Kota rummaged through the front seats of the van, shoving aside empty energy drink cans and crumpled fast food wrappers. The floorboards were a disaster zone of discarded receipts, a single sock that definitely belonged to Toby, and what looked like the remnants of a bag of chips that had been crushed into powder. His stomach growled again, louder and more insistent. He was about to give up and resign himself to a hungry drive home when his fingers closed around something rectangular and familiar wedged between the passenger seat and the center console. A Snickers bar. Slightly melted, probably ancient, but still sealed in its wrapper. Jackpot.
He straightened up, already tearing open the wrapper, when a voice cut through the quiet parking lot like a blade.
"WUS GOOD, NIGGA? YOU KOTA?"
Kota turned around just in time to see the fist coming. It connected with his nose before he could even register the face behind it. Pain exploded across his face, white hot and blinding, and he stumbled backward against the van door. The Snickers bar flew out of his hand and skittered across the asphalt. His eyes watered instantly, and the coppery taste of blood touched his upper lip.
"WHAT THE FUCK!" Kota shouted, one hand flying to his nose while the other shoved the guy away hard. He blinked through the tears and saw a tall, broad shouldered Black man standing in front of him, chest heaving, fists still clenched.
The guy's jaw was tight, his eyes blazing with pure fury. His baggy clothes couldn't hide the thick, gym toned muscle in his arms, but his lower body still carried the exaggerated curves that the Vanishing had forced on everyone. His massive ass strained against his loose pants as he shifted his weight, ready to throw another punch.
Kota pushed off the van and slammed the door shut behind him, putting some distance between them. "What the fuck is your problem, man?!"
"You fucked my brother," the guy snarled, stepping forward again. "That's my problem."
Kota blinked, still pinching his bloody nose. "Who? Who's your brother?"
"Magnus."
The name landed like a dropped weight. Kota's mind flashed back to the school bathroom, the circle of seniors, Magnus on his knees with those plump lips and wide eyes. The memory was vivid, the way Magnus had begged, the way his throat had bulged around Kota's cock, the way the whole room had watched and recorded.
"Ohhh. Magnus. Yeah. Look, man, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I got carried away, but it was consensual. He wanted it. I don't rape people. I'm not weird like that. You can ask him yourself."
"I DON'T GIVE A FUCK IF IT WAS CONSENSUAL!" Davion roared, lunging forward with another punch.
Kota dodged this time, instincts kicking in as he sidestepped the blow. Davion's fist sailed past his head and smashed directly through the van's side window. The glass exploded inward with a deafening CRUNCH, shards raining down onto the seats and the asphalt below. Both of them froze for half a second, staring at the damage.
"Shit," Kota breathed, his stomach dropping. "You broke the window. You broke Mort's window."
The thought of Mort's reaction, the death stare, the threats of ball biting, the sheer volcanic fury that was about to erupt, hit Kota harder than any punch could. A surge of anger, real anger, flooded through him. He had been patient. He had tried to de escalate. But this guy had just shattered the van window, and Mort was going to kill someone, and Kota was not about to be the one who got blamed for it.
"Alright," Kota said, his voice dropping low. "You want to fight? Let's fight."
He swung. His fist connected with Davion's jaw with a satisfying crack, snapping the guy's head to the side. Davion staggered, caught off guard by the sudden retaliation, and Kota pressed the advantage. He wasn't a trained fighter.
He had never taken a martial arts class in his life. But he was tall, he was broad, and he had spent years doing track before getting cut senior year. His body was dense with functional muscle, not gym sculpted show muscle. And in this world, where every man had been softened and curved by the Vanishing, that made a difference.
Davion's muscles weren't as developed as they looked. The Vanishing had taken as much as it had given, and even the toughest gangster was still working with a body that had been fundamentally altered. His punches were hard but slow, his swings wide and wild. Kota blocked one, dodged another, and landed a solid hit to Davion's ribs that made him grunt and double over.
Across the parking lot, Davion's boys couldn't see the details of the fight. The van blocked most of the action, and a small crowd of concertgoers who had been lingering outside the venue had started to gather, their phones raised, their bodies forming a loose semicircle around the commotion.
"Yo, Davion's giving him the belt," the lanky one with the durag said, grinning as he craned his neck. "Listen to those hits. That's my boy."
"Nah, that's belt to ASS," the one with the scar corrected, crossing his arms with satisfaction. "He's whooping that flat ass nobody. Told you he didn't need a gun."
"Hope he leaves enough for us to get a turn. I wanna make that dude choke on something."
But inside the circle of onlookers, the reality was very different. Kota kept landing blows. A punch to the shoulder. A knee to the stomach. Another fist to the jaw that sent Davion stumbling back against the side of the van. The fight was a molly wop, a one sided beatdown that was tilting further and further in Kota's favor with every passing second.
Then Davion got dirty. He surged forward with a sudden burst of energy and drove his fist directly into Kota's balls.
The pain was immediate and catastrophic. Kota's vision whited out, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as the agony radiated through his entire body. His knees buckled, and for a moment he thought he was going to collapse right there on the asphalt. But survival instinct kicked in. He grabbed Davion by the shoulders, spun him around, and slammed him face first against the side of the van with enough force to make the whole vehicle rock on its suspension.
"Calm the fuck down," Kota growled, pinning Davion's wrists against the cold metal. His voice was strained, still hoarse from the ball shot, but the command in it was unmistakable.
Davion struggled against the hold, his massive ass pressing back against Kota's hips as he tried to break free. And that was when Kota realized, with a fresh wave of horror, that he was getting hard. The adrenaline, the friction, the warmth of Davion's body pressed against his, it was all combining into a very unfortunate and very poorly timed erection. His cock thickened rapidly in his slacks, the heavy length pressing directly against the cleft of Davion's ass through both layers of fabric.
"Bro," Kota begged, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "Please. Let this rest. Just walk away. I don't want to fight you anymore."
Davion shoved backward hard, breaking free of Kota's grip. He staggered away from the van, chest heaving, his face a mask of confusion and barely contained rage. He didn't turn around to throw another punch. He just stood there for a moment, breathing ragged, one hand pressed against the van for support.
His tiny cock was rock hard, the modest length tenting the front of his loose pants in an unmistakable bulge. As much as he loved fucking femboys, loved the power, the dominance, the way they moaned and begged for him, the feeling he had experienced just now, being pinned, being overpowered, being held against the van by someone bigger and stronger, was something else entirely. Something that made his blood run hot in a way he didn't want to examine.
"This ain't over," Davion muttered, not meeting Kota's eyes. "I'm gonna get your ass next time."
He stormed off toward his boys, his stride stiff and awkward, his hard on still visibly pressing against his pants. His mind was a storm of conflicting emotions, rage and humiliation and something darker and more confusing swirling together until he couldn't separate them anymore.
His boys met him halfway, surrounding him with excited questions and congratulations. "Yo, you knocked him out, right? I couldn't see shit but I heard those hits landing."
"You fucked him up, Davion. I know you did. That flat ass bitch is probably still on the ground."
"What happened? Tell us everything. Did he cry? Did he beg?"
Davion's responses were clipped, one word answers delivered in a flat, distracted voice. "Yeah." "Nah." "Whatever." "Let's go." He wasn't listening to them. His mind was still back at the van, still feeling the cold metal against his cheek and the warm, heavy pressure against his ass. His cock twitched in his pants, and he clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached.
Back at the van, Kota slumped against the shattered window, breathing heavily. His nose had stopped bleeding, but the metallic taste still lingered on his tongue. His balls ached from the cheap shot. His cock was still half hard, pressing insistently against his slacks. He looked around and realized with a jolt that about fifteen new people had gathered, their phones raised, their eyes wide with excitement. They had been recording the entire time.
"Yo, that was insane," one of them said, a lanky femboy with neon green hair and a phone held up like a trophy. "Do you do martial arts? Boxing? MMA? That spin move was crazy."
"Are you a professional fighter? You gotta be a professional fighter. Nobody fights like that without training."
"Can you teach me? I've always wanted to learn self defense. My ass gets grabbed a lot."
Kota let out a tired, slightly hysterical laugh. "No. No martial arts. I just... I don't know. I got lucky."
He was trying to wave them away, to disperse the crowd before things got even more out of hand, when the venue's side door burst open with a violent bang. Mort stormed out, his blunt bob haircut swinging, his dark eyes already blazing with fury. He took one look at the van, at the shattered window, at the glass glittering on the asphalt, and let out a sound that was somewhere between a scream and a roar.
"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO OUR WINDOW?!"