Page 34 of From Best To Bested

“You know what that’s for, right?”

Roman nodded. He didn’t have to say it, having become so entuned with Ezra’s thoughts, even if they felt impossible to gauge, they often screamed at Roman.

“Yeah?” Ezra pleaded, seeking more from Roman, always seeking more.

Roman placed a finger on his face and ran it down the three reddish hearts he’d gotten inked. “Pretty. Pink. Princess.”

“Exactly.” Ezra smiled. “Though, redder than I hoped. He said it’ll settle soon, but they won’t be anywhere near as light as your hair.”

Roman had accepted that, his eyes lost on the tattoos covering both his and Ezra’s necks.

In bold black ink, clearly legible and fancy enough to add a bit of flair, something to make the words stand out, were the matching tattoos they sported. The redness of Roman’s neck made his tattoo more prominent, if possible, because of how irritated his skin had gotten.

“Best” and “Bested” were etched onto their necks, a matching set, a reminder for the rest of his life where he sat in the grand scheme of things, where he’d fallen, where he would remain.

Ezra stepped up close behind Roman, pressed against him as he slung an arm over Roman’s shoulder. Roman’s heart beat with unsteady anxiety until it synced to the steady rhythm ofEzra’s heart. Every fiber of Roman’s being seemed to kneel and obey Ezra’s lead.

“Do you know why I got these for us?” Ezra asked, sliding a hand across Roman’s chest and letting it rest just below the tattoo.

“So everyone knows who’s in charge.” Roman looked at himself, at his tattoo, at a failure who’d allowed himself to be bested in every sense of the word.

“Everyone already knows,” Ezra whispered. “I got it, so you’d always know, always remember.”

How could he forget? How could he ever hope to stand on his own two feet again?

“I know sometimes you consider walking away,” Ezra continued. “As you should. The choice is always yours. This friendship goes both ways, and I would never expect—”

“I’m not thinking about that,” Roman swiftly interjected.

His skin crawled, and his heart surged again. Yes, Ezra reminded him of his choices regularly, but they were an illusion, and Roman wouldn’t fall for it. The illusion got harder to see each day, though, and Roman thought for just a fraction of a second, these little talks helped make the lies harder to spot. He wanted to believe Ezra. He wanted to believe that if he just stopped fighting, Ezra would be genuine, things would get easier.

“Now, how are you going to thank me for this awesome ink?”

“Ugh, oh, yeah,” Roman said, pulling away just enough to turn and face Ezra but keeping their chests close, almost touching. “Sorry about that.”

“I didn’t ask for apologies, Princess.” Ezra brushed a hand through Roman’s pink hair. “I asked for gratitude. Show me how grateful you are.”

Ezra kissed Roman, gentle and guiding. It was the type of kiss that didn’t come with a rush. It helped ease Roman into theevening. It helped calm Roman’s nerves. It helped elicit a bit of arousal as their bodies pressed together and soon were rubbing against each other.

Roman tugged at the strings of Ezra’s pants and prepared for a long night as the bested pretty pink princess.

Chapter Eleven

Soon, Roman and Ezra had a daily routine. They’d wake up in the morning, and Ezra would either fuck Roman’s mouth or ass, depending on the day of the week. They’d spar together, but anytime Roman moved a little too well, the training would turn into a solo session for Ezra to test his new moves on Roman. Basically turning Roman into a punching bag to remind him of his place.

Roman understood why he lost the first match. But he still couldn’t wrap his head around the second loss, the way his footing faltered, the way one blow to the face left him so light-headed and winded. Ezra was good, better than damn near anyone here, but he had sloppy habits. Habits Roman easily spotted the night of their rematch and continued seeing more of every time they trained together. All the same, Roman would bury those thoughts when they surfaced, and he’d continue his daily routine.

Roman’s life turned into a hazy whirlwind of monotonous routine. Each day bled together, overlapping, and made it easier for Roman to lose himself to the time, to the subtle changes, to the acceptance, and what he hoped would be happiness. Roman wasn’t sure what day he decided to be happy, but now, looking back on each one, he started to see more and more of the good in his situation and less of everything else.

Errands and chitchat and lunch filled their afternoon. It was perfect for Ezra to show off his pretty pink princess to the world. Roman would get his hair updated, he’d be mocked, and usually, Jake the Snake would crawl out of whatever hellhole he came from and gesture lewdly to Roman. He didn’t hide the fact that he had every intention of fucking Roman, of owning him now that he’d fallen from grace, and while Roman knew he was stronger than Jake, faster, and a better overall fighter. While he knew he’d handled Jake and his men before in the arena and in back hallways when they’d tried to jump him in the past, he no longer believed in himself. That lack of belief made Roman’s stomach churn and made his skin crawl whenever Jake came around.

Roman would inch closer to Ezra, waiting for his “friend” to protect him. It always ended the same; Ezra would put a hand around Roman’s waist and pull him in close like he was delicate. The other men would snicker, and Jake would take the hint. Sometimes, he’d add a cutting comment before surrendering.

“One of these days, the champion is gonna get bored with you,” Jake would say when in a taunting mood. “When that happens, I’ll gladly offer you my undivided attention. All eight inches of it.”

“I could never get tired of my pretty pink princess,” Ezra would say whenever Jake didn’t take a hint, then he’d kiss Roman on the neck or lick him, and on one occasion, both. “You’d be amazed at the lengths my friend goes to make sure I’m happy.”

Roman would get queasy at those comments, knowing the truth of how much he let Ezra use his holes. How much he enjoyed it. How much he loathed himself for enjoying it. It was just a reaction of his body, which he could handle. It was how Ezra’s calm temper, level attitude, and constant affirmations messed with Roman’s head. This wasn’t okay. But he was okaywith it. He didn’t understand or like himself, but it became more and more grueling to fight against the current.

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