Harlequin's Slash Fic

Me and Tyler Durden

Title: Me and Tyler Durden
Author: Julien
Universe: Fight Club
Characters featured: ‘Jack’/Tyler, ‘Jack’/Angel Face
Category, Word count: Short story; 891 words
Rating: NC17
Summary, Warnings: Tyler manipulates ‘Jack’ into homosexual activity, charged (of course) with violence. It’s kind of non-consensual, though if you know who’s who, then the question of consent become a bit convoluted.
First published: 22 April 2004 in Homosapien 7


Me and Tyler Durden



For a while, he would take me to gay bars. Not the inner city kind, with ferns and cappuccino and conversation. He’d take me to the industrial kind, with hardened men and a warren of dark backrooms where things happened that impressed even him with their cruelty.

Tyler would spend the evening drinking beer and looking over the candidates. By midnight I would be standing there, small and pathetic, facing a line–up of men, all big, all hardcore. As if this were a parade inspection, Tyler would walk down the line, getting in their faces, challenging them. Even he was half their size, built strong though he was. As he grilled each one, making lewd and clever and insinuating remarks, he would plunge a hand down their trousers, and assess them. The biggest won.

Back to our ramshackle home, where I would soon find myself naked and pressed facedown in the mattress, with this enormous dude pounding into me. Tyler would have forced a cockring on him, exhorted him to make it last Or Else … He was rarely required to elaborate. Then Tyler would watch, and provide commentary and encouragement in the filthiest language imaginable.

It hurt. It hurt like hell, even after the first few times and my asshole had been stretched wide as the Lincoln Tunnel. I wasn’t queer. Never had been. And yet I loved it. I loved the utter humiliation, the degradation, the pain. I’d never been an exhibitionist – in fact, quite the opposite. I’d always lost my stiffened resolve if there was so much as an open curtain somewhere in the same building. But I loved Tyler watching. In fact, that was the best part.

My reward was this: After the dude had been pounding into me for as long as he possibly could, and Tyler could see it would be over soon, he kissed me. On his hands and knees by the mattress, that handsome face drawing close to mine, those eyes luminous with humour and daring, those smirking lips blessing mine. And then Tyler’s hand slipping down between my hips and the mattress, seizing me – I was always hard for him, no matter the pain – bringing me off. That was my reward for being so thoroughly fucked.

And it was worth everything. Tyler was worth everything.



Tyler burned a kiss into the back of my hand.

Spit and lye, back in the days when I still trusted him like he was part of me. Then vinegar to neutralise the reaction, and I was left with a scar on my hand in the shape of his lips, his beautiful lips.

It didn’t mean anything, though. Soon everyone in Project Mayhem had one.

That Tyler. He sure got around.



This new guy joined the Project, this new guy with blond hair and the face of an angel. Tyler would run his hands over that hair, that perfectly–formed skull, blessing him with palms and fingers, approval in Tyler’s easygoing smile.

I am Jack’s Seething Envy.

Tyler’s game changed yet again. This time it was the angel face pressed hard into the mattress, this time it was the blond guy who got fucked, this time it was me who did the fucking. This time it was the angel who Tyler kissed.

I’d be pounding into the dude, hard and desperate, forcing him, forcing myself. Tyler watching, and saying things that still somehow shocked me – and Tyler would kneel on hands and knees to kiss him, and my orgasm felt like vitriol pouring through me and pumping out into this flesh–and–blood angel.

I am Jack’s Bitter, Twisted Soul.



It soon became an imperative. Fight Club was only the pretext.

Beating him up, destroying that angel face. The face that was too perfect to ever really destroy. But it certainly was a pleasure trying. The angel’s blood on me felt better than cum.

I think I even shocked Tyler that time.



There was an odd little moment one dawn. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. Warm in the seclusion of an anonymous hotel room in an anonymous city. Feeling kind of peaceful for the first time I could remember, at least not since before I was six, back when I didn’t know any better.

And there was the sense of Tyler being there, even though he wasn’t. Tyler lying beside me in the bed, warm and peaceful, though of course it had never been like that between us.

There was the sense of Marla being there, too, though she was actually far far away. And that was good, that was fine, and I could admit that I actually did like her, setting aside the groups and the suicide attempts and the crazy things she said and the way she fucked Tyler. Setting aside all that I could see that I liked Marla.

I liked Marla, I liked Tyler, I needed them both in my life.

So, what did I do? I slipped my hand down between my hips and the sheets, gently seized myself – I was hard, I’d been hard for hours, sleeping, dreaming of Tyler and Marla – and I brought myself off, thinking of her dark dark eyes and his luminous blues. That was my reward for accidentally stumbling across a scrap of peace.

And it was worth everything.

Posted in: Fight Club, Slash fic

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