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"He'll tire soon enough; nobody can go that long without making a mistake."
Chuck smirks, shaking his head. "You don't know my dad very well, do you?"
He looks back to the mat, where Herc's just brought down his fifteenth opponent. He's taken on all comers, and Chuck knows he's toyed with most of them, made them believe they had a shot at winning before handing their asses to them. It's kind of beautiful to watch Herc win, he has to admit, but damn it's fun to see his opponents lose. So far he's won a pack of sausages - Max is gonna love him - a bottle of Scotch and a fair amount of cash. Eventually they'll learn not to bet against a Hansen, but for now Chuck's enjoying himself.
Number sixteen steps onto the mat, and Chuck watches his dad sizing the guy up, sees the way he alters his grip on the staff slightly, and the minute difference in his stance from one moment to the next. He might rib the old man mercilessly, but his dad is a damn fine fighter, one of the best.
He watches the way Herc moves, fluid grace wrapped in hard muscle and scarred skin and a sheen of sweat. Sixteen almost gets swept off his feet and stumbles back swearing while Herc takes a quick two steps back to keep his own feet out of reach, and be ready for the next offensive move.
His opponent discards his staff and comes back up with fists raised instead, and Herc glances to his left, drops his own staff when he gets the nod and Chuck watches it all, rolling up onto the balls of his feet because he wants this to be over, quickly.
His dad doesn't disappoint, blocking most hits until he gets a good position, an opening, and then it's just relentless jabs and kicks until he can hook one of his opponent's knees and take him off balance and down to the mat.
"Win, Hercules Hansen."
Herc grins, letting his latest and last victim up, and bows to the gathered crowd. "Thanks for coming out." It's enough to make them realize that the show is over, though Chuck knows Herc could easily take on a few more fights.
He stays where he is until almost everyone has dispersed, then crosses the empty mat to where his dad sits, drinking water and watching him approach.
"Enjoy the show?"
"You were still holding back," Chuck accuses, sitting next to Herc to wait for the Kwoon to empty completely.
"Like to let 'em think they have a chance sometimes." Herc shifts his leg, wincing. "Ankle's playing up too."
Chuck glances to his dad's bare feet, reaches to lift the leg of his pants. "Needs ice."
"I know. Why, you feel like playing nurse tonight?"
Chuck nudges into Herc with a snort, but he knows his cheeks are hot and giving him away. "So long as it's the kind of game that ends with the nurse getting fucked, sure."
He sees Herc's eyes dart up, looking around, and grins. "Relax, everyone left."
"You'll be the death of me, I swear."
Chuck shakes his head, reaches to curl his hand over Herc's thigh. "Couldn't do that to you, dad, I like your cock too much. C'mon, you're taking a shower first."
"Bossy little shit, eh?"
+
Chuck enjoys feeling his dad's cock pressing into him, so fucking slow, loves watching the way Herc's eyes widen, then narrow into darkness. He likes the difference in the bunching of muscles, raw strength used another way. He isn't small by any means, but his dad's just bigger, and sometimes it's exactly what he needs.
Thick arms surrounding him, Herc's cock filling him, the heat and haze of the way they move and look at one another, the lazy bites of kisses and bruises pressed into shoulders and hips like slow art; it's good and it makes him feel safe and whole and bound together with his dad in ways that only Striker can, outside of this room.
When he comes, it's with his dad's tongue on his tongue and the breath ripped out of him is noisy and ugly but Herc swallows it like it's a gift and Chuck just holds on tighter still, still comparing.
"Go on, dad," he murmurs, sliding his hand down Herc's sweaty back to his arse, pulling him in and the depth is killing him all over again.
Herc looks up at him, and braces himself, fucks hard and sudden into Chuck until all there is left to do is let go - and Chuck knows that it's the hardest part of this for Herc - and let himself be caught.
"Next time," Herc says, after a while of just lying on his son, letting his shoulders be stroked, his arse kneaded. "You're doing the fighting."
"Just trying to keep you in shape, dad."
"I like this way, too," Herc grumbles, making a reluctant sound just before he pulls out, rolls to his side. "But I mean it. You're capable."
Chuck smiles, turning to press into his dad's side. "You really know how to give a compliment."
"Shut up."
Leaning up to kiss Herc, Chuck shakes his head. "Let's put that legendary stamina to the test, and you can shut me up."