Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Dad, what the hell–”

TK waved his hand in the water mist that smelled like cucumbers and rosemary. He didn’t even know if he wanted to be on this plane. He sure as anything didn’t need to be spritzed down with something.

“Do you have any idea how drying airplane air is? It’s only a three and a half hour flight, so we don’t need a mask or a night time moisturizer, but I think it’s a reasonable precaution to have a soothing spray to mist your face every thirty minutes to prevent it from drying out.” Owen Strand was rambling.

TK gave him a hard look, but remained sympathetic. If he was nervous, he could only imagine how his dad felt. “You doing alright?”

Owen’s face shifted, the minor nerves replaced by steely determination. He patted TK’s hand on the elbow rest between their seats. “I’m fine. It’s a new adventure.”

Well, that was one way of putting it. When Owen Strand, professional name Owen Strut, had opposed the unequal pay structure of one of the biggest pro wrestling companies in the US of A, TK knew he could kiss his future goodbye. The son of a superstar like Owen Strut could have followed his footsteps with ease if his dad had stayed at the New York Federation of Wrestling, which got the largest television ratings out of the nationally broadcast wrestling promotions. But now that all that was gone, TK wasn’t sure whether he was cut out for the real world of independent pro wrestling, grimy VA halls and high school gyms.

Moreover, he wasn’t sure if he was good enough. As the son of a wrestler already recognized as one of the all-time greats, the shoes were giant-sized, and TK didn’t know if he could ever fill them.

“You can still go to Japan,” his dad had told him when the news about him dissolving his contract with New York hit. “My friend in Japan would be happy to have you.”

His dad have been everywhere and done it all, won championships world over, and one of his best friends was a Japanese wrestler who ran a dojo on the outskirts of Tokyo. He had trained some of the best wrestlers working today, and it was a great opportunity.

TK had felt like a failure by just turning it down, but he couldn’t imagine the isolation of being stuck in a brand new country where he wouldn’t know the language or the culture. Not with his – demons. Not to mention, at that point he hadn’t wanted to leave behind his boyfriend, the man he’d thought he was going to marry.

And then the fall had happened, which had made his dad decide TK probably shouldn’t be left to his own devices for now.

So here he was, trailing after his dad as always, hoping that whatever stardust had rained down on him once, would ultimately also fall on TK’s shoulders.

“How are you going to run a wrestling promotion?” TK asked, voicing the main concern he had beside his own worries. “You’ve never done it before.”

Owen shrugged. “I’ve done parts of it. I’ve booked talent for the charity shows your mom and I used to run before I got signed by New York. I’ve helped Goto-san with storylines and angles when he was in charge of the book in Ace Pro Wrestling in Osaka. Stuff like that. Austin is a thriving market for wrestling, and Texas is a big place. It’s got all the makings of a profitable promotion, it’s just that the former owner lacked the willingness to innovate with the times. Thankfully he saw that flaw in himself and decided to leave the place for someone else to take the reins of.”

“Why is that someone you, though?” TK asked, his tone a little sharper than he intended it to be.

“Well, he knew me from back in my rookie days, and he knew I was out of a job with New York. He thought I could do a great job with this place, get it back to the great place it used to be.”

“But you could have signed with the place in Toronto, they have a TV deal. Or LA, or Florida, which also has national TV. You could have–”

“TK.” Owen lifted his hand to get a word in. “I’m fifty seven-years old. I’m not going to be able to keep up with the younger talent forever. It might be better for me to transition into a backstage role, and this is a good opportunity to do that.”

“That’s bullshit,” TK countered. “I’ve seen you at the gym, dad. Your in-ring condition is better than some guys in their 40s.”

“Maybe, but I’m ready for the next chapter. I’ll still work, I’ll still keep myself in shape, I just need–” He trailed off, and glanced at the window next to TK’s seat. “Something new. Bluer skies, I don’t know.”

TK fell quiet. He’d done his share of looking up the Lone Star Pro Wrestling. The promotion resided in an old firehouse named 126 in Austin where they ran shows every Friday night, when the original promoter was still in charge and business was up. Slowly the audience interest died down and the promotion stopped running as often. Then disaster hit: nearly all of their talent was signed away by the big promotions. First New York had signed their champion, then Strong Japan Women’s Wrestling had signed away their top female talents. Then Toronto had come for their midcard talents. What was left were the rookies, the old veteran hands, who weren’t flashy or interesting. They didn’t draw money or crowds to the old firehouse, and so the promotion was on its last legs.

Until the news had hit that Owen Strut had bought the promotion for pennies on the dollar and was moving to Austin permanently to run the place.

TK tried to relax in his seat. He didn’t know what would come next either, but he knew one thing: he trusted his dad to do the best damn job he could at whatever this new chapter of their lives was going to throw at us.

“No,” Judd Ryder intoned harshly as he stepped out of Owen’s office, slapping his hand on the door frame as TK was coming in.

“Hi, big fan,” TK said, trying for jovial and offering a hand for Judd to shake, only to get a death glare back before the 250 pound Texan stomped off.

Owen looked despondent behind his desk. “Never seen a man so upset someone wanted to put him in the main event match.”

“Him?” TK asked, pointing at the disappearing hulking figure of the old Texas indy stalwart. “Judd was great, you know, but he hasn’t been–”

“He’s been unmotivated,” Owen admitted. “But when you’re starting at zero, you need guys who can work. And he can work. That, and I’ve never had a match with him before. The local crowds would love it, their first shot at seeing me in this new environment, against a local hero.”

“You could heel it up, make him an even bigger babyface to the locals than he ever was.” TK nodded as he understood exactly what kind of a main event his dad was picturing. “Build the promotion around him until someone younger is ready to take his spot?”

“Well, we need someone for that role, and while I’ve hired some amazing talent from Chicago and Florida, there’s a problem. The audiences don’t know them yet.”

TK made a noise in the affirmative. His dad had hired talent from all over the States, and some of them had relocated already on the promise of regularly running shows and a chance to make a name for themselves in a promotion with some new money behind it. Owen was sinking a lot of his own money into this thing.

His dad’s desk was littered with headshots, organized under three post it notes. One read “booked”, the second one “undecided” and the third one said “local”.

On the whiteboard next to his desk, Owen had scribbled the potential card, with plenty of question marks in the spots he hadn’t yet filled. It wouldn’t be an overly ambitious show. Five matches, one tag team match, one women’s match, the rest singles.

TK couldn’t help but notice the space on his opponent in the opening match was still unfilled. “Who am I facing? Paul?”

Owen shook his head. “No, Paul is in a tag with a local rookie named Mateo the Marvel. The kid has a lot of promise, but he needs to learn from someone with more experience. A tag match is a good place to hide his weaknesses while showing him how the veterans do it.”

“I don’t want to wrestle someone who isn’t any good, dad,” TK said. It was a little whiny of him, and he knew it. It wasn’t his choice to move to Texas of all places, but his dad didn’t want to leave him out of his sight after all that happened.

He knew Austin was a liberal place, but he didn’t know if this was a place he could be his full self. Being a gay pro wrestler was a challenge in itself, let alone being one in Texas, the land of macho tough guy cowboys. He’d been out in the New York locker room, not the bastion of tolerance, but they had all taken him in. He’d been on dating apps and gone to bars without caring if any fans saw him there.

His dad would fight on his behalf and the right to be himself, but TK didn’t want his dad to do that anymore. He wanted to fight his own battles, especially in Texas.

“I was thinking of this local guy, El Solitario.” Owen grabbed an 8x10 photo off his desk, showing a luchador with a mask decorated with the blue and red star of Texas.

He looked a bit cheesy, but TK could get behind it. Sometimes the best wrestling gimmicks were a little cheesy. His frame was good, solid pecs and broad shoulders, round with muscles, flat stomach. The good thing about luchador masks was that the guy beneath could be uglier than sin and still be as charismatic as anything, because the wrestler’s physical presence was all the audience needed to connect with him.

Still, that didn’t mean this guy was any good. His name hadn’t come up on the pro wrestling websites TK visited from time to time, to keep up with the different independent stars around the country. He looked over the photo one more time, noting the perfectly toned arms, and felt a little flip in his stomach.

“Never heard of him,” TK said dismissively, throwing the photo back on the desk.

“You will, he’s really good.” Owen smiled, daring. “He’s probably a hell of a lot more over than you will be. The Texas crowds love luchadors, and he’s local, too.”

“High flyer?”

“Sometimes, but he's not all flashy. Solid on the mat, too, trained Greco-Roman growing up.”

TK nodded. “I'll work heel against him, Im guessing?”

Owen tilted his head. “What do you think? We're two city slickers coming into Texas with our big pockets, and our pretty faces. Of course we're going to be heels for the next six months at least. Then, maybe the crowds will take to us, get on our side.”

“I'll win them over in four,” TK said, confident, which made his dad laugh. “I'm going out tonight, if that's okay with you.”

Owen's jaw tightened, but he didn't say no. Worry no longer crinkled his features whenever he didn't know where TK was. “Just come back before dawn, okay?”

“Of course,” TK said, making a move towards the door of the office. His dad had redone the whole firehouse, top to bottom. The office was all polished, minimalist style. “You know I'm drinking soda. Just trying to make some new friends in this new town.”

By which he meant, he was trying to get laid. It wasn't that he wasn't ready to move on from his ex, he definitely was. He was more than ready. He just wasn't ready for something new to become permanent.

But a hookup at the heart of Texas? That sounded like a good Friday night to him.

“Wanna dance?” the guy asked.

It was a simple enough request and TK let his eyes move over the man who was asking. Dark eyes, dark hair, although the exact shade was unclear in the mood lighting of the bar. They were both covered in pink and blue lights. But the intent in those dark eyes was clear, flirty and hot, making something stir below TK's abdomen.

The guy was probably Latino, with good height, and a stunning body in a tight-fitting t-shirt.

“I'll dance,” TK said, pushing off the wall he was leaning against, lemon soda in hand.

He followed the guy to the dance floor, the whole bar pulsing with the beat of the next song that came on. There was something gratifying about the game he was playing with this new, hot guy. Something fun and freeing about being in a new place, a place filled with strangers. He could meet a new person, but he could also be a new person. He didn't have to be saddled with the problems of TK of old, or if he still was, this guy didn't need to know a thing about them.

It was crowded, and they were surrounded by bodies on all sides, which made it all the easier to push against the hot guy. TK wrapped arms around his waist, fitting them together, and the guy's smile told him everything but the one thing he was curious about.

“What's your name?” He leaned in closer to the other guy's ear to speak over the sound of the music, the thumping bass.

“Carlos,” the guy said.

His hand slid up TK's back, and TK grinned. The guy was perfect, the mood was right. Maybe Austin could become a place where he'd feel at home. He didn't have to pretend to be anything he wasn't. He could remake himself, one piece at a time.

“Carlos,” TK said his name, seeing how it rolled off his tongue, how it tasted. He liked it, he liked everything about the game they were playing.

Carlos licked over his lips while his head was turned away, but then he turned back to TK, almost to see if he was watching. He was. A prelude to something they both wanted.

TK wanted to move things along. “Can you host?”

Carlos nodded, hands bunching up TK’s shirt. “If you'd like.”

“I'd really like it, trust me,” TK said and kissed him, rough and needy. He didn’t have a place to, and he didn’t feel like introducing a one night guest to his dad. Eventually he’d move out, but it wasn’t in the cards financially right now.

Once they got to the cool night air outside, Carlos wrinkled his nose as he smiled. “I have to admit, I know who you are.”

TK’s stomach dropped. He didn't like hooking up with fans, but he also wasn't that well-known outside of New York. He'd only been in a couple of TV matches. “Oh yeah?”

“I just wanted to be honest, you know.” Carlos frowned, shrugging. “There's been a lot of stuff on the news about Owen Strut coming into town. Hard to miss. I just didn't know you were into guys.”

“Yeah, well,” TK said noncommittal. “I'm into you, if you're still into this.”

Carlos grinned. “Have you looked in the mirror lately? Of course I'm into this.”

TK didn't register a lot inside of Carlos’s place, because once they got in he was much more interested in ripping off Carlos’s clothes, and checking out his furniture became secondary in importance.

“I really want to suck your cock,” TK told him in between searing kisses. He felt the sandpaper skin of Carlos’s chin rub against his own jawline as they kissed, and it made him even more determined.

His boldness made Carlos laugh a husky laugh that TK instantly made sure to commit to memory. The sound went straight to his own dick.

“Not before I get to suck yours,” he said, voice dropping half an octave, so deeply fucking sexy it made TK's balls tighten.

Who was he to tell his host no? Carlos was already on his knees, shirtless between TK’s thighs. He pushed TK down on the couch and then his big hands rode up TK's thighs to find the zipper of his jeans. His cock was straining in his underwear, begging to be touched. He looked down Carlos’s figure to see him in a similar position.

Carlos’s hand pushed down his own cock as his other hand reached into TK's underwear and pulled him out completely, so that his aching balls sat on the seam of his boxer briefs. There was a slowness to Carlos’s actions that hid his own desperate arousal, and TK found that all the more arousing. Carlos wanted this as much as he did, but instead of rushing through he was still taking his time.

He licked his lips before kissing the tip of TK’s cock, and TK just about fucking came at that tiny touch. Carlos’s mouth was so perfect, even the way it looked made TK's brain fill in how those soft lips might feel around his cock. But the dirty thought paled in comparison to the reality of it: the hot, wet mouth taking him in.

And nothing, absolutely nothing in this world, could have prepared him for the grateful, hungry sounds of appreciation Carlos made as his mouth slid further down on TK's dick. They weren't obscene or distracting, they were just stupidhot.

“Holy fuck, you're good at that. Jesus. Fuck. You look so hot right now, you have no idea.” TK knew he was babbling. He couldn't stop, though. “Oh, fuck, babe your mouth–”

Carlos snorted, a brief puff of air against highly sensitive skin at the base of TK's dick. But he kept going, slow and methodical, his mouth bobbing on TK's cock, focusing mostly on the head but also taking him to the root.

“You want me to fuck your mouth? God, you're so gorgeous right now, you've got no fucking clue.” TK knew he should shut up. His dirty talk could start out filthy, but it always ended up tender.

He was in the danger zone by continuing to talk.

Carlos groaned against his dick, permission granted, and TK started thrusting up into that hot, waiting mouth. His strokes were measured at first, but he lost all sense when Carlos’s hand started teasing his balls. Fondling them gently, weighing them in his hand, running a teasing finger between their precious, sensitive seam.

This guy was too much. TK could feel his expression pinch as he struggled to think of anything other than Carlos, that mouth, those pretty eyes, that gorgeous laugh.

“I'm close–no I'm almost, I'm comi–,” he managed before crashing over the edge, emptying completely into Carlos’s beautiful waiting mouth.

“Jesus, fu– come here,” TK said, his hands automatically dragging Carlos up to kiss him, taste him again.

He needed Carlos’s dick in his mouth to stop him from saying stupid, warm things, and thankfully Carlos provided.

The pretty, smooth cut cock in TK's mouth smelt like soap and skin, and musk, the same scent that hit his nose if he pressed it against Carlos’s throat. The scent that drove TK absolutely wild to even think about.

Carlos was also packing. He had the length fine, but the girth was what did TK in. He tried and tried, but felt he had to focus on coordinating his hand working that amazing, thick cock, along with his mouth sucking on the head. It was good, but it was definitely a job of a blowjob, and he wanted another go around to get it right.

He knew he could make it better, and then suddenly he tasted Carlos, felt his abs tighten and heard the sweet groan from the man. TK knew he didnt embarrass himself. But still. He wanted to get Carlos off with his mouth, get used to that thickness against his tongue.

He needed to get out of there before he'd be begging for Carlos to fuck him.

He got his pants on quickly, so quickly that Carlos looked at him funny. “In a hurry?” He frowned.

“Yeah, I need to get back, I’ve got an early start tomorrow.” TK gave an apologetic half-smile.

This was a poor lie and it was an evident one, too, when Carlos’s expression flattened. “Pro wrestlers have early mornings?”

“I have a second job, actually.” TK nodded at the photo above Carlos’s couch. “I like that photo of a luchador.”

“Thanks,” Carlos said. He got up off the couch. “What's your second job?”

“Personal trainer,” TK answered. It would eventually become his second job, if it looked like the Lone Star wouldn't make enough money to support him and dad both in Austin. Right now it was a waiting game, still waiting for the first show.

Carlos kissed him at the door. “I'd really like your number.”

Where's the harm, TK decided. He saved the number as Carlos hookup and grinned as Carlos typed in his name.

It was a fun evening for them, and that's all it needed to be. He could hook up with someone hot and nice, and keep it simple and casual and easy.

That's all he wanted right now.

“Drop-down, toehold into a front face bump, then transition into a hold, push me off, run into the ropes–”

The woman let out a big breath, straightened her back and gave TK a level look. “Tyler, I've been doing this for two decades.”

“And then you were out of it for nearly a decade,” Owen piped up from the sidelines, leaning against the ring apron with his hip, arms crossed. “You wanted to get back in ring shape, Tommy. This is the easiest way to do it.”

Tommy Vega put her hands on her hips. She wasn't upset, though, and her smile lit up the room. “I know. It's just weird hearing a kid tell me what to do.”

“I'm twenty-seven,” TK complained, making a dismayed gesture with his hands.

“He's been in the ring since he was fifteen, whether I wanted it or not.” Owen tilted his head with a grin. “So he's got the experience to train you, and he has learned from the best. I wouldn't put you in there with someone unsafe.”

TK remembered the afternoons in his parents’ house, where his dad had built a personal wrestling ring to train in. When he was home alone, no dad or stepmom in sight, he'd run the ropes in the ring, lifted those weird human-sized sandbags his dad had for training suplexes, and had even invited some of his high school friends to train them with what his dad had taught him. Eventually once he'd finished school, his dad allowed him to start wrestling training with a friend of his in Brooklyn, but he'd still insisted TK also get a college degree. The wrestling business was fickle, anyone could have an injury that put their career on hold, so it made sense to have a backup plan.

Some days he felt like he was absolutely born to do this, the ring feeling like home, and his movements within it like a dance he could do in his sleep. Other days he felt the weight of his dad's reputation and the niggling doubt in his mind that he hadn't gotten into any of this if it hadn't made him closer to his dad.

He pushed the thought away as soon as it arrived. “Or we could take a break if you like,” he told Tommy.

Her expression became hard. “No, I can do this. You said you wanted me and Michelle to do ten minutes?”

“Fifteen if you can manage it,” Owen said, nodding. “And if you can get the crowd into it.”

“Trust me, we can.” Tommy smiled, a flash of her confident and bold in-ring character Captain Vega. She moved into a slightly crouched position. She offered TK her hand. “Send me into the ropes, kid.”

TK grinned and they ran through the sequence effortlessly. Wrestling was like water to him. Scary, dangerous sometimes, but necessary and vital, refreshing most days. He loved it.

Tommy ran through another sequence of moves with TK and ended up dodging his clothesline and executing a picture perfect running bulldog. She may have been working as an EMT for nearly a decade after stepping back from her wrestling career, but the talent and athleticism was still there.

“What about Judd?” he asked Owen after the training session with Tommy wrapped up.

“Still working on it,” his dad said, eyes down.

“It's less than a week to the event–”

“I know.” Owen looked at him, challenging. “How about you and your luchador? I confirmed the booking with him yesterday. Have you been watching tape of him?”

“I've been busy with other things,” TK said, feeling awkward.

He did look up the guy, but then he was mostly trying not to dick around on his phone too much for fear that he was obsessing about the fact Carlos hadn't texted him back yet. Which was fine, obviously. He didn't need to be thinking about some one night stand. He could just go out and find another dude if he needed to hook up again.

But.

He wasn't even over his ex. So why did it take this random guy like ten hours to even see TK's text? Was he seriously getting ghosted in Texas of all places? A new low, surely.

“He's pretty good, I think. Run over the match with him before Friday if possible.” Owen touched TK’s shoulder and then went back up to his office.

TK had watched one match by the luchador El Solitario. It was on some tiny YouTube account that catalogued independent wrestling south of the border, mostly handheld footage. TK didn't always understand lucha libre; it was so different from American mainstream pro wrestling in terms of how they told stories, what mattered and even match structure. The match he'd seen El Solitario wrestle had been a standard two out of three falls lucha libre bout against another masked wrestler.

Now TK understood why his dad booked this guy. His movements were purposeful and crisp, even beautiful and graceful at times. Despite wearing the mask, his emoting came through and he did well as the babyface, good guy character. He didn't pander to the crowd to win them over, it was simply his attitude and wrestling that conveyed he was good enough and tenacious enough to cheer for.

Okay, he was also quite hot, but he didn't look cocky about it like some wrestlers who clearly had good looks. And the mask still obscured his face. After the match was over he cut a basic promo thanking the fans for cheering him on. TK didn't know much Spanish, but he got the gist of it.

He was trying to look up the luchador on social media when his phone finally buzzed.

Crazy shift, sorry. What's up?

From Carlos. What shift, TK wanted to ask, but he was trying to play things cool. He didn't know anything about this guy, and he didn't need to.

not much, wanna hang?

You couldn't really get more casual than lack of capital letters.

Sure, my place again?

TK grinned down at his phone. This guy definitely wouldn't ghost him. He knew what was up, and it wouldn't even be a struggle to keep his own emotions in check, if Carlos, too, treated this as just a semi-regular booty call type of thing. Nothing more, nothing less.

TK bit the bullet and sent off a message to El Solitario about getting together soon to talk through their match. He preferred to call a match in the ring, but since it was the first match of the first show his dad was running, he figured it might make sense to confirm things beforehand. He wanted to make the match flashy and memorable, energetic and get the crowd warmed up and engaged. He had an idea on how to do it, too.

He was excited about the show and determined to do a good job. But right now, he was more excited about meeting up with Carlos again.

TK crashed into Carlos before he even had a shot to say hi. The physical thrill of being able to touch and kiss Carlos again ran through him, and even though it had only been a few days, it had felt like a small forever.

“Whoa, let's just –” Carlos started, extracting himself from TK's mouth, a gentle hand on his chest pushing them apart slowly.

“What?” TK asked, not annoyed, but very confused. They both knew what this was, right?

Then he glanced over Carlos’s shoulder. His stomach dropped. The water glasses, the two plates and cloth – cloth, for crying out loud – napkins. This was a date.

“I made lemon and zucchini pasta,” Carlos said with a small, but proud smile on his face. “It's nothing special, but I thought since I'm hosting and I need a meal, I might as well make it for two.”

Carlos’s little half-shrug felt like TK’s first ever bodyslam. He didn't want a date. He wanted exactly what he had had last time: a stunning guy under his fingers and mouth. He wanted to make Carlos laugh and come, and then he wanted to leave without lingering and catching feelings for his troubles.

“Also,” Carlos said, taking a step back from TK, “you said you wanted to run over the match together?”

TK’s stomach dropped to his knees. There was no way. Except there was. This was definitely one of those ultra rare yes way situations. He froze in place for half a second and then natural performer instincts kicked in.

“Yeah, I did.” His face gave a smile that he hoped was convincing. “Thanks for bringing that up, would have hated for sex to get in the way of work.”

“Work?” Carlos’s nose wrinkled as he made a face. “Wrestling is my fun.”

No wonder he was so good, then. TK huffed a polite laugh and sat down for what was surely going to be the most awkward date of his life.

Of course fate would mess with him like this. He couldn't just meet a guy who had a great smile, fantastic body, and out of this world blowjob skills at the one time in his life he wasn't interested in finding a boyfriend, and to add insult to injury, he was a wrestler.

TK had learned at an early age that one shouldn't mix business with the personal. His dad's second wife had been smart, beautiful, talented and kind to TK, but she'd also worked as Owen's on-screen valet for the New York Federation. Their wrestling partnership had become a real one when TK had been around twelve and it had dissolved when he was eighteen.

The marriage being less than ideal had meant that his dad had been as miserable as TK had ever seen, and he hadn't been able to even escape his woes into his work. This had affected TK, who'd loved wrestling as a teen, but more than that had loved his dad and to see his dad start to lose his love for wrestling had been crushing to him.

So no, he didn't want to date or even mess around with another wrestler. This wasn't a huge problem because the pool of out or semi-out gay or bi male wrestlers was about five guys deep and instead of dating each other, they had a casual group chat going.

“Then I could do a German suplex into a pin, which you kick out of…” Carlos gave him a puzzled look. “Tyler, are you listening?”

“You can call me TK.” He cleared his throat. “Or Tyler. Either is fine, really. So how come you didn't mention you were a wrestler the first night we hooked up?”

Carlos didn't look too embarrassed. “I'm not exactly big time and I wasn't even booked at that point. Your dad called me a day later.” He looked down at his hands. “I wasn't trying to deceive you, and also my real name isn't a secret like for some luchadores in Mexico. It comes up when you look up my wrestling gimmicks, so.” He shrugged.

TK felt like he was the one being an asshole now. “Yeah, sure, it's cool. Whatever. I should have known with the –” He gestured towards the luchador photo on Carlos’s wall.

Carlos laughed softly. “Well, about half the Mexican guys in Texas probably have some lucha memorabilia lying around. It's pretty popular here and people use it to connect to their heritage. My family watches the shows televised from Mexico City every week, even though we're totally Amaricanized in some other ways.”

“It's a really rich tradition,” TK said, nodding.

He eventually told Carlos about the match he'd seen him in. The moves he'd enjoyed, the admiration for his ability to connect with the crowd.

“So obviously I want to be this shitty outsider heel who wants to win and take everything you have. I can disrespect Texas before the match starts, yell at the crowd for being all uneducated rednecks, that kind of thing.” TK smiled at the thought of it. There was something fun and liberating about being a hated heel. “Then during the match I'll try to rip off your mask.”

Carlos whistled between his teeth. “Wow, that's so disrespectful. But it's kind of standard for American heels against luchadors. I'm not sure the crowd will bug into it.”

TK grinned. “They will, when they see me do it.”

Carlos laughed. “Okay, spoken like a true self-obsessed, overconfident heel.”

“It's about getting you over,” TK said, “not about me. The more they hate me, the more they will cheer you on and want you to win.”

He rambled on about the way he saw the psychology of the match, and the exact ways he could get the fans against him and to root for El Solitario instead.

“At the end of the day, wrestling is about making people feel this rollercoaster of emotions, and allow them some catharsis from the difficulties of mundane existence. Sometimes that's enough to give someone meaning that makes their whole existence better.” TK smiled, ducking his head. This was one of his favorite topics, but he had spoken for a while now. He didn't know if Carlos was still interested. “Anyway, we can't save their lives, but we can improve them enough for one night that maybe it motivates them to come back. It's about that connection. It's such a high.”

Carlos nodded, listening intently until TK was done. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Wow, you really are good.”

TK shrugged. “Not self-obsessed?”

Carlos laughed. “Maybe a little smug about how good you are.”

“I'll show you on Friday,” TK said, playing along.

“You could show me now,” Carlos said, tone slightly different, eyes more focused on TK all of the sudden.

Didn't take much to figure out what he meant, and even though at the start of the dinner he promised himself he wouldn't make this into a date and wouldn't allow Carlos to do that, either.

Then he remembered their previous meeting and realized he wanted to make it better. Be the best goddamn blowjob Carlos had been given, just like Carlos had done for him. He idly licked his lips, but got up from the table.

In the wrestling match between his dick and his brain, he was glad to say his brain finally won out. Maybe back in the day, when he was using, it would have been harder to say no to one of the hottest guys he'd ever been with, but he wasn't using now, and that meant he had to make some good decisions.

“You know, I should get going. I don't like to stay up too late.”

Carlos grinned. “My bed's still available, if you'd like.”

TK felt the rush of desire warm his balls, but ration won out again. He shook his head. “Nah, thanks, but I really do have to go now.”

Carlos tilted his head, like he wasn't going to argue, but he was confused. TK could see why. They'd already done it before, and earlier TK had been about two seconds away from taking all of his clothes off and ripping Carlos’s own in record time. The shift must feel ludicrously rapid to him.

“I’m just really tired, man.” He infused it with the kind of exhaustion he was used to feeling at the end of a long match.

Carlos nodded, but his smile had faded. “Okay, that’s fine. I was kind of looking forward to seeing you again, but I completely understand.”

TK felt like shit. “Yeah, sorry. I look forward to our match, though. You want to train together before the big event or something?”

“I prefer to call it in the ring.”

This was music to TK’s ears. He smiled, feeling that same excitement he knew Carlos was talking about. “So do I, actually.”

“The spontaneity and being able to react to whatever the crow wants, that's just so exciting to me.”

“And it takes a lot of skill. Improvisation, and being able to adapt to what the person you're in there with wants or needs from you.”

The fact that Carlos liked improvising in the ring made TK confident their match would work in front of the crowd. He was feeling elated, and let Carlos walk him to the door.

He allowed his eyes to rest on Carlos’s face. Was he seriously turning down that face? Those brown, endless eyes and that beautiful mouth? The hell was he thinking?

Carlos let out a sound when TK surged forward to kiss him, hungry and hot, his hands gently cupping Carlos’s face as he did so. His own dick reacted immediately, starting to swell at the proceedings, which was TK's cue to pull back.

“Sorry, I don't know why I did that.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and tried not to look at Carlos, the wet sheen on his lips where TK licked him.

Carlos laughed. “One more for the road I guess. Goodnight, TK.”

The whole drive back, TK mentally kicked himself for his own rules. But his boundaries were all there to protect him. They were good, they made sense.

That didn't mean he had to like them right now.

The next day Owen gathered some of the transplants at the ring at the old firehouse. There was Mateo, the local rookie, his future tag team partner Paul Strickland and Marjan, also known by her gimmick name as Firefox, a viral sensation of a female wrestler from Florida. She'd gotten hugely popular off some gifs circulating of her top rope hurricanrana and elaborate suplexes, and her spinning backbreaker was crisper than most veterans’ backbreakers.

Safe to say, TK was already a huge fan.

They ran through some of the key sequences in the ring with TK as the fourth participant. Him and Marjan were the heels, which was a stretch for Marjan who normally wrestled as a babyface. TK taught her all the underhanded tactics a heel should use in the ring.

“Why can't she just be a face?” Mateo asked when they were taking a break.

“It makes more sense to have clear roles as the crowd doesn't know you all very well,” Owen said decisively. “Once everyone is familiar with your styles and personalities, it might be more fruitful to do a face versus face match.”

“The core dynamic of pro wrestling is good versus evil, rookie,” Paul said thoughtfully, before putting down one of the sandwiches Owen had ordered from the local gluten free bakery. “The babyface is the valiant good guy, and the heel is a cowardly piece of shit, excuse my French.”

“But some heels are cool,” Mateo said, shrugging.

Marjan shook her head, her hoop earrings following the movement. “No, no, no, heels shouldn't be cool. They should be cocky assholes and weasels, who cheat because they can't win otherwise.”

“But what if they look good doing it?” Mateo argued. “Like Owen Strut.”

Owen smiled, but said nothing.

Marjan glanced sideways at TK. “Or the pretty boy, Tyler Strut.”

“You can look good, but you also have to be annoying. You'd be surprised at how easy it is for people to hate a guy just because he isn't ugly.” TK grinned, which was returned by Marjan. She seemed to get exactly what he meant.

“You guys talking about me?” a big voice piped up from behind them.

Judd Ryder had arrived.

“Judd!” Owen got up, and a megawatt smile lit up his face. “I'm so glad you're on board finally.”

“Not so fast, champ,” Judd said, holding up a hand. “I'm still deciding.”

“But you're here–” Owen started.

“You know how tough it was for me to say goodbye to all my buddies back in the old 126. I'm not the type of rassler going viral,” he gestured towards Marjan, “or fighting my way to the top in Chicago as a trans man.” He nodded towards Paul. “But if I come wrestle you, I'd like to respect you the way I respected the previous owner of this place and all my buddies who wrestled here and made it what it was. And right now I don't respect you.”

Owen took the insult in stride, turning to Mateo. “You see that, rookie? That's a hell of a promo he just cut, right there.

TK instantly felt his hackles raised, scowling at Judd. “You don't respect my dad after his thirty years in the business?”

“TK,” his dad started, but TK wouldn't be interrupted.

“What have you done, Judd Ryder? Half of your career you've wrestled in front of less than a handful of people. Owen Strut doesn't need respect from you.”

Judd laughed without much joy in the sound. “You're right. He just got fired by one of the bigger companies for using–”

“That's not true!” TK raised his voice, standing up and taking two big strides towards Judd. They were chest to chest, and even if TK was shorter, he wasn’t backing down an inch. “He didn't use anything, didn’t get popped by a surprise test. What he did is he tried to help others. He wanted to start an union, like the one he knows that everyone from actors to firefighters have. Why shouldn't we have one, too? They fired him for that.”

Judd studied his face, while Owen made his way over to them.

“Judd, let's go talk in my office,” Owen said, a placating smile on his face.

“Is that true?” Judd asked. “That's not what the news sites reported.”

“It's supposed to be a secret,” Owen said, resigned. He opened his hands, no secrets between them now. “The guys and girls who agreed to back me up don't need to be found out by the management of that place. So,” he shrugged, “I am staying quiet. And when someone's quiet, someone else starts rumors.”

Judd’s blue eyes stared at him, his mouth pouting while thinking. “The boss at NY Fed. He's feeding them websites stories about you using steroids. That’s how it went, ain't it?”

“We don't know who started those rumors,” Owen said. “And it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm here now.”

Judd nodded. “You raised a good kid. Did you train him, too?”

Owen looked from Judd to TK. “I had a hand in his training.”

“Don’t talk about me like I'm not here,” TK said to Judd. “So are you in or not?”

Judd ducked his head. “I guess I always knew I'd have to be in, knowing your dad, his fame, and most of all how stubborn he is. I'm already married so it's been a while since I've had someone chasing my tail. Wanted to enjoy it for a while.”

“Well, congratulations,” TK said sarcastically. “You have been successfully courted.”

Judd shrugged, then jutted his chin forward, back to looking combative. “I said I knew your father. He's one of the best workers in the world, and he moved here to put his money into a promotion I used to love. But you? You I don't know about. Seems to me like you're just a mouthy boy who got the leg up from his dad. So I'd like to test what you're made of, inside that ring.”

He pointed at the ring.

TK felt anger heat up his chest. The rest of gang reacted to the challenge, Marjan’s brows raised, Paul shaking his head and laughing, while Mateo had the biggest look of awe on his face.

“I already have an opponent for Friday.” TK's heart did something funny, thinking about his match with Carlos. “You don't get to wrestle me.”

“I meant now, kid,” Judd said.

“What is this ‘kid’ shit?” TK made a face. “I'm nearly thirty.”

“And I'm pushing forty, but I’m still at the prime of my game, so if you want to back down, I totally understand.”

“Oh my god, fine.” TK threw up his hands. “But if you so much as move a hair on my head before Friday's match–”

Marjan snorted. “Relax, pretty boy, Judd is not known for shooting. Do you guys need a ref?”

“I'll do it,” Owen said. “Exhibition only, guys, I don't want to see anything too snug or rough out of you. Five minutes.”

They started by feeling each other out, in a lockup where Judd pushed TK into the ropes. He pulled back his hand and TK braced himself for something, a chop across the chest or a slap to the side, but instead Judd paintbrushed him, a light touch over his face. This incensed TK enough to push him back, but Judd sent him to the other side of the ring. From there, the match picked up pace. There was something strangely fluid about each of Judd’s motions. TK was used to working with some of the best guys in the business, and had been in the ring with his share of veterans, and Judd had that same kind of fluidity of motion. He knew how to follow up one move to the next, seamless transitions, and for a big guy, he was surprisingly fast.

When he ducked TK’s dropkick and transitioned into a picture perfect ankle lock, which he allowed TK to counter into a stiff kick to the side of the head, TK was already impressed. When Judd stumbled back from TK’s German suplex and sold it like he’d been knocked out for real, TK almost had to laugh. This guy was not only good, he was really, really great.

The whoops and shouts from their small crowd also told the same story. They’d done something impressive, even if the only thing TK was supposed to do was prove himself to Judd. It seemed like the challenge had been met both ways this time.

Owen crouched down beside them, as TK held Judd in a rear naked choke that Judd was blocking with his fingers. “Great showing, both of you. Take it home. Judd goes over.”

TK allowed himself to be moved, releasing the hold just as Judd grabbed a hold of him, slamming him down to the mat in a vicious drop. Judd slumped over him for the three-count, which Owen slapped against the mat.

Even if only three people were left watching, the crowd reacted. TK glanced over as he was laying on the mat, and saw Paul, Marjan and Mateo clapping.

TK got up, but was forced to lean down again, hands on his knees. The sheer speed with which they’d wrestled shocked him, especially with his preconception that Judd had never been the most agile worker. Maybe his choice to work a slower, more methodical style wasn’t a choice born out of age or ability, but philosophy. The Texas style was rough, a little dirty, big brawlers going at it in the ring and outside it. Not necessarily the kind of thing known for technical process or speed of movement. But Judd had both, had them in spades.

“You’re great,” he said, taking a ragged breath as he stood back up, straightening his back. “How come you don’t wrestle like that on the footage of you I’ve seen?”

“Because I don’t want to.” Judd rubbed his fingers along his jawline.

“Because he doesn’t have to,” Owen corrected him. “That’s called being over.”

TK resisted rolling his eyes. “Sure, but even guys who are over don’t always do less.”

“Work smarter, not harder,” Judd said. He offered TK a hand. “You’re great, too, son. Can’t wait to see the opener on Friday.”

TK shook on it. “You’ll be watching?”

“And offering you plenty of feedback afterwards,” Owen added, as Judd clapped his back on his way out of the ring.

“Yessir,” Judd said, smiling as he wiped his brow. “You guys got a shower ‘round here?”

“I’ll show you,” Paul said, and tilted his head towards the locker rooms.

“What do you think?” Owen asked, offering TK a clean towel. “You think you can keep up with the luchador if you could barely keep up with Judd the cowboy over there?”

TK snorted. “I can keep up with anyone. I just didn’t expect that out of Judd.”

“He’s well-traveled, a lot of people don’t know that. He’s been to Mexico, wrestled in smaller promotions in Japan. He’s picked up things like you wouldn’t believe, and yet because his family is here, he hasn’t made the move to pursue bigger things elsewhere. Always a Texas guy.” His dad studied the door where Paul and Judd had just left through.

“It’s a shame,” TK said.

“Is it?” Owen wondered out loud. “Sometimes the gems only a fair few know about shine just as bright as the ones seen by millions. Do you want to only be watched by millions?”

“I don’t know what I want,” TK said honestly.

Owen didn’t pry further, instead turning around to answer Mateo’s question about a move or a hold. TK tuned the rest of it out. He wasn’t about to reveal his crisis of identity to his dad, at least not yet. They had a show to do, and it would be one that would determine so much about the future of Austin 126, and their place in it.

He knew one thing for sure, at least. If nothing else, he would always support his dad. Win or lose, if this new venture failed or if it succeeded, if TK decided he wanted to be a firefighter instead of a pro wrestler, no matter what: he’d have his dad’s back. Always.

“And cut!” Marjan announced excitedly. She held the phone for one more second, and then smiled from behind it. “That’s a wrap on all our promos.”

Owen wanted everyone available to do promos on social media to hype up their matches. The promo he’d cut on Judd already had one hundred thousand views, which was great numbers for an independent promotion. It didn’t guarantee success, though, as many people tuned in to what Owen had to say after leaving New York no matter what. All those views didn’t come from people in Austin or even Texas.

TK cut his own promo, although he felt it wasn’t his best work. He had to rely too much on what he assumed Carlos’ gimmick was about: hometown hero, brave luchador, representative of the good people of Austin. He acted dismissive, cocky, and ended it with a casual reference to how a local sports team sucked. It was rote, and even he knew it. Marjan gave him a thumbs up afterwards, and told him they should make an edit in the middle, but he knew she was being too soft on him. He knew himself he hadn’t gotten to the core of what the match or the story would be about.

When he saw the promo by El Solitario, his worst suspicions had been confirmed. Not only was Carlos a good talker, effective and smooth, he was also working off something more than just the image of what TK wanted people to believe Tyler Strut was about.

Carlos started the promo pacing in front of the camera, and then facing it head on, addressing TK in a steady, confident voice.

“Tyler Strut, you think you know me, but you don’t – and you won’t, not until you step through those ropes and face me in the ring. But the thing is… I already know you. What I know about you, is that right now you’re lying to everyone, including your stupid dad, and the fans who pay their hard-earned money to see you perform. So what I’m going to do is pull out the real you in that ring, and whether that real you is a coward, who will be begging for mercy, or a genuine man, the kind I’d like to get to know better – I guess that’ll be revealed on Friday at the old firehouse 126.”

“Awesome promo, bro,” Mateo commented over TK’s shoulder.

“It’s alright,” TK said.

“I’m excited, he’s a really good wrestler.” After noting how amazing Carlos was, Mateo was off, probably doing whatever Owen had asked him to do, already an eager student of the game and sitting at the learning tree.

TK couldn’t fault the rookie. He put his phone down. The views were racking up on Carlos’s promo. That was fine enough, the popularity was not the problem; the content is what bothered him.

The fact that Carlos could see that in such a short while, whether his words were real or exaggerated for the story, in TK shocked him. TK felt naked, even though he was sitting in two layers of clothing and Carlos wasn’t even in the room with him.

He could hide so much from everyone else, but the fact this complete stranger got under his skin, that? That was scarier than any wild bump he’d taken in the ring. Falling off twenty foot ladders or getting piledrived through chairs was easy.

Facing Carlos again would not be as easy.

Michelle Blake was beautiful and the sweetest, kindest person out of the ring that TK had met in all of Texas. Yet she was the meanest heel inside the ring. She had just completed a hellacious multi-year feud with her sister Iris, who was taking a break from wrestling due to health issues. Michelle and Iris had started as a tag team, one of the most popular on the scene, and even worked for a couple of the bigger promotions.

But it was in the indies around South that they started their long separation, which culminated in a feud that they took all over the continental US. Every match added some new layer to the story. It was the talk of the pro wrestling world for a while, and quite possibly the most lucrative women’s feud in a good while.

Now Michelle was facing Tommy, her original trainer and mentor, which was exciting in itself, but her popularity and Tommy’s return made the match even more anticipated.

“I’m so happy to be back in Texas,” she said with a sigh. “You know, Owen asked me to work as a paramedic for the show just in case? That’s completely fine, of course, but Tommy and I were laughing about what if something happens during our match. So I encouraged Owen to book Tim and Nancy as well.”

“How many part-time wrestler slash EMTs does Austin have?” TK asked, which made Michelle laugh.

“More than you’d guess, I suppose. I’m sorry, I’m just rambling about myself now. How are you, after your move here? I’m really looking forward to seeing you working with Carlos. He’s told me so much about you.”

TK smiled awkwardly, because he wasn’t really sure what there was to tell. What did Carlos really know about him that wasn’t findable via an internet search anyone else could do? They didn’t really know each other. It did seem like Carlos probably wanted to know more, going by the offers to go out for anything from coffee to smoothies that TK got on his phone every day. He dodged those offers expertly and politely, but eventually he’d have to talk to Carlos.

He’d ask his dad normally about what to do in a situation like this, but he didn’t particularly want to hear if his dad had any experience hooking up with an opponent about a week before their match. He considered asking Paul about it, but he also didn’t know if they had that level of comfort just yet. His old friends in New York weren’t an option, because they weren’t really his friends. They were hangers on or guys he used to score drugs from.

Michelle talked about Carlos, and it soon became clear that far from just two wrestlers who happened to both work and live in Austin, they were good friends.

“His dad didn’t really like him going into wrestling, but then, his dad didn’t like him pursuing the same line of work he was in himself, either.” Michelle shrugged, looking thoughtful. “I’m sure you didn’t have that problem?”

TK bit the inside of his cheek. “No, I did not. My dad was supportive. He’s always been great.”

And TK has always silently wondered if his dad had been as supportive, had he chosen to pursue anything else in the world. But he hadn’t, and here he was, a wrestler with over thirteen years of experience. A rising star.

And just a guy who couldn’t get his future opponent out of his head.

TK worked with Tommy and Michelle a couple of times before the big show. He saw their easy, genuine chemistry as they talked before the practice, and their more fierce dynamic inside the ring. Tommy practising with TK earlier had been a fine pro wrestler, maybe a bit out of step and working out the ring rust she had from not working a match in quite some time. But with Michelle? She was fire and stone, tough and precise, with explosive power when she needed it.

Michelle, for her part, played the role of the technically skilled heel to perfection. She could twist Tommy’s arms and legs into uncomfortable locks, and attempt to make her tap out, she could target a body part and slow down the pace of the match, cutting off Tommy’s more powerful offensive moves, suplexes and lariats.

It was riveting to watch, and TK was happy to report to his dad that he thought the match would be amazing come Friday night.

Owen nodded, half-way through his green smoothie for the day. “I knew they would be, having seen Michelle work. Did you know she’s a paramedic as well?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a lot of them backstage now.” TK rubbed the back of his neck. “That should come in handy.”

“They do incredible work, those women. And Tim and Nancy, too, obviously.” Owen fell silent for a beat. “Anyway, enough about that. What do you know of Billy Tyson?”

“That asshole?” TK folded his arms. He couldn't really think of a better word to describe Billy Tyson, although it felt harsh to use about someone he didn't know.

Billy Tyson used to be a big deal around the Texas indies, a friend and former tag team partner of Judd’s if TK’s memory served him correctly, but nowadays after he got and recovered from cancer, Tyson mostly did a podcast about pro wrestling. He was very popular and very opinionated, and from the little that TK had heard the podcast, one thing was clear: he wasn’t a fan of Owen Strut.

“He’s not an asshole,” Owen was quick to correct him. “He’s just a provocateur, I guess you could say. Billy’s always been ready to the toe the line in what is acceptable, Judd told me. You wouldn’t believe the kind of promos he cut back in the day just to get the crowd to hate him.”

“I can imagine, but why are you bringing him up? Are you doing the podcast to promote the show or something?”

Owen’s face lit up. “Oh, even better. I want to wrestle Billy on the next show. He’s going to do a run in for the match I’m in with Judd.”

“I thought he didn’t wrestle anymore,” TK said. He wasn’t really a fan of this development, but he also knew once his dad got this kind of master idea in his head about a genius angle he should book, there wasn’t really any way to stop him. Even in the New York promotion, the promoter would listen to Owen’s ideas and often execute them.

In addition to being a generational talent, his dad had a great mind for story.

“He’s thinking about it. You know what they say, so long as the money’s green. I think we’ll get him on board. You know, he’s not in bad physical shape, it’s more of a mental hump he was to get over. Once he hears the crowd roar again, I think he’ll say yes.” Owen looked elated. “How are you feeling about your match with El Solitario – oh, what was his real name, Michelle mentioned it–”

“Carlos,” TK said. He shrugged, trying to appear casual about the whole thing. “It’s fine. It’s going to be fine, whatever.”

He hated how his response sounded, back to the petulant teenager. But also – he really didn’t want to talk to his dad about this.

“What a promo he cut on you,” Owen noted, leaning back in his chair. “There was so much passion in his voice.”

“I guess.” TK looked down at his shoes. “So, anyway. I’m going to go work out now.”

He made a move towards the office door, but Owen got up, a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, is there something you need to share with me? You’re usually pretty pumped before a show. This is, I hate to say it, unusual. Should I be worried?”

TK rolled back his shoulders. His mouth just about managed to form a smile that was genuine. “I am excited, it’s all just so new. This place, this state, these people.”

“You're not comfortable with this place?”

“No, it's not that–”

“Haven’t they all been welcoming? Apart from Judd, but after that hiccup he too invited us down for Sunday dinner with him and his wife.”

“Everyone’s been great, dad, really. I just need time to adjust. That's all.” TK knew it wasn't them.

The problem, as usual, was himself.

“Are you sure?” Owen asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Yeah,” TK said, so much swirling around in his head. He was excited, but the problem was that he wasn’t sure he wanted to be excited.

He’d only ever loved pro wrestling, and now his life was filled with it. Why was it only now that he was wondering what else was out there? That maybe this wasn’t all his life could be, that he could end up having a different purpose after all.

None of this was something to burden his dad with, the day before the show. So instead he looked up at Owen, rolling his shoulders back, and said: “I’m getting coffee with Carlos later today. I just don’t want to rehearse the match or anything. He prefers to call it in the ring, too.”

Owen smiled, looking relieved. “That’s fantastic. A real student of the game, huh? I hope you get along with him. The best matches aren’t born out of real dislike between the opponents, but real love for one another.”

“God, you’re cheesy,” TK said, rolling his eyes.

“Pro wrestling is cheesy,” Owen said, pointing at him. “Don’t forget that, either.”

TK grinned, because that was true, in many ways. As much as he would stand up for the artistic and athletic merits of pro wrestling, it would always have its cheesy side.

Outside Owen’s office, he pulled out his phone and typed a text to Carlos, inviting him for coffee at the only coffee place TK knew in Austin, which was two blocks from his dad’s house. Carlos quickly texted back a time that worked for him, since he had a work shift he needed to finish up, and TK typed back the confirmation and sent it off without even thinking about the content.

it’s a date he’d sent to Carlos, unthinking.

He was so screwed.

The problem was, Carlos wasn’t a problem. He paid for the drinks, dressed in a crisp white t-shirt which made TK feel positively slovenly in his well-worn hoodie and sweatpants, but also, and crucially, this wasn’t a date. They were just talking about the match.

“How you feeling? Nervous?” Carlos asked.

“Nah,” TK said, even though he was. Just not about the thing Carlos was asking him about.

The show didn’t phase him, nor did the opening match. That was all stuff he knew, had trained for consistently for years. Wrestling wasn’t something he could do in his sleep, but just about.

Trying not to date a guy who was hot, available, well-adjusted and seemingly into him, that was something nobody in the world taught him. He had two modes: trying to find a guy to fuck, and not ending up liking him enough to fuck him again, or finding a guy who he did like, and jumping in headfirst, heartfirst and breaking both in the process. In his early twenties he’d been such a mess with how much shit he’d been using, and so desperate for love and acceptance, and finally thinking he found it with Alex, well – let’s just say it didn’t make him the most trusting of his own judgment with these things.

He wished he could just lay out all his cards on the table: the long litany of reasons why Carlos thought he might want to date him, but he’d be wrong. Carlos was looking at him now, expectant, wanting him to elaborate maybe, but TK didn’t really want to talk about wrestling and see the same fire in Carlos’ eyes he’d seen during their last meeting. That fire was attractive to him, like a moth to a flame.

“So your, uh, your shift went okay?” He cleared his throat and took a sip of his latte and grimaced immediately. His dad had convinced him to give matcha lattes a go, and TK now deeply regretted it.

“Yeah, it wasn’t too crazy,” Carlos said, his brows knitting together. “I told you what I do, right?”

TK shook his head. “I assumed like, retail.”

Carlos let out a small laugh. “Not quite. I’m a patrol cop.”

“Oh,” TK said, feeling a bit silly. “So a job job. A real job.”

Carlos looked at him funny. “Wrestling’s not a real job?”

“Not really,” TK said, shrugging. “I mean, I talked to Michelle the other day about what she used to do full time, what Tommy does now. Being an EMT is a real job, you know? Helping people.”

“Michelle is great at what she does, both in and out of the ring,” Carlos said. “But I think wrestling is a real job. You help people, in just a different way.”

“Dude, don’t,” TK started, putting his hand up. “It’s entertainment, the whole thing started as a carnival act. Let’s not compare saving lives to taking a punch and making some people in the audience go ‘ooh, that looks like it hurt’.”

Carlos laughed. “Is that what they do during your matches?”

“Oh, I’m great at selling,” TK said, tilting his head playfully.

“You’re great at a lot of things.”

“You’re not that bad yourself, officer.”

Carlos ducked his head and smiled, the kind of private smile TK relished in seeing. He realized a second too late that this was definitely flirting. The kind of flirting you didn’t have to think about, because it wasn’t forced or done for a particular purpose in mind. It simply came naturally to him, like breathing or putting one foot in front of the other when walking.

This was bad, and he knew he had to stop it somehow. But how?

“You want to go back to mine, or…?” Carlos looked up from his drink, those warm big eyes beginning to melt TK’s resolve.

Would it be so bad to just hookup and never let it go further? But TK wasn’t a fool. He knew a guy like Carlos would eventually find someone well-adjusted enough to date, and then their casual thing would be over. Or Carlos would try to date TK anyway, and he would be the asshole who’d blow it all up, just because he had to, because that’s just what he always did.

“I’m not really looking for that,” TK forced out of himself. That sounded vague enough to be real, but also not too personal. “We had fun, obviously, but I’m still getting over an ex.”

“Oh, yeah, completely get it, um.” Carlos took a second, his eyes blinking away the disappointment. Something twinged in TK’s chest as he saw it happen.

He now truly felt like an asshole.

“I’ll just–” He tried to think of all the excuses, all the real reasons he could give. I don’t date wrestlers. I’m a fuckup. I’m actually not looking for a boyfriend, because my last one made me relapse. Oh, did I mention I used to do drugs? The websites reported I went to rehab for alcohol, but it was actually a variety of substances. Maybe you’d like me to list them for you? “I think you’re cool, but I just moved here. I want to see what’s out there.”

It didn’t make him sound like any less of a dick, but it would have to do. He didn’t want to see what was out there. He wanted a repeat of the best blowjob he's ever received. But that wasn’t in the cards right now.

Carlos understood, he accepted this all with grace, although there was a tight look to his jaw that showed TK he wasn’t exactly happy about it. He held the door open for TK when they left the restaurant, he looked fantastic in that faux leather jacket that hugged his shoulders just right. He walked TK to his car. He didn’t stand too close, even though TK wanted him to, wanted to sink into those arms and get a lengthy kiss for the road, pressed between his car and Carlos’ body, just to feel it all again.

Carlos was a really, supremely good guy, and TK was not. That’s why he knew he was doing the right thing, even if it killed him to stay away

The day of the show arrived, and TK was busy running around backstage organizing this that and the other, almost forgetting he too had a match until Marjan poked his chest with a whiteboard pen. She gave him a hard look. “Write your finish on the board, cap wants everyone to do it.”

“Who’s Cap?” TK frowned, but took the pen from her.

The board in front of him was in the backstage hallway, where people were running around, trying to get themselves situated before the show started. On the board the card was listed under headers such as “signature spots” and “finish”. TK vaguely remembered Owen talking about this concept, to ensure that big moves like a piledriver weren’t used on multiple matches on the same show, or that every single match didn’t end with the same submission finish.

He took the pen and wrote down schoolboy with feet on the ropes for his match against Carlos. It was a classic move to pin the opponent’s shoulders to the mat with feet or a hand on the ropes would count as cheating. The referee would be in such a position that they couldn’t see it, and thus only the audience would know what had really happened. TK would pick up the win, Carlos would lose, the crowd would be annoyed by the unfairness of the victory.

“Excited?” Marjan asked with a smile. “You guys are up first.”

“A bit nervous,” TK admitted. “You know I’ve never done an independent show?”

Marjan rolled her eyes. “Tyler, this isn’t really your standard independent wrestling show. Your dad built those amazing state-of-the-art locker rooms and got health-conscious catering for the event. You wouldn’t believe the kind of indies I’ve worked for. This is the most luxurious indie on the planet.”

“Let’s hope we can keep the lights on, then.” TK grimaced on the inside. He sounded cynical, and he knew it, too. He didn’t want to snuff out Marjan’s palpable enthusiasm. She was a great wrestler who had attracted a fair bit of attention at a young age, and her social media following was probably what drew at least a quarter of the crowd tonight.

The audience had filled up the firehouse; the return of Lone Star was an event, and people wanted to see Owen Strut vs Judd Ryder. TK had just manned the ticket booth until Nancy took it over until the show started.

TK could feel his nerves when he went to find Carlos. He wasn’t at the catering table, or the locker room. It’s not like TK needed to see him before he stepped through those curtains; they’d agreed to go with the flow, feel each other in the ring.

Pro wrestling could be described as a dance, where if you know the moves, you can dance with anyone. Whether you connect, string the moves together effortlessly enough for the audience to buy in, that’s a different story.

Eventually he walked past the gym, where he found the luchador, without a mask. Carlos was holding a striped shirt.

“You doing ref duty tonight?” TK asked.

“Cap has everyone doing all kinds of things,” Carlos said, smiling at the garment. “I used to referee when I was just starting out. I enjoyed it.”

“Why is everyone calling him cap?” TK felt like he was being left out of an inside joke.

“Oh, Mateo started it. Apparently every firehouse has a captain. So some of the guys decided he would be ours.” Carlos shrugged. “Or maybe Judd said it as a joke, but it sounded cool.”

TK nodded. “Right, captain. I, uhh, I put down a schoolboy finish for us, if that’s alright with you. I didn’t see you around and all the better options seemed to be taken.”

“That’s fine.” Carlos’s eyes traveled over his face. “Is everything good?”

“Just nerves,” TK said, brushing him off. “How about you?”

Carlos smiled slowly. “I’m excited to get out there. When that music hits, it sometimes feels like I’m floating.”

“That’s just the adrenaline,” TK said, but he knew exactly what Carlos meant. It was a high unlike any other.

“And then I get to lose myself in wrestling, be someone I’m not for however many minutes. But at the same time, that’s when I feel most like myself. I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“I get it, though,” is all TK could say, because he’d never heard anyone put it like that, so simply yet so weirdly profound. “Shall we get going? We’re up first, so a lot riding on us setting the pace.”

Carlos smiled. “Let’s make sure nobody wants to follow us.”

It was the sort of thing TK had heard a million times, that competitive edge where everyone in the locker room wanted to be the best. This time, it really hit him, though.

“Let’s do that,” he said, determined.

He went to the locker room, put on his gear, said the little prayer his mom always told him to say before a match, just in case.

He heard the swell of noise when Carlos went through the curtain in his gear and his mask. The crowd loved him, that much was already clear.

His dad slapped him on the shoulder, wished him luck and then his music started, a downbeat moody rock song. The crowd booed him before they even saw him, and hearing the wall of sound made him grin, ear to ear. The rush of blood was immediate and powerful.

The atmosphere already felt fever pitch, before he and Carlos had even touched. As he was being announced – Tyler Strut, from New York City, New York – he looked past the ring announcer to see Carlos stretch in his own corner of the ring. The crowd would really hate it if he charged Carlos right now, hit him with an elbow or a boot. But TK wanted to start the match in a way where he’d goad Carlos into making the first move, gain the advantage by seeing what he would do first.

So instead of meeting Carlos in the middle of the ring for a traditional lock up, he slid out of the ring, earning a chorus of boos from the audience. Carlos moved towards him, never leaving the ring until TK got back in, asking Tim, who was the referee for the match, to make sure he had adequate space. He was being annoying, cowardly, and the crowd let him know it, too.

When they finally did touch, it was when TK refused Carlos’ offered hand and instead raked him in the eyes, then sent him into the ropes. Carlos countered with an attempted clothesline, which TK ducked, only to be dropkicked when Carlos came back at him, gaining further speed from running into the ropes.

Like this, they worked, move after move, sequences building on top of each other. The audience seemed to buy in: they wanted El Solitario win, and they wanted Tyler Strut to lose, and they made their feelings known. There was an electricity to the match that TK hadn’t really felt like before, the tension as it built, the crowd connection, the energy in the air.

The way he could actually anticipate Carlos, and the way Carlos anticipated him, move by move, step by step. It was something he hadn’t really felt with anyone, especially during their first ever match together.

Half-way through the match, with Tim giving a low voiced time cue for them both, TK was breathing hard. They’d worked at a speed which favored Carlos, and now they were both down on the canvas, until TK dragged Carlos up in a headlock.

He leaned closer. “Pretty good so far,” he told Carlos, low enough so only he could hear it.

“Good? This is magic,” Carlos said softly, and his words sparked something in the depth of TK’s chest.

It was magic.

Chapter Text

The rest of the show went shockingly without a hitch. There were some minor miscommunications during the tag match, thanks to Mateo forgetting what the finish was, but thankfully Paul tagged himself in and set him straight before the match fell apart completely or started dragging. The women’s match between Tommy and Michelle was as good as TK expected, as he watched it from backstage. Michelle was crisp and vicious, and Tommy did great with everything they had rehearsed. She was even able to improvise and think on her feet, shedding the ring rust in front of everyone’s eyes. TK was so happy for her.

There was a minor incident backstage when one of the local talent had cut their foot on the side of an old metal beam. Apparently the renovators his dad had hired hadn’t done as good of a job as TK thought they had, and for a brief moment he was panicked, looking at the blood pooling out of the young woman’s foot.

“What’s your name?” he asked, crouching down to wrap her foot in a towel. “I’m Tyler.”

“I’m Brie,” the girl said, “well, my wrestling name is the Brilliant Beauty, but you know.” She shrugged, giving a nervous laugh. “Is that going to be enough?”

“I don’t know,” TK said honestly, tying the towel as tightly as he knew how. “But we’ve got a lot of good people here tonight, and someone’s going to know how to fix this better than I can. Marjan already went looking for Tommy and Nancy, and I think Tim is backstage somewhere, too, so we’ll just wait for –”

“I got it,” Nancy said above his head, sliding a first aid kit to the space between the foot and the bench Brie was sitting on. “Hi, I’m Nancy, I’m a trained EMT. This is nothing, but if it looks like it’ll be bad, we could get you to the hospital to have it checked out by a doctor. How long you been wrestling?”

“Two years,” Brie replied. “I got into it because of my stupid boyfriend – well, ex-boyfriend, well, we’re sort of back together I guess – got me into it.”

Nancy gave TK a nod and looked back at Brie, now more engaged by telling Nancy all about her relationship history than by the cut in her foot.

The main event continued the great atmosphere, even though TK thought his dad soaked in the mood of the place a little too long during his entrance. Owen Strut was his dad’s personality, amped up to the ludicrous. He was vain and could be selfish, particular and stubborn. But he was also really damn good, and that was the annoying part to the audience.

Judd came off like a rockstar during his entrance, and their match played to his strengths, a lot of brawling amidst the crowd and use of random objects in the vicinity of the ring: tables, chairs, a pair of brass knuckles Owen produced out of somewhere and hid from the referee’s view. It was very entertaining and a good way to cap off their first ever event as new promoters.

The crowd left home happy, and the locker room was in celebration mode.

“I want to thank you all for your work tonight,” Owen started, in full rah rah mode. “I knew when I came to Austin I’d be doubted, but if I had the right people, I could make anything happen at the 126. Now I’m not rambling on much longer, I’ll keep it simple so you can make merry and enjoy your evenings: thank you for welcoming me and TK to Austin. Tonight was a lot of work, a lot of fun, and I think we showed them why we’re going to do our best to become the only place to be in Austin on a Friday night. To the 126!”

“Hear, hear!” rang around the room.

“You look like you want to roll your eyes so badly,” Carlos said behind TK. “But your dad cuts a good promo.”

TK turned around, fighting back on the way his mood lifted when seeing Carlos again. He’d been buzzing the entire time after his match, and the adrenaline hadn’t quite come down just yet. He’d loved their match, and it seemed the feeling was shared among those who had watched it backstage.

But. He also needed to be cool about this. “He’s alright. Playing to the crowd is one of his many talents.” TK shrugged.

“You’ve got many talents, too.” Carlos smiled.

“Like what, my sunny disposition?” TK raised an eyebrow. Comedy was an easy shield to draw up, but it was usually effective.

“You were amazing out there, are you kidding me? You should have been on TV every night as soon as New York signed you, I don’t understand how they kept you hidden away like that. The final spot on the ropes made people so angry, your timing on it was exceptional.”

TK listened to him praise him. His chest felt tight now, but he smiled back. “Well, the ref helped. Tim was on perfectly on cue throughout the whole thing, and his positioning was good.”

Carlos fell quiet for a beat, taking a sip of his drink. “Yeah, I guess. Still. I enjoyed that.”

“Great match,” TK said, and knocked the neck of his soda bottle against Carlos’ beer. “Cheers to us.”

“To us,” Carlos repeated. “Listen, I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. It’s just – the way we met, and that whole night, but then I found out I was booked for this event against you and –” He paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. “I’m just a little bit confused, I guess.”

Oh, jeez. TK thought about the way he’d acted, a hot kiss at the door one minute and then cold distance, dodging Carlos’s texts for days and then insisting he wanted to go around Austin chasing strange dick. He felt like a complete asshole.

“No, I’m sorry, it’s just–” He looked up, embarrassment heating his cheeks, and was hit with those big cow eyes.

He knew what he should do and he knew what he wanted. The good thing about addiction was that back then he had an excuse to remove those logical inhibitions, to just go for what he wanted, ill-advised or not. Now he was sober, powered by caffeine and the occasional hit of corn syrup, and he didn’t get to use those excuses.

But still, he wanted what he wanted. He didn’t have to date Carlos to get it, either. Maybe he’d mistaken a simple base desire for something more romantic. Carlos was even better in bed than he had been in the ring. Why wouldn’t TK go for that? It didn’t need to be serious, it didn’t have to lead into anything permanent.

Just hooking up. Simple.

“Sorry,” he repeated, feeling a bit foolish. “I don’t know where my head’s been at. You’re great, and you were so hot the night we met, and I’m – I don’t want to play games.”

“It’s cool, you had this whole show to organize,” Carlos said, looking entirely too understanding.

“No, it’s not that,” TK insisted. “It’s that–” What was it? He wanted Carlos. So badly it was stupid, so much it was overwhelming, and he wanted him now instead of waiting. “Sorry, I just – could we talk in private?”

“Um, sure. We could go outside?”

“No, I meant, like – your place.”

Carlos frowned. “My place?”

“If it’s cool,” TK said. He didn’t want to talk. Talking would end up in a place that was vulnerable and needy.

“It’s cool,” Carlos said, his tone lower and understanding. “It’s very, uhh, cool.”

TK nodded. If he knew how to ask for what he wanted, he just might get it.

He drove to Carlos’s place, and then kissed him hard against the front door. This part wasn’t vulnerable. This part was easy and fun, and he moaned into the kiss, Carlos’ tongue sliding into his mouth. His cock was straining his jeans, a hard pressure against TK’s hand and it was so good. So fucking good, exactly what he needed.

He ripped the buttons on Carlos’s shirt, and slid down onto his knees in front of him. His hands found those strong thighs he’d been fantasizing being between once again.

“Let me suck you off,” he said.

“Here?” Carlos sounded as discombobulated as TK felt. “Come on, bedroom.”

“No, here, I can’t wait. Please?” His hand squeezed Carlos’s cock over the denim, the pleasant hard tent. Always good to ask for what you want.

Carlos’s eyes fluttered shut. “God, you’re so – okay, here.”

TK grinned and got to work, his hands opening Carlos’s belt and zipper. His mouth watered at the sight of Carlos’s lengthy cock. He had been thinking about it so much over the past week, obsessing over the missed opportunity of taking all of him in, pushing past his own comfort limits to give Carlos his everything.

He licked his lips before tasting the head, swirling his tongue around it. Carlos groaned, but didn’t move, and even when his hand landed on top of TK’s head, it didn’t move to get more of his mouth on Carlos’s cock. TK slid it in slowly, before the tip hit the roof of his mouth and he had to pull back again.

“Easy there,” Carlos said. His voice already sounded wrecked, those brown eyes staring back all glassy at TK.

“I want it there, babe,” TK murmured, lips working softly over the side of the cock. “You’re so big, I love it.”

“You’re so good, fuc–k.”

A little flutter of pride worked up his chest as TK swallowed down the cock in his hand again, the warm throbbing feel of it in his mouth. He bobbed his head on it gently, swallowing, opening his jaw wider and sinking further down. Carlos let out a sound that was deeply satisfying to him, even more so when Carlos’s fingers twisted in his hair. TK knew he was on the right track. He slid the hard length past his lips, chasing it with his tongue, and took a breath through his mouth before going down on it again.

The silken feel of the skin, the one curving vein down the side of the cock, all of it was a wild turn on for him. He pushed down at his own hardon, trying to stave off the inevitable. He wondered if he could come in his pants just from sucking dick. He liked it enough to think it might be possible, but he’d much rather come from Carlos’ hand or mouth or for Carlos to use him in some other way.

“TK, jesus,” Carlos muttered on a sharp inhale. “You’re so pretty taking my cock, baby.”

TK looked up at him, watching how his mouth moving up and down on Carlos’s cock as he held Carlos’s gaze made Carlos’s body shudder. He was close, and the fun had barely begun. TK shut his eyes and focused, opening wider, taking in deeper, bobbing faster. He let the cock fuck his mouth freely, knowing how messy it made him, saliva dripping down his chin. It was okay. He could do this. He wanted it bad enough to do it.

When the head of the cock, thick and throbbing, pushed deep enough to enter his throat, the high was unbelievable. He ignored the tears filling his eyes and the initial discomfort, swallowing around the cock the best he could and feeling the way it rocked through Carlos.

The thigh under TK’s hand trembled, and the fingers in his hair pulled him off. “So close.” Carlos sounded hoarse. “Where do you–”

“In my mouth, babe, of course,” TK said immediately, opening up and letting his tongue hang out slightly.

Carlos’s hand worked at the base of his cock, the head slapping against TK’s tongue, making the most obscene sound until the smell and taste of Carlos hit it. TK moaned, surprise mingling with delight like a total slut, and he drank in whatever his mouth got. Some of Carlos’ release spilled on his chin and cheek, and he took the drops into his mouth with his fingers.

“Wow, you’re really, really, really good at that,” Carlos said.

TK grinned up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. The praise warmed his chest. “Really?”

“You are,” Carlos said, petting his hair. “Now can we go to the bedroom?”

TK agreed, allowing Carlos to lift him up and show him the way.

Instead of the anonymity of getting fucked with his ass up and stomach down, Carlos maneuvered TK on his back. TK was so hard, his chest felt hot with flush and he really, really did not want the intimacy of Carlos seeing all of him like this. Carlos took his time with the prep, almost annoyingly methodical and teasing.

TK had been moaning and writhing and begging for Carlos’s cock for what felt like a lifetime until Carlos took out the condom finally.

“Let me turn around,” TK said, his breathing sounding a little shallow.

“Why?” Carlos asked gently, his hand pumping at the base of his cock. He looked at TK, a curious expression on his face. “I'd like to see your face when I fuck you.”

Jesus, TK thought. It was hot, but it was also precisely what he feared. He didn't want to have some wedding night sex, gazing into each other's eyes. He wanted just a hard, satisfying fuck.

He dropped his eyes to see Carlos’s cock, so sexy in Carlos’s big hand. “My legs hurt,” he lied effortlessly.

“You seem pretty flexible in your matches,” Carlos said. “You can put your legs on my shoulders.”

Fuck. “Okay, fine, just fuck me already.” TK flopped down on the bed, lifting his legs. Right now he needed to be dicked down more than he cared about the consequences of Carlos seeing him as they fucked.

Carlos lined up his cock to TK's lubed, well-worked hole and thrust in, slow and deliberate and oh, fuck almighty. Tk bit his lip and breathed through the first shock of pressure inside him. Carlos’s hands slid over his hips.

“You're okay? Can I keep going?” His thumbs drew a circle over TK's hip bones, even as Carlos’s voice sounded wrecked already.

“Yes, oh fuck yes,” TK managed. “I need all of you in me.”

Carlos rolled his hips in a measured thrust and TK just about died. The pressure subsided and all that was there was the steady feel of Carlos’s cock, hot and perfect inside him.

“You want to be filled up, baby?” Carlos asked, voice low. “Need all of my cock in you?”

TK moaned a yes, and kept moaning as Carlos started moving in and out of him, the speed slowly increasing. God, he'd needed this. To be with someone who didn't just fuck him, but fucked him so well, so thoroughly, and with such care it almost made it feel like he was in love.

“You feel so good around my cock, baby.” Carlos bent over him, capturing his mouth in a kiss even as his hips continued to drill down on TK, fuck him harder and harder.

TK's eyes filled with tears, stupid tears, which was why he kept kissing Carlos through it all. His cock rubbed against Carlos’s abs with each movement and TK spilled between them with a loud cry, muffled only by Carlos’s mouth against his own. He felt the stutter of Carlos’s hips, the wave of his own orgasm, and even through that TK kept kissing him.

“Wow, that was overwhelming,” Carlos murmured as he pulled out. “In the best way.”

“You're pretty good in bed,” TK said, aiming for a light tone. “The enormous cock probably also helps.”

Carlos gave him a look. “It's not enormous.”

“You'll have to fuck me again to convince me of that,” TK told him.

Carlos laughed and pulled TK close for another kiss, this time sleepy enough that with Carlos’s heavy arms around him, TK knew he couldn't get out of it.

The panic set in after he had dozed off in Carlos’s arms. Whitehot anxiety yet cold running down his chest, TK slid out of bed and, with a rapidly beating heart, started pulling his jeans on.

“What time is it?” Carlos asked, still drowsy.

“It's like, 3am. I need to get going.”

The silence spoke volumes, even if it was only a few seconds long. “Why?” Carlos eventually asked.

Why? Because TK didn't fear commitment because he'd never been there, because he'd never allowed himself to be vulnerable. The problem was precisely that he had, and he knew what the costs of it going wrong were. That's why he couldn't spend the night or enjoy breakfast or call Carlos babe in any other context but in bed, while getting fucked. He couldn't stand the consequences of slipping into commitment so effortlessly and dangerously, just because it felt good to do so.

He wasn't doing that again. Not even with hot, kind, perfect Carlos, as talented in the ring as he was in the bedroom.

“Listen, I was hoping to just keep this kind of casual,” TK said. He didn't know how to say it without sounding arrogant. Maybe Carlos didn't want anything serious, although he had a pretty good feeling he might. He seemed like the steady, solid relationship type.

TK's heart lunched.

“Oh,” Carlos said. “Alright, if that's what you want.”

“Yeah,” TK said. “I just got out of something before I moved out of New York, so–”

“Totally get it,” Carlos said, a joyless smile on his face. “It's not a problem.”

“Plus we work together–” TK cleared his throat. “At least. I hope we can still wrestle without it being awkward.”

“I don't think it's going to be awkward. At least, it won’t be awkward for me.” Carlos stared at him, and TK did his best not to look back at him. He didn't want to be seen right now, have his true feelings exposed.

“Well, thanks for tonight. In more ways than one.”

“Let me walk you out.”

Carlos kissed him at the door, a gentle, long kiss. TK didn't want the kiss to ever end, feeling every ounce of tiredness, and wanting nothing more than to sink into the arms Carlos had opened for him.

But he shouldn't, so he wouldn't, and it would be that simple.

“One more for the road,” he said and watched Carlos drag his eyes up from TK’s thoroughly kissed mouth. The same mouth that had been on his cock to start the evening.

TK's cock twitched warmly at the memory.

“Goodnight, then,” Carlos said and TK somehow managed to step out of his arms and into the cool Austin night.

He drove home and woke up to his dad explaining the health benefits of root ginger and sea buckthorn, a Nordic super berry that turned out to be incredibly difficult to find in Austin, while placing a bright orange smoothie glass on TK’s bedside table.

He drank the smoothie, which went down better than he expected. He got up and made coffee and talked about the event like normal and even answered some texts on his phone.

He didn't regret hooking up with Carlos again, especially when he got a good morning text from him around 10am. He didn't regret not staying the night. At least, he hoped he wouldn't regret it.

He sent a ludicrous shirtless selfie to Carlos after working out, his abs slicked with sweat, and didn't respond to any of Carlos’s well-meaning questions. TK was fine doing casual.

At least, he hoped he would be fine.

If TK felt some type of way about his dad having a feud about Billy Tyson, he was doing a pretty good job keeping a lid on his emotions. Owen had invited Billy to the ring to train with him and Judd, get back into good ring shape and invited TK to watch.

Wrestling was tough, physically. Most people who did fine with regular cardio training found themselves breathing hard after running the ropes for a few minutes. It was a lot of fast spurts of action, strength exercises, acrobatics and then moments of action winding down. Then there were the actual moves and maneuvers, taking someone else's safety as well as your own into consideration.

Some days TK wondered what kind of a nut he had to be to get into this thing and then enjoy it, too. Of course his dad's influence helped, but he doubted he would have stayed in it for as long as he had if there wasn't something wrong with him.

Well, there was plenty of wrong with him, and the same could be said of Billy Tyson, who was now running the ropes with the same ferocity he was used to running his mouth.

“Let's go, Tyson,” Owen said, when the other man went down on one knee, exhaustion clear on his face.

“Enough, Strut,” Billy grunted, leaning against his knee. “I'm an old man.”

“I'm a year or two older than you,” Owen pointed out with a shit eating grin. “You're doing fine, but we need to work if you want back in main events.”

“I don't need the limelight.” Billy leveled a hard look at Owen. “I just did the last event as a favor for an old friend.” He nodded towards Judd, who had his arms crossed over his chest.

Judd wore a brand new Lone Star Pro t-shirt, suddenly the biggest cheerleader and supporter their promotion had. TK figured Judd was a family man; the old Lone Star had been a family ripped apart by circumstances, and now he was committed to the new family.

“Billy, play nice. You've talked to me over many a whisky about wanting to get back into this.” Judd tilted his head towards Owen. “He's the only one willing to forget about you running your mouth and give you a shot at it.”

“I didn't say anything I didn't mean and wouldn't say again,” Billy said tightly.

TK grit his teeth together, feeling the bitter bile rise in his throat. “Does that apply to what you said about me as well?”

Billy gave him an uninterested glance. “I don't even remember what I said about you, kid.”

“You said people like me didn't belong in wrestling.”

He still remembered the words, seeing the clip online of Tyson leaning back in his stupid redneck podcast studio and looking at his co-host from beneath his brow. TK recalled the speculation online about what the hell Tyson even meant, because ordinary fans didn't know that the son of Owen Strut was gay, out to the people in the industry, if not strictly speaking publicly.

Billy's face twisted in confusion. “I did?”

TK couldn't hide his anger anymore. “Yeah, you fucking did.”

Owen raised a hand. “TK, I'm sure he didn't mean it like that–”

“I'm pretty sure he did, dad,” TK said flatly.

Billy looked confused, until understanding dawned on his face. “Oh, shit. I didn't mean … that. I meant you're a nepotism hire.”

Now it was TK's turn to be confused. “No, you didn't.”

“I didn't even know you were playing for the other team until Owen mentioned something about it last Friday. But you got hired by the New York Fed like that,” Billy said with a snap of his fingers, “because of your dad. I'm not a fan of that shit.”

TK held up his hand, anger heating his chest. “Wait, back up for a second. You don't know anything, you pompous asshat. I had to do a tryout three times before they gave me a contract.”

Billy shrugged. “Well, the family name probably still helped.”

“Oh, come off it–” TK said, but was interrupted by his dad.

Owen made a whistling noise, leaning against the wall next to Judd. “I wouldn't know about that. I think in some ways it was harder for him. Bigger shoes to fill, more to have to prove to them. I wasn't too popular with my employer at the time. Was speaking up too much, you heard about that, too, I bet.”

Billy nodded. “I heard alright. That's why I agreed to do this. Judd explained it and I appreciate that, doing something for the boys and girls who haven't made it yet. The business is tough.”

Owen looked from Billy to TK. “So it is, for all of us in unique ways.”

Judd hopped up on the apron, wiping his boots as was his signature move. “Let's do some lockups,” he told Billy, thumbing his nose with a little attitude.

Billy snorted. “What am I, a rookie? Lockups? Come on.”

“So it is true, you've forgotten how to do one.” Judd grinned, eyes full of challenge.

Billy charged at him, and as TK watched the action unfold, lockup transitioned to a wristlock, he felt Owen approaching from his side.

“So who am I facing at the next show?” He studied his dad's expression.

“Oh, did I not mention? You're facing Carlos again. We'll run the feud so long as the crowd keeps buying in.”

TK said nothing, but his dad was too observant for his own good.

“What is this?” Owen asked. “You look like someone shoot punched you in the gut.”

“It's just that–” TK started, but wasn't sure how to phrase his problem. There wasn't a problem. He was fine working with Carlos again, despite their thing outside the ring. Which wasn't even a thing. “Is he going over this time?”

Owen laughed. “You've never had a problem with losing before.”

TK made a face. “I don't have a problem with losing. I just don't know if I'd give him the win yet. A babyface should always be chasing after the win.”

“Maybe,” Owen agreed, “but sometimes it helps to give the babyface a win before the heel can demand a rematch, especially if you want to run the match back again.”

“That's fine,” TK said, knowing the logic was mangled in his head. “But I just don't know if he's committed to wrestling. He has a second job, you know.”

“Yeah, he's a cop,” Owen said. “I don't see that as a big deal. People have second jobs in independent wrestling all the time, TK. A show or two per week don't necessarily pay the bills. I'd like to be able to provide enough opportunities to work, especially for folks like Marjan and Paul, but right now we should only do Fridays and see if we can slowly increase the number of shows we're doing.”

TK said nothing, watching Judd and Billy wind down their practice. He didn’t even know if Carlos wanted to go full time with wrestling. He’d said that wrestling was his fun, but once it became full time, it would have to become work, right? Would TK himself enjoy it more if it wasn’t work, if he had a job outside of it? Did he need a purpose outside of heat from the crowds or getting a reaction from a suplex?

His head was swimming in this soup of thoughts.

“What's really going on?” Owen asked, eyes full of concern now.

“Nothing,” TK said, shrugging.

“You're going to meetings, aren't you?”

TK blanched, realizing his attitude about silly, pointless things was making his dad worried. “Yeah, dad, I'm going. I have therapy tomorrow. I'm doing good.”

“Okay, I just want to be sure. It's not easy, to shift your entire life to a new place, full of new people, new routines, uncertainty–”

“Dad, I'm handling it.” TK didn't like the tone of his own voice, too impatient. “I mean it. I'm really fine. I think this is a good place to start a new life. It's better than New York with all the…” He trailed off, thinking back to all the places he knew he could go to and find a hit. All the places he'd been to with Alex that brought up painful memories. “History,” he finished.

Owen put a warm hand on his shoulder. He didn't need to say more, the concern and care was enough, even on days when TK felt he could collapse under it. He was lucky to have parents who cared, who loved so deeply that even at their most imperfect, they were determined to move heaven and earth for him.

That was a lot more than some people had.

He got a text from Carlos after his therapy appointment and a light jog around the new neighborhood to clear his head afterwards. He felt better, clearer.

Coffee? Carlos suggested.

TK wondered if the whole sum of their situation would from now on be Carlos suggesting hangouts that better suited two people dating, and TK rebuffing him.

i can come over he texted back, implication hopefully clear.

Then again, what was the harm? Carlos kissed him in the bedroom and sank down to his knees to deliver another impressive blowjob performance, which left TK catching his breath. Carlos had fingered him during, loosening him up just about, only to leave him wanting and begging to feel that cock inside him again.

“If you’re sure,” Carlos said, smiling down at TK, his cock hard in his hand, a condom in the other.

“Two out of three falls,” TK said breathily, eyes locked on Carlos’s cock as he slid the condom on.

Carlos laughed. “Okay, got it.” He pushed TK’s legs up on his shoulders, and finally gave TK what he wanted, needed.

The dumbest thing about TK was probably his inability to let little things go, which explained why he rambled about Billy goddamn Tyson after sex with a hot guy who he wasn’t supposed to hang around after sex, as per his disavowal of this being anything but casual. But. He really wanted to talk about it.

“And then he said I was a nepotism hire,” TK said, quieting down as it slowly dawned on him how long he’d been rambling.

“Okay, and so what? You’re a great wrestler, better than he ever was.”

“It annoys me.”

Carlos shrugged. “Well, he’s free to think whatever he wants, that’s his right. Your best move is to no-sell him.”

“No-sell him?” TK asked.

“Just don’t react, don’t give him your annoyance or your appreciation. That’s how you shut up guys like that. Don’t fight fire with fire.” Carlos settled down on the bed. “Can we go to sleep now?”

“Don’t fight fire with fire? Maybe you should become a firefighter.” TK nudged him playfully.

“I’ve already got a stripper costume profession, thank you very much,” Carlos said with his eyes closed.

“Firefighters are sexier, though, less problematic.” TK trailed his fingers over Carlos’s chest lazily. “They’ve got those calendars.”

“Uh huh,” Carlos said patiently. “You should become an EMT.”

That came out of nowhere. “What do you mean?” TK asked, confused.

“Michelle was talking about it,” Carlos said casually. “She said you keep a cool head in a crisis.”

“That’s not true,” TK said. He wasn’t a cool head even inside his own head. He was the crisis, the absolute mess behind a hopefully normal exterior. “I– I probably shouldn’t be near drugs, as it stands. I used to use, you know.”

Carlos opened his eyes, sitting up to look at TK. “I didn’t know that. Do you want to talk about it?”

TK bit down on his lip. Why had he said it? Why admit to anything that vulnerable, now, here with Carlos? It had just slipped out, like his mouth wanted to tell someone before his brain caught up. “Not really, it’s just – I’m sober, I’m doing really well. I’m going to meetings, you know, the usual.”

“That’s great,” Carlos said, nodding. “I noticed you drinking soda, but didn’t think – I mean, some guys in the locker room are just health freaks.”

“Yeah, I’m a different type of freak,” TK said, smiling like it was a joke.

Carlos frowned. “Don’t say that. You’re doing great, as far as I can tell. I’m really proud of you.”

TK wanted to change subjects so badly. “Do you really think I’m better now than Billy Tyson ever was?” he asked, half-joking, looking up at Carlos through his lashes.

“Oh, you know you are.” Carlos pressed a warm kiss on his forehead.

“A compliment sounds a lot more sincere when you haven’t just fucked the guy you said it about, you know,” TK said, just as Carlos’s mouth found his own to shut him up for the night.

A night which he ended up staying at Carlos’s house.

“Marj, have you got a second job?” TK asked the next time he went down to the firehouse. Marjan had just finished up a training session with a couple of the local girls and Mateo, teaching them both the basics and some of the necessary flair she’d picked up over the years.

Marjan took a swig from her water bottle and set it down. “Yeah, I used to assist and consult in PR and social media down in Florida. Helped the fire department design a safety campaign with the teens and inclusivity in mind, in fact. That was my last job before I moved.”

“It never got in the way of your wrestling?” TK asked.

Marjan thought about it for a while, pursing her lips together. “Depends on how you see things, I suppose. Some people say if you have a plan B, then your plan A is guaranteed to fail. But wrestling was something I loved, and did for fun, until it grew into my plan A. I never saw it as two professions competing against each other, but complementing each other. I didn’t get much thrills from social media management. I didn’t get much money from wrestling until this place hired me. Combine both and –”

TK nodded. “You have both money and the thrills.” He ducked his head. “I’ve never had that, you know? I’ve never had a real job. Isn’t that funny? I did college, but as an afterthought to wrestling, and then the NY Fed hired me before I even graduated.”

“I think that’s fine, too,” Marjan said encouragingly. “Some people just need their one passion.”

TK didn’t know if wrestling was his passion. It had been his life for so long, and it was what he knew and what he was good at. His dad used to say he lived it and breathed it. But now he felt like he suffocated on it, sometimes.

“What are we talking about?” Paul asked, joining the conversation.

“Second jobs,” Marjan said. “TK’s never had one.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “You’ve never had a shoot job? Lucky. I’ve worked everywhere from offices to grocery stores, doing odd jobs, maintenance, construction, sales. Wrestling has always been on the side.”

“Until now?” TK asked.

“Yeah,” Paul said, nudging Marjan. “Though some days I wouldn’t mind having some extra to fill my days. Owen keeps us busy, but then I think about how busy I used to be, working two jobs and spending my weekends wrestling, and I feel a bit idle.”

“It’s a new situation,” Marjan said. “You’ll get used to it.”

TK didn’t really like the implication that his days were idle. He was very involved with the day-to-day at the old firehouse, making sure everything was working, and spending some time training others and making arrangements for the next event. But, the thought then came to him, maybe he didn’t need to be as involved as he was. Paul was capable, as was Marjan. They could handle some aspects of the job that he was handling, and his dad didn’t seem that swamped at the moment.

But what would he do, if he didn’t do this? Being a personal trainer on the side was an option, and something he’d occasionally done in New York City, but it wasn’t really something he felt truly interested in pursuing. And besides that? He didn’t know anything. He didn’t have any special skills.

He felt unmoored and stepped out of the firehouse, just as Judd was coming in, wearing a heavy jeans jacket during what TK thought was a pretty hot day. Judd gave him a smile and a jovial wave.

TK gave him a nod. “Hey Judd, did you ever have a second job?” He cleared his throat. “Besides pro wrestling, that is.”

“Are you kidding?” Judd scratched the back of his head. “I worked at my dad’s farm, I’ve worked as a bouncer, I’ve done all sorts of shit. Until I became a firefighter.”

TK’s jaw dropped. “You’re a firefighter?”

Judd nodded. “I fell out of love with wrestling for a moment, only working the indies and knowing I wasn’t going to be signed by the major promotions. So I decided to see if I could put my mind towards something that made a difference in the world, and trained to become a firefighter.”

“That must have been difficult.”

“It was a challenge, but one I got through. And I’m happy I did.” Judd gave him a measured look. “Where’s all this coming from, Tyler?”

TK brushed him off. “Marjan and Paul were talking about second jobs. Sounds like you’ve got the best one out of all of them.”

He patted Judd on the shoulder and walked off, trying to clear his head a bit.

He was a good pro wrestler, and he didn’t want to squander that. Would his dad be insulted if he tried something different and pursued something else in his life? But he also knew his dad was a rare case of maintaining his condition, his skill and overcoming injuries enough to keep working so late in life. A lot of less fortunate wrestlers had to retire a lot earlier. Maybe TK would end up being one of such cases, his career suddenly over at thirty-five or forty-five. Then he’d be left wondering this same question with a broken down body.

He walked until he wasn’t sure where he was going, and ran a hand over his face, looking at where he’d ended up.

Like a weirdo, he’d ended up on Carlos’ doorstep. TK pulled out his phone, and then dropped it back into his pocket. No, he wasn’t saddling Carlos with this.

But right at that moment, the front door opened. The frown that knitted Carlos’s features together looked more concerned than weirded out. “You okay?”

“I was just in the neighborhood,” TK lied. “I started walking and, uh, ended up here.”

“Okay,” Carlos said, not judging. “Well, you can come in.”

TK considered his options, turning back and leaving more awkward, more lonely than he was in the mood for right now. Going inside, on the other hand, meant possibly letting Carlos see what a goddamn mess he was.

Or just sex, like he’d always intended it to be. Simple, easy, meaningless.

He went inside.

The event next Friday that set up the match between Billy Tyson and Owen with a tag match, and featured another match between TK and Carlos, went as well as everyone expected. The people behind the scenes at the old fire station worked like a machine, everyone now familiar with their roles and doing their best within those parameters. Paul and Mateo had another tag team match against a team of masked luchadores, and Judd teamed with Owen in the main event against Billy and one of Billy’s proteges.

It was, all in all, a good night.

TK wasn’t sure what to do about the after party, though. He was tired, and he wasn’t at his best right now.

It occurred to him that these were the nights, head full of doubts and thoughts, that he found it easiest to think about using again. Something to take the edge off. Something to make him forget about himself, make him not exist in his own body for just a moment.

His eyes drifted to Carlos, unmasked in one corner of the room and talking to Michelle and Iris. It would be easy to go to him, probably. But as much as he had avoided talking the last time he visited Carlos’s house, crashing into him as soon as Carlos let him in, it wouldn’t always be that.

Carlos had a way of looking at him that felt powerful and disarming. Like he could say anything, and it would be fine.

But it wouldn’t be fine to say anything, to open up, to bare all of his wounds like that. He knew that much.

So instead he texted Carlos. meet me outside if you’re down because Carlos would, of course he would.

“So, how do you think the feud’s going?” Carlos asked him in the afterglow, when TK’s mind was on whether he should ask Carlos to stop using condoms. He wasn’t fucking anyone else, and he wasn’t going to be fucking anyone else, if this kept up and was this good and uncomplicated.

Carlos’s hand stroked over his hair and traced his neck, pleasant and warm. “Oh, it’s alright.” TK really didn’t want to talk about wrestling, but he was aware of how meaningful it might be for Carlos to stop using condoms.

Maybe Carlos took their arrangement’s casual nature to heart and was fucking someone else. TK didn’t really want to hear about that.

“Judd told me Owen is considering a two out of three falls match as the blowoff,” Carlos continued. “Have you ever done one of those?”

“I can’t remember,” TK said honestly. “Probably not. They’re not that common in New York.”

“They don’t know how to do them over there.” Carlos frowned. “Sorry, that’s judgmental, but that’s also just a fact. There’s an arc to how you lay them out and I don’t think I’ve seen many outside of Mexico that have been satisfying.”

“My dad did one against Bobby Nash,” TK said, weighing his options. He could bring it up. But it wouldn’t be – it might be misconstrued as meaning something more. Carlos might ask him about his feelings, and he really doesn’t want to talk about his feelings.

“Oh yeah, I did like that one.” Carlos held onto his neck at the base of the skull, a firm hold that turned TK’s brain into a puddle.

“Do you want to –” he started, then snapped his mouth shut. This route would only take him to Feelingsville, population: Tyler Kennedy Strand. He bit his lip. “Do you want to win the first fall?”

“No, I think I should probably lose.” Carlos’s hand left him. “You alright?”

TK was never alright. “I’m just wondering if you’ll fuck me again tonight.”

Carlos was quiet, then let out a shocked laugh. “I haven’t decided yet,” he replied, his voice purposefully lowered, deeper, darker.

TK grinned, turning around in his arms. “I think you should.”

This was easy, and why shouldn’t things be easy? The outcome his brain had conjured up as a possibility wouldn’t survive the real world. He could open up, talk, ask Carlos to take the next step, become something, turn this into a thing beyond fucking and occasional conversation. And then what? Three months in, Carlos would understand the sweet, fuckable Tyler is actually a former addict, a directionless mess and just a lot to handle even on a good day. Who would want that?

Carlos kissed him, soft and closed mouth, a signal to send them both to sleep. TK wanted to sleep more than he wanted to get fucked again, and so he succumbed to it.

Here was his own private hell: to fall asleep in the arms of a man he didn’t dare to ask more from.

A few days later, Iris was training with Tommy at the old firehouse. TK watched as they rolled around in the ring together, exchanging holds and calling the transitions. Irish was so limber, twisting herself into a pretzel. No wonder she had become a big name on the independent scene over the last year. TK had read rumors she’d had offers from televised promotions to come work under their contracts exclusively, but she’d turned them down. She was struggling from some mental health issues that TK didn’t know the full extent of, but Michelle has implied that it might be better for her to stay close to home and not make any big moves yet.

Iris was also incredibly blunt. “Hi Tyler, so good to see you! Your match with Carlos last Friday wasn’t as good as the first one you guys had against each other.”

“I know, I lost the second match,” TK joked, but her expression stayed the same.

“No, I meant the energy was off. Like you were holding back a bit, both of you.” She blinked at him. “Is it because you don’t want to hit that pretty face of his? I promise he can take a punch or twelve. I’ve done it myself.”

TK snorted. “You’ve wrestled him?”

“Uh, about a thousand times, are you kidding me? He went under the mask for the first time because I gave him a black eye.”

Tommy sat down to the edge of the ring. “I thought it was because of his heritage.”

“Well, maybe a little column A, a little column B. Regardless,” Iris said, turning back to TK. “Are you guys friendly outside the ring?”

“Not sure what you mean by that,” TK said, although alarm bells were going off in his head. Iris wouldn’t beat around the bush. “You’re having a match against Tommy next time?”

“Yeah, I’m pummeling her at the next event. We’ll have a good feud. Carlos really likes you, you know?” She tilted her head and gave him an assessing look. “So don’t hurt him.”

“You just told me to hit him in the face,” TK said sarcastically.

“Sure, give him a facebuster. Break his arm or his back. Just don’t break his heart, you know?” Iris gave him a smile.

“Maybe he’s breaking mine,” TK said darkly, but Iris seemed to have moved on.

She looked at Tommy. “Can you show me the showers?”

Tommy took a deep breath and gestured with her arm towards the locker room area upstairs. TK watched them both go, with Tommy throwing one sympathetic glance in his direction.

Okay, so Iris was a lot, but she didn’t mean anything by it. Obviously Carlos could take care of himself, and TK wasn’t intentionally getting involved with him. He’d been doing his best to do the exact opposite, and it clearly wasn’t working, so he had settled into acceptance that maybe theirs would be a relationship somewhere at the midway point between strictly casual and actually committed. Wasn’t that exactly the kind of thing people did in the 2020s?

All told, TK was more concerned about what she had said about their match. He didn’t think it had lost any of the edge and intensity, in fact he’d thought it had gained more of it.

did our second match suck he texted Carlos, who wrote back three pointed question marks. Iris said it did TK wrote as explanation.

Carlos called him. “I love her, but she’s a harsh critic. That’s how she got to be so good. She’s very hard on herself.”

“She can be hard on herself all day long,” TK said, pressing his phone between his ear and his shoulder. “What if she’s right about our match?”

“She’s not, but okay.” Carlos took a deep breath, audible through the phone. “It’s not that you pull your punches. Obviously it’s all a work, we wouldn’t hurt each other – but was there some emotion we failed to convey during the whole thing? I don’t know. Maybe you should ask someone who was watching backstage. Owen or Michelle or Tommy.”

“I might,” TK said vaguely. “I guess this just means we need to put our best foot forward in the third match.”

“Yeah, about that,” Carlos said. “Owen said – and he wasn’t sure if this is the plan, he just wanted to see how I felt about it – that he might put us together as a tag team down the line. How do you feel about that?”

TK thought about it. He didn’t particularly enjoy tag team wrestling, because most of the top spots were typically reserved for singles wrestlers. Tag team wrestling was fun to watch, though, and could have a lot of things happening all at once. It was a tremendous opportunity to tell the audience different kinds of stories.

“I’m alright with it.” TK paused. “If you are, that is.”

“I think it might be interesting,” Carlos said. “To tell you the truth, I’m not really going to tell Owen no as long as he keeps booking me.”

“Why would he stop? You’re great.” TK smiled into the phone.

“Maybe he finds out I’m dating his son,” Carlos said lightly and TK’s heart just about stopped.

They weren’t dating. Not really. Not in the sense that people usually date. But whatever. Carlos was just joking. It wasn’t a big deal and TK could easily laugh it off.

“He’s cool, don’t worry about that,” he said and transitioned into talking about their match instead.

A week went by with another event behind them. This time Carlos had a match against Mateo, a short little thing to test out how far Mateo had come when it came to improving his skills in the ring, but the match was cut short with TK running interference and nearly costing El Solitario the match. It moved the story forward without them actually having to wrestle again. Owen didn’t want to tire out the audience and run the same matches too closely back-to-back, which TK understood perfectly.

Owen had made them dinner, some new grain he’d picked up from the organic grocery he was obsessed with, along with some oven baked chicken and vegetables. It was lean, nutritious and plenty flavorful, but TK was really craving a New York slice. That’s when the thought came to him, once again.

“Dad, did you always want to be a wrestler?” he asked, putting down his fork on the plate. “Did you ever think about another profession?”

“I worked in construction for a while,” his dad said, shrugging. “It was physical and demanding, but I needed something to pay the bills while wrestling didn’t. But I got lucky pretty young, only twenty-two when I got my first decent paycheck from wrestling. I was really lucky.”

TK bit into his lip. He himself was also very lucky. Why would he throw that away?

But. He had to share this with his dad. Because if he didn’t, and he didn’t change his mind about it, his dad would be worried about him again. He couldn’t risk that.

“Michelle told me the EMT training is a couple of years, depending on what course and specifications you choose,” he said. “Isn’t that wild? In such a short amount of time, they’re ready to save lives.”

“I know, it’s very admirable.” Owen’s brow furrowed.

“I love wrestling,” TK said to preface what he was going to say, but he could see the smile forming on his dad’s face.

“You just want to try something else,” Owen said, nodding in understanding already.

“I don’t know if I can do it yet,” TK said.

“You can and you will,” Owen replied. “And wrestling will always be there, if you want it.”

“I still want it. I just don’t know if I want to pursue it as the only thing. I know I can be the best at it, I just have to keep working at it, and do my best, but –” TK took a deep inhale. “I don’t know if that’s what I want, at the end of the day. To keep striving towards a goal I don’t truly want, just to prove that I can. Just to show you that I can do it.”

“TK, you’ve already done so many amazing things. You’re one of the most talented young wrestlers working today, and I am not just saying that because I’m your father.” Owen stood up, and walked to the other side of the table, placing his hand on TK’s shoulder. “Whatever you choose to do, I support you in it.”

“I’m not giving up on it,” TK insisted. “I’m just pursuing something else, that I think also has a lot of meaning. I don’t even know if I can make it.”

“I don’t have any doubt you will,” Owen said.

TK breathed in, breathed out. He had expected so much more turmoil than this, so many more questions. But his dad accepted it, with such grace and endless understanding it was almost a little strange.

“Why are you so okay with this?” TK asked.

Owen sighed. “Because I caught Nancy telling Tommy she’s never seen a layperson look so calm than when you were there and that poor girl’s foot got cut during our first event. So I thought, maybe they’d talk to you about it, tell you have a natural gift for it. And my first thought, my first selfish impulse was to think, ‘I’m going to lose him.’ But lose you how exactly? You’re not my son because you’re a wrestler. You’re my son because you’re my son.”

TK tried not to get too emotional about that line, swallowing down on a tiny lump in his throat. “I guess we’d see each other less.”

Owen let out a joyless laugh and moved towards the kitchen island. “We saw each other a lot less growing up when I was touring the world and you were going to school in New York. You can always come to the firehouse, or my house when you need to, when you want to, even if you move out or buy your own place or move in together with a boyfriend. I’m not going away.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” TK said instinctively.

“I didn’t say you had a boyfriend, I was speaking in hypotheticals –” Owen put his hands on the island, his eyes narrowing at TK. “Wait, do you have a boyfriend?”

“What? No,” TK said, and hopefully every modicum of acting he’d learned over the years was enough to convince his dad of that fact.

Maybe, or maybe not. “I’d love to meet him when the time is right,” Owen said. “You want dessert? I made olive oil cupcakes with acai superberries.”

TK didn’t even try to hide the disgust he felt at the prospect of eating such a combination. “I think Paul and Marjan are hosting a game night, so I should get going.”

Owen nodded, and opened his arms for a hug for TK to step into. TK hugged his dad, and stepped back a second before it got too awkward.

He felt lighter from the talk, even if he wasn’t completely sure about the path he had chosen. Still, it felt right, it felt important and it felt like it was something he had to try, even if he failed miserably at it.

Just before his third match against Carlos, TK's head was swimming with all that had happened and all that would happen. Might happen?

He had to face the fact that this wasn't just casual, it wasn't just a fling, and it certainly wasn't just fucking, as much as he had intended it to be. Meeting Carlos had changed him, had molded the entire course of his life. He had signed up for the EMT training, bought the study materials and talked to his dad about shifting some of his responsibilities to Paul, Mateo and Marjan, and Nancy, who was taking on a bigger role with the marketing alongside Marjan.

So there was that. Then there was the other part, the thumping beat of his heart whenever he was with Carlos, the softness in Carlos’s eyes. Don't break his heart, Iris had said, but what about TK's heart which was also now involved? Carlos didn't seem the type to be a jerk, but that didn't mean he was interested in TK on that level.

In all his work avoiding intimacy, he had still ended up on that level with Carlos. He felt it in every interaction, in every lingering look and touch, in every instance where instead of any of his friends or family members, he wanted to tell Carlos something first. He was already there with him. So he might as well admit it.

TK's train of thought was broken by Marjan. “You haven't put down a finish yet,” she said. “Do you know who wins yet?”

He nodded. “Yeah, Carlos. He wins the series.”

“Oh, then I guess he bleeds.” She wiggled her fingers over her forehead.

“We aren't getting color tonight.” TK could barely get the words out.

“Carlos said–” Marjan started, but TK was already on his way to find him.

When he did, Carlos looked nonplussed at TK's disapproval.

“We can't get color,” TK said. “That's too indie.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow. “We are at an independent promotion, I hate to tell you. But that's not what's important.” He drew a deep breath. “I thought about what Iris said, and it's true, kind of. Both of us were holding back at that last match. So this is the blow off, the crowd needs us to get to that next level. We don't need to do an extra ten minutes or more high spots. We just need to inject more violence into whatever we end up doing.”

“I don't really like doing it,” TK tried, even though he knew in his heart of hearts, Carlos was completely right. They did need to go to that extra gear to get the crowd more invested in their match.

“I'm the one who will be bleeding,” Carlos said. “A small trickle down the side of my face. Nothing too dangerous.”

TK bit his lower lip. He really wanted to argue, wanted to say categorically no, maybe even tell Carlos this was something he had vowed never to do in his life. But at the end of the day bone of those things were true.

Blood was a part of wrestling storytelling, a visceral reminder to the audience that no matter how fake they knew it was, some of it was real. They all bled the same color.

what it came down to was thia: he didn't mind bleeding. He just didn't want Carlos to do it.

“I'm blading. You go over. I'll do it properly, crimson mask, give them something they will never forget.”

Carlos looked shocked. “Tyler, you don't have to–”

“I wqnt to, becaue You're right and I care about this.” I care about you. He summoned the courage to voice it. “And you're kind of my boyfriend now, so.”

Carlos smiled, but his eyes showed it more than his mouth did, almost as if he was trying to stop himself from smiling too hard. “I kind of am, yeah.”

“If that's okay with you,” TK added.

“It's extremely okay,” Carlos said, his smile widening. “And extremely you to tell me at a moment like this.”

“I thought about telling you in the ring,” TK joked. “While holding down your shoulders.”

“And make me forget to kick out?” Carlos laughed easily. “That seems a little unfair.”

“Hey,” TK said. The warmth in his chest overwhelmed him, but it felt too early to try and put into words what precisely it might mean. “Thank you,” he opted for instead, and leaned into Carlos, kissing his mouth softly.

“You're welcome,” Carlos murmured against his lips, voice deep and dark with promise, and TK felt like Texas just might end up becoming truly home.