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before I even released the choke. Of course, I let go as soon as you lost consciousness, and it's not like you stopped breathing or anything. You're fine," he said as he grabbed my chin, manhandling me he pulled my head to the side, “except for this nasty cut above your eye. You'll have to work on those reflexes.” I opened my eyes and glared, he was smirking.
    Sexy fucking bastard. “Fuck you!” the croak in my voice made it sound less angry than I meant. I sounded like I was teasing, when I was about a minute away from breaking his smug nose.
    “Maybe if you're a good boy,” he said winking at me, conceited bastard. "Hold still, I'm going to clean it with some antiseptic."
    He started scrubbing the pad on my open cut. I resisted the urge to flinch from the sting of the alcohol and how much pressure he was using. I felt like he was cleaning it with sandpaper. Asshole! Did he have to be so rough? I didn't want to seem like a baby but this was hurting worse than it did when I got the cut. "Your cut won't need stitches. Nothing seems broken, you'll probably just be light headed for a while and have a sore throat for a few hours. If you knew when to submit, it wouldn't bother you at all." He smirked again.
    He said it like it would have been okay to tap out and just give up. I smiled, thinking next time I would break his arm and dislocate his shoulder if I got the chance. I felt Striker press a small bandage onto my cut, when he finished he said, "You can sit up now. But move slowly," Striker added as an afterthought like I haven't been choked out enough times to know not to move my head too fast. I gradually sat up and noticed my balance was fine, I was already feeling a lot less dizzy.
    Striker pulled off his latex gloves and put them in a plastic trash can before reaching into his pack and grabbing a bottle of water and some pills. He turned back to me and asked, "Are you nauseous at all?" I thought about it for a second before slightly shaking my head. "Good. Sip a little of this," he said before opening the water and handing it to me. I took a cautious sip and was grateful when it soothed the burning in my throat. "Here, take four Ibuprofen, it will help with the swelling and you should feel better soon." I took the pills and swallowed them one at a time.
    I looked closer at Striker's face, he was already starting to bruise around his right eye, it would be a nice shiner in a few hours. He deserved it, just for being a smug bastard. He was about two inches taller than me but his body was the same compact build as mine. He wore his dark brown hair in the same style as me. His face was softer and more round. I had a rougher look, which some might even call ruggedly handsome, but Striker he was just stunningly beautiful. Just when my eyes were starting to take a full appreciative look of his body, he turned his head and locked his gaze onto mine.
    Not wanting to be caught admiring him, I narrowed my eyes and glared. Half smiling, he scowled back at me. We were only about a foot apart, and I couldn't tell if he wanted to hit me or kiss me. I wasn't friends with any of the guys I fought against, I didn’t talk to them outside of arranging fights so I knew nothing about any of them. This was the longest conversation I’d ever had with Striker and I had only really said a few words. He was gorgeous, and if I had met him anywhere else I would have taken him home and fucked him. But I don't make a habit of sleeping with guys and then beating the shit out of them.
    "When are we having a rematch?" I asked. My voice sounded raspier than usual and my throat still burned when I spoke.
    Striker shook his head. "There won't be a rematch. This was my last fight, I’m getting too old to keep making excuses for why I have bruises and tired of people assuming I’m always starting fights. I used to really love fighting and it was great for releasing tension but I’m ready to find a new release that doesn’t leave bruises and broken