From Best To Bested

Chapter Eleven

Soon, Roman and Ezra had a daily routine. They’d wake up in the morning, and Ezra would either fuck Roman’s mouth or ass, depending on the day of the week. They’d spar together, but anytime Roman moved a little too well, the training would turn into a solo session for Ezra to test his new moves on Roman. Basically turning Roman into a punching bag to remind him of his place.

Roman understood why he lost the first match. But he still couldn’t wrap his head around the second loss, the way his footing faltered, the way one blow to the face left him so light-headed and winded. Ezra was good, better than damn near anyone here, but he had sloppy habits. Habits Roman easily spotted the night of their rematch and continued seeing more of every time they trained together. All the same, Roman would bury those thoughts when they surfaced, and he’d continue his daily routine.

Roman’s life turned into a hazy whirlwind of monotonous routine. Each day bled together, overlapping, and made it easier for Roman to lose himself to the time, to the subtle changes, to the acceptance, and what he hoped would be happiness. Roman wasn’t sure what day he decided to be happy, but now, looking back on each one, he started to see more and more of the good in his situation and less of everything else.

Errands and chitchat and lunch filled their afternoon. It was perfect for Ezra to show off his pretty pink princess to the world. Roman would get his hair updated, he’d be mocked, and usually, Jake the Snake would crawl out of whatever hellhole he came from and gesture lewdly to Roman. He didn’t hide the fact that he had every intention of fucking Roman, of owning him now that he’d fallen from grace, and while Roman knew he was stronger than Jake, faster, and a better overall fighter. While he knew he’d handled Jake and his men before in the arena and in back hallways when they’d tried to jump him in the past, he no longer believed in himself. That lack of belief made Roman’s stomach churn and made his skin crawl whenever Jake came around.

Roman would inch closer to Ezra, waiting for his “friend” to protect him. It always ended the same; Ezra would put a hand around Roman’s waist and pull him in close like he was delicate. The other men would snicker, and Jake would take the hint. Sometimes, he’d add a cutting comment before surrendering.

“One of these days, the champion is gonna get bored with you,” Jake would say when in a taunting mood. “When that happens, I’ll gladly offer you my undivided attention. All eight inches of it.”

“I could never get tired of my pretty pink princess,” Ezra would say whenever Jake didn’t take a hint, then he’d kiss Roman on the neck or lick him, and on one occasion, both. “You’d be amazed at the lengths my friend goes to make sure I’m happy.”

Roman would get queasy at those comments, knowing the truth of how much he let Ezra use his holes. How much he enjoyed it. How much he loathed himself for enjoying it. It was just a reaction of his body, which he could handle. It was how Ezra’s calm temper, level attitude, and constant affirmations messed with Roman’s head. This wasn’t okay. But he was okay with it. He didn’t understand or like himself, but it became more and more grueling to fight against the current.

In the afternoons, either after the adrenaline of their workouts or the excitement Ezra got when defending Roman’s honor from taunting, it always resulted in a blowjob. Roman would drop to his knees in the bathroom stall or lay flat on the sparring room mat and let Ezra fuck his throat until he cried and slobbered all over the man’s ten-inch cock. There was no point in staying strong or being brave. Ezra had complete control over his life now, control Roman offered, and giving in to what made Ezra happy usually made him cum faster.

Sometimes, he’d shoot his load down Roman’s throat; sometimes, he’d make him walk around with the trace signs of cum on his face or in his hair. It really depended on Ezra’s mood. Roman got used to it, and eventually, Ezra got bored with parading Roman’s shame. That made Roman happy, made him finally think Ezra didn’t only do this to make him miserable, and added to the haze of Roman’s eventual acceptance.

The evenings were always the same, too. Ezra would want to cum again, which on days designated to allow Roman’s ass rest, it meant he’d have an incredibly sore throat and jaw instead. When the night involved anal, however, Ezra was a beast in the sheets, demanding satisfaction as he tossed Roman about, using him like a cheap toy.

Either Ezra was bored from a lackluster day and sought entertainment in the form of fucking, or he was high off another victory in the arena and craved Roman’s ass as a prize. Roman enjoyed the arena nights. He’d be left alone in the cell for hours, things would be quiet, and for a few breaths, he’d forget where he was or how far he’d fallen.

In any sense, the night came with pleasing Ezra yet again. An unyielding task. Roman had never known someone to be so horny all the time. Ezra was insatiable, and something about dropping his load into Roman made him so satisfied. His eyes never strayed, and his fascination with Roman’s quivering body never tired. Often times, he’d get hard just watching Roman squirm after they’d finished, and Roman would find himself taking a fourth load for the night. He hated it when that happened. He hated it for the first month, anyway. By the second month, he expected the chance of a fourth load. By the third month, he’d help encourage it, sometimes to Ezra’s protest.

“Look at you,” Ezra would tease when refusing Roman his cock. “You’re such a hungry cum slut, aren’t you?”

Roman would blush at that, partially because it degraded him; it was humiliating. But the other part would blush because he knew it made Ezra happy, seeing Roman slightly frazzled and embarrassed and desperate to please him. It made Ezra happy, and when Ezra was happy, Roman was safe.

Late nights were when Ezra tested new kinks out. Morning blowjobs or fucks were always quick and brutal, meant to get Ezra off in five minutes or less. Afternoon blowjobs weren’t much longer, but depending on how much pleasure he took in watching Roman choke on the girth of his cock they could last upwards of twenty minutes. Night was when their sex lasted the longest. Because Ezra wanted to make it last, wanted to fuck for hours, or try something new, he often spent time readying Roman’s hole.

It’d been awkward the first few times, laying on his back with his legs spread and looking over at Ezra while he fingered him, but eventually, Roman learned to relax, allowing himself to indulge in the gentle prodding. Sometimes, Ezra would take extra time, lubing Roman, readying Roman, massaging Roman’s hole, all so he could ensure it left Roman rock hard before the late-night intercourse. On a few occasions, he even made Roman cum, unapologetic as Roman convulsed from the climax. His hands would claw at the bed, desperate to grip his cock and stroke out the last few pearls. Instead, he remembered his place and would buck against Ezra, primal and pleading for more release. Ezra would merely smirk, waiting for Roman to finish and accept his orgasm required Ezra’s touch. Once Roman had settled, Ezra would ready Roman all over again before piledriving him.

Ezra always had fun taking his time late at night, making his thrusts slow, and even so, he could pound into Roman for an hour or sometimes two, three if Roman’s whimpering riled Ezra. They’d even take breaks, Roman resting with Ezra’s hard cock buried inside him. Ezra never wanted the nights to be restful, so whether he used Roman’s mouth or ass late at night, Roman expected it to be an exhausting and unending event.

Roman used to try and distance his mind from the sex, to think of something different, but that never truly worked. If he wanted to escape Ezra’s gaze, wash away the sound of his voice, sometimes Roman would envision Levi. It was strange and not something he’d ever considered before, but somehow, it brought a bit of solace. He also found himself more willing to submit to Ezra’s insatiable needs, which ultimately made Ezra happier, and Roman became content with the arrangement.

More than three months of this had nearly broken down all of Roman’s walls. He’d accepted his fate and knew this was his life. Well, for the next five years, at least. That was the earliest opportunity he had at parole. What really worried him, what stressed him every time he submitted to Ezra, was how long Ezra would be here.

“Can I ask you a question?” Roman asked as he wiped spit from his mouth and licked Ezra’s flaccid cock clean.

Ezra enjoyed the tongue bath, and Roman had gotten so used to the routine, he always went to lick off the slobber he’d left behind when bringing Ezra off.

“You just did, pretty pink princess.” Ezra played with Roman’s hair. His hands were gentle and affectionate, but his eyes were haunting and hollow. “But yeah, you can ask me anything. We’re friends, right?”

“Yeah,” Roman answered between licks. “I just wondered how long your sentence is.”

Ezra stared at him, silently studying Roman, and likely very aware of Roman’s thoughts based on how squeamish he appeared. Roman worried he wore his fear on his face.

“Hoping I’ll be gone soon?” Ezra snatched Roman’s hair and forced his gaze up, craning Roman’s neck in an uncomfortable position. “That’s not very friendly.”

“No,” Roman protested. “The opposite.”

“Oh?” Ezra asked. No, demanded. He wanted Roman to elaborate, and his scowl demanded Roman explain himself.

“Everyone knows you’re my best friend in here,” Roman said, practically ready to take in Ezra’s cock again for a late-night apology blowjob, anything to show his respect. “I just worry what will happen to me when you’re gone. If you leave before me.”

After three months of Ezra fucking him every which way and flaunting their friendship, their relationship, for all to see, Roman believed the minute he stepped outside the cell alone, if he ever dared something so foolish, he’d be snatched up by someone like Jake the Snake, and they wouldn’t ask if Roman would submit. They’d make him. He knew as much as he hated Ezra’s phony affection and playful touches and gentle kisses, they were far more bearable than anything someone else would do. He’d seen the hollowed-out men Jake the Snake assaulted, the vacant expression in men who were railed well beyond their breaking point and forced to serve Jake and his entire crew.

Even if this wasn’t his choice, not really, he did have a say in things. Ultimately, Roman was free to walk away from Ezra at any time—he’d said as much. During the first month, when Roman still had the occasional fire in his eyes, Ezra would remind him of that. But Ezra took care of Roman and ensured he never injured him, which was more than Roman ever expected. He didn’t want to be raped by men that saw Roman as a fallen champion, an easy target.

Roman didn’t want to be passed around. Roman didn’t want to be broken. Roman couldn’t see how broken he already was, though. He’d been torn down by every choice Ezra carved away. Bit by bit, Ezra had shredded and sliced away pieces of Roman so small and so subtle that he hadn’t realized how much of himself he already lost. He actually began to believe this situation wasn’t bad. He had protection. He had love. He had friendship.

In the fall from champion, Roman forgot all the things he aimed for, strived for, believed in, and now only sought to make Ezra happy, to keep him satisfied, and to enjoy the peace it afforded him.

Ezra released Roman’s hair and let his head drop some, but when Roman kept his gaze on Ezra, it made the man smile. He was always so happy to see Roman’s humble obedience, and more than anything, Roman wanted to ensure Ezra wouldn’t go to bed angry.

“I would never let anything happen to my pretty pink princess.” Ezra caressed his face. “Besides, why do you think we train every day?”

Roman shrugged. “So you’re ready for the arena.”

“And so you’re capable if anyone is stupid enough to touch what belongs to me.” He cradled Roman’s face between his hands. “You’re so powerful. I know I had to take away some of that pride, that fiery willpower, but it was only to strengthen our friendship.”

Roman tensed, unsure how to react, how to behave. He only wanted to please Ezra, and normally, he understood the reaction his best friend sought. But right now, he struggled to recall what it meant to be confident and proud.

“Don’t worry about my sentence,” Ezra insisted. “I won’t be leaving here anytime soon.”

“It’s just—”

“I know.” Ezra kissed Roman’s forehead. “I don’t want to talk about your sentence, your past mistakes. I wanna bask in what we have right now.”

Roman’s brows knitted in confusion. It wasn’t uncommon for someone’s sentence to slip out and end up idle gossip, but Roman rarely discussed what he’d done, and fewer here knew about his crime or the guilt he carried for it. He’d called it a mistake, an accident, but manslaughter charges didn’t disappear no matter how genuine the apology.

Nor should they, but Roman wondered if he’d paid enough for that mistake by now. He wondered if the soul of his dead friend found some peace in Roman’s new life position. He wondered if the family who’d abandoned him here cared how he’d fought to become a champion in a corrupt system, then gone from best to bested. Roman didn’t wonder if anyone cared about his predicament or how he’d been forced to learn how to serve the needs of another person above his own. Mostly, he assumed others would take some satisfaction in his plight.

“You’re mine,” Ezra said. No, declared. It was a statement that would rattle the earth if words could. He gripped Roman by the sleeve and pulled him to his feet. “You’re my friend. I will always keep you safe.”

“And I will always keep you happy,” Roman answered, instinctual and desperate to see the sly smile on Ezra’s face return. A smile that meant he was happy. A smile that meant Roman was safe for another night.

“That’s why I love my pretty pink princess.” Ezra leaned in and kissed Roman.

He’d kissed Roman a lot. In the beginning, he mostly kissed Roman’s body. His neck in public, his forehead after a really good blowjob, his left ass cheek after a particularly aggressive fuck. Always the left cheek since Ezra favored his left side, given he was lefthanded. Roman found most of his bruising from slaps and smacks of sex on his left side. Even from sparring, Ezra had a lazy technique of always leaning left. In the beginning, when Ezra kissed Roman on the lips, he’d recoil or flinch or shoot Ezra a disgusted look, only occasionally playing the role properly.

Now, though, Roman returned the kiss without hesitation and saw Ezra’s eyes light up with delight. They’d gone to kissing regularly. It was a different feeling, Ezra’s muscular body, firm grip, and commanding demeanor. Roman went with it, leaned into the role, and found himself lost in Ezra’s mouth more days than not. He wanted to keep kissing, always kissing. He’d do everything else, but sometimes they’d kiss like this until the sun came up, nothing more, nothing less, simply Ezra’s lips, his touch, his tender affection. Most of the time, it served to ready them both, rubbing against each other, each feeling the hard erections, the heat of their bodies, the quiver of anticipated desire.

“I’m thrilled you’ve finally accepted my friendship, truly accepted it,” Ezra said with a whisper.

Roman could see the pleasure it brought him, and while he hated surrendering himself, breaking off the more resilient pieces of himself, he couldn’t imagine making it through his days by resisting every step of the way.

He’d done that the first month. It hollowed him out. It exhausted him. It broke him without him realizing it. After nearly four months of this, he’d learned to love Ezra.

“You know, this has kind of got me all riled up again,” Ezra said, poking at Roman’s sides until he giggled.

Roman forced the laughter, but he knew it made Ezra happy when he let out light and sheepish laughs, so he entertained him.

“I want you to eat my ass,” Ezra said.

“What?” Roman swallowed hard, unsure how to feel, how to react.

This entire arrangement worked because he learned to obediently tend to Ezra. But that usually involved massaging his muscles, stroking his cock, sucking his cock, opening up, and letting his cock inside his hole. It never involved Roman pleasuring Ezra’s hole.

“Some of the guys have been saying it’s a nice feeling.” Ezra shrugged. “It’s got me curious, and I thought maybe you’d be willing to help me explore that curiosity.”

“Okay.” Roman nodded.

“Don’t worry, my ass is clean.” Ezra smirked. “Like you, I keep it nice and tidy. Well, not exactly like you.”

He laughed, humored by the lengths Roman would go to ensure his hole was ready and able to handle Ezra’s cock. Sometimes, that involved douching beforehand. Especially if Ezra planned for a new kink that evening, something to test out, something that would stress Roman’s hole and insides.

Roman only had an accident once, and he panicked so much that he thought Ezra would murder him right then and there. All Ezra did was pull out, clean off his dick, and say, “shit happens,” before insisting Roman clean himself and the bed up before they finish the evening with a blowjob. Ezra’s only scolding came in the form of a warning to never let it happen again. Inform him so he could offer Roman more appropriate breaks. He wanted to own Roman’s hole, not abuse it. From that point on, Roman either watched what he ate, focused on more food during the rest days when his hole recovered, or went to properly clean himself out for his friend.

Friend. Roman really started to believe that after three months of only Ezra’s companionship. It was difficult serving someone every day and not resenting them, but the more Roman accepted his role in their friendship, the easier he found things. Ezra would talk a little nicer on those days. One time, he even stroked Roman hard. He didn’t let him cum. Roman still only achieved climax with Ezra inside him, with Ezra pumping hard behind him, with no hands and a reminder Roman’s cum required Ezra’s pleasure. He didn’t mind, though. Seeing Ezra reach climax was enough for him because it meant Roman had earned another day of safety.

Ezra didn’t just speak in Roman’s defense when someone would make a particularly cutting comment; he’d also step in to defend Roman’s honor in and out of the arena. Roman had accepted his place and carved out the smallest amount of happiness he could with the hand dealt to him.

“Get on the bed,” Ezra instructed. “I’ll straddle you.”

“Okay.” Roman obeyed, taking his place on the bed. He moved the pillow out of habit because Ezra didn’t like it when Roman would cry or moan or yell into the pillow, demanding Roman make himself heard. But Roman had stopped trying to muffle the noises he made when Ezra fucked him after the intensity of the first month.

“Leave it,” Ezra demanded.

“Okay,” Roman said with a quizzical expression. “Wouldn’t it be easier if I was behind you?”

“Oh, like me face down and ass up for you?” Ezra stripped off his clothes and straddled Roman’s chest, putting the full, crushing weight of his body on top of Roman. “That would put you in charge, in control.”

Roman remained quiet, not realizing he’d overstepped with such an innocuous question. He didn’t want to upset Ezra twice in one day.

“Remember, I’m always in charge.” Ezra stared down at him, a smile on his face and hate in his green eyes.

Roman never could understand how Ezra seemed so happy and disgusted all at once. It was a look only Roman ever brought out of Ezra. No matter who he talked with or argued with or fought against, Ezra always seemed content, calm, and collected. There was this calculated strategy to how he carried himself with every single person, from the inmates to the staff. His eyes never held the same menace they did when locked onto Roman.

“Sorry.” Roman braced as Ezra moved further up.

“Don’t be sorry. Be a friend and eat my ass.” Ezra planted his ass on Roman’s mouth, muffling his face with his taint and balls.

Roman went to work, lapping at Ezra’s warm hole. He’d only experimented with eating ass twice in his life. Ezra’s butt was not like Stacy Anderson’s; however, it wasn’t much different, mechanically speaking. Ezra’s hole was hairy, unlike Stacy’s. He shouldn’t be thinking about Stacy right now, especially while lathering a man’s hole with his tongue. The disrespect for her memory was almost as awkward as his current angle. All the same, he thought about Stacy’s many curiosities and how she’d convinced him to try most of his sexually adventurous desires. She was actually the person who introduced Roman to anal, being a fan of the sensation herself and quite demanding that he learn how to use his dick in all the right ways. Roman enjoyed the experience, albeit finding it a bit bizarre the first few times.

She’d tried convincing Roman to let her use her fingers during oral, something Roman promptly rejected. It would’ve taken away from his masculinity, or so he believed at the time. As he lapped Ezra’s hole, poked gently with his tongue, and licked at the ring of his ass, he realized Ezra had no problem surrendering a bit of his masculinity for the sake of pleasure, especially pleasure where he still remained in control.

Roman wondered how things would’ve been different if he’d let Stacy experiment all her fancies with him. She’d had a lot of toys and always wanted to experiment with butt stuff. Maybe the first few dozen times with Ezra would’ve been easier on Roman if he’d agreed to Stacy’s curiosities. Maybe if he spent more time exploring kinks with Stacy, the pair would’ve been too busy to go out drinking. Maybe he would’ve never gotten in that fight. Maybe he would’ve never shoved her in a fit of fury. Maybe he would’ve never killed Stacy.

Her bloody, smashed body replayed in his thoughts a million times like it had far too many times over the years, and regret of his actions threatened to pull him from his current job.

Ezra thrust on top of Roman’s face, moaning with pleasure the more Roman worked over Ezra’s hole. Roman focused wholeheartedly on pleasing Ezra. All the wondering didn’t help Roman and stole from this intimacy that he needed to prioritize. Following the curious wonders was pointless and led down several what-ifs that would never come to be. What if he hadn’t drunk so much his second year of college. What if he hadn’t gone out celebrating after finals. What if he hadn’t gotten into a bar fight. What if…what if…what if…

When Ezra shuddered, arms stretched to grip the underside of the top bunk, Roman could feel the man ready to buckle. He worked his tongue more, licking and lapping and gently poking until Ezra was chasing Roman’s mouth with desire. Even though Ezra preferred to be in charge, Roman found himself controlling the flow of their entanglements more and more.

The more Ezra trusted him, the more Ezra craved him, the more he would surrender dominance. Roman would still suck and bottom, but like now, when he worked over Ezra’s ass with his mouth, Roman would dictate the pace, control the release, determine where things went next. Grabbing ahold of Ezra’s hips, Roman continued rimming the man while sliding a hand around Ezra’s erect cock, and stroking him.

Roman’s own dick throbbed. He wanted to stroke it, too. No, to hammer it away inside a tight hole. Ezra’s hole. It was moments like this where Roman’s dick twitched with excitement, and every fiber of his being wanted to fuck Ezra, to ram his cock into the man, and turn this sordid arrangement into something real. Roman didn’t know what to make of that, so he continued stroking Ezra, continued serving the man.

Eventually, Ezra moved off Roman, slapping his dick against Roman’s face, a look of rage and delight after having his ass eaten. He didn’t ask, didn’t give Roman a warning; he just shoved his dick into Roman’s mouth, groaning with excitement when Roman choked and gagged at the sudden shock of taking Ezra into his mouth.

After a few minutes of erratically face fucking Roman, he slid off and snapped his fingers with a wave of his hand. Roman recognized the gesture and obediently rolled onto his stomach, arching his back and aligning his knees for Ezra’s convenience. Ezra pounded Roman, and Roman did his best to hold his head up while he grunted at the swift thrusts. The pillow called to Roman after such a long and exhausting day, but he could rest after Ezra climaxed.