kill-TOM day,” Tyr spat, still struggling to get free in fits and spurts, panting through his clenched teeth, “because I’d rather stuff a grenade up my ass than your dick! Besides,” he huffed, taking a moment to breathe without feeling like he was going to throw up his guts, “you’re not my type.”
“Too masculine?” Vinnie rumbled through a grin, leaning his head a little closer.
“You wish,” Tyr snarled.
“From the man on the bottom,” Vinnie growled, chuckling.
“My point exactly,” Tyr snarled, flexing his arms as best he could, lifting his torso an inch off the floor as he tried to push Vinnie off of himself. “I don’t bottom, jackass! And I sure as shit don’t top for stupid gym-rats like you!”
“Bullshit,” Vinnie scowled, tensing his grips on Tyr’s arms and letting more of his hard-packed weight press down onto Tyr’s wiggling body. “You like real men, not skinny fuckers like that white faggot upstairs.”
Out of sight from the two men, Jordan fell off of her couch, hooting like a loon. Rabbit turned his nose up and made a disparaging comment which simultaneously insulted Vinnie’s virility, intelligence, and any potential pets he may have owned.
“The fuck you say,” Tyr muttered, flinching as a twinge of shooting pain lit up his right arm from his fingertips to his shoulder. He felt another twinge from between his legs and did his best to ignore it.
“I can prove it,” Vinnie husked, winking. “Saw that picture you photoshopped at the top of your pile.”
Tyr closed his eyes tightly. “Fuck,” he spat under his breath. He should have known that it was a bad idea to leave homemade porn anywhere in the house, but there had been something about seeing Chris Hemsworth and Jason Momoa in the sack together that had pinned his arousal. He had crafted the picture six months ago as a curiosity, and seeing it had so shifted his desires that a collection of more masculine pictures had slowly been added to the stack of Japanese submissives and wide-eyed German 20-somethings under his bed.
Men who bore a striking and completely coincidental similarity to Vinnie had started to join men who more closely resembled the same albino neighbor who Vinnie had mentioned previously.
“Fuck is right,” Vinnie practically purred, just as happy that he was flustering Tyr as he was over the fact that he was getting the stoic bastard aroused. “Really want to tell me that you don’t want a guy who can put some muscle in bed?” He flexed his grips on Tyr’s arms and leg, muscles tightening and bulging underneath his shirt and jeans, reminding Tyr of his immobility.
“Nnff,” Tyr grunted, eyes seething with hatred. “You’re not-“
Whatever he meant to say was cut off when Vinnie impatiently closed the gap between their mouths, kissing Tyr aggressively, his head turning nearly sideways to completely lock their mouths together. A tongue that felt a hell of a lot stronger than what Tyr was used to rammed into his own, and a lock of teeth against teeth prevented him from biting it off as he so desperately wished he could. His legs kicked and flailed fruitlessly against the floor and against Vinnie’s own legs, getting a couple of good hits in against the backs of Vinnie’s calves before thick, hard knees were suddenly pinning him down.
“Mmmffffrrfffrrr!” he managed to grunt out as Vinnie’s lips mashed wetly down onto his, neither man closing their eyes, too focused on glaring at each other as they kissed and struggled.
Watching the two, Jordan chuckled as she noticed Rabbit casually sliding a hand under the waistband of his shorts, tempted to do the same herself.
Tyr didn’t have to put his hand down anything to know that he was rock hard, his manhood like a lead pipe that throbbed and jerked, angry at its’ confinement against his right thigh. That wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the similar hardness pressing into his left thigh; in his drunken state, he could only conclude that either he had grown a second penis, or that Vinnie had gotten horrifyingly erect.
What was even more disturbing than that was that a part of his brain, the same part that was getting horny from being held down and from having his mouth raped, did not seem to mind that at all.
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