He tightened and loosened his clenched fist, trying unsuccessfully to calm down. Who was he even mad at? Shit. Judge wasn’t his boyfriend or lover, what did it matter how he treated him? There was a fraying nerve or some tangible thing inside him battling with his sanity. He’d never been so full of anger as he had in the last couple months, and it was driving him crazy. People were starting to notice, too. He had to get himself in order. He drew a breath in and walked over to the sink to splash some water on his face. It was cold and refreshing to his heated skin, but as soon as he stopped pouring water over himself, he was burning up again. Oh, that wasn’t good. Was not good at all. If he didn’t figure his shit out, using the phrase “loose cannon” to describe him would be the gross understatement of the year.
Michaels ran water over his hair too, shaking the short strands, making them appear spiky and wild all over his head. As soon as he turned around, he saw Judge walking in. Great. He pulled a few paper towels off the roll and wiped at his wet face. His heart was still beating rapidly but he tried to tamp down his excitement. Conceal it.
“You done with your temper tantrum?” Judge grinned.
It so wasn’t a good time to tease him. Michaels bared his teeth, his anger pouring off of him like carbon monoxide gas, poisonous to anyone unfortunate enough to get close to him and breathe it in. He glared back at Judge, his chin tucked against his panting chest. His fists unconsciously balled up at his sides. Judge stroked his beard, watching him as maybe a bear would watch a lion. Both animals dominant and territorial. Not natural enemies but damn sure not friends.
“I see,” Judge said coolly, one hundred percent composed, and damn if that didn’t piss Michaels off even more. “You want to fight again.”
“Leave,” Michaels snarled.
Judge slowly closed the distance between them. “It’s me you want to fight? You sure about that? Think long and hard before you come to that conclusion.”
Michaels turned back towards the sink. He gripped the cool surface, feeling like he could rip it out of the wall. He heard Judge’s footsteps; he didn’t try to sneak up on him. He was bold and daring. As soon as that thick palm gripped his neck, Michaels pivoted and threw his elbow up, but Judge blocked it easily; like he was prepared for it. He hooked his arm in the crook of Michaels’ elbow, taking that hand out of the fight. Blinding red and white lights flashed in front of his eyes. Fury. Judge’s other hand came up quickly and gripped his bicep, squeezing hard and preventing him from taking a swing with his right. Now with both of his arms under control, Judge flung them backwards into the large handicap stall and barricaded him up against the wall with his bulk. Michaels struggled in the tight hold and Judge bit him hard on his neck.
“Ow! You motherfucker! Don’t do that again, if you know what’s good for you!” Michaels yelled.
Judge did him the same as last night. He used his brawn to pin him down, that thick beard scrubbed across Michaels’ cheek while Judge growled and nuzzled him angrily, hissing against the side of his face, “Calm the fuck down!”
Judge slowed his breathing. His hands began to loosen but he didn’t let Michaels go. He felt Judge’s hot breath on his neck and it made his temperature spike to sweltering. “I’m going to let your hands go now. Don’t you even fuckin’ think about hitting me.”
Judge carefully released Michaels’ hands but he didn’t get out of his space. He kept them chest-to-chest, cheek to cheek, groin to groin. Michaels dropped his arms to his sides, not trusting himself to put his hands anywhere on Judge. But it appeared the big man didn’t have that problem. Judge slowly massaged his hands up Michaels’ arms until he got to his shoulders. Those thick hands kneaded his muscles there, working his way to the tight skin around his throat. Judge’s hands clamped around him and Michaels’ eyes went wide. Automatically he clasped his hands around Judge’s forearms. Judge pulled back and looked him in the eye before he dipped his knees and leaned in to his throat, licking a slow, slick path up to his chin, stopping just before he got to his lips. “Your rage taste so good to me.” Judge jerked Michaels’ belt open and shoved his pants down until they were at his knees.
The first touch to his cock was like a jolt of lightning. He wanted to fight it, fight Judge, fight what he was doing to him; but with every stroke from the tip of his cock to the base, a little more of the fight fled from him.