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The Continental Classic had ended just a couple weeks ago, but with how fast their lives are, it feels like it might has well have been a lifetime. in that time, Kevin kept in touch with Claudio, though they kept their contact discreet. Only Mike and Pac knew, and Kevin didn't know what either of them thought of the arrangement.
He’s in the gym with Mike, finishing up training. He has his match with Swerve coming up and he's been trying to compartmentalize his thoughts on it. Between everything going on with Mike and Claudio and Hangman and Swerve, it was as if all of Kevin’s ties were getting crossed and knotted and he could barely keep his head straight.
So he doesn't think about Swerve. He doesn't think about the man who told him that he personally vouched for. The man who tells him hes the future.
But Kevin doesn't want to think about the future.
Beside him, Mike is stretching the soreness from their muscles, and Kevin can't help the way his eyes wander, watching the graceful way they move. Kevin looks at Mike and he still feels that tug in his chest. the puppy love that makes him feel like hes floating on air and leaves him hanging on to Speedball’s every word. He wants to fall into Mike’s arms like he has so many times before, wants things to be easy and simple again like they were just last year.
“When did you start training with Claudio?” Mike asks out of nowhere, like its an easy question.
Kevin’s heart skips a beat. It should be an easy question. But Kevin pauses, not quite sure what to say, or why he can't find the right words in the first place. He shrugs. “Since the c2. He said he liked my match with Pac, wanted to see more of what I can do.”
“Are the other Death Riders there?” Mike asks with a grin. “Does he have you practicing a swing on Garcia?” They’re curious, but most of all, they're just teasing. Kevin lets out a breath.
“No, just me and Claudio.”
Speedball gives him a look.
Kevin bristles under their gaze. “Listen, it's fine, okay? It’s not like the Death Riders are going to jump me and take me out, and besides, I can take care of myself.”
“I didn’t say you couldn’t—I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into—that you’re safe.”
Memories briefly flash through Kevin’s mind, of facing the Death Riders before. Of protecting Mike. Of not cowering away from Jon Moxley. Guilt threatens to wash over Kevin, for putting Mike through all of this, but it lays dormant still, instead bubbling up as irritation. At Mike, at himself, at Jon Moxley, at Swerve.
Kevin reaches over and squeezes Mike’s hand, brings it to his lips for a soft kiss.
“I see you trying to look out for me. I appreciate it–appreciate you. I’ll be okay, you just gotta trust.”
Mike nods, breathing. They plant a kiss on Kevin’s forehead before heading to the gym’s locker room, leaving Kevin to sit in the center of the gym, watching Mike as they go.
—
It feels as if Swerve is toying with him and Kevin doesn’t know what to make of it. It’s almost intoxicating. He can’t help himself but to reach out and push back, see if he can’t find some sort of crack in the foundation of Swerve.
Swerve claims to be the most dangerous man in AEW, and Kevin doesn’t disagree. That doesn’t mean he's scared, however. If anything, it draws him closer, like a moth to a flame.
Swerve’s words ring out in his head, the mixture of praises and condescension, and Kevin can’t wrap his head around it. So he stops trying to. Instead, he just keeps pushing and prodding and poking, giving Swerve a house call of his own. He steps to Swerve in the ring and fights until he can’t.
He's slick with sweat and the water that Swerve poured on him. His skin feels like its aflame, burning up from the inside underneath Swerve's gaze and touch. Distantly, he can hear the bell ring, but it’s all he can do to just lay flat in the ring until his vision stops swimming.
After taking the pin, time begins to blur. He thinks he remembers Swerve’s hand on his head, then fingers under his chin, tilting his head up. Swerve is kneeling before Kevin, encouraging Kevin to stand, to feel pride in his performance. Kevin follows Swerve’s direction, but his body is tense, not willing to relax until Swerve begins to leave the ring.
—
When he gets back to the locker room and checks his phone, there's a text from an unknown contact with a hotel room number. He has no doubt about who it's from, and doesn’t bother to even question how they got his number.. A familiar sensation fills his chest, much like a night not too long ago in Mexico. But this time it's heavier, like something is pressing down on his chest, threatening to make his breast bone cave in on itself.
Kevin can still feel the phantom touch of Swerve’s fingers under his chin. He feels hazy and unbalanced after the match. As if his body is too big for him and his being is floating away.
He grabs a water bottle from his bag and pours some of the sports drink mixture down his throat. The salty sweetness burns—the sensation working to bring him back to himself but not by much. Closing his eyes, he leans his head back against the wall and tries to focus on breathing.
In for three. Hold. Out for three.
Vaguely, he can hear the door to the locker room open. Most of the other guys have left at this point, so Kevin assumes that it's Mike, coming to grab their bag and check on him. But the steps sound heavier and the smell of coffee and sandalwood fills the air around him. Opening one eye, he glances over and sees Claudio standing in front of the doorway.
“That was quite the show you put on out there.” Claudio says, his voice betraying no emotions.
Kevin looks at him. His chest is still heaving, trying to catch his breath. He doesn't know if his racing heart is the adrenaline from the match still yet to come down or the sight of the man in the doorway. They've yet to define what they mean to one another. Kevin would like to think that there's something more to them than an exchange of bodies.
Claudio steps inside the locker room, closing the door behind him and making his way to sit next to Kevin. His eyes scan Kevin over, silently checking for injuries.
The warmth of Claudio’s presence, the pressure of their legs pressed together, grounds Kevin. He focuses on this warmth, on the smell of coffee, while he focuses on calming his breaths. Next to him, Claudio doesn’t say anything, just waits for Kevin to be ready to talk, which Kevin is grateful for.
“How much did you see?” Kevin finally asks.
“All of it. I also saw how he spoke to you last week.” Claudio hums. “He is a dangerous man.”
“And you're not?”
Claudio cracks a smile. “You make a good point. I just worry for you, my little jet.”
“People keep telling me that. I don’t need people to worry over me.” Kevin says quietly, eyes cast away from Claudio.
“Look at me.” Claudio’s fingers rest on Kevin’s chin. the same spot where Swerve's were just an hour ago. the touch feels like it burns.
Kevin’s eyes flick back to Claudio, who's staring at him intently. Curiously. Deep brown eyes pinning him in place. Claudio’s hand moves from Kevin’s chin and cups his face. Kevin leans into the touch, sighing softly.
“I know that you are smart and that you have a fighting spirit,” Claudio says. His tone gentle, but firm all the same. Kevin doesn’t mention the text, but as if Claudio already knew, he continues, “I trust that whatever decisions you make will be the right ones, and that whatever is going on between you and Strickland does not change the way I see you, my wonder. I need you to know this.”
“And how do you see me?” Kevin asks, his brown eyes widening, like they’re searching for something that he might not have seen before.
Claudio doesn’t speak for a moment, only looks back at Kevin, breathing softly. “I see you as someone I cannot resist. Someone I want to keep close for a long time.”
Kevin inhales sharply, and before he can second guess himself, he leans forward and kisses Claudio. They still haven’t named whatever their relationship is, but it begins to feel more tangible in a way. Like something slid into place.
—
There’s only so many things that a text with a hotel room number could mean, so Kevin is under no false impressions when he begins knocking on Swerve’s hotel room door, and he’s once more hit with deja vu. Swerve opens the door and looks at Kevin. A smile that Kevin can only describe as bloodthirsty grows on Swerve’s face.
“Here's how this is going to work,” Swerve begins, once Kevin is inside. He wasn’t invited to sit, so he stands in the middle of the room, while Swerve sits in front of him on the end of the bed. Even though Kevin is the one looking down at Swerve, he feels small underneath Swerve’s heady stare.
“You did real good tonight, kid,” Swerve praises, “but I think you still have more fight left in you.”
Kevin doesn’t disagree, he can feel his heart rate picking up.
“I want to see that fight. I want to see what it’s like when the Jet gives in and takes what he wants.”
Kevin knows this is all some sick sort of test for Swerve. To prove what, he doesn’t know. And yet, he finds himself wanting to pass. Maybe not for Swerve’s approval, but for his own.
“Do you want me, Kevin?” Swerve asks, moving his hand to grip Kevin’s side.
“Yes,” Kevin confesses.
Swerve begins to strip Kevin, his large hands leaving lingering touches with each article of clothing he pulls off. For a moment, once Kevin is naked in front of him, Swerve just stares. Kevin thinks that being the only one naked should probably make him uncomfortable, but growing hardness of his cock tells him otherwise. He stands straighter and slight puffs his chest—posturing under Swerve’s scrutiny.
That bloodthirsty grin returns, and Swerve must like what he sees, because in a moment, Swerve is throwing his own clothes off and pulling Kevin onto the bed. As if he’s eager to tear into Kevin, Swerve grips the younger man tight. “You fucking the cowboy?” He asks, placing his hand on Kevin’s stomach. The weight of his touch not quite mimicking the title belt.
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” Kevin glares.
“You fucking that partner of yours?”
“Now that really isn’t any of your business.”
That earns a laugh from Swerve.
He reaches down, and for the first—and only—time that night, Swerve is grasping Kevin’s hard cock. Beads of precum leak out of the head, and Swerve swipes some off with his thumb. Swerve brings his thumb to his mouth, taking a tantalizing lick. Before Kevin can say anything, Swerve is grabbing at something from the bedside table and tossing it in Kevin’s direction.
“I had a feeling you’d show up. Already prepped myself—didn’t trust that you’d know how to do it right,” Swerve condescends while Kevin catches and unwraps the condom.
Kevin knows he’s being toyed with, riled up. Swerve is a master in the art of getting under men’s skin. Knowing that still doesn’t stop him from the annoyance he feels. He climbs on top of Swerve, and he’s accutely aware that everything he does is because Swerve is letting him—that in a moment, Swerve could flip them over and change the rules completely.
But that’s not what tonight’s about. Kevin slides the condom onto his dick and grabs onto Swerve’s legs, spreading them so he can line himself up against Swerve’s hole.
“Why don't you show me what you got, young lion?” Swerve taunts with a dangerous smile.
Kevin, never one to back down from a challenge, presses into Swerve with one quick thrust. At once, he’s overwhelmed with the tight heat around him, gripping him like a vice. “Fuck,” Kevin gasps.
“That’s right, take me,” Swerve commands, pushing back onto Kevin. When Kevin does start moving, in deep strokes, a choked off moan escapes Swerve's throat, filling Kevin’s chest with a swell of pride.
Not wanting to let Kevin get too cocky, Swerve reaches up, forcing his fingers into Kevin’s mouth—a reminder of whose in charge. Kevin's hips stutter for a moment, shocked by the intrusion, but soon his mouth relaxes and he’s sucking on the digits like he was made to take whatever Swerve decided to give him.
Swerve wraps his powerful legs around Kevin, gripping him like a vice, and it takes all of Kevin's strength to not collapse onto the older man. Kevin whimpers around the fingers in his mouth, and Swerve pulls his legs in tighter.
“Get loud, baby. I wanna hear you use your voice—tell me what you need.” Swerve says, and it would be sweet if Kevin could even make a coherent sound. But Swerve's fingers restrict him, only letting him moan and whine sweetly. “You're going to need to learn to speak up for what you want, doll,” Swerve grins.
He curls his fingers inside of Kevin’s mouth, hooking them behind his teeth so he can pull Kevin’s face towards his own. Spit pools around Swerve’s fingers, making Kevin’s lips and chin sticky as Swerve removes the digits. Gripping Kevin’s chin, he surges up and captures Kevin in a biting kiss.
Kevin is trying not to cry, but tears threaten the corners of his eyes while his hips lose any semblance of a steady rhythm. He doesn't want to show any weakness to Swerve—wants to prove that he’s earned this. As Swerve kisses him, guides him, pulls him further in, Kevin feels like hes being consumed. Like he's losing part of himself as Swerve takes and takes and takes.
One of Kevin's hands grip Swerve’s leg tight, fingernails digging in. Swerve hisses into his mouth and bucks his hips, encouraging Kevin. He hopes he leaves marks—he wants to leave Swerve with something to remember him by, not wanting to be just a young boy power play for the man. Maybe, just maybe, Kevin wants to mean something.
His thrusts grow more erratic, pounding into Swerve, and it sounds like if the man wasn't moaning he would be laughing. This only provokes Kevin to grip harder and move faster, angling his hips to hit that spot inside Swerve that makes him cry out and clench down tighter. Kevin reaches down and grasps Swerve’s cock, relying on the mans sweat and leaking precum to provide some semblance of lubrication as he tugs on the skin in time with his thrusts.
Before he realizes what's happening, Swerve pulls Kevin impossibly closer and sharp, hot, pain blossoms across his neck. Distantly, he recognizes the sensation of teeth, and a sudden wet warmth coating his hand and his stomach. Kevin feels like he floats out of his body, the overload of sensations washing over him until they all come together, filling his head with tv static. Kevin's skin feels like its burning—the heat engulfs him and he only adds to it, his hips pressing into Swerve a final time as he fills him.
It takes Kevin a moment to come back to himself. When he does, he tries to kiss Swerve, only to be met with a hand on his jaw, stopping his movement. Swerve tells him to pull out and says nothing more as he leaves the bed. He throws a cloth at Kevin so he can clean himself up. The sudden shift in demeanor unsettles Kevin, but he knows when he's not wanted, so he makes quick work of cleaning up and getting dressed. He ignores the sharp gaze of Swerve watching his every movement.
In the end, Kevin feels like he's been hollowed out. Like Swerve reached inside of him and took out chunks of his being and left him needing and starved.
Before Kevin reaches the door, Swerve calls out to him once more. “I hope whatever you’ve got going on with the cowboy works out. Maybe he’s finally learned to be a team player.”
Kevin shouldn't be surprised, Swerve always has to get the last word.