It all started with a split lip, thanks to an intervention for one Natalie Boone, or so the story goes. That’s what Chad told him, and Ryan’s story wasn’t that much different.

The rain had been pouring all day, and after school it looked like a tornado was going to touch down. Sports and detentions had been cancelled in favour of getting everyone home safe. Trucks and vans carried more people than legally safe, but that wasn’t exactly uncommon for the town. He managed to escape before the mass exodus. There were minor repairs to be taken care of around the house, but if he didn’t tend to them before the storm ripped through, they would take a fast leap to major issues.  

As the story went, Natalie stood soaking wet, tight shirt almost obscene, staring after her boyfriend’s truck speeding out of the lot. All of her friends were long gone, leaving her with the stragglers getting into Ryan’s pick up. They stumbled over one another to get into the bed, Chad tucking his legs up as he claimed the back of the cab with some kid. Natalie had the seat of honour beside Ryan as they drove off.

The only occupants of the truck sat in the cab when they pulled up to the Boone household. Not one of them had expected the greeting committee led by the thick-skulled and thicker-knuckled Robby waiting for his girlfriend with a few other guys from the football team. Robby narrowed his gaze on Ryan as he stepped down to the muddy earth but otherwise didn’t move, his eyes doing the travelling as he watched Ryan circle around, holding the door open with his body while helping her down. 

The conversation that followed may have followed something along the lines of:

“Do you make a habit of rescuing other guys’ girlfriends?”

“Only the ones with ugly boyfriends.”

“Shut it Kroeger!”

“Robby, you left without me.”

“I offered her a ride home, and she accepted.”

“So does this mean that if I ask you for a ride home, you’ll drive me home too?”

“If your truck was actually broken, I’d consider it.”

“If you need any volunteers to break it, I’m nominating myself right now.”

“Ryan was only doing the nice thing. He drove me home, and now he’s going to drive his friends home. You were at the school, you saw how everyone was helping each other out.”

“Too bad you don’t know how to do the nice thing.”

“Chad. . .”

“Take your hands off of my girlfriend!”

“I have.”

“Good! Because if I see you touching her again I’ll break your neck!”

“Robby, shut up!”

“Shut up slut!”

“Why don’t you shut up, fuckhead?”

“I already told you to shut up-”

“Leave them alone! They helped me, so let them go on their way.”

“Stop defending them!” 

“That makes so much sense. Stop defending the guy who offered to drive me home, when my own boyfriend was too busy to drive me home!”

The minutes of the meeting were forgotten at that point, the conversation of words becoming a conversation of fists. A few more words might have been exchanged, but it was Robby who took the initiative to crack his palm across Natalie’s cheek. Chad had jumped down from the truck, hurrying over to take his own swing, but Ryan beat him to it. He could only gape as Robby swung back. The slick ground made it easy for Ryan to slip away from the punches, but at last one struck him square in the mouth. 

Blood and rain dripped down from his chin, but Ryan didn’t hesitate as he swung back half a second later. Driving himself forward, fist leading, Ryan landed one straight to Robby’s mouth. It should have been a return favour, but with a backwards misstep Robby landed, splashing mud in every direction, coating all of him and spraying Ryan’s jeans.

“You should have seen it!” Chad crowed, still soaking wet in the kitchen. 

Mike arched an eyebrow in his direction, still not believing his brother’s story, not even what’s-his-name’s confirmation that it really did happen. 

The four of them arrived to find the house in one piece, Mike having completed the work. He had cleaned himself free of grease, but he was still dripping wet, much like the kids sitting around the kitchen table. 

Ryan lowered the bag of frozen peas he was using for an icepack for his swollen lip. Mike snapped his gaze away from the clotted, dried up mess of blood that stained his whole mouth; he decided that the blush on Ryan’s cheeks was more interesting. “It wasn’t anything like that.”

Natalie grinned, leaning in her seat to whisper in Ryan’s ear. Any attempts to sway Mike into believing them were forgotten as Mike, then Chad and Nameless, watched Ryan’s whole face turn red.  

The two of them were officially an item two days later, though not without rumours of how they both wound up with their injuries. Robby was curiously closed mouth, and Chad continued to provide outlandish accounts to anyone who dared to listen. 

Mike wasn’t interested in the hearsay; he just wanted to see it with his own eyes again.

*

Next time he was there as an eye-witness to the stupidity. 

Mike wasn’t sure when bulls became such a prized commodity, beyond the scope of mating season, rodeos and grade-A beef, but apparently one of Chad’s buddies – another poor victim of selective memory – was an expert in the field. His knowledge grew exponentially when he was imbibing, until he was drunk. Then he was the all-knowing, far-standing rule-giver in the field. As it was, the far-standing rule-giver in the field was in a field, taking up the rear as Chad steered the steer from the front. 

Mike watched the push and pull with wide eyes. “You stole Travers’ prize bull?”

Ryan stood beside him, looking on in similar shock, but also with an impressed air. “How the hell did you manage to pull this off?” 

“We save the reveal to the end, like all masters do.” Lifting his head with a shake to get hair out of his face, the Expert grinned. “Are you ready to assist?”

He nearly choked on his laugh. The bull gave him a long suffering look, making a snort of his own. “I’m leaving this to the three of you.”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do, and I’m not saying yes until you tell me.” Ryan crossed his arms, levelling them with a look that stopped them cold. “On that note, I am just as ready to say no.”

Chad straightened up, letting the rope he was leading with slacken. “You’re going to drive us and Eduardo down to the bar where-”

“My truck! You expect me to put him in my truck? How would we even do that – we don’t have a cattle lift, or whatever it is they use to. . .” Screwing his face in concentration, unfolding his hands from his elbows, Ryan made a weak lifting motion. “Hoist them.” 

Readjusting his grip, Chad slung the lead over his shoulder. “You did park the truck where I told you to, right?”

“Yeah, even though I’m regretting that decision now.”

“I have built a fully-functioning, adjustable ramp. Fully-functioning in that I’ve tested it several times, successfully on each count.” He started up the procession again, pushing forward, Chad quickly following the paces. “I’ve had Daisy in my dad’s truck, and not to forget the others, but also Louie, Henry, Albert. . .”

“You really have it out for Travers’ bulls,” Mike commented. His feet disobeyed the sensible side of him, and followed the path that Chad and Expert continued to forge. 

“Is my truck going to be able to carry his whole weight?” Ryan asked, appraising the taciturn animal. 

“He’s not as big as he looks.” Ryan didn’t look all that reassured by the Expert’s answer, and Mike had to agree. Perhaps they were both thinking about how the truck would smell and look like after transport. “I have done this many times. I know what I have to do.” 

“How many times have you done this without trained farm-hands assisting?” Mike asked.

Night couldn’t hide Expert’s brief expression of alarm. He cleaned it away with a smile and a flip of his fingers. “It’s not hard to learn, I’ll have you farm-handing him in no time at all.”

“I’m not helping,” Mike reminded, smirking wide and clear for all of them to see.

Ryan glanced his way, returning the smirk. “Lucky you.” 

By the time they were road-side, ramp secured to the back of the pick-up, Chad and Expert were pushing the moaning bull into the bed. Ryan had chosen to stand further back from them, warily watching his truck dip and creak with each closer step Eduardo took until he was inside. The tailgate was quickly shut, the click of the lock echoing thanks to the still of the night. 

The truck rode a little lower, but otherwise it was stable. Mike watched the bull pace the small quarters, counting down the seconds. Impressed, Ryan approached Chad and his friend as they celebrated, but only to give a warning. “If he in any way damages my truck, you’re paying for repairs.” 

Expert rolled his eyes, turning around to face Ryan with a dramatic air. “Relax! There won’t be any damage.”

Eduardo knew timing like a comedian. Seeing his opening, he leaped gracefully, or as gracefully as a bull could leap, from the truck. As he was facing the truck, Ryan saw the need to escape first. Retreating backwards he managed several steps until he fell over his too slow feet. Chad and Expert looked to the truck, saw the bull aiming towards them, and wisely stepped back also, but to either side of the vehicle. 

The front hooves landed barely a foot away from Ryan’s head where it struck the ground. The back hooves weren’t so lucky, landing heavily against his chest before skipping down to the pavement. Shouting out in pain, he flung his arm over his chest, gasping and struggling for breath. 

A light within one of the little cottages opposite the road flashed to life. 

Not waiting to save Chad’s skin this time, Mike ran over to pull Ryan to his feet. His legs didn’t entirely want to cooperate so it was up to him to pull Ryan towards the truck. Not caring for propriety, he shoved his hand into his pockets, pulling out the truck keys. It wasn’t until he pushed him into the truck, climbing into the driver’s seat himself that Chad and Expert yelled for him, racing for the vehicle.

Not bothering with seatbelts, he switched the engine on, letting it rev to life for a mere second before speeding away from the kids.

Time and distance put between the truck and the travelling Eduardo, Expert and Chad stuck somewhere in the middle, Mike pulled into the school parking lot. He parked underneath the lone functioning light, the glow seeping into the cab. He turned off the engine, twisted to face Ryan, still breathing raggedly. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” 

“I don’t know.” Trying to focus his glazed eyes down to his shirt, he pulled at the collar, tugging it up his neck. Skin peeked out between shirt and jeans, the expanse growing as it was pulled higher, only for the shirt to be thrown to the ground. Two inches below his collarbone were two bruises, already a dark blue, inflamed red cutting straight over the top, traces of dried on blood sticking to skin. “Does it look serious?”

Blinking hard to stop staring at the way the colour was pronounced on pale skin, Mike lifted his gaze to Ryan’s weary face. “It’s stopped bleeding, not that it looks like you lost a lot of blood. If it still hurts to breathe in two days, I’d say you should go to a doctor.”

Circling his thumb around the bruise on the left side of his chest, Ryan stretched out on the bench, leaning against the passenger side door. He twisted his face against the window, a laughing breath creating a cloud over the glass. “A bull jumped me – rode me.” Breath strained at his chest, and Ryan swallowed, muscles working tight down his neck and throat. “Does this mean that I’ve been ridden bareback?”

If he wasn’t, Mike was willing to indulge Ryan on the offer. 

*

Ryan Peake: patron saint of idiots, little girls lost, and people you really shouldn’t have a crush on, especially when they’re bloodied and black. Not that there wasn’t anything else to the man, likeable traits or otherwise, but it always boiled down to those moments. The glimpse of a cut or a bruise sent Mike’s imagination into overdrive, wondering what had caused the minor injury, and wanting to see Ryan defenceless underneath him, begging to hurt more. He couldn’t keep track of all the incidents, not that Ryan was accident prone, but Mike did prize certain events more than others. The bloody lip and the blood-red cheeks that stared back at him. A shirtless bruised Ryan stretched out in his truck, propped up by the door. 

It was hard to remember the cities they performed in when they were only following a route of bars and the occasional hotel. The bars they always remembered, and this one was particularly memorable. The reception was good, and the beers flowed hard and frequently. The fact that they didn’t have to stumble back to the van but to the hotel just around the block was another bonus. For all of the advantages though, there was one drawback. One of the waitresses had been making eyes at Ryan the whole night. It didn’t prove to be a big problem, seeing as Ryan didn’t realise she had been, and even when he did, he had laughed rather than flirt back.

As much as Mike had appreciated the reaction, he had to rethink that an hour later when Ryan hadn’t returned to their table after going to the washroom. They searched the bar inside and out but with no success. They went to the hotel to find out if he had checked in early. Mike hurried up to their shared room, Chad only a few paces behind him. He couldn’t have been more relieved to see Ryan sprawled out on his bed, even if his back looked like someone had used him to practice Morse code on. 

Passing the news onto Chad, then promptly closing the door on his face, Mike sat down beside Ryan on the bed. Ryan lifted his head to give him a bruised smile, wincing when the skin around his red eye shifted. “Would you believe that the waitress told her boyfriend that I was flirting with her?”

“A scorned woman will resort to any means to get her revenge,” he commented, shaking his head in disbelief. He stopped the motion short when Ryan rolled onto his back, revealing another series of bruises. A shallow gash ran along his stomach, thin bruises circled his throat, and what would later be bigger bruises scattered his arms. “How many boyfriends does she have?”

Ryan laughed weakly, thinly. “Three. If only everyone could be so lucky.”

His gaze didn’t stop admiring the handiwork, even for responding. “Why, so you can better your chances of getting beaten up?”

“If it gets you off like I think it does, definitely.” Mike snapped his gaze up, a thin exhale of breath trickling free of his lips. “Tell me, are you an artist, or do you just like the artwork?” Ryan struggled to sit up, abused body protesting. “Either way,” he murmured, swollen lips brushing Mike’s ear. “I like being the canvas.”

Mike twisted around, pinning Ryan back to the bed and forcing his mouth upon his. Ryan yelped into his mouth, the sound fading into a groan. He only drew away when he tasted heat and metal. “I’ll demonstrate my talents another time. For now, I’ll admire someone else’s handiwork.”

Squeezing rough fingers into bruises and cuts, relishing the pained shouts and pleasured moans that he finally had the honour of hearing, it didn’t take long until Ryan was begging. Flipping him onto his stomach, making sure that the blankets scraped over the inflamed flesh on his stomach, Mike carefully prepared Ryan, the only caution he took. Fully sheathed, he leaned his weight down, pushing in slowly, letting prodding hands add to the pain they were both looking for. 

Ryan flinched and groaned with every jab of his fingers, meeting all of his thrusts, but it was the lone command of harder that had Mike lowering his hands from the bruises to his hips, fixating on rough fast thrusts, that were bringing strangled sounds from both of them. Realising where his fingers gripped, it took only a stretch of two fingers to dig into the cut. The shout that ripped out of Ryan’s mouth burned into his ears, prompting him to do it over and over. 

Ryan bit into his arm to keep from screaming again. Silently disapproving, Mike sunk his teeth into the exposed bruises on his neck, worrying them until they shone brighter, light playing off the saliva he left behind. Ragged breath and jerking motions making Ryan shake harder, Mike thrust cock and fingers harder and deeper. With another bite to Ryan’s neck he felt the trembling muscles seize up, all throughout his body, coming hard and fast, and wringing it out of himself too.

“Thank God for your wicked bedside manner,” Ryan mumbled, collapsing face first to his bed. 

Grabbing Ryan by his hair, he twisted him around for one final bruising kiss of the night. Ryan happily relented, whimpering just as much for himself as he did for him.