your joy is my low

your joy is my low.

It's three a.m. in some city, at some convention center, and Matt Engarde has somehow wound up tied up in Juan Corrida's hotel room.

With Juan looming over him, it's hard to remember the hows or whys or whens of the situation. How he ever could be so stupid as to follow that rat bastard in here, why he hasn't figured out a way to turn things around yet, and when he decided to go along with his rival's demands. Juan's impossibly good at tying knots; Matt was bound to give in sometime.

"Y'know, this is the only way I can stand to look at you, Engarde." Juan crosses his arms over his chest and grins smugly. "Weak, and on your knees."

His ankles are tied, his hands secured behind his back. Matt would retaliate if he didn't think it would completely upset his balance. He's not sure how he would manage to stand up quickly enough to do anything before Juan would, inevitably, block his attempt. He hates being at a disadvantage. He hates being without power. He hates losing.

He hates Juan.

"Doesn't change the fact that you're still fucking filth," he snarls. "Your show will never be as good as mine. Nothing you do will ever be better than what I've done."

Unimpressed, Juan squats down and stares levelly at Matt. "Funny thing. I can do an awful lot of things right now, and there's nothing you can do to stop me." There's something unsettling about the intensity in his eyes; Matt feels his stomach sink. The situation does not bode well.

"Yeah?" he taunts, unable to leave Juan with the last word. "What'll you do?"

Juan gives him another look, then reaches up to grab a ballpoint pen from the nightstand. "See this?"

Matt sees it.

"You won't have to see it for long. Not with both eyes, at least." He wobbles the pen between two fingers. "It would be so easy to fuck up your other eye, too. It'd look like a total accident." A grin. "A good amount of money and a good lawyer can guarantee it looks like a total accident. You wouldn't be able to cover both sides of your face, would you?"

Silence.

"That's what I thought. So I suggest you sit pretty--" Juan patronizingly pinches his cheek, "--and do whatever the hell I tell you."

Luckily, Matt's beloved racing jacket was taken off before this unfortunate chain of events; it lies safely on his own hotel bed and allows Juan to lick and bite at Matt's neck with no interference. His hands roam freely, indulgently touching Matt anywhere and everywhere, gliding across promotional t-shirt fabric and defined muscle alike. Not just anyone can lift the samurai spear, to be sure.

Matt tolerates it for a minute before thrashing wildly, cursing and spitting until Juan pushes him over, tilting backwards helplessly and landing on his side. Juan pins him and, grabbing the nearby pen again, lets it hover dangerously close to Matt's eyeball. He blinks furiously and tenses, straining to pull away but unable.

"Stop. Struggling."

It's at this moment in his life that Matt realizes his rival is just as-- well, almost as twisted as he is. He screws his eyes shut and flinches when he feels the pen tip lightly touch his eyelid.

"Are you going to cooperate now?" Juan asks, malice clear in his voice.

"Yeah! Fine! Just put the fucking pen down!"

"Alright." Juan leans over him and inclines his head, their lips just shy of touching. "Kiss me back." It's a demand, not a request, and Matt rather enjoys having sight. Their mouths meet, hot and wet and rough, and Matt cooperates. Juan resumes his exploratory groping, everything selfish and spiteful. It's just the way they've become. It's the way they have to be.

Straddling Matt's side, Juan rubs himself against his rival's hip for a long, creepily quiet moment. Matt does nothing but wait, seething with hatred, disgust, rage and -- much as he despises it -- unsatiated lust. He wants his hands free, wants to touch back if he's going to be doing this anyway. Juan breathes heavily, exhaling into his hair where it's tucked behind his ear. Matt wants to punch him or fuck him or both, but can't do either.

Finally, finally, he stops and stands up, grabbing Matt's shoulders and tugging him back to kneeling.

"And now," he says, pants and boxers bunched around his feet, sitting comfortably on the bed, "you suck me off."

Matt spits at him.

"That's a start."

Juan tugs him forward and grabs hold of his hair, keeping him firmly in place until Matt gives in and gives a slow, tentative lick, precome settling in the fold of his tongue before he glares and idly swallows it. He tries to keep his mind elsewhere; since he's not going to reconcile himself with the fact that he's blowing the person he hates most in the world, he can at least try to mentally switch places. If he pretends that he's on the receiving, not giving, end...

Matt goes at it full force, lapping at the head before taking as much as he can into his mouth and sucking hard. Juan leans back, supporting himself with his palms on the bedspread and sighing contentedly as he's surrounded by wet, slick heat. With his eyes closed, he can focus on every detail; the slurping noises send waves of heat curling through his stomach, and he moves a hand to tightly grasp the base of his length.

With Matt's constant suction and his own tight stroking, Juan nears completion sooner than he wants to. Ever careful to not miss an opportunity, however, Juan gives himself one last squeeze and thrusts sharply into Matt's mouth. The other man gags, understandably, but it's not as if Juan cares. Panting heavily, he forces Matt to deep-throat him, and comes with a sharp gasp. His legs shake as he lets Matt go, and hazily watches as the other man vomits onto the floor. It doesn't matter. Someone will clean it up, and it won't be him.

Furious, Matt meets his eyes.

"Fucking happy now? Untie me." The venom in his tone is unmistakable. Juan loves knowing that he's the cause of it, that he's the one who's left Engarde sticky and sneering on a hotel floor. Deliberately slowly, Juan heaves himself up and loosens the knots on the cord. Matt wastes no time in standing up, and starts to pull down his pants. Juan lifts an eyebrow.

"What are you doing?"

Matt stares at him. "Are you seriously not going to fuck me, after all that?"

Juan snorts in disbelief. "You're joking, right? No."

Matt stares at him, and for a split second looks as if he's about to attack. For that second, Juan is somewhat worried, but soon enough, Engarde storms out of the room, knowing better than to slam the door behind him. The rest of the world can't know about this. Ever.

Juan sleeps, and when he gets back to his own suite, Matt desperately jacks himself off, the entire time wishing he wasn't thinking of Corrida.