A short n very painful fic written by yours hated (@farbeyondthetrndkill)(fic title holds a song btw)
WHAT IS IT? angst - maybe too much. author sends apologies again.
WHATS INSIDE? invasion. imprisonment. emotional manipulation(?). LK is mental. like really bad.
SUMMARY! LK and Fénix had just had a small exchange of words with one another after their match, and LK was the first to walk away from it. Something in him pulled him back, though. Something—someone—he couldn’t fight against as well as he could his rivals in the ring.
“¿Enserio crees que me importa el dinero?“ (You really think I care about the money?) Laredo Kid whispered with a grin, venom dripping with every syllable, his minty breath fanning in Fénix’s face. The challenger winced at Laredo as the mint stung his eyes, the closeness of their faces heightening his senses. Fénix could only watch and listen, stuck in a state of immobilization, frozen by fear, confined by force. Laredo shook his head with a deep, irritated laugh, standing upright with arms crossed over his chest before Fénix, looking down at his rival with an overly pleased expression, something dark and impossible to name flickering behind his eyes beneath that black and gold mask. Fénix knew well how his rival could be, how Laredo was determined to do everything and anything to keep what was his. This was something new to him. This wasn’t LK, the man who had caught his eye long before the Cruiserweight belt. No, this was a version of Laredo that was never shown on camera, a version Fénix never recognized before, and now he had the misfortune of witnessing this version of the rudo.
“Quieres parar ahí enfrente de una cámara y tratar de enseñar el mundo que tanto te crees intenso. Pero aquí eres débil, roto, y inútil.” (You wanna stand there in front of a camera and try to show the world just how intense you think you are. Yet here you’re weak, broken, and useless), Laredo took the mint gum he had been chewing on, now hardened and gross, and flicked it at Fénix’s face, the wad of gum bouncing off the fabric of his mask. Keeping a careful eye on his rival, Laredo took three easy steps to pick up his Cruiserweight Championship belt from where he threw it on the floor earlier in his efforts to trap Fénix, and held it in front of Fénix in such a manner it seemed like an owner hanging a treat in the air for its pup. Fénix, with as much effort and strength as he could muster against the tape around the lower half of his face, tried to spit back any kind of insult to Laredo, but it proved ineffective. Laredo only grinned in return, squatting down enough to lean close into his rival’s chest, laying the heavy belt over Fénix’s lap like one would place a treat over a dog’s snout, only allowing it to move and take the treat at the owner’s command. The green leather hurt Fénix’s eyes in the darkened room like sun rays bouncing from a street sign on a hot day, Laredo watching every twitch in Fénix’s face as if he were waiting for the man to break any second as his hands kept the belt pinned to Fénix’s legs, not enough to hurt, but enough to feel the weight of the metal and his body against the muscles. “Atrapado a un silla con tu propia cinta deportiva. Imagínate que diría tu hermano si te viera así…” (Taped to a chair with your own tape. Imagine what your brother would say if he saw you like this…)
That hurt Fénix more than a chop hitting too close to the center of his chest, his body and skin already on fire from the match he and Laredo just had moments ago. He knew Laredo was still recovering from the match as well, sweat glistening off his bare shoulders as highlighted by the little overhead light of the kitchenette. His breathing quickened at the thought of his brother finding out that he let his guard down around his rival, afraid of the harsh criticism he’d receive after all that he’d already been doing: stirring up more drama on social media, confronting his rival outside the ring when he shouldn’t. Laredo knew this, and he knew it well. He knew Penta was not the type to treat people too kindly, especially when it came to lucha libre. He also knew well that when it came to his brother, Penta didn’t hold anything back. Watching Fénix look everywhere inside his trailer, as if he was in search of something to comfort him. He tried not to show how much that hurt him, but his eyes could only hold back tears for so long until it hurt.
Laredo stood up from his spot on the floor, hovering over Fénix with his hands braced against the backrest of the chair, enough that their skin barely brushed against one another. Laredo stuck his bottom lip out in a faux pout at his rival, who was shivering with the effort to fight back the emotions that so desperately wanted to escape from his heart. He couldn’t show his rival how much this was already affecting him, couldn’t show the fear that was steadily growing inside. Laredo quietly cooed at the emotional luchador, his hand gently cupping Fénix’s covered cheek to brush the pad of his calloused thumb beneath one of those teary eyes. Fénix could only stare with anger, fear, and hurt in his eyes as those tears slowly began to drip from his lashes, warm with all the hatred that had began to boil inside. Hurt that Laredo knew something so deep and personal about him, using it against him. Laredo couldn’t recognize it, though, even if their eyes were locked together, ones being red and wet while the others was dark and blank. The rudo only had one goal: break down his rival and keep his championship.
