Fandom: All Elite Wrestling
Rating: 18+
Pairing: Eddie Kingston/Jon Moxley
Additional Tags: Anal Sex, Consensual Violence, Fighting, Chokeholds, Degradation, Rough Sex
Summary: Fuck "the business." Fuck character work. Fuck stories. Fuck the song and dance and theater and sequins and backflips. There's only one thing keeping Eddie from self-destructing and getting himself kicked out of this company-- somebody who craves plain old violence just as much as he does.
Original Date Of Publication: February 15, 2023
Notes: This is actually my second AEW fic. The first one is orphaned out there somewhere. It's also the last fic before I discovered the works of Stinkbuggery, Glamasskiddo, and Ungefug on AO3, who were a huge inspiration and drastically changed my writing style for the better, as well as awakening me to some kinks I'd kept a distance from. I'm deeply grateful to them.
This. This is the kind of shit Eddie wants. Mox's teeth in the meat of his shoulder. His nails digging into his back. Not just the little scrapes and open mouth miming that makes good TV without sending his opponent to the medic for iodine and bandages. He needs this real violence, so that he doesn't get written up for breaking Tony's favorite toys in the ring. He needs somebody that knows his demons and can take what he dishes out and give him a real damn fight.
It's not like Moxley doesn't need it too. He's just better at playing nice when he has to. He puts up with The Business better. On one hand, Eddie's jealous as hell of that. He's getting too told and too sick of all this board room bickering and PTA meeting shit where they talk about what to do about the problem kid that plays a little too rough (like he didn't have enough of that when he was an actual kid). On the other hand, there ain't a single thing he'd trade for what he's got right here, right now. As much as the company's a pain in the ass, it keeps him and his favorite "stress relief" partner close. All so they can hook up after the cameras are off, and act like all they wanna do is put each other in the ground.
Eddie's got bruises on his belly, on his legs, where he's been punched and kicked. Splashes of pink across his chest and face from chops that echoed off the walls like gunshots. Angry red lines on either side of his spine like bloody wings. One of Jon Moxley's heels digs into the small of his back while he's fucked relentlessly into the scratchy hotel room carpet. He releases Eddie's shoulder from his teeth, and Eddie pins his shoulders and sits up before he can clamp them back down again. Mox bares his teeth and cracks him across the face again with an open palm, and Eddie returns it instantly. He tastes fresh blood, the inside of his cheek cut open on his teeth. He's got the advantage of leverage over Moxley, more force behind his blows. The man's dazed by it, his body going limp for a brief moment. And yet at the same time, his rock-hard dick twitches and spits a few more drops of precum against his stomach. Adding to the little puddle pooling in his navel.
"Oh, that's cute," Eddie sneers. "Real fuckin' cute, Moxie."
Jon snarls again at the teasing and nickname, but Eddie leans over and drives into him deep, and it turns into a ragged moan.
"Yeah, you shut the fuck up. You got nothin' to say unless it's 'more and 'harder'."
Mox gets his other leg around his waist, and squeezes around him. Pulling him closer.
"Then fuck me harder already, you fat piece of shit."
For that, he earns himself a brutal backhand, rocking him out of his head again for a moment. Eddie's quick. Before he can get his bearings back and struggle out of his grasp, he's got him flipped flat on his stomach. He rakes his nails down Moxley's rug-burned back, from his shoulders down to his ass, before spreading him open and dropping his hips and slamming his cock right back in where it belongs. Mox arches his back and claws at the carpet with a hoarse groan. Eddie flattens against him, looping an arm around his neck and squeezing just hard enough to make him dizzy.
"Yeah, that good, baby? That hard enough for you, you greedy little bitch?"
Every thrust grinds his dick back and forth on the rough, unforgiving floor. His throat is nestled right in the crook of Eddie's elbow, every flex constricting his windpipe. His breath is hot against his cheek as he pants and grunts like a beast. Moxley's breaths are punched out of him every time Eddie's pelvis hits his ass with a sweaty, resounding slap. He can barely get enough air back in each time. And yet, he keeps rocking back into him, wedging a hand between his cock to alleviate the harsh rubbing. He's fucking broken, not bothering to fight back anymore, just wheezing these husky, shameless moans with his whole chest. Like they're back in his own nice soundproofed luxury suite and not Eddie's shitty mid-carder room with paper walls and god knows who on the other side.
Could be somebody they know.
Eddie almost hopes it is.
He hopes somebody can hear Moxley, can recognize his voice, knows what they're doing and most of all that he's asking for it.
"Ed--die... N-need, fuck--"
Eddie rests his forehead against the back of Moxley's head. He can feel his orgasm creeping up, only aided by his partner's wrecked, fucked-out voice.
"Whatchu need? Tell me, Moxie."
He has to slow down to a shallow grind, deep and dirty. Holding himself back while tormenting Mox, who scrabbles at his arm half-heartedly.
"Nn-neck, teeth--" he gasps. "F-fuckin'-- bite me, Ed--!"
Eddie releases his chokehold, and Moxley sucks in air like it's the last chance he'll ever get. He holds himself up on one elbow, the other hand finally free enough to properly wrap around his dick. He tilts his head, bares his already-bruised neck for Eddie, practically whines for him like a dog. Eddie kisses his nape first-- the only tender gesture of this whole night so far-- and takes the invitation. His teeth break skin at the juncture of Moxley's neck and shoulder. Moxley clenches around his cock with a ragged wail-- so close he can taste it clearer than the blood on his tongue. It only takes a handful of punishing thrusts before Mox shoots his load onto the carpet, and Eddie follows close after, filling him to the brim.
Eddie has the decency and presence of mind to roll off of Moxley, but Mox just flops down flat on the floor, in his own mess. Panting heavily, leaking cum from his well-used hole. Sweat rolls off both their bodies, stinging their various scratches and bites. The pain only really sets in after all's said and done. Now Eddie feels the soreness in his gut, the spasms in his back, as he sits up straight against the foot of the bed. He nudges Moxley, who grunts wordlessly in response.
"Get up. You're not sleepin' naked on the floor."
Another grunt. "Maybe I am."
Eddie scoffs, drags him by the wrist until he gets up to his knees. "No the fuck you ain't, get your ass in bed."
"No shower?"
They're already getting under the over-starched covers.
"You wanna stand up right now?"
"Nah, not really."
"That's what I thought. C'mere and shut up."
They're sweaty, stuck together, sore, but not as sore as they'll be in the morning, when they have to wait for the painkillers to kick in before they can even get out of bed. There's gonna be a hell of a cleaning bill. Mox will offer to cover it. Eddie will refuse. 'Date night expenses,' he calls it, because it makes them both snicker just to think about if they were the types to go out to Olive Garden on fridays. Not a fuckin' chance. It's always gonna be room service and teeth and nails. And it's always gonna be exactly what they need.
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