The warehouse reeked of rust and sweat, the single bulb overhead swinging like a pendulum over the concrete floor. Marcus had dragged Alex there after the fight, after the younger man’s fists had landed one too many times and the crowd had roared for blood. Now the door was bolted. Alex’s back hit the wall hard enough to rattle his teeth, but he didn’t fight the grip that followed. Marcus’s forearm slid across his throat, not crushing yet, just resting there, a promise of how easily the air could be taken.
“Still breathing?” Marcus’s voice was low, rough from years of broken promises and too many nights like this one. His free hand tore at Alex’s shirt, buttons scattering. The fabric parted and Marcus’s palm flattened over the rapid beat of Alex’s heart. “Good. I want you to feel every second.”
Alex’s hands came up, not to push away but to clutch Marcus’s wrist, fingers digging in.
The pressure on his windpipe increased by degrees, controlled, deliberate. Black spots danced at the edges of his vision, but the heat pooling low in his gut burned hotter. He arched, hips seeking friction, and Marcus answered by stepping in, thigh wedging between Alex’s legs, grinding against the hard line already straining his jeans.
“Beg for it,” Marcus said, voice like gravel. “Or I walk.”
The chokehold tightened another fraction. Alex’s breath rasped, shallow and desperate. “Don’t stop.” The words scraped out raw. “Fuck—Marcus, don’t you dare stop.”
Marcus’s mouth crashed down, teeth catching Alex’s lower lip, drawing blood. The kiss was brutal, all dominance and claim, while the forearm never eased. Alex’s lungs burned. His cock throbbed against Marcus’s thigh. When Marcus finally pulled back, a thin string of saliva connected them for a second before it broke. He released the hold just enough for Alex to suck in a ragged breath, then pressed forward again, using the wall and his body to keep Alex pinned.
They moved like that toward the battered mattress in the corner, Marcus guiding with the chokehold, never letting Alex forget who decided when he breathed. Clothes were stripped in rough pulls. Skin met skin, hot and slick with sweat. Marcus shoved Alex onto his stomach, one knee between his thighs, spreading him. The chokehold returned from behind, Marcus’s chest flush to Alex’s back, forearm once more across the throat as two spit-slick fingers pushed inside without warning.
Alex groaned, the sound strangled. Marcus worked him open with relentless precision, scissoring, twisting, finding the spot that made Alex’s whole body jerk. Every time Alex’s air grew thin, Marcus eased just enough to keep him conscious, riding the razor edge between pleasure and panic. The power exchange crackled between them, electric. Alex pushed back onto the fingers, silently demanding more, and Marcus gave it, adding a third, stretching him until he was shaking.
When Marcus replaced his fingers with his cock, he did it in one slow, merciless thrust. Alex’s cry was cut short by the renewed chokehold. Marcus’s hips snapped forward, driving deep, the angle perfect. Each thrust shoved Alex’s throat harder against the forearm. The rhythm was punishing, skin slapping skin, the mattress creaking under them. Marcus’s free hand wrapped around Alex’s leaking cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, tight and rough.
“Feel that?” Marcus growled against his ear. “You’re mine when I hold you like this. Every breath. Every inch.”
Alex could only nod, vision tunneling again. The lack of air sharpened everything else—the burn of stretch, the slick slide, the way Marcus’s cock dragged over his prostate with every withdrawal. His orgasm built like a storm, pressure coiling at the base of his spine. Marcus sensed it, tightening the hold just as Alex’s balls drew up. The world narrowed to the throb of his pulse, the fullness inside him, the hand working his cock.
When Marcus released the chokehold at the exact moment of climax, air flooded back in a dizzying rush. Alex came with a broken shout, spilling over Marcus’s fist in thick pulses. His body clamped down, milking Marcus’s cock, and Marcus followed seconds later, burying himself to the hilt with a guttural curse, flooding Alex’s ass with heat.
They stayed locked together, Marcus’s weight pinning Alex down, the forearm now resting gently across his collarbones rather than his throat. Sweat cooled on their skin. Alex’s breathing evened, each inhale tasting of salt and rust and Marcus. After a long minute Marcus rolled them, keeping Alex tucked against his chest, one leg thrown possessively over his hip. His fingers traced the faint red mark left by the chokehold, almost tender.
“Next time you throw a punch in my ring,” Marcus murmured, “you better mean it.”
Alex’s laugh was hoarse, wrecked. “Next time,” he rasped, “don’t stop so soon.”
Marcus’s answering smile was dark, satisfied, already planning the next round. Outside, the city kept moving, but inside the warehouse the only sound was the slow, steady rhythm of two men breathing the same air, power still thrumming between them like a live wire. The night wasn’t over. It never really was.
