Chapter 3: Raw Fucking in the Shitter
The words hung in the reeking air, thick as the mildew on the walls. Daniel’s voice was a raw scrape, barely audible over their ragged breathing and the dripping faucet. "Wait... I want you to fuck me… cum in my ass."
Johnny froze, mid-thrust. His cock throbbed against Daniel’s tongue, slick with spit. He stared down. Daniel looked wrecked. Tears cut tracks through the grime and blood on his cheeks. His lips were swollen, split. But his eyes… those dark eyes staring up from his knees weren't pleading. They were demanding. Burning with the same fucked-up fire that had ignited this whole thing. A challenge. A surrender wrapped in defiance.
The sheer, unthinkable audacity of it – Daniel LaRusso, on his knees, asking for it, begging for Johnny to fuck him raw – hit Johnny like a sledgehammer to the gut. It wasn't desire. It wasn't affection. It was gasoline on the hate-bonfire raging inside him.
"Fuck you want, princess?" Johnny rasped, pulling his cock slowly from Daniel’s mouth with a wet pop. A string of saliva connected them for a second before snapping. "Your fancy ass can't handle it."
Daniel surged upwards, shoving Johnny back. He scrambled to his feet, his pants tangled around his ankles, his own erection bobbing, flushed and angry. He didn't try to cover it. He got right in Johnny’s face, the heat radiating off him. "Scared, Lawrence?" he spat, blood-flecked spittle landing on Johnny’s chin. "Scared Cobra Kai can't even fuck right? That I'll win this too?" His hand shot out, grabbing Johnny’s hard cock. Squeezing, hard. "Or maybe this limp dick doesn't work anymore?"
The insult, the rough grip, the sheer fucking nerve – it snapped the last fragile thread. Johnny snarled, a sound ripped from the animal part of his brain. He slammed Daniel backwards again, this time spinning him, driving him face-first into the grimy tiles beside the cracked mirror. Daniel’s palms slapped against the cold porcelain, catching himself.
“Johnny, I can handle it.” For once Daniel Larusso sounds almost shy
"Turn around, asshole!" Johnny growled, shoving Daniel’s shoulder, forcing him to face the wall.
Daniel slammed into the tiles, the cold, grimy surface biting into his cheek. Johnny’s rough hand planted firmly between his shoulder blades pinned him there, breath huffing white condensation onto the stained ceramic. Johnny didn’t bother with gentle preparation; he spat thickly onto his palm, slicked his rigid cock with a few brutal strokes, then aimed the swollen head right at Daniel’s tight, clenched hole.
"Gonna make you scream for real this time, LaRusso," Johnny rasped, his voice thick with whiskey and lust. He pressed forward, the thick crown stretching Daniel obscenely. No finesse, just relentless pressure. Daniel gasped, a sharp, pained intake of breath, his knuckles white where they gripped the grimy sink edge. "Fuck! Johnny, wait—!"
Johnny ignored him. He shoved his hips forward with one brutal thrust, burying his cock to the hilt in one searing motion. Daniel’s body bowed, a strangled cry ripped from his throat, echoing harshly in the tiny, stinking room. Tears sprang to his eyes instantly, blurring his reflection in the cracked mirror – a distorted image of shock and raw sensation. "Christ! Fucking… hurts!"
“Fucking… hurts!” Daniel gasped, his cheek grinding against the cold tile. Every muscle in his back and ass clenched like a vise, trying to repel the brutal intrusion. Johnny’s thick cock felt like splitting him apart.
Johnny paused, buried deep, the sudden stillness somehow more shocking than the violence. He could feel Daniel trembling against him, the frantic flutter of the tight ring of muscle gripping his shaft. Sweat dripped from Johnny’s jaw onto Daniel’s shoulder blade. “Told you your fancy ass couldn’t take it,” he growled, his voice thick. Yet he didn’t pull out. Didn’t slam forward. Just held himself immobile inside that searing heat.
Daniel took a shuddering breath, the fight momentarily knocked out of him by the sheer, overwhelming stretch. His knuckles were bone-white on the sink ledge. He turned his head slightly on the grimy tile, just enough to catch Johnny’s eye in the cracked mirror’s distorted reflection. His voice, when it came, was rough, strained, but lacked the usual fight, the polished edge. Instead, it was raw, stripped bare. “Johnny, I can handle it.” For once Daniel Larusso sounded almost shy.
The unexpected vulnerability, the quiet admission hidden beneath the filthy tiles and the reek of piss, hit Johnny harder than any punch Daniel had landed. It wasn’t defiance, not a challenge. It was something else entirely, disarming and confusing. Johnny stared at the reflection, at Daniel’s flushed face, the tear tracks cutting through the grime, the raw need in his eyes that mirrored the impossible ache in Johnny’s own balls. He leaned forward, pressing his sweat-slicked chest against Daniel’s back, feeling the frantic hammering of his rival’s heart.
“Yeah?” Johnny breathed against the shell of Daniel’s ear, his voice dropping to a low rasp. He shifted his hips minutely, pulling back just an inch before slowly, deliberately, pushing back in. Not a slam, but a deliberate, grinding slide. “Prove it, LaRusso.”
This time, Daniel didn’t cry out. A low groan vibrated through his chest, a sound of pain tipping into something deeper, needier. His head dropped slightly, forehead pressed to the tile. “Fuck… yes,” he managed, the words muffled. His body shifted, subtly pushing back against Johnny, trying to take him deeper.
The permission, the fucking acceptance, shattered Johnny’s last shred of restraint. He braced one hand high on the tile beside Daniel’s head, the other gripping his hip hard enough to bruise. He pulled out almost all the way, feeling Daniel’s hole cling desperately to his cockhead, then drove back in with a force that rocked them both. A harsh gasp ripped from Daniel.
“Like that?” Johnny snarled, setting a relentless, punishing rhythm. No finesse, just raw, driving power. Each thrust buried him deep, the slap of skin on skin echoing obscenely off the tile, mingling with their ragged breathing and the relentless plink plink plink of the dripping faucet. He fucked Daniel with the same brutal intensity as their fight – hard, deep strokes meant to dominate, to possess, to break. “Take it! Take my fucking cock, you smug bastard!”
Daniel’s cries became a continuous, broken stream – gasps, choked moans, fragmented pleas swallowed by the force of Johnny’s thrusts. “Ah! God! Johnny! Harder! Fucking—!” His body strained, arching back to meet Johnny’s brutal pace, his own cock trapped and throbbing painfully against the cold tile wall. He reached back blindly, fingers scrabbling, finding Johnny’s thigh and clinging on, nails digging in.
The sensation of Daniel clawing at him, taking everything he gave, the tight, wet heat clamping down with every drive forward – it coiled the tension in Johnny’s gut impossibly tight. The cheap whiskey haze, the decades of hate, the blinding fury – it all fused into a white-hot need for release. He angled his hips, driving deeper, seeking that spot he knew would wreck him. Daniel’s whole body jerked violently. “THERE! FUCK! RIGHT THERE!” he screamed, his voice cracking.
Johnny grunted, animalistic, redoubling his efforts. He pistoned into Daniel, the slapping sounds growing faster, wetter. He could feel the pressure building, unstoppable, a tsunami in his balls. He buried his face in the sweat-damp hair at Daniel’s nape, biting down on a groan. “Gonna fill you up, LaRusso,” he gasped, breathless. “Gonna pump you fucking full!”
“Do it!” Daniel begged, his voice shredded. “Johnny… please!
The plea ripped from Daniel’s throat, raw and desperate, echoing off the filthy tiles. "Johnny… please!" It wasn't just permission; it was surrender, a white flag drenched in sweat and the coppery tang of blood. Johnny drove into him one final, brutal time, burying himself to the root, his own release coiling impossibly tight, a live wire sparking in his balls. He could feel Daniel’s body clamping down, convulsing around him, the hot clench dragging him toward the edge.
Then, abruptly, Johnny wrenched himself out. The sudden emptiness was shocking, cold air hitting his wet, aching cock. Daniel gasped, his body jerking forward against the sink, momentarily unmoored. Before Daniel could register the loss, Johnny spun him around with rough, possessive hands, slamming his back against the grimy stall partition. Dust rained down.
Johnny didn’t hesitate. He crushed his mouth against Daniel’s, a hard, punishing kiss that tasted of blood, sweat, and cheap whiskey. It was nothing like the desperate clash earlier; this was domination, silencing, claiming. Daniel froze for a split second, stunned, then groaned low in his throat, a sound of pure, shocked need. His hands, which had been braced against the partition, flew up, fingers tangling roughly in Johnny’s hair, pulling him closer, deepening the brutal kiss. Teeth scraped lips. Tongues battled. It was violence transmuted into something equally fierce, equally consuming. Johnny ground his still-hard cock against Daniel’s, the rough friction sending jolts through them both.
He broke the kiss, panting harshly, their foreheads pressed together. Daniel’s swollen lips were slick, his eyes wide, pupils blown black with lust and confusion. Johnny’s hand slid down Daniel’s sweat-slicked flank, over the curve of his ass, fingers probing the slick, stretched hole he’d just vacated. Daniel hissed, his hips bucking forward instinctively, grinding his erection against Johnny’s abdomen. "Fuck me," Daniel rasped, the words thick, urgent. "Finish it. Inside. Now."
Johnny didn't need telling twice. Gripping Daniel’s hips hard enough to bruise, he hoisted him up. Daniel’s legs wrapped around Johnny’s waist with surprising strength, his ankles locking at the small of Johnny’s back. Johnny fumbled blindly with his own cock, slick with spit and pre-come, guiding the swollen head back to Daniel’s entrance. He pushed. Daniel threw his head back with a ragged cry as Johnny breached him again, sinking deep in one relentless thrust. The angle was different, deeper somehow, forcing a strangled gasp from Daniel’s throat.
"Look at me," Johnny growled, his voice guttural. Daniel’s dark eyes, glazed and desperate, snapped back to his. Johnny held his gaze, his own blue eyes fierce, unyielding, as he began to move. He fucked up into Daniel with short, powerful drives, each thrust slamming Daniel’s back against the metal stall. The sounds were obscene – wet slaps of skin, Daniel’s choked gasps, Johnny’s ragged grunts punctuating each deep plunge. Daniel clutched at Johnny’s shoulders, fingers digging in, his own cock trapped between their grinding bodies, leaking profusely.
"Feels… too… good…" Daniel choked out, his voice cracking on the words. His head lolled, then snapped forward, eyes locking onto Johnny’s again, a mixture of agony and ecstasy twisting his features. "Fucking… ruin me… Johnny!"
The plea, the raw vulnerability beneath the filthy demand, snapped Johnny’s control. He slammed in harder, faster, the stall rattling with the force. His rhythm became frantic, piston-like, chasing the firestorm building in his core. He could feel Daniel’s inner muscles fluttering wildly around his shaft, gripping, milking. Daniel’s cock pulsed against his stomach, a hot, wet spot blooming between them. "Gonna come…" Johnny gasped, the words ripped from him. "Gonna fill your fucking guts, LaRusso!"
"Yes! Fuck! Do it!" Daniel screamed, his body arching, tightening impossibly around Johnny’s cock as his own orgasm ripped through him. Hot spurts painted Johnny’s stomach and chest. The violent clench of Daniel’s ass triggered Johnny’s own release. With a final, guttural roar, Johnny buried himself to the hilt and exploded, pulse after thick pulse of come surging deep inside Daniel’s body.
The hot flood inside him triggered Daniel’s own climax. His back arched violently off the grimy stall door, a ragged scream tearing from his throat. "GONNA CUM! JOHNNY! JOHNNY!" Thick ropes of semen pulsed from his cock, splattering Johnny’s sweat-slicked chest and stomach, mixing with the grime and drying blood. His legs trembled violently where they locked around Johnny’s waist, his ass clenching rhythmically around Johnny’s still-pulsing cock buried deep within him.
They hung there, suspended in the reeking aftermath. Johnny’s forehead pressed against the cold metal of the stall, his breath sawing harshly in Daniel’s ear. Daniel’s head lolled back, eyes squeezed shut, panting, his body shuddering with the aftershocks. Johnny’s softening cock slipped free with a wet, obscene sound, followed by a trickle of warm fluid down Daniel’s inner thigh. The sudden emptiness made Daniel gasp.
Silence descended, thick and suffocating. Only their labored breathing and the relentless plink plink plink of the dripping faucet filled the cramped space. The stench of sex, sweat, blood, and stale piss hung heavy. Johnny slowly lowered Daniel’s legs. Daniel’s knees buckled slightly, forcing him to grip Johnny’s shoulders to stay upright. Their eyes met. Johnny’s piercing blue gaze held no triumph, only a profound, unsettling confusion. Daniel’s dark eyes reflected raw shock, shame, and a dazed, lingering hunger neither understood.
Johnny stepped back abruptly, breaking the contact. He looked down at the mess on his chest and stomach – Daniel’s come mingling with his own sweat and the grime of the bar. Disgust warred with a strange, hollow ache deep in his gut. He grabbed a wad of cheap, scratchy paper towels from the dispenser, scrubbing roughly at his skin. The paper tore, leaving flecks clinging to the drying fluids. "Fuck," he muttered, the word thick and meaningless.
Daniel leaned heavily against the stall partition, staring at the viscous white fluid dripping down his own thigh onto the filthy floor. He felt raw, used, split open in ways that had nothing to do with physical pain. He fumbled with his pants, pulling them up awkwardly over his trembling legs, wincing as the fabric brushed his tender flesh. The ripped collar of his expensive shirt hung open, exposing the bruise blooming on his collarbone. He avoided looking at Johnny. "Jesus," he breathed, wiping his bleeding lip with the back of his hand. "What the hell… what did we just…?"
Johnny didn’t answer. He yanked his own jeans up, fastening them with jerky movements. The silence stretched, charged with unspoken horror and the undeniable physical reality of what they’d done. The cracked mirror reflected two broken men, decades of animosity twisted into something profoundly ugly and intimate. Johnny met Daniel’s haunted gaze in the glass. "Don't," Johnny rasped, his voice scraped raw. "Don't fucking say anything."
He turned towards the heavy, scarred door, needing air, needing escape from the stench and the suffocating weight of Daniel LaRusso’s presence. He grabbed the tarnished handle, pulling it open.
THEN THE DOOR OPENED AND BILL GASPED.
The bartender stood frozen in the narrow hallway, his weathered face slack with utter disbelief. His eyes, usually sharp and weary, were wide saucers, darting from Johnny’s disheveled state – bruised temple, ripped shirt, come-stained chest – to Daniel leaning against the stall, pants hastily done up, lip split, face flushed and tear-streaked, the unmistakable scent of sex and violence hanging thick in the air between them. Bill’s mouth opened, then closed. No sound came out. The rag he’d been holding dropped from his limp fingers onto the grimy floor.
Bill stood frozen in the doorway, the dropped rag forgotten on the filthy tiles. His mouth hung open, slack-jawed, eyes wide as saucers, darting between Johnny’s come-streaked chest and Daniel’s bruised, trembling form leaning against the stall. The reek of sex, sweat, and violence hit him like a physical blow. He took in Johnny’s split knuckles, Daniel’s ripped shirt and bleeding lip, the unmistakable chaos radiating from both men.
Silence stretched, thick and suffocating, broken only by the relentless plink… plink… from the dripping faucet. Bill’s initial shock curdled, his weathered face twisting. A strangled sound escaped him, then another, building in his chest. His shoulders started to shake.
THEN BILL LAUGHED. “OH GOD, JOHNNY!” The sound was harsh, grating, devoid of humor. It boomed in the small space. “You sick fuck! After all the shit you talked? After thirty goddamn years? You’re porking La-fucking-Russo in my shitter?!” He pointed a thick finger at Daniel, who flinched. “And you! Mr. Fancy Pants! Couldn’t keep him outta your ass? Jesus H. Christ on a cracker!”
The crude laughter, the humiliating accusation, shattered Johnny’s dazed stupor. Shame ignited, instantly consumed by volcanic fury. “SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH, BILL!” Johnny roared, surging forward, shoving past Daniel. He grabbed a fistful of Bill’s stained apron, yanking the bigger man off balance. “You saw NOTHING!”
“Saw plenty!” Bill spat, recovering fast, shoving Johnny hard. Johnny slammed back into the sink, pain flaring in his bruised ribs. “Saw you two animals going at it like fucking rabid dogs! My bathroom! My bar! You disgusting pieces of–!”
Johnny lunged again, a wild right hook aimed at Bill’s jaw. Bill ducked, surprisingly agile, and countered with a meaty fist to Johnny’s gut. Air whooshed from Johnny’s lungs. He doubled over, gasping. Bill grabbed the back of his neck, driving Johnny’s face towards the grimy sink. “Shoulda thrown you out years ago, you washed-up piece of–!”
Daniel moved. Not the polished car dealer, but the street kid from Reseda. He slammed his shoulder into Bill’s side, knocking the bartender sideways. “Get off him!” Daniel yelled, his voice rough.
Bill stumbled, crashing into the paper towel dispenser. He whirled, eyes blazing. “You too, pretty boy? Gonna fight for your boyfriend?!”
The word ‘boyfriend’ hit Johnny like a live wire. He straightened, sucking in air, rage a red haze. He saw Bill turning his fury on Daniel. Without thought, Johnny snatched a heavy, chipped porcelain soap dish from the sink ledge. He swung. Hard.
CRACK.
The dish shattered against the back of Bill’s skull. Bill grunted, eyes rolling back. He collapsed like a sack of wet cement, landing face-first on the piss-stained floor with a heavy thud.