Page 29 of From Best To Bested

When Ezra kicked Roman in the chest one final time, the blow knocked Roman off his feet and knocked all the air out of his lungs. He lay on the mat, wheezing and doing his best not to curl into a ball from the pain.

Ezra stood over him with his legs straddled at Roman’s sides. “You look absolutely fucked.”

“Yeah,” Roman hissed, biting back a wince. “That’s what happens when you volunteer to be a punching bag.”

“You look absolutely fuckable, too.” Ezra stared with his hands in his pockets.

Roman eyed the bulge in Ezra’s grey sweatpants, the sadistic look of excitement in Ezra’s eyes, and the hunger in Ezra’s sly smile.

Roman pushed himself up, checking the sparring room to make sure Ezra hadn’t invited others in here, too, like he had with the rest of the champion’s gym. Knowing he had little choice, he rolled onto his stomach and hoped Ezra would finish fast.

“Whoa, look at you. So eager to please.” Ezra tugged at Roman’s sweats but didn’t pull them down as he lowered himself onto Roman, sitting with his boner pressed between Roman’s cheeks, the only thing separating the two of them being their sweaty clothes. “I love how committed you are, how willing and ready to meet my needs you are.”

Roman ground his teeth. He wanted to tell him to fuck off or to just get it over with, but he knew whatever he said would only result in a longer, more grueling fuck.

“Wish we had the time.” Ezra smacked Roman’s butt. “No worries, though. I will take full advantage of your hungry holes later.”

With that, Ezra hopped off Roman and actually helped Roman to his feet. Once they were both standing, he squared Roman’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes.

“Just remember, you’re mine now.” Ezra held Roman’s hand firmly, keeping him pulled close to his body so the sweat and heat practically melted the two men together. “You’re my friend, and I will protect you at all costs. But I want you strong. I want you at your best.”

Roman tsked. The idea of being anything seemed an impossibility.

“Just because I broke you,” Ezra said, “and I know I did, doesn’t mean I can’t fix you, too.”

“Why bother?”

“Maybe I like the idea of two champions standing tall together.”

“As long as one knows his place and bends over for the other?”

“Exactly.” Ezra smiled. “We’d be an unstoppable duo.”

That reminded Roman of his plans for Levi, plans for his friend to join him in the arena and stand tall as a warrior, too. But it never panned out. Levi was always too gentle, too kind, too soft for fighting. Roman hoped he was okay. Hoped Ezra had been true to his word.

“Or maybe you wanna build me back up because you know the next fall would break me beyond repair.”

“Hmmm.” Ezra studied Roman. “That would be bad.”

No amount of consideration gave Ezra’s intentions away but instead left Roman with more theories and worries and paranoid delusions. All he really knew at the end of the day was that Ezra wanted Roman, and now he had him. How he wanted him, Roman was still unsure. Why he wanted him, Roman speculated on.

“Guess I’ll have to hold tight and make sure you don’t lose your balance.” With that, Ezra slung an arm over Roman’s shoulder, and the pair walked out of the gym toward the next appointment Ezra had planned.

Chapter Nine

The errand had been another effort to show off Roman, to primp and parade him. Roman silently seethed as he waited for his hair dye to set. The flamboyant inmate who’d put the strange concoction made with everything other than actual hair dye stood with a hand on his hip as he leaned into Ezra. The pair made small talk during the wait, Ezra showing no annoyance at the man’s obvious flirting. Roman didn’t know if the community hairstylist wanted protection or simply found Ezra cute. It didn’t matter; Ezra only had eyes for Roman.

Every time the hairstylist joked, playfully touched Ezra’s arm, teased blatant sexual innuendos, and so many other obvious attempts, it failed. Occasionally, Ezra’s eyes would move to Roman, especially if the conversation drifted somewhere sexual. Ezra burrowed holes into Roman with his stare, and Roman could feel himself actually quake a bit with the recollection of their sex. He could feel Ezra’s cock swelling in his throat, making it hard to breathe while he sat and waited. He could feel Ezra’s cock pounding away behind him, hands running over his skin, muscles stretched over his body, dick buried deep inside him.

When the time finally came, the hairstylist took Roman over to the sink in his cell and did his best to rinse out his hair. It took a lot of extra effort, and Roman had to remain bent over for fartoo long because of the low water pressure in the cells. It made Roman uncomfortable, exposed, raw, and like Ezra would walk up any second and mount him.

Ezra did appear behind Roman, his crotch gliding across Roman’s butt ever so slightly, but he didn’t pull down Roman’s pants. He didn’t make a lewd joke. He didn’t even playfully smack Roman’s butt.

Instead, Ezra gushed with excitement, encouraging Roman to stand while he examined his hair. Roman wished this were his cell—correction, he wished this was the champion’s cell—because then he could look into the full body mirror on the wall and take in his new appearance. He had no way of knowing what color Ezra had chosen, but based on his glee and the cutting comment the hairstylist had made before they began, Roman suspected it would be unappealing.

“Guess I won’t be the fruitiest one strutting down these halls anymore.” The hairstylist swayed with his hands raised in a dainty pose as he retrieved the small hand mirror available and carried it back. “What do you think, Romie?”

Roman glowered at the pet name.

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