fight club

He put his hand on his shoulder, he wanted to hold back but the grip on him threw him into a quiet frenzy and there was a brief storm that brewed in his stomach. Spinning from the left to the right, Bayard’s body was a blur with speed, grabbing the man by the back of his neck was simple, the large hands he possessed nearly gripped index to thumb around the front of the mans neck.

Bayard would have tolerated ignorance, he could have tolerated, he could have put up with it but this one needed to be taught a lesson. The thrust of his palm the weight of the movement, trained, precise made the weight on the man his downfall. Face first into the accompanied wall, nearly implanting the mans head through the concrete. Bayard was certain there were less bones in the face, plates really, that all connected but the muscles involved would send a shock wave of pain.

Bayard realized he had made a mistake to start with the head of the victim, but, the message was clearer once the shock wave wore off. The adrenaline was coursing through his body, Bayard couldn’t stop shaking. The neck went limp, the muscles resting like a boiled noodle in his hand, slipping down with the sweat. He stumbled back and Bayard cleared the way.

In the mans eyes, his head appeared fuzzy, spinning, disoriented.

He threw a wild, ill-advise haymaker which bayard blocked with his elbow and pushed away, swinging towards the mans exposed kidneys. It landed with such force that the dull impact was a flat resonating chorus that he flirted on breaking a rib.

Bayard couldn’t believe it, the noise was reverberating through his lips and off of his tongue he opened his mouth and expressed an orgasm from it. He had to do this again, he had to hurt him more.

The man, reeling again sulked in to his side, cradling underneath the thrust and made a grab at bayard, which he allowed. His hands gripped the shoulders of his pin striped purple shirt as he lurched his weight forward driving Bayard into a  through the hallway.

He enjoyed it, this challenge but the efforts were pathetic and the moves were too exaggerated and without love. He turned his body in one quick swipe of the shoulders, the mans grip was lost, gently swiping loose fingers across the neck as he collided with the wall. Bayard danced towards him, one hand on the shoulder until his arms crossed one another, pressuring him there and raised a knee to the beat of song in his mind which landed somewhere in his chest cavity. It wasn’t the very tip, not at the knee or the point of his knee, it was along the length of his leg.

He made the next strike count, his leg came down and he swung his body weight with it fluidly driving the tip of his knee somewhere in the space between the upper part of his buttocks and the tail end of the spine. he had hit a nerve, because the man short circuited, loosing all control in his limbs he let out a gurgled moan and hit the floor with a brief twitch. Bayard picked him up.

“I need this, I need to disable you.” he murmured. Quietly, painfully slowly he was wrapping his arms together with the mans right arm. He made a very delicate approach closing his eyes, not aiming for perfection, touch and faith led him along and he found the joint in the shoulder, pressed hard with a free hand and pulled into a lever falling back opposite from where they stood a moment earlier. Bayard felt the ground slap him on the back and the arm popped and continued limp in his grasp and a scream poured out from his victims lips, echoing off the walls, bouncing wildly in his suppressed desires.

He picked him up again. Straightened the man out ever so tenderly, then with a wrapped hand across his face, with a sudden pull and thrust, brought his knee into the center of his face again. This time there was warm underneath his dockers slacks, this time there was blood, this time the center of his nose collapsed into his face. This time, this time he felt him go limp again.

Bayard trembled and let him collapse to the floor, the man, limp, unconscious, broken bones in several parts of his upper body. Bayard touched his cheek, then down over his neck,closing his eyes as he tried to feel it. That fleeting desire, that willingness to do all that was right.

It was gone. The blood was thinning, ears ringing with a desire to simply run. He bathed in that feeling, that raw emotion, that desire. And smiled at no one.

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