RIVALS | MxM MPreg

Chapter 18

A/N: Sorry this took longer than expected. I'm just having a hard time writing atm. Also, this hasn't been proofread as yet, so it's unedited :)

Jackson frowned through the cleansing sheet mask, his attention on the flat-screen TV in the living room with COD playing on the screen. He was sprawled out on the ground, his back to the sofa while his fingers worked mercilessly on the controller, and his jaw going tight every so often. It seemed like today was his day; he was on a winning streak, beating these loser players on the other end of the line—LagSwitch, SavageMode, and HeadshotOnly. They hated him so much for it, he had to turn down his headphone to drown out their annoying whining like a bunch of fucking pussies.

"Fuck yeah !" he shouted into the open room when he killed LagSwitch. These losers never stood a chance. He didn't know them in real life—they didn't know him, either. But they sure talked like losers, demeaning and berating every time they opened their mouths. They'd probably be begging for an autograph if they knew they were playing with Jackson Blaze, NASCAR champion.

"Quit yapping," SavageMode snickered.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "You're next," he sneered into the mic before taking a sip of Monster energy drink from the delicate teal floral China set— a gift that Landon had brought for Luis' birthday several months ago.

"Eat shit, Simp4None," the other player, SavageMode, southed through Jackson's headphones. "What sorta name is that, anyway? Just wait till I catch you—I'm gonna beat you up, clown!"

A third voice jumped in: HeadshotOnly, "Bro, both of you shut up, this is embarrassing. RizzGod's back in the lobby."

"Bro's about to 'Rizz' his way into another L," Jackson snapped, his fingers working harder on the controller. He was about to finish these losers; they didn't know he was a COD God.

"Keep talking, Simp4None. Just wait," SavageMode muttered. "One shot—one shot, you're done."

"Shut the fuck off before I give you a beat down—you probably in mommy and daddy's basement talking shit right now," Jackson replied with a mocking laugh.

Suddenly, the front doorbell rang, followed by several deafening bangs that echoed through the foyer—then another, louder. Jackson gritted his teeth and cursed in his mind; who the fuck was bothering him now?! He didn't want to answer; he was contemplating not to, but whoever the fuck was at the door wouldn't give it a rest.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"Oh my god—chill the fuck out!" he yelled in an irritated voice, yanking the cleansing sheet mask from his face, and then the headphone, practically seething as he stomped toward the door. Who the fuck was disturbing his peaceful me-time? When the bagging wouldn't stop, he gritted his teeth, hand on the knob, and ready to open and give whoever was out there a beatdown. "This better be— McCoy!" He didn't expect to see his boyfriend. Jackson smiled, bright and toothy, all anger suddenly depleting.

Landon didn't look his usual, though; if anything, he seemed to be turning red and fuming from his nose and ears. However, before Jackson could ponder, in seconds his lover's fist struck him in the face, barely missing the intended target; his nose—and he went stumbling backward. He saw stars for a moment, and the next thing he felt was the weight of Landon's body pouching on top of him, dragging him both to the floor with a loud thud.

"Jackson—you low-down piece of shit!"

Okay, rude, but like... What. The. Actual. Fuck? What was happening?! What did McCoy do that for!?!

Jackson was totally lost, struggling to come up with an explanation when Landon suddenly grabbed him by the throat, going full-on rage mode. Dude, was this old guy seriously trying to take him out?!