Rating: NC-17 - explicit m/m sexual content, non-consensual sex/questionable consent, strong violence, coarse language.
Continuity: NWA-TNA, post-10/01/2003 PPV. AJ is humiliated two weeks in a row by Dusty Rhodes with a little help from Jeff Jarrett.
Characters: AJ Styles, Jeff Jarrett.
Summary: AJ wants some payback, and he's gonna get it from Jeff Jarrett.
Note: This fic kinda echoes "Strategy", mostly because I wrote these two at nearly the same time. They have no relation to each other. I'm just a repetitive person, I guess. -_-

Possum

by Twig

A man was always at his most vulnerable when he was unlocking a door: his back turned to the world, concentration focused on sliding the slip of metal or plastic through a narrow slot. It made for a perfect opportunity, and AJ Styles seized it. A good tackle was all it took to knock Jeff Jarrett through his door and down to the floor, though the landing was a little less graceful than AJ had intended, the both of them tumbling in a mess of limbs. But no matter.

He was too furious to care about little things like grace.

AJ was quick to regain his bearing, but so was Jarrett, the two of them tussling to gain a position of control over the other, rolling about in the narrow entranceway of the hotel room. Hands fisted over the front of Jarrett's shirt, AJ attempted to slam Jarrett down to the floor when he managed to roll on top, but a cuff to his jaw momentarily stunned him, a flash of stars before his eyes that blinded him to a second blow to his chest.

The sensible thing to do, of course, would be to retreat, gather a breather and rethink his strategy, but rage allowed no room for rational thought. A short pull of a painful breath was the only allowance AJ would give himself, and he retaliated with a headbutt that hurt him almost as much as it hurt Jarrett. But the move paid off, incapacitating Jarrett just long enough for AJ to take the victory, body pinning Jarrett's to the floor.

For a moment, there was only the sound of harsh breathing.

"What the fuck do ya think you're doin'?" Jarrett yelled as he struggled, trying his best to buck AJ's weight off him. AJ allowed no such thing to happen, and every attempt by Jarrett to free himself was effectively stopped, his hands pinning Jarrett's wrists down to the floor hard enough to make Jarrett wince.

"You want another headbutt?" AJ snarled. "I'll break your nose, don't think I won't do it."

Jarrett stilled, blue eyes glaring up with the intensity of a supernova. There was fury in those eyes, but AJ knew Jarrett's wrath could not match his.

"You think you can get away with humiliatin' me like that?" AJ demanded as he pushed ever harder down on Jarrett's wrists, feeling the bones creak under the pressure. "You think you can just disrespect AJ Styles and walk away scott free? I don't think so."

A low growl left Jarrett's throat, the sound as frustrated as it was angry. "That was Dusty."

"You helped."

Jarrett growled again, then gave up struggling completely. There was a startling lack of resistance in his body now, but AJ refused to buy the possum act.

"You got a match with Dusty next week. For the title," Jarrett added with a great deal of displeasure. "What more d'ya want?"

AJ scoffed. "Oh, don't worry. I'll beat the crap outta your fat buddy next week. You won't lose your titleshot. But if ya think I'm just gonna let you walk, you got another thing comin'. See, you don't disrespect the champ, Jeff. You just don't do that."

The reaction AJ got from Jarrett was the last one he expected. A smirk. No apology, no fear, and definitely no respect. A smirk.

"What's Russo gonna say 'bout this, huh?"

Disbelief coursed through AJ at those words, and he let go of Jarrett's wrist only to deliver a broad-hand smack to Jarrett's face, much like the smack he had delivered to Russo earlier in the evening.

"Russo doesn't own me!"

Head turned to the side from the force of the blow, Jarrett licked the corner of his mouth, as though expecting to taste blood, but his lip was not split.

"Nobody owns me," AJ snarled through clenched teeth.

Jarrett chuckled as he slowly turned his head back. Though his hands were no longer restrained, he made no move to free himself. "Yeah? Ya know, that's not what I heard."

Uncertainty flickered through AJ, and he hated its existence. "What're you talkin' about?"

"Russo owns you." Jarrett dragged his gaze down AJ's body in a slow, appraising manner, the corner of his mouth upturned in a sly smirk. "Owns quite a lot of you, in fact."

Red flooded AJ's vision, and his hand lifted to deliver a second blow, but his wrist was caught by Jarrett on the downswing. AJ quickly yanked his hand free.

"Russo doesn't own me," AJ snarled again.

Jarrett's smirk widened. "So you keep sayin'."

Rage clouded everything now; there was only the roar of injured ego that screamed its demand for blood, for vengeance. AJ grabbed the front of Jarrett's shirt with both hands and yanked him up, face thrust into Jarrett's as he stared straight into his eyes.

"I'm nobody's bitch, Jeff, and you are gonna respect me. You're gonna respect AJ Styles, whether you want to or not."

AJ got off Jarrett and hauled him up to his feet, awareness set on high, alert for any hint of retaliation on Jarrett's part. Jarrett, however, seemed content to be docile for the moment, hands raised in the air as a sign of conciliatory surrender. AJ refused to be deceived. No way he was going to relax his guard for even a single second in Jeff Jarrett's presence. With a hard shove, AJ pushed Jarrett down the hallway and into the bedroom. Another shove landed Jarrett on the bed.

Jarrett was smirking still, and AJ wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his face. Words were useless, and AJ hardly thought of himself as eloquent, so he opted for action once again, tackling Jarrett on the bed. AJ was shocked to hear a laugh from Jarrett.

"You think this is a game?" AJ yelled as he delivered quick, wild blows to Jarrett's upper body, payback for that belittling laugh, a flurry of fists and forearms that Jarrett was near helpless to deflect. The most he could seem to do was raise his arms and protect his head as much as possible. The jolt of furious energy on AJ's part was quick to dissipate, however, offering a window of opportunity for Jarrett to go on the offensive and attempt to regain the upper hand, though this scuffle was nothing like the one they had at the door. Despite the beating he had taken, Jarrett was not taking this seriously, AJ could tell. There was something almost... playful in Jarrett's demeanor, which only further piqued AJ's temper.

Jarrett laughed again as he blocked a blow from AJ directed at his head. "AJ, AJ, AJ... just give it up, all right?"

AJ made a loud noise of frustration, then grunted in satisfaction when he managed to slam the heel of his palm into Jarrett's collarbone, scoring a yelp of pain. His triumph was short-lived, however, as Jarrett gained the leverage necessary to roll them over so he was on top, but AJ was undeterred. Using the momentum against Jarrett, he continued the roll until he was on top once again, though the move brought them precariously close to the edge of the bed.

Jarrett deflected yet another blow. "Jesus fuck, AJ, would ya stop?!" AJ ignored the outburst and attempted to smash his forearm into Jarrett's face, but his arm was grabbed. A hard yank was enough to throw AJ off balance, making him topple over.

Eyes wide with surprise, AJ found himself on top of Jarrett, chest-to-chest, Jarrett's arms locked around his back. AJ tried to push himself off Jarrett, but the hold was strong and he had no leverage, his legs entangled in Jarrett's. Like a fish in a net, AJ was effectively snared.

"What the f--"

"Shhh."

Panting, AJ stared down at Jarrett's grinning face.

"I think... I know... what your problem is, AJ," Jarrett said, sounding breathless.

AJ narrowed his eyes. "What?"

Jarrett took a moment to chase his breath back, then answered with a smirk, "You need to get laid."

"What?!"

Jarrett gave a low chuckle. "So you got your ass smacked on TV, so what?"

AJ struggled, snarling, "Nobody hum--"

"Yeah, yeah, nobody humiliates AJ Styles, I heard that the first fifteen times ya said it." Jarrett was much too assured of himself, and AJ hated it. Hated this, being trapped, ache flooding his body now that he was no longer consumed by the fury of a brawl. "You're just too uptight, ya ever thought about that?"

Perplexed and offended, AJ barked a negative. "No!" AJ attempted to free himself of Jarrett's hold yet again, shifting and squirming and struggling.

Abruptly, he stilled. A sharp intake of breath marked his shock.

AJ slowly met Jarrett's eyes. "You're... you're--" He couldn't even complete the thought.

Jarrett's smirk widened into a full grin. "You mean you're not?" He pushed his hips up, and AJ wasn't quick enough to draw back. A rumbly laugh escaped Jarrett's throat. "That answers that question."

"It's not like that!" AJ hissed, but his protest went unheard, and he was carried by Jarrett when Jarrett rolled to bring himself on top. AJ wasn't allowed even a moment to settle or struggle as Jarrett pushed his hips into him.

"Get off me!" An attempt to kick Jarrett off failed miserably, his foot glancing off Jarrett's side. It was just the opening Jarrett needed to force himself between AJ's legs. When Jarrett rolled his hips forward again, AJ could feel his hardness pressed against his own.

Heat flushed AJ's cheeks.

"Get. Off. Me!" AJ punctuated each word with a clubbing blow to Jarrett's back, but Jarrett only laughed. God, AJ was really beginning to hate that laugh.

"If you really want me to stop, you'd make me stop. You ain't fightin' all that hard, are ya, AJ?" Jarrett nudged AJ's nose with his own and smirked. "Hmm?"

Panting slightly, AJ turned his face away. "Never figured you for a faggot."

Jarrett snorted. "You're the one who pushed me on the bed." He leaned down lower, lips nearly brushing AJ's earlobe, and whispered hotly into AJ's ear, "It's what you wanted, isn't it? Make me respect ya?" The softest laugh. "Don't go pointin' fingers, AJ, 'specially when your cock's as hard as mine."

AJ squirmed, which was a monumentally bad idea. Pressed close as Jarrett was, all AJ succeeded in doing was rub himself even more against Jarrett, a move that left him near whimpering as a flash of heat flooded him. Jarrett's laughter was little more than hot breath skimming AJ's ear.

"This how you want it? Maybe you wanna roll on your stomach." Another chuckle. "But I think I like ya like this, legs spread wide like a whore's."

That was the last straw.

Fueled by blind rage, AJ violently twisted as he brought a swift elbow up, clipping Jarrett hard in the jaw. Jarrett's head snapped back, giving AJ all the room he needed to wrench himself free. Escape, however, was not his intention. Oh no.

Legs spread like a whore's? AJ was going to show Jeff Jarrett.

Still dazed from the blow, Jarrett was easy to take down, pinned face-first onto the bed. First, AJ undid his own belt and fly, then he worked on Jarrett's and yanked his jeans down over his hips. AJ spat onto his hand and gave himself a quick stroke. By the time Jarrett realized what was happening, it was already too late.

With one hard thrust, AJ buried himself in the tight heat of Jarrett's body. AJ hissed softly; nothing compared to that first push of penetration, the scorching pleasure that sizzled through his entire body. The icing on the cake was Jarrett's cry of pain and his desperate clutching of the bedsheets. Despite only being able to see Jarrett's profile, AJ nonetheless relished the close-eyed look on Jarrett's face, a mixture of shock and anguish. It was a hell of a lot better than that infuriating smirk AJ had seen from him so far.

Satisfying though this might be, AJ had a change of heart. Brutality had its rewards, but now that he was here, there were better goals to accomplish. His body wanted to thrust, but AJ held himself back, waiting for Jarrett to adjust under him. As the expression of pain finally ebbed from Jarrett's features and his deathgrip on the sheets slowly eased, AJ began to move. Slow. Easy. Almost gentle.

Jarrett's brow furrowed for the first few thrusts, but soon enough, even that hint of discomfort and unease was gone. AJ laid a hand on the nape of Jarrett's neck as he pushed forward a little faster, free hand pushing Jarrett's shirt up over his back then yanking Jarrett's jeans lower around his thighs. AJ would like nothing more than to have Jarrett completely naked under him while he himself remained fully clothed, but this would have to do.

Then, AJ was granted something even better.

Jarrett moaned.

It was a soft, strained sound, but it was unmistakably a moan. Grinning, AJ swivelled his hips and received a repeat performance, a second moan that was as strained as the first but a little louder in volume. Now that he knew where to aim, AJ saved no effort. His hips drove into Jarrett in a rapid rhythm, relentless and unforgiving, not a drop of mercy to spare, and their results were plain to see and hear. The moaning remained soft, but was constant, Jarrett once again clutching the sheets, not in pain but in unbearable pleasure.

AJ had no intention of taking any of that away from Jarrett. Oh no. He was going to make sure Jarrett enjoyed getting fucked. Jeff Jarrett was going to enjoy being fucked by someone he hated, someone who was a rival, someone who was over a decade his junior. Someone who had his precious title.

It would be the sweetest revenge AJ had ever known.

Even as AJ basked in that knowledge, however, fatigue was encroaching his limbs, much to AJ's disapproval. He had far better endurance than this, though he supposed his brawl with Jarrett had taken more from him than he had thought, not to mention that he'd had a match earlier this evening. With a low snarl, AJ quickened his pace, determined to finish it off before his exhaustion became obvious.

"Jerk yourself off," he growled into Jarrett's ear and was pleased to be met with compliance. It hardly took much for Jarrett to go over the edge, a moan accompanied by a shudder marking his climax. That part accomplished, AJ concentrated on himself, rhythm losing steadiness as he neared the finish mark. As he stared down at the man pinned under him, sudden realization shot through AJ with the clarity of a rung bell.

All those battles between them -- the hard-fought brawls, the vicious beatings, the ruthless competition -- had culminated into this:

He, AJ Styles, was fucking Jeff Jarrett.

This was more than sweet revenge; this was glorious victory.

AJ came with all the force of a freight train, the white-hot rush scorching his veins like so much molten lava. For the longest moment, there was nothing but bliss, pure sensation like freefall. Then reality returned, aftershocks quaking through AJ's body as he withdrew. He panted for breath as he remembered where he was. Who he was.

When AJ opened his eyes, Jarrett had rolled onto his back. He looked down, expecting to see shame and humiliation smeared across Jarrett's face, but he saw only lazy satisfaction.

What the hell?!

Stunned, AJ was slow to react when Jarrett tugged him down, and their lips met in a surprisingly simple kiss, chaste and almost gentle. AJ tried to pull away, but Jarrett would have none of it, his grip on the back of AJ's neck firm and irresistible, and AJ made a muffled noise of protest when Jarrett's tongue slipped into his mouth.

Kissing was not something that he did with people like Jarrett, but damn, Jarrett was good at it. Really good. And soon, AJ found himself returning it, eyes slipping shut in enjoyment despite all the protests in his head.

It had been a long day, and AJ was tired. What did a kiss matter anyway? The victory was clearly his.

No, a kiss didn't matter at all.

And it felt real nice, too, when Jarrett guided him to rest on the bed, to lay on his side and continue the slow, thorough exploration of his mouth. Jarrett had obviously accepted his defeat and was offering a tribute. There was a pliancy in his motions that AJ very much liked.

"AJ?" Jarrett murmured against his mouth.

"Hmm?"

"How 'bout you rest up, and we go again later, huh?"

AJ couldn't keep the grin off his face.

"Yeah, sure. I'd like that."

Then AJ pressed his mouth to Jarrett's and sealed it with a kiss.

Hours later, a rather exhausted Jeff Jarrett stretched on his bed and glanced toward his companion, smirking slightly as he found that he liked the sight of a naked, dozing AJ on his bed. The second round was nowhere near as earth-shattering as the first, but it was definitely enjoyable, slow and warm and almost sweet. Exhaustion suited AJ well; it took the aggression out of him nicely.

Jarrett rolled onto his side to get a better look, gazing down at AJ's sleeping form. So peaceful; almost cute, with those scornful blue eyes closed and the cocky smirk a distant memory from his lips, hair tousled and skin flushed. AJ looked young and fresh, maybe even innocent.

Jarrett smiled to himself.

The impetuousness of youth: no matter the fire, no matter the passion, AJ Styles would eventually fall victim to it. In the end, he was just a kid, a child playing in a grown-up world.

Jarrett grazed a fingertip down AJ's cheek. The touch was not fond, not affectionate, but appraising.

Your title's gonna be mine, Styles, and you're gonna enjoy losin' it to me.

AJ slept on, oblivious.

Sweet dreams.

~end~