Sorry this is so fuckin stupid but here's a ball tapping fic ig
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The narrow alley behind the Rowdy Raven smelled of wet stone and old piss. Lantern light barely reached the mouth of it, leaving most of the space in deep shadow. Muriel’s massive frame took up most of the width between the walls, arms crossed, shoulders hunched like he was trying to make himself smaller and failing completely.
Erden leaned against the opposite wall, pale yellow eyes glinting with that infuriating half-smile he always wore when he knew he was pushing buttons. His voice was low, teasing, just loud enough to carry.
“Come on, big guy. One round. No one’s watching.”
Muriel’s jaw tightened. He hated this game. Hated how Erden always suggested it in public places, hated the smug tilt of his head, hated the way his own blood already ran hotter at the mere suggestion. Ball tapping. Childish. Stupid.
“Last time you tapped me first,” Erden continued, pushing off the wall and stepping closer, “I let you win. This time I won’t be so nice.”
Muriel’s eyes narrowed. “You never let me win.”
Erden’s grin sharpened. “Exactly.”
The first tap came fast - Erden’s boot flicking up with surprising speed, catching Muriel right between the legs. Not full force, but enough to sting, enough to make the giant’s breath hitch and his hands clench into fists the size of Erden’s head.
Muriel didn’t flinch. He just exhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, the way he did right before he snapped.
Then he moved.
One massive hand shot out, grabbed Erden by the throat, and slammed him back against the cold brick wall hard enough that Erden’s skull bounced off stone with a dull thud. The impact rattled his teeth. Muriel’s other hand was already between them, delivering a sharp, punishing tap that made Erden’s knees buckle and a choked sound tear from his throat.
“Fuck - ” Erden hissed, but the word dissolved into a rough laugh that was far too breathless to be casual.
Muriel’s grip on his throat tightened, thumb pressing just under the jaw, cutting off air with practiced precision. He leaned in, foreheads almost touching, voice a low, irritated growl that vibrated through his chest.
“You think this is funny?”
Erden’s pale yellow eyes were already starting to water, but the smirk never left his lips. He tried to speak, managed only a rasping wheeze. Muriel’s fingers flexed, squeezing harder, feeling the rapid flutter of Erden’s pulse under his palm. The other man’s body arched instinctively, hips pressing forward despite the pain radiating from between his legs.
Muriel tapped him again - harder this time - and Erden’s whole body jerked, a strangled moan slipping out before he could swallow it. The sound went straight to Muriel’s gut, twisting something dark and hungry.
“Annoying,” Muriel muttered, almost to himself. His grip loosened just enough for Erden to drag in a shaky breath, then tightened again, pinning him more firmly to the wall.
Erden’s hands came up, not to pull Muriel’s fingers away, but to grip his thick wrist, nails digging in just enough to sting.
Muriel’s eyes darkened. For a moment the only sound was their ragged breathing and the distant noise of the tavern. Then Muriel shifted his stance, thigh shoving between Erden’s legs, pressing up against the growing heat there with deliberate, punishing pressure.
Another sharp tap - this one accompanied by the heel of his palm grinding in just enough to make Erden’s vision spark white. Erden’s head fell back against the brick with a groan that was half pain, half filthy want. His hips rolled forward involuntarily, seeking more friction even as his lungs burned from the chokehold.
Muriel leaned closer, breath hot against Erden’s ear, voice rough with frustration and something far more dangerous.
“You never learn.”
Erden tried to laugh again, but it came out as a broken, gasping moan when Muriel squeezed his throat tighter and delivered one final, vicious tap that made his knees give out completely. Only Muriel’s grip and the press of his thigh kept Erden upright.
The tension between them crackled - violence and need so tangled neither could tell where one ended and the other began. Muriel’s hand stayed locked around Erden’s throat, thumb stroking once over the frantic pulse there, almost tender in its brutality.
Erden’s eyes, pale yellow and glowing faintly in the dark, locked onto Muriel’s with pure, defiant challenge.
